Last Voyage of the GARTHPOOL
Britain’s Last Commercial Square Rigger.
By; Stanley James Hugill. (A.B.) late of the ill fated barque.
This article has been supplied by Chris Roche of the Shanty Crew
The Stan Hugill website wishes to thank ' Sea Breezes Magazine' for their kind permission to reproduce the article here.
As related in the pages of Sea Breezes Magazine of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company Volume 13 for 1930.
On a cold, bleak October morning the four mast barque GARTHPOOL broke away from the quayside of the Alexander Dock, Hull, bound away on a long voyage down South to Australia. She had been laid up in this port for a period of three months, during which time she had been reconditioned and fitted out with a new steel jibboom, mizzen upper t’gallant yard (wood), and fore lower topsail yard. At the dock entrance, although the hours were early and the weather drear and wet, several people stood gazing at the tall masted vessel, last of the British owned deep water square riggers, little thinking that she was going to her funeral.
From her jibboom tip hung the emblem of the Society of Pawnbrokers, the work of some mischievous young brass-bounder, and from her yard-arms and trucks gaily coloured ribbons flaunted themselves to the breeze. On the fo’c’sle head the crowd were handling her warps and a “hand over hand” chanty was raised as they were hauled inboard.
When the last line was aboard, the ship’s people gave three rousing cheers, answered by the shore people, and then, as the fussy little tug picked up the slack of the towrope and blew her siren, the great barque slowly and stately moved outwards; her goal, Cape Borda, South Australia.
To Borda`s Cape for orders,
The Garthpool now is bound,
On any ocean found.
She flies the old Red Duster,
And bare feet tread her decks,
Whilst ships her crews once sighted,
Are lost and weed grown wrecks.
I had been in “sail” before, but this was different. The others had been foreigners, but aboard of this vessel, among a crowd of typical young British sailormen, with a fine old skipper and shell-backed mates and bo’sun, I felt a glorious sensation of ecstasy and could have “thrown my chest overboard” with pride. To be making a voyage as AB. in Britain’s “Last of the Mohicans “ it was something to crow about ! The crowd were all British subjects, which somewhat contradicts the statements made by some authorities that only “Dagoes and Dutchmen man our windbags nowadays.”
The “Old Man,” aye, a “Grand Old Man,” was Captain David Thomson, of Fifeshire, Scotland, who had never been in a “steam kettle” in all his long sea career. The chief mate hailed from Devon, where the sea dogs of old were born, a typical shellback, too; and our young second mate, Mr. Butcher, was a Yorkshireman. He’d served his time in the “Garth” Line, and had an eventful sea career in those ill fated ships, having been dismasted off the horn, and foundered after striking ice in the high latitudes.
The bo’sun (Mr Chenoweth who after the wrecking took with him the Barometer which was I recall Stan telling me given to the sail training schooner SIR WINSTON CHURCHILL when she was commissioned, ed) was one of the very few men with the Antarctic medal, having been bo’sun in Scott’s Discovery on a voyage to the Polar regions. He had also seen a lot of service in the famous old Dundee whalers and had served several years as bo’sun of that fine old Colonial clipper MOUNT STEWART.
Our cook, or “Doe.,” as we affectionately called him, was a coloured native of the British owned island of Mauritius. He had been cook of the last Liverpool owned ship BIRKDALE, and his old-fashioned discharge book was full from cover to cover of voyages made in vessels of the famous Milnes` “Inver” Line. He was a mine of information regarding the “ good old days,” and could spin a yarn with the best, his quaint way of expression and amusing gestures of his hands would make us hold our sides with laughter.
“Chips” was an Aberdonian, “Sails” hailed from Australia, the Steward was also Scotch, and our cabin boy, a young red headed monkey from the “Pool,” who was making his first voyage (and an eventful one it proved for him). The for’ard crowd were a well educated lot of young fellows, different to what you’d expect to find in a windbag’s f’c’sle. Two of them had been in the GARTHPOOL on previous voyages.
We had two Humber river pilot apprentices just out of their time and going in for square rig tickets; an ex-submarine lieutenant; and a couple of chaps with second mate’s tickets; a French Canadian, whose last ship was ARCHIBALD RUSSELL.
a young chap from Lord Brassey’s ex-yacht SUNBEAM; and several young fellows shipped as O.S. for the experience of this fast vanishing life. We also had four passengers, one of whom was Major Kerr Smylie, the noted yachtsman.
