July 1997

Crew journalof the barqueJames Craig

Australia’sother

squareriggers

FULL & BYJULY 20072

Full & ByThe crew journal of the

barque James Craig

http://www.australianheritagefleet.com.au/JCraig/JCraig.html

Compiled by Peter Davey pedavey@gmail.com

Photos by Peter Davey, Jeffrey Luke, Mary Sowa, Mike Richter, John Spiers

Production by John Spiers

All crew and others associated with the James Craig are very welcome to submit material.

The opinions expressed in this journal may not necessarily be the viewpoint of the Sydney Mari-time Museum, the Sydney Heritage Fleet or the

crew of the James Craig or its officers.

To call your self a square rig sailor and/or top man, you should be able to tie fancy knots.

Three inexpensive, Australian printed, owned, and authored books are recom-mended. They are available from Rams Skull Press Written and illustrated by Ron Edwards.

Go to www.ramsskullpress.com,

Turks Heads. Probably the easiest un-derstood of all the books on this subject that I have come across.

Knots for Beachcombers and Mariners. 32 pages with 238 drawings

Knots Useful and Ornamental . 36 pages with 248 drawings.

Cost $12.00 each and this includes postage.

I also recommend that you sign up for

Well worth checking out especially their Pineapple knots

International Guild of Knot Tyers

http://www.igkt.net/

A great source, but it does cost $27.00 to join. Can be paid by Visa.

Boatswain Mate Knot Page . http://www.geocities.com/dgtlcwby/

BOY’S MANUAL OF SEAMANSHIP AND GUNNER 1871

This book is well worth browsing as it was written about the time the Craig first went to sea

www.pbenyon.plus.com/B_S_M/Con-tents.html

Knots from the Manual

www.pbenyon.plus.com/B_S_M/Third_Instruction_II.html

Peter Davey

Tall ships calendar

www.tallshipsinternational.net/

Morrin’s knotting course at the Maritime Museum.

There are some excellent sources on the internet. I recommend:-

Knot Heads World Wide www.khww.

net/news.php

Marlinespikeknotworks.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Marlinspikeknotworks/

This site also covers leather knotting.

You can join both of these associations on the internet at no cost.

Alaskan Museum of Fancy knots www.knotical-arts.com/

Knotty issues

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Let’s get back to the basics for the duties of the Chief mate, Second mate and

Third mate as they were, when our Barque first went to sea.

From The Seaman’s Friend, (Richard Henry Dana, 1879.

In my opinion this is the book we should be following with “Square Rig Seaman-ship” being the guide for today’s extra requirements.

The Chief Mate (This is the term used when the James

Craig first went to sea not First Mate.)When working the ship, when all hands

are called and the master is on deck, the chief mate’s place is on the forecastle, where, under the general direction of the master, who never need leave the quarter-deck, where he commands the forward part of the vessel, and is the organ of commu-nication with the men aloft.

The chief mate is not required to work with his hands like the second mate and the seamen, although, of course, he lets go and belays rope and occasionally pulls and hauls with the men when working ship. Normally his time and attention are sufficiently taken up with superintending and giving orders.

The Second Mate It was a common saying among seamen

that “a man does not get his hands out of the tar bucket by becoming second mate.”# He is expected to work.

He works like a common seaman ex-cept that he does not take part in some inferior services, such as slushing down the masts or sweeping decks etc. Under normal circumstances, he goes aloft to furl topsails and courses and when aloft, takes the bunt.

#”The Seaman’s Friend”

Third Mate.He goes aloft with the watch to furl

and, he is not expected to handle the light sails.

From Square Rig Seamanship (Captain R M Willoughby FNI dated 1997 -

Second Mate - Navigational systems, charts, clocks, books and tables, com-pass.

During manoeuvring he is normally stationed at the main mast. In charge of launching and recovery.

Third Mate (when carried) - Communi-cations officer. This includes radio, flags, signal lamps, weather forecasts.

Navigator’s Yeoman - Just after we first

took the James Craig to sea, the position of “Navigator’s Yeoman” was instigated. There is no such job description in any square rig manuals, nor do any other square riggers carry this position. This rate is peculiar to the fighting navies and his duties are:-

Routine maintenance on navigational equipment, Correcting charts, Hydro-graphical stores.

The position was introduced by an ex RAN officer to lighten the onerous duties of the quarter deck staff. Let’s get back to basics and hand his duties back to the appropriate quarter deck officers. If, they find that they cannot fit these duties in, why not carry a third mate (a third mate does not need to be fully qualified) to relieve the onerous duties on the quarter deck.

Terms of endearment - Whilst training on the barque Star of India and to a lesser extent whilst sailing on the Barque Elissa, the Mates were addressed, and addressed one another, as Mr.…..

This is as per “The Seaman’s Friend” and “Square Rig Seamanship” and, to me, sounds professional, and is as per the era when our barque first went to sea. I recom-mend that the Craig adopt these terms.

