History of Seaham - Stories and remarkable and memorable events in the history of Seaham People and Groups of Seaham Poems and stories of a collier skipper - Captain JW Knill of the "Annandale"
POEMS AND STORIES BY CAPTAIN JW KNILL,
Marlborough Street, Seaham Harbour
MASTER OF THE COLLIER SAILING SHIP "ANNANDALE"
Captain John Willis Knill was born in Newton-by-the-Sea, a fishing village on the Northumberland coast in 1828. He was baptised in the Parish of Embleton on 9th March 1828. His father served with the Coastguard for twenty-seven years until his death in 1842 leaving Johnny Knill aged 14 to find work to keep his mother and six siblings. After working on the local fishing fleet for two years he joined Her Majesty's cutter "Mermaid" at the Berwick station. At the age of twenty he joined the Merchant Service. Captain Knill was well known for penning letters to the editors of local newspapers on topical and social issues and also for writing poetry about his experiences as a captain of a sailing collier. He was master of the wooden brigantine "Annandale" from Maldon and sailed the regular collier routes along the east coast of England and to the Baltic ports. He first became associated with Seaham Harbour when he got a berth on board the "Lady Seaham" which regularly visited the port to load coals where, in his own words, he "cast an anchor in the harbour of matrimony, moored by a golden ring of the best gold to a finger post more precious than the ring. There two of us made our home, man and wife."
His son Thomas Knill was born in Seaham in 1867 and also qualified as a Master Mariner. He was Captain of the steamship "War Pike". When at Novorossiysk laden with several hundred tons of explosives in October 1919 the steamship took fire. Despite the danger Captain Knill stayed onboard, cast off and was towed out of the entrance to the harbour. He got the hoses to work successfully preventing the flames from spreading aft where the explosives were stored. The ship was grounded in shallow water and a major explosion threatening many lives was averted. For his bravery Thomas Stratford Knill received the highest bravery award in the Merchant Service for saving life. He received the Albert Medal personally from King George V1 at Buckingham Palace in 1920.
In 2018 a descendant of Captain John Willis Knill visited Seaham and deposited the actual handwritten manuscripts of these letters and poems with Seaham Family History Group.
An interesting feature in the manuscripts is Captain Knill's use of sailor’s jargon, phrases and local descriptions of the places and people he visited and accounts of the shipwrecks which haunted him throughout his life. A copy of one of the poems in his manuscript is shown below. He writes a letter in prose to William Sheridan, the Harbour Master at Seaham with a complaint. The Harbour Master had ordered the dock workers to move the Annandale from one coaling berth to another (probably because of a problem with the loading drops) without the knowledge of the Annandale's master. In the process of moving Captain Knill's ship the dock workers damaged the martingale of the brigantine "William Thrift". N.b. A martingale is a spar on which rigging and sails are attached. Richard Raine, the captain of the brigantine "William Thrift" complained to Captain Knill and requested compensation for the damage. The unfairness of the claim prompted Captain Knill to write a letter to the Harbour Master stating that it was the dock workers who moved his ship without his knowledge and the damage should be repaired at the expense of Lord Londonderry the owner of the Docks. William Sheridan was so amused at Captain Knill's letter he instructed the harbour's carpenter to repair the damage at the dock's expense
The transcription is as follows: -
To the Harbour Master at Seaham Harbour Jan 2nd 1870
Sir, with due respect I write to you
Not to inform, as know you do
That my ship the Annandale
Has broke the "Will Thrifts" Martingale
Her Master looks to me for pay
Which must be paid without delay
And which I think is very hard
As my ship was securely moor’d
Till by your orders cast adrift
She went foul of the William Thrift
My owner might think it rather queer
That I should do such damage here
I think the estate of Londonderry
Should pay the cost to Bill and Jerry
On receipt of the above, he sent me to order a Martingale, at the workshop, at the Harbour expense.
In another poem written in November 1870 Captain Knill thanks the "promoters of the reading room in Seaham Docks". Earl Vane had transformed the cookhouse at Seaham Docks into a reading room in 1870 for the use of seamen visiting the harbour. It was comfortably fitted out both as a reading and smoking room. In another letter to the Editor of the Seaham Observer in 1871 he describes the dreadful state of the streets of Seaham. These poems and letters were transcribed from the original manuscript by Linda Baker, Secretary of Seaham Family History Group in 2007. Captain Knill’s poems and letters in his manuscript give an extraordinary insight into our maritime heritage and life in a maritime port in the late Victorian era.
