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Sunday, March 3, 2024

THE NOTORIOUS CAPTAIN THOMAS M'GRATH

 


This charming looking fellow has quite a history. Not only did he not keep a workmanlike logbook, but he went in from the slavery trade, plus bilking the owners of the vessel.

Thomas James M’Grath was born 23 October 1815 in Concord, New South Wales, and married Elizabeth Folley on an unknown date.  He died in Papeete, Tahiti, on 13 June, 1882, after a particularly notorious whaling career.

Capt. M’Grath sailed from Hobart on the brig Grecian in December 1862, with a crew of 21. About a week out, he called into Botany Bay to pick up a lady friend, then set out on a whaling cruise that lasted 15 months and netted 6½ tons of oil. Tiring of this, he called into Wellington, New Zealand, paying off the crew, and signing on some Maori seamen plus a few beachcombers, and fitting the ship out as a slaver. His mistress was entered as ‘passenger, Mrs. Blank.’

Then he bought provisions, eight quarter casks of rum, two casks of ale, 10 cases of Geneva gin, one quarter cask of brandy, and two lady’s side saddles. He sold the rum to the crew. After picking up a ‘cargo’ of Tongan men he had duped at the small island of ‘Ata, he sailed for Peru, where he sold the poor fellows. Next, he was reported at Bluff, New Zealand, where M’Grath had the remarkable arrogance to sue Mrs. Seal, the owner of the ship, for wages due. The court case was a fiasco, as he had not bothered to keep a log, and he was fined the huge sum of a thousand pounds. McGrath promptly disappeared (without paying the fine), and the ship was returned to Hobart, but never went whaling again. (from Will Lawson, Blue Gum Clippers and Whale Ships of Tasmania (1949) p. 73-75.)

A rather different version of the story was published by the Mercury of Hobart on 22 February 1864.

 SINGULAR CRUISE OF THE GRECIAN A WHALER OF THIS PORT.

THE long absence of the whaling brig Grecian, belonging to the estate of Mrs Seal, of this port, has been the subject of much comment of late among seafaring men. Strange to say, however, she and her captain have now just turned up in a most extrordinary manner at Invercargill, in the province of Southland, New Zealand.

On the 23rd of January Captain M'Grath appeared in one of the courts in Southland, to claim the sum of £37 17s 10d. from Messrs Maning and Whitton, the agents for the vessel at Invercargill, which issued in a verdict for the defendants with costs, and the following are the comments of the local press on the case : —

The case of M'Grath against Maning and Whitton, which occupied during the whole of Thursday the Magistrates' Court at the Bluff, was in many respects an important one; and it will doubtless attract, as it deserves, a large amount of attention in the southern ports having an interest in whaling enterprise. We have scrupulously abstained from commenting upon the dispute between the owners and the late commander of the brig Grecian, whilst litigation was pending. The conduct imputed to Captain M'Grath was of so extraordinary a character, and his denial of the charges against him was so open and bold, that we deemed it the better course to allow the real facts to be disclosed through the medium of a judicial investigation.

The story that has now been told is not one open to suspicion or discredit. It comes from the lips of Captain M'Grath himself. During an examination extending over several hours, and conducted, we are bound to say, with moderation and with no desire to press home the case too harshly, he favored the Court with a narrative of seafaring adventure during a period of two years, such as has few parallels in maritime annals. The Grecian left Hobart Town in December, 1861, on a whaling voyage, but during the long period she was out, seems to have pursued only during rare and infinitesimally brief intervals the legitimate traffic of a whaler. The captain, at a very early period of the voyage, solaced himself with female society on board and "Mrs Mac," alias Mrs Procter, figures in the log book, from which the apparently less important matters of ship's latitude and longitude are systematically omitted. 

The Chatham Islands, Norfolk Island, the Fijees, and other picturesque localities were visited, and Captain M'Grath, according to his own account, had a prosperous as well as a pleasant time of it — not troubling himself much with the business of whaling, but obtaining large supplies from the islands of vegetables, live stock, &c., &c., for "a consideration," the nature of which does not very distinctly appear. He seems, however, to have been blessed with a multitude of kind friends, singularly ubiquitious, in some of these remote habitations of humanity, by whose liberal presents his stores were timely replenished. It was unfortunate for Captain M'Grath's owners that he failed to fall in with whales, which were probably not in the habit of frequenting the pleasant anchorages he resorted to. More fortunately for himself, however, he fell in with no end of pigs, potatoes, cocoanuts, and other acceptable things. Upon one little episode Captain M'Grath has failed to be as explicit as was necessary to complete the romance of his story. We hope yet to learn something more of the cargo of native islanders favored with a passage on board the Grecian. An awkward suspicion attaches to all deportations of islanders of the South Seas, requiring passages in bodies of forty or fifty.

The wanderings, however, of the Grecian and Captain M'Grath had an end, and the two years' cruise in search of "eligibles" terminated for a season in the establishment of a little principality in Stewart's Island; "Mrs Mac" — the accumulated stock of pigs, cows, and potatoes; certain serviceable fittings, &c., being landed to assist in the work. As adverse fate would have it, Captain M'Grath's pleasant wanderings and romantic settlement have had a sequel not altogether of so agreeable a character. Certain rights of his "owners," standing in the way of his own too pleasant fancies, have been asserted. The law has affirmed an authority superior to the will of this Quixotic rover. In an unlucky hour he strayed from his principality on Stewart's island, left behind him Mrs Mac, his cows, his pigs, and other accessories of an Arcadian happiness, and stood face to face with the stern magisterial presence at Campbelltown. 

Captain M'Grath's adventures have culminated in an unlooked for catastrophe. He is at present in durance vile; the unwilling guest of Her Majesty, rather than the dispenser of hospitalities in his own little dominions. This whaling skipper's notions of log keeping, will probably be novel to most master mariners. His ideas of a captain's obligations to his owners, will, we believe appear equally unique. His fate may not improbably operate as a warning to other eccentrically disposed adventurers. And the case, or rather the series of cases we report to-day, will satisfy the owners of whalers that there is it least one Southern port where gentlemen of the M'Grath stamp stand a fair chance of being peremptorily brought to book.

