British Arctic Whaling in the 19th
Century
For
the most part, the following was an article of mine, ‘British Arctic Whaling in
the 19th Century’ within the 11th edition of The Family and Local History Handbook:-
This dirty town has been my home,
since last time I was sailin’,
but I’ll not stay another day,
I’d sooner be a whalin’!
So begins a ‘Sailors’ Hymn’,
not about whaling as becomes apparent from the chorus:-
O Lord above,
send down a dove,
with beak as sharp as razors,
to cut the throats,
of them there blokes,
wot sells bad
beer to sailors!
Instead,
this is a commentary on the pitfalls of a recently discharged foreign-going
mariner rapidly losing his money and possessions through his own weaknesses and
ending up forced back to sea, in debt to a crimp. Even with the harsh realities
of merchant service, the above reference clearly exemplifies the aversion that
many mariners held towards whaling. So, was this perception fair?
The first known Atlantic whalers were
the Basques c.1500, reaching to the Arctic within one hundred years. Then
rapidly taken up by northern Europeans, during the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries there had been friction between whaling fleets of numerous nations,
but primarily the English and Dutch. With ‘command of the sea’ established in
the North Sea through Admiral Duncan’s victories in 1797, Dutch activity
subsequently declined. Nationalistic antipathies aside, competition was patchy
and the industry had been variously encouraged and subsidised by Acts of Parliament
since 1645. The earliest operations were characterised by the Muscovy and later
Greenland companies of London. Hull soon had its own whaling fleet, with other
places such as Whitby and Durham following. It would seem that there had also
been some seventeenth century Scottish activity too, but this began in earnest
mid eighteenth century, producing strong fleets from the Forth to Peterhead.
Traditionally there had been keen competition from the Americans (in shipping
whale oil across the Atlantic), hence British government subsidies. Between
over-fishing, the large-scale use of coal-gas and substitution of mineral oil
(initially from Pennsylvania) for whale oil, between the 1830s and 1870s the
British whaling industry almost disappeared. Dundee was the exception though
and soon was the primary whaling port in Britain, replacing wood and sail, for
iron and steam in a new generation of vessels. Whale oil had been found to
soften jute fibre prior to processing. Nevertheless, this too had dwindled by
the 1890s through further over-fishing, not just by the Scots, but other
competitors such as the Norwegians.
Of course, this was not the end of whaling by any
means. Voyages to Antarctic waters had been conducted for a long time and
twentieth century technologies and methods have increased the killing rate yet
further. However, this falls outside the remit of this particular article.
The Arctic whalers’ main target was the species, Balaena mysticetus,
or ‘Right’ whale. These were advantageous to the hunters because not only were
they slow moving, making them easier to attack, when dead they floated.
Additionally, this species provided materially more than any other of a
naturally particularly useful product known as baleen, or ‘whalebone’. In an
era before plastics had been developed, its flexibility meant that it was
suitable for numerous products: if only now remembered for women’s corsets.
Oil, extracted from the layer of blubber, was the other product. This, along
with vegetable oil, was used both for lighting and the lubrication of machinery
(in an age of increasing steam-power).
Whaling vessels were dry-docked, on a care and
maintenance basis over winter until February. Then the sheathing (presumably along
with the felting underneath) received attention and the hull down to the
waterline was heavily coated in tar. Crews assembled; signed articles; and on
sailing were given a good send off by their communities. Often, but not always
they called into Orkney or Shetland ports for the specialist whalers and by May
Day hoped to be well on their way north to the Greenland fishery.
Outward bound, fishing gear was carefully prepared.
One important task was in splicing and spanning the fore-gangers on to the harpoons
that had recently been sharpened by the carpenter, his mate(s) and the
harpooners. It was important to get this right and an eight or nine-yard length
of best 2¼-inch hemp was used. In use this would be attached to lines spliced
together serially and skilfully coiled down in the small boats. These lines
were also of hemp of the same diameter and commonly six were combined:
totalling 120 fathoms (one fathom being precisely 6.08 feet this equates to
approximately 243 yards or 222 metres). Multiple lines were stowed in each
boat. Another necessity was rigging up the canting tackle block, or gyn, probably primarily done by the seamen.
The sighting from the crowsnest of a whale brought the rapid launching of two of
the six or so boats. Normally boats’ crews numbered six. Initially five were on
pulling oars, plus a steersman using a specialist oar (since these craft were
rudderless). The harpooner, in command of the boat was the oarsman furthest
forward; with the steersman his second in command. On getting into position the
harpooner took his station in the bow by his weapon.
