Last Stands

Waterloo
Alexander Yurievich Averyanov
Source

The sun is setting, it can be seen poking through the clouds of powder smoke which cloak the blood-soaked field. Everything is dulled - hearing, senses, emotions, many of the men have been on their feet for hours. Most have marched long distances to arrive at this place.

Deafness must have been a blessing, unable to hear the screams of the dying (men and horses), the pleas of the wounded not to be abandoned, one fought on. But why?

Most of the men around you are comrades you have known for years. Men you've campaigned with, broken bread with, searched for loot with, men who are more than family.

And what is family? A father and mother in some far off village who you perhaps haven't seen for years? A brother or sister? If the brother is of a certain age, he might be somewhere on that very field, or perhaps buried in some foreign land. Died for King and Country as it were. (Or Emperor, or Czar, or some other potentate of whatever name.)

In the Imperial Guard of the Emperor Napoléon at Waterloo, the men would perhaps be of long service (though some recent research seems to indicate that a great portion of the Guard was "slapped together" from anyone who could march, carry a musket, and had seen at least one campaign), men who had served with each other for years.

After the first abdication, many Guardsmen were reluctant to return to their small villages in the French countryside, they preferred the company of their own. Fellow soldiers who yearned for the return of the Emperor, many who would congregate in the cities, particularly Paris, and mutter darkly whenever the King was mentioned.

But a select group of men had followed Napoléon into exile on Elba, less than a thousand, amounting to scarcely a battalion, they went with le Tondu¹ into exile. Duty on the small island was boring in the extreme, many yearned to return to France, but for most that meant with the Emperor, to place him back on the Imperial throne.

Their time did come, they returned and formed the core of an army that grew from maybe a thousand men all told, to an army of 150,000. An army which marched into Belgium and from there into legend.

Their last stand was on the road to Genappe. They withdrew in good order as the rest of the army collapsed around them. They held their ground until the Emperor made his escape. They did not die to the last man, their commander did not shout at the pursuing Allied army, "The Guard dies, it does not surrender."² But die many did, before the last remnants of the Imperial Guard broke up and fled with the rest of the army.

Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument, Montana.
Source

The United States Army went in to the Dakota Territory, the natives were restless and the army was tasked with driving them back to the reservation. After all, though the gubmint had promised the Black Hills to those who held it to be sacred, gold had been found there.

Gold? Did you say gold?

Well yes, gold.

So tear up that treaty, suppress the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho. People want that gold!

We call it the Battle of the Little Bighorn, the winners called it the Battle of the Greasy Grass.

Custer attacked, the natives counterattacked, by the end of the day, the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne and Arapaho suffered at least 31 killed, maybe as many as 100, at least 160 wounded, and 10 non-combatants killed. The U.S. Cavalry suffered 268 killed and 55 wounded (6 of whom later died of wounds). Of the 12 companies of the 7th Cavalry, five were completely wiped out. (Custer's battalion.)

The Native Americans won that fight, but they would lose the war.

I see the Guard's last stand as an honorable fight, but still, it was fought for the aspirations and ambitions of a single man. The Greasy Grass? For the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho it was an honorable fight, a necessary fight, they were defending their homes, their way of life.

For the men of the 7th Cavalry? I see no honor here, no glory. A dirty little fight on the frontier as the Federal government put Manifest Destiny into practice. The troopers rode to their deaths for an ignoble cause.

But for many (if not most) of the dead in the wars our species has fought over the centuries, there was no glory, no honor. Just death, painful, agonizing death. Crippling wounds and indifferent governments their only reward.

The Greasy Grass ...

My God, it seems like such a lonely place to die.

They obeyed their leaders, they went to the fight, and they died.

Sad, but for all that, there are things worth fighting for.

But not on the 18th of June 1815 for the French nor on the 25th of June 1876 for the 7th Cavalry.

¹ One of the Imperial Guard's odd nicknames for Napoléon. Translates roughly to "the shaved one." (I've also seen it as "the shorn one.") Due to the Emperor's short hair, the Guard wore theirs long, in a queue at the back, and his lack of facial hair. Guardsmen had moustaches, big ones.