The report of the proceedings are too long for insertion and hardly admit of abridgement. The case was heard before the Resident Magistrates Court Campbelltown, the presiding magistrates being J. N. Watt, Esq , and Capt. Ellis. Mr. Harvey appeared for the defendants. Captain McGrath's examination in chief merely went to prove the articles, and the period which the vessel had been out, also that during that time he had taken 1,687 gallons sperm oil and 140 gallons black. The captain was now subjected to a cross-examination by Mr. Harvey, which lasted for several hours. He said he was not part owner of the Grecian. He had been thirty years a master mariner, and nearly twenty years whaling. He had been twenty-two months out on the present voyage, exclusive of the period he had been at the Bluff. At the beginning of the voyage a person named Roberts was his chief mate. He did not keep a ship's log; it is optional who keeps the ship's log. I never saw two logs kept on board ship, one by the chief mate and the other by the master. 

Captain McGrath coutinued :—

This is my log-book; it is the sort of log generally kept on board whaling ships. You may call it what you like. According to my notion it is properly kept. I swear the entries are all true. I was sent out on a whaling voyage. I carried that out to the best of my ability. I began the voyage on or about the 16th or 17th December, 1861. I cannot recollect when we first lost sight of land, it is so long ago. We took our departure on the 21st December. I will not say when Mrs M'Grath came on board; she did not leave Hobart Town with me. She was in Sydney. I did not see any whales on 25th December, 1861. On that day we were in a heavy gale of wind off Jarvis' Bay. I know it by my reckoning, as it is not entered in the log book. On 28th I was in sight of New South Wales, at Jarvis' Bay. I did not land on that day. On 29th we sighted Botany Bay, and cast anchor. I went in there for repairs. On 25th, in a heavy gale of wind, we found the bowsprit sprung — gone in three places. I did not enter that fully in the log. Up to that time I had no person but the crew on board. We remained in Botany Bay from 29th December to the 10th January, 1862. The entry is "employed from 28th to 8th in making repairs." I took a female and child with me from Botany Bay. I had liberty to do so. I was my own master. They were passengers going with me for the voyage. I was not paid for it. The parties did not request me to take them. She was not my wife. Her name was Procter. Her name is not entered.

Counsel read the following entry :— Monday, 10th March— Mrs. Mac went on shore to try her hand at the wash tub. I am sure she will never hear the last of it. She has had no one to pity her, so she has one consolation, she can pity herself. I am truly very sorry for her.

Now, why did you not put in the woman's proper name — Mrs. Proctor.

Witness :— Because I did not think proper to do so. I can't think that is a false entry. I should call her Mrs Mac if I thought proper. There was not a child born on board that vessel.

This is Captain M'Grath's account of an official log, and of his free and easy way of keeping it :— 

An official log does not apply to vessels bound to the fisheries. I did not read the entry over to the men before I put them in irons. I always keep my log book in the same free and easy way. With very few exceptions, I kept the log, and not the chief mate. Very few of them are capable of keeping a log. Many whaling masters cannot take an observation. It is usual for the mastcr to get large supplies of fresh provisions on board during a whaling voyage. I cannot say how many of the crew were on board on 9th May. I do not think the number of men is entered in the log. Up to May, there is only the discharge of one man entered. I think I shipped twenty-nine, all told. On 9th May I took seven tons potatoes, four pigs and a goat. That was all necessary, on the average, for the crew. I paid for them in money and slops. I have not charged for the goat, because I don't know how I got it; I think we caught it running wild. I don't know what I paid for the four pigs. I can't show you under May 8th. I can not say what I paid for potatoes on May 9th. I cannot tell you by the book. I have bought many tons of potatoes for the ship's use, and never charged the owners for them. 

On 26th May I took another pig and two boat loads of potatoes. I cannot say what I paid for them. On 27th I had two more boat loads of potatoes. Eleven tons of potatoes were absolutely necessary for the crew, and were all for the consumption of the crew. After the 27th May, we cruised about for some time. I was novel master of the ship Empire. Parts of the wreck of the Empire I purchased on 7th June for tho uso of the Grecian. I paid £16 for them. I took more provisions and potatoes on 6th June, for which I paid £18 I took on board 13 tons of potatoes in ouo month We used a ton and a half a month. We also fed the pigs on them. They were not fed on cocoa nuts

On the 9th June certain seamen refused duty; they  said that I had " workcd thrm up by causing them to reef topsails when they had no occasion to do so." I did not think it necessary to enter that in tho log book. I put 15 men in irons on that day. On 19th July I found the second mate asleep on his watch without a proper look out being kept I landed him ou an island afterwards with his own consent. On 26th July I bought fruit and cocoa nuts for tho use of the crew. I could not count the cocoa nuts nor could I count the yams; you might as well count potatoes.

Almost every day you sent for fruit dunng July and August Almost every day you send a boat on shore — was that attending to your whaling?

Yes, it was, I could catch whales there too—canoes came off frequently, so frequently, as to become a nuisance.

Why, if the canoes came off did you send a boat ?

Because the canoes kept off when we sent a boat for the fruits. I have not kept a daily account.

What follows relates to a little kidnapping adventure, and not to whaling:—-

On 2nd June, 1863 I was at Keppel's Island, belonging to the Fijees. Made a bargain with the King to take fifty natives.

Pray, sir, what did you take fifty natives on board a whaling vessel for?

I was in want of fresh meat, in want of potatoes.

What did you want potatoes for?

I meant at Wellington to exclude vegetables .I was bound from this island to cruise among the Fijees. Those natives were in want of a canoe, and they agreed to the pigs, yams, and cocoa nuts for their passage. They were of advantage to the ship, but unfortunately we did not see any whales. I don't say I took the natives to assist me in whaling, but as passengers.

Then point out in the log book where you discharged those natives ?

There is no entry of where I landed them.

Did not you sell these natives as slaves?

