Showing posts with label Shipyard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shipyard. Show all posts

Thursday, March 1, 2018

Presentation: The Last Days of Rotherhithe Shipbuilding: The Clipper Ships

The clipper Coonatto in Port Adelaide.  Built by Bilbe and Perry
at Nelson Dock, Rotherhithe, in 1863
Source: Trove PRG 1373-2-6
Many thanks to the Rotherhithe and Bermondsey History Society (http://www.rbhistory.org.uk/) for a very warm welcome on one of the coldest days I can remember.  It was great to meet old friends, chat to some lovely people that I have only talked to on email before, and of course great say hello to a lot of new people.  I can only apologize for the late start - nothing to do with the weather, but because I was at the wrong venue!  My sincere thanks to Robert who was also at Time and Talents rather than Surrey Quays shopping centre, for doing such a good job of navigating us from one place to the other in double quick time.

If anyone who missed the talk last night would like to see the PowerPoint, or if anyone at the presentation would like a second shot at it, it is available for download for the next few weeks at:  http://teaclippers.wordpress.com.  I have saved it both as a PDF and as a PowerPoint presentation (for the latter you will need PowerPoint installed, or you can download the PowerPoint Viewer - the link for that is on the above page).


Wednesday, October 4, 2017

A great night at the Docklands History Group

Enormous thanks to the Docklands History Group (www.docklandshistorygroup.org.uk) for inviting me to speak tonight at the Museum of London Docklands. My subject was the last days of clipper ships and the end of shipbuilding on the Thames.

What a wonderful set of people! I was very nervous about being an amateur on the subject amongst people with serious expertise in this field, but they were so nice and welcoming and I had a really good time. As I have a real fear of public speaking, which has been hard to conquer, the fact that I enjoyed myself is really saying something. Super, super people. 

If you are interested in the history of the maritime London, you might be interested in this group, which meets on the first Wednesday of every month, with each lecture lasting approximately an hour. You might also want to check out group member Peter Stone's new book "The History of the Port of London: A Vast Emporium of All Nations."



Saturday, June 25, 2016

Stuart Rankin's Rotherhithe shipbuilding books are available online for the first time

After many years, Stuart Rankin has now managed to secure the copyright on the booklets that he wrote many years ago about shipbuilding and shipyards in Rotherhithe, at a time when the fringes of Rotherhithe were laced with shipbuilding and shipbreaking yards.  Even better, he has made them available online for download.

Stuart's work is the result of years of trawling through archives for original documentation in order to track the history of individual people, ships, buildings and properties, and as a result his research boasts a high level of accuracy.  At the same time, the booklets are very digestible, with many maps and illustrations, and together they provide a brilliant background to Rotherhithe's complex past.

Every one of my own shipping and history posts starts with Stuart Rankin's booklets, and without them I would never have got started.  It is great news that they are now available to everyone.  

Shipbuilding in Rotherhithe – Bull Head Dock to the Pageants – Parts 1 and 2, The Nelson Dockyard, Greenland Dock and Barnard’s Wharf [ebooks]. £5.55 for all four booklets (a bargain).  A payment of 5p per order is made to Help The Heroes.
Here's the link:
http://www.britishtransporttreasures.com/product/shipbuilding-in-rotherhithe-bull-head-dock-to-the-pageants-part-i-to-part-4-ebooks



Thursday, April 28, 2016

Thomas Bilbe's "Coonatto," built at Nelson Dock, Rotherhithe, 1863

Coonatto by Thomas Goldsworth Sutton
National Maritime Museum PY8564

Coonatto was a three-masted  clipper commissioned from the partnership of Thomas Bilbe and William Perry in 1863 by Anderson, Thompson and Co. (later Anderson, Anderson and Co.) for the Orient Line for the transport on their London to Adelaide route of cargo, mainly wool, and passengers.

The relationship between Thomas Bilbe and Anderson, Thomson and Co. began when Bilbe built a ship named Celestial for James Thomson, using a patented system of wooden hull framing.  The ship was a great success and led to the contracts with Anderson, Thompson and Co., the founders of the Orient Line, for the London to Adelaide (Australia) route.  Other ships built by Bilbe for the Orient Line included Orient, Borealis, Yatala, and Argonaut (click on the links to see my previous posts about these ships).  The Orient Line.  A lovely description of the Orient Line ships survives from an 1898 article by John Arthur Barry:

As a good instance of how the sailing lines changed into steam, there existed in the sixties a fine fleet of small clippers trading to Adelaide for wool. The largest of them all was the Orient, of some 1200 tons or so. Then came the Murray, Goolwa, Yatala, Coonatto, Derra, etc., fast, fine-lined, London-built vessels of from 800 to 1000 tons, speedy but wet. Indeed, it was said of them that they took a dive on leaving the Channel, came up at the Cape for breath, and did not reappear until Kangaroo Island was in sight. This was perhaps an exaggeration, but their skippers drove them for all they were worth, and carried their main-top-gallant sails when other vessels had their upper topsails off; also imagined the world was coming to an end, or that Australia had disappeared, if they couldn't find Cape Borda in anything under eighty days. 

Coonatto in Adelaide.  From the Trove website, PRG 1373/2/6
at trove.nla.gov.au
The Orient Line became the Peninsula and Orient Steam Navigation Company, which eventually became re-branded as the very familiar P+O.  By the time that Coonatto was built, Bilbe had moved on to a new and innovative method of hull construction: composites.  He  patented and trialled composite ship construction with the clipper  Red Riding Hood in 1857, and all ships after this one built by Thomas Bilbe were composites.  Composite ships were built with a mixture of wood and iron.  The iron frame and ribs reinforced the hull and meant that the structure could be more open, providing additional room for cargo. 

Coonatto was the first ship that Bilbe built for the Orient Line.  She was a composite clipper, a method of construction that Coonatto was 160ft 2in long with a 29ft beam.  Coonatto's entry in the 1874-75 Lloyds register provides basic information about the ship's build but also mentions an interesting addition to the ship's equipment when, in 1874, she was provided with felt and ‘yellow metal’ cladding.   The Citizan website says that traces of the cladding still remains attached to some of the exposed timber.  It sounds as though this was similar to the copper hull cladding that protected ships against the effects of wood-consuming species and improved the speed of ships through the water.  A similar modification can be seen on the restored tea clipper Cutty Sark in Greenwich, which has had the so-called Muntz alloy fastened to the entire hull. 

Orient Line passages, March 1870
She was known as a fast ship, described by Basil Lubbock as "an out and out clipper with very fine lines."   Lubbock says that she was "very wet," which means that she took a lot of water on board when under sail, but he thought that this might be due "to the hard-driving of her skipper, Begg, a Highlander, who never spared her and made some very smart passages out and home."  Coonatto's fastest times were 66 days to the Semaphore Lightship and a 70-day run, even after losing both her helmsman and the wheel overboard after broaching-to (falling foul of the wind) off St Paul's Island!

