E. Keble Chatterton

The first decade of the nineteenth century had been very unfortunate for the East India Company. There had been the losses of those ships already mentioned, owing to disasters at sea. This meant not only the loss to the Company of the rich cargoes, but of the advances to the owners amounting to thousands of pounds. The French war had also not merely interfered with the coming and going of the merchant ships, but it had thrown the whole of Europe into such a state of bewilderment that commerce generally was paralysed, and therefore the trade in Indian goods to the different parts of the Continent was exceedingly curtailed. Notwithstanding all that had been done by the Act of 1796, and the superintendence which was exercised over the Company, the latter was anything but prosperous. It had been engaged in hostilities with the Mahrattas and other Eastern powers. The result had been the acquisition of vast territory which was shortly to be for the good of the British Empire. But the immediate result of all this was that the Company’s finances were in a crippled condition. Later on we shall see what a wholesale effect the abolition of the monopoly had on the Eastern trade, dating from the year 1813: but before we come to that I desire to give the reader a fair account of the conditions of life in the East Indiamen of the first part of the nineteenth century. We shall presently proceed to examine these in greater detail, but it will greatly assist the imagination if we look into contemporary accounts left behind by officers who put to sea in these craft.

And first of all let us take the account of that Captain Eastwick whom we introduced to the reader on an earlier page. This time he was proceeding to India, not in his capacity of mercantile officer, but as a passenger. Nevertheless his ripe knowledge and experience were of the greatest value to these East Indiamen, as will be seen. It was a tedious business in those days to get down to Portsmouth, where the wealthier passengers used to join the East Indiamen. Eastwick was taking out to India his sister-in-law on a visit to her brother-in-law, Colonel Gordon. The journey was made to Portsmouth by road, of course, and those who have motored along this Portsmouth road scarcely realise how tedious and risky the journey was in those days. In the month of January 1809 Eastwick and his sister-in-law set out on their journey with a good deal of luggage and jewellery, as well as a hundred pounds in money. They had to cross Hounslow Heath, which was then infested with robbers, and there was every probability of the post-boys being held up, the horses shot and the passengers relieved of their possessions. However, in the present case the journey to Portsmouth was made without adventure, where it was learnt that the Neptune East Indiaman would not sail for another ten days.

This was a vessel of 1200 charter tons, and one of the largest of the East India Company’s fleet, being employed for the voyage to Bombay and China, this being her sixth trip thereto. She was owned by Sir William Fraser, Bart., and commanded by Captain William Donaldson, under whom were a chief officer and three mates, a surgeon and a purser. After the Neptune and her fellow-ships of the Company’s fleet had at last got under way a storm came up—the reader will remember that this year, 1809, was notorious for its virulent weather—and as a result the Henry Addington, another East Indiaman of about the same size, got driven to the eastward round Selsey Bill and struck the Bognor Rocks to the north-eastward of the Bill, and it was only with difficulty that she got off and reached Portsmouth again. This storm had dispersed the whole of the Company’s fleet outward-bound, and the Neptune had found herself in the vicinity of the Channel Islands, where she was in extreme danger. Captain Donaldson ordered the second mate to go aloft and help to take in the foretopsail, but this the officer refused to do, and he was instantly “broke.”

Eastwick thereupon volunteered to fill his place, and this offer was gladly accepted temporarily, the Neptune eventually sailing across the English Channel once more and let go anchor on the Mother Bank (to the west of Ryde, Isle of Wight). Here the ship was refitted for a second attempt, and the second mate had his place now taken by a Mr Richard Alsager, who had lately been M.P. for Surrey. At length the Neptune was ready for sea once more, the heavy weather had given way to beautiful summer, and the wind was fair for making a quick passage down the English Channel: so on 21st June the East India fleet weighed anchor and proceeded, consisting of the Neptune, Henry Addington, Scaleby Castle and the True Briton. These ships were all pretty much of the same size, though the True Briton was of 1198 charter tons. So fine did the weather continue that when the fleet was two days out from England the captain of the Neptune gave a dance on board to the passengers of all the ships, and the following evening another dance was given by the captain of the Henry Addington. Fortunately the passengers were safely rowed across the ocean to the entertaining vessel, and back. But most people will agree with Eastwick’s criticism of this foolish proceeding. “I did not consider it prudent at such a season of the year to do these things at sea.”