I did not. I got pigs, yams, and cocoa nuts for their passags. It is ridiculous. There is no latitude nor longitude entered. The natives were landed on the island of Vanna Levu, one of the Fijees. I landed them the day after I took them on board. There were two small war schooners lying in the bay bolonging to the King of Tongatabu. The natives did not leave the ship in a schooner, but in a canoe or boat. The natives were not formally handed over by mr to one of thr chiefs. I was to have 2,000 cocoa nuts, 10 pigs, and 20 kits of yams for the passage money of these natives; that was a sufficient supply for the ship for a short time. I refused the pigs because they were not largo enough, and so they sent me six more pigs. They are such a curiout people to deal with that I did not enter it in my log. Only about 40 natives came on board. I expected 16 pigs to last for 16 days. I do not think I bought any preserved meats at Wellington.

After I had left the natives I went to the island of Gora, and after that I went cruising. On 26th October I arrived at Port William to procure provisions to proceed to Hobart Town. I did not go there, because the crew deserted. I never refused to take a free passage to Hobart Town. I built a residence for myself on Stewart's Island. That did not prevent the vessel from going home. I did not send my mate up to town from Stewart's Island stating that I would not go further with the vessel.

The following is the conclusion :

Henry Hagon an apprentice and William Bartlet formerly chief mate of the Grecian were then called and corroborated the extraordinary statements of Captain McGrath. They denied that the natives while on board were in any way treated as slaves, and said they left the vessel when they liked.

Mr. Harvey then addressed the Court for the defence, charging Captain M'Grath with fraud and embezzlement under the Trustee Act.  He had neglected the interests of his owners, and embezzled their property. If he had been an honest man, why did he not at the end of twelve months take the vessel back to Hobart Town? Why ? Because he did not dare to face his owners, whom he had robbed.

The Court gave a verdict for defendant with costs.

On the application of counsel, the document« put in evidence were impounded, pending a charge to belaid against Captain M'Grath under the Fraudulent Trustee Act.

That case was afterwards heard, and Capt. M'Grath was fined £100, and ordered to bo detained until payment was made.

 

Thursday, January 11, 2024

Alfhild, the Viking pirate queen

 


They arrived at night, screaming and berserk, like a mad vision from the Book of Revelations.  Attacking with savage ferocity, they razed whole villages, slaughtered babies for sport, dissected captured leaders alive—from the back—and spread their entrails in an eagle pattern on the ground.  Arguably the finest seamen the world had produced, the Norsemen sallied out from Scandinavia, traveling vast distances over icy, storm-wracked seas, creating havoc and terror wherever they landed.

They rapidly became known as the dreaded “Vikings”—“sons of the fjords”—and their fine-lined oaken boats were called “longships.”  Between 70 and 100 feet long, the Viking longship was a double-ended, clinker-built craft of overlapped planks, iron-fastened and tightly caulked, yet flexible.  The sweeping bow was decorated with a snarling figurehead, often of a dragon or serpent.  There was only one bank of oars, for the sail was the important means of propulsion.  This was square, strongly sewn and beautifully decorated with bright silks and gold embroidery by Viking women.  The masts were often covered in gilt, and the rigging dyed red, and at the masthead there was a pedestal for a lantern. 

The oarsmen were also the warriors, and while rowing they hung their circular shields along the ship’s side for additional protection against wind and spray, enhancing the ferociously businesslike appearance of the craft.  Shields, when placed at the masthead, were used as signals too.  Such were the ships that breasted the rough Atlantic, and harassed the coasts of the British Isles and France, capable of penetrating hundreds of miles up rivers because of their shallow draft, and yet capable of freighting ten tons of loot back to Scandinavia, to be ceremoniously dumped at the feet of some king in his feasting-hall.   

These halls—often called “mead-halls,” though mead was in fact despised as a foreign luxury—and the celebratory feasts held within them were an important facet of Viking society.  The food was plain, being bread and un-garnished boiled meat accompanied by ale that was served in horns from a butt, but the etiquette was punctilious.  Despite the general drunkenness, shouting, fighting, and bone-throwing, men were seated with care, according to importance—and tales were told on an epic scale. 

While the diners listened raptly, their scops—or bards—told and retold the traditional sagas, adding and amending as they went, though keeping to a long-held form.  The narrative poem always began with a tribal history of the protagonist, often linking him to the great god Woden (Odin), and then this was followed by a stirring yarn which was amended according to whichever king or hero was being praised.  Kings were inevitably brave, generous, and just, and heroes could be recognized by their “fierce falcon eyes” and personal beauty.  Heroines, on the other hand, kept their eyes demurely lowered at all times, for it was well-known that a loose woman could seduce the strongest of heroes with one languishing glance.  Thus, according to the traditional formula, begins the epic tale of Alfhild, otherwise known as “Alwilda the Danish Female Pirate.”

The Alfhild saga was first recorded in the twelfth century by the Danish historian, Saxo Grammaticus.  Very little is known about the author, save that he was a Dane, probably from Zealand, and that his family name—a common one—was Saxo.  The second one, Grammaticus, simply means “lettered,” and was endowed to him by a later biographer.  Written in Latin and finished shortly after the year 1200, Saxo’s Gesta Danorum (“Deeds of the Danes”) totals sixteen volumes.  Alfhild’s narrative is in book seven.  In 1836 a Boston stationer, Charles Ellms, included an inaccurate summary of this tale in the first chapter of his Pirates Own Book, which purported to be a collection of “Authentic Narratives of the Most Celebrated Sea Robbers.”  It was illustrated with a remarkable picture of “Alwilda” most unconvincingly attired in a version of eighteenth century dress—and that is the whole documentation of the saga of this warrior-princess.

“Hwæt!”—“Listen!”—is the conventional warning that a saga is about to begin.  It has an imperative sound, so that one can easily imagine the drunken diners in the feasting-hall obediently focussing on the scop, who, as silence falls over the great room, commences with the obligatory description of the genealogy and appearance of the saga’s hero, Prince Alf, son of Sigar. 