Clippers were mainly cargo carriers, although the Orient Line also carried passengers.  The clippers on the Australian run were transporting a mixture of products to London, but primarily wool in exchange for a variety of British products.  Basil Lubbock describes the shipping trade from Adelaide, which was the focus of only two or three firms, as follows:  "During the sixties and seventies, when Sydney and Melbourne were filling their harbours with the finest ships in the British Mercantile Marine, Adelaide, in a smaller way, was carrying on an ever increasing trade of her own, in which some very smart little clippers were making very good money and putting up sailing records which could well bear comparison with those made by the more powerful clippers sailing to Hobson's Bay and Port Jackson."  He goes on a little later:  "Their captains, however, were always keen in rivalry and put a high value on their reputations as desperate sail carriers.  They made little of weather that would have scared men who commanded shops of three times that tonnage of the little Adelaide clippers, and they were not afraid of a little water on deck."

The Trove website has a rather wonderful advert for Orient Line passenger places on clipper ships heading to various destinations in March 1870.  Coonatto was one of the ships heading for Adelaide under the command of Captain J.N. Smart.  Two other ships listed on the advert, Orient and Yatala, were also built by Bilbe for the Orient Line (see my post about her here).   White Eagle, another ship on the list, was also owned for a time by Bilbe and his business partner William Perry, which was actually built in Aberdeen in 1855.

The South Australian Advertiser 8th October 1870. Shipping News (with thanks to the Trove website) provides this rather nice description of Coonatto leaving Australia for London:
COONATTO, for London via Port Augusta.
"The Orient liner Coonatto has once more taken departure from the port by towing over the bars on Thursday evening. It was Captain Smart's intention to have immediately sailed for Port Augusta, where she is to complete her wool landing;  but during the night there was little or no wind; therefore the ship remained at anchor awaiting a favorable change. . . . The Coonatto weighed anchor in the roads on Friday afternoon, and presented a very handsome appearance as she beat away on a sea breeze. Towards nightfall the wind hauled more off the land and enabled her to lay a course clear of Troubridge."

The remains of Coonatto today
Copyright MOLA (Museum of London Archaeology)
In 1876, carrying a cargo of copper, copper ore and wool to England from Australia, she became beached in the English Channel at Crowlink, near Beachy Head, and could not be re-floated.  At the age of 13 she was wrecked.  The wreck is thought to remain at the foot of the white cliffs.   The Citizan website provides a good description of the find: 
Situated in the Seven Sisters and Birling Gap park lies the wreck of what is believed to be the Coonatto, a London registered bark-rigged clipper (a type of three-masted ship) that sources suggest ran aground in 1876. The wreck lies on the very edge of the intertidal zone, below the cliffs at Crowlink. The keel and starboard side of the ship are still clearly visible where they came to rest. The remains include large and small timbers, some still clad in a zinc alloy, whilst the total length of the wreck is roughly 43m bow to stern.  The site is subject to the erosive forces of the waves and tides. Interestingly records describe the salvaged cargo being craned onto Crowlink Cliffs but given the present location of the cliffs and the type of cargo to be craned this suggests considerable erosion since the wrecking. The CITiZAN team hope that more research will establish the extent of the cliff that has disappeared and further understanding of the vessel.  To date we have worked with partners and volunteers in the National Trust and Eastbourne Heritage Services as well as training the first 15 CITiZAN volunteers in England to work on this site. A plan of the site has now been produced with future focus on more detailed drawings of the diagnostic elements of the ship that survive as well as an attempt to generate a 3D model of the site to provide those who cannot make the journey to the site with the chance to learn more about this fascinating wreck.

There is apparently a painting in the Seaford Museum in East Sussex that is thought to show Coonatto foundering at Crowlink, but I have been unable to find an image of it.

John Arthur Barry, writing in 1898, watched the demise of sail in favour of steam:

In the great mail steamers of that same Orient line that now lie alongside Circular Quay you may at any moment see the evolution of canvas to steam in its widest and most complete and final aspect.  Other fleets, as the White Star one, for instance, have not quite yet arrived at the termination of the process, and still own a few sailers out of the fine array of once famous Aberdeen liners—-the Damascus, Patriarch, Thermopylae, and others, such as the Centurion, Abergeldie, Maid of Judah, Windsor Castle, Nineveh, etc., whose names, as well as those of the Duthie's and Thompson's, are indissolubly bound up with the early maritime history of the colony. Now and again, perhaps, in one of the harbor bays, you may see a shapely old craft whose aspect seems in some way friendly and familiar, only that she flies a foreign flag, and has a foreign name upon the stern. Dirty, weather-beaten, forlorn as she is, with rusty rigging and paintless spars, nothing can disguise the old ocean aristocrat who a score of years ago was the pride of her captain, the crack clipper of her fleet and whose comings and goings were matters of moment, both on this side of the world and the other one.

The 6ft (1.83m) figurehead from
Coonatto now in the Jervis Bay
Maritime Museum
(Photo from the Jervis Bay
Maritime Museum website)
As far as I know, Thomas Bilbe did not make the transition to constructing steam ships, which seems odd as he was certainly an accomplished engineer. He certainly didn't do so in Rotherhithe.  It would be interesting to know what he did next, because he was clearly a very colourful character and it would be good to know more about him.  If you have any details about his life, please do get in touch.



Sources for this post:

John Arthur Barry  1898. How the Wool Went Home Long Ago. Australian Town and Country Journal, Sydney, NSW.  Saturday, December 17, 1898
http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks13/1301811h.html 

Basil Lubbock 1975. The Colonial Clippers. Brown, Son and Ferguson Ltd.

Charles F. Morris 1980. Origins Orient and Oriana. Teredo Books

Stuart Rankin 1996. Shipbuilding in Rotherhithe - The Nelson Dock.


Websites:

Jervis Bay Maritime Museum
http://jervisbaymaritimemuseum.blogspot.com/2014/03/figurehead-on-show.html
http://jervisbaymaritimemuseum.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/wreck-of-caonatto.html

The Citizan.org website:
http://www.citizan.org.uk/resources/key-zones/south-east/wreck-coonatto-crowlink-birling-gap/


The MOLA Facebook page
https://www.facebook.com/MOLArchaeology


Friday, January 15, 2016

HMS Edinburgh - built by Samuel and Daniel Brent, Rotherhithe, 1811

A view of the Commercial Docks in 1813 by William Daniell, two years after Edinburgh was built. 
A ship enters the lock and to the left and right of the lock you can see Greenland South and North shipyards,
both with ships in dock (click to expand).

In the 1800s Rotherhithe produced some superb ships (as well as one or two lemons), mainly sail-powered wooden warships as well as a smaller number of tea clippers and paddle steamers.  Some of the ships that began their lives as wooden ships were later converted to steam, either paddle or screw, and this was the destiny of HMS Edinburgh, which was built in 1811 by Samuel and Daniel Brent  in Rotherhithe.  The Brents had a long and successful history of boat building in Rotherhithe for two generations, their names first linked with that of two generations of Randalls, but on the suicide of John Randall, Samuel and Daniel Brent took over the business variously as S+D Brent and Brent and Co. Messers Brent. Finally, when Samuel died, Daniel Brent carried on alone.  Samuel and Daniel Brent operated out of operated out of Greenland Dock North and South shipyards in Rotherhithe between 1805 and 1819.  They had also operated out of Nelson Dock but gave this up in 1810.   

