The Peregrine in Two Positions, 1766

The Peregrine (later renamed The Royal Caroline) in Two Positions off the Coast, John Cleveley the Elder, 1766, The Berger Collection.

The Peregrine was a doomed ship when Edward Knowles took command. Launched in 1700, the Peregrine was renamed the Caroline when she was converted from a twenty gun sixth rate galley to a royal yacht in 1716. She later became the Royal Caroline before being refitted into a sixth rate once again, and restored to her original name.

In her sixty first year of service, she was placed under the command of the seventeen year old Captain Edward Knowles. A remarkably young lieutenant in the Royal Navy, he could credit his quick rise through the ranks at least in part to his father, Sir Charles Knowles. A distinguished naval officer, Sir Charles has recently been promoted to full Admiral.

Edward was entrusted with carrying vital dispatches for Augustus Keppel at Belle Île and the naval squadron at Lisbon, informing the commanders that war had been declared with the Spanish late in the Seven Years War. It was late in the year, and after arriving at Belle Île Knowles was warned by Keppel not to put to sea with his aged and small vessel and an impending storm. Ignoring the advice, Knowles and the Peregrine were lost at sea with no survivors.

Edward Knowles, Francis Cotes, c.1762, Wikimedia Commons.

Sir Charles felt the loss of his eldest son keenly, and commissioned Francis Cotes to make a posthumous portrait of Edward based on a silhouette in Sir Charles' possession.

Edward Knowles' image was preserved by Cotes, and in 1766, John Celveley the Elder chose to preserve the Peregrine and her crew. In this painting, Cotes portrays the Peregrine in two positions, and in two times. On the left, she flies the colors of a warship, and on the right, the colors of a royal yacht.

Cleveley began his life as a joiner working the dockyards. While a marine artist like many others who focused primarily on the ships he was painting, Cleveley usually populates his scenes with people. Perhaps this was a bottom up view of his time, and a recognition that ships and officers alone do not make the navy. A ship is useless without her men. While Edward was remembered by his wealthy family who could afford a portrait, the legacy of Peregrine's crew were enshrined by Cleveley's depiction of their vessel.

In both views, the crew are largely depicted aboard her in cocked hats with red and blue jackets.

John Bull's House in Flames, 1763

John Bull's House in Flames, Sumpter, 1763, Walpole Library.

What we have here is a poorly crafted knock-off of the previous year's John Bull's House Sett in Flames, also in the collection of the Walpole Library. Both show Britain's metaphorical house engulfed in flame in an allusion to the course of the Seven Years War and impending peace.

Though quite like the original piece, the three tars in this print mostly speak different lines:

"Heave away me mates"

"Do it lustily Tom"

"A fresh wind from aloft Jack encreses"

The sailor in the foreground wears a jacket with a single vent at the back, a jockey style cap, and petticoat trousers. His mates are difficult to make out, but one wears a bob wig and reversed cocked hat.

Captain John Byron and landing party in the Strait of Magellan, 1773

Captain John Byron and landing party in the Strait of Magellan, artist unknown, engraved for An account of the voyages undertaken by the order of His present Majesty for making discoveries in the Southern Hemisphere, and successively performed by Commodore Byron, Captain Wallis, Captain Carteret, and Captain Cook, in the Dolphin, the Swallow, and the Endeavor, 1773, David Rumsey Map Collection.

One of the much vaunted survivors of the Anson Expedition and the Wager Mutiny, John Byron is remembered as a skilled mariner and experienced explorer.

This engraving is drawn from a compendium of contemporary explorers printed in London during the years leading up to the American Revolutionary War. The unknown artist depicts Byron and his men visiting the "gigantic" people of Patagonia. As described in his 1767 memoir of the 1764-1766 Dolphin expedition, Byron's visit to Patagonia was an extraordinary one.

The Dolphin having entered 10 or 12 leagues into the mouth of the streights of Magellan, the men on deck observed thirty or forty people of an extraordinary stature, standing on the beach of the continent, who looking attentively at them, made friendly signs, by which they seemed to invite them to come on shore; white others who stood aloft, discovered with their glasses a much greater number, about a mile further up the country; but ascribed their apparent size to the fogginess of the air. The ship happening at this instant to be becalmed, the honourable Mr. Byron, thinking no time would be lost by going ashore, resolved to land, in order to see the Indians and learn what he could of their manners; he therefore ordered a six-oared boat for himself and his officers; and one of twelve oars to be filled with men and arms, as a security, in case there be any attempt to surprize or injure him, or any of those who went with him; tho' the people on shore did not seem to have anything like an offensive weapon among them. 