Sigar was a king who reigned over Denmark about the middle of the ninth century, and Alf, as was customary with heroes, “excelled the rest in spirit and beauty.”  Perhaps somewhat unusually, he “devoted himself to the business of a rover”—which meant that he was one of the many longship captains who ravaged the coasts of western Europe.   In other words, he was just another raider. As was common in the saga form, though, his hair was luminous, having such “a wonderful dazzling glow, that his locks seemed to shine silvery.” 

Then, the hero described, the bard promptly shifted to the heroine of the tale, who also adhered to convention—at the start, at any rate.  “At the same time,” wrote Saxo, “Siward, King of the Goths, is said to have had …

 a daughter, Alfhild, who showed almost from her cradle such faithfulness to modesty, that she continually kept her face muffled in her robe, lest she should cause her beauty to provoke the passion of another.  Her father banished her into very close-keeping, and gave her a viper and a snake to rear, wishing to defend her chastity by the protection of these reptiles when they came to grow up.  For it would have been hard to pry into her chamber when it was barred by so dangerous a bolt.  He also decreed that if any man tried to enter it, and failed, he must straightaway yield his head to be taken off and impaled on a stake

 Apart from the fanciful addition of the “viper and snake,” this was usual enough, heads on stakes featuring a lot in Viking literature.  Because capture-marriage happened so often—being part of the blood-feud ritual—kings’ daughters were very closely guarded.  Fathers and brothers would fight hand-to-hand for them, for princesses were important property, carefully kept to one side to be given as a reward to a hero, or to cement a political alliance.  It did not matter if the hero or the other king was already married, for polygamy was commonplace.  It was common, too, for the virtue of the heroine to be featured so prominently, for chastity was held in high regard.  If there was any doubt, the test of virtue was the pressing of the breasts until the nipples bled.  If no milk was admixed with the blood, the woman was considered falsely accused.  If someone imagined they saw a trickle of milk, then her nose was chopped off.

It seems that quite a few young men were willing to dodge the snake and the viper to court Alfhild, for there were a number of heads on stakes by the time Prince Alf took an interest.  Or, as Saxo phrased it, “Then Alf, son of Sigar, thinking that the peril of the attempt only made it the nobler, declared himself a wooer, and was told to subdue the beasts that kept watch beside the room of the maiden; inasmuch as, according to the decree, the embraces of the maiden were the prize of the subduer.”

At this stage of the story, Alf takes on some personality, demonstrating the stuff of which resourceful rovers were made.  He prepared himself by covering “his body with a blood-stained hide,” to work the serpents up into a mindless frenzy.  In one hand he held a pair of tongs gripping “a piece of red-hot steel” which he plunged “into the yawning throat of the viper,” and in the other, more conventionally, he had a spear, which he thrust “full into the gaping mouth of the snake as it wound and writhed forward.”

And so, in theory, Alf had gained the maiden’s hand.  Though her father, Siward, approved of the match, however, he had made the proviso that Alfhild should be happy about it—“he would accept that man only for his daughter’s husband of whom she made a free and decided choice.”  This is perfectly plausible, for in Viking society free women did have the right of veto, and sometimes even the liberty to find a fiancé on their own.  In sagas, however, it was as traditional for a woman to be complaisant about marrying the hero who had fought a strange battle for her sake, as it was for unsuccessful suitors to perish in nasty ways. 

If affairs had moved the way they usually did, the princess would have smiled demurely and assented to the match.  Prince Alf’s personal hygiene might not have been the best, for it was usual for Vikings to be flea- and lice-ridden, probably because of their furs—one lover bidding his love, “Maiden, comb my hair and catch the skipping fleas, and remove what stings my skin”—but, as we know, Alf’s luminous hair would have made the search tolerable.  And so, it is reasonable for the bard’s audience to have expected that Alfhild would present Alf with the usual maiden’s betrothal gift of a sword, and then that a ceremonious wedding would be followed by the usual noisy, drunken feast, complete with lots of bone-throwing.

A shock was in store for them, however.  Alfhild did not conform to tradition.  In fact, she demonstrated a rather startling character change.  Rather than agree to marry Prince Alf, she “exchanged woman’s for man’s attire, and, no longer the most modest of maidens, began the life of a warlike rover.” 

Somehow, miraculously, not only did she acquire the necessary seafaring skills, but she managed to recruit a crew of like-minded females, too.  A ship was gained by a stroke of luck, for Alfhild and her companions “happened to come to a spot where a band of rovers were lamenting the death of their captain who had been lost in war.”  According to the tale, the mariners “made her their rover-captain for her beauty,” but it is much more likely that she simply commandeered their ship—which, as it happens, was in accordance with Danish civil law at the time, one of the statutes declaring, “Seafarers may use what gear they find, including boat or tackle.” 

And thus Alfhild launched herself on the career of a raider, and “did deeds beyond the valor of women”—a most undomestic vocation.   Saxo Grammaticus, who had a remarkably Victorian approach to the different spheres of the sexes, certainly did not approve of it, breaking into his narrative to inveigh against women who, “just as if they had forgotten their natural estate,” preferred making war to making love, and “devoted those hands to the lance which they should rather have applied to the loom.”  Obviously, in the 250 years that elapsed before Saxo recorded this saga, Danish men had not only been Christianized, but had become opinionated as well.  

Vikings were not nearly so narrow-minded.   Their mythology included the valkyria—the great god Woden’s hand-maidens, who rode to battle in marvelous armor to decide who should live and who should die, and to escort the souls of heroes to his feasting-hall, Valhalla.   Woden himself did not jib at dressing up as a woman to get into the boudoir of a lass who had taken his fancy, and heroes were perfectly happy to accept the help of female warriors.  About 870 AD, just one generation after Alfhild’s time, Frey, the king of Sweden, slew the king of the Norwegians (another Siward), and put all his womenfolk in a brothel.  When Ragnar, the current overlord of Denmark, heard of this insult to his relatives, he went to Norway on a mission of vengeance.  When they heard that he was coming, the women dressed up as men, broke out of the brothel, and came to his camp to join his army. 

