Frank Scott

The Austin Farrar Memorial Article

Four-masted barques were the workhorses of the last days of commercial sail. This article considers how different they were from their predecessors, and how their development included a final boom in square rig shipbuilding. It also discusses the degree to which they benefited, or not, from technical developments in the maritime world.

The Stump-Topgallant or Jubilee Rig: Realities and misconceptions

professions, arts, both liberal and mechanic, now practised in the cities of London and Westminster (London, 1747) Draper, N., ‘The City of London and slavery: Evidence from the first dock companies, 1795–1800’, Economic History Review, 61:2 (2008), 432–66 Dymond, R., ‘Thomas Luny Marine Painter’, Report and Transactions of the Devonshire Association, 18 (1886), 442–9 Earle, P., Sailors: English Merchant Seamen 1650-1775 (London, 2007) Pigot and Co’s National Commercial Directory of 1830 (King’s Lynn, 1993) Morris, D., and K. Cozens, ‘The Shadwell Waterfront in the Eighteenth Century’, Mariner’s Mirror, 99:1 (2013), 86–91 Morris, D., and K. Cozens, ‘Mariners Ashore in the Eighteenth Century: The role of boarding-house keepers and victuallers’, Mariner’s Mirror, 103:4 (2017), 431–49 Hodgson, J. C., A History of Northumberland, vol. 6 (Newcastle and London, 1893) Rae, M., Thomas Luny 1759–1837 Teignmouth’s Renowned Marine Painter (Teignmouth, 1999) Tracy, N., Britannia’s Palette: The arts of naval victory (Montreal, 2007)

Coastal Patrol: Royal Navy Airship operations during the Great War 1914–1918

company, René Guillon et René Fleury, and it was no clipper, despite the book title, being one of 18 vessels produced to a utilitarian standard design. This production line was generated by the generous building and operating subsidies established in France by various ‘Bounty’ acts from the 1880s onwards, and it resulted in what became known as the ‘Bounty fleet’. The Bounty system is better covered by Alan Villiers and Henri Picard in The Bounty Ships of France (1972), but this author does pick up on the fact that, unlike the polyglot British ships, the vast majority of the crew in French ships were French. Their sailors were not only better paid and fed, but pensionable, and this also meant that French sailors were much less likely to jump ship. The crew of the Montebello was no exception, which is not to say that they had an easy time of it, because the dangers of the sea were no less. The use of old postcards to illustrate places mentioned in the text works well, and the wreck photographs of the Montebello and Croisset are suitably poignant. However, the author writes throughout as if he had access to the logbooks, which turns out to be highly misleading. Something aroused my suspicions, and when queried on this point the author confirmed that he had not seen any logbooks, and that for voyage details he had relied entirely on newspaper reports. While some newspaper articles are very detailed, journalistic interpretation needs to be checked against the more prosaic logbooks, and this issue should have been addressed in the text. Despite this caveat, this book could have been of value, because French sailing ship biographies are very rare (particularly in English). Unfortunately the author’s limited under standing of the world of commercial sailing ships creates further problems. For example, he does not appreciate that gross tonnage, displacement and deadweight, are very different things, and appears to have no idea about the economics of cargo carrying. This leads him to believe that the Montebello loaded her American grain cargoes in bulk, and on top of the ballast, which would have been both unsafe and uneconomic. In reality, when the reported loading bills are examined, it is clear that combined tonnage of grain and timber lining equated to the deadweight, which means that no ballast was left on board. Moreover, sailing ships carried bagged rather than bulk grain, despite the slight loss in carrying capacity, and slower loading and discharging, because bulk grain was prone to shifting at the angles of heel that they could expect to experience, and was deemed too dangerous. The Montebello came to grief after six years of service, when Captain Alphonse Kervégan prematurely ended his second voyage in command by running it into Kangaroo Island, South Australia, at night and in bad weather, on passage from Hobart to Port Adelaide. The fact that his crew improvised a breeches buoy and got everyone off, including the ship’s dog, was no small achievement, and is covered in some detail. However, the owners were less impressed by his overall performance than the author, and did not re-employ him. They must have felt vindicated when he went on to wreck his next command, the barque Croisset (1899, 2,700 grt), on Kearney Point, County Down, in November 1908. Once again navigational error was the key factor, and on this occasion there was no sympathy at the inquiry, and his master’s certificate was suspended. That said, Kervégan showed considerable resilience by going into steam to rebuild his career. Indeed he went on to hold command throughout the First World War, survived being torpedoed twice, and by the time he died in 1963 had become a prominent citizen in Nantes. Sadly this book is so flawed that it cannot be recommended. frank scott Bognor regis http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00253359.2018.1493281