HMS Asia, another Vengeur-class warship, which
gives a good idea of how Edinburgh will have looked
at the time of her launch (image sourced from Wikipedia)
HMS Edinburgh was ordered in 1807 and was launched on 26th January 1811. It is not recorded which of the two Greenland Dock yards she was built at, Greenland North or South, both flanking Greenland Dock's lock entrance as shown in the William Daniell painting above.  The painting also shows the Commercial Docks and, beyond, the Grand Surrey Canal with a very busy Thames beyond it, and St Paul's visible in the far distance.  Also launched in 1811 by the Brent brothers was the East Indiaman Marquis of Huntley, so both North and South docks were clearly occupied simultaneously during the construction of the two ships, a profitable situation at a time when traditional ship building was in decline.  Edinburgh herself earned the Brents £57,000 (£1,935,720 in today's currency according to the National Archives Currency Converter).  She then had to be fitted out elsewhere with masts, rigging, guns and other fittings at the cost of £26,032 (£884,046). 

HMS Edinburgh was a third rate Vengeur-class ship of the line, 1772 tons, 176ft long, 47ft 6in beam and 21st deep with a wooden hull, 74 guns and a ship's company of 600.  There were more Vengeur-class ships built during this period than any other class of warship (around 40 of them), and most of them were built in private rather than naval shipyards.  New warship designs were usually built to the design of an individual surveyor, but the Vengeur-class (also occasionally referred to as the Hogue-class) were designed by committee.  This is thanks to the Admiralty which, faced with two competing designs for a 3rd rate ship of the line, decided not to opt for either but to direct all its naval surveyors to come up with a new 3rd rate design between them. They decided that the Surveyors of the Navy "should consider together, and prepare a draught which will embrace the qualities pointed out by their Lordships letter as so desirable to be attained and at the same time keep down the increased expense" (quoted in Lavery). The result became colloquially known as the Surveyors' class.  Unfortunately for the Admiralty's requirement for keeping down expenses, the need to send them to private yards for construction made them rather more expensive than the Admiralty had planned for.  In spite of the number produced, they soon became somewhat unpopular.  One report describes Edinburgh, for example in the following terms:  "steers bad, wears very slow, but stays quick."  As Lavery says, the design was not a disaster but certainly failed to meet up to the expectations of the Admiralty as well as the captains who were given command of the Surveyors' class ships.

Throughout her career Edinburgh was commanded by a number of different captains.  Under her first command she went to the Mediterranean between 1811 and 12, was in the Gulf of Spezia in 1813 and then Anzi in the same year, and was laid up in Portsmouth a year after.  It is unclear where she was sent in the following two decades, but in 1833 she was again in the Mediterranean. 
.
Scheduled for conversion to steam, she was described by The Times, again in less than flattering terms:
Edinburgh, 72.  This old ship, which is being prepared to going into the hands of Mr White, of Cowes, to be fitted with a screw propeller, as a block ship or floating battery, is nearly ready.  She is fit for no other purpose, although she has had a good deal of service, being remarkable as a very dull sailer."

Hogue, after she was converted to a Blenheim-class
screw steamer.  Edinburgh will have looked very similar.
(Image sourced from Wikipedia)
In 1846, already 41 years old, she went to Portsmouth naval base for conversion to a Blenheim-class steam ship with modern screw propellers (as opposed to paddles, which had been the usual form of propulsion for earlier steam warships (see, for example, the warship Karteria, also built by the Brent brothers).  The conversion, which reduced her guns to 60, was completed in 1852.  The cost of the conversion was an eye-watering £65,000.00 (£2,866,500 today).

In her new guise, she went back into service as a steam guard-ship, together with Blenheim, Hogue and Ajax, which were also old Vengeur-class sailing ships that were converted for this new role. This was a new concept in the navy.  All four were reduced to one deck, and fitted with a 450hp engine capable of up to 8.9 knots, as well as light rigging for an alternative source of power.  These ships are often described as floating batteries. The initial intention was to use them for coastal defence but they saw action in foreign seas as well.

"The Baltic Fleet Leaving Spithead," showing Edinburgh
at far left.  Illustrated London News (Supplement)
for March 18th 1854.
All four of the original guard-ships saw action in the Baltic Campaign of 1854 and 1855 during the Crimean War, and are immortalized in the famous Illustrated London News illustration "The Baltic Fleet Leaving Spithead" published on March 18th 1854.  Two other Rotherhithe-built ships also served in the Crimean War - Jackdaw and Hind, both screw steamers, which were commissioned from John Jenkins Thomson specially for the war.  Edinburgh was part of the 1853 fleet review prior to departure for the Baltic, the first time that screw steamers had been included in a fleet review, and she was present at the 1856 fleet review at Spithead on her return to England.

She was a guard-ship at Sheerness later in 1856 and was with the Coast Guard in 1858. 

Edinburgh
was broken up by Castle and Beech at Charlton on the Thames in 1866, at the venerable age of 55.


Main sources:

Lavery, Brian (2003) The Ship of the Line - Volume 1: The development of the battlefleet 1650-1850. Conway Maritime Press.
Winfield, Rif (2008) British Warships in the Age of Sail. 1793 - 1817. Seaforth Publishing
Rankin, Stuart (1997). Shipbuilding in Rotherhithe - Greenland Dock and Barnard's Wharf. Rotherhithe Local History Paper No.3
Peter Davis http://www.pdavis.nl/ShowShip.php?id=62





Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Ropewalks in Rotherhithe and Bermondsey in the 1800s.

1811 Map showing the
Rotherhithe rope walk
I have always been fascinated by rope walks so it's surprising that it has taken me so long to sit down and write something about the ones I noticed a long time ago on Rotherhithe and Bermondsey maps of the 19th Century.  There were several of them in Rotherhithe and Bermondsey.  Rope making was an essential part of British naval and commercial ship building activities between the 15th and 19th Centuries.  Ropes were also essential to maritime commerce, particularly for the great full-rigged tea clippers.  The standard length for a naval rope, for example, was 1000ft.  Even when steam was very first introduced for sea-going vessels, most ships still retained masts and sails to enable them to save on fuel when there was sufficient wind to travel under sail. The bigger the ship, the more rope was required for rigging. Warships and tea clippers were major consumers of rope.  The longer the rope required, the longer the rope-making premises (ropewalk) required.
.
Every time I see a particularly long and very straight piece of road set back from the river in a former shipbuilding area I suspect it of having  been a former rope walk.  These were the Roman roads of the maritime world.