Having given a description of the hands, I will now say something In regard to the ship. The GARTHPOOL was a large four masted barque built by W. B. Thomson & Co of Dundee, in the year 1891, and originally called the JUTEOPOLIS, being an Indian jute trader, and owned by Charles Barrie, of Dundee.
She was 2,842 tons gross, and could carry nearly 5,000 tons, Wheat, having been in the Australian wheat trade towards the latter end of her career. Her length was 310ft. and a beam of 45ft. Although a cargo. carrying “wagon,” she could show a clean tail to many ships of a like class, and in 1926 ran from Callao to Sydney in 48 days, an exceedingly good passage. On her last passage she frequently logged 12 and 18 knots, and she has seen 15 knots over the rail on several occasions. Her best passage was from the Cape of Good hope, running her Easting Down to Semaphore, Port Adelaide, the time taken being 28 days (steamboat passage).
For several years she was run by the Anglo American Oil Company, carrying case oil between U.S.A. and China, and eventually she was bought by the Marine Navigation Company of Canada, who had her right till her unfortunate finish. Sir William Garthwaite, her owner, had kept her running these last years to show, more or less, that England still had a sentimental spot for the old windbags, but now she is gone, I wonder if another will take her place?
From now on I will copy entries from my diary.
October 24th. We are now well clear of the land, the tug SEAMAN hauling us along in fine style. Towards noon the strong head wind that has been promising to hinder us has come with a vengeance, and the tug makes signals that it is advisable to anchor in Yarmouth Roads for the night and wait and see what the morrow brings forth.
October 25th. This morning we weighed anchor, as the “muzzler had veered” and also died down a bit. Set fore,, main, a jigger topmast staysails, as the wind frees. Today we manned the pumps for several hours, not on account of leakage, but the sand ballast which we are carrying had been dredged from the sea bottom and is, therefore, full of water, which is draining into the bilges. We have a very musical crowd, and I have appointed myself chantyman, as I have quite a large repertoire in my head. “A-Roving,” “Lowlands” and “Fire Down Below” have been sung with great zest, and with as much feeling as any old “sheIlback” crowd could have done it. All our young crew are very interested in these chanties and want to learn them as speedily as they can, and I’m getting quite hoarse repeating the various versions to first one and then another of these embryo chantymen. They all feel as though they want to do this voyage in real old clipper ship style, and it is proposed very shortly to get “Sails” to make a canvas horse for us so as we’ll be able to enact the “Ceremony of Paying Off the Dead Horse,” a custom that has long since fallen into disuse. “Old Man” Thomson is delighted with the chantying, and I believe at times he sings himself. Last trip he sang the solo part of “Leave her, Johnny, leave her,” on the vessel’s arrival at Hull. At night we stowed the staysails. Head wind (S.W.) again springs up.
October 26th. This morning the tug left us. It is a typical grey Channel morning. At 5 a.m. o’clock we began to make sail, topsails, etc., being hoisted by our winches worked from the donkey-boiler. This will be the last time machinery will be used, at sea it is all “Armstrong’s Patent.” Myself and young Fuller had been sent aloft to loose the main topgans’ls, when a bad accident occurred. having loosed the main upper topg’l’nt, I happened to glance aft and saw that the captain of the tugboat was waiting to receive letters anyone wished to send ashore, so I hastily slid down the backstay, dived down the scuttle into the fo’c’sle, which is situated a little aft of the mainmast, and grabbed my own letters and Fuller’s. As I appeared through the scuttle, a crashing sound came from aloft, and the next moment chains, ropes and blocks came hurtling all round the scuttle, missing the crowd by inches, as they were all standing directly beneath the mainmast. How everybody escaped unhurt was nothing short of a miracle. I glanced aloft, and there was poor Fuller hanging on the t’g’l’nt rigging for dear life.
What had happened was this. As they were hoisting the yard the chain tie parted and the yard came down the mast with a crash; luckily the lifts held, the tie, pendant and purchase all falling to the deck. Fuller had just stepped off the yard into the rigging, otherwise he would have undoubtedly “lost the number of his mess.”
As soon as the excitement was over all hands laid aft, and three cheers were given for the tug SEAMAN, the towboat’s crew responding accordingly. One of the men on the SEAMAN took several snaps of us all sitting on the taff-rail and clustered round the jigger shrouds.