 Among them was Ladgerda, a famous valkyrie, who, though a maiden, had the courage of a man, and fought in front among the bravest with her hair loose over her shoulders.  All marveled at her matchless deeds, for her locks flying down her back betrayed that she was a woman

 Incidentally, this saga followed convention.  Ragnar, understandably impressed, took to courting Ladgerda.  She set two beasts about her door in the usual obstacle course.  He speared one with one hand, strangled the second with the other, and caught her up in his arms.

Viking men did not mind boasting about beating women warriors, either.  An early female raider was Sela, “a skilled warrior and experienced in roving.”  Sela entered the literature when a fleet commanded by her brother Koll, who was king of Norway, was confronted by the longships of a hero named Horwendil, who wanted to formalize his ownership of Jutland.  Instead of commencing a naval engagement, the two admirals decided to fight it out in single combat on the beach of a nearby island—a thoroughly laudable arrangement that saved a lot of unnecessary bloodshed.  After a lot of chat in which they set the rules, they went at it.   Horwendil won, by the unexpected ploy of dropping his shield and wielding his sword with both hands.  First he chopped up Koll’s shield, and then he chopped off his foot, rendering him helpless.  Finishing off Koll was not enough to satisfy his bloodlust, however, so he challenged Sela next, managing to defeat and kill her, too.  

Other longship captains who had “bodies of women and souls of men” were Hetha, Wisna, and Webiorg.  Like Sela, this trio was perfectly happy to fight on land as well as sea.  Being strong and brave enough to fight on one’s feet was, indeed, was a prerequisite, for the design of Viking longships meant that naval battles could not happen in the open water.  Though perfectly capable of breasting the stormy North Sea, the boats were rather too delicately built for rams or catapults to be fitted, and they stove in rather easily, too.  And so, all combat had to be hand-to-hand, apart from short-range throwing of spears and axes. 

This happened to a formula, too. When two enemy longships came in sight of each other, the warriors would hold the boats still with their oars while the two captains leapt onto the forecastles and screamed insults at each other.   This was part of the “bear-sark” story, where warriors worked themselves up for the fight by bellowing, barking, and biting the upper rims of their shields until they foamed at the mouth.  Then, slavering with blood-lust, they would paddle alongside the enemy craft, grapple, and leap up and rush at each other with swords, axes, and clubs.  One famous hero, Arrow-Odd, went on record as grabbing up the tiller for use as a bludgeon.  The trick was not to stove in one’s boat while doing this, something that was impossible to avoid out in an open seaway.  And so, naval engagements had to happen in sheltered waters, or else, as with Horwendil and Sela, the dueling was relocated to a beach.

Obviously, in opting to abandon a soft, snake-guarded life at the palace to take on this kind of existence, Alfhild and her companions had accepted quite a challenge.  The Norsemen were consummate seamen, navigating by the sun, the stars, the tides, the ocean currents, and the migratory patterns of birds and whales, so the women had a great deal to learn.   Viking rovers were hardy, too, sleeping in leather sleeping bags with their weapons close to their hands.  This was usually on some deserted beach, their ships being drawn up on the sand and lashed together for safety, because longships were not well-designed for stretching out to sleep.  It was very difficult to cook in longships, too, so “strand-hewing”—or victualing with raw meat, which was eaten uncooked—was the rule.  Watches had to be kept around the clock, “uht”—the watch immediately after midnight—being considered the most dangerous.  There were dangers other than enemies, too, dragons and sea-monsters being particularly feared, as in the Icelandic hero Beowulf’s eald ­uhtsceaða, sede byrnende—“the ancient twilight foe, that vomits fire.”

Somehow, Alfhild managed.  She must have had some feasting-hall somewhere, even if it was some humble and secluded hut, for she and her companion valkyria would have had to have somewhere to recruit their strength, bury their treasure, and brag about their deeds.  Perhaps she even retained her own scop.  Like Viking men, she would have made light of all but the most serious wounds, keeping a faithful dog to lick cuts and gashes clean, but otherwise pretending they did not bother her.  She and her followers would have gone through some kind of blood “brotherhood” ceremony, pricking their hands until the blood flowed, and then pressing  the bloody palms together.  This ensured loyalty, for blood revenge was a serious duty, and were-gild would be extracted from foes who killed any of their number.  She would have had her chief officers—her “thanes”—created by ceremoniously holding out a sword by the blade, so that the new thane could take it by the hilt.

Coincidentally, about the same time in England, another princess, Æðelflæd, “Lady of the Mercias,” was equally active.  Daughter of Alfred the Great and wife of Æðered, the Alderman of Mercia and Governor of London, Æðelflæd was famous as a brilliant commander.  After her father’s death, she joined forces with her brother, Edward the Elder, to carry on the campaign against the Danes, proving herself to be one of the most capable generals of her age.  And so the two feisty warriors were on opposite sides.  If they ever encountered each other, however, it has not been recorded.  In fact, Saxo neglected to tell us anything at all about Alfhild’s roving.   It seems that she did very well, for by the end of the tale she had a whole fleet at her command.  It is what she did with her ships that is a mystery.

Perhaps she contracted herself out as a mercenary to some tribe in opposition to the Danes, or perhaps she had ambitions for a territory of her own.  She could have been a true pirate, preying on merchant shipping.  Not all Norse ships were battleships.  Peaceful sea-trade, in fact, was the Scandinavians’ major activity, furs, timber, amber, and Slavic slaves being carried to market in cargo ships called “knorrs,” to be exchanged for corn and foreign luxuries.   Whatever Alfhild did, we do know it annoyed the Danes, for a number of expeditions were sent out to quell this female nuisance.  

One of the parties was commanded by none other than Prince Alf.  After “many toilsome voyages in pursuit of her,” he finally tracked down Alfhild’s fleet in a “rather narrow gulf” in Finland.  Alfhild, who held the philosophy that attack was better than defence, immediately “rowed in swift haste forward.”  Alf’s men, on the other hand, believed that caution was the wiser part of valor, and “were against his attacking so many ships with so few.”  He, mindful of his reputation as a hero, paid no attention, meeting the charge head-on instead, and seizing one ship after another. 