² Their commander was captured attempting to flee on foot. He is alleged to have shouted out "Merde!" (shit), which has ever since been called "le mot de Cambronne." (Cambronne's word.)

12 October 1492

The Last of the Clan
Thomas Faed
Source

Uh Sarge, what does 12 October 1492 (the date Christopher Columbus landed in the Bahamas) have to do with a painting of Scottish Highlanders sometime after the lost battle of Culloden and the failure of the 1745 rebellion against King George II?

Well, your Old AF Sarge always gets a little wrapped around the axle around this time of year. Especially since a group of guilt-ridden white people in some places decided to change the name to Indigenous Peoples Day, or something to that effect.

Those folks in the painting? Yup, indigenous, to Scotland. If I still lived in Scotland, I'd be indigenous. But I don't, so I'm not.

White people guilt also got the name of where I lived changed, from Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, to just Rhode Island. Plantation, according to Merriam Webster, means ...

Source

Note the delicate wording in definition 3b, "resident labor." I suppose they mean "slaves" which is no longer politically correct to use or say, the preferred term now being "enslaved peoples." Kinda like calling a woman a "birthing person." Odd innit? Or maybe that's just me.

No doubt the same folks who were up in arms about the word "plantation" were also the ones who gave us the Washington Commanders and the Cleveland Guardians. I do know a couple of First Peoples type people who preferred the old names for those teams. (First Peoples is a Canadian thing, far more accurate really, what some call "indigenous" didn't actually evolve here, but they did get here first, so First Peoples makes sense on some levels.)

Don't get me started on the word "Indian." Yes, Columbus thought he'd found India, hence that word (indiano or indiana in Italian, indio or india in Spanish, not sure what it would be in Hebrew or Yiddish, if Columbus was actually Jewish. Just kidding, you can look that up, Google Translate has the word in both Hebrew and Yiddish, but I think it means Indian from the subcontinent, not from the New World. Google was not all that clear on that).

All that aside, I remember AIM, the American Indian Movement, native peoples up in arms over the screwing they received from the European settlers of these lands. Well okay, the descendants of the people who got screwed over by the ancestors of modern day settler/colonists.

So here's something to keep in mind, ever since Cain slew Abel, people have been f**king over other people. It seems to be something in our blood, in our DNA if you will. If we don't have something, and can take it easily from someone else, we do. The Americas were not a bunch of peaceful, nature-loving, groovy people just chilling before the Europeans arrived. No, they were like people everywhere, fighting wars, taking stuff from their neighbors and despising the "different from us." (That being one tribe hating another, like the Sioux versus the Crow, or the English against the French. That goes way back.)

Imagine what might happen if we make contact with an intelligent, space-faring species someday. They might wait until we're space-faring, or they might not. Who knows what (if anything) is going on "out there."

Maybe some species from another place is driving others off their worlds and onto other worlds. If they're technologically more advanced and are anything like us, be worried, they're going to take our shit, man, trust me.

Besides which, after the Bering Land Bridge people arrived, the Norsemen were next. Columbus was third, at best.

Why should he get a holiday at all?

Just curious.

As always, YMMV.

/rant

Author's Note: One of my nephews did some digging around in Ancestry.com, seemed to have discovered an "Indian Princess" in the family tree. I wrote about that here. I rather have my doubts about that "finding" as his research completely missed an actual person in the family tree, the one for whom my father was named. This fellow. So I won't be claiming any indigenous cred for this continent any time soon. I'll leave that to the Elizabeth Warrens of the world.

As Time Goes By ...

Source

We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there. - Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon (I used this quote here as well.)

The last couple of weeks has been interesting in some ways, weird in others, and downright stressful at times. Let me start by reminding those who visit here often that The Missus Herself was out California way for two weeks. She was busy most of her stay there and that stay involved helping LUSH get rid of some stuff that needed getting rid of, we've all been there, done that. Stuff accumulates, am I right?