They Patagonians were indeed "of an extraordinary stature," and we can see them dwarfing Byron and his lieutenant in the detail above. Byron thought the experience to be notable enough to be featured as the frontispiece to his book A Voyage Around the World.

The sailors bearing muskets and bayonets ashore are wearing cocked hats and round hats with narrow brims. One in particular turns toward the view and gestures to the left of the frame, and he appears to be wearing a barge cap. The men all wear jackets that end at the top of the hip or just below it, save for the oarsman in the foreground whose jacket extends to at least the top of the thigh. They all wear their hair bob style, if not bewigged.

Most of the sailors wear trousers, though one near the front of the line is wearing dark breeches (probably blue) and one sailor near the middle and facing to the right of the frame appears to be wearing petticoat trousers.

The coxswain of the other boat wears a cocked hat with very short brim, what appears to be a bob wig, a jacket, and trousers or petticoat trousers.

Landing at Middleburgh, Friendly Islands, 1774-1777

Landing of Captain Cook at Middleburg, Friendly Islands, William Hodges, between 1774-1777, National Maritime Museum.

William Hodges, the artist of this painting, was a witness to this scene. Hodges sailed aboard the Resolution with Cook on Cook's second voyage, and documented numerous scenes along the way. According to the curators at the British Museum, Hodges' painting documents Cook landing with his sailors at the island of Eau, accompanied by the Tongan chief Tioonee who bears a plantain leaf aloft.

Unlike other paintings of Cook's voyages that I've examined, Hodges' piece gives us a good view of common sailor's clothing. Common sailors are often given little detail in his paintings for a reason: the artist Hodges was trying to document previously unknown people, lands, plants, and animals, not what British subjects were already familiar with.

At the bow of the jolly boat is a sailor laying his oar into the sand to slow the vessel. He wears a short brimmed round hat and a waistcoat that hangs open. His white shirt is rolled up well above his elbows, tucked into his petticoat trousers.

Amidships stands captain Cook leaning on his musket, and between him and Tioonee is a sailor in the water, guiding the boat in by hand. He is bare headed, wearing an open white shirt and an open blue jacket.

Aft of Cook are three oarsmen. In the foreground is a sailor with a red waistcoat. A black round hat and short brim is atop his head, and a checked shirt is rolled up well above his elbows. The mariner appears is also wearing a dotted neckcloth.

Beside him is an oarsmen wearing a round hat and blue waistcoat. Standing in the water and guiding the boat by hand stands a sailor in a blue jacket. At the stern is an oarsman in an open blue jacket and a single breasted waistcoat. This jack wears a pair of trousers and his shirt is notably open, lacking a neck cloth.

A quick note on dates. The National Maritime Museum's catalog entry states a wider range than I give the painting. The event depicted occurred in 1774, and so could not have been earlier than that. However, prints of this painting begin to appear in 1777, and so the painting must have been completed or nearly so by then. Thus, my date range differs from that proposed by the National Maritime Museum.

A Perspective view of the River Thames, 1782

"A Perspective view of the River Thames," artist unknown, 1782, National Maritime Museum.

The curators at the National Maritime Museum did not include the inscription for this print in their catalog entry, but are kind enough to transcribe it for us:

Taken from the Kings Arms at Blackwall; Shooters Hill, Woolwich; The East India Dock Yard. From London Magazine Mar 1782.

To the far left of the gram are a pair of East Indiamen on the stocks under construction. Afloat to the right of the frame is a twenty gun ship that might be either a small Royal Navy sixth rate or an East Indiaman. Her ensign at the stern might suggest a Royal Navy vessel, as it is not the colors of the East India Company, but depictions of East India Company ships in the eighteenth century certainly did fly other colors.

This image is largely unremarkable and much like all other "Perspective Views." There is one detail that sets it apart.

To the stern of our twenty gun ship we can see a malefactor gibbeted for display. Doubtless hanged at Execution Dock, this hapless criminal is displayed as a warning to others.

The sailors in this image seem to take little mind of the rotting corpse.

These two are busy at the shipyard. It is difficult to say much about them, except that the standing sailor (or waterman) wears a round hat turned up front and back, and what appears to be a jacket.

Two oarsmen in shirtsleeves and hatless row a well dressed couple away from the yard. Their coxswain wears an oddly shaped hat that might be a cocked hat reversed. He wears a jacket and single breasted waistcoat.