In the distance ‘Beachy Head loomed, and this is the last piece of England’s “dirt” we expect to see for some time.
October 26th. 12 noon. Took in fore upper topgans’l. This is the first bit of “sail clewing” several of the young chaps have experienced, and probably they’ll have a “stomach full” before the mate says “That’ll do, men.” Sou’-west gale approaching. At 8 p.m. wore ship. snugged her down to six topsails and main lower topgans’l. Heavy swell, but as we are in ballast, no water comes aboard. Very cold weather.
October 27th. Sunday. Off the Lizard. Plenty of ships in sight. 2 a.m. wind draws out on the starboard quarter. Squared away and set topgan’sls, the uppers being taken to the capstans and the crowd tramped round, yelling “Can’t ye Dance the Polka” with the whole power of their lungs.
The port watch set courses and outer jib. I am in the starboard watch under Mr Butcher, the second mate. We are quite a happy family and the “green horns” are taking great interest in this life. We have two young Irish ordinary seamen, who keep things lively with their witty back-chat, even our second mate at times has to slacken his jaw-tackles and grin at their amusing and dry humour. We are now settling down to sea-routine, and as everything is new and novel to the majority of the crew, monotony will be a long while making its appearance.
October 28th. During the early hours of the morning the wind broke off and the yards were jammed on the backstays. Took in topgan’sls, mainsail and cro’jack. 4 a.m. furled foresail and wore ship. 12 noon, wore ship again. snugged her down to three lowers, main upper topsail, jigger and fore-stays’l. Steering N by W. Westerly wind blowing strong and heavy swell. The mizzen upper tops’l has split from head to foot. Bent a new one at eight bells (4 o’clock).
5 p.m., weather moderating, set fore upper topsail. Today all hands have been engaged at various jobs, the O.S.’s making French Sennit by the mile (and don’t they enjoy it !). They are also becoming familiar with “overhauling buntlines” and stopping lifts on the yards. The food on this packet is very good for a windbag, and “soft tack” is seen fairly often. Our old “Doe” cooks the salt horse in fine style. We are allowed one bucket of water for each watch per day, which will have to do us till we arrive in the “Doldrums.”
October 29th. Head winds; wore ship several times. Weather still cold and miserable.
October 30th. Fair wind at last. Set all sail. Fuller was on the lookout when the main upper t’gallant was being hoisted, and he afterwards said to me he had never; experienced a finer sight than the view he had from “the fo’c’sle head of” the sail flapping in the breeze and jerking upwards inch by inch, as both watches fell back on the halliards to the rousing tune of “Blow, boys, blow! And this in modern times! There are still places where the chanty is still used as it should be and not only at wireless concerts, or sung by stiff-collared gentlemen into a gramophone. Caught a Jackdaw to day. It flew aboard in an exhausted condition. We warmed it in the galley oven.
October 31st. We are now well in the notorious Bay of Biscay, but good luck is with us, and we have a fine free wind and fair weather. Most of us are engaged making wire grummets for the staysail sheets to reeve through. Still pumping ship.
November 1st. Becalmed; mild weather, reeving off new buntlines. We must be somewhere to the westward of Cape Finisterre.
November 2nd Saturday, slight breeze, catspaws, rain at Intervals. Have rigged a tarpaulin to catch rainwater, and buckets, barrels and everything that will hold water are being brought into use. Will be able -wash clothes tomorrow.
November 3rd Sunday, N E wind To-day is a great “dobhi-ng” day, and the fore-deck looks like a Chinese laundry; the poop is nearly as bad, for the “Old Man” and passengers have all been busily engaged the wash tub.
This vessel is a fine steering ship, but the heavy double wheel requires some holding. During her career several men have been thrown over the axle and received injuries. At times, when running, it takes four good men to hold the wheel. The half wheel house (whaleback) that she has is a godsend In ,bad weather. We are logging 10 knots; course, S.W. by S.
November 4th. Monday, sailing with yards square. Course, S. by W. Wind lessening. “Old Man” Thomson is a proper father to us chaps. The man who is fortunate enough to be at the wheel, 8 to 10 a.m. always receives an orange or apple when the “Old Man” makes his appearance on deck after breakfast.