Anyhoo, last week, Tuesday afternoon, it was time for her to return to Little Rhody. About the time I figured she'd be at the airport, my phone rang. It was The Missus Herself. Unexpected, she usually texts me while traveling. She calls when "oh shit, oh dear" something is wrong.

Damn.

I answered, something was indeed wrong. As she was lifting her suitcase onto the scale she heard a "pop" from her lower back. The pain followed quickly. I asked her what she wanted to do, perhaps head back to LUSH's domicile for a couple of days to let things relax and/or to seek medical treatment. She said, no, I think I'll get some Tylenol and tough it out.

Minutes passed, I talked with LUSH in the interim, both of us felt that The Missus Herself should postpone her trip for a couple of days. For one thing, it was a red-eye, there were two stops along the way (Phoenix and Charlotte) and we were both worried about her schlepping about the terminals in the aforementioned cities with a bad back.

Well, my phone rang once more, it was The Missus Herself with one of those "good news, bad news" reports. Good news? The airline had agreed to move her around with a wheel chair. The bad news? Her flight out of Fresno was delayed by a bit more than an hour. Dropping her time in Phoenix from two hours to less than one.

No problem, says she, the gate in Phoenix is just two away from my connecting flight. I have time to spare.

LUSH and I, both being rather disgruntled by now, still begged her to reconsider. Nope, she indicated her determination to press on.

Sigh ...

She did arrive home safely, though in a bit of discomfort and outright pain, and is now in the care of a "health professional." Hopefully that situation resolves itself for the better soon.

Warning - Digression Ahead

I have flown in and out of Fresno many times. Getting in is no problem, no problem at all.

Getting out?

It is my experience that with one particular airline, the gate agents will show up ten minutes into the boarding time. That is, ten minutes late. It is also my experience that flights leaving Fresno, on one particular airline, never, I repeat, never leave on time.

End Digression, we now return you to the rest of the post ...

So The Missus Herself has returned, however, she is, as we used to say "back in the day," not mission capable, NMC we called it. (Back in the day.) As the plan had been for her to accompany me up to New Hampshire to celebrate my mother's impending 94th birthday (which was Monday) we had to change the plan. I would be going up by myself.

Argh.

Now as my Mom is now rather unable to stay by herself, and my kid brother having retired from his old job was available (and willing), my kid brother now lives with my mother. Which necessitated some rearranging of the furniture at Mom's house.

The guest bedroom is no more, for one thing, so I would need to make alternate sleeping arrangements. Or make it a day trip, 155 miles up, 155 miles back. All in one day. Doable but a right pain in the arse.

But as The Missus Herself would not be traveling, avec moi, I felt that I could just sleep on the couch in the living room. That way I could stay more than just a few hours.

Well, good news, bad news ...

The good news, no need to travel back to Little Rhody on the same day. Said day, mind you, in which it seemed that everyone, and I do mean everyone, had decided that Saturday would be a great time to go look at the lovely foliage in northern New England. (File this under "bad news," by the way.)

Mind you, Saturday was indeed a beautiful day, Sunny, mild, and with roads loaded with gawkers looking at foliage that I myself (a New England native) felt was sub-par, at best. Oh sure, there were a couple of trees here and there which were magnificent to someone who didn't know better. But really?

I have been traveling to my Mom's for her birthday for 25 years now. I had never seen traffic as bad as that which I experienced Saturday, a trip which normally takes three hours, took almost five.

To say that I was a bit hot under the collar for most of the journey was, shall we say, an understatement.

But I got over it.

The trip back Sunday was uneventful (even if my night on the couch had left my back really angry with me), it rained which kept the "leaf peepers" off the roads. Personally I prefer to see foliage on gray, overcast days. The colors (to me at any rate) seem to stand out more than when viewed in bright sunlight. Might just be me. (The Missus Herself stated, somewhat emphatically, that it is, "just me." Sigh ...)

It was a nice trip but I'm noticing more and more that my mother isn't quite "all there" any more. She forgets easily, even things which just happened, and her long term memory is pretty much gone. It's tough on her because she knows she can't remember things.