Fred Cooper (February 2024)
Leaves from the Log Book of a Collier Skipper
But says He do yo mind me
Let storms e’er so oft
Take the topsails of sailors aback
There is a sweet little cherube
That sits up aloft
Looking out for the life
Of poor Jack
Introductory remarks
When the muse is pleased to shine
I take my pen and write a rhyme
The Fickle jade is ill to please
Unless I humour her to ease
Her motions
The following rhymes were written at various times under various circumstances at sea, and on shore, when lying at anchor in roadsteads, in bad weather or sailing gaily along with a fine fair wind to the destined port, all hearts glad with the prospect of meeting with those they loved, after an absence of a long and tedious voyage. Among rocks and sands and stormy weather and other incidents of a seafaring nature. I write a good deal from memory as I have lost several leaves out of my log book and it being a long distance to look back my perspective telescope gets obscured by fog and other causes and the vista of the past half century becomes almost as capricious as a dream, or fading vision. But I hope my readers will not look at my defects either humorous or serious but at the feelings and the emotions of the muse which prompted me at the times and seasons they were written in the sixty’s and seventy’s on board the “Annandale” Brig, pitching and rolling and heaving sometimes on a lee shore and other times on a weather shore. My friends and relatives have often urged me to put my odds and ends together and now I comply with their request, hoping to please them, with sentiments or humour. I send my little barque upon the sea hoping she may have a pleasant voyage.
J.W.Knill
Through Dawdon Dene with Maggie, June 1860
As I was walking through the dene
A little to the west of Seaham (se – am)
And musing on the lovely scene
Was startled from my musing dream
By meeting with my Maggie
Twas in the early Summer time
Between the hours of eight and nine
The evening clear, serene and fine
And wild flowers grew in virgin prime
To grace the walk of Maggie
The lark was singing up on high
Between the earth and azure sky
The sporting lambs did bleating cry
And flowers each other seemed to vie
To grace the walk of Maggie
The trees were clad in foliage green
Their rustling leaves in ardour seem
To lend their music to the scene
And welcome bid the graceful queen
Or whisper love to Maggie
The hawthorn lends to sweet perfume
The primrose gay in natures bloom
The daisy’s modestly assume
And natures laid her carpet down
To greet the walk of Maggie
The feather’d songsters of the wood
Of various hue and varied hood
Join all their notes in gladsome mood
As if they her coming understood
To cheer the walk of Maggie
The burn meandering runs along
Through meads and trees and flowers among
And joins the quorum in their song
A motley lively cheerful throng
And sing love songs for Maggie
The trees may bud, the birds may sing
The flowers may bloom and nature bring
And fill her pleasures to the brim
And at me all her treasures fling
Theres none so dear as Maggie.
The River Wear
To the Editor of the Times (from memory)
Dear Sir,
To me its very queer
Such things should happen on the Wear
We have to pay from year to year
To keep the river bottom clear
(Now) there is not water (e)nough to float
from side to side the ferry boat
The sand and mud have grown so high
When its low tide, the middles dry
from boat to boat we have to plank it
when in the middle we get bank ’et
Poor things the lady’s shake with fear
and trembling cry “oh dear, oh dear”
lest they get dip’d into the wear
We hope to see and that right soon
a dredger working up an doon
Dredging up the sand and mud
to make the ferrys passage good
Then the lady’s will be pleas’d
to find their fears from danger eas’d
and thank the friendly corporation
for making needful alteration.
“Annandale”, Sunderland
In memory of those who perished in the disastrous gale of December 17th 1872. (Six ships with all hands belonging to Seaham Harbour).