Straps in Training, Part 3: A Practical Guide

This is part two of a guest post by Buzz Mooney. You can find part one here. Also, visit Napoleonic Tars: 1790-1820 for part two.

There appear to be two variations on the "sailors' fashion" of shoes: one features one strap hanging loosely over the forward edge of the buckle frame. Illustrations seem to indicate that this was the more common style. The second style has the straps crossed and fed under the forward side of the buckle frame, as seen in  "Watson and the Shark."

Here are some images of one of my own shoes, with the straps buckled and trained in various manners:

The buckle attached to the chape strap in the usual fashion:

The shoe buckled in the usual fashion:

The shoe buckled in the usual manner, but with the straps pulled forward:

The buckles installed on the chape strap in the conjectural “quick-release” fashion:

The tongue strap buckled:

The “quick-release” method, with both straps loose:

A possible arrangement of the straps, from the “quick-release”. (Note: this would no longer be a quick release, but may be a way to secure the shoe better, while maintaining the overall style):

“Quick release” with both straps fed under the frame:

After these experiments, I am inclined to think that my conjectural “Quick-release” method may have been used on shipboard, to allow quick removal of the shoes for running up aloft, but it seems impractical for going ashore, because it allows the buckle to release from the chape strap, too easily, and tucking the straps to make it more secure eliminates the quickness.

In all, this fashion seems to have been common from at least the mid-1760's to 1810 or so, and may continue as long as buckle shoes are common. Does it go much earlier than 1768? Further research may reveal the answer, but for now, I think we can safely say that yes, sailors did commonly wear their shoes with trained straps, for at least 50 years.

Straps in Training, Part 1: 1740-1790

Today's post comes to us special from Buzz Mooney. Buzz is a longtime reenactor, maritime history enthusiast, and personal friend.

Straps in Training:

Wearing Shoes "Sailor Fashion" in the Age of Sail

In Bill Sullivan’s recent article on MakingHistory.com, I found this intriguing little gem:  “Sailors wore their shoes 'sailor fashion,' swaggering around with one buckle strap flapping out of the buckle and tugged to the front; others in the backcountry and German-speaking areas turned both buckle straps outward to flap up and down like mule ears, tying them with a string—kind of like wearing your cap backwards or loose-lacing your Timberland work boots.”

I decided to see what I could find, to illustrate or verify the notion of shoes worn “sailor fashion”. Were there period sources that mentioned this, and was it shown in period illustrations? When did sailors wear their shoes in this manner, if at all? The article didn’t cite any sources, so I had to explore this notion on my own, as best I could.

I posted an inquiry on Facebook, to see if any of my naval re-enacting friends could shed some light. Fortunately for me, my list of friends includes the authors of two respected blogs on the subject of period Sailor attire; Kyle Dalton, of British Tars; 1740-1790 and Ben Bartgis of the related Napoleonic Tars; 1790-1820, as well as some of the best naval re-enacting units in the US, including HMS Acasta and Ship’s Company.

Tom Apple told me that the cordwainer at Colonial Williamsburg had told him that this practice was called “training the strap”, and both he and Steve Rayner directed me to Bennett Cuthbertson’s A System for the Complete Interior Management and Oeconomy of a Battalion of Infantry... (London, 1768:135)

"XVI. It should be particularly observed, that the Men do not wear their Shoes, on the same feet, but that they change them day about, to prevent their running crooked; nor should they be permitted to have their Shoe straps pulled toward the toe, like Sailors: but are to be accustomed to tuck the ends of them, under the rim of the buckle.”

So here was a direct, period reference to the style, with a description that told me what to look for. The next step was to see what illustrations I could find, to show this “in action”, and, I hoped, to give me an idea whether this was a brief fad, or a long-running fashion. My particular hope was to show whether it ran throughout the periods cited in Dalton and Bartgis’s blogs, which cover the range of periods I re-enact, as a Sailor. I was pleased to find that artists of the period often showed some variation of “training.”

The Cuthbertson book told me the style was commonly recognized as a sailors’ fashion in 1768, which suggests that it had been common for some years, so that at least gave me a fairly early confirmation, and the images I found showed that the style continued into the 19th century.