It's one thing to not remember and not know it, it's quite another to know that you're forgetting vital parts of your life. She can't remember whether or not I have kids, late on Saturday she asked me if I'd ever married. As she gets tired, more and more of her ability to remember things just slips away. Sunday morning she was better, but it's sad to see her decline.

Well, she is 94.

Time passes, it's not always kind in its passing.

I suppose I'll get back to the fiction, eventually. Might be on a different topic entirely, lately my brain has been very much in "SQUIRREL!" mode. I guess you might say I'm too interested in too many things. Kid brother also gave me a book on Germany in 1923, that's going to be a time sink, I can tell you that. A favorite period of mine. And (bonus) it's by a German author.

Much to do, much to read. In the meantime, remember, the ice cream is free.

Before I forget, many thanks to John Blackshoe for filling the entire weekend for me. I needed the break and the story of the Garthsnaid and the photo taken by Alexander Turner (and his story) was a good one. Thanks, JB!

Now, where was I?

Family and Friends

 Not much going on around Rancho Juvat, lately.  

 So my posting material might be getting close to Rock Bottom.

Source

However, this past weekend made up for some of that. We had a semi-Family Reunion.  Obviously, Little J, LJW and Miss B couldn't make it from Jolly Old, but MBD, The Rev, MG and Leon' made it from East Texas.   In addition, some friends of there's from College joined up with them after escaping the Houston Jungle.  They stayed in our two guest cabins, did a little out and back to a few wineries and joined us for dinner where war stories were swapped. Yes, Beans, the red BS Flag was thrown a few times.

At the start of the festivities, we met the gang on their arrival at our favorite restaurant in the 'Burg, El Milagro.  For those of you who don't speak Spanish, that would be "The Miracle".  For the first several years we lived here, our go to restaurant was "Rather Sweet".  Primarily this was because it was about 5 doorways down from our wine store.  Which was about the max distance we had energy to travel after a busy day.  The  business was actually a restaurant and a bakery and was owned by Rebecca Rather, a somewhat well known baker. The food was good, the baked goods outstanding.

But, she got a bit tired of it and sold it at a deep discount to a group of Hispanic ladies.  Ms Rather also included all her baked goods recipes in the deal.  So the new restaurant has excellent Mexican dishes, great sandwiches and fabulous pastries.  I heartily recommend it although my Cardiologist has a few comments about the relationship between it and I.

Anyhow, that's where we met the gang Friday.  Did I mention that El Milagro has a very nice patio and a band that plays on weekends.  

MBD and MG fooling around

What the heck are those two goofs doin' Gramma?

 

Just Goofin' Round

Not a lot of mind enhancing conversations, but a lot of good smiles and laughter, so well worth it.

Finally on the woodworking side, I'm working on a couple of projects for the two eldest grandchildren.  Mrs J came up with the idea.  Basically it's a book box.

 She bought 25 Christmas related books for each of them which she'll individually wrap.  She took the measurements of each to figure out the dimensions for the box and ensure the books all fit.  The grand kids will be authorized to unwrap one book for each day in Advent to have read to them.  That should keep them occupied and hopefully focused on Christmas The above model was my "Practice" one, but turned out good enough to use it.

Why Maroon, you may ask.  Well...Since both sets of parents are from a small university in College Station TX, they are encouraging them early to go there.  

Yes, Beans, Texas A&M.  I didn't go there, but I'm very happy with the way my Kids turned out and think it likely my Grand Kids will turn out well there also.

As I said, been busy and not many earth shattering events happened this week, so you get what you get.  Hope to do better next week.

Cheers and Peace Out Y'all!

 

 

John Blackshoe Sends: Serendipity History –

Sailors and Ships in the Age of Sail (Part 3 of 3)

Source

History of the man who photographed the Sailing Vessel Garthsnaid, in a storm in part I

ALEXANDER HARPER TURNER (12 July 1900- 8 February 1963)*

* 12 July 1900 birth date is from family sources, but his maritime documents show date of birth as 31 August 1900

Ancestry.com has a wealth of information on millions of people, and once you find a full name and birth date you can usually chase many threads pertaining to birth, death, census, military and civil records. If there are family trees you can access, there are often family photos. Most of the following was gleaned from material on Ancestry.