The passengers have been taking photos of the crowd at work; I hope to procure some if they turn out O.K. Major Kerr-Smylie often comes on the section and yarns with the sailors. He is a noted yachtsman himself, and is at present making this trip to the Colonies to go deep sea fishing in New Zealand.
November 5th. The wind is on the port quarter, dull day. Course, S.W. by S. To-day we have been overhauling jibboom footropes. Sent them inboard, bowsed them taut on the capstan (one end being fast to the rail), and then banged them ferociously with heavy capstan bars, so as to test the holding powers of the eye splices, etc, seized the stirrups on afresh and served the whole lot over again. In my watch below I have spent the time making a string hammock for the tropics. Some of my shipmates are making canvas ones. Jean Gloro, the Frenchman, is engaged in making a model of the French barque BOSSUET. One of the “brass- bounders” is also making a model ship. The “sub,” as we call the ex-submarine lieutenant, has been cheering us with his fiddle. Of musical talent we have a fiddler, Jean plays an accordion, Ted, one of the pilots, makes an attempt at melody with a “uke,” and to crown the lot we have a gramophone, which is almost worn out already.
November 6th. Wednesday, the run to day was 180 miles. The weather is becoming warmer. We are still overhauling foot ropes, on the topgallant yards. The sailmaker is busily engaged repairing sails, as we soon will be bending the trade wind canvas. The passengers are trying a hand at “homeward bound” stitches. One of the passengers, Mr. Steele, or “Scuppers,” as we have nicknamed him, has decided to live in the fo’c’sle, and has been keeping a standby in his watch on deck, the same as the other ordinary seamen. He is now learning to steer. Although he is a B.A, he is very unconventional, and the fo’c’sle joke is that he’ll go out outward bound as B.A. and come home homeward bound as an A.B!
November 7th. Thursday, Island in sight. Proved to be Puerto Santo, a summer resort of people from the Canary Islands. A fishing boat under sail, heads towards us. Major Kerr-Smylie has prepared a bottle with a letter and money inside and mounted with a small flag, to throw overboard hoping that the natives will pick it up and post the letter to England. As the fishing-boat nears, the “Old Man” orders the man at the wheel to” luff,” as there is only a slight breeze blowing, and stay the vessel’s way while he throws the bottle over the side. It is doubtful whether the natives have retrieved it.
Later in the day Madeira appears, and the town of Funchal, nestling beneath the rocky peaks, is seen bathed in sunlight. The N.E. Trade has freshened and we are now logging 12 knots. The watch have been cutting a new topgallant backstay from a coil of steel wire, and bending light sails on the foremast.
November 8th. Sailed between the Islands of Palma and Teneriffe, This is surely a steamboat passage that we are making. The lofty Dragon’s Peak is shrouded in mist. We are logging 18 knots. Have finished bending sail on foremast. Watch employed shifting buntline blocks and overhauling crane-ropes on mizzen and jigger masts. The weather is fairly warm, and the Trade wind fresh and steady.
November 9th. Saturday, washed down this morning, as is the usual routine aboard this ship. Don’t we curse the nice mess the “Old Man’s” hens make as they go exploring new regions around the ship’s deck.
Course S.W. by S. and S.S.W. Ought to sight the Cape Verde Island tomorrow. Have been 18 days at sea today.
November l0th. Sunday, Today we have a spell from work, and although we have plenty of washing to do, will have to wait till next week, as our washing water is “minus” passing the time away strolling the decks. We are now “pairing off” as each man finds a shipmate to his liking, and each pair “swops” yarns about various ships and places as they pace the deck. Ships mentioned are: Barques GUSTAV, ARCHIBALD RUSSELL, MONONGAHELA, GOLDEN GATE, BOSSUET, GARTHNEIL, Barquentines HILDA, WATERWITCH, and Auxiliary Schooner SUNBEAM. Don`t come into our talk, for, like George the channel Islander says, “there`s no history in “em”. It is rather cool at nights. (Stan himself made his Cape Horn rounding in the Gustav, there is a note in the German Journal Der Albatross, it says, when Stan Hugill joined the ship he looked like a pirate wearing a red bandana round his head and sea boots. Ed)
November 11th. Monday (Armistice day) sailing with yards square, with fresh N.E. wind. At 9.20.A.M. (11 0 clock GMT), all hands laid aft as the two minutes silence was observed; afterwards the passengers taking pictures of the ship's company posed all over the poop.