NO MORE
No more their banks will sail along the coast
No more of braver deeds we’ll hear them boast
No more the deck they’ll pace with lightsome heart
Nor in the willing contest take a part
No more for them the tide will ebb or flow
No more for them the gentle Lephyss blow
No more for them the pilots watchful eye
Will scan the distance or their banks espy
No more, the Harbour make or furl the sail
Or friends “to gladly on the shore they’ll hail”
The place and port which oft before, they knew
No more, shall know them or their hapless crew
No more, the wife, her husband gladly meet
No more, the welcome home will kindly greet
No more, the loving kiss or fond embrace
No more, with smiles she’ll greet his smiling face
No more, she’ll list His welcome footstep near
Which oft had come her troubled heart to cheer
When pres’d with grief, at his long absence past
The latchet opens and he’s home at last
Expectant children now no more will see
Or infant prattle on its fathers knee
The promised toy or sweets he’ll being no more
Nor kiss his babe or sing to slumber ‘t’o’er
At eventide no more around his humble hearth
He’ll watch their gambles or enjoy the mirth
No more decide when little feuds take place
Which right or wrong with all becoming grace
The board no more, o’er which he did preside
With his lov’d children seated near his side
No more, good nights or kisses in their cot
As laid asleep their little feuds forgot.
The arm on which they stay’d to win them bread
Beneath the wave is number’d with the dead
His kindly heart will beat for them no more
Farewell, farewell on earth to meet no more.
To a coal factor, The Coal Exchange London
Dear Sir
To you the “Annandales” consign’d
I hope you’ll kindly bear in mind
That she is long and slender
And sell her to discharge afloat
Or else I fear I’ll get her broke
If to ground you send her
The times are rather hard you know
and to the ground I fear to go
her feelings are so tender
to disoblige you I am both
But should she break to tell the truth
I cant afford to mend her
An acrostic on the village of Greenhithe
Greenhithe remembrance is busy with thee
Perle’d in beauty they woodlands are present with me,
e’en now can my fancy embrace they loved ………….
opening upon the dewdrops (like nectar) has kiss’d they sweet flowers.
Not shall I forget (each) the kind friends I have seen.
How happy in your street village I have been
On thy fields and they woods and the cottage so neat
To where I am sent a few friends to meet
Heaven crown all their works in the field and the home
Cheer with plenty till thy kingdom shall come
Written in Lowestoff Roads Feb 9th 1871 on board the “Annandale”, Greenhithe
An acrostic on the death of George Thomas Warner aged 5 years
Gone to rest my darling boy
ended soon thy childish joy
Over the rive of death thou art gone
rest in peace my darling son
God has taken thee away
Ever to live in endless day
Telling us thy parents here
Heaven has freed us of our care
Often still we think of thee
Memory brings you back there,
All thy play by the hearth
Still we hear they childish mirth
We hope to meet you on that shore
After our weeping on earth is o’er
Rest our boy until we come
Never to part with thee at home
Everlasting then the joy
Rich with thee our darling boy
The poor Old Crossing Sweeper on Tower Hill London
With hollow cheer and sunken eye
on Tower Hill as I pass’d by
With broom in hand he sweeps the way
and never asks but thrusts for pay
The poor old crossing sweeper
His trembling limbs benum’d with cold
his tattered garments thin and old
He’s scarely glad and scarely fed
and yet he looks a man well bred
The poor old crossing sweeper
His crownless hat and soleless shoes
show plainly they’ve been long in use
His hair looks out, his toes the same
and all he wears not worth a name
The poor old crossing sweeper
At night where does he lay his head
I question much if on a bed
In some poor garret or a cell
His crumpled garments plainly tell
Where sleeps the crossing sweeper
His palled look and hollow voice
as he lifts up his hat apoise
To kindly thank for what I gave
tell me that soon the greedy grave
Will claim the crossing sweeper
Consumption mark’d him for its prey
He seems much weaker every day
Of late I’ve miss’d him, from his stand
I cannot now put in his hand
A copper, poor old sweeper
Where is he now, has kindly death
Deprived him of his scanky breath
Has he pass’d o’er that friendly couche
“from whence no travellers return”
The poor old crossing sweeper
The king, the prince, the Duke, the Lord
Must meet indistinct at this ford
The country dress and glittering crown
Are here as useless both laid down
With the rags of the crossing sweeper
London Dec 15th 1876
To the Harbour Master at Seaham Harbour Jan 2nd 1870
Sir, with due respect I write to you
Not to inform as know you do
That my ship the Annandale
Has broke the "Will Thrifts" Martingale
Her Master looks to me for pay
Which must be paid without delay
And which I think is very hard
As my ship was securely moor’d
Till by your orders cast adrift
She went foul of the William Thrift
My owner might think it rather queer
That I should do such damage here
I think the estate of Londonderry
Should pay the lcot to Bill and Jerry
On receipt of the above, he sent me to order a Martingale, at the workshop, at the Harbour expense.