Before showing the illustrations, and photos of my own shoe “trained”, I’ll give the terminology I’ll be using, with the assistance of an illustration from American Duchess’s website, showing the parts of a shoe buckle. The buckled shoe of the eighteenth and early nineteenth century has the same sort of tongue, common today, and requires no elaboration, but the straps which buckle across the instep of the foot are no longer common. For the purpose of this article, I’ll call the strap by which the buckle is usually attached, the “chape strap”, and the strap which is then buckled to secure the shoe on the foot, as the “tongue strap”. This illustration of a buckle may help to make it clear why I use these terms:

Normally, the chape strap would be passed under the frame, but over the chape, and then passed down through the chape, (to the left of the center bar) and either folded back and tucked under, or laid against the foot, under the tongue strap. The tongue strap is then passed upward through the frame, (to the right of the center bar) and is drawn snug, with the forked tongue of the buckle passed through holes in the chape strap. In the “trained” fashion, some illustrations seem to show the tongue chape simply allowed to hang loose, without being tucked under the left end of the frame, but others  seem to show both straps drawn forward, with the tongue strap either loose, above the frame, or passed through under it, and drawn forward. Other illustrations seem to suggest, however, that the buckle may be installed in an unusual fashion, with the tongue strap buckled first, then the chape strap passed upward through both chape and frame. Ben Bartgis suggested the possibility that training might serve to speed up the process of putting on the shoes, and this method seems to me to be particularly suited for that. 

Before showing my experiments with my own shoe, I’ll show the illustrations which I felt showed both the variety of approaches, and the duration of the fashion, as I’ve been able to trace it, thus far.

I’ll start with John Singleton Copley’s evocative "Watson and the Shark" (1778). There is only one shoe visible, but it’s painted with fine detail. Here’s the close-up: 

It appears both straps are trained forward, with both passed under the frame. I’ve found this to be a somewhat challenging style to mimic, but also the one most likely to keep the shoe securely buckled to the foot.

In this detail from Gillray’s "The Liberty of the Subject" (National Maritime Museum, 1779), we see a sailor with one strap (presumably the tongue strap , as I find it’s easier to buckle the shoes with the tongue strap to the outside) trained forward under the frame. Note that the Tailor being pressed into naval service has a loose strap, which may be in imitation, or may simply be because he’s being roughly handled.

In Carrington Bowles’ “The True British Tar” (1785) we see a single strap hanging loose, not passed under the frame. It appears his left shoe may be styled in the same manner, but this isn’t clearly depicted. Here’s the detail:

Next, we have “Poor Jack”, By Bowles and Carver (1790). In this case, we see both shoes, with one loose strap, drawn over the frame.

Be sure to visit Napoleonic Tars: 1790-1820 for Part Two.

The conclusion, Part Three, can be found here.

Jack the Guinea Pig, 1790

"Jack the Guinea Pig," C. Sheppard, 1790, Bodleian Ballads Online.

The author of "Jack the Guinea Pig" wrote a cheerful and peppy ballad of the joys of life at sea, and how hardened sailors can revel in their difficulties. To accompany this piece, the prolific engraver C. Sheppard illustrated a party of tars drinking atop a rum or water cask, taking delight in the suffering of the nearby landsmen. As the ballad writer put it:

When we sail with a freshening breeze,
And landsmen all grow sick, sir,
The sailor lolls with his mind at ease,
And the song and the can go quick, sir.
Laughing here,
Quaffing there,
Steadily, readily,
Cheerily, merrily,
Still from care and thinking free, Is a sailor's life at sea.

Sure enough, these landsmen are having a miserable time.

The two landsmen in the left of the frame are without waistcoats. One wears a cocked hat, the other is hatless. The fellow in the background wears an unremarkable jacket and trousers that end at about the bottom of the calf with white stockings and shoes. His mate in the foreground wears a single breasted jacket with white buttons (possibly metal) and turned back cuffs with dark breeches or trousers.

To the right is a party of sailors on deck. Those that we can see have trousers. The sitting tars has close fitting trousers that show off his calves and a jacket with a single vent at the back and closed, scalloped mariner's cuffs. Though difficult to be certain, I think he is wearing a neckcloth around his neck. Certainly the other three wear neckcloths, but at least two of them are without waistcoats. All of them wear jackets and round hats with wider brims. Interestingly enough, the crowns of their round hats are both rounded and conical, showing a wider variety in round hat headgear than I've seen in any other single image.

Climbing aloft on the ratlines is a sailor on watch, wearing the same as his mates: a round hat, jacket, shirt without waistcoat, and dark trousers.

Repairing of Capt Cook's Ship in Endeavour River, 1770?

"Repairing of Capt Cook's Ship in Endeavour River," artist unknown, date unknown, National Maritime Museum.