Peter Davey. Seaman (sail)

Back to basics

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Alma Doepel was built in Bellingen NSW in 1903 and named after the owner’s daughter and as a three masted schooner made over 560 crossings of the notorious Bass Strait and is now based in Port Macquarie

and is well worth a visit. For further information go to http://au.geocities.com/bellejazz_alma/Alma.html

During Saanen’s recent trip to Port Macquarie, Peter Davey spent a night aboard the Alma Doepel. Re-calling that I had sailed on her for a couple of years, Peter asked me if I could give him some photos of her

under sail and write an article about sailing on her. Sailing on the Alma Doepel, was similar to the James Craig in so many ways. Like the James Craig,

the Alma Doepel did her share of charters, day sails and weekend sail trips where people could experience living aboard a Tall Ship. However her primary purpose was to take youth on nine-day sailing voyages, and it is this aspect that I have chosen to write about, as it was quite different to anything I have experienced on

the James Craig. I joined the Alma Doepel in the last two years of her life as a sail-training vessel. After an eager and

rapid apprenticeship crewing on day-sails and weekend trips, I was lucky enough to be chosen as one of six leading hands on what was to become her last nine-day training voyage ~ Voyage 113. At the one time,

both poignant and thrilling; it was an exhilarating taste of a sailing life that was about to end. But for now, let your imagination roam as I give you glimpses of the marvellous voyage-life aboard a

youth sail-training vessel…

OTHER SQUARE RIGGERS -

AlmaDoepel

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‘SHOT DOWN…’ BANG! CLATTER!

‘...IN A BLAZE OF GLORY…’

CLANG! CLANG! JANGLE!

That, (in case you didn’t hear it), was wake-up call on a nine-day voyage—

blaring rock music on the ship’s emergency loudspeaker system and the loud metallic clanging of tin pot lids being banged to-gether like cymbals, by the ever-jubilant leading hands.

Grinning, we would watch the trainees sleepily roll out of the 2-tiered canvas slings ranged along the ship’s sides. The trainees mumbled vaguely mutinous thoughts as they peeled off warm sleepwear, to stand, nervous and shivering, in swimsuits and board-shorts, up on deck.

A brief aerobics session led by which-ever leading hand felt up to it and then the end of our grinning session ~ as it was all overboard, leading hands and trainees alike, for the morning wash. Whilst the Alma Doepel might have had sleeping berths for up to 36 trainees and 10 or so crew, she certainly didn’t have enough water to shower them, so each morning it was a jump off the top of the capping rail, (which seemed so perilously high early on a cold morning), into Port Phillip Bay. (Unless of course you were one of the hapless trainees who refused to go over the side, and as an undesirable alternative was subjected to a bucket of cold water, poured with agonising slowness, by one of the mates ~ a mistake that a trainee never made twice).

As we stood hesitating on the capping rail, the mates assured us that the water wasn’t cold—the ship’s ‘trusty’ thermom-eter always told us (summer and winter alike), that the water temperature was 30 degrees. A breathtaking plunge, blindly thrashing around in the momentarily crowded water, to get back as quickly as possible to the ship’s side.

Hands grasping and feet falling through the holes in the cargo net slung over the side for us to scramble up; we’d stand shivering on deck in the freezing wind for a moment— but only a lightning moment

for us leading hands, for we had a whole crew of trainees to get motivated, and we knew what else had to be done before any of us would eat.

Briefly down below, we would vigor-ously towel ourselves dry and crawl into our already salt-stiffened clothing, then jump back up on deck before the brightest of trainees. And when they appeared, we’d strap the first dozen or so up in harnesses, and willingly run up the windward shrouds into the airy loftiness of the upper and lower topsail yards to loosen some sails (whilst the others would trawl the decks with deck-brooms and fire-hose).

If you are anything like me, your arms and legs would be weak and trembling with hunger (and the delicious smells from the galley wouldn’t be helping). But being up there with awestruck but ever-exuberant

trainees, undoing and bundling gasket-lines by feel as we watched the sunrise over Port Phillip Bay, I wouldn’t have swapped it for the world!

Job done, a last few lingering glances at the gentle sun-glinted water, and then trail-ing down the rigging, and into the steamy warmth of the crowded saloon.

Unless of course, you were the luckless trainee who’d forgotten to put their mark somewhere in the night-watch book. The mates were scrupulously vigilant on this point, and never failed to identify a perpe-trator each morning. Then as leading hand, you had to take the unfortunate individual down the tiny for’ard hatch, and into the chain locker, to balance precarious toe-holds on the ship’s side, bracing yourself in the tiny space, to have two hands free to flake the slithery mud-slathered anchor-

FULL & BY JULY 2007 7

chain by hand, as it was brought in.On odd days of kindness, the mates

would organise a crew-member to hose down the chain before it came through the hawse-pipe, but it never seemed to make much difference to the job of flaking the anchor-chain. It was always a spattering, mud-stained job. As some consolation, that trainee would have the honour of leaving their mark on the ship by adding their muddy handprint to the veritable gallery of handprints along the roof of the chain-locker.

Then, (after passing on the mischievous tip of which crew-member would most likely fall for an offer of a muddy hand-shake), it would be back up on deck to scrub down in a bucket of sea-water, and then into the warm, redolent atmosphere of the crowded saloon, quietly slipping onto the end of an already crammed bench, to tuck into breakfast—and let me tell you, on a voyage it would be a breakfast to die for!

After breakfast, the morning’s activi-ties would depend on what day we were up to in the voyage. On the first day there would usually be a general shake-down; of trainees getting used to the layout of the ship and being immediately absorbed into the on-deck cycle of duties.

We had less on-watch duties than the James Craig. Deck-crew went through an on-watch cycle that began with bow-watch, then went to helming, and ended with ‘go-pher’ who ran messages for the officer on watch. And of course the trainees would be introduced to the art of coiling, which they would be given endless opportunities to practice.

