The Loss of HMS Atalante: Heroes of the Rescued

I first wrote about Captain Frederick Hickey, Charles Austen’s colleague and friend on the North American station, in my blog for October 2020, titled “Captain Frederick Hickey and the Loss HMS Atalante.” Hickey’s leadership in a time of disaster marked him out as a hero. But there were other men and women from the shore community whose efforts also merited recognition. This blog relates to their contribution to the rescue of the survivors of the wrecked Atalante.

 On Wednesday, 10 November 1813, about 10:00 o’clock, the fine Bermuda-built sloop of war, Atalante went to pieces, fifteen minutes after she had run aground on the treacherous Sisters and Blind Sisters shoal off Sambro, Nova Scotia in dense fog. In the days that followed her captain, Frederick Hickey, was widely praised for his courageous action is the face of imminent catastrophe. Passenger Jeremiah O’Sullivan later wrote: “to the honour of Captain Hickey, he was the last who left the wreck; his calmness, his humanity, and his courage, during the entire awful scene, was superior to man: everything was lost but our lives.”[1] It was a matter of huge relief that all on board survived.

 Fig 1: HMS Atalante Passing Sambro, Halifax. N.S. The Sisters and Blind Sister shoal are located to the left of the lighthouse.

Fig. 2: Captain Frederick Hickey, school of Gilbert Stuart, 1810.

At the point when the remains of the Atalante disappeared beneath the waves, the 133 survivors were thankful to be free of the wreck as they sheltered in three small, overloaded boats saved from the Atalante. Yet, their worries were by no means over. According to Hickey’s subsequent report, they rowed “for two  hours, guided only by a small dial compass, which one of the quarter masters had  in his pocket.” By what must have seemed like a miracle, they were finally, as Hickey puts it, “picked up a fisherman, who piloted the boats safe into Portuguese cove where we landed, the boats containing 133 persons.”[2] Hickey’s official description of the events does not record the elation he and his men must have felt when they detected, through the fog, the outlines of a fishing boat, and the appearance of its captain, an “ old fisherman,” who Hickey later identified as John Chapman. He knew the waters and the offshore hazards which must be avoided, and so he was able to lead the pinnace and two smaller boats safely to shore. We do not know why Chapman happened to be at sea at the time, as fishing in the fog could be dangerous. Whatever his current plan, he set that aside in order to get the wet and anxious officers and sailors to the safety of land.

Fig 3: The treacherous rocky shore at Portuguese Cove (Photo: Hugh Kindred)

Fig.4: The narrow entrance to the Cove. (Photo: Hugh Kindred)

Portuguese Cove is a tiny inlet along a dangerously rocky shore guarded by many reefs and shoals.[3] On reaching the safety of the Cove,  Hickey discovered that it was sparsely populated; in fact, it was home to only “five poor men and their families.” Although coastal communities might be expected to be sympathetic to the needs of shipwreck survivors, the residents of Portuguese Cove were a scattered, small group of people, with limited resources. It was almost mid-November, when whatever minimal gardens they had tended were no longer productive, and most of the remaining food on hand would have already been put away for the lean winter months ahead. Satisfying the needs of 133 hungry people would be very difficult! Yet, as Hickey related to his superior, commander-in-chief Admiral Sir John Warren, “the whole of the officers and crew received what nourishment and humane attention [the inhabitants] had in their power to bestow.”[4] The “humane attention” presumably included lighting fires to warm and dry out the shivering survivors, some scantily clothed, as they had discarded all clothing but trousers as they swam from the sinking Atalante. 

Hickey rushed on to Halifax by boat when he could, anxious to immediately deliver the urgent dispatches he was carrying to Admiral Sir John Warren. He took with him those who had suffered most from fatigue, and exposure to the harsh elements. As it was impossible to house all the survivors at the Cove, Hickey ordered all the able-bodied sailors to march 20 miles to Halifax where accommodation would be provided. Once more local help materialized. John Chapman apparently acted as a guide for this part of the rescue mission, most likely directing the survivors over part of a rough track leading to town himself or recruiting one of the men from the Cove to assist. It was a blessing that the men set out when they did for by Friday, the weather became even nastier, a mixture of “pouring rain and very thick fog” in the morning, then, as the Lt Governor’s wife in Halifax, Lady Sherbrooke, recorded in her diary, “it came on to blow, very much, and from 5 o’clock till 7, blew so hard as to be quite a hurricane.”[5]

In his report to Admiral Warren, Hickey did more than simply praise the “humane attention” he and his men had received from the families in Portuguese Cove. He pointed out that the survivors had been led to safety by John Chapman, who was subsequently given a $50 reward. Hickey also supplied Warren with the names of those who had spearheaded the onshore assistance, suggesting that $100 be distributed among the five heads of family.[6] By 17 November, this sum was paid out by the Commissioner of the Naval Yard in Halifax [7] to John Munroe, George Sadler, John Fegan, Samuel Purcell, and Richard Neale.[8]

Although Hickey’s quick thinking and brave example in a time of crisis, both onboard and afterwards, certainly merits admiration and commendation, it is also important to publicly acknowledge the men and women of Portuguese Cove who stepped up without hesitation and offered care and sustenance to total strangers with no expectation they would be rewarded for their generosity. They were, in effect, the unsung heroes of the day for, without their assistance, some of the sailors might not have survived. Credit must also go to John Chapman, fisherman and pilot, who found the Atalante’s small boats at sea, and guided them to the nearest safe place of habitation, before further dangers befell them.[9]

The hundred dollars sent to the Cove from the Naval Yard would have been a hugely welcome windfall for such a poor community. Let us hope that Christmas, 1813, was a particularly joyous one in Portuguese Cove, Nova Scotia.