The famous barque Endeavour was the trusty vessel that Captain James Cook commanded on his exploration expedition of 1769-1771. Captain Cook and his men faced numerous perils on their journey, and in this particular scene the Endeavour is being repaired after striking a reef off of Australia. Beside the shore where she was run up and repaired runs a river that now bears her name. This is the second time I have visited this storied shore.

Unfortunately, this piece is low resolution, and doesn't yield much, but there is still something to e said of the sailors in it.

At a pair of boats in the background, two sailors maneuver spars or oars. One, standing or sitting in the boat, wears a jockey style barge cap and jacket, with what appears to be the neckcloth hanging over his back. His mate wears a pair of trousers and a jacket.

In the foreground, a sailor cooks over a large cauldron while wearing a round hat, single breasted jacket, and plain trousers.

Inspecting the damage is a standing tar who wears a round hat, single breasted jacket, and what might be petticoat trousers or trousers. The cox wears the same, except he may be wearing breeches. And the oarsman is bare headed.

Penn's Treaty with the Indians, 1771-1772

Penn's Treaty with the Indians, Benjamin West, 1771-1772, Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Art via With Art Philadelphia.

Benjamin West was a Pennsylvania born artist who specialized in historical scenes. He is perhaps most famous for his "Death of General Wolfe," which I have featured here before.

West was a contemporary of General Wolfe, but not of William Penn. In this painting, West relates the famous treaty with the Lenape that was signed shortly after the establishment of the colony of Pennsylvania.

West illustrates the scene almost a century after it happened, but the clothing of both the Pennsylvania Quakers surrounding Penn and the sailors that carry their trade goods are apparently unchanged from West's own time.

This is not the first time an artist of the eighteenth century depicted sailors of the seventeenth in anachronistic clothing. Today's popular culture often depicts sailors as either pirates or whalers, with an implied idea that those sailors were wearing basically the same slop clothes throughout the centuries with little change. The concept of the rigidly unchanging tar's slop clothes appears to have existed in the past as well.

Though this painting depicts a scene from the seventeenth century, it depicts sailors in the clothing of the time it was painted, and so I will be tagging it and including it in my examination of common sailor's clothing of the mid to late eighteenth century.

At the center of the piece and kneeling beside Penn, a pair of sailors offer trade goods to Tamanend, a chief of the Turtle Clan of the Lenape.

The sailor in the background wears remarkably close cut hair, a white collared shirt, and a purple neckcloth with white spots. He also sports a blue jacket.

His mate wears a green waistcoat with a yellow neckcloth and white shirt. His plain petticoat trousers run down to below the knee, and a bright red cloth garter snakes out from beneath the hem. Our sailor's stockings are dark blue, and his shoes are black or brown.

In his compositional study for this painting, Benjamin West original depicted the sailor at center with a longer waistcoat, but shortened it in the final piece. Shortening the waistcoat serves to make it more appropriate to the fashions of the 1770's. This small detail supports the theory that they are depicted in clothes that are more contemporary with West than intended as strictly historical.

The first thing that should be addressed is whether these men are sailors at all. Short hair, petticoat trousers, and jackets with mariner's cuffs could certainly suggest that they are. Back when I wrote the piece on West's "Death of General Wolfe," there was some objection that those figures were sailors, as their clothing had some overlap with rangers. These men, however, are clearly shown resting over crates with more being hauled up by their mates from the Delaware River. There can be little doubt that these are indeed sailors.

Here's where it gets interesting.

Sitting in the foreground is a sailor showing off something I have never seen before: bare knees and thighs beneath petticoat trousers. There are many, many examples of sailors wearing breeches beneath their petticoat trousers. For quite some time there has been debate on whether or not sailors went without breeches beneath their petticoat trousers, and this painting adds a bit of fuel to the fire.

Could it be that this is exceptional? His sleeves are rolled up well above the elbow, and he's taking a break from hauling heavy cargo. Could this be a nod to the historical setting, with West presuming a different fashion for sailors in the seventeenth century? If so, he would probably have made some other changes to their slop clothes. Maybe West was unfamiliar with how sailors dressed and presumed they went without breeches? As a transatlantic traveler and resident of the two largest port cities in the British empire (London and Philadelphia), it seems unlikely that an artist with an eye as trained as West's would miss a basic fact about the physical appearance of sailors.

As this is the only image to depict sailors without breeches beneath their petticoat trousers, it would be unwise to draw any conclusions.