Our intrepid photographer Alexander and his twin brother “Jock” were born in Sunderland, Durham, England in 1900. Their father was a tailor and outfitter, who employed others. His family was well off, and had a servant girl living with them at 9 The Oaks, East, Sunderland, which was the family home for several decades. It is a charming brick row house in a neighborhood of prosperous merchants and the like.

There are numerous interior and exterior views of the family home here, on a site similar to Zillow for American house sales. 

Even at a young age, it was clear that he was destined for a life at sea with Alex (left) and Jock (right) in their sailor suits, and another unidentified child, probably circa 1905.

Source

Alexander Harper Turner went to sea by way of an indenture signed at age 15 in Aberdeen to be an “Apprentice” aboard the Milne owned steel Barque “Inveresk” a near sister ship of his later voyages aboard Inversnaid/Garthsnaid. The Royal Museums Greenwich have the original crew list for that voyage. 

His shipmates on that first voyage, included two other apprentices signed up the previous year, the 57 year old Captain; a Mate (age not stated); 22 year old Boatswain; 50 year old cook and steward; a 65 year old sailmaker; 53 year old carpenter; a 17 year old cabin boy, and 15 sailors ranked as sailor, ordinary seaman or able seaman ranging from 18 to 53 years old. Birthplaces included the British Isles, Norway, Finland, Russia, Italy, two Australians and three Americans.

His first voyage was brief, only from 1 November 1915 to 19 December 1915, at a time when Britain was already engaged in WW1. Turner’s father later served as a 1st Lieutenant in the Tank Corps.

He did not remain ashore for long, and reported aboard Inversnaid on 2 January 1916 where he served until 19 May 1919 (per his 2nd Mate Certificate), but his service continued after that.

Ancestry.com member trees provided a photo of Alexander Harper Turner in his uniform, probably circa 1917-1920, perhaps at the time he qualified as Second Mate.

Source

On June 12, 1919 Turner was issued his “Certificate of Competency as Second Mate of a Foreign Going Ship” at age 18. 

Source

He qualified as 1st Mate on 3 April 1922, with his prior service listed as aboard Garthsnaid from 10 July 1919 to 17 December 1921. (reflecting the sale and renaming of Inversnaid to Garthsnaid as a Canadian flagged vessel.)

In August 1922 he left the steadily diminishing sailing fleet and began voyages aboard the Steam Ship Rhode Island out of Liverpool. This was another Clyde built ship, a steel screw steamer 420 feet long, 54.2 foot beam and 29 foot depth of hold for 5655 gross tons, launched in 1918. Unlike the long and wind driven voyages of sailing ships, this ship engaged in regularly scheduled runs between Liverpool and the United States. Although he had a First Mate certificate for sailing ships, he served mostly as Second Mate. (No photos found of this SS Rhode Island.)

Master Certificate (Square rigged) 25 June 1925
Source
 (The source listed has several certificates for Turner)

In 1925, Turner began sailing on SS Bay State as Second Mate, prior to his getting his Master license. In July 1926 Turner married Marjorie Towns in Tynemouth, Northumberland. She was four years younger, and had been born in Turner’s home town of Sunderland. They lived the rest of their lives in Newcastle upon Tyne, about 20 miles from Sunderland. It is unclear if he continued to go to sea after marriage, or worked ashore in some boring office job.

 

In the late 1930s the Royal Navy began to recruit officers and enlisted for service in the Royal Naval Reserve (RNR), and the more amateurish Royal Naval Volunteer Supplementary Reserve (RNVSR). The RNVR became the route by which virtually all new-entry commissioned officers joined the naval service during the war – the exception being professional mariners who already held master's tickets, who would join the RNR. Most of the officers in landing craft, Coastal Forces and the Atlantic Convoys were RNVR and many regular officers were astonished how well they coped. A significant number achieved command of corvettes and even frigates. By 1945 there were over 43,000 officers in the RNR/RNVR/RNVSR. (Source)

Turner enrolled in the Royal Naval Volunteer Supplemental Reserve on 5 July 1937, according to the Navy List for 1937, presumably as a Temporary Lieutenant.