By the nineteenth century harpoon-guns
were often deck mounted, although many preferred the older hand versions. When
fired, rather than the heavy line being attached, instead there was a light
‘foregoer’. The harpoon having found its mark, the boat would then be made fast
to the whale, where the heavy line replaced the ‘foregoer’ and played out. At
this point the steersman became the line-manager, ensuring smooth running of
this heavily tarred 2¼-inch rope from what would have been a highly-confined
space. Failure to perform this task could and did lead to injury and death in
wrecked and capsized boats.
Their prey did not necessarily give up
easily, or quickly, with some managing to escape.
Nevertheless, on successful occasions the magnificent creature finally
succumbed, exhausted, especially as other boats’ harpooners might also have got
their hooks in. At the relevant point extremely sharp lances would be driven
deep into the unfortunate’s vital organs. The telltale sign of fatal damage was
when ‘the chimney caught fire’, euphemistically describing masses of blood
spurting from its blowhole and covering everything around!
Dead, two holes were made in it’s tail and it was hauled back
to the vessel. Once there, the carcass was strung up from the cant purchase
gear that ensured turning for the ease of flensing.
Others then took over. Under the
supervision of the spectioneer, flensing (or regional
variations) was the removal of the blubber and baleen in large strips from men
in boats, or actually on the corpse. Winched or otherwise brought aboard, the
blubber was cut up, thrown into the hold and consigned to casks, overseen by
the skeeman and two assistants known as ‘kings’. The
latter was regarded as particularly ‘messy’ work. On completion the remains
were cut adrift to sink and the whalers would be allowed rest, perhaps with an
issue of grog.
When whales were not in evidence apart from the
navigation of the ship, routine work was ‘tween
decks, the weather being bitterly cold. Carpenters, blacksmiths and coopers,
for instance would have gear to care for, while others would perform tasks from
picking oakum through to producing sennit.
Filthy by the end of a season, the first sign of the
return was in a general cleaning. With this done the best (and therefore most
efficient) set of sails was bent on. Whale lines were removed from the boats
for drying in the rigging, with whales’ jawbones secured to the lower rigging.
The boats were then stowed ‘tween decks; the crowsnest lowered; and dried lines coiled down in the line
room. Further, maintenance of lesser equipment, cleaning and even painting was
carried out on the homeward leg.
Making port in the autumn, the casks of by then
rancid, maggot-infested blubber would be discharged ashore. Eventually this
would be boiled to extract the valuable oil, cooled and casked,
but not until it had decomposed further. It was hardly surprising that whaling
centres were infamous for their foul smells!
Although having previously been discharged from their
vessels, it was not until the baleen and oil went to market that they were paid
their bone, oil and striking money (the latter for the capturing process).
These were awarded according to laid down percentages according to role. In
fact this was the all-important element of their pay. Depending on the size of
the catch and the market conditions prevailing, in good years substantially higher sums could be and were earned than working ashore, or in merchant
service. In the lean years it was very different and because of the scale of
the industry, had a detrimental knock-on effect within the wider communities.
Already briefly alluded to,
this was a highly hazardous industry,
both for those at sea and also, incidentally, for the shipowning
investors financially. There were comparatively few years when vessels and
their crews were not lost. All the same there were some that were long
remembered.
The season of 1836 had been unsuccessful and in an
effort not to return ‘clean’, six vessels tarried in Davis Strait during
August. They were the Swan of Hull;
the Grenville Bay of Newcastle; the Norfolk of Berwick; the Advice and Thomas both of Dundee; and the Dee
of Aberdeen. Within days all were enmeshed in the ice field. Efforts were made
to get as far south as possible and carve out ice docks, only partially
effective by mid November when the sun disappeared for winter. What followed
was harrowing.
Miles apart, communications could only be maintained
by trekking across the icefields. While still
physically able, parties were supplied to aid those in most need. In mid
December the Thomas was crushed, but
before complete destruction most of her company, as well as equipment and
stores were retrieved. Unfortunately, due to the sheer distance, wood could not
be salvaged for burning as fuel. Without heating, internally, ships and men
froze. Relatively early the Advice
had become short of food. Hardly surprising, even with normal civilian seamen’s
diets of this era, scurvy had set in badly by the New Year. For instance, a
third of the men on the Dee were
affected by then. Lice and severe diarrhoea added to their plight. In the
darkness the Swan drifted away,
isolating them further. While they still had strength there were instances of
rebelliousness, but these did not last. Cold, hungry, weak, filthy and in
severe pain, in their nightmare existence they became melancholic and died
increasingly.