To the Hetton Coal Fitter, Seaham Harbour
Sir,
I don’t inlend to write a song
Much less to write a sermon
As I unto a class belong
That cannot boast of learning
But first to say the long delay
I have in getting loaded
Has wearied me from day to day
My mind with promise graded
if promises could make the coal
Or words made into quineas
By this they would have filled my holds
To count them take dominies
An order was sent to the dock “put the Annanadale under the spout immediate, and load her right off”.
Jan 2nd 1870
To Mr. P. J. Hutton, Coal Fitter
Sun Oct 8th 1875
You told me (sir) to trust you
And you’d fulfil your promise true
And load the “Annandale”
A week has nearly past and gone
Your promises fulfilled not one
Good cause my faith to rail
In faith (sir) of the charter sign’d
Ne’er doubting that it was your mind
To do as you had said
But here I am with empty hold
My sanguine hopes are growing cold
Not load this week apaid
With due respect (sir) for you station
I crave your head to this narration
Deeds not words ne’er fail
No more I hope to have occasion
To remind of your relation
To the “Annandale”
The following application was written at Lossiemouth in 1880 and the situation granted 2nd Jan 1882 (as follows)
Dear Sir, I beg to intimate to you
And hope you’ll entertain my view
That when a vacancy takes place
Among the fitters at the staiths
You will note my rhyming application
To fill the vacant situation
And place my name in your note book
In memory put me in a nook
Which ever place in book or thought
I hope my name won’t be forgot
And J Knill will ever pray
In his kind friend P J Reay
Lambton Office, Sunderland
(Note) I obtained and retained the situation nearly 18 years
Reminiscence of Mr John Hutchinson, Ship Builder
The “Annandale” was dock’d in one of his (ie John Hutchinson) dry docks in Oct 1872 to undergo repairs and during the time he sent for me several times, to have what sailors call a yarn. Not a sailors yarn but a drawing room yarn and sometimes our yarns were drawn to considerable lengths until we found them twisting into a strong rope to bind us together, in sentiment and humour in general and genial topics of the times. When the ship was finished he sent me as a present six volumes of Blairs Sermons for which I sent him the following letter of thanks.
"Dear sir, I thank you most kindly for the present you sent.
At first I did think they only were lent,
till your servant had told me they were sent
as a gift for them to gift me or me them to gift.
With pleasure and profit I hope in the …………….
The chaff from the wheat will cleanly believe
The doctor and sailor can only agree
So far as free grace in his sermons I see
And when on the ocean I’ll think of any pieces
Who as a free gift the sermons did send"
Note
At sea I have made a note (of the present of books) in the first one of Blairs works. I had heard various reports concerning the characteristic eccentricities of the above named gentleman, and was glad when a messenger was sent to the ship to inform me that he desired to see me at his residence in Sunderland. He received me very kindly (and) be seated, and from what I heard and saw in his house I was both amused and edified and I feel pleased to say that I believe him to be a wise and good man and most energetic for his age then eighty seven
J W Knill
To the promotors of the Reading Rooms, Seaham Docks
Ladys and Gentlemen
We thank you kindly for the boon
In giving us a Reading Room
Where we can pass out leisure time
Improving our best part the mind
The house adapted once for cooks
You’ve made it now a house for books
Where drunken cooks the dinners spoil’d
And wasted both the roast and boil’d
Where well cook’d food made stomachs fain
Theres something now to feed the brown
And as the wheels of time roll round
Proved friends to sailors still are found
And you kind friends who e’er you be
We join to thank you heartily
We’d thank you more for something yet
A library if you would get
And we would help by contribution
to make it a greater institution
Such a boon is wanted much
that we may have a choice in touch
For men with various moods of mind
Amongst the sailors you will find
Some for scripture some for song
Some for history hundreds long
Some for grammar, some for diction
And others fonder still of fiction
Some like to climb up to the stars
And others polar regions far
Some like to soar up to the sun
And others like to quiz the moon
To see what kind of folk are there
If they are black or brown or fair
Some like to study politics
And others plants and trees and tricks
And some the birds and beasts and fish
On wings or legs or in a dish
Some like to dig deep in a mine
For hope some treasure there to find
But friends lest I should tire your patience
I’ll here wind up my long narrations
Yet say that still brave hearts and true
Beat underneath a jacket blue
And that if should ere break out
We could still give the foe a clout
But hope ere long the flag of peace
Will wave proclaiming wars have ceas’d.