Around Cape Horn Once More: The story of the French clipper ship ‘Montebello’

Although Milne has read widely and cites historians who work on somewhat earlier periods (such as Paul Gilje), the chronological focus of this book remains firmly in the second half of the nineteenth century, with a short concluding chapter carrying the story into the twentieth century. The decision to focus on this relatively late time period is not clearly explained. Is it because the eighteenth century has been more thoroughly studied (p. 15), or because earlier sailortowns were simply smaller and less consequential? Another possible rationale Milne mentions is that more documentation existed starting in the second half of the nineteenth century, when reformers and bureaucrats started leaving a systematic record of conditions that offended them. Perhaps this is a case where the advent of outside meddlers created the necessary archival conditions for a thorough monograph at a later date. Nevertheless, starting the book in the mid-nineteenth century shapes the inquiry in many ways, large and small. To what extent would this book have looked different if it had addressed and critiqued the role of sailortown in The Many-Headed Hydra, a suggestive and much-debated book co-authored by Marcus Rediker and Peter Linebaugh that examines the Atlantic World from the early modern period through the Age of Revolution? Milne states that ‘for a few decades, from the 1840s to the 1910s, sailortown districts with similar . . . characteristics could be found in major ports worldwide’ (p. 1). Such a statement begs the question of what went on earlier, and whether the new element in the 1840s was just globalization, or some new element like speedy steamships. Milne presents empire, race, mobility, labor markets, and clashing visions of liberty as each an important part of the story, but those are all equally prominent in Many-Headed Hydra. Rediker and Linebaugh also developed their own version of Milne’s concept of ‘connective, rather than just comparative, research’ (p. 39) putting the spotlight on canny, mobile sailors who travelled, observed, drew conclusions, and made choices accordingly. Taking a multi-sited approach to a sailortown study was an exciting move, and one that should inspire other ambitious studies. However, Milne’s rules of geographical engagement are not fully spelled out. Did he choose ports frequented by certain shipping lines? Do they appear simply because some English-language records existed for them? If the goal was a truly global remit, perhaps the additional question would be about the relative weights of different continents. Does Asia receive its due here? A thornier question would be whether the aim of a multi-site study was to be truly comparative (allowing for some contrasts and true exceptions) or simply as a way to accumulate more examples. A work of this scope, depth, and analytical incisiveness marks the maturation of sailortown as a field of study in its own right. Unfortunately, People, Place, and Power suffers from bad timing: its bibliography includes little material published from 2010 onwards, which happens to coincide with the emergence of a significant and theoretically challenging body of scholarship on this very topic, including more ambitious cultural and urban histories, as well as the first hints of an emerging ‘big data’ approach making intensive use of census records coupled with mapping software. However (especially given the sluggish timetable of academic publishing), any work that promises a synthesis can never do much more than offer a snapshot. If the image here comes out a little blurred, that is because Milne caught sailortown at a moment of historiographical transition. isaac land indiana state University http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00253359.2018.1493301