Coincidentally, he was the one who boarded Alfhild’s ship, “and advanced towards the stern, slaughtering all that withstood him.”  Instead of losing her life, however, the Viking princess merely lost her anonymity, for Alf’s lieutenant, Borgar, struck off her helmet.  And, forthwith, “seeing the smoothness of her chin, [Alf] saw that he must fight with kisses and not with arms; that the cruel spears must be put away, and the enemy handled with gentler dealings.”

And so she lost her virginity, too, for Alf claimed what had been due to him ever since he had slaughtered her serpents.  According to Saxo, “he took hold of her eagerly, and made her change her man’s apparel to a woman’s; and afterwards begot on her a daughter, Gurid.”   In the meantime, presumably, he carried her onto his ship, and they forthwith set sail for Denmark—her last voyage, and without doubt an emotional one, for her probable fate was to be shut up in a palace again, away from the sight of the sea. 

 Þa wæs be mæste   merehrægla sum / segl sale fæst;     sundwudu þunede; / no þær wegflotan   wind ofer yðum / siðes get wæfde;   sægenga for, / fleat famigheals   forð ofer yðe *

* Then to the mast a sail, a great sea garment, was hoisted with ropes; the longship groaned as she breasted the waves, was not brown off her course by contrary gales, but lustily, foaming at the bows, skimmed forth.   Beowulf, lines 1905-09.

 


Sunday, December 24, 2023

Butler Point Whaling Museum summer newsletter

Butler Point Whaling Museum, 1840s Historic House and Gardens
'It was a short, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor.  The long rows of teeth on the bulwarks glistened in the moonlight; and like the white ivory tusks of some huge elephant, vast curving icicles depended from the bows.'
(Herman Melville, Moby Dick 1851)
Hakihea Kōrero
Newsletter: Summer 2023
Tēnā tātou

Welcome to our Summer 2023 newsletter

Meri Kirihimete to you!

The pohutukawa trees fringing the beach are celebrating the festive season and the delicious summer weather by producing the largest, most bedazzling pompom-like flowers any one has ever seen.
News from the garden

The first thing to notice is the hum, the loudest hum ever, of a multitude of bees. Like little cargo planes laden with pollen, they lurch between the giant magnolia grandiflora flowers, crash drunkenly into their target, and slather themselves with the golden dust making sure to combine business with pleasure. Cicadas have already begun to add their buzzing to the thrumming of the bees, a happy reminder that high summer is here. This year nature in the Far North is definitely having fun.

We have three reasons to celebrate: the installation of five paintings above the whaleboat depicting the whaling history of Mangonui, the acquisition of an old Montagu whaler, and a brand new website with an online booking system - check it out here https://butlerpoint.co.nz/
Julia Bell, our Artist in Residence lives on the Sunshine Coast hinterland.  Her multi-discipline arts practice spans 40 years, during which time she has created many murals, paintings, mosaics and ceramics which decorate both private and public spaces. She loved taking on the project, as it presented the opportunity to delve into the history of whaling, research being half the fun of telling a good story.

Now a picturesque village frequented by tourists, it is hard to imagine that Mangonui was once the South Pacific centre of the global whaling industry, its harbour filled with whaling ships from all over the world, its streets filled with drunken whalers.

The paintings beautifully illustrate the perilous journey whalers faced, beginning on the wild windswept little island of Nantucket on the Eastern seaboard of the United States, traversing vast oceans, rounding Cape Horn and ending in the idyllic safe harbour of Mangonui where the ships re-provisioned at Butler Point, carried out repairs and the exhausted men got to enjoy some well-earned rest and recreation.

The picture frames have been masterly crafted by Steve Crouch from branches that have fallen from Butler Point Pohutukawa trees. The soft hues of the timber beautifully complement the masterful use of colour in the paintings.
Montagu Whaler

After some sleuthing, Nigel, sailor and Butler Point team member, tracked her down to our Mangonui hinterland, where she had been marooned on dry land for 40 years. Letitia, the most intrepid member of our team, navigated the massive 27’ foot long load along narrow metal roads, one lane bridges and steep hills  to deliver her to the boat shed where Nigel will spend many happy hours restoring Phoenix to her former glory.

Whaleboats were first developed by early whalers in the late 1750s. The double-ended pulling boat was designed for ships engaged in whaling for maximum manoeuvrability to reverse quickly away from harpooned whales.  They were introduced into Royal Naval service in 1810 and used to great advantage during the Napoleonic wars for boarding enemy ships in battle.

In the early 1900s Admiral Montagu suggested a number of improvements to the design and since then whaleboats have been known as Montagu whalers. For most of their time in service, the whaler was simply a small boat for specialised tasks. After the Second World War however, with the move towards smaller frigates, the whaler was one of only two boats carried.   Used as the ‘sea boat’; the ready use boat and lifeboat, they were fitted with special release gear and turned out, ready for use whenever the ship was at sea.  The boats were finally phased out in 1990.

Whalers were made from Kauri as the basic material, and Pohutukawa for the grown parts such as the elbow used to strengthen the bows.

There were two sizes, 27 foot and 25 foot and were able to be both pulled and sailed.  When being pulled they were single banked, that is a single oar was used from each thwart, three on one side and two on the other.  The oars had a central shaft of Oregon pine, with laminated blades, four of them being 17 feet long and the bowman’s 16 feet in length.  When under sail the boat has two masts and carries a ‘Montagu Rig K’.  
In other news the crew from the R. Tucker Thompson, the tall ship based in the Bay of Islands made the most of a day at Butler Point with a tour of the museum and a picnic, followed by their team-building workshop in the grounds.  They are a passionate and dedicated team who run Youth Development Programs on this working tall ship.  Their summer season is up and running through to the end of April and we highly recommend taking one of their Day Sails or Sundowner Sails. It is an unforgettable experience to be on a living, breathing wooden sailing ship, to hear the creaking timbers as it rides the waves, to see the crew swarm up the rope ladders and watch the unfurling sails fill with wind.  Look them up at www.tucker.co.nz
Noho ora mai
.
Happy New Year

from The Team

Butler Point
Acknowledgements

Michael Wynd, Researcher - National Museum of the Royal NZ Navy
Copyright © 2023 Butler Point Whaling Museum

http://www.butlerpoint.co.nz

Monday, December 18, 2023

THE NIGHTINGALE

 