Postscript:

Fig 5: Road sign for Portuguese Cove. (Photo: Hugh Kindred)

A roadside sign at Portuguese Cove mentions this location’s connection to the Atalante, although it does so with the bold and misleading claim that this was the “Site of HMS Atalante Wreck.” It would be better to acknowledge that the kindness of the people of the Cove was crucial to the safety of the 133 survivors of the wreck of the Atalante.

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[1] Marshall, Royal Naval Biography, 232.

[2] Hickey to Warren, 12 November 1813.

[3] By sea Portuguese Cove is eight miles south of Halifax Harbour. Its name apparently derived from earlier days when Portuguese fishermen worked in the area.  

[4] Hickey to Warren, 12 November 1813.

[5] See A Colonial Portrait: The Halifax Diaries of Lady Sherbrooke 1811-1816 (2011)  ed. G. Brenton Haliburton  Wednesday 13 November, 119.

[6] Hickey to Warren, 12 November 1813, National Archives of Canada.

[7] Wodehouse to RO, 17 November 1813.

[8] According to the 1827 Nova Scotia Provincial Census, fishermen John Munroe, George Sadler, and Richard Neale and their families were still living in Portuguese Cove. They also cultivated small acreages raising some hay, grain and potatoes.

[9] Thanks to Julian Gwyn for the information about the aftermath of the wreck of the Atalante, found in his book, Frigate and Foremast The North American Squadron in Nova Scotia Waters (2003), note 71, 183.

Captain Frederick Hickey and the Loss of HMS Atalante

Introduction

My last blog (25 September) considered the importance of brotherly relations between Charles Austen and his naval colleagues on the North American Station. One of those fellow officers was Captain Frederick Hickey, who became a friend of Charles and Fanny Austen and their family. His naval experience on the Station mirrored Charles’s life in many respects except one. Each had his first solo command on the Station in an eighteen-gun sloop of war built in Bermuda to the same design - Charles in HMS Indian and Frederick in HMS Atalante. Both had cruised North American waters defending British naval and commercial interests and taking enemy vessels as prizes when they could. Each suffered the rigours and violence of North Atlantic storms on his small wooden sailing ship, but on one occasion Captain Hickey faced an emergency which would have tested Charles to the utmost, as it did Frederick, and filled Fanny with terror even though she understood the enormous hazards of a career at sea. The story of Hickey’s avoidance of imminent death for himself, his officers and his men provides a vivid insight into the risks that Charles and Fanny, fellow officers and their families had to accept, with courage, as part of their naval lives.

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Fig.1: Captain Frederick Hickey (1775-1839), painted by Gilbert Stuart, c.1810.

Frederick Hickey, commander of the sleek sloop of war, HMS Atalante, had been enjoying a successful career. He was fortunate in his pursuit of naval prize, capturing at least 7 enemy vessels since the hostilities with America began in June 1812.[1] But his luck changed dramatically in early November 1813.[2] The following account is a story of courage and quick thinking in the face of imminent disaster. It is a narrative enhanced by passages from Hickey’s own description of the catastrophe which befell him and his beloved Atalante.[3]

Fig 2: HMS Atalante Passing Sambro, Halifax, N.S.[4]

On the morning of 10 November, the Atalante stood in for Halifax harbour, even though it was shrouded in excessively thick fog. Ordinarily a captain would not risk his ship approaching the rocky and shoal strewn entrance to the harbour in such a fog but would wait offshore until it thinned. Yet Captain Hickey was committed to arrive in port as fast as possible because he was carrying urgent dispatches for Admiral Sir John Warren, commander-in-chief of the Station. The dispatches described the movements of the American fleet, which were reported to have “determined to put to sea at all risks.”  Hickey understood the potential hazards of his situation and acted accordingly. He stationed extra lookouts, ordered frequent depth soundings, and had the sails reduced to lower the Atalante’s speed. He also tried to take advantage of a navigational aid. It was a common practice for ships on the Station to sail into the harbour under foggy conditions guided by the gun on Sambro Island at the harbour’s outer approach. During thick weather, an incoming naval ship would intermittently fire a gun, which would be answered “gun for gun from the [Sambro] Lighthouse,”[5] thus giving the captain some idea of his ship’s location.

Fig. 3: In the distance, the Lighthouse on Sambro Island. The Sisters and Blind Sister shoal is located to the left of the lighthouse.

The Atalante repeatedly fired a signal gun from 8:15 until past 9:00 am. Ominously, what they assumed to be answering gun fire, actually came from HMS Barrosa, which was similarly trapped in the fog. Mistaking Barrosa’s gun fire for the signal gun from the lighthouse, the Atalante proceeded in what was thought to be the direction of Halifax. Then disaster struck. At about 10 am the ship ran up on the dreaded Sisters and Blind Sister,[6] a rock studded shoal, about 1½ miles east north east of the Sambro Island Lighthouse. According to Hickey, “in a few minutes the rudder, the stern post and part of the keel were knocked off [the Atalante]. Perceiving immediately that there was no hope of saving the ship, my whole attention was turned to saving the lives of my valuable crew.” Hickey’s subsequent leadership marks him out as a courageous and insightful officer. He would have barely 15 minutes to save all those on board before the vessel broke and sank.

Fig. 4: Hydrographic Map showing the Sisters and Blind Sister shoal, top right-hand corner of map

Picture Hickey exercising command on deck on a cold November morning, clothed only in “a pair of drawers, a shirt, and a hat.”[7] He first ordered the boats to be launched but, as he later  recounted, “the jolly boat was stove and filled with water immediately after being launched, and there remained but three boats (the pinnace, the cutter and the gig).” Hickey then ordered the guns to fire a distress signal prior to the men casting them overboard. Yet only those guns above water were capable of firing, and the ship filled before any guns could be jettisoned. She was now fast falling over on her beam ends. Directions were given to cut away the main and foremast. As the masts fell, “the ship parted in two places.