At this stage, it was very much us lead-ing hands working the ship, with the slight-ly awed but ever-lively trainees providing hand and muscle power, but their attention would be entirely focused on exploring

Day two we’d channel the trainees’ end-less energy, aloft, introducing them to the higher realms. This time the sky-larking and joking amongst the trainees, would be even more vocal, but this time we knew it was mainly to camouflage fears of work-ing at such heights and then irrepressible jubilation at conquering this fear.

We’d quietly smile to ourselves as we observed tell-tale white knuckles on jack-stays and trembling foot-ropes, ac-companying some of the most vociferous trainees. Up aloft, as the trainees gained familiarity in this higher working space, we’d take the chance to introduce them to the arts of ungasketing sails, or perhaps point out the function of bunt-lines, clew-lines etc.

Down on deck, the ship would follow a pre-determined course as the trainees began unravel the maze of lines all around them. They’d quickly learn to automati-

cally fall into line along the halyard, in response to the sail-master’s call ‘Stand by to set the mainsail.’

They’d learn to bend down and coil up the lines afterwards, rather than leaving it for ‘someone’ else to do. They’d learnt their positions of ‘sweating’ and ‘tailing’ the braces each time the ship changed course. Although it still came more natu-rally to the trainees to immediately lapse back into conversation and teasing each other, they were beginning to learn to keep half an ear out for the sail-master’s calls.

Day 2’s lectures might be about safety procedures, preparing for safety drills later in the voyage. Evening might be spent watching the rounding of Cape Horn on the tiny static crackling television set in the saloon, and listening to the tea-towel fights of this day’s galley crew washing up.

Day three would see the trainees crammed into benches in the saloon, lis-tening to the captain and first mate giving lectures on procedures for tacking ship. Meanwhile us leading hands would loll about in the sunshine on deck, in rare moments of idleness, keeping a relaxed eye on the sails, as we made Turks head bracelets, yarned, or figured out how to long-splice rope.

These were quiet times, with only 4 or so of us on deck, and we could pretend the ship was all ours. We knew that once the lecture-drowsed trainees emerged, it would be all systems to with tacking-practice ~ where we’d chart a contorted zigzag course across the bay, as the trainees were scuttled from one side of the ship to the other, haul-ing in the mizzen, letting fly the jib-sheets, watching the massive fore and main booms ease themselves over as the ship heeled over onto the other tack.

Late afternoon after we anchored, might be spent in giving the trainees turns at firing up the predictably resistant fire-hose motor. A similar day might be spent on anchoring procedures, general sailing, and mastering the fine arts of furling sail.

The yards and cross-trees would be peopled by irrepressible teenagers, lean-ing over yards to furl the square sails, or teetering out around the lumpy bundles of the gaff-topsails—expletives of a sail to furl—which involved having to haul both sheet blocks (as big as my hand) and a vast amount of sail canvas, to toggle off at an arm’s reach above your head. (Part of the reason why I’ve never flinched at furling the James Craig’s staysails).

Or they might be lucky enough to have their feet dangling over the wave-tops as they learnt to muscle the jibs into perfectly tapering broom-handle thin furls. By the time the shroud-lights were brightly lit, it

the group dynamics and finding their own place in it. We would interrupt their joking and conversations by thrusting unknown ropes into their hands, telling them to ‘haul away, avast, ease up, hold fast…’ ~ a whole range of unfamiliar orders.

We’d vaguely listen to more bravado and jokes about the unknown orders, camouflaging the trainees’ ignorance of all the frantic activity; and they’d be vaguely aware of sails appearing out of nowhere; or of piles of rope landing on the deck; and of being shown how to coil the lines, (again).

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usually only took a few team-relay type games up on deck, before the trainees would tumble tiredly into their canvas slings for a night’s sleep that would always be broken with an hour of anchor watch.

Mid-voyage would be a complete break from routine, with a breezy day spent at anchor off the shores of Blairgowrie, watching the trainees cart wheeling swal-low-dingies over the choppy waters, with us leading hands zooming around in the work-boats and rubber dingy to pluck them out of the water, right their dinghies and put them back in for another joyride. Back on board, there’d be wild shouts and splashing as our rapturous trainees swung their endless energy in jumping off the Tarzan line hanging from the end of the course-yard.

Night-time antics might this night be centred on auctions of trainee articles left lying around untidily—the (optional) auction price being the consumption of unmentionable concoctions from the gal-ley—as certain harsher aspects of ship-board discipline were touched on, albeit in a comedic way.

Day six our trainees who would by now be inured into shipboard life– being obe-diently up on deck for 6 am aerobics and morning dip, was as sleepily automatic as brushing your teeth. And it was no longer a routine viewed with fear and dread—it was just accepted as a normal part of the day, and anyway, there was something bracing and invigorating about it anyway!

By now the anchor-flaker might be the trainee with the untidiest writing in the night-watch-book, kept on the messy work-desk of engineer’s things in the small day-cabin where we spent the idle minutes of our hour-long anchor-watches. That little exercise book with the nightly table of anchor-watch times, followed by pages of mirthful messages, midnight stories, drawings etc.

Now it only needed a leading hand to open the harness box lid, or begin dragging out the fire-hose motor, and a willing group of trainees would help to drag it, or put out a hand for a harness, or go and retrieve the deck-brooms. Inured to shipboard life they might be, but inured to lack of sleep they would not be.