Seaham Nov 15th 1870
Capt Webbs Channel Swim
Hurrah for Captain Webb
Swam both flood and ebb
Across the channel
He’s beat Boyton ………….
Boyton couldn’t I much doubt
Without his flannel
Webb did it in his skin from off the pier jump’d in
The Strait of Dover
His way to France was bent
Determined in the event
Till he got over
The fishes in the sea
Wonder’d who was he
With curious fin
A cruel jelly fish
That never grac’d a dish
Gave him a sting
But dauntless still of heart
Through keenly felt the smash
He’s not give in
He showed true British pluck
His colours never struck
He’d die or win
He hoisted ne’er a sail
His nat’ral fins avail
Without a paddle
No stars or stripes to tell
Nor crowd to cheer him well
Nor paper twaddle
But o’er the ocean bed
His stormy way he led
His path to glory
Let size tell to his ,…………..
As long as time shall run
The wondrous story
Hurrah for Captain Webb
As long as flood and ebb
Are kept in motions
Brittania still can boast
Of heroes on her coast
Less Yankee Notion
Shortly after the swim written at anchor in Yarmouth Roads
The Dirty Streets of Seaham Harbour
To the Editor of the “Seaham Observer” 1871
The wind's blowin strongly from the east
And keenly felt by man and beast
The frost's been keen most all the week
And snows wreathed up about the street
But now the frost and snow are gone
And meeting both the rains come down
Now the streets almost are ankle deep
For want of men and brooms to sweep
The ladys have to walk tip toe
And ankles even legs they’ll show
They have to lift their gowns and skirt
To keep them out from ‘mong the dirt
For shames sake send the carts and shull's
With men to clear away the mulls
If camels should go down your street
They’d splash your windows with their feet
As they your dirty lanes go doon (down)
The gypsies, singing, buy a broom
The ladys then, with many thanks
Will cleanly walk along your banks
And when a shopping they have been
To home return both sweet and clean
No need to use the sponge and brush
The streets are clear’d of mud and slush
The above hint was taken by the authorities (timely). I would just say a sailor man who got the nickname of “bad weather Bill” as it almost always was bad weather when Bills ship was in the docks, very often the double sea gates were shut and Bill was always blam’d for bringing bad weather with him and often when teas’d about it he would say, do you think I carry a bag with bad weather init and let it out when I come here, I think he was at Seaham then.
The Storms
Oh the storm, the terrible storm
Wrecking the ships on the coast along
Splitting the sails and breaking the mast
By the terrible force of an easterly blast
Ho the storm, the pitiless storm
Wrecking the hipes of many a home
Causing the widows and orphans to weep
Drowning their bread winners under the deep
Of what a storm, a November storm
Looking and dashing in awful foam
And the sound of the wind like a toons roar
Chasing the wreaks to the rock bound there
And the storm toss’d bound become thier prey
All helpless as at their stroke she lay
Gone down under the foaming wave
In sight of brave men waiting to save
Memory and eyesight cannot forget
The scenes of the storm without deep regret
Time never can heal the wounds it has made
The scar on the heart will outlive the shade
Now is the time for the millionaire
With the widows and orphans his gold to share
Only a crumb from your golden store
To keep for a while the wolf from the door
How can you rest on your downy bed
How can you lay on your golden egg
Your rusting fold from the poor who beg
And the widow and orphan crying for bread.
Withhold not from the poor who cannot help themselves
“He that form’d me in the womb
He shall guide me to the tomb
All my times shall ever be
Ordered by His wise decree”
I think it nice but out of place to inform my readers that I am looking back to a distance of 75 years and trying to connect some of the links of the first 20 years of my eventful life. I was born in 1828 at an obscure fishing village on the Northumberland Coast. My father was a coastguard man and my mother a fish agents daughter. On the night I was born a vessel laden with barley was wreck’d on the rocks at Newton and the old fisherman and fisherwomen had a good harvest of barleycorn, which was ground into meal to make bread for the bairns and after I grew to know language I heard them say it is so many years since the barley ship came ashore the night Johnny Knill was born.