Fig. 5: Wreck of the Atalante as she broke right across between the fore and main masts [8]

Hickey’s words dramatically capture the desperation of the situation. [When the ship broke apart], “a few of the crew were on the larboard[9] side of the ship, the only part above water, and the remainder clinging about the masts and on the booms. About 60 men got into the pinnace,[10] which was still supported by the booms; but as there was no hope of saving the boats with that number in her, I persuaded about 20 to 30 to come out and endeavour by main strength to launch her clear of the wreck, which they succeeded in a most miraculous manner.[11]… Nothing being now left to trust our lives to except the boats and a raft, as many men as the former would apparently contain got into them, some by swimming from the wreck, whilst others were hauled off by means of oars and small spars.”[12]

Yet not all the men had found a place in the ship’s three boats. Once the pinnace had been launched, Hickey had ordered the booms to be joined to make a raft. It was here that he and 37 others were stranded for a considerable time, with no chance of getting the raft clear of the wreck, while it drifted into worse breakers. Hickey ordered the smaller boats to come near the raft and each take some more men. It was to his credit that the men complied immediately, even though overloading the small vessels might jeopardize their own chances of survival. As Hickey later reported: “I succeeded in getting every man and boy safe off the raft.” As the boats moved away, the men gave three cheers and the wreck was abandoned.[13] Except for the official dispatches in Hickey’s possession, and a chronometer carried off the ship by a clerk, everything aboard was lost.[14]

The officers and men were still in a perilous position. The fog continued as dense as ever and the boats were dangerously overloaded. The pinnace held 80 men,[15] the cutter, 42 and the gig, 18. The survivors initially had no way of knowing in what direction to steer. The hazardous rocky coast and the threat of other nearby shoals were very much in their minds.

Fig 6: The forbidding coast with Sambro Island and its hazardous rocks on the horizon

Fortuitously, the quarter master produced a small compass attached to his watch fob. This he turned over to Captain Hickey. Thus encouraged, the men rowed the three small, vulnerable vessels for about two hours, when, to their great good fortune, they encountered a local fisherman who led them to nearby Portuguese Cove. By about 2 pm they arrived safely in the Cove, one of the few possible landing points along the very treacherous coastline.

Fig.7: Entry to Portuguese Cove, Nova Scotia

The inhabitants lit great fires to warm and dry out the shivering survivors, many of whom were scantily clothed as they had been obliged to discard all but their trousers when they swam for their lives from the sinking Atalante. Hickey later praised the “poor inhabitants of the Cove, who behaved towards us with every possible mark of hospitality, kindness, and attention, that humanity could dictate.”

Fig. 8: At Portuguese Cove where the survivors were fed and cared for

Once on shore, Hickey acted with alacrity. The dispatches had to be taken to Halifax with no delay. This he did, by means of the pinnace, taking the other boats with him in company. They carried those who had suffered most from fatigue and cold during the ordeal. The remainder of the survivors had to march across country to Halifax, 20 miles away, no mean feat given their inadequate clothing and the rough terrain. That evening, Hickey delivered the dispatches safely to Admiral Warren. He was informed that a Court Martial would be held on the morning of 12 November in Halifax harbour, aboard HMS Victorious (74 guns) “to inquire into all the particulars attending the loss of HM sloop Atalante, and to try Captain Hickey, the officers and crew of that sloop for the same.”[16]

At the Court Martial, Captain Hickey spoke eloquently in his own defence. None of those present could fault his diligence in attempting to get crucial information to Admiral Warren in wartime. According to Hickey’s perception, such a commitment to complete his mission justified the risks he took in proceeding in thick fog through shoal filled waters. He also told the Court of his concerns for the well being of his men and the state of the Atalante. His ship was short of provisions at a time of year when inclement weather could keep a vessel from making port for days. Moreover, the very seaworthiness of the Atalante was at risk due to the condition of her cables, which a recent survey had condemned as unfit to trust. Hickey knew that both these requirements could be satisfied in Halifax. He also praised “the conduct of my officers and the ship’s company, under the most trying circumstances in which human beings could be placed. [Their conduct] was orderly, obedient, and respectful, to the last extremity.” To Hickey’s great relief, the Court acquitted him, his officers, and the company of HM late sloop Atalante of all blame.

Frederick Hickey had another reason to be thankful in addition to his acquittal. That evening a hurricane force wind blew up the harbour, which caused great confusion and considerable damage to those ships in its path. All the warships got to shore but some were dismasted, and the merchant men in port suffered dreadfully. Had this destructive storm occurred two days earlier, there would most likely have been no survivors from the Atalante.

Public sentiment was warm in praise of Hickey’s superior leadership and the singular co-operation of his men.[17] A passenger on the Atalante, Jeremiah O’Sullivan, who had recently escaped from New London, Connecticut, wrote a letter of appreciation. He dedicated some of his remarks “to the honour of Captain Hickey. He was the last who left the wreck; his calmness, his humanity, and his courage, during the entire of this awful scene, was superior to man: everything  lost but our lives.”[18] On 12 November, the Halifax newspaper, the Weekly Chronicle, acknowledged they were “extremely sorry to state the loss of H.M.S Atalante, Captain Hickey”, continuing that, “happily, by the great exertions of the Captain and Officers, the crew were saved in the boats.”[19]

Frederick Hickey’s career was not blighted by the loss of the Atalante. To his great delight he was promoted to post captain rank on 19 February 1814. He subsequently commanded the HMS Prince Regent (56 guns) on Lake Ontario. There followed an appointment as flag captain to Commodore James Yeo on HMS St Lawrence, a 112-gun first rate warship, launched on the lake on 10 September 1814. Hickey continued in the St Lawrence on Lake Ontario until the peace with America in 1815. Thereafter his career took him to the South American Station.

For Hickey, the loss of the Atalante was the source of bitter personal regret, but in the eyes of others, his behaviour revealed his excellence as an officer, who deserved  praise for his courage and commitment to those under his care. In later years, he had reason to reflect with some satisfaction on the events of 10 November 1813, knowing that, in extremis, he had done his duty well.   