So the voyage continued as far as Table Bay with everything in their favour. After rounding the Cape, the Neptune, the Scaleby Castle and the True Briton shaped a course for Bombay, but the Henry Addington was compelled to stay behind in order to repair a bad leak that had broken out afresh. This was doubtless a relic of the incident on Bognor Rocks. Whilst approaching Madagascar Captain Donaldson invited the other two captains to come on board and dine with him, and during the conversation the subject came up of the disagreeable weather met with during the south-west monsoon on going into Bombay. Eastwick offered that if no pilot were available he would take the squadron in, and this the three captains accepted. The next day they encountered just that experience which the reader will remember occurred to some of the first English sailors when bound to India. For a heavy clap of thunder—“so loud it sounded as though a hundred great guns were going off”—broke over the Neptune and an extraordinary flash of lightning took place, and so close that Eastwick declares he saw many electric balls darting into the water. The chief officer was on watch at the time, and came running aft. He announced that the ship had been struck in the foremast and that the lightning had knocked down four of the men. It took the crew afterwards sixteen hours to repair the damage, get up the new foretopmast, foretopgallant mast and yard, for the original ones had been rendered useless.

As the squadron approached Bombay they got into the south-west monsoon, with very thick, dirty weather and a tremendous sea running. It was when they were just a day’s sail off Bombay that the captain of the True Briton, who was acting as commodore of the squadron, made the signal: “Will Eastwick stand by his promise?” This was immediately answered by the affirmative signal, and then the commodore ran up another: “Neptune, go ahead, and lead the way.” So, although a passenger, Eastwick had the honour of taking the squadron into Bombay harbour and never picked up a pilot until ready to let go anchor.

But even more illuminating than Eastwick is a man named Thomas Addison, who was born on 18th December 1785, and made a dozen voyages in the old East Indiamen, entering the service as a midshipman of the Marquis Wellesley in February 1802, and eventually rising to fifth mate, and so to first mate by May 1817. There are of course plenty of log-books and journals still existing, but one has to wade through many pages before one finds anything of real interest. In the case of Addison, however, there is so much in his journals that reveals to us the life and the incidents on board these old ships of the Company’s service that we cannot feel other than grateful that the MS. still exists. After his death these journals eventually passed into the hands of a Norfolk rector, who was good enough to place them in the hands of the Navy Records Society, and a few years ago they were edited by Sir John Laughton and published under the auspices of that Society. It is to this source that I am indebted for the information which is afforded by Addison, though space will not allow of more than a brief outline of his experiences.

He was able to obtain a berth in the Honourable Company’s “Maritime Service” (as it was called, in contradistinction to the Company’s Marine) owing to the influence of a Mr Edmund Antrobus, a teaman and banker in the Strand. The latter took the sixteen-year-old youth and introduced him to a Mr Matthew White, who was the managing owner of the ship Marquis of Wellesley, by whom the midshipman’s appointment had been granted. She was a vessel of 818 charter tons and was now about to start on her second voyage to India, her commander being Captain Bruce Mitchell. Mr White gave Addison a letter of introduction to the chief officer, named Le Blanc, and after the boy had completed his sea-going kit he was taken down to the ship at Gravesend by Mr Antrobus. Addison was now handed over to his future messmates, and then began his initiation. As so many of these old-time ceremonies have long since passed away, it may not be out of place to say Addison was sent up into the mizen top, outside the futtocks, where according to custom he should have been seized up to the rigging by a couple of seamen, had he not received the tip to promise them beforehand a gallon of beer. “In lieu of which, by the by, five gallons was afterwards demanded of me by my messmates, stating that the mizen top was their sole prerogative. This is a very old usage practised on board all ships, considered a fair claim from all strangers on first going aloft.”

In addition to the captain, there were the chief officer, three mates and a large crew. In all there were thirty officers and petty officers, the whole complement amounting to 151, which nowadays would be thought enormous for a ship of her size. The men received two months’ wages in advance before sailing, and in February 1802 made sail down the Thames from Gravesend under the charge of one of the Company’s pilots, who brought her safely into the Downs, where the wind was blowing hard from the south-west, sending in a high sea. Addison was destined at once to have excitement, for about sundown, whilst his Majesty’s frigate Egyptienne was coming to anchor in the Downs, she had shortened sail and left herself too little way to shoot ahead of the Indiaman, with the result that she fell broadside on to the Marquis Wellesley’s bows, tearing away the latter’s cutwater and bowsprit, bringing down the foretopmast also, making in fact a clean sweep of the ship forward. The merchantman was lying to a single anchor at the time, but although it blew most of a gale during the night the ship rode it out all right, and next morning, the weather having moderated, the frigate’s commander sent some hands on board to give the ship a temporary refit. After this the Indiaman proceeded to Portsmouth, where she was fully repaired alongside a man-of-war hulk. On the 4th of March she went out of harbour and anchored at Spithead, where she took on board a number of his Majesty’s dragoons, as well as forty-nine of the East India Company’s troops and their wives for India. The next day, having received the Company’s packet from the India House and the despatches for Bengal and Madras, she weighed anchor in the afternoon and proceeded down Channel.