(Here ends my log, and the rest of the story was written on the Island of St Vincent. S J H.)
November 11th. Monday, wind 9.25. p.m. It was the starboard watch's watch below, and the majority of us had “turned in,” when suddenly a cry of “All hands on deck!” sounded through the scuttle, at the same time accompanied by a scuffle of feet and Yo-ho-ing at the braces. Jumping Into necessary gear we were all soon on deck and a startling sight met our gaze. Ahead and to leeward of us a huge mountain reared itself, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, with its sides enveloped in a misty haze!
The port watch were pointing the yards, hauling with all their might. and main, and then the lookout’s cry from the fore-top awoke us from our reverie and opened our eyes to the danger we were in.
“Breakers a-a-a-head!”
“Starboard watch-mizzen braces I”
Quickly we jumped to it, cast off the braces, and hauled as we’d never hauled before. The island must have appeared suddenly out of the low lying mist, for the look-out had not reported land till he sighted “white water.” Immediately the mate had sent a man up into the fore-top, roused the “Old Man” and all the rest of the hands. Then he’d given orders to brace the yards up to try and beat her off from the direction where the reefs lay, but when he saw this would not act, the order was given “Wear ship,” which manoeuvre we were now engaged upon.
Over to windward, hard and fast, also standing upright, was the shadowy form of a steamer; afterwards we knew her to be the Spanish steamer AXBE-MENDI. This was probably another lure that got us in this trap, for, only for not having navigation lights showing, she looked as though she was under weigh, our mate probably thinking “where she can go, we can go.”
As we squared the mizzen yards we could feel our ship slide over a reef, and we knew we were well trapped now as we had sailed into a cul-de-sac of reefs. To windward was the steamer and reefs, to leeward was the island, astern was the reef, barely covered by water, that we had sailed over, and ahead was a chain of reefs and a high promontory.
We were now lurching in a sickly fashion in the broken water, and then the lookout’s cry again, “Surf ahead!”
“Square the main yards!”
We had hardly grasped the mainbrace when the ship crashed on the reef with a lurch to port. Everything shook with the crash, and all hands dived into the safety of the donkey house, expecting to see the masts and yards come hurtling round our heads!
The foremast stood the great shock remarkably well, although the rigging slackened a bit, everything aloft held, which showed the fine condition she was in, and that she would have been hale and hearty and good for many more years’ service if, this unforeseen disaster had not occurred. Suddenly she lurched further over to port and began bumping heavily on the reefs, so the captain gave the order to clew up everything. As it was impossible to back her off the rocks, and swing the boats outboard. Several of us made for the fo’c’sle and stuffed what gear we could into bags or anything handy, and then stood by to leave the wreck; which the “Old Man” thought advisable as the ship was bumping and lurching, and even yet some of the spars were liable to carry away.
The carpenter had sounded the well and found that the ship was making water fast. Up to now no panic had occurred, and the officers had given orders in a sane manner. At 10.30 p.m. we tumbled into the two quarter boats and lowered them into the water, the captain in charge of the starboard boat, and the chief mate in the port one. Owing to a little confusion the starboard boat was crowded, and after we had cast off the tackles and pulled away from the ship’s side two or three of the sailors dived overboard and swam to the port boat and clambered aboard. I was in the starboard boat, and after pulling a while, the second mate sung out for us to step the mast and hoist the lugsail. By now the moon had set, and everywhere was as black as the Devil’s Riding Boots, which only added to our fears, as we knew the place was simply dotted with reefs.
The man who was sitting on the fore-side of the Iugsail suddenly sung out “Breakers!” and hurriedly we dowsed the sail and shipped oars, pulling away with a will. As soon as we were free of the reefs, we lighted a flare as a signal to the port boat, which was hidden somewhere in the darkness. After a while we perceived an answering flare, and from its position they seemed to be clear of the reefs.
By now we were feeling cold and miserable and wishing the dawn would break so as we could see where we were. We started to sing chanties to try and lighten our spirits, but the singing fell through, and then our passengers handed round cigars for us to smoke, as most of us were without that soothing weed. About midnight both boats neared each other, and the afterguard decided to anchor till morning.
We cast overboard sea anchors, but ours was pretty “holey,” and therefore was of no use, but eventually we discovered a killick in each boat, which we dropped over our bows, and anchored within range of each other. We tried to sleep, pulling the lugsail over us for warmth, but although we were weary sleep refused to come, and we smoked and did some surmising as to what island we were off and whether there was any natives ashore.