By now we’d well and truly have awak-ened and whetted our trainee’s thirst for the exhilarating outdoor activities of sailing; the thrill of climbing, the feeling of power with your hands on the wheel, the joy and camaraderie of team-work in hauling the lines, the cool taste of the breeze as you handled the jib-sheets...today’s lecture on navigation, in the cramped benches of the saloon—was particularly unpopular, with

the trainees struggling to concentrate as they glanced at the small port-holes of sunshine, or mentally predicted what ma-noeuvre the ship might be doing, from the dull thud of sheet-blocks on deck.

Afternoon might be spent with half the trainees out in the bright orange work-boats learning to steer the cumbersome vessels up against the ship’s hull; while the other half were employed in some simple shipboard maintenance like oiling down the capping rail with linseed oil. By late afternoon, with the ship tidied away, there would be the unexpected captain’s announcement of an evening trip in the workboats to a small muddy island off the Mornington Peninsula.

the island, exploring tunnels, tracks and grassy slopes until the gathering dusk when they’d wearily straggle back down to the workboats. As the night’s laden heaviness bore down on them, the trainees would be told that the workboats were all theirs to navigate back to the ship.

Eye-brows would arch as the trainees’ exhaustion would be temporarily lifted by a mixture of eye-shining marvelling and slightly uncertain searching for direction. Within seconds the trainees would launch into action, and looking at the bewildering blaze of lights off the Mornington coast, the trainees would commence with inexhaust-ible confidence. Weariness removed, the unexpected command, would revive new-found sky-larking, joking and confidence, which no amount of night-time darkness could dim. Waves would lap against the ship’s hull in the darkness, and on this night it was raining.

Confidence gradually began to dim as the maze of lights gradually came upon us, none of which were revealing themselves as recognizable ship lights. The mate and leading hand aboard, had taken the vow of either maintaining silence or answering trainee questions with nonsense answers, so could only watch as the trainees ar-gued, sulked, rallied against us, came up with ideas, argued some more, squashed ideas, mutinied, sat in rain-soaked silence; miraculously found a plastic water-tight barrel amongst the jumble of legs; eagerly retrieved torch, chart, compass, two-way radio; argued some more, radioed an

Although the island was only peopled by sea-birds and seals, the trainees would buzz with feverish excitement as if it held dazzling cinemas and amusement parks. 36 trainees and a couple leading hands and mates would be crammed into the 2 work-boats, sensibly (but the trainees thought unnecessarily) decked out in wet weather gear and life-jackets.

Crunching onto the beach of the island, the trainees would get rid of all their land-bound energy by running madly all over

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equally unhelpful ship’s crew; ripped each other and their soggy navigation chart to shreds, as the sodden hours dripped by...until gradually the dominant trainees had argued their rebellion into exhaustion and quiet leadership began to emerge from a muted corner of the workboat.

Gradually responding to this unexpected spark, the trainees began to retrieve re-membered fragments of the navigation lectures that they wished they’d paid better attention to...and eventually brought their drenched workboat alongside the cosy warm lights of the ship to tumble aboard for the recompense of hot-chocolate and the crew that had remained on board cover-ing anchor-watch for that night.

The seventh day would be a mirror of the third, with lectures on wearing ship, and then a much neater zig-zag of gybes across the bay. By now we might have trainees shadowing the sail-master, and on deck you could hardly see the difference between leading hands and trainees.

We had a resourceful band of crew, ever alert to deck commands. Lines barely touched the deck before they were whipped up into a coil. A trainee man-ning the jib-sheets, on seeing the jib-luff flapping, might look down aft to see what the helmsman was doing. And the trainee on the helm would be squinting up at the fluttering edge of the upper topsail, as s/he learnt to steer the ship full and by.

As leading hands, we might draw im-promptu chalk diagrams on the deck to answer a trainee’s question about crooked yards; or we might pause for a moment on a yard to gaze over the sun-dazzled ocean and idly swap day-dreams with the trainee up there with us. Evening might be a sod’s opera (similar to the Craig’s) and we’d collectively laugh at how well we’d come to know each other’s individual quirks and characteristics.

The second-last day, would be a pretty much a mix of everything that had gone before and looking down over the ship, you would see trainees mixed up in every aspect of the ship’s operation—from bending over the chart and radar in the navigation space; handling the anchor winch; shadowing the sail-master; fingering rope-ends into fancy knots; easing out bunt-lines; swinging from the footropes aloft; anticipating what the next command from the sail-master would be, and being there ready.

By now, trainees might come to us lead-ing hands, telling us that a jib-edge was flapping and asking if they might tighten the sheet; or they might come and ask our opinion of a topmast staysail furl, at which we’d step back on the deck, shading our eyes as we looked mast-wards to observe

the lumpy sail-bundle, proffering words of praise and humorous encouragement.

Each trainee had found their place, their areas of strength and interest, and each knew exactly how they fitted and what their specific roles were in differing situations on the ship. It was an alert, active, tightly efficient crew that you now saw.

At sunrise on the last day—the trainees would be standing, nervously murmuring to each other and shivering, in swimsuits and board-shorts, up on deck, that you’d be forgiven for thinking it was the first day again. Only this time the trainees weren’t nervous about the morning wash; but nerv-ous at being the first to make that explosive splash which really seemed to signify the beginning of the last day. Who would have thought they’d ever be wistful about this morning ritual?