The last of old England was sighted the following day, and then anchors were unbent and all harbour gear stowed away for the long voyage. Madeira was sighted on the 14th of that month—not a bad passage for a sailing ship—and on the 4th of April the Equator was passed, where the usual ceremonies of crossing the line were undergone. “It being my own and Newton’s [a young messmate’s] first trip into Neptune’s dominions, we underwent the accustomed and awful ordeal of shaving by the hands of his Majesty’s barber, thereby rendering us free mariners of the ocean.” On 24th April they were off the Cape of Good Hope, and on 21st June sighted Ceylon, and three days later arriving at Madras, “Found Admiral Rainier’s squadron riding here, consisting of eight sail. Shortly afterwards a sham fight took place with the fleet and shore, followed by a grand illumination displayed from ships as well as the shore, likewise fireworks and rockets, in commemoration of the Peace of Amiens.”

The Marquis Wellesley left Madras again in February 1803, after visiting ports on the coast, and in July fell in with an American bound from Gibraltar to Boston, and learned from her that war had been declared between England and France, so cartridges were filled and every preparation made on board the East Indiaman for defending herself. On the nineteenth of that month a strange sail appeared. The Indiaman made her private signal, but the stranger did not answer and sailed away. But at midnight she returned and was coming up fast, so the Indiaman at once prepared for action, Addison acting as powder-monkey. But presently she was found to be H.M. frigate Endymion, and sent a boat to the Indiaman in charge of a lieutenant and pressed eight of the merchant ship’s men, for the frigate had captured so many prizes that he had more prisoners on board than all his ship’s company. But before the mouth of the English Channel was reached the Marquis Wellesley was to have further exciting experiences. A few days after the previously mentioned incident, two ships were descried one morning while the people were at breakfast. At first Captain Mitchell bore up to assist one which was flying English colours, but one of the passengers (apparently of the sea-lawyer type which still survives) protested “against the legal propriety of such proceeding on the part of an Indiaman volunteering her services in such an affair,” so Mitchell put his ship again on her course, much to the indignation of a choleric colonel, for the ship with the English colours was subsequently captured.

Later on a large ship hove in sight on the weather bow and stood down towards the Marquis Wellesley. It was now night and the latter at once cleared for action and showed two tiers of lights. The stranger was hailed seven times before it could be ascertained that she was H.M.S. Plantagenet with a sloop-of-war as tender in company. Her captain came on board and complimented Captain Mitchell on the good arrangements made for the defence of the ship, and as he walked round the decks the men remained at quarters. He was good enough also to compliment Mitchell on the clever manner in which he had manoeuvred his ship to prevent a raking broadside, but before leaving he “impressed a few hands from us.”

On the 1st of August the Indiaman anchored in the Downs, and one of the Company’s pilots came aboard and took charge of her, bringing with him a number of “ticket-men” to work the ship up the Thames. These were men who were sent from a man-of-war in place of such as had been impressed. On the third of the month the ship had reached her moorings off the Gun Wharf, Deptford, and four days later discharged the ship’s company and hired gangs to deliver the cargo. And then came the final, dramatic touch to this voyage: “Shortly afterwards found that Mr White, managing owner of the Marquis Wellesley, had become bankrupt and was unable to pay the ship’s company.”

Addison’s first voyage had thus begun and ended with adventures. He had got back in the summer of 1803 and soon began to prepare for a second voyage. Through the good offices of his friend Mr Antrobus he once more obtained a berth as midshipman, this time in the Brunswick. The latter was a ship of 1200 charter tons, and was about to make her sixth voyage out to Ceylon and China. On being introduced to Captain James Ludovic Grant, the latter made him senior midshipman and his coxswain, as none of the other youngsters had yet been to sea. The midshipmen were allowed a cabin, servant and every comfort, and though Captain Grant was regarded as a martinet and disciplinarian, yet he was by no means unpopular among Addison’s messmates, “supporting his mids as officers and gentlemen.” “There were five of us; two were stationed as signal midshipmen, as he was commodore; the other three in three watches, one in each. I was in the latter; never allowed to quit the lee side of the quarter-deck, except on duty or on general occasions of reefing or furling. Two of us dined with him every day, and nothing could exceed his politeness and kindness at table.”