At the first streak of dawn we hauled our killicks inboard and set the sails and headed nearer inshore, where we found a rocky beach interspersed with sandy patches. Over to the windward side of the island was a white house with a handful of people gazing seawards. We signalled them, and they came down along the beach, two of them wading into the lagoon and began to swim out to us. They did not seem to bother as to whether there were any sharks in the offing!
They clambered over the gunn`l, one to each boat, and with signs and mongrel Portuguese phrases, made us understand that we must row inshore a bit further and drop our hooks, which we did.
In the meantime a native felucca rounded the point and came alongside of us. One by one we scrambled into this boat, the captain and second mate, along with a few sailors, remained in the lifeboat, as they intended making an attempt to board the wreck; this proved a failure, as they started too far to leeward and could not beat to windward, and eventually had to land further along the beach. In a short time the native boat was run through the surf and up on to the beach, where we clambered over the rocks on to “terra firma.”
By this time a heavy swell had arisen, and this was partly the reason why the captain’s boat could not make the wreck, so all ideas of attempting to salvage gear were abandoned.
We found that the place where we had landed was called Cantao. A look-out-house composed the village on the island of Boa Vista, one of the most easterly islands of the Cape Verde group. The natives, who by now had arrived in large numbers, were of the mulatto type approaching the West African negro in appearance and speaking a mongrel Portuguese dialect. Crucifixes, hung round their necks, proclaimed them to be of the Roman Church, but we found out afterwards their religion is based more or less on West African Ju-Ju beliefs. Clothing seemed to be of a pretty scanty nature with them and the men folk seemed as though they kept their wives busy patching their trousers, which in many cases resembled Joseph’s famous coat!
The women wore a square cut “Mother Hubbard,” with a bright coloured handkerchief to adorn their woolly heads, and both sexes were bare footed. They had ridden over on donkeys, the only means of transportation, from the neighbouring fishing village of Norte Juan Galegu, a cluster of half a dozen adobe houses, with turf roofs.
All hands now had a poor meat of wet spongy sea biscuits, and a tin of condensed milk was issued to each man. As we were in a rather exhausted state, this scanty meal seemed better than any food we had ate before.
After making enquiries (Jean, the Frenchman, and the Major were linguists, the former speaking Italian, the latter Spanish), we found out that no fresh water was obtainable on the island, goats’ milk being the principal drink (the island was alive with goats). Later on in the day several natives presented us with a few bottles of “cidra,” or champagne cider, which they had ransacked from the wrecked Spanish steamer, as her cargo had been 100,000 bottles of cider. (The Daily Mirror carried a report of the wrecking of the GARTHPOOL with the headline Nude And Stewed after speaking with Stan one time, he had related the story and I gained copies of the old newspaper articles from the daily Mirrors own library. ed.)
Several of the sailors had opened their bags and spread what little gear they had on the rocks in the sun to dry. As soon as the natives, who are a very poor lot and born thieves, saw the shirts, etc., they immediately demanded payment for the cider and melons, and from that time onwards we had to barter “camisas” (shirts) and “pantaloons” (trousers) for to obtain sustenance I We also obtained wide broad brimmed grass hats (chapio) from them, which sheltered our faces from the hot sun, as the majority of us had nothing more than handkerchiefs round our heads. By evening the cider had begun to work, and very soon half the crowd were roaring out salt water ballads in a three-sheets-in-the-wind voice. Some very exciting moments occurred, but eventually peace was established, and all hands curled up wherever they could find a comfortable sleeping place.
The following morning arrangements were made for going off to the wreck, as the heavy swell had died down, but what was our dismay when we found our rowlocks, mast, sail and oars gone. The natives had taken them during the night. Then they came forward with the extortionate demand of “una libro” £1.00. for to pilot us out in their felucca to the wreck!
The carpenter paid this, £I 00. for each boat, although later on rowlocks and oars were found for our own lifeboat, and so the three boats headed off for the wreck. We boarded the wreck by shinning up the davit falls, but when we arrived in the fo’c’sle and saloon, found the whole place turned inside out, and the majority of our gear gone. The. solution was this the natives had come off to the wreck during the night and had looted her from stem to stern!