Conditions changed in mid March 1837, with heavy gales
that broke up the ice. Subsequently, the Grenville
Bay managed to make it to Stromness on her own
accord in late April, gaining supplies from passing merchantmen. Twenty had
died onboard, although only half were from her own company. The Norfolk made it back to Berwick with a
lesser cost: eight dead.
Fellow whalers had mounted a rescue operation in the
last days of February. By the time she was found in mid May the Swan’s crew were dead, or incapable of
work. Dundee’s Princess Charlotte
aided her greatly and by early July the Swan
had reached northern Scottish waters.
Incapable of competent navigation by spring, the Dee had drifted southward. She was
effectively saved by another Dundee vessel, the barque Washington. Breaking her own voyage, on April 25th she
towed the Dee to the Butt of Lewis,
supplying men and food as well. When she finally arrived in Aberdeen in early
May, only fifteen men remained alive including survivors of the Thomas.
Similarly, the Advice
had drifted a massive distance, initially westward to within a few hundred
miles of Newfoundland, then east and southward. Sailing vessels were rarely
‘dry’, but with a permanent three to four feet of water in the hold, the pumps
were continually manned. So short-handed, in time the helm was secured and the
poop left unmanned for at least part of the night. (Whether there was any kind
of watch on deck either is not apparent from accounts.) As men became too weak
to work, they took to their beds and died. Finally, on June 3rd the
Liverpool-registered Grace sighted
her off Ireland, in a truly dreadful state. Although not breaking her voyage,
the merchantman gave supplies and men. Ten days later, when
she arrived in Sligo, there were seven survivors (including her master George Deuchars), three of whom were close to death.
Researching individuals
In the past a lot has been written on whaling, even if
currently there is little in print. However, there are also a number of local
museums and archives with their own unique collections. So, some time invested
at one or more of these may yield much, although some judgement should be used
when reading published accounts. Especially popular during the Victorian era
there were many writers, such as Basil Lubbock, that turned out stirring, but
rather romanticised versions. Lubbock, an adventurer had actually had one trip
on a ‘Horner’, but I have often found his tales to be unconvincing.
There are also the original records required to be
kept by law and these are the ones that I have experience of using. Even
although there were various Acts of Parliament specifically dealing with
aspects of whaling, such as those concerning bounties and others on carrying
surgeons, the majority relate to general civilian sea activity.
Broadly (if not entirely accurately) these can be
described as the records of the Board of Trade for mercantile sea service.
Although there had previously been ships’ musters, precious few of these
survive and it is not until 1835, with the earliest form of the (Admiralty’s)
Register of Seamen being introduced that researching individual mariners is
possible. Unsatisfactory, various schemes were experimented with until 1857 and
this is generally known as the ‘ticketing system’.
Unfortunately, after this year it again becomes difficult to trace individuals,
other than for masters, mates (generally from 1851) and engineers (from 1862).
Whether through the ‘ticketing system’, or other ways,
with ships’ names and years served onboard known
a rich vein of papers can be accessed. These are what is
now termed ‘crew lists’, but actually included ships’
articles, various listings of crew and sometimes from 1850, ships’ official
logs. Until 1860 all of these are to be found at The National Archives, Kew, in
Surrey, England. After this, it all becomes hideously complex, but is generally
explained in the mercantile guide.
There is one additional possibility post 1857 - in
educated guesses or disciplined searches. Even without the heavy financial
investment of the ‘great’ families, such as the Scoresby’s of Whitby, or Deuchars of Dundee, men frequently signed on season after
season in the service of the same master and/or onboard the same vessel.
Failing that, through the rundown of the industry from mid century onwards, the
scale of searches should be progressively lessened.
When found the original articles, crew lists and logs
can provide a mass of interesting, if thought-provoking data. As well as the
standardised wordings in articles required by the legislators, on whalers there
were additional dedicated wordings. These alone indicate a substantially
different world to that of the merchant mariner. This
was threateningly highlighted for those not pulling their weight in the common
endeavour, through cowardice or other reasons. If convicted by a council onboard, they would lose heavily
financially. (It should be pointed out that councils had not been entirely
unheard of on merchantmen in past eras, but were certainly not allowed for in nineteenth
century articles.) Anyway, as yet not having seen an example of this in
practice, it may be inferred that there would have also been a lasting social
stigma and such men (and possibly also their families), shamed, would have been
shunned.
Finally,
one particularly interesting and informative book I found was:-
Norman Watson: The Dundee Whalers 1715-1914 (East
Linton, East Lothian: Tuckwell Press Ltd., 2003)
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