Captain Grant had served as midshipman in the Royal Navy in the Prince George with the Duke of Clarence, who at the time we are speaking of was now George III. Grant had reached the rank of lieutenant in the navy, and was serving aboard a frigate in the West Indies in the year 1786. The captain died and then it was decided to continue the cruise, Grant as first lieutenant, and a brother officer named Hugh Lindsay as captain. However, when at length they reached England their conduct was so badly criticised that they had to resign their commissions. Both officers therefore did the next best thing and joined the East India Company’s service, Grant being now commander of the Brunswick, whilst Lindsay had the Lady Jane Dundas, a vessel of 820 tons.

During the month of February, then, the Brunswick, having taken on board her cargo and stores, dropped down the Thames to the Lower Hope, where she received on board passengers and the remainder of her crew, who received their usual advance. Colonel Hatton and staff of the King’s 66th Regiment came on board, together with about 350 privates: and a little later the ship sailed to Portsmouth. Here she remained till the 20th of March, when she came out of harbour and ran across to the Motherbank, where she anchored. Here the whole fleet of East Indiamen, together with their naval convoy, were assembled. This consisted of nine ships—his Majesty’s frigate Lapwing, and the Company’s ships Brunswick, Marquis of Ely, Addison’s former ship the Marquis of Wellesley, the Lady Jane Dundas (Captain Hon. Hugh Lindsay, Grant’s old shipmate), the Marchioness of Exeter, the Lord Nelson, the Princess Charlotte and the Canton. The captain of the Marquis Wellesley was now Charles Le Blanc, who had been “chief” when Addison first went to sea.

It must have been a magnificent sight to have witnessed this fine fleet getting under way and setting their canvas that afternoon at a signal from the frigate. Under close-reefed topsails they ran down the Solent and past the Needles with a fresh breeze from north by east. Four and a half hours after leaving the Motherbank they had dropped their pilot in the English Channel, and by eleven that night they were nine miles off the Portland lights, with a gale working up and thick, hazy weather. This caused the fleet to be scattered and topsails were taken in, but towards morning the weather moderated. Getting into the north-east trade-wind the Brunswick soon reeled off the miles, though the units of the fleet were still much dispersed, thus making it much easier for the enemy to inflict injury if met with.

On the 7th of April Addison has this entry in his journal:—

“Trimmed ship by the head with 200 pigs of lead. The missing ships rejoined the convoy with two whalers. On a Saturday (weather permitting) constantly exercised great guns, and small arms frequently, with powder blank cartridges. My station at quarters was aide-de-camp to the captain.”

And then there are several instances of the way discipline was maintained on board in those days of flogging:—

“9th. John McDonald, seaman, was punished with a dozen for insolence to the boatswain....

“12th. Punished T. Botler, seaman, with a dozen for neglect, etc.”

A VIEW OF THE EAST INDIA DOCKS AS THEY APPEARED IN THE EARLY NINETEENTH CENTURY.
(By courtesy of Messrs. T. H. Parker Brothers)

Larger image

On the following day the frigate parted company with the fleet to return to England, so the Brunswick became commodore ship. On the 23rd of June the squadron was in the Mozambique Passage, and at daylight espied a strange brig to the south-east. Sail was therefore made, the Lord Nelson having been signalled to chase with the Brunswick, and the Dundas to lead the fleet on a north-east-by-north course. At 7 A.M. the brig tacked, and half-an-hour later the Brunswick also tacked. At eight o’clock Grant ordered his squadron to heave-to, and at noon was coming up fast with the brig. Half-an-hour later he had reached her and found her to be the French La Charlotte of four guns and twenty-nine men. She had left the Isle de France twenty-eight days previously and was bound for the Mozambique. She was now a prisoner, and Commodore Grant accordingly sent on board the Brunswick’s second officer, Mr Benjamin Bunn, Addison, five seamen and twenty soldiers in the cutter to take possession of her. Her captain, a lieutenant, a midshipman and ten seamen were brought off to the Brunswick, and at three in the afternoon the brig was taken in tow, but two hours later she was cast off. Eventually, after the captains of the other English ships had come aboard and joined in a consultation, Grant decided that the prize was not worth keeping. So all her cargo of muskets were thrown into the sea, and afterwards she was handed over again to her French captain, who went aboard her with his men, very thankful to be allowed to take possession once more.