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[1] In July 1812 Hickey took a ship of 359 tons, laden with wines, brandy, silks, and sundries.

In December he captured the American privateer, the Tulip. Five months later he towed five other prizes into Halifax carrying cargoes of cotton, indigo and other commodities.

[2] Photographs at Figs. 3, 6, and 8 by Hugh or Sheila Kindred.

[3] Hickey’s account of the disaster and his defence at his subsequent court martial are found in royal naval biography: or memoirs of the services of all the flag-officers; superannuated rear-admirals, retired captains, post-captains and commanders, hereafter RNB, by John Marshall, 1827, 232-34.

[4] The image of the Atalante is plate CCCCXV, in the Naval Chronicle, vol.31, 1814, engraving by W.E Bailey.

[5] For a description of this protocol see Admiral Hugh Pullen, The Sea Road to Halifax, 1980, 22.

[6] The origin of this name has to do with the local story of two jealous sisters who abandoned their blind sister on Blind Sister Rock to be swept away by the rising tide. See Pullen, 24.

[7] For a description for the narrative read at the Court Martial, see RNB, 232-34.

[8] See Captain Basil Hall, Fragments of Voyages and Travels Vol. 1, First series, (Fragments), 1831, 280.

[9] Port side.

[10] A pinnace was a small, light boat, usually rowed, but could be rigged with a sail. 

[11] According to Captain Hall’s account, the pinnace floated but was upset by a sea, … [but] the men by great exertions righted her.” See Capt. Basil Hall, The history of a ship from her cradle to the grave, 1848, 126 ff.

[12]Those seeking the safety of the boats included 12 American refugee slaves, who were among the first of the Black Refugees of the War of 1812 to reach Canada.

[13] The cheering may have been a way of raising spirits, of expressing relief that everyone had got off the Atlalante. Perhaps it was also a way of paying tribute to a fine ship, which had brought prize money to the officers and men and had been their home for over 5 years. 

[14] There was a fiddler among the crew who was determined to save his instrument. Finally, he realized he could no longer grasp it and reach one of the ship’s small boats. He put his life before his music. 

[15] There was apparently one woman in the pinnace. She has not been identified. Possibly she was a passenger.

[16] RNB, 232.

[17] In later years, the story of the Atalante was revisited by naval officer Capt. Basil Hall in his book, Fragments, 262-282. He focused on the drama of the wreck, the discipline of the men under extreme conditions and the superior leadership of Captain Hickey. In effect, the story of the Atalante became an exemplum in naval circles of the admirable discipline of a ship’s company and the courage and quick thinking of a commanding officer in a dire situation at sea.

[18] Quoted in RNB, 234. O’Sullivan’s letter also included a graphic description of the disaster. “In 12 minutes the Atalante was literally torn to pieces; the crew swam to the boats; and to see so many poor souls struggling for life, some naked, others on spars, casks, or anything tenable, was a scene painful beyond description. I was in the cabin when the ship struck; the shock told me our fate.”

[19] News of the Atalante’s sinking appeared in the next issue of the British publication, the Naval Chronicle, January to June, vol. 31, 1814. A short, in passim, reference reported the total loss of the Atalante, under the section “Shipwrecks”, and noted that the officers and crew were saved. Surprisingly, this volume also carried a smart engraving of the Atalante, which the caption identified as “His Majesty’s late sloop.” (See Fig: 2 above). This jaunty image, published in May 1814, shows the ship under full sail, passing the Sambro Island Light. It was intended to give an idea of the harbour approach to Halifax and the high land on shore. However, given the ship’s recent, tragic fate, it seems odd to celebrate her as she once was, after she has been completely wrecked. Instead of focusing on the loss of the ship, the caption continues with promotional material about Halifax. The town is “estimated to contain 20,000 people before the present war with the United States. From the accession of commerce, from a great number of prizes brought in by our fleet, and from it being the principal American naval station, it is no doubt at the present moment more rich and populous than ever.”

Fanny Palmer Austen’s Connection with Naval Prize

Fanny Palmer Austen was vitally interested in all aspects of her husband Charles Austen’s naval career, including his exploits in chasing and capturing prize vessels. The circumstances of her birth and early life in Bermuda gave her insights about naval prize that other genteel young women would not have. Until 1801 her father, John Grove Palmer, was Advocate General, that is the lawyer who represented the Crown and thus the captor’s interests when a prize case was brought before the Bermuda Vice Admiralty Court. When Fanny married Charles in 1807, she became the sister-in-law of the next office holder, James Christie Esten. Moreover, when on shore Fanny lived with the Estens, close to the harbour in St George’s, Bermuda so she was well located to watch for prize vessels being brought into port and to observe the condition of those riding at anchor awaiting adjudication. With her familial connections, Fanny was no stranger to the complexities of the adjudication of a prize case and the disposal of the vessel and/or cargo when the case was successful.[1]

Given her situation, Fanny was able to monitor Charles’s prize related business. Since his financial success would benefit them both, it was of great personal interest to her. She had plenty of time to keep track of his prize claims and, as Charles was often away at sea, she could readily write him accounts of their progress.

 Fanny also had a very immediate understanding of the risks involved in prize taking. Any British vessel in North American waters was potential prey for cruising enemy warships or privateers. In May 1806, the year Fanny and Charles became engaged, HMS Indian (18 guns) barely escaped capture by four heavily armed French men-of-war. She was chased for fifty hours and only escaped when all the vessels became becalmed and the smaller, lighter Indian was able to put a safe distance between herself and her pursuers by rowing out of their range.[2] Charles was incredibly fortunate to have escaped an encounter which would have proved catastrophic for the Indian and all aboard her. Fanny was bound to discover some of the details of this near disaster. There was coverage of naval news in the local press and, as she was frequently in company with Charles’s naval friends, conversations no doubt touched upon his recent exploits.