Rope walks were long alleys where rope was manufactured, and they could be open or sheltered. The materials used to make the rope had to be laid the full length of the walk, so whatever the desired length of the finished rope, that was the the length that the ropewalk had to be. There were various rope walks in the area.  If you look at the Cutty Sark next time you're in Greenwich you will see not just how many ropes she has, but how long many of them needed to be.  She was re-rigged in 2012 and the company that were responsible, TS Rigging and Heritage Marine, provided the following statistics:
The Cutty Sark’s rigging extended 11 miles long, her original sail area was 32,000 sq. ft. (2,976 sq.m.), and her main mast stood at 152ft (47m). Fair trade winds gave her the famous parametric of over 17 knots which would have been achieved with most of her 32 sails set. So famous for her speed at sea, it was deemed she would under-go a full restoration and be granted full public access as part of the Maritime Museum Greenwich, London.  Jim and a team of young tall ships crew and engineers immersed themselves in the huge task of stripping down and re-rigging the Cutty Sark. Andy Hodder-Smith, the project manager on the job orchestrated work undertaken on 2.5 km of wire standing rigging, 14km rope for running rigging, 400 wooden blocks, 700 shackles, 41 spars, 9 mast sections, 17 yards, including one as spare for the Cutty Sark.

Chatham ropewalk
Photography by Clem Rutter. CC-BY-2.5
Fortunately we don't have to use our imaginations to know how the rope walks looked and worked because a small number of rope walks have been thankfully preserved, and some are even still operational, with a particularly good Victorian example dating to 1790 forming part of the museum at the Historic Dockyard at Chatham (see http://www.thedockyard.co.uk/plan/plan-your-day/victorian-ropery/). It is 1135ft long and when it was built it was the longest in Europe. The basic procedure begins with converting hemp, sisal, coir, manila or manila-hemp, and a range of other natural fibres, into something that can be turned into rope.  First it is "hatchelled" or combed into manageable strands, and then it is converted into yarn by spinning it. Next, the spun strands of yarn are are fed through a plate with holes in it, a "register plate" and compressed through a "die."  Finally the rope is "closed" as follows.  Attached to a moving a moving trolley, and laid along the ropewalk the prepared strands are organized into pairs into pairs of three, separated by a pine-cone shaped wooden block with ridges in it, a bobbin.  They are kept off the ground by being laid over hurdles all along the ropewalk and are fastened to hooks at the other end of the walk.  The hooks are either hand or machine operated and turn the pairs to form twisted stands and as  the length of the rope shortens due to the strands being combined, the trolley moves along.  These pairs are in turn combined by the same technique to form a single length of rope. When the rope has been formed it is coiled, either manually or by machine, ready for transportation. Have a look at the You Tube video Making Rope - Medieval to Edwardian technique to see a manually operated ropewalk in operation, describing and demonstrating parts of the process in detail.  Two other videos are shown in Sources at the end of the post.

The same Rotherhithe
ropewalk in 1868
(click to enlarge)
The longest ropewalk in Rotherhithe was at Downtown, set back from Rotherhithe Street, where it ran behind the terraced houses alongside Acorn Yard.  I have picked it out in pink on the 1811 map at the top of the post, where it is marked as "Rope Walk" and on the 1868 Ordnance Survey (Godfrey Edition) map to the left, where it is marked as "Ropery,"  it is easy to see how long it was on the 1868 map - each of the little rectangles bordering it was a terraced house and its yard.  It extended all the way from the rear of the Trinity Church churchyard to beyond Nelson Dockyard to its north.  The Downtown rope walk is shown on maps dating to 1811 and 1868, but it had been removed by 1914.

Another two ropewalks can be seen on the borders of Rotherhithe and Bermondsey, where two ropewalks marked  as "Patent Rope Manufactory" are shown on the 1872 Ordnance Survey map of Bermondsey.  They are shown on the 1843 Davies map where it is clear that there are several ropewalks but unclear how many there area (see the maps at the end of the post).  Comparing the 1843 and 1872 maps, it is possible that some of the other radiating streets in that cluster were ropewalks in a previous life due to their length and uncompromising straightness and the fact that, like the Rope Manufactorys, they run towards the Thames and terminate in wet and dry docks.  Another possibility, of course, is that one or more were always terraced streets, their trajectory confined by the presence of the ropewalks. 

Between them, the Rotherhithe and Bermondsey ropewalks were feeding the never-ending demand for rope for Naval and commercial ships in one of the busiest ship-building and repairing stretches along the Thames. 

Prisoners picking oakum for caulking at the
Coldbath Fields Prison in Clerkenwell
The rope walk in Rotherhithe had been removed by 1914, and seems to have been converted to a walkway along the side of Acorn Pond, connecting the Upper Acorn Yard with the vast Acorn Yard running along Lady Dock to the south.  Similarly, the Bermondsey ropewalks had been converted into roads and housing by 1914.  The ropewalk on the 1872 map to the west became a Peabody Building and the one marked to the east was built over with more terraced housing and yards. If the 1843 map is anything go to by, earlier ropewalks had already become streets by 1872.  This makes a lot of sense because although the docks were in full swing, this was now the age of steam, the last big sailing ship to be built on Rotherhithe, Lothair, having been launched in 1870, a year after the launch of the comparable Cutty Sark in Blackwall.  Today the area has been transformed so much that it is impossible to see exactly where this intriguing fan of roads was located, but it is clear that Bevington Street and Farncombe Streets are survivors of this cluster of Bermondsey ropewalks.   

After the ship building industry collapsed along the Thames, and the ropewalks had closed, ship breaking continued to be profitable and even when rope was old and spent and was removed from ships being broken up (or from ships being repaired and their old ropes being replaced by new ropes) old rope still had a value.  Rope that had deteriorated to the point where it could no longer be used as rope was sold to prisons and workhouses where it was dismantled into its original fibres and reconstituted into a new material. This product was known as "oakum," which was tarred and used as "caulking," to seal the gaps in joints of ships' planking, both in the hull and on deck, to make them watertight. The payment for the redundant rope gave rise to the phrase "money for old rope."

The ropewalks are commemorated in a modern Rotherhithe street name:  "Ropemaker Road," although it is sadly nowhere near to where the old ropewalk actually ran.



The orange sections are ropewalks marked on the 1872 Ordnance Survey
map of Bermondsey. Those in blue were possibly ropewalks from
a previous period turned into terraced housing by this time

(click to enlarge)


Principal sources:





Monday, January 4, 2016

The steam corvette Karteria, built in Rotherhithe,1826, for the Greek War of Independence



Karteria under steam, her sails furled,
with the sailing ship Hellas in the background
Karteria was a bit special.  Not that any of the other ships built in Rotherhithe weren't special, but Karteria was innovative in the same way as Rising Star, another truly remarkable ship built in Rotherhithe in the same tradition and by the same ship builder, Daniel Brent (see my earlier post about Rising Star).  A very worthy descendent of Rising Star, she was technologically more advanced, a fine product of the Industrial Revolution.  She has a remarkable story, which includes a surprising famous name. 