About the middle of June the East Indiamen reached Trincomalee and saluted H.M.S. Centurion with eleven guns, which respect was returned. But it is typical of the time that the following day a lieutenant came off from the Centurion and pressed ten of the Indiamen’s men, and a little later three more seamen deserted and joined H.M.S. Sheerness. Having disembarked the troops and baggage, assisted by the boats of his Majesty’s ships, the Brunswick once more put to sea, and two days later brought up in Madras Roads, where she saluted the fort with nine guns, and received a similar salute in return. Here also a lieutenant from H.M.S. Wilhelmina came aboard and pressed four more men. Here the Brunswick remained some weeks, landing the Company’s cargo, taking on board cotton and other goods for Captain Grant’s own account—on a later page the reader will learn how much cargo a captain was allowed to ship for himself—and after the vessel’s rigging had been refitted, and her hull painted, she prepared for sea.

Meanwhile the Company’s ships which had come out with her bound for Bengal had sailed to the north, but on the 13th of August H.M. frigate Caroline, which was now to convoy the East Indiamen bound for China, made the signal for the fleet to unmoor, and then proceeded on the voyage. The fleet went through the Singapore Straits, the convoy being kept in close order of sailing as Admiral Linois was known to be cruising in the China Sea. It was now September, and the reader will recollect that in February of that year his squadron had been put to flight by Commodore Dance. The East India squadron now consisted of the Company’s ships Brunswick, Glatton, Cirencester, Walmer Castle, Marquis of Ely, Thames, Canton, Winchelsea, ten country ships, and convoyed by five of his Majesty’s ships—the Caroline, Grampus, La DÉdaigneuse, Russell and Dasher, the first-mentioned being the commodore’s ship.

Arrived at the mouth of the Tiger, permission was obtained from two mandarins to pass, as was the custom in those days when China was still so little open to the European. And the way the fleet was able to navigate the river by night at the last quarter of the flood is most interesting. Two Chinese pilots had been taken on board the Brunswick, and in order to denote the channel across the bar by night a row of fifty boats with lights was placed on one side, and another fifty on the other, the ship of course to sail between. When the Brunswick was about in mid-channel one of the pilots sang out “port littee,” while the other contradicted him by shouting “starboard littee.” Captain Grant was not the man to be humbugged in this manner, so he kicked one of these men overboard, and the other immediately jumped after. The lights were at once put out and the Brunswick grounded on the bar. The tide soon began to fall, and in spite of carrying out a kedge she refused to budge. So the top-gallant yards and masts were sent down, the guns were put into the launches which were sent by the other ships of the fleet, and eventually next day the Brunswick was floated at high water, but at once swung round and took the ground again, and the tide ebbed out.

In order to lighten her forward, the bower anchors were made fast between boats, and the stream anchor was taken out in the launch ready for the next flood, and with the last quarter of that tide she came off; the hawsers were slipped, and while the anchors were being recovered Captain Grant backed and filled across the channel and finally came to anchor again.

Addison tells us of an interesting custom in the Company’s service at that time. For each season the senior captain was allowed £500 “table money,” as we should call it, for public dinners and various expenses, the second captain in seniority being allowed £300 for the same purposes. The ships took their turn to act as guardship, naval fashion, and whichever ship’s turn it was so to act on a Sunday, the captain was to attend on board together with his surgeon. And during the whole day, up till eight o’clock in the evening, one of his sworn officers was to row guard up and down the fleet, after which he was to make his report to the senior ship. But when the viceroy and the leading Chinese authorities made their visits to these English ships in state they were received with great ceremony, which is curiously absent from the modern merchant ship.

Many hundred local craft would put off to the East Indiamen. The English captains were on board to receive them, the yards were manned and every possible display was made. An officer was first sent in full uniform to compliment the great man—John Tuck, as the English sailor nicknamed him, owing to the fact that in the fore end of his boat he kept gallows to tuck up any unfortunate who displeased him. Having come alongside the East Indiaman, the great man always refused to trust his valuable life to the ropes and accommodations supplied for entering the ship, but used his own long ladders. Business was duly contracted, and then he would make a present to the ship’s company of bullocks, flour, fruit and a vile, maddening spirit of a most intoxicating nature, which the men were made to exchange for something better. After this the captains all dined together on board a large chop boat.

The fleet remained here from October till the first day of 1805, and then got under way with fine cargoes of teas for England. But the Brunswick never reached England. Doubtless owing to the damage sustained when she got aground on the bar she developed a serious leak, and made for Ceylon and Bombay, where she was docked and repaired, her tea being sent to England in another ship. The Brunswick was now sent back to China again with a cargo of cotton, which would have been a very lucrative affair. But there was a good deal of trouble with the crew, many of the men deserting to the warships, until at last Captain Grant sent every man he had in the launch on board a British frigate. The latter’s captain selected from these all that were worth having and then sent the rest back to the Brunswick.