Tasmania is a starkly beautiful island, much closer in nature to New Zealand than the continent of mainland Australia. The bush and the landscape "feel" the same, though much more sepia colored. There is a darkness there, too, darker than New Zealand, a shadow cast by a brutal history.  I will never forget the chill that descended over me when I first explored the ruins of the prison at Port Arthur, where the worst of convicts met the worst of punishments. Chosen by the lieutenant governor, Sir George Arthur, for its site -- on a narrow isthmus, almost entirely surrounded by shark-infested waters -- it was a place where dreadful things happened on a daily basis. An aura of despair clings to the ruins; later, I was not surprised at all that a modern mass shooting was carried out there. Its history of violence has seeped into the stones.

A completely callous man, Sir George Arthur set out from the day he took office, in May 1824, to wage war against the indigenous people, the Aborigines of Tasmania.  It was called the "Black War." His first move was to station small gangs of soldiers in remote parts of the island, to "protect" the settlers, which in effect meant lynching and shooting the Aboriginal men, and raping, then killing, the women. He even put a bounty on the heads of these unfortunate first owners of the land, first for live men, then for live women and children, and finally for the heads of dead Aboriginals.  

And this astounding film depicts this dark history exactly, laying bare the brutality, cruelty and barbaric ignorance that marked the colonisation of the island by the British.

Clare (played superbly by Aisling Franciosi) is a young Irishwoman with an angelic singing voice, called "The Nightingale."  The crime that landed her on the far side of the world is never described, but it must have been minor, as she had worked out her sentence long before this story starts. She has been allowed to marry Aidan, who is also Irish, so this film is in Gaelic as well as English, and it is heart-touching to hear Clare and her husband converse lovingly in that musical language.

They have a little baby, a hut, and a horse, and both, technically, should be free. Both should have been given their "tickets of leave" -- meaning that they would not be forced to keep on serving the local military detachment. But the lieutenant in charge -- Hawkins, played with barely restrained savagery by Sam Claflin -- refuses to give them these "papers."  When Clare persists, he rapes her.  She flees to her husband, but then Hawkins and two of his soldiers arrive in the hut, and in the ensuing fracas they murder her husband, and kill her baby. A gang rape follows, and Clare is left for dead. 

Instead, she survives. Her body is mostly intact, but her mind is damaged. She is set on revenge. 

Hawkins and the soldiers have left the outpost, however. With a small retinue of convicts, they are heading across the interior to Launceston, so that Hawkins can apply for a promotion. Clare is determined to follow and kill them, but to get across the island she needs a Black tracker. It is impossible, otherwise, though she dislikes the idea. The young man who is coopted (Mangana, played with remarkable passion and sensitivity by Baykall Ganambarr) is equally reluctant to be her guide.  He has other priorities -- his father, brothers, and uncles have been murdered by the English, and he is set on his own mission of revenge. What tips the balance of the argument in Clare's favor is that she convinces him that she is Irish, not English, and that she hates the English as much as he does. As she tells him, they share a common history of colonisation and subjugation and misery. 

And there is something more, a mythic connection -- he is Mangana, a blackbird, and she is Clare, the nightingale. The birds that will save them. 

Perhaps.

And so the slow chase unfolds, with occasional violent encounters.

This film is not an easy watch, but it is unfailingly gripping. There are moments that stand out:  Clare suffers with her engorged breasts, and Mangana makes her a paste that the women of his tribe used to dry up milk, and performs a smoke ceremony to make her better. Mangana is staunchly grim -- until one of the few moments of kindness breaks down that barrier of stoicism.  A liberal-minded farmer who shelters them for the night insists that Mangana sits at the supper table, and the Aboriginal is so overtaken with emotion that he sobs.They come across a party of settlers with captured warriors, who tell Mangana in the palawa kani language that all of his people are dead. Angered by the unintelligible conversation, the Englishmen shoot the captives, and then cut off their heads, and Mangana and Clare grasp their chance to run away and avoid being captured themselves. But now Mangana's spirit is as damaged and wrathful as hers. 

There is much to shock in this very graphic film, but the shock is justified. It is utterly and absolutely authentic.  All those terrible things really did happen. The Tasmanian natives were wiped out, completely. Their palawa kani language had to be reconstructed by the writers, as there has been no one to speak it for many generations now. Baykall Ganambarr is Yolngu, from the far north of the Northern Territory, meaning that the actor was emotionally almost as far from the scene of action as the fictional Clare was from her home in Ireland. That is a fact that I found starkly revealing in itself.

And the convicts were treated as badly, too, particularly the women. The soldiers were exactly as ignorant and dissolute as portrayed. Bernard Cornwell, in his Sharpe series, set in the Indian and Napoleonic Wars, is equally as unstinting in describing the soldiers of the time, but there are happy overtones in his tales.  There were no happy overtones in Tasmania, Norfolk Island and New South Wales. The soldiers did not want to go there, and no one volunteered. Taken as a whole, and barring many exceptions, they were scum.  

If you don't believe me, read "The Brutal History Behind Jennifer Kent's 'The Nightingale'."  





  

Monday, December 11, 2023

LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND

 


I have been watching Swedish thriller series lately.  "A Nearly Normal Family" wasn't bad, with some interesting camera work. It was the story of a family that was desperately trying to support their 19-year-old daughter, who had fallen for the glamor of an entrepreneur who was far too old for her. It was a slow story, but thought-provoking with its undercurrents of rape and drugs. Yes, definitely worth following -- so I followed it up with another Swedish series, "Quicksand" which was about -- guess what -- a family coping with a girl who had fallen for the glamor of a young man whose family was mega-rich, partly because the early part of the courtship took place on a luxury yacht. But then the drugs, rape, and various ways young people can harm each other started to sound and look just far too much like a clone of the first.  Do Swedish teenagers all binge-drink, drug their minds, and rut like rabbits? 