Karteria, meaning "perseverance" in Greek, was built in Rotherhithe's Greenland Dock South shipyard by Daniel Brent.  Daniel Brent's business was the outcome of a long and honourable series of ship building partnerships that began with John Randall and his son, also John.  Randall and Brent had shipyards at both Nelson Dock and on one side of the lock at Greenland Dock, called Greenland Dock South.  When John Randall junior committed suicide in 1802 during a labour dispute, the partnership between the Randalls and Brents was dissolved and by 1810 the Brents had given up Nelson Dock and operated out of Greenland Dock North and South shipyards between 1805 and 1819 as Messrs Brent.  By 1820 Daniel Brent was operating on his own at the two Greenland Dock shipyards and held the lease until 1824, after which the shipyards were empty during, and perhaps because of, industrial action resulting in a full-scale strike in April 1825.  Brent resumed the leases on both yards between August and December of 1825. As the build of Karteria took place in 1825, it may be that the lease was resumed on the empty yards mainly to complete this contract, as well as perhaps one other - the paddle steamer Duke of Sussex, also built by Brent in 1825.  The yards passed into other hands after this date.

Captain Frank A. Hastings
Karteria was commissioned in 1825 on a privateer basis by Captain Frank A. Hastings who had served at Trafalgar when only 11 years old and was now working for the provisional Greek government, preparing for what turned out out to be the Greek War of Independence against Turkey 1828.   With the end of the Napoleonic wars (1803-1815) some naval officers became the equivalent of mercenaries, selling their skills to countries who still had conflicts for which their strategic skills were invaluable but Hastings was a special case.  He had been forced out of the Navy due to an incident with a fellow officer, and as a great Greek enthusiast was very keen to become involved in the fight for independence.  The Greek situation found a lot of sympathy in England at this time due to its Classical history, a romantic ideal that hoped to encourage a resurgence of Greek Classicism by freeing it from the Ottoman Empire. Accordingly, Karteria was funded largely by the London Philhellenic Committee, established in the UK to raise funds for the Greek War of Independence.  Lord Byron was one of its early members, became its chairman, invested £4000.00 of his own money in the refitting of the Greek Navy and eventually took up arms against the Ottomans in Greece, where he died.   Captain Hastings also invested his own money into the ship, financing the guns.  It had been his vision to replace an ailing Greek sail navy with a new fleet of ships that ran under both steam and sail.  In 1825 he was appointed commander-in-chief of the Greek revolutionary navy.

Plan of Karteria
On a smaller scale, it is also an interesting period in Rotherhithe's ship building history.  Most of the ships being built at this time were traditional sailing ships, naval and commercial, some of them on a grand scale, and they were still being built into the 1860s when the tea clipper Lothair, the last big sailing ship to be built in Rotherhithe was launched, in 1870.  However, at the same time there was a small number of Rotherhithe builders who were embracing the new steam technology, and a number of steam-powered paddle steamers were built here from the early 1800s.   As well as Rising Star, Daniel Brent was responsible for an earlier remarkable steamship, The London Engineer

Interestingly, the British Royal Navy was very suspicious of steam power, using steam ships mainly as tug boats to shift their sailing ships around, and some of the earliest experiments with steam ships in naval action were privately commissioned for foreign wars.  Although Rising Star has been built for the war between Chile and Spain, she arrived in Chile too late to be put into service, so Karteria was the world's first steamship to see naval combat.

As a warship Karteria was a product of a number of aspects of modern innovation.  Her extreme manoeuvrability came from having two engines, on the port and starboard sides, each connected to a paddle.  One of the innovations in Brent's build was a deck to ceiling bulkhead, which Captain Hastings describes in his 1828 Memoirs, where he demonstrates he true love of the ship that he and Brent came up with:
The ‘Karteria’ was built with her timbers close and caulked together, and would therefore, have floated without planking. I had several opportunities of remarking the advantage of building thus, to resist shot; nothing less than a eighteen pounder ever came through us; this, ’tis true, might be partly attributed to Turkish bad powder, but those shot that did come through, always made a nice clean round hole without a splinter. However, against shells it would have a disadvantage, as they would be more likely to stick in it. Perhaps if shells became generally used, it will be proper to make the upper works of a ship as slight as is consistent with strength, and iron ribs might perhaps be good. The ‘Karteria’ had another peculiarity in her build – two solid bulkheads enclosing the engine room, and caulked and lined, so as to be water tight, the intention of this was, in the event of one part of the ship being leaky from any cause whatever, the water could not flow into another part of the ship. This arrangement, which is due to the ingenuity of Mr Brent, the builder, once saved this ship from fire, which broke out with great force in the after-part of the engine room, and would have communicated to the shell room very quickly. But for this bulkhead, which kept the fire forward, and gave us time to subdue it. I see no reason why all men of war should not be furnished with similar partitions. The same builder saved another ship ('the Rising Star') from sinking, by this contrivance.

Karteria and her figure-head on a
Greek stamp from 1983
Her vital statistics are: Displacement 233 tons; Length 38.4m (126ft0 in); Beam 7.6m (24ft11 in); and speed 7 knots (under steam from two 42-horsepower engines).  She was armed with four 68-pounder carronades and four 68-pounder cannons.  

She is often referred to as a steam corvette, indicating that she could sail under steam or sail, but this term usually refers to steam ships with screw propellers.  Karteria was powered by steam but she was a paddle steamer, with two paddles and was also equipped with four masts so that she could travel under sail and was rigged as a schooner.  As steam required fuel in the form of coal, and it took a long time for sufficient coal storage depots to be established around the coast, it was practical to provide steamships with sail so that they could save fuel when there was sufficient wind to power the ship.  The sails were also very useful when, en route to Greece from London in 1826, a fire put the engines out of commission and she was able to proceed under sail.  Her crew was 185 strong, including 17 Officers, 22 Petty officers, 32 Gunners, 110 Seamen and 4 Cooks and Servants.  She also had an American doctor on board, Samuel Gridley Howe, who kept a journal and provided some useful insights into life on board.

A model of Karteria, by G. Vammenos, at the
Hellenic Maritime Museum, Piraeus.  It clearly shows
her layout with twin paddles, four masts, steam
funnel and a disconcertingly traditional-looking
hull. (Photo from the Captain Frank website)
She was completed in May 1826, departed shortly afterwards, and arrived in Nafplion in September 1826.  She was soon engaged in both land and sea engagements and, commanded by Hastings, Karteria became a Greek legend.  She was equipped with four 68 pound guns, which was a small number compared to the conventional naval ships, which had upward of 20 guns as standard.  She therefore needed a number of other advantages in her favour.  These were manoeuvrability, two sources of power and the hot shot that she fired on the wooden sailing ships.  The Ottoman navy was well equipped with large vessels but the Greek navy was composed primarily of small ships and Hastings believed that the answer lay in having more powerful ammunition than the enemy.  Remarkably, Karteria had an on-board furnace, which was used to heat shot to the point where it had a lethal incendiary impact on the unprotected wooden hulls of enemy ships.  This made all the difference and most celebrated success was a raid on the port of Itea in the Gulf of Corinth on the 29th and 30th September 1827, where she was responsible for sinking nine Ottoman Navy ships.  Although Karteria, and three sister ships that followed her, were successful, they all suffered from engine difficulties.