In addition, Charles was always at risk from violent storms at sea, like the tremendous hurricane he only just managed to survive in 1807. According to his description, “the wind became so furious as to perfectly overpower the Ship, which lay down on her beam ends, with such a weight of Water on Deck as made me fear she would never right again.”  Mercifully, after the main mast was cut away, “the ship, tho’ with evident difficulty, righted herself.”[3] Fanny was at home in St George’s when the tattered and dismasted Indian limped into port, telling evidence of the vessel’s vulnerability and the dangers Charles had recently faced. Although monitoring Charles’s prize business would take place safely on shore, there was, for Fanny, always the underlying disquiet, even anxiety that the very activity of taking prizes was extremely hazardous.

Fig. 1: St George’s Harbour where prize vessels would anchor prior to adjudication.[4]

In 1806 Charles seized Spanish schooners, the Lustorina (25 May) and the Neustra Senora del Carmen (25 July)[5] and sent them to St George’s where the Bermuda Vice Admiralty Court would adjudicate their capture and where Fanny could observe what happened next.[6] To her satisfaction, the subsequent legal and commercial business was straightforward. As the Spanish vessels were enemy property, both were quickly condemned in Charles’s favour and the vessels ordered to be sold with their cargoes at public auction.

Fanny may have speculated how well they might sell, especially the diverse goods making up their cargoes. The Lustorina carried some unusual items - “98 hides, 25 rolls of tobacco, 27 tons of fustic wood and 15 bags of coffee weighing 1600 pounds.”[7] Any assessment of the probable value of prize goods at auction had to take into account the market fluctuations for goods required for consumption. For example, if coffee and tobacco were locally in short supply, the prices paid would reflect the desirability of these items. The value of an unusual commodity such as 27 tons of fustic wood was harder to predict. In fact, Fanny may have been unfamiliar with this merchandise but would be interested to learn that fustic wood, which comes from a large tropical tree, was a good source for a light-yellow dye.[8] If the right merchant or his agent happened to be in Bermuda at the time of sale, this exotic item could have sold remarkably well.[9]

The Neustra Senora del Carmen was sold in August for £445. 8s.10d.[10] and in September the Bermuda Gazette printed a notice of distribution for the proceeds of the sale of her cargo. The practical Fanny was surely delighted by this increase in Charles’s finances. Moreover, these cases enhanced his naval reputation and were a gratifying addition to Charles’s record of successful prize captures in North American waters.[11]

Fig. 2: The State House, St George’s, built in 1624, where the Vice Admiralty Court ruled on prize cases.

The year 1807 did not bring Fanny and Charles the same good fortune. Charles detained the brig Joseph and James Esten, as Advocate General, argued in court that she was Spanish owned and should be condemned as a lawful prize. At stake were the vessel and its cargo of 244 hogsheads, 62 barrels and 47 saroons of sugar which the Charleston merchant, Lewis Groning, had apparently already purchased for $4500. Knowing the high value of the cargo no doubt increased Fanny’s hopes and trepidation as to the outcome of the case. Court documents show that the  Joseph was claimed by American owners who were prepared to defend their rights to the vessel and her cargo and also expected compensation for “freight, costs, charges and damages, demurrage and expenses.”[12] To Fanny’s chagrin, the court determined that the vessel and cargo were American owned.

The loss of this case became very public knowledge when the Bermuda Gazette (18 April 1807) reported that “the American brig Joseph … which was detained by HMS Indian is cleared and sailed yesterday for Charleston.” This notice appeared just weeks before Fanny and Charles’s wedding day. A different outcome would have added a pleasing celebratory touch to their union. Later that summer, Fanny received more unfortunate news when the Bermuda court ruled against most of Charles’s claims regarding the American ship, the Eliza, and decreed that “the vessel and the greatest part of her cargo was [to be] restored to their owners.”[13]  

Fig. 3: Pay out notice for the Jeune Estelle.

The cases of the Joseph and the Eliza showed Fanny the chanciness of prize adjudications and the gamble Charles sometimes took in capturing what seemed at sea to be a “good and lawful” prize. When the court did not condemn a captured vessel and cargo, Charles was the loser and became liable for multiple fees and costs. As his naval salary was not huge – only £246. 3s. 10d. per annum - covering unexpected expenses would have been a matter of immediate concern.

In contrast to the disappointing outcomes in 1807, Charles’s prize business in 1808 with the captured French privateer, the Jeune Estelle, went very well.[14] The adjudication was swift and uncomplicated, and the sale of  the vessel and cargo proceeded with like rapidity.

The day before the auction on 27 July, Fanny’s sister Esther, who was married to Advocate General, James Esten, wrote to Charles in Halifax about the Jeune Estelle, saying that “the Prize Vessel and Cargo are to be sold tomorrow and are likely to fetch a good price - I have been a little nervous for you this last week, lest an Arrival of Provision should lower the sale of yours.”[15] Here is confirmation that those interested in prize money cast a critical eye on the local market’s supplies and demands in case they should affect what sale prices the prize auction might bring. As it turned out, the cargo of the Jeune Estelle sold for the handsome sum of £2,539. 11s. 4d. After the deductions for costs and fees, Charles received a quarter share amounting to £539. 16s. 11¾d. in Bermuda currency. By the time he was paid, Fanny was six months pregnant with their first child, so it was very pleasing to have extra money at hand as their family was about to increase.

Charles was posted into a frigate, HMS Cleopatra (32 guns) in September 1810. In December, he co-captured the American brig, the Stephen, and her cargo of “turpentine, staves, cotton and English dry goods.”[16] The Bermuda Vice Admiralty Court awarded only the cargo to the captors, and the case was further appealed to the Court of High Admiralty in London. Fanny was not able to fully monitor this case as she and the children had sailed to England with Charles in the Cleopatra in May 1811. Charles’s share of the meagre prize money, after all the costs of the expensive court proceedings had been deducted, was £63. 13s. 7d, and he did not receive it until two and a half years later.