Then some trainee would quit the mut-tering and with one joyful shout, would take a running jump in from off the saloon roof, and then they’d all be in, for a fren-

the responsibility and demands of running a ship. By now they had also fervently come to understand the reverence we held for the beautiful old sailing ship ~ the Alma Doepel ~ that they were on. Even the idea of having command was no new concept, after the Mud Island adventure.

For us leading hands it was a time to find a good book, or simply sit back and watch, what our trainees had changed and grown into ~ to see how they so marvellously grew into the roles they chose for each other. And they chose their own captain, navigator, sail-master and officers no less wisely than we would have, because by now they knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses thoroughly.

With that, and with us leading hands and ship’s officers stepping back into a mere su-pervisory role, the trainees would proudly sail the ship back across our great ocean playground, while we would proudly watch how efficiently and cohesively they’d do it. By now we knew some would be back as crew; some never would. But whether they returned or not, their voyage would forever be part of the colourful myriad tapestry of this graceful ship’s life—of which this story is but one thread.

And wherever they went in life, they would take so many valuable general skills for working and for life: leadership, practical initiative, thinking and anticipat-ing, self-reliance, team-work, inter-de-pendence, compassion, achieving beyond what they’d thought possible, flexibility, personal resilience, perseverance, respect, reverence, humour, and an appreciation of the sheer beauty of so cleanly harness-ing one of the earth’s greatest renewable energy sources—the wind - to power the ship.

And this is where we might leave them, as they sail their ship...our ship...the Alma Doepel...on its last sail-training voyage across the bay ~ your eyes tracing the magi-cal softness of patterns in the ship’s wake, and the beautiful romance of her departing shape silhouetted against the sky ~ as you wonder if she will ever sail the waters of the bay again, or if her decks will ever again be a-run with sail-trainees keeping

the spirit and purpose of this graceful sailing ship alive with their exuberance, joyfulness and youth.

Mary Sowa (Melbourne)

zied and much longer than usual morning wash. After towelling dry, a quieter neater group of wet-haired trainees would cluster on the main deck, adopting positions of preference they’d found during their time on the ship ~ some sitting on the harness box, some leaning on the main-mast fife rail, some resting back against the capping rail ~ listening to some of the leading hands tell of how they’d come to join the ship. And then the trainees left us leading hands out on deck, while they trooped into the saloon with the captain, to learn of their fate on this final day.

On this day, after eight days at sea, the captain would gallantly give the trainees the ship to take over. They’d choose their own captain, navigator, sail-master, offic-ers, from amongst themselves, and they would sail the ship back across the bay to Melbourne.

If us leading hands, had been allowed into the saloon, we would have seen this news taken quite soberly and sedately by the trainees. Where once there might have been roisterous cheering and vociferous demanding all trying to out-compete each other in the noise and attention stakes; this news was taken in quite soundlessly, and mentally digested and thought over, before they responded.

For by now our trainees knew more fully

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WindewardBoundknockdown

The knockdown incident of the sail train-ing vessel Windeward Bound resulted in a number of safety recommendations by the Australian Transport Safety Bureau.

On 3 June 2004, the Australian sail training ship Windeward Bound was off the Victorian coast, heading northeast at about six knots. The wind was from the northwest and the vessel was heeled between 10 and 15 degrees to starboard. The upper and lower topsails and the main and fore staysails were set. A cold front was expected that afternoon. The watch officer was assisted by a watch leader and two general purpose hands, one of whom was at the helm.

At 1726, when the ship was about 30 miles south of Gabo Island, the wind speed increased. The helmsman was instructed to run the vessel downwind. Shortly thereafter, the vessel yawed to port and the helmsman put the rudder hard over to starboard. The watch leader then took the helm and, as the vessel was now swinging to starboard, applied a ‘consid-erable amount’ of port rudder. When the vessel had started to swing to port, the watch leader put the rudder hard over to starboard to arrest the swing. A gust of near-hurricane force wind then heeled the vessel about 68 degrees to starboard.

The starboard side of the main deck was submerged and seawater entered a fuel tank through an open air pipe on deck. A quantity of seawater also entered the deckhouse and accommodation before doors to the deckhouse and accommoda-tion were shut. The vessel was righted af-ter several minutes using the main engine and rudder and by letting the sheets go.

There was a minor injury to a crew member during the incident and the main engine had been damaged after being run with little or no lubricating oil pressure when the vessel was heeled.

During the next twenty four hours contact was lost with authorities ashore. An air search was initiated in the after-noon on 4 June and Windeward Bound was found safe and heading for Jervis Bay, where it arrived late in the evening on 5 June.

http://www.atsb.gov.au/publications/investigation_reports/2004/MAIR/pdf/mair204_001.pdf

My big break - Whilst crewing on the Brigantine Windeward Bound in 2004 I found my self involved with the SBS reality TV show “The Colony” .This bit of “reality” TV involves three families of five – from England, Ireland and

Australia. It purported to be “living history” with each family being given 30 acres of land somewhere up the Hawkesbury The families must eat the same food, wear the same clothes, sleep in the same shelters, use the same tools and live by the same harsh rules as did their ancestors. They are each given convicts; implements, food, clothes etc from the

early 1800 and supposedly replicate the condition of our pioneers.Our one night at sea, from Newcastle to Broken Bay, supposedly gave them some idea of what it was like to sail to Australia. We had 30 knot winds with a lumpy sea. Our settlers were pleading to be taken ashore and spent most of their time with their heads to leeward. SBS dressed

the crew in what their wardrobe department thought 1825 sailors would wear. This was no real problem but being bare footed whilst

climbing the ratlines and standing on the ratlines to set sail was, but I forgot to take off my wrist watch and was cut out of all the scenes.