When the latter set sail from Bombay for China on 1st July 1805 she was very ill-manned, consequent on nearly the whole of the ship’s company having been pressed by the navy. There were not twenty European seamen on board to work this big ship. The guns had to be manned by Chinamen, with only one European seaman at each. For the rest lascars had to be relied upon. In such a weak condition she put to sea, together with a couple of country ships, keeping as near each other as possible. But a few days later at break of day two strange sail were discovered to the eastward. The Sarah made a signal that the strangers looked suspicious. Later on the Brunswick perceived that one was a line-of-battle ship and the other a frigate. But the Sarah signalled that she thought they were friends. However, the Brunswick was much less credulous and had already cleared for action, hoisting her private signal (which was not answered) and hoisting her British colours. The stranger presently answered by showing St George’s colours. The line-of-battle ship then tacked in order to get into such a position as to rake the Brunswick from aft. The frigate passed to leeward and exchanged St George’s colours for the French national colours, giving the Brunswick a broadside as she passed. This was immediately returned, but as the ship was heeling over at a great angle, the lee guns could not be elevated sufficiently to do any damage to the enemy.

But the Brunswick was clearly to be out-manoeuvred. The frigate went about just astern of the Indiaman, and as she was then observed to be coming on fast, Captain Grant kept his ship as full as possible, hoping to be able to run her ashore. The frigate, however, approached at such a pace, and the line-of-battle ship was also so close that the Brunswick would assuredly have been sunk by the line-of-battle ship’s broadside before taking the ground. After consultation with his officers Grant was reluctantly compelled to strike his colours and surrender to the enemy off the coast of Ceylon. A boat came off—and then, well the line-of-battle ship was none other than Admiral Linois’ Marengo, and the big frigate was the Belle Poule, which had fought and run away the previous year from Commodore Dance. Linois was stationed in those Eastern waters for the express purpose of harassing and cutting up our trade, avoiding the British ships-of-war. Any modern strategist would tell you that whilst this kind of hostility is very annoying to the power attacked, it cannot afford any lasting good. The same kind of folly was attempted, you will remember, by the Russians interfering with Japanese merchantmen in the East during the late war, and the practical value of this measure was nil.

However, Linois may have remembered that he who fights and runs away will live to fight another day. He had been compelled to fly before Dance, but this time he got his revenge. You may ask what England was doing to leave those seas unpoliced. The answer is that as a matter of fact Indiamen had to rely on naval convoys when they could be got, and Rear-Admiral Sir Thomas Troubridge, who had been one of Nelson’s captains at the Battle of the Nile, was actually escorting, in H.M.S. Blenheim, eleven more Indiamen. The two courses were converging and presently we shall see them meet.

Needless to say, it was with great grief that Captain Grant, all his officers and midshipmen (excepting the chief officer and surgeon) were put on board the Marengo, whilst the frigate went in pursuit of the Sarah. The latter, however, ran herself ashore with all sail set, but the crew were saved. Admiral Linois received Captain Grant with every courtesy, and the Brunswick was ordered to a rendezvous nearer the Cape of Good Hope. Before the month was out, when a fog which had settled down lifted for a while, the Marengo suddenly found herself close to a large convoy of Indiamen. The former instantly cleared for action and firing began. It was Troubridge with his convoy! But nothing much came of this, and the contending forces separated during the night. To cut the story short, Addison and his shipmates were landed in South Africa, whence they were taken to St Helena by an American brig. From there they reached England in a British frigate, landing at Spithead, and so making their way to London. As for the poor old Brunswick, she drove ashore on the South African coast, and so ended her days.

If Addison had been unfortunate in the ending of his first voyage, so in this he was again unlucky. “According to the Company’s law,” he writes in his journal, “having been captured by an enemy, or the ship in any way wrecked or destroyed, the captain, officers and crew forfeit their pay and wages, consequently we have no claim upon the owners of the late Brunswick for at least twenty months’ hard duty on board of her.” However, he was now wedded to the sea, and the next time he went in his first ship, the Marquis Wellesley, as fifth mate, with Charles Le Blanc as captain, and in her he served during the following years till he went as second mate in another of the Company’s ships. I make no apology to the reader for giving so much detail in this connection, for Addison’s and Eastwick’s accounts tell us just those intimate details which show the risks of many sorts which had to be encountered in the old days when the sailing ship was still far from perfect, and those handsome, fast China tea-clippers had not yet come into being to startle the world with their record runs. No doubt the captains of these East Indiamen of which we are speaking were often hated by their men for their severity: but those were no kid-glove days, and a voyage was not a thing of certainty as with the modern liner, which maintains a punctuality almost equal to that of a passenger train. If a captain retired after a few voyages with a nice little fortune, he certainly deserved it. For he was a long time before he reached a command, and there was scarcely a day during the whole of those long voyages when he was not plunged into some sort of anxiety. Anything might happen; from having his sails blown out of his ship and carrying away his best spars to losing the ship herself, her cargo, her men. Every force seemed to be up against him—gales of wind, uncharted seas, coasts and rivers, privateers, warships of the enemy: even the warships of his own country snatched out of his vessel his best men. And then, to add insult to injury, he came home to find either his managing owners gone bankrupt or a by-law which prevented him from receiving his hard-earned pay.