Except for one or two odds and ends and a few more eatables, we salvaged very little. In the meanwhile the captain and second mate had journeyed overland on donkeys to the small fishing port of Sal Rei, on the other side of the island, in the hopes of obtaining transport from the inhospitable spot where we were to the island of St. Vincent, the nearest civilised place.
The third day at Cantao a cutter rounded the point and dropped anchor close inshore. She had come from Sal Rei and had orders to convey us to that port. At 8.00. p.m. we all embarked amidst enthusiastic farewells from the natives, particularly the girls!
She was a fine sailing boat and we arrived off Sal Rei at 9.30. p m. We slept aboard the cutter all that night and the following morning went ashore in the cutter’s boat. We Found the Port of Sal Rei a typical white washed, dreamy looking Latin village with its varied coloured mulattos and creoles, a mingling of whiter skinned Portuguese officials, dogs, donkeys and palm trees. We were received by some sort of a Customs official, who soon fixed us up with a square meal, which consisted of baked fish, called “Bacoka,” sweet potatoes, coffee and “vino” (wine). We passed the time strolling around and swimming. The following day we boarded the cutter again and continued our voyage to St. Vincent, where we landed, after a lot of red tape with the officials, at mid-day, Sunday, November 17th.
The port where we landed is called Mindelo, and we were put up at John Oliveira’s London Bar. John had been a sailor in English ships, and could speak English fluently. He gave us a fine English feed of eggs and bacon the sailor’s own meal! After eating, washing, shaving and putting, on clean clothes we began to enjoy ourselves at leisure. Whilst we were here the native house girls washed all our clothes and looked after us as though we were a crowd of tourists instead of shipwrecked mariners.
The Western Telegraph Company invited us up to their quarters, and we had many pleasant evenings chanty singing on the verandah or In the lounge. The English Consul was greatly interested in the chantying, and he joined in the choruses whole heartedly.
I may claim here that I am, without any contention, Britain’s last deep water chantyman, and as such I was toasted by the Consul in full hearing of all the GARTHPOOL`s crew. I may also state that the last shanty sung aboard a British sailing vessel was “Fire down below.”
(In his book of shanties `Shanties From The Seven Seas’ now considered the definitive work on the subject Stan wrote the following on page518/519
Fire Down Below, has two main forms the first I give is that which in the main was the form sung by Bosun Chenoworth, is the last shanty to have been sung aboard a British square rigger since it was sung at the pumps aboard the four-masted barque GARTHPOOL sometime towards the end of October 1929 , a week or so before being wrecked on Ponta Reef, East Sandhead, Boa Vista Cape Verde Islands. I had the honour of being the shantyman at the time. Stan then goes on to give the text sung. )
The Wilson’s Coal Company also gave us many pleasant evenings and I may say that all our crew were delighted with the way both the whites and coloured people of St. Vincent treated us. We were told by the Consul that 28 wrecks have occurred in 20 years in and around the Cape Verde Islands. The natives of Boa Vista seem as though they depend on wrecks for a livelihood.
The captain, second mate, passengers and the eight apprentices were sent home on the steamer AVELONA STAR, the following day the rest of us bid goodbye to our new found friends, and boarded the tugboat that took us off to the Royal Mail packet, DESEADO. The native house girls waved a tablecloth in goodbye from the veranda of the hotel, and the Consul and several friends from the Western Telegraph Company and Wilson’s Company, bade us adieu on the quayside. And so ended a very pleasant sojourn in the Cape Verde Islands, and I'm sure we were all sorry to leave.
We were nine days in reaching Liverpool, calling at Lisbon en route. On arrival at Liverpool, the Shipping Federation took charge of us, and after squaring up the crowd we attended a dinner given in our honour at the Sailors Home, from where we all departed to our various homes.
I believe the Portuguese authorities are going to put a lighthouse on the site where the GARTHPOOL was wrecked, and I have also heard, although it does not benefit us much, that the looting natives of Boa Vista have been arrested and put into the calaboose at St. Vincent!
In closing, I can only say that I hope the proposal by Sir William Garthwaite, concerning a new sailing vessel for training our merchant seamen, is agreed upon by the various shipping companies that have met to discuss the matter.
Stan Hugill 1930
(NB As we know the British Mercantile marine failed to adopt the principle of sail training for our merchant sailors and even today continues to contract in size. I have added notes as I prepared the article where I had additional information that I thought useful. -Chris Roche.)