In late 2006 whilst crewing of the Brigantine “Svanen” I portrayed a Scottish seaman for the TV movie “The Catalpa Rescue”. This movie depicts the

rescue of six Irish convicts from West Australia. They ere sentenced for their part in an Irish uprising in the Irish uprising in the 1870. The Movie should be shown on the ABC later on his year. It has been sold to Ireland and the

USA. This time I made sure I removed my watch. I expect a fan club to be formed andm signed autographed photos will be available on EBay.

www.irishaustralia.com/Australian/Patriots/catalpa.htm Peter Davey

Seaman Windeward Bound, Svanen, James Craig

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By Peter Davey

In 1987 I joined the Our Svanen in Fremantle as voyage crew to Sydney,

as part of the Bicentennial First Fleet Re-enactment voyage. The Fleet consisted of the Bark Bounty; The Topsail Schooner Tucker Thompson; the Brigantine Soren Larsen; The Barquentine Our Svanen; the Barquentine Amorina; the Topsail Sailor Schooner/Brigantine Tradewinds, the Galeas (Ketch) Anna-Kristina; and the Brigantine One And All.

Captain Ken Edwards was onboard, as the Commodore of the fleet, and James Parbery was crewing on the Bounty. This was my first voyage on a square rigger and I was overawed with the rig and the pins. I would never have believed it, if I had been told, that nearly twenty years later I would have spent 9 months as the Boson on the Svanen and have 5000 hours square rig experience.

As I look back on the sail across the bight I have the satisfaction of knowing that I worked as a real top man, in that, we were top men and not clip-on-men as they are today. The professional crew and the majority of the voyage crew worked with-out the hindrance of a safety line... Our Svanen was registered in Canada and we were not subject to the over-the-top OH& S we have to put up with today.

Below are edited extracts of my log. (I strongly urge any crew who are fortunate enough to voyage, keep a log).

23/12/1987She passed her survey yesterday so

we should make it. The last tall ship to leave for the bight lost her masts off Albany. Below it is rough especially in the forecastle mess. Six bunks and one mattress - I missed out. I am ex Navy so who needs one. The only storage is a six inch wide shelf which runs the length of the bunk. I am storing most of my gear under the sleeping bag which is now my mattress. Luckily I brought a pillow and blanket with me.

According to notices around the Svanen, our mess is out of bounds. This is because it is normally for the crew’s mess. The an-

chor cable goes through the forward space in the mess which is also a general storage areas for ropes/blocks/shackles etc. By previous experience we will have the noise from the anchor chains and the maximum up and down movement...

The forward mess is a separate entity from the other accommodation. All the other messes are interconnected and have their own heads and showers at hand, whereas, we have to go on the upper deck and below.

This provides water tight integrity in case there is a collision. The bow can cave in and the rest of the ship will not be flooded. (I also found out that, in inclem-ent weather, it meant putting on full foul weather gear any time your ventured on the upper deck).

Spent the afternoon lashing down the vegetable boxes to the bulkhead. An early night because I had a hangover which would kill a drover’s dog. Too many ex Navy and PNG mates. I should have planned a few more days in Perth before I joined.

24/12/87Spent all day working on one of the

boats. Fixing up the ‘rubbing strip’ a slow job. The captain gave us a short talk on

what we could expect. The forecast is for a high well down the Great Austral-ian Bight. If this happens we can expect westerly winds and a good stiff sail south of Tasmania. Jay, the captain, believes in sailing.

25/12/87 Had a quiet Xmas day. Svanen is a dry

ship so my total intake was 4 beers at a Xmas dinner but on the company on the wharf. All the other ship’s crew appeared to be rolling drunk. There will be some throwing up when we go to sea tomorrow. At the end of the dinner, all the would be, could be VIP’s started to make speeches. It was then announced that we would to meet the commodore of the fleet and receive a Xmas present from Santa. Needless to say, I did the only possible thing and walked out.

26/12/1987We sailed at 10 am this morning and I

have won galley duty. Yesterday, Mainstay rum (they are sponsoring the Our Svanen) issued us with uniforms for the trip. Think you were back in pusses. Had my last fresh water shower for a month last night.

There is also no fresh water for wash-ing clothes. We are allowed three quarters

Log of the Svanen

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of a gallon per day. This also must cover cooking.

After talking to the crew I am appre-hensive about the adequacy of my gear. I cannot really see me working aloft in my sea boots {Brother-in-law’s gumboots} and my St Vincent De Paul foul weather gear looks a farce compared to the real thing. I should also have brought our best sleeping bag. Without a mattress the brass eyelets of the canvas bunk are already cold at night...

Svanen is chock-full with food - espe-cially fruit and vegs. The rest of the fleet is also carrying truck loads of grog. With my inability to operate with a hangover I am probably better off. Being an ex training ship the Svanen has always been dry. None of the permanent crew drink. The captain has a horror of using the engines and ex-pects to sail in any weather. He could not afford to have us half tanked.