Yes, taking it by and large, he deserved his good luck when it came his way; but when it was absent, he did his best and more for the British capitalist and merchant princes than the latter ever cared to acknowledge. In the history of Eastern development and civilisation the shipmaster of these old Indiamen ought to occupy a high place of respect and admiration. He has left behind a magnificent example for his successors to follow.

When a passenger in the olden days joined an East Indiaman as she lay in the Downs he had to be rowed off by one of the Deal boatmen. These “sharks” often made a fine thing out of such passengers, for the latter were completely at the mercy of the former. In calm weather the boatman was willing to row the passenger aboard for the sum of five shillings (or more if he could get it). But in the case of dirty weather and the nasty lop which gets up here with onshore winds the passenger had to pay as much as three guineas and sometimes even five: it was all a question of bargaining between himself and the boatman. Inasmuch as the passenger had to get aboard the big ship at all costs, and since the only method possible was to employ one of these Deal boatmen, the competition was solely between the boatmen themselves. But these fellows were so closely bound together, owing to the ties of relationship and their co-operation in extensive smuggling, that the passenger could scarcely help being fleeced.

Having at last arrived on board, weary of his coach drive from London, drenched with the sea-spray scooped up by the Deal galley, the passenger bound for India in those days set forth with not the light heart and eagerness with which the modern traveller embarks on an East-bound liner. If contemporary accounts are to be trusted, the mere anticipation was a kind of terrible nightmare. The passenger often enough would retire at once to his cot, and remain there for days prostrate with sea-sickness. The cuddy would not see him at meals until the Bay of Biscay had been passed and finer, warmer weather encountered. Some of the Company’s cadets bound out to enter this corporation’s Indian army were utter scamps, and the only way to get them out of their cots was to cut the lanyards which kept the latter up. Before they had reached the Equator they had begun to find their sea-legs, and they were compelled to take part in the usual ceremonies of crossing the line. In the accompanying illustration will be found one of these young gentlemen undergoing this initiation in one of the East Indiamen ships.

These ships, because of their bad lines and clumsy proportions, could scarcely rely on keeping up an average of more than three or four knots an hour, and their performances when compared with the voyages of the celebrated clippers in the mid-nineteenth century show the essential difference in the capabilities of the old and the new types respectively. Let the following table show how slow the old-time craft were. The reference is to an East Indiaman which left the Thames in 1746, and after voyaging to the East arrived off Scotland in 1748:—

Even one of the Company’s own ships—the Thames—which was not as fast as the China clippers presently to be started by private firms, performed the voyage between Canton and England in 115 days a little time before the East India Company lost their China monopoly. This vessel left Canton on 18th November 1831, arrived at St Helena on 28th January 1832, and was in the English Channel on the following 13th March.

An anonymous writer who flourished about the middle of the eighteenth century, on whose authority the details of the length of voyages have been given above, has left us a detailed account of a voyage to the East Indies about this time. I need not try the patience of the reader by following the entire journey, but it will suffice if we, so to speak, voyage with this traveller from England as far as St Helena. The account, which is written with great restraint, leaves the reader every opportunity to imagine the discomforts and trepidations which were the essential conditions of the long journey to the Orient in those days.

“On Thursday the 30th of July 1746, I set out from London for Gravesend, where I was agreeably entertained to see a great number of people on board the vessel, in which I was appointed to go to the East Indies, and the vast preparations, and quantities of provisions, on board, to supply the necessities of so long a voyage.

“Next day several young people came on board, inlisted to go in the service of the East India Company, where they were to remain for the space of five years at least....

“On the 2d of August we weighed anchor, passed the Nore, saluted the Royal Sovereign with nine guns, and came to an anchor in the Downs on the 3d. As the wind was variable, we were obliged to come to an anchor every now and then. On the 5th, at night, we passed Dungeness lighthouse, and, on the 8th, anchored in St Helen’s road [Isle of Wight].