By 1940, Turner was assigned to command of the ”Brit,” a 90 foot steel craft with 20 foot beam and 4.6 foot draft, for 75 tons, propelled by a single diesel engine. 

“[Brit] was requisitioned by the Admiralty on 16 September 1939 for service as a tender. Renamed [HM Tender] WATCHFUL, she became the base ship for the fleet and was repainted in battleship grey. She carried stores and torpedoes to the destroyers lying in Yarmouth roads.”

On 29 May 1940, she was deployed to assist in the Dunkirk evacuation and reportedly rescued 900 troops. On 12 December 1945, she was returned to her owners, the Longfield brothers and was refitted and restored to her original name, BRIT, to operate once more as a pleasure cruiser for the start of the 1946 season.” (Source)

 

Source

HM Tender WATCHFUL was one of the “Little Ships” which rescued the British Army from Dunkirk, carrying 900 soldiers home on four trips. Above she is shown pre-war as the “Brit” operating as a day tripper for whale watching type cruises out of Yarmouth.

Turner was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions aboard HMS WATCHFUL in the Dunkirk evacuation, as announced in London Gazette 27 Aug 1940.

Subsequently, Turner commanded three minesweepers as a Temporary Lieutenant: (Source)

• HMS Cypress (T 09) a minesweeping trawler- 5 March 1941-mid 1941 -

Source

• HMS MMS 5 (J 505) a motor minesweeper- August 1941- 20 August 1942

• HMS MMS 7 (j 507) a motor minesweeper- 20 August 1942-30 December 1942

 

This is the first of the 294 ships of the MMS-1 class (J501-J794), often called “Mickey Mouse Sweepers” virtually identical to the two commanded by Turner. These swept for magnetic influence mines by having two of the sweepers dragging an electrical cable between them which would be periodically energized to create a magnetic pulse to detonate mines. Later they added a large noisemaker to also activate acoustic mines. (Source)

Turner was promoted to Temporary Commander effective 31 July 1944. (Source)

Commander Alexander Harper Turner

in 1944 or 1945 in his “wavy navy” uniform

Source

Nothing more was found about Turner except that he died 8 February 1963.

So, at life’s end, if asked what he did with his life, I am sure Commander Turner would have proudly told anyone willing to listen:

“I was a sailor, and you should have seen us on the Garthsnaid. And this is no shit¹. Coming out of Chile, bound for Mozambique in 1920. It was blowing Beaufort force 9 or 10, and we sent men aloft to gasket the fores’l. And, I like a damn fool, decided to take my new camera out to the tip of the bowsprit to take a photo. I got the photo, and luckily lived to tell about it. Here’s the proof:”

Sailing Vessel Garthsnaid, 1920, outbound from Chile to Mozambique.

Source State Library of Victoria [Australia]

A sharper, larger version is available here and makes a great screen saver.

¹ The obligatory prelude to any sailor’s sea story.

John Blackshoe Sends: Serendipity History –

Sailors and Ships in the Age of Sail (Part 2 of 3) 

Source

History of the Sailing Vessel Garthsnaid (Shown in a storm in part I.)

The Beginning

 

Sailing Vessel Inversnaid circa 1892.
Source

The ship was built by Archibald McMillan and Son at Dumbarton on the River Clyde in Scotland, a major shipbuilding location. 

Inversnaid was launched 26 May 1892, built for George Milne of Aberdeen. She was relatively small, 283 feet long 36.2 foot beam and 21.7 foot depth of hold for 1418 gross tons. She was a steel hull Barque (square rigged on the fore and main masts and fore and aft rigged on the mizzen. She operated from Aberdeen for the Milne company until 1919 when he sold the rest of his ships (with “Inver___” names to the Marine Navigation Company of Canada owned by Sir William Garthwaite of Montreal. Names were changed to “Garth___” and thus the Inversnaid became Garthsnaid in 1919. Source

During WW1 the Inversnaid was engaged in merchant shipping without incident, although one of her sister ships was sunk by a German U-boat. Merchant ship crews were all awarded a service medal for their contributions to the war effort.