Viermastbark Kruzenshtern ex Padua: Eine deutsch-russische Dokumentation zur Technik- und Sozialgeschichte des Frachtseglers und Schulschiffs

of early twentieth-century high society. Namedropping of period notoriety is a constant theme throughout, although this does not detract from the intent of the historical text. The author interjects with many anecdotes which enhance the piece by alluding to the pedigree of the artist. It could be argued that some of the more innocuous facts about Wilkinson need not have been published for the reader to gain a full appreciation of the man and his artwork. To some extent this is true, although the author’s meticulous research did expose some very interesting facts which undoubtedly proved inspirational and fortuitous. The extent to which Taylor has researched the background of Norman Wilkinson is impressive. It is clear that Wilkinson was a very intriguing character and a prolific artist. The reader could be forgiven for thinking this book is the definitive work on the subject of Dazzle. It is not until one reads the bibliography that it becomes apparent just how much has already been written about Dazzle. An equal number of books are also referenced on the subject of camouflage. The book zigzags from text to illustration and on to its conclusion by devoting a chapter to the return of Dazzle, or disruptive camouflage as it was known by 1941. Taylor skilfully navigates a course through the complex fluctuation in the colours of disruptive camouflage and explains why Dazzle ceased to be a viable form of naval camouflage by the dawn of World War Two. In the final chapter, ‘Did Dazzle Really Work?’, Taylor examines the effectiveness of the scheme – its advantages, disadvantages, and its eventual cost when comparable to that of ship losses. The non-standard size and format of this book, when combined with the sleek avantgarde cover and fantastic illustrations, could see it being labelled a coffee-table read – which is no bad thing. Notwithstanding that, this book is a significant, well-researched contribution to the history of Dazzle and an essential reference on the art form. dAvid J. B. smith Plymouth http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00253359.2017.1312170

From Versailles to Mers El-Kebir: The promise of Anglo-French naval cooperation, 1919–40

reluctant shipping lines to use the canal which had created the new Port of Manchester. The story of the fight for an Act of Parliament is reasonably well known, but the second struggle has been less well documented. Only Farnie has addressed the development of the port’s trade in The Manchester Ship Canal and the Port of Manchester, a volume which also considers the economic effects of the Manchester Ship Canal on the city and its region. Nick Robins’s book takes a less academic approach than Farnie’s, but provides much more detail of the companies that traded to the Manchester Ship Canal, and their ships. Indeed, the ships are the main focus of the work, and in the case of a number of wellknown companies Robins goes on to chronicle their ships’ careers and particularly their losses in wartime. Nevertheless, the story of those who foresaw the Ship Canal, and the engineering that enabled it, are the subjects of two chapters. A further ten chapters trace the development and final decline of the Ship Canal’s trade. These record that the First World War finally proved the practicality of taking ships to Manchester, and that in the following five decades the port was patronized by even the most reluctant of ship owners, including those from Liverpool. Manchester even played its part in the rise of container shipping, its own Manchester Liners beginning one of the world’s first fully containerized deep-sea services in 1968. However, the Ship Canal’s period of real prosperity was short, with the decline in traffic in the 1970s being precipitously steep, and only traffic in the lower reaches remained, and that mostly serving the petrochemical industry. In the hands of Nick Robins, a competent and experienced author, a very workmanlike book has resulted. The extent of his research, both into Manchester’s trade and in finding images of ships in the canal is impressive. The story is very readable, and the information therein appears generally accurate. Only those like this reviewer who frequented the banks of the Manchester Ship Canal in 1961 might notice that the steam coaster Foamville, which collided with the sand carrier Mary P. Cooper and largely closed the canal for several weeks, was owned not by the Zillah Shipping Co. Ltd, as recorded on page 160, but by John H. Monks and Co. Ltd. A bigger concern is that, in documenting the ships, the emphasis is on liner shipping rather than the bulk trades. In many cases, the latter was in the hands of tramps which might visit rarely, or even only once, but there were exceptions. For instance, there is no mention of Cargill’s bulk carrier Carchester, a ship that spent much of its life delivering grain to Manchester, which carried a name inspired by the city, and became one of the relatively few large ships registered in the port. In addition, the reviewer would have liked to have seen more analysis on the decline of Manchester as a port: it was not simply that ‘ships got too big to transit the canal’, to quote the publisher’s blurb; there were other factors involved. Given the author’s labours, it seems a pity that the publishers have not seen fit to allow space to record his sources beyond a short bibliography which mainly lists shipping company histories. The range of photographs supplied is excellent, but poor production values, or choice of paper, mean that most lack impact. Only a minority are credited, even when the photographer or collection is well known. Presumably it was also an editorial decision not to include an index of ships or, what would have been even more useful, of companies; the publishers preferred to use the final pages to advertise their other books. The Ships That Came to Manchester will not supersede Farnie’s work, but it does provide a very readable account of the fortunes of the Manchester and its Ship Canal in gradually gaining and then quickly losing its trade. roy fenton Wimbledon http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00253359.2016. 1169673