Fig. 4: The Cleopatra (32 guns) in which Charles co-captured the Stephen, his last prize in North American waters.

So long as she remained in Bermuda, Fanny was able to brief Charles about his prize business there, be it the course of an adjudication, the arrangements for the auction of prize goods, or the state of the Bermuda market for basic foodstuffs and trade goods. This was important information that benefited Charles, especially as he needed to juggle the gains and the losses which his prize business generated overall. He also needed to factor in the result of his prize adjudications before the Halifax Vice Admiralty Court. There his cases had had mixed results. Although as a co-captor he received prize money from the condemnation of the Swedish ship, the Dygden, the American ship, the Ocean, and the Spanish schooner, the Rosalie, the court’s favourable ruling regarding his co-capture of the Sally was taken on appeal, where the decision was reversed, making Charles liable for part of the fees and costs.[17] There was another benefit resulting from Fanny’s practical attention to Charles’s prize matters. Her keen and assiduous interest in the process must have further cemented their ever-strengthening partnership.

Fanny did not record her personal responses to Charles’s prize activities, but she must have had a strong emotional stake in them. She had to bear with the hazards which Charles might face in the taking of prizes. She may also have pondered the consequences for the other parties involved. When the prize was an enemy vessel, perhaps she felt some empathy for the crew who were now prisoners of war and she would register regret when there had been fatalities, such as the French sailor killed during the taking of the Jeune Estelle.

Fanny might be excited by the arrival in Bermuda of a new capture by Charles but she had to endure the suspense of the adjudication of the case and then, if the outcome was favourable, the vagaries of its market value. However, it was surely satisfying for Fanny and Charles when prize money was paid out, both as an indicator of his success and as a welcome increment to their family income.

The next phase of Fanny’s life took place in England. From 1811-1814 she got to know the Austen family and became absorbed with raising her young daughters. She faced the challenges of making a home for her increasing family aboard HMS Namur, which, although a working naval vessel, was anchored in British waters off Sheerness, Kent. Her days of monitoring Charles’s prize business had been an intriguing part of her experiences first, as a fiancée, and then, as a naval wife, but that kind of supportive activity on her part had come to an end.       

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[1] Presumably, she was even in the position to enquire about the court’s timetable as it related to Charles’s prize cases.

[2] See the description in Sheila Johnson Kindred, Jane Austen’s Transatlantic Sister (JATS), 27.

[3] Charles Austen to Admiral Sir George Berkley, 23 October 1807, ADM 1/ 497, The National Archives (TNA) London, England.

[4] “St George’s Harbour,” by Thomas Driver, 1821. Masterworks Museum of Bermuda Art.

[5] One of these vessels was a Spanish letter of marque, that is a privateer. See a reference to this is the note on Charles’s career in O’Byrne, A Naval Bibliographic Dictionary, 1849.

[6] Another vessel, the American brig the Friends Adventure, was captured by Charles and also sent into Bermuda in 1806 but, given the lack of court documents, it is impossible to know what became of it.

[7] High Court of Admiralty 49/48, TNA.

[8] The fustic tree, Maclura tinctoria, grows in the West Indies and in rain forests in Central and South America.

[9] Unfortunately, available records do not record what sum all these goods realized at auction.

[10] In the currency used, “£” stands for pound, “s” for shillings and “d” for penny. There were 20 shillings in a pound and 12 pence in a shilling.

[11]For an inventory of Charles’s prizes see my essay, “Charles Austen: Prize Chaser and Prize Taker on the North American Station,” Persuasions, 80, 193, note 6. After Spain became allied with Britain on 1 July 1808, Spanish vessels could no longer be taken as prize. This development must have disappointed both Fanny and Charles as he had recently accrued prize money from the Lustorina and Neustra Senora del Carmen, and in October 1806, from a Spanish schooner, the Rosalie. See RG8/IV/146, Library Archives Canada.

[12] Bermuda Vice Admiralty Court fonds, case files 1807, box 11, “Joseph.”

[13] HCA 46/8, TNA. Charles recorded a third capture in 1807, the American vessel, the Baltic, but the records of the case in the Bermuda Archives are incomplete.

[14] See my blog, “The Story of the Jeune Estelle,” posted 26 June 2020.

[15] Esther Esten to Charles Austen, 26 July 1808, MA 4500, Morgan Library and Museum, NYC, reproduced in JATS, 214-15.

[16] HMS Cleopatra’s logbook, 19 December 1810, ADM 51/261, TNA. The Cleopatra was in company with HMS Guerriere (38 guns) and HMS Atalante (18 guns).

[17] For a discussion of the Sally, see JATS, 23. 

The Capture of the Jeune Estelle, Charles Austen’s Premier Prize

Dear Readers,
I am happy to be backing blogging again.
Continue to stay safe.
Sheila

During the Napoleonic wars, the mission of the North American squadron of the Royal Navy was to disrupt enemy trade and to protect British and colonial commercial activities. The British ships were expected to engage enemy warships and armed privateers in combat and to apprehend merchant ships transporting enemy trade goods and supplies. As an incentive for this dangerous work, the officers and men of the British ship that captured an enemy vessel or merchant man were offered the prospect of receiving a share of the value of the vessel and/or its cargo. The legitimacy of the capture, according to the law of prize, had to be proven in a Vice Admiralty court. The court had the power to condemn the capture as lawful prize and to order its sale by public auction. The resulting prize money, less costs, would be distributed among all those aboard the British vessel at the time of capture, in proportions and according to rank. Prize taking was a chancy but significant perk of naval conflict.

While serving on the North American station, Charles Austen had the good fortune to capture or co-capture thirteen vessels, at least eight of which provided him with prize money. The records for these cases are very incomplete but the account of the seizure and condemnation of the French privateer, La Jeune Estelle (4 guns), reveals a nearly complete anatomy of a prize case. This capture was Charles’s most valuable prize, according to existing records. Here is how the business proceeded from the moment of capture to the distribution of prize money. 