In any case, like his mates to the right, he wears blue stockings and red garters. His shoes are black with pointed toes and white metal buckles. Out of the slit pocket of our sailor's orange waistcoat with horizontal stripes with a blue handkerchief striped with white. Around his neck is a pink or purple neckcloth, matching that of the man immediately behind him.

This sailor wears a green jacket with buttoned downed mariner's cuffs and white metal buttons. He wears a white shirt, blue stockings, plain petticoat trousers, garters, and a neckcloth identical to his mate's.

The only other tar we can see clearly is hauling a crate over his left shoulder. His knees are bared as well, showing him without breeches either. Otherwise he wears a smock and dark blue stockings.

Industry and Idleness Rewarded, c.1775

Industry and Idleness Rewarded, artist unknown, c.1775, Colonial Williamsburg.

This decorative handkerchief is a morality tale of two servants, William Goodchild and Jack Idle. These Goofus and Gallant characters follow very different paths. Goodchild becomes a high ranking political figure, while Idle is put to death.

A trope of sailors in fiction is their inherent immorality. This predates the eighteenth century, as in the novel Robinson Crusoe, wherein the title character often laments his sinful life, but says little about what he did wrong besides ignoring his father's advice and becoming a sailor.

Such is the case here. Jack Idle goes to sea in a scene reminiscent of William Hogarth's "The Idle Prentice Turn'd Away and Sent to Sea."

Jacke Idle is shown being rowed to sea, and is directed to observe the gallows over the sea, bearing a corpse as a warning to sailors. Beneath this frame is a Biblical verse surrounded in a wreath: "The wise shall inherit Substance, but shame shall be ye promotion of fools." This is an interesting translation of Proverbs 3:35, which is usually translated (and was at the time in the King James' Version of the Bible) as "The wise shall inherit glory" or "honor." This translation, and indeed the print as a whole, links wealth and political success to virtue. Bad fortune and destitution, meanwhile, are linked to vice.

Sailors then, as low class laborers, are inherently vicious.

Jack Idle, furthest aft, wears his own curly hair cut fairly short over a dark neckcloth and single breasted jacket. The sailor standing amidships wears a cocked hat bound in white taps, a bob wig or bob wig style of hair, a light neckcloth and short jacket with slit cuffs. His shirt may be striped and he is without waistcoat. Around his waist are a pair of petticoat trousers. The oarsman wears  a plain cocked hat, short hair, a dark neckcloth, and a single breasted striped jacket.

At the base of the handkerchief is a pair of illustrations showing the further rewards awaiting idleness and virtue. Ont he left is "Trade & Commerce," showing William Goodchild shaking hands with a Spaniard, while a Dutchman smokes his pipe. A bound crate bearing his initials is ashore, and more goods are being carried there.

Jack Idle, had he not been hanged, would certainly have been transported as a convict servant to Virginia or Maryland. His fate was to be equated with the enslaved shown hoeing tobacco plants.

Revolt of the Marlborough: Underestimating the Enslaved

This is the conclusion of the Revolt of the Marlborough, part of the Race, Revolt, and Piracy series. You can find parts one, two, three, and four by following the links provided.

The story of the Marlborough is one of mariners consistently underestimating the agency of their enslaved human cargo. Captain Robert Codd brought some of the men onto the quarterdeck behind the barricado to help sail the ship, Captain Thomas Jones was cocky enough to try boarding even when he held an advantageous position to disable the Marlborough by his great guns with little risk, and John Harris assumed that they must surely be lost to the sea after sailing away from the Hawk's defeat.

The newly enslaved were capable and skilled. They could sail, they could work muskets and cannon, and they could row. What the Marlborough reminds us is that despite their horrifying condition, the enslaved were also thinkers.

Of the thirty five crew members that sailed the Marlborough, the captain, mates, armed sentries, and surgeon were the subjects of the most violence. The ship's boys, cooper, sailmaker, two common sailors, and the boatswain were spared. Given the boatswain's position as disciplinarian of the crew, it is possible that the slaves viewed him as necessary for keeping the remaining white sailors in line, or that they saw him as the only one to lay a hand on white men during the voyage, earning some degree of respect. The cooper and sailmaker possessed skills that kept them off watch and therefore less likely to abuse the enslaved, which may have ensured their survival. The ship's boys offered little threat to the enslaved. When offering mercy to the sailors hiding in the tops, they even called to Harris by name.