The Bentinck Boom: Its history and probable misattribution

The Bentinck boom was a common labour-saving feature in Greenland whalers and British coastal craft in the nineteenth century, notably the collier brigs. Its design, advantages and limitations are all discussed, as is its interesting etymology, and the probability that its invention has been incorrectly attributed to Captain John Bentinck RN as a result of the entry in Admiral Smyths famous Word-Book of 1867.

East Sails West: The voyage of the ‘Keying’, 1846–1855

postscript, Exmouth’s attack on Algiers in 1816. Robson emphasizes the overall economicmilitary relationship. To succeed on land, notably in securing the key war aim of an independent Low Countries, Britain had to be wealthy and to protect its economy from French naval pressure. Preserving and enhancing maritime security required a formidable effort, one that had a hard edge in the shape of the destruction of enemy naval power. After Trafalgar, there was, as Robson has shown in earlier work, a stronger focus on trying to expand into untapped markets in order to circumvent Napoleonic economic warfare. In this section of the book, Robson’s emphasis on the Royal Navy, rather than, as would be preferable, on the navy and its opponents, the two valuably understood together, works better as these opponents had been vanquished. There are good battle accounts, and an instructive focus both on the Baltic and on economic warfare. The role of insurance emerges as important in the latter context. The part of intelligence in British operations is clear. For the War of 1812 Robson emphasizes British naval effectiveness. He concludes that the capture of the USS President on 15 January 1815 was perhaps more reflective of the true course of the war than the defeat at New Orleans a week earlier, a reasonable point but one that underplays the politics of the war in North America. Although badly let down by his publisher, Robson is to be congratulated on a most effective account. jeRemy bLacK univeRsity of exeteR http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00253359.2015.994823