In spite of ongoing engine trouble, the success of both the Karteria and her sister ships, together with the new type of ammunition, eventually led to sailing ships being abandoned by the Royal Navy, and to the adoption of armour on ships to prevent precisely the type of destruction that Karteria's flaming shot had rained down on her enemies.

Hastings himself was wounded in an attack at Aetoliko on the 25th May 1828 and died from his injuries on the 1st June 1828, after which he was given a state funeral with full military honours and was hailed as a national hero.

Karteria was taken out of service in 1831.



Main Sources:

As usual, this post is more interested in the Rotherhithe side of things than, for example, the bigger picture of the Greek War of Independence, but there are plenty of books and websites on that subject, as well as the sources used for this post, which are as follows:

  • Maurice Abney-Hastings. Commander of the Karteria. Author-House 2011
  • Lawrence Sondhaus. Naval Warfare 1815-1914. Routledge 2001 
  • Stuart Rankin.  Walk B:  Shipyards, Granaries and Wharves. Southwark Council 2004
  • Website: A history of military equipment of Modern Greece (1821 - today).  (1826-1840) Paddle Steamer Karteria. http://greek-war-equipment.blogspot.co.uk/2011/02/1826-1840-paddle-steamer-karteria.html
  • Website:  Commander of the Karteria.  Karteria:  The first steam warship in war (1826) http://www.captainfrank.co.uk/article/karteria-the-first-steam-warship-in-war-1826





Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Strikes and the HMS Ajax scandal - the beginning of the end for Thames shipbuilding 1786-1813

1811 map showing the locations of the
Nelson Dock shipyard (at the top, still in
grounds of the Hilton Hotel today)
and the Greenland Dock South shipyard.
As usual with ship building stories, I am indebted to Stuart Rankin for introducing me to this sequence of interwoven events that contributed significantly to the slow but inevitable demise of ship building along the Thames.  Other very helpful references are listed at the end.

The full story involves two closely related Rotherhithe companies and their two shipyards.   John Randall Esq. had been based at Nelson Dock since 1755 (the year he was awarded the contract for HMS Tartar)  and at Greenland Dock as well since 1767.  In 1770 he went into business with John Brent and John Grey at the Nelson Dock.  Later John Grey left the business, but the relationship between John Randall, father and son and John Brent and Brent's sons Daniel and Samuel, both survived for a long time.  John Randall senior retired in 1775.  Randall and Brent was apparently a partnership between the younger John Randall and his father's business partner John Brent.  John Brent retired in the 1790s but both his sons, Daniel and Samuel followed him into the business in Rotherhithe.  All of the various partnerships were very successful businesses, building ships for the Royal Navy and the Honourable East India Company under private contract.

In June 1795 the Navy Board ordered a 74-gun third rate ship of the line from Randall and Brent.  This was a major and valuable contract for Randall and Brent, the largest type of ship that would ever be entrusted to a private ship builder.  The keel for HMS Ajax was laid in September 1795 at the Greenland Dock South shipyard.  Greenland Dock South lay downriver from the lock entrance to the dock, just behind the site of the 1904 lock-office that survives today, and where the Prince's Court development now lies.  There had been a shipyard here since the late 1600s, recorded on Kip's engraving of the Howland Great Wet Dock. 

HMS Ajax was launched on 3rd March 1798 at the cost of £57,000 (in today's money £1,833,690 according to the National Archives Currency Converter).  She was the first of her type, an Ajax-class design based on the design of  the 1747 HMS Invincible, but lengthened by 11ft before launch, and provided with a different type of stern, near to vertical and uninterrupted by galleries with very few carvings. The new stern design became the standard for future naval ships. 

Ship's knees on HMS Victory
However, this was just the start of the story.  Ajax had not long been in naval service when she was sent home for repairs, first in December of the same year with serious internal damage due to build defects, and then in April 1802, for more repairs.  The most basic and unforgivable of errors had been made.  Wooden ships of the period were equipped with "knees," bracket-shaped timbers that held the hull together and were responsible for the ship's structural integrity. The knees on Ajax had been cut with the grain, instead of across it, with the result that they began to break, undermining the entire structure of the ship.  It was an inconceivable error, inexplicable.  Even had the fundamental error not been noticed by one of the shipwrights, and even had it passed all internal shipyard inspections, the ship should have been surveyed independently by a Royal Dockyard official, who should have picked up on defective knees and failed the ship.  This step was a basic part of the handover of the ship from shipyard to Navy Board. The three errors - the initial build flaws, the failure of internal checks to pick up on them and the failure of the Royal Docks officer to report the problems - resulted in the ship going into service in a sub-standard condition.   The repairs cost a staggering £44,000 (£1,415,480 today) of public money.   The matter became a national scandal, picked up by the newspapers and debated at the highest political levels. 

Earl St Vincent. By John Hoppner.
National Maritime Museum
It is a shame that there is not more available about the legal aspects of the case, because it must have hit a very murky legal area.  The ship had been built (with a change of length requested during the build), someone at the Royal Dockyard must have rubber-stamped the hand-over from ship builder to Royal Navy, payment had been made, and the ship was taken in to service.  In theory, the shipyard's responsibility for the ship should have ended with the Royal Dockyard's approval, but this is not what happened.  Although the original bad workmanship certainly lay with Randall and Brent, the fact that the ship passed into the Royal Navy without challenge puts a certain amount of blame on whichever official accepted Ajax into service. It is all the more surprising as Ajax was the first of her class, with the 11ft added to her length part way through the build, and a new stern design, and it would be expected that the Royal Dockyard officials would have taken particular interest in her progress and in the quality of the final product.

The Admiralty was unsurprisingly disgusted and, in the outraged form of First Lord of the Admiralty, Earl St Vincent, Admiral John Jervis,  took steps to prosecute Randall and Brent.  Earl St Vincent was notorious for his attempts to identify and fight corruption within the dockyards and naval administration, believing that huge amounts of public money were being haemorrhaged due to theft, "waste, malversation and pure carelessness."   He particularly mistrusted private shipyards and the underhand practice of over-ordering and syphoning off raw materials for personal use.  It must have been a real blow to Earl St Vincent's sense of professionalism, honour and an insult to his ongoing fight against this very type of bad practice to be presented with such faulty goods.  HMS Ajax was the absolute poster-child for all the issues he detected in the management of naval shipbuilding as a whole.

I wonder what John Randall was thinking throughout the scandal.  He and his father had produced beautiful and reliable ships for the Royal Navy, some of them very well known.  The Randall name carried with it a promise of quality, of longevity, and it must have been a horror story for him when his reputation was put on the line by the disastrous build quality of Ajax.  I would love to know what went wrong at the shipyard during her build.