“Where e’er I roam whatever lands I see
Home of my youth thou art still dear to me”
I can remember seeing the French fishing boats come ashore and my father assisting to save the crews for which he received a medal from the King of France. I also can remember the wreck of the Forfarshire , on the Farne Islands and my father bringing a pair of scissors to my mother which he had pick’d out of a hole in the rock. We could see her wreck from the watchhouse at Newton by the telescope. There are more incidents I might mention which occurred in my youthful days but I pass them over and come to the time when my dear father was taken from us, a family of seven and widow’s mother, I was the eldest, fourteen yours of age. After my father serving his country for twenty seven years we were cast upon the world to do the best we could for ourselves. I have often thought if our case had been freely ventilated and some kind acute friend had enquired into the circumstances my poor mother would have got an annuity from Her Majesty’s Government. I went to the fishing for about two years, and then when a little over sixteen, I had the privilege of joining Her Majesty’s Revenue cutter “Mermaid” on the Berwick station and remained in the service until I was about twenty when I left it and joined the Merchant service. As related in the sequel of my narrative, serving the time I was on the Mermaid, a circumstance occur’d which I have never forgot and which never will as long memory keeps her seat and right reason holds the helm until the last Harbour is gain’d and the sails of my poor weather beaten barque is furled, to loos’d no more, until the three calls, "All hands on deck", to meet and hail the great Captain of Heaven and earth and the owner of every vessel of mercy which appears in the registers of the Port of Eternal rest, no more to unmoor and put to sea where there shall be no more sea or storms.
On Devils or Johnny Grippys
Some with masts last and sails all rivers
The port would never make
But by a gracious gale are driven
There for the owners take
Samson arrives but in a wreck
David with broken bones
Eli but with a broken neck
Stephen midst showers of stones
“Plagues and deaths around one fly
Till he bids I cannot die
And not a single shaft can hit
Till a God of love sees fit”
Permit me to say that I write from facts as they have recurred to my memory they are the experiences and hardships which has been my lot, infidelity may laugh at some of my writings. But they are true.
My First Shipwreck
As I write from memory, of the past fifty five years, I beg to ask my readers to pardon the omission of days and dates and read my narrative in its main incidents, as connected with the above headings. I was a young man when I ship’d in a “Berwick Smack” bound from Berwick to Easedale in the highlands of Scotland with a cargo of coals. Her name “Charlotte MacKenzie”. Her crew four in number including the Captain (named Constable) and a very good double C he was . We had a very rough and stormy passage down the Scottich coast and up the “Moray Firth” until we enter’d the Caledonia Canal, through which we were towed by horses, on the side of the same by a rope from the ship attach’d to them. From thence we pass’d into Loch Ness through which we had to make several tacks, sometimes almost blinded by snowstorms although it was in the month of May (extremely cold). Eventually we arrived at Easedale, our port of discharge, after a tedious time navigating through sounds and locks and rocks, among which we had many a close shave. We got discharged of our coals and loaded a cargo of slates for Berwick on Tweed. We sail’d from Easedale through the Sound of Mull and had a fairly good passage until we reached Cape Wrath (ominous name) where we met with very bad weather. Our captain made up his mind to try and gain an anchorage in Loch Laxford, and in doing so struck a sunken rock and holed her bottom, slipped off the rock and began to fill with water. We put our the boat ready to leave the ship, but seeing a small cove between two high rocks on the lee made for it, and just entering it, sank, leaving us standing on the deck up to our waists in the water looking at each other in wonder and amazement at our narrow escape, proving the words true that “safety consists not in escape from dangers of a frightful shape, an earthquake may be bid to spare the man that’s strangled by hair” . We landed in our own boat and were met by the farmers and fishermen and conducted to a farm house and were treated very kindly. After being refreshed with milk and scones and had our clothes dried, we returned to the ship and found her free from water. We boarded her again to get our clothes which were all wet. My tea chest was full of water, my reference Bible and books all spoil’d also by best shore going suit, all the provisions except the beef which was carried to the farm house. We stayed a few days with the famers family, consisting of wife, daughters, and sons and cattle. Our bed for three was separated from the cattle by a wooden partition and often during the night the cows called the watch by their lowing, in the next room. Then we would give each other a dun and say "do you hear the watch call’d?" Well the time came when we must leave this happy family and their kind treatment