Legends in Sail

The author feels very strongly that the importance of Norwegian shipping in the age of sail has been undervalued in the Anglophone world because so little of its history is written in English. The result is a sumptuously illustrated book that covers the careers of nine vessels. He starts off with Amundsen’s Gjøya (built in 1872), not only dealing with her brief time in the headlines with the first transit of the fabled North-West Passage (1903–6), but her long period of shameful neglect in a San Francisco park, until in 1971 she was brought back to Norway and restored. Then he waits until the last two chapters before covering two more polar exploration vessels, Colin Archer’s 1892 masterpiece Fram, and her lesser known 1917 successor, the Maud. The Fram gained worldwide fame for her arctic voyages with Nansen and Sverdrup, and for her role in Amundsen’s successful expedition to the South Pole. Here again he reveals what happened to the ships once out of the limelight. Thus the Fram was eventually saved in the 1930s, and is now held up as an example of ship preservation at its best, secure in her iconic ‘house’ in Oslo. However, the Maud was much less fortunate, because Amundsen ran out of money out in America, and had to sell her in 1925. Her new owners, the Hudson Bay Co., renamed her Baymaud, and after five years left her to sink at her mooring in Cambridge Bay, Victoria Island, where her remains can still be seen, as shown by a sad photograph. Another very well-known ship was the four-masted full-rigged ship Lancing. Built in Glasgow for Compagnie Général Transatlantique as the steam ship Péreire in 1865, then converted to pure sail in 1888, she only came into her own under the Norwegian flag from 1901 to 1925, when she set a number of sailing records. For sail training he begins with a long-serving wooden brig that is virtually unknown outside Norway, the Statsraad Erichsen. Built for the navy in 1858, she spent almost all her service time as a cadet training ship, before being sold to the Christiania Skoleskib in 1901. They gave her split topsails, in accordance with merchant service practice, and painted her white, and in this guise she ran for another 36 years. Even then the old lady was not finished, for she was bought by an organization in Porsgrunn, Telemark, and sailed on as a schoolship until Norway was invaded in 1940. Post-war her hull was good enough for conversion to a motor vessel, and she did not finally expire until 1962. Next is the Christiania (ex-Lady Gray, exStar of Empire), built on the St Croix river, Maine, in 1853, which served a static training ship in Christiania from 1877 to 1902. He disentangles her history, notably the confusion with McKay’s Star of Empire, built in the same year. The fact that she was unfit for seagoing led to her replacement by the Statsraad Erichsen, which proved such a success that she in turn was replaced in 1937 by the subject of the longest chapter, the much larger steel full-rigger, Christian Radich. Clearly he is love with the Christian Radich, and the many former cadets of the Statsraad Lehmkuhl (Bergen) or the Sørlandet (Kristiansand) from the schoolship era may feel that he goes a bit overboard at times, and that he is more than a little biased. Sørlandet cadet number 53 would certainly like it to be recorded that on the last occasion in which the two vessels competed against each other as merchant navy schoolships, in the 1968 Tall Ships race, the Christian Radich was beaten out of sight. Moving on to much less well-known ships, we find out that the first Christian Radich (ex-Transatlantic, ex-Mersey) was Norway’s only venture into cargo-carrying sail training. Built for the Norse Line in 1894, she became a training ship for the White Star Line from 1908 to the outbreak of war in 1914. Sold to Norway in early 1915, and re-named Transatlantic, she was bought in 1916 by the Christiania Skoleskib, and made one voyage for them, bringing cement to Christiania. However, with commercial tonnage at a premium in wartime, and sail training too risky, she was sold back to her previous owners at a profit. The fact that the name on the stern was never changed has led to her brief existence being forgotten. Her final

Voyage to Jamestown: Practical navigation in the age of discovery

replica of what is presumed to have been the appearance of Maine’s first ship. In other words this design – no replica has actually been built to the design proposals put forward in this book – is entirely supposition. The replica design of the Virginia, originally built in 1607–8, is based on known naval architecture texts and rules as interpreted by more recent historians. Construction methods applied are also based on contemporary practice, ‘where known’, with allowances being made in both design and construction to accommodate United States laws relating to ship safety. Some specific details look too recent for the period, whilst some construction details, such as the rudder, look more akin to a model than full size practice. Indeed, it would be interesting to know how much research was carried out into seventeenth century models in ascertaining details of fixtures and fittings (including masting and rigging), though of course little survives from the first decades of this century. But as small ship construction changed little in the seventeenth century it is safe to assume that practices employed in mid century and later differed little from earlier years. Assumptions are made that are based on resources available in England rather than in a relatively new and short-lived colony on the other side of the Atlantic that was, at the time, called Popham (eventually part of New England). For example, the level of decoration the author proposes seems excessive for such a small vessel and seems to be based on nothing more than what limited visual evidence survives for Elizabethan and Jacobean ships. Interestingly the models illustrated in this book do not show the level of decoration the author proposes (though the black-and-white chevron design to the bulwarks is not convincing). The bottom line is that this book is about what a 51-foot-long (15.6 m) vessel from 1607 might have looked like in design and construction. Could it be argued that a working vessel built in a distant colony would in fact not have been built according to a pre-determined set of calculations but simply by eye? MIcHaeL LeeK PORTKNOcKIe, BaNffSHIRe http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00253359.2013.767551