Not numbered among the surviving crew by Harris is the cook. There are two mentions of the cook in Harris' account: when the Africans retrieve his mall to beat the wounded and dying surgeon to death, and when the cook convinces the enslaved to let Harris lead the boat ashore. It is possible that the cook was of African descent himself, otherwise it is difficult to see how he would have had any sway. In any case, he too was spared. And Harris' omission in his account of the very man who saved his life is notable.[1]  

Those the formerly enslaved chose to spare demonstrate their understanding of shipboard hierarchy. Not only did they understand which crew members were most responsible for their suffering, but they also knew which were useful for their survival.

At that, the Africans were reversing the seemingly immutable formula of the slave trade: a relatively few European sailors would restrain a great number of Africans and choose who would live and who would be put to death. Now a great number of Africans would restrain a few Europeans. These sailors might be spared, they might be thrown overboard for the sharks, or they might be killed outright.

All of this illustrates what is well known to students of the Middle Passage: enslaved Africans were not obedient cattle to be herded into slave ships and resigned to their fate. They were skilled, they were smart, and they resisted.

---
[1]  John Harris, letter to his father, London Evening Post, April 5, 1753, page 4.

Revolt of the Marlborough: Battle at Sea

This is the fourth part of The Revolt of the Marlborough. Follow these links to Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

The Bonny Africans, formerly enslaved by the Europeans, had been put ashore, as had John Harris and possibly the rest of the ship's boys. Behind them death permeated the Marlborough, where most of her European crew was killed, and certainly a significant number of Africans. Bullet scars marked the tops, where the former slaves had kept up a heavy fire for hours on the first day of the revolt.

Captain Thomas Jones had just steered the Hawk to the Bonny coast, and it was immediately evident that something was not right on the Marlborough.[1] Captain Jones was on his second voyage as commander of the Hawk, which was making her fourth voyage to Africa.[2] He'd had enough time at sea to know how other vessels ought to look, and in particular how a fellow Bristol slaver should appear. Jones ordered his men to sail to the Marlborough.

Captain Jones may have had the well being of the European crew in mind, but there was a further motivation to retake the Marlborough. If she could be retaken, he and his crew could be rewarded with salvage rights. It was, after all, legally cargo that had risen up and taken the ship. He could take possession of those slaves and the ship, selling them to double his profits for the voyage.

John Harris was safe ashore for the fight, but related the events after the fact. Jones steered the Hawk under Marlborough's stern, the point of the ship most vulnerable to cannon fire. When sizing up the ships, the scales were tipped in favor of the Hawk. She mounted two more guns than the Marlborough, and came in somewhat heavier than her potential opponent.[3]

Hailing the Marlborough, the Hawk was told the captain and much of the crew were ashore, and that she was filled with a sick crew. Jones didn't believe the lie, and sent over a yawl to investigate. When his sailors could clearly see that the Gold Coast Africans had taken possession of the ship, the Hawk leapt into action.

Detail from "The Engagement between The Arethusa and La Belle Poule, 17 June 1778," 
Francis Swaine, c.1778-82, Royal Collection Trust.

Jones could have laid on their stern and pumped the Marlborough full of shot until the Africans aboard surrendered, but such a strategy would have doubtless killed many of them, damaged the ship, and further reduced his profit. Not to mention the likelihood of killing Europeans in the mix. Instead, he opted to board her in the night.[4]

As later related in newspapers across the British empire, "the Negroes were so expert at the Great Guns and Small Arms, that they soon repelled them."[5] The Hawk, despite having superior guns, was outmatched by the perhaps 150 former slaves who were fighting not for profit but for their very lives. At that, many enslaved men were taken in wars, and as such would have been trained soldiers with experience in handling small arms. Jones severely underestimated his prey.

The next morning the Marlborough's boatswain leapt over the side and swam to the Hawk, just before the Gold Coast Africans cut their cable and raised sail, leaving behind the humiliated Hawk and the now free Bonny Africans. Months later, the Gentleman's Magazine would commemorate the victory of the former slaves, relating that after the battle they "boldly put to sea, in order to regain their own country. How sweet is liberty!"[6]

This is the last sighting that Europeans had of the Marlborough, though Harris supposed them lost. It was inconceivable to him that they might attain their goal and regain their freedom. Unfortunately, we don't know whether they ever made it back to their homes, or if they were "lost or drove to Sea," as Harris thought.[7]

Next time: some final thoughts on the Marlborough.