On 19 June 1808 Charles was cruising off the coast of South Carolina in his sloop of war, HMS Indian (18 guns) when, as reported in the ship’s log, “a strange sail [was] sighted.” Immediately, the Indian went into action. According to Charles’s official report of the event, it became a vigorous encounter. The Indian’s chase guns were fired, killing one Frenchman and wounding another.[1] Eventually, after a tense chase of 1½ hours, the Indian “hove to, boarded and took possession of the [vessel].”[2] She proved to be the French schooner, La Jeune Estelle, enroute from St Mary’s River (near St Augustine’s, Florida) to the French colony of St Domingo, with a crew of 25. She carried a cargo of mixed supplies.[3]

Fig. 1: HMS Atalante, sister ship to Indian (18 guns). The Indian captured the Jeune Estelle at latitude 32 degrees north and longitude 68 degrees west.

Charles was required to continue his mission at sea, but he sent “a lieutenant, master’s mate and midshipman with 20 men to navigate [the prize] to Bermuda”[4] where proceedings before the Vice Admiralty Court followed swiftly. James Christie Esten (Charles’s brother-in-law) acted as Advocate General for the crown’s claim to the vessel and cargo, and, since they were unquestionably enemy property, it is not surprising that on 25 July the court ruled to condemn both as the lawful prize of the Indian, its captor.[5]

Charles had sent the prize to Bermuda because part of her cargo included perishable foodstuffs such as “superfine flour, pork, beef, fish, herrings, bread, cheese, lard, pease and hams.” She also carried “soap, tallow, oil in baskets, small shot, pig iron, a new cable, two hawsers,” and an unspecified amount of claret in casks.[6] According to a notice in the Bermuda Gazette, the agents acting for Charles were Edward Goodrich and Archibald Snedden of Bermuda, while George R. Hulbert represented the interests of Admiral Warren, Charles’s commander-in-chief, and Austen and Maunde in London were Charles’s bankers, the Austen being Charles’s brother, Henry.

The cargo was sold at the premises of Edward Goodrich in St George’s, Bermuda for the gross sum of £2539.11s. 4d. in Bermuda currency.[7] Charles must have been delighted to eventually learned how well the sale had gone.

Fig.2: The Home of Charles’s Bermuda Prize Agent, Edward Goodrich

Fig. 3: An Auction of Prize Goods, known as a Vendue.

The vessel, the Jeune Estelle, was, as expected, also sold because the eventual payout notice in the Bermuda Gazette refers to “a distribution of the net proceeds of the said vessel and cargo.” Unfortunately, there is no record of the price it fetched though it must have been of some value as the prize crew from the Indian were able to navigate it to Bermuda after the capture.  

Yet before there could be any distribution of prize money, a large number of expenses, inevitably incurred in the course of the condemnation and sale, had to be paid. Agent George Hulbert’s account book reveals the extent of these deductions.[8] James Esten, Advocate General before the court, received £50. Court charges were £28. 5s. 6d. Pilotage, the cost of delivering cargo after sale, the fee for customs house entry and custody, the cost of storage and wharfage, altogether amounted to £38. 16s. 11d. Other bills included £2. 13s. 4d. for hiring a cooper for 2½ days to repair flour casks, £3. 10s. for the recording of agency power, and £3. 6s. 8d. for advertisements in the Bermuda Gazette. The 5% duty payable to the Greenwich Hospital[9] amounted to £129. 19s. 6d and a like sum was charged as fees by the agents. The total costs, fees, and duties amounted to £380. 11s. 5d. The net fund of prize money for distribution was £2158. 19s. 11d. Once the claims were settled, the court ordered the distribution of the prize money and advertised to this effect in the Bermuda Gazette.

According to a prescribed formula, Charles, as Indian’s captain, received a ¼ share of the net proceeds, Admiral Warren received ⅛ share, and the officers and men received smaller shares according to their rank. Charles’s prize money amounted to £539. 16s. 11¾d.  plus, presumably, an unknown amount from the proceeds of the sale of the vessel. The total would have been a sizable sum for Charles compared with his annual salary of £246. 3s. 10d. as commander of a sloop of war.

Fig. 4: Payout Notice for the Jeune Estelle, 24 September 1808.

Charles’s benefits from the Jeune Estelle were not only personal and financial. The payout of prize money boosted the morale of his crew and lined their pockets with cash as well. The Indian’s recruitment notice in April 1805 had promised seamen they would win “plenty of Spanish doubloons and dollars”- that is prize money. Charles delivered on this promise.

Fig. 5: The Indian’s Recruitment Notice.

Moreover, his official report of the episode to Admiral Warren appeared on the front page of the London Gazette, 20-23 August 1808. This was pleasing publicity for him and gratifying for the Austen family at home in England to read public acknowledgement of Charles’s recent capture. Moreover, there was Fanny, who Charles described as “his lovely and beloved wife [who rejoiced] at all the good that befell me.”[10] Making Fanny happy always gave Charles great pleasure. The prize money from the Jeune Estelle was surely a means to this end.

Exploring the saga of the prize, the Jeune Estelle, yields a fascinating snapshot of a significant aspect of Charles Austen’s naval career on the North American Station.

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[1] Charles Austen to Admiral Sir John Warren, 27 June 1808, ADM 1/498/fol.283. The National Archives (TNA), Kew, London, England.

[2] See Indian’s logbook, 19 June 1808, ADM 51/1868, NA.

[3] In capturing La Jeune Estelle Charles was interfering with France’s attempt to support her colonies in the West Indies.

[4] The Indian’s logbook, 19 June 1808.

[5] List of Ships and Vessels Captured by His Majesty’s Ships of War and Brought to the Port of Bermuda for Adjudication from June 7th 1808 to the 18th  Day of May 1810, List of Prizes, VA 221,1-4, Bermuda Archives, Hamilton, Bermuda.