I have been aloft a number of times, needless to say, I refuse to use a safety har-ness. The masts are a piece cake but when you step onto the yardarms [square sails] foot ropes it is not so easy. The vessel is a floating accident about to happen.

2pm same day. At sea bound for Botany Bay.

Well what can I say. An unbelievable departure from Perth, with only one abo-riginal protester. The fleet headed north of Rottnest Island before sailing south for Botany Bay. There were two reasons to head north: one to gain the sea room and the other to allow the fleet set their square sails.

I was the first of the new crew to go aloft. Lyn, the boson, asked for volunteers to take out the gaskets (rope that holds the stowed sails onto the square arms) on the upper top sail. Before I could change my mind I was on the ratlines and half way up the mast... You always climb up and down on the windward side of the ratlines for obvious reason.

There was some trepidation as I stepped onto the foot ropes (these are slung in loops below the yard arms). I worked my way out to the end of the yard. We were rolling about 20 degrees each and side and this is accentuated 60 ft up in the air.

When another sailor steps onto or off the foot ropes he (or she) yells “coming on”. As I reached the end of the yardarm I heard coming on, up til then the foot ropes seemed to have a life of their own. With two {or more} on the foot ropes there appeared to be a number of ropes lives fighting one another. You have the wind on your back when working with both hands to undo the gaskets. Luckily the gaskets were not very tight and could be undone

with one hand. Looking back from my vantage point I

could see eight square rigged ships with all sails set in a very rough line astern forma-tion. The satisfaction working aloft and the sight of the fleet were beyond belief....

We are now motor sailing to gain sea-room with a quarter of the crew down with sea sickness. The decks are constantly awash with an occasional wave just break-ing over the side. We will not have as much motion when they turn off the iron spin-naker... (motor). We roll 20 to 30 degrees each side with moderate yawing.

As I write this we are taking an occa-sional wave over the bow. The weather is OK with 2/8s cloud. I have decided not to

wear footwear except when I go aloft - this will save me wearing my seaboots.

27/12/1987Not the best night sleep last night,

though I had the night off duty. I was in the galley all yesterday. Not my idea of work. I have a 1700 to 2359 tonight. We have to make 140 nautical miles a day to reach Botany Bay, so we are now motor sailing due south with a slight sea; fine weather; decks still awash and our mess is drying out.

Tried out my ‘sea boots’ - not made for going aloft or falling over. They say on here that man overboard, with a following wind and sea, is man over. I have great

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trouble getting the boots off as they would drown me.

I should have brought, at least, another woollen jumper and our best sleeping bag. I can feel those brass eyelets all night - cold. A few more ‘sailors’ on deck - still very white in the gills. There will be no frigging in the rigging or rooting in the ratlines for a while.

The complete upper deck, except for the quarter deck, is awash. The other sleeping areas are full of vomit sloshing about. All food is eaten on the quarter deck (down aft with the galley just forward and the steer-ing wheel) though there is a saloon with seating for 6. In rough weather we will eat there in relays. The food is very good when you consider the space and conditions.

All navigation is by sextant, starts and the log towed astern. The log is 40 ft of rope with a brass log with vanes around it. This turns the rope and records the speed through the water and distance covered.

Around the three masts and along the ships side there are 120 belaying pins of which 90 have, for the want of a bet-ter name, ‘ropes’ attached and used for hauling, sheeting, reefing and setting sail. We are required to know them all and to be able to find them in the dark. I know two. All sailing ships carry their ‘ropes’ in roughly the same position. - Hence the saying “learning the ropes”.

28/12/1987Last night, I was out on the fore sprit,

rolling up and putting gaskets on the fore jib. It was in such a position that the mate of the Anna Kristina (another one of the ships) was lost overboard. Not much in it though.

This morning sailing ESE. There is large high forming over the Bight. We are now heading roughly for the Bass Strait but we could still turn south if the weather requires it. A perfect day - sky clear - but not enough wind even though if it is from the right direction - now volunteer to go aloft on every occasion.

To release the gaskets (ropes that hold the sails to the square sails) you stand on the foot ropes, which hang below the yardarms and lean over to undo the ropes. There are four lines each side of the mast (called gaskets) these are wrapped around the stowed sail on the yardarm and tied with a slippery clove hitch.

I also unfurled the mizzen tops sail, the mizzen is the hardest to climb. The shrouds and ratlines (run from the deck to the top of the mast) are very narrow and the top and the movement of the mast tend to throw you around the back of the shrouds.

I now wear old shoes. It would be im-

possible in my sea boots. Out of my bunk at 0630; down to the quarter deck to clean teeth. All tooth brushes are kept behind an elastic line in the galley; a quick scoop of sea water from the deck {which is always awash} then onto the helm. No washing or showers. (No water)

The majority of the crew that joined

at Fremantle now go aloft, some wear the safety harness. Those who wear the safety harness seem to do no work but just hold on. None of the females who joined at Fre-mantle have actually made it aloft as yet.

There has been an improvement with the weather. I have been able to delay going into my one set of full thermal underwear. Once on, they will be on for weeks.

The vessel is easy to steer. The course set, so far, has been as close to the wind as she will sail, about 70 degrees off the wind. You steer by the compass and the Top Gallant stay sail’s luff. So far our mess (living space) is dry though there is a musty smell all around.