and shank the distance, seventy miles to Invergordon, a rough and rugged road with a drove of cattle and their drovers as guides, over hill and through glens winding round the base of mountains, crossing waters, stopping at nights in a wayside shelter appointed for travellers, shepherds and sailors. Menu, milk and scones, oat cakes (cakes) and whisky, oatmeal porridge with plenty of good milk of which I could take my share. In four days we arrived at our port of shipment and walk’d on board the big “Caledinia” paddle, wooden steamer. After the cattle was put on board, we steam’d away for Leith calling on the way at Banff and Aberdeen for goods, passengers and more cattle. Paddling away from the above named city, we arrived in due time at Leith. From there we train’d it home to Berwick, not bringing poor old “Charlotte” back with us, but leaving her wreck and poor old bones in Lock Loxford to be wash’d and bleach’d and whiten’d, with the black waters of the North Atlantic Ocean. Now let me ascribe a song of Praise to Him “who holds the winds in his fist and the waves in the hollow of his hand”
“Rendered safe by His protection
We shall pass the watery waste
Trusting to His wise direction
We shall gain the port at last
And with wonder, think on toils and dangers past”
From there I must skip over a few years until I come to my second shipwreck which recur’d on Corton Beach Yarmouth Roads on board the “Bedale of Whitby” parting from both anchors in a heavy gale from the Eastward and driving ashore. It was high water when she came to the ground and being a dark night and thick with rain we were not seen by the people on shore for two hours. During that time the tide had left her considerably above water when we were rescued by the Lowestoff beachmen in one of their big yawls. Next flood tide she broke up. We were sent home by the Shipwreck Society. I would add, the captain promised to send the wages due to the men, but we never received a penny. Whether the owners paid him or not is unknown to us. If not they are in our debt still. If this ever should meet their eye, I hope conscience will do its duty. No doubt the freight was insured with the ship - to them a gain, to us a loss.
My third shipwreck happen’d in Skinning Grove Bay in thick weather. We saved ourselves in our own boat pouring oil into the sea as we came towards the broken water, this was in October 1881. I cannot say with the author of the voyage in the coal trade
When I became a captain I thought myself a king
and very soon I did forget the foremast man I’d been,
but that I never knew I was a sailor until I became a captain,
Nor selfishness, nor self conceit. I ne’er was wrapt in
And, as our truthful poet expresses "When self the wavering balance shakes, it's seldom right adjusted”. And again “mans inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn” . I have often thought that if there is one mind more use than another, it is that man, that mind, which is all for self, and cares not now much he oppresses and tyrannizes over his poor workmen, whether at sea, or on shore, at the plough or at the helm, so long as he can grab all into his own bag. If there is one more than another I despise it is “Johnny Grippy” men, who are mean and base and low, whatever they may profess to be. As I am busy with recollections of the past, permit me to add a few more of my narrow escapes from a watery grave.
About two years after my first shipwreck. I was wash’d overboard, from the deck of the “Radiant" of Blyth in the north sea, in mid winter, on a dark night, during a heavy gale from the S.E. and a heavy snowfall, fore reaching under two close reefed topsails on the starboard tack, when a tremendous sea struck the ship on the starboard quarter carrying away bulwarks, sky light, companion, cabin funnel and me with them. The man at the wheel got entangled among the wheel chains. The mate, who was in the cabin at the time, speaking with the captain had some difficulty in regaining the deck. The helmsman told him I was overboard and looking about the lee quarter found me hanging by one arm round the timber head in the covering board outside. He drag’d me to the deck quite exhausted. I found I had got hold of something and clung to it. What a wonderful deliverance.
“Chained to His thorns a volume lies
with all the fates of men
With every angels form and size
drawn by the Eternal pen”
"Keep her away before it", I heard the captain call, and she was kept away for the Firth of Forth, where we anchor’d at midnight under Inchkeith, after being battered about for four days. Eventually we arrived at London and back to Warkworth. After repairing damages sailed for Hamburg. Then from there up the Baltic, loaded a cargo of grain at Danzig for Leith where I left the Radiant and ship’d in the “Fanny” of Sunderland bound for Dover. Sailed from thence to Llannelly in Wales, loaded coals for Lowestoft, from there to Sunderland, and again to the Baltic. Loaded at Danzig for Goole where I left the "Fanny" came to Hull and ship’d in the “Lady Seaham” by the run to Seaham, there to cast anchor in the harbour of matrimony, moored by a golden ring of the best gold to a finger post more precious than the ring. There two of us made our home - man and wife.
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