[6] Bermuda Gazette, 23 July 1808.

[7] In the currency used, “£” stands for pound, “s” for shilling, and “d” for penny. There were 20 shillings in a pound and 12 pence in a shilling. Bermuda currency fluctuated in relation to the British pound which was more valuable. 

[8] George Hulbert’s Cash Book 1808-1812, HUL/23, National Maritime Museum (NMM), Greenwich, London.

[9] The Greenwich Hospital at Greenwich, London, administered a pension fund for seamen wounded in naval service. 5 % of any distributed prize money was required to be contributed to this fund.

[10] Charles Austen’s Journal, 10 May 1815, AUS/102, NMM.

Sheila introduces “Jane Austen’s Transatlantic Sister”

Fanny Palmer Austen by Robert Field

Just over two hundred years ago a young naval wife spent an anxious summer in Halifax, Nova Scotia. It was the later years of the Napoleonic Wars. Her husband had been suddenly called away on a mission to transport troops to a war zone off the coast of Portugal. During the months that followed, she waited for his return with growing trepidation until she finally welcomed back to port her “beloved Charles.” The genteel young woman was the beautiful, Bermuda-born Fanny Palmer Austen; her husband was Captain Charles John Austen, a naval officer, then serving on the North American Station of the British navy, and the youngest brother of the novelist Jane Austen.

This vignette, derived from Fanny Austen’s own letters in 1810, has turned out to be an inspiration for me. Since 2005 I had been writing extensively about Charles Austen’s career in North American waters, about the excitement of his first command and his pursuit of naval prize. More recently I became intrigued by the evidence that his young wife, Fanny Palmer, had spent parts of two years in the place which I call home – Halifax, Nova Scotia. I wanted to find out about her personality and character, as well as about the kind of life she led in Halifax and elsewhere. There was much to explore, beginning with her formative years in St George’s, Bermuda, through her naval travels with Charles in North America to her later years in England when she came to know the rest of his family. This biography presents what I have learned about Fanny Palmer Austen in all the ordinary and extraordinary aspects of her short life during exciting times.

My investigations began with Fanny’s letters, which have proved to be a treasure trove of personal narrative and contemporary detail. By further research, I have been able to present the letters in the social and cultural context of Fanny’s life. The picture of a lively, resourceful, and articulate young woman has emerged. I discovered a wife intimately involved with her husband’s naval career and a new and significant member of the Austen family.

Charles John Austen by Robert Field

The narrative of Fanny’s life describes what it was like to be a young woman living at sea with her husband and small children in early nineteenth-century wartime. Little has been written about wives who had immediate experience of their husbands’ professional careers and naval society. Fanny Austen’s letters, along with the story which surrounds them, affords a unique insight into female life in the theatres of naval warfare on both sides of the Atlantic during this tumultuous time.

Through her marriage to Charles, Fanny became closely connected with other members of his family. In particular, Fanny developed a relationship with Jane Austen that excited my attention. Their sisterly association led me to enquire whether Fanny’s experiences may have influenced Jane in the writing of her fiction. Evidence presented in the book supports a number of parallels between Fanny’s conduct and character and Austen’s portrayal of women with naval connections, such as Mrs Croft and Anne Elliot in Persuasion. Because Fanny was with Charles both on the North American station of the British navy (1807–11) and then with him and their children aboard HMS Namur stationed off Sheerness, Kent (1812–14), she had a truly transatlantic experience within his naval world that she could impart to Jane. Hence the title of the book, Jane Austen’s Transatlantic Sister.

HMS Atalante, sister ship to Charles Austen's sloop of war, HMS Indian (18 guns).

Before Fanny travelled to England with Charles and their children in 1811, she sailed with him on his sloop of war, HMS Indian (18 guns), between Bermuda and Halifax, Nova Scotia on a number of occasions. It was not always smooth sailing. The North Atlantic is frequently disturbed by gale force winds and heavy seas that can readily overpower a small wooden sailing ship. Fanny learned the hard way, as the following passage from the book reveals.

The Indian cleared the harbour on 29 November [1809] for a voyage that would be fraught with danger. Fanny and [her daughter, one year old] Cassy experienced their first major storm at sea and it was terrifying. Just out of Halifax the Indian met “strong gales with sleet and snow.” By the evening the “gale increased” and “the ship was labouring and shipping heavy seas.” For the next five days, the vessel lurched and rocked in the merciless gales. The Indian became separated from the flagship HMS Swiftsure (74 guns) and the three other vessels in convoy, HMS Aeolus (32 guns), HMS Thistle (10 guns), and HMS Bream (4 guns). On 3 December when the Indian signalled the Thistle with a blue light, which is ordinarily a sign of distress, she did not reply. It was not encouraging … that they were 495 nautical miles from a navigational point identified in the ship’s log as Wreck Hill, Bermuda.

The erratic rolling of the vessel and the bone-chilling wind must have greatly distressed and alarmed Fanny, now almost seven months’ pregnant. She needed to be brave and to try to hide her trepidation, especially as she had a terrified Cassy to calm and reassure. Finally, on 5 December the wind dropped to moderate breezes. The men surveyed the damage to the vessel and repairs began. According to the logbook, “people [were] employed repairing the rigging after the gale” and “fitting a new main sail.” By 10 December, the Indian’s deck was still awash with as much as two inches of water. Imagine Fanny’s relief when land was sighted and they “made all sail” for St David’s Head, Bermuda, arriving in St George’s on 12 December after a harrowing voyage of fifteen days, almost twice the time the journey usually took.

After reaching Bermuda, Fanny settled down on shore to await the birth of their second child, Harriet Jane, a namesake for her own sister Harriet and her sister-in-law, Jane Austen. She would experience many more adventures both at sea and on land; she would survive a potentially dangerous crossing of the North Atlantic; she would get to know Charles’s family in England, and she would develop a significant relationship with Jane Austen. All this and more was yet to come.

First posted on https://mqup.ca