29/12/87Had the middle watch last night

2300/0300. We doused (hauled down) the course, lower topsail, upper topsail and the top gallant sail. [all square sails on the foremast and the main] the main, main top-sail, mizzen and the mizzen top. Nil moon and dark. We experienced a wind change and all the sails were flogging. Steering 130 magnetic, slight sea with a force 1 to 2 wind from the east. Still making our 140 nautical miles a day.

It was a magic night, with fluorescent waves slipping past on either side. The sky was full of stars blinking with port and starboard lights and occasionally slashed by shooting stars. On bow watch most of the time - I was reluctant go below.

Jay (the 22 year old captain) has an overwhelming enthusiasm for everything to do with sailing and the sea. When he is not explaining the sail he is dissecting the stars and carving whale teeth (scrimshaw). The boson, normally the disciplinary petty officer, is an attractive 30ish woman with a rose tattooed on her left breast. She is in

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charge of setting the sails and overhauling the running standing rigging. She has infinite patience in explaining the rigging of the sails.

30/12/1987Spent an interesting 30 minutes up the

mizzen dousing (furling) the mizzen top sail. What a bugger of a job. The shrouds and ratlines taper into about 4 inches where they join the next section of the mast. {All the masts have two or three sections joined together}. We were under full sail and rolling 20 degrees or so each side.

You can’t fit your feet into the last 3 feet of the ratlines. You just edge your toes in and pull yourself onto the next section of the mast arms. Thank god for the gym sessions before I left.

Earlier, a squall hit as I was helping to set the upper top sail. We had the sail half unfurled when it hit. Screaming wind, rain, flapping canvas. The works. The boson got her leg caught in between a boom and a stay. Very badly bruised. My girls can always get Legacy. One chook died and was given a sea draft.

I was on the 0300 to 0700 this morning. I arrived on deck to foul weather. Cold, rain, huge seas with a force 6 to 7 wind. The sea was black with white horses on white horses and sky all flume - we were making eight knots under sail. I spent the first half-hour on the manual pumps. Jay believes in the old ways - the bilges could have been pumped with the engine.

Then on the helm with the wind on the starboard quarter. It was difficult keeping on the course ‘130 magnetic’. She keeps trying to round up into the wind. If we over correct you could jibe the main and mizzen and bring down both masts. Whilst on the helm the top gallant square sail was set. I missed out taking out the gaskets. My enthusiasm for working aloft is dis-sipating in direct proportion to the wind, sea and light.

During the watch I was detailed off to furl the forward jib, alone in the darkest dark.

When you are astride the sprit, there are no real problems hanging on until you come to stowing the rope (or gasket) used to tie the jib on the sprit.

This has to be rolled up in a special way - lopped in the same direction as the lay of the rope with a special knot tied at the top. This rope is then left to hand below the sprit yard. This can only be done using both hands. You hold on as the roll and pitch start; take a turn as the boat passes through centre and then hang on for the roll in the other direction; then back to the centre for another tuck.

My worry is keeping a grip as we go further south with my cold hands. Wore my pajamas under my clothes for the morning watch. This is to put off going into thermal clothes. I only have one set and once they are on I expect to live in them for the next 10 days.

When I arrived back, dawn was bursting through, and on the quarterdeck there was Jay with Barbara Streisand flat out; doing a sailors jig in his sea boots and behind him a perfect rainbow with an albatross soaring; to the port. The “Eye of the Wind” had the sun breaking through the shim-mering sails.

The Opera House in full flight. It makes you forget the two earlier squalls which had us on our side with seas breaking and trick-ling down my foul weather gear. Pancakes and golden syrup for breakfast.

Below for four hours sleep. I woke to find my shirt and only jumper wet. Put them on to dry them out. Everything is damp and wet. The seas are breaking over the side and all decks awash. The rain squalls have passed but there are more to come. Had a salt water shower and washed out some underwear in the same water.

More to follow in the next Full and By.

Women at seaJeanne Caunant, the wife of a maintopman on the French warship “Achille”#

was employed in powder room, during The Battle of Trafalgar. With the ship on fire, she tried to reach the main deck, to search for her husband, but found the ladders had all been shot away. As she tried frantically to find a way up, she heard cries of “Fire” from above. The fire burnt downwards,

trapping her on the lower deck. As she frantically searched for an exit through the mangled bodies and dying men, some guns from the main

deck fell through the planks, enabling her to scramble out and climb down a chain on to the back of the rudder. She stayed on the rudder until the lead that lined its trunk melted and fell on her. She stripped off her clothes and jumped into the sea, and was lucky enough to come upon a large piece of wood. She was rescued by the “HMS Pickle”, (the Pickle was chosen to

take the news of the battle, and the death of Nelson, to England and there is now a replica of her in England- www.hmspickle.org.uk ). Jeanne’s luck

carried on after her nude rescue, when, owing to a mix up, she was granted parole in Gibraltar and not taken to England as a prisoner. {Prisoners taken

on to England spent years under horrendous conditions in prison hulks}.# There was also an English warship of the same

name in The Battle of Trafalgar.*There is a famous painting of her being rescued in the British Library, though she is suitable clothed. www.imagesonline.bl.uk/britishlibrary/

controller/subjectidsearch?id=6640&&idx=1&startid=6184 Sources. - “Trafalgar The Men, The Battle, The Storm”

Tim Clayton and Phil Craig Holder 2004.Internet. “Sea of Glory” Nathaniel Philbrick Vikings books 2003

Peter Davey