By 1919, sailing ships were no longer competitive on voyages requiring speedy delivery, but they were cheap to operate (wind is free), and could be manned with small, relatively inexperienced crews making them popular for hauling bulk materials like nitrate fertilizer from Chile to points around the world. This was the main use of Garthsnaid for the rest of her career. Most sailing ships were worked hard with minimal expenditures for maintenance and were sold for scrap or simply abandoned as they wore out or suffered severe damage.

 

Garthsnaid in Iquique, Chile circa 1920, likely awaiting her cargo of nitrate.
Source

Ancestry.com member trees provided a photo of Alexander Harper Turner in his uniform, probably circa 1919-1921 when he was Second Mate aboard the Garthsnaid. 
Source

In Part I we saw Garthsnaid in a storm, captured in Turner’s photo circa April-July 1920, which was winter in the Southern Hemisphere. Turner’s service aboard Garthsnaid lasted from 10 July 1919 to 17 December 1921. He qualified as 1st Mate on 3 April 1922, left Garthsnaid and began sailing on the steamship Rhode Island of the White Diamond Line. Other mariners took his place as 2nd Mate for the rest of Garthsnaid’s history.

The End

In April 1923 the barque Garthsnaid was dismasted in a storm outbound from Iquique, Chile, and taken under tow by the White Star line steamer SS ZEALANDIC into Melbourne according to the following newspaper account.

The Argus, Melbourne, 4 April 1923 Source

BARQUE IN A STORM

THREE TERRIBLE DAYS

By the irony of fate the end of the long voyage of the barque Garthsnaid was almost in sight when she was struck by a storm which lasted for three terrible days and threatened her destruction. Good seamanship, combined with good luck and the timely arrival of the steamer Zealandic, saved her. Coastal reports on Sunday stated that the Garthsnaid was in tow of the Zealandic, and at 11 o'clock yesterday morning the barque passed through Port Phillip Heads, in appearance more like a dismantled hulk than the trim barque which was a familiar sight at Melbourne in September. For three days the crew, numbering 21, had nothing to eat except weevily biscuits and tinned beef, and were without sleep. 

 

The Garthsnaid left Iquique in December, and on Friday morning was booming along about 100 miles east of Gabo, approaching Bass Straits, with lower topsails set before a freshening easterly breeze. Before nightfall, however, the breeze had freshened into a gale, [conditions very similar to those captured in Turner’s photograph!] which, veering suddenly to the southward, caught the barque. All hands were called on deck, but the master (Captain J. Roberts), realising that to send a man aloft was to throw away his life, did what he could by skilful navigation to avert impending disaster. With a loud report the main topmast carried away, bringing with it lines and sheets, which lay in a tangled mass over the port side, tearing the royal and topgallant yards and mizzen topmast down. The crew, which was all-British, "worked like [n-----s]" (to quote Captain Roberts, who cannot say enough for his men), and cast the damaged rigging overboard. Half an hour afterwards the main lower mast snapped 3ft. from the deck, and lay straggling over the starboard side. Rolling and pitching helplessly, the Garthsnaid shipped heavy seas, and movement on deck was hazardous. All movable deck gear was swept overboard. Large quantities of oil were released, but still the Garthsnaid lay awash. 

With great difficulty, and running under scant canvas, a course was steered for Gabo, when the long list of mishaps was added to by the snapping of the fore topgallant mast, which hung down, with its canvas flapping noisily in the wind. All night the crew worked to clear the wreckage away. An inspection was made of the holds, which were found to be undamaged and making no water. Two of the lifeboats were smashed beyond repair, and the third was severely damaged. 

With unabated vigour the storm continued all next day; but the wind