HMS Ajax.  Artist Unknown. National Maritime Museum.
By the summer of 1802, when Ajax was repaired for the second time due to the build defects, John Randall had already had a thoroughly bad year.  But matters were to deteriorate further.  In the summer of 1802 a series of other problems also came to a head.  The hiatus between the French Revolutionary Wars (1792-1802) and the Napoleonic Wars that followed immediately afterwards (1803-1815) had caused a significant drop-off in naval as well as commercial orders.  The result was that throughout Thames shipyards wages were cut to peacetime rates by nearly two shillings a day.  Shipyard workers reacted badly, responding with strikes and by placing embargoes on stocks of English timber.  The strikes and timber embargoes meant that the ships that were sitting in private yards awaiting completion were becoming more and more delayed.  The East Indiamen depended on the trade winds to carry them safely to their destinations.  Missing the trade winds would mean the loss of an entire season's trade.  With pressure mounting on the government from the East India Company, which had a number of orders waiting to be completed for trade journeys that year, the government responded by assigning Royal Dockyard shipwrights to private yards to complete the outstanding contracts.  Needless to say, the intruders were denied access by most of the strikers and a naval warship was assigned to deter further violence.  Writing a century later in 1907, Canon Edward Josselyn Beck, writing in his book about his Rotherhithe parish (Memorials to Serve for a History of the Parish of St Mary Rotherhithe) tells how John Randall went in person to try to reason with his workers at the Greenland Dock shipyard on 22nd August 1802, a confrontation that resulted in his death:
In his time, the shipwrights mutinied, and not only refused to work themselves, but laid violent hands on those who were sent to work in their place.  This worthy man entreated them to desist and return to their duties, but in vain.  And being himself struck by one of his workmen he retired from the scene and was so greatly distressed at the events he had witnessed that he throw himself out of his window and was killed by the fall." 

The Ajax affair, however, continued even after Randall's death. Public money had been wasted on Ajax, and as a faulty ship she continued to need ongoing repair work.  She became a bone of contention, a political football.  The debates about the correct course of action in response to the shoddy workmanship were raised not only in the Admiralty but in the press, including The Times.  Under normal circumstances the case would have been brought before a jury, but for political reasons it was determined that a jury would be incapable of judging al the intricacies of such a case.  On 23rd February 1804 the matter was adjourned until someone could be appointed to investigate and produce a report into the case.  This caused considerable upset at all levels and the newspapers were quick to suspect a cover-up.  In spite of all the scandal, it seems as though the report was never written or, if it was, the records have never been published.

Admiral Charles Middleton, Lord Barham.
By Isaac Pocock. National Maritime Museum.
In spite of the fact that the company of Randall and Brent were apparently never sued as Earl St Vincent had wanted, the impact on private contracts with the Navy Board was immediate.  Understandably concerned about the future repercussions of faults identified in, or claimed to exist in ships accepted into service by the Royal Navy, private contractors on the Thames insisted that once final payment was made they should be indemnified from any future action.  The onus would then be placed squarely on the Royal Navy to ensure that ships were built to specification and to their required standards, and if they accepted ships that later proved to be flawed this would not come back to haunt the ship builder.  This made Earl St Vincent, still smarting from the recent strikes and the difficulties of acquiring suitable wood to complete ship construction projects, even more determined to cut private shipyards out of the loop.  He rejected this attempt of shipbuilders to, as he saw it, indemnify themselves from the results of their own inferior workmanship.  His solution was to reorganize the Royal Dockyards so that private contracts could be avoided for all of the larger and most important and expensive ships of the line.  Only smaller ships were trusted to private shipyards, and only when necessary.  But things did not go quite as Earl St Vincent planned.  Although his reforms paved the way for future improvements, his successors in the Admiralty found that the nation was short of ships and it was forced to make new contracts with private yards, on their terms, at very inflated prices. St Vincent was replaced first by Lord Melville in 1804 and then by Lord Barham in 1805

Unfortunately for the private yards, their insistence on new binding contracts, their imposition of high prices and the impacts of the 1802 strike and timber embargo all led the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Barham, to conclude that the Royal Navy was excessively dependent on private shipbuilders.  Like St Vincent he believed that the solution was the reorganization of the Royal Dockyards, but unlike St Vincent he was successful and succeeded in doubling their output between 1805 and 1813, significantly reducing the number of contracts given to private yards.

East India House in Leadenhall Street after its 1801
reconstruction. By Thomas Hosmer Shepherd, 1817
Adding to the agony of the Thames shipbuilders at this time, the Honourable East India Company had been torn in two by a dispute about freight charge during the late 1780s, and Thames shipbuilders took sides, refusing to build ships for one or other of the two factions.  John Randall himself had agreed to build a ship for one ship owner but then changed his mind because the contract would have broken faith with the older ship owners that Randall and Brent supported, a breach of verbal contract that did his reputation no good at all.  The eventual outcome of the ship builders involving themselves in the freight rate dispute was that commercial ship owners began to move their ship building activities away from the Thames, eventually transferring most of their ship building activities elsewhere, most notably to India where they established their own shipyards.  This was another blow for the Thames ship builders.

The eventual outcome of the Honourable East India Company's freight rate dispute, the Ajax scandal, and the 1802 strikes was the decline of ship building on the Thames.  There was a brief rise in demand when ships were needed in a hurry for the Crimean War, but the last to be built for the Royal Navy in Rotherhithe were the steam-powered Hind and Jackdaw in 1855.  Serious ship building in Rotherhithe only survived until 1870, when the gorgeous tea clipper Lothair, the last big sailing ship built in Rotherhithe, was launched.

In spite of all the repairs, HMS Ajax herself went on to have a reasonably successful but short career, itself ending in tragedy. She won awards at the Battle of Cape Finisterre and the Battle of Trafalgar, and saw service in a number of naval engagements, but on 14 February 1807 she burned and exploded, not in the line of duty, but due to a fire started in the bread room.  250 lives were lost.  There is a well referenced account of her vital statistics and her full history on Wikipedia


Sources used in this post:

Main source: Stuart Rankin.  Shipbuilding in Rotherhithe - Greenland Dock and Barnard's Wharf.  Rotherhithe Local History Paper No. 3. 1997

Reverend Edward Beck. Memorials to Serve for a History of the Parish of St Mary Rotherhithe 1907
James Earle. Commodore Squib:  The Life, Times and Secretive Wars of England's First Rocket Man, Sir William Congreve, 1772-1828. Cambridge Scholars Publishing. 2010
Brian Lavery. The Ship of the Line. Volume II:  Design, construction and fittings. Conway. 1984
Philip MacDougall. London and the Georgian Navy. The History Press 2013
Roger Morris. The Royal Dockyards during the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars. Leicester University Press. 1983
Stuart Rankin. Shipbuilding in Rotherhithe - The Nelson Dock. Rotherhithe Local History Paper No. 2. 1996 
Rif Winfield. British Warships in the Age of Sail 1793-1817. Design, Construction, Careers and Fates. Seaforth Publishing. 2005


Plan of HMS Ajax


Friday, October 23, 2015

John Randall's 1797 HMS Acasta built at Nelson Dock, Rotherhithe


Model of HMS Acasta 1795. Photograph taken
in the Museum of London Docklands.
HMS Acasta was built in 1797 by John Randall at Nelson Dock in Rotherhithe (265 Rotherhithe St, London SE16 5HW).  Nelson Dock (at the time known as Cuckold's Point) is unique in being the sole surviving ship-builders' dry dock in Rotherhithe, preserved in the grounds of the Hilton Hotel. Randall was by no means the first tenant of the dock, which had been occupied since at least 1687.