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[1] John Harris, letter to his father, The London Evening Post, April 5, 1753, page 4.
[2] Slave Voyages Database, accessed July 3, 2016.
[3] Bristol, Africa, and the Eighteenth Century Slave Trade to America, Volume 3: The Years of Decline, ed. Joseph Bettey, Britol Records Society: 1991, pages 49, 70.
[4] Harris, London Evening Post.
[5] The Maryland Gazette, May 10, 1753, page 2.
[6] Gentleman's Magazine, February 1, 1753.
[7] Harris, London Evening Post.

Revolt of the Marlborough: Return to Africa

This is a continuation of the Revolt of the Marlborough. Follow the links to find Part 1 and Part 2.

High aloft Captain Robert Codd hid in the fore top, over the bloodied deck where the few surviving crewmen of the Marlborough and hundreds of armed former slaves gathered. Codd could do nothing but helplessly watch as his sailors were put to work turning the Marlborough about and heading for the unseen shore.

Two tense days passed in peace while the Marlborough plowed toward the African coast.

"A Liverpool Slave Ship," William Jackson, 18th century,
Merseyside Maritime Museum.

Two days without food or water must have taken their toll on Captain Codd. His crew must have known they were close to the African shore. If they could hide him closer to the deck, where they might give him sustenance and care for any wounds he may have sustained, there was the chance he could survive. Convincing the former slaves that they needed to tend to the sails on the foremast, the sailors climbed aloft and remarkably rescued the captain from the top, hiding him in the forestay.

According to Harris' account, the very next morning the African coast rose on the horizon. That same morning, the former slaves also spotted Captain Codd's coat skirt peeking out of the sail in which he was hidden. Codd's punishment for killing hundreds and enslaving thousands was a swift one. "They...went to him, cut his belly open, and toss'd him over-board."

With the highest symbol of European oppression gone over the side, the Africans turned to reaching shore and their freedom.

Detail from "A Launch of Spaniards weighing an Anchor at Teneriff,"
Gabriel Bray, 1775, National Maritime Museum.

Though some distance from a windward shore, the "Gold Coast slaves" ordered the boats loaded so they could make for the coast. While Harris was dismissive of the idea of making the run in the small yawl and long boat, the coast was home to a number of slavers, and if those ships found the Africans in possession of the Marlborough, they would surely try to take it back, claiming the ship and her human cargo as salvage. Small boats might slip by undetected, or could be passed off as the legitimate possessions of the Africans.

Loading up the boats "as deep with Goods and small Slaves as she could swim," the Gold Coast Africans prepared to put in to shore. Now, seemingly safe from European intervention, the old cultural divisions came to the surface. The Bonny Africans refused to remain on the Marlborough, perhaps fearing the boats would not come back for them once ashore. When the Gold Coast Africans tried to prevent them from getting into the boats, a panic broke out, and the boats were sunk under the weight of panicked people.

Harris later stated that the Gold Coast Africans refused to let the drowning Bonny Africans back onto the boat, "which drown'd upwards of an hundred of them." Even allowing for the likely exaggeration, there was clearly a significant loss of life. Anger boiled over, and the two factions ignored their common goal to fight. Harris records that they fought all through that night, stopping only in the morning to eat before fighting again.

Somehow, peace was regained. The two sides clearly despised each other, but it must have been obvious that unless they worked together, none of them would return home. Once the fighting had stopped, the Marlborough was brought in close to shore. Though made nervous by the sight of gathered slave ships, the Africans decided to risk going ashore.

The punt, possibly the only surviving boat of the Marlborough, was put to work ferrying the Bonny Africans ashore. It is possible that this was part of a truce between the factions: the Bonny Africans would be put ashore as soon as possible to assuage their fears and allow for the Gold Coast Africans to make sail for their own home without any further, fruitless conflict. After some debate, Harris was loaded into the punt to help guide it to shore.[1]

Harris makes no mention of a daring escape, or that the Africans on the Marlborough expected him to return. It may be that as a white man, Harris was a tool used to cover the movement of former slaves under a veil of legitimacy right under the spyglasses of gathered slave ships, and then released. About eight sailors were kept aboard the Marlborough, likely to guide it to the Gold Coast.[2]

For a few days the Marlborough lay at anchor within sight of the slavers, though it is unclear why. The remaining Gold Coast Africans had command of the Marlborough now, and were about to face their next great challenge.

Next time: A sea battle between slavers and the Africans of the Marlborough.

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[1] John Harris, letter to his father, London Evening Post, April 5, 1753, page 4.
[2] John Harris, letter to his father, Felix Farley’s Bristol Journal, March 24-31, 1753.