“On the 10th we received on board our treasure from Portsmouth, and, among the rest, a fine large stone-horse, designed as a present from the Company to the Sultan of Benjar, an Indian Prince on the island of Borneo. After taking in more fresh provisions, we weighed anchor, and made the best of our way towards Plymouth. On the 29th we came to an anchor in Cawson [Cawsand] Bay, where, not caring to break upon our store, we sent our long-boat ashore for fresh water. Here we were to wait for a convoy. We were supplied at this place with plenty of bread, fish, etc., in small boats, rowed by a parcel of the stoutest and most masculine women I ever saw.

“On the 5th of September we had very thick weather, with hard gales of wind from S.W. so that we were obliged to lower our fore and main yards, and give great scope of cable, and even to strike our topmasts.

“On the 6th in the morning the weather abated; but, in the evening of that day, it blowed very hard. We heard the Norfolk fire several guns as signals of distress. She had parted her cable, and had run adrift before it was discovered: and she was obliged to anchor within the beacon, on the east side of the Sound, in foul and rocky ground. But, by the assistance of some of the men of war, she was again brought to an anchor in Cawson Bay.

“From the 7th to the 16th we were employed in putting everything in order aboard, and, on the 17th, the Mermaid man of war was appointed our convoy, and gave a signal for unmooring the same night.

“On Sunday the 20th of September we got under sail, the wind at NNE. When at sea, we cleared our ship fore and aft, and exercised our great guns and small arms....

“On the 27th we parted with our convoy, and made the best of our way for the island of St Helena, for which we had several stores on board.”

And so they proceeded on their journey to the south. On 9th October, when in lat. 37° 32´ N., and long. 22° 16´, “we were now beginning to feel the hot climate, so that the allowance of water, with the greatest economy, was little enough to quench thirst. We put an awning on the quarter-deck, to keep off the scorching heat of the sun.”

As to the kind of shipmates this traveller had, the following statement is sufficiently illustrative:—

“We could hardly put a stop to the frequent thefts that were committed by the soldiers, though every day one or two of them were tied to the shrouds, and severely whipt. It is indeed the less to be wondered at, as these wretches, who go as soldiers in the company’s service, are for the most part the scum of the three kingdoms, and generally go to India to screen themselves from justice at home. By their laziness and inactivity, they were over-run with vermine, and began to complain of swellings in their legs, soreness in their bones, and other symptoms of the scurvy. To prevent their infecting the ship’s company, they were brought up on deck, put into a large vessel of hot water, brushed with scrubbing brushes, and all their clothes and bedding thrown over-board....

“On the 2d of December, we had a large swelling sea, with easterly winds. At five in the morning we were surprised with a large waterspout, within three ships-length of our starboard-side. It had no sooner passed our ship, than a sudden puff of wind laid us gunwale to, which was over before we could lower our sails. We had frequent dewfalls in the night, which are very dangerous, and often mortal, if they happen to rest on the naked breast or body of a man, while asleep on the deck. A great deal of our salted pork was so rotten, that we threw several casks of it over-board.

“On the 17th, had cloudy weather, employed our cooper to set up all the water-casks, which we had knocked down as soon as they were empty, for the sake of room.

“The 22d, we kept a good look-out for St Helena, and found ourselves to be in Lat. 16° 6´, and, on the 23d, we observed several pigeons flying about the ship, a sure indication that we were near land.” This island they eventually sighted the following morning, and arriving off the fort saluted the Governor with nine guns, everyone in the ship being heartily relieved to see land once more. It should be recollected of course that St Helena had long been in the possession of the East India Company, and its geographical position was of great convenience to the ships bound to or from the Orient, giving opportunities for obtaining fresh supplies and drinking water. The illustration which is here reproduced shows the appearance of St Helena at the time of which we are speaking, together with a contemporary East Indiaman lying at anchor.

Such, then, is the kind of life which had to be endured on board these vessels, depicted as we have shown by men of entirely different interests and tastes—the captain, the midshipman and the passenger. But if these voyages were unpleasant and even risky, it is to them and the determination of those on board that the wealth of the East India Company was due, and the fortunes of so many private individuals as well. Ocean travel in those days was not pleasure, but a long-drawn-out martyrdom, except for a very few and in exceptional weather. To-day, even the worst-appointed liner would seem luxurious to the voyager of the eighteenth century, although more comfortable deep-sea ships were not to be found than those which flew the naval pennant of the Honourable East India Company.