In the late 18th and throughout the 19th Century Rotherhithe's river front was dotted with these small ship-shaped docks and their yards.  Some were used exclusively for private contracts, but the main form of income came from the Royal Navy and the East India Company.  Although first and second rate ships of the line were built in the Royal docks, third rate ships and below were farmed out to private ship builders to Royal Navy designs, sometimes under they eye of a Royal Navy surveyor.  The hull and its interior fittings were the job of the sub-contractor and ships were usually taken elsewhere to be fitted with masts and rigging and, at another location, with armaments.  Rotherhithe had a busy ship building industry and produced vessels of all sizes from the 17th Century onwards.  The first ship that I know of to be built for the Royal Navy in Rotherhithe was the fourth rate 1654 HMS Taunton.  The last ships to be built for the Royal Navy in Rotherhithe were the steam-powered gunboats HMS and HMS Jackdaw, both launched just over two centuries after Taunton in 1855.

John Randall was a big name in Thames ship-building, building almost exclusively for the Royal Navy.   Randall was based at Nelson Dock in different sections and in different partnerships between 1755 and 1803.  This long period of time is accounted for by the fact that there were two John Randalls, father and son, with the father retiring sometime around 1775.  John Randall Senior was trusted with many high profile ship builds, including a number of prototype designs.  John Randall, father and/or son, had yards at both Nelson Dock and Greenland Dock.  Although most ship building, like later dock work, was supplied by casual labour, the bigger ship builders would sometimes provide tied housing for their more important employees, and at some point the Randalls provided housing of this sort along the passageway now known as Randalls Rents. 

A view of Cuckold's Point, where Nelson Dock was
located.  By Samuel Scott, c. 1750-60
Business partnerships into which the Randalls entered included Randall, Grey and Brent and later Randall and Brent,  but at the time of Acasta's build the lease of Nelson Dock is listed simply under John Randall Esq, probably John Randall Senior's son.  Given that John Randall Senior is thought to have retired in around 1775, the Acasta contract must have been made with John Randall Junior.

In 1802, only five years after Acasta's launch, the Peace of Amiens provided a pause in the wars with France, and new ships were no longer required, causing shipyards to drop wages and shed employees.  This resulted in strikes and escalating violence.  Writing in 1907, Canon Edward Josselyn Beck tells a really tragic story of the younger John Randall, writing in his excellent book Memorials to Serve for a History of the Parish of St Mary Rotherhithe (1907):
In his time, the shipwrights mutinied, and not only refused to work themselves, but laid violent hands on those who were sent to work in their place.  This worthy man entreated them to desist and return to their duties, but in vain.  And being himself struck by one of his workmen he retired from the scene and was so greatly distressed at the events he had witnessed that he throw himself out of his window and was killed by the fall." 
Randall had already had a thoroughly bad year by this time (the summer of 1802), his business being the centre of a scandal surrounding the build of HMS Ajax, which found Randall and Brent being taken to court (and which I'll cover on a future post).  It is certainly clear from the records provided by Stuart Rankin, taken from the Rotherhithe Poor and Parish Rate records, that Randall and Brent Esq and Company was ended in 1803, and Messrs Brent were now listed at Nelson Dock instead.

HMS Acasta was built for service in the French Revolutionary Wars (1792-1802) and later saw action in the Napoleonic Wars that followed immediately afterwards (1803-1815).  According to Rif Winfield, she was a 5th rate frigate fitted with 40 guns on two decks, built to the design of Sir William Rule.  She was the first frigate to have 30 main guns (18 pounders) on her upper deck.  She was launched on the 14th March 1797, having been fitted out in Deptford.  Her first captain was Richard Lane and her first long distance voyage was to Jamaica in 1798, where she immediately took several privateers.

Frigates had been in use in the Royal Navy since the mid 1600s.  The term was applied to a variety of designs but the role of the frigate was always the same - to move at speed, with sufficient fire-power to defend herself and cause problems for others, but not as well armed as much slower but larger warships.  They were classed as fifth or sixth rate ships, depending on the number of guns they carried.  Frigates were used as scouts for the main fleet, and in battle they would assist disabled ships and take command of captured ships.  She could also take on ships of comparative size and fire-power.  Independently, they were sent to foreign seas to capture pirates and foreign privateers in order to protect British commerce.  The 28-gun ships were phased out during the early 19th century - in 1794 there were 22 of them but by 1814 there were none remaining in service. 

HMS Acasta is in the foreground in this painting of the 1806
Battle of San Domingo. By Thomas Whitcombe, 1817,
National Maritime Museum.
Rather than going through the fine details of Acasta's past, I thought I would pull out some of the more interesting features of her career.  There is very little point providing a blow by blow history of the ship here here because she has been so thoroughly covered on the HMS Acasta page on Wikipedia, with plenty of references to The London Gazette, so readers are referred to that article for the details.  Details of Acasta's ship's crew are also available, together with her vital statistics and a year by year chronology of her activities and naval engagements on the HMS Acasta website: http://www.hmsacasta.com/p/ship.html.  However, there are some features of her career that merit further inspection.    

First, it is worth noting a recurring success story in her career that says a lot about maritime preoccupations during 18th Century naval wars.  Anyone who has read any of the Jack Aubrey books by Patrick O'Brian will be familiar with the concept of prize money.  It's a bit like banking bonuses today - ships' captains were encouraged to capture opposition ships so that the could be reprocessed, either used for parts (particularly their guns) or renamed and re-employed in the Royal Navy.  Privateers were a favourite target of Royal Navy ships. Privateers were ships authorized by governments to target naval vessels whilst not being naval ships themselves.  They were never employed in naval engagements but were highly effective as adjuncts to naval activities because their main role was to cause disruption.   Many naval and privateer ships carried valuable cargo, and this too featured in the reward system of prizes.  Prizes were split unequally between the crew members, and it was a significant motivation to sailors, many of whom had been pressed into service, to safely secure opposition ships rather than destroy them. Rewards could make crew members very wealthy.  Acasta is remarkable for the number of prizes that she won, described on the above Wiki page.  Well worth a read.

It is also worth drawing attention to the fact that she underwent surprisingly few refits.  All ships of the line that were engaged in active service went through a hard live.  Made of wood, powered by sail, and held together by rope rigging, they were highly vulnerable not only to fire-power but also to the weather and natural decay, as well as the effects of wood-consuming organisms in the sea itself.   However, in her 24 year career Acasta was apparently brought in for one major refit in Portsmouth, in 1802, which probably had more to do with the temporary peace afforded by the Peace of Amiens, which provided a brief pause in hostilities.  War broke out again in 1803.  HMS Acasta was then paid off in both 1811 and then 1815, and at both times her crew would have been paid, free to find other ships on which to work, and the ship would have been repaired and refitted for whatever future service awaited her. 

Acasta was broken up at Woolwich in 1821 after 24 years of service, which is not a bad life span for a wooden war ship of the period.


Plan of HMS Acasta on the HMS Acasta website.