I turned it off and looked for another.  And found the latest Julia Roberts outing, "Leave the World Behind."

Julia is showing her age, but hell, she is a great actress.  Only someone really committed to her craft would allow the makeup department make her look so awful. But it surely suited the part -- of a woman who is successful in her trade of making people buy things they don't really want or need, and has become beyond cynical.  As she says in the opening scene, "I fucking hate people."

So to get away from this ghastly Big Apple scene for a little, she rents an Air BnB that turns out to be a mansion somewhere near the beach in Long Island. Husband is amenable (though a little put out when the liquor cabinet turns out to be locked) and the two kids are fine with it too, as long as they have unlimited screen time. 

But then Things Start Happening.  This is a dystopian thriller where Hitchcock's "Birds" meets Adam McKay's "Don't Look Up," with overtones from Hugh Howey's amazing Wool, Shift, Dust series. It is also reminiscent of an old classic, E.M. Master's "The Machine Stops." Because the machine indeed does stop.

First, an oil tanker steams right up onto the beach where the family are picnicking. Then the TV goes on the fritz, right after flashing a warning of a total and critical emergency, nation-wide.  Phones go off grid after briefly flashing a similar warning. Aircraft come crashing out of the air. Flamingoes blunder into their pool. The back yard is suddenly full of an immense herd of deer. Drones drop pamphlets declaring war on America. Self-driven cars run amok until they crash, in a great scene that is straight out of Howey.

During all this mayhem, two strangers have arrived at the door. They are the actual owners of the mansion, but have trouble convincing the family of that, plus the uncomfortable fact that they are all facing the same emergency.

It's a great movie, with a curiously satisfying ending.  Watch it on Netflix -- but not if you are prone to vertigo.  Some of the camera work is really, really strange.

But then, strangeness is totally appropriate. 

Thursday, December 7, 2023

NIMROD OF THE SEA

 

Capt. James R. Huntting was born in Bridgehampton, NY, on January 21, 1825, a son of Deacon Edward Huntting.  He was a well-known figure in his home town, partly because of his commanding height (six feet, six inches), partly because of his full-lunged voice (he could be heard from one end of the main street to the other), but mostly because of the flamboyant stories told of his dash, strangth, and courage. 

According to the sea reminiscences of William M. Davis in Nimrod of the Sea, Captain ‘Jim’ was perfectly unfazed when a man who had been tangled up in a whaleline was brought on board more dead than alive:

‘… it was found that a portion of the hand including four fingers had been torn away, and the foot sawed through at the ankle, leaving only the great tendon and the heel suspended to the lacerated stump … Saved from drowning, the man seemed likely to meet a more cruel death, unless some one had the nerve to perform the necessary amputation … But Captain Jim was not the man to let any one periash on [such] slight provication. He had his carving knife, carpenter’s saw and a fish-hook. The injury was so frightful and the poor fellow’s groans and cries so touching, that several of the crew fainted in their endeavors to aid the captain in the opeation, and others sickened and turned away from the sight. Unaided, the captain then lashed  his screaming patient to the carpenter’s bench, amputated the leg and dressed the hand.’

Though he went to sea first at the age of 16, little of Jim’s early seafaring career is known, in contrast to his flamboyant record as master. He first went out in command of the Nimrod, sailing in September 1848 and returning exactly two years later, and then took out the Jefferson on two voyages, the first in November 1850, and the second in October 1853. After getting home in March 1857, he took over the General Scott of Fairhaven, sailing in October 1858, and returning in May 1862. His last command was the Fanny of New Bedford, which he took out in September 1864, and getting home to retire in April 1869.

 He married Martha White, the daughter of Deacon John White, who had been born on May 15, 1828. She sailed with him, despite the certainty of grisly sights.  On the Lexington, June 26, 1855, Eliza Brock noted that Capt. Manchester of the Coral ‘reports the loss of ship Jefferson of Sag Harbor, lost in Cape Elizabeth two days ago in the Fog ... all saved, Mrs. Hunting, Captain’s wife, was with him. So much bad news makes me feel sad.’ Unnecessary in this case, for the report was wrong: it was the Jefferson of New London, Captain James M. Williams (who carried his wife and family), that was lost. 

Tuesday, December 5, 2023

FIXING FAST FASHION

 

Volunteers fight fast fashion
 
 
In New Zealand, Far North volunteers are breathing new life into donated clothing.

FIXation, based in Russell, Bay of Islands, is a group of up to 20 local volunteers who fix and resell clothes, with all profits going back into the community.

The initiative began shortly after the 2020 lockdown, when the Russell St John’s Opportunity Shop received 125 bin bags of clothes.

“It was chaotic,” volunteer Lynette Cooper said.

Through the work of the volunteers, just three bags went to landfill. The rest were repaired or repurposed, then sold.

“A lot of the items were polyester, but we decided if they’re not made of natural fibres, we should prolong their lives, because that’s the only way to keep them out of landfill,” Lynette said.

The repairs varied from fixing a hem, darning a hole, sewing a button, or simply giving it a wash. Items beyond repair were repurposed into “rag rugs” or turned into yarn.

“It’s the way we used to live,” she said. “In our day, our mothers made dresses with large hems, so that they could hem them up or down before giving to the next child in the family.

“Then fast fashion took a hold on everyone. Now we’re trying to bring [our mothers’ philosophy] back.”

Most of the clothes are sold, but there are also “koha bins” for people to take as needed.

FIXation also contributes to the community with initiatives such as a fashion show with repaired clothing that donated the profits to the local school. The volunteers also help to teach school children to repair their own clothes.

It also sent 30 pillowcases full of clothing to Vanuatu last year.

While the group is mostly older women, there are also teenagers and a person with a disability who volunteer.

Lynette encourages others to get involved in their community.

“It doesn’t have to be sewing, it could be a community garden.

“I live out of town, and I got used to staying at home, but I decided I needed to go out and be involved in the community.

“The great thing about a small town like Russell is there’s a lot of DIY and people offering to help one another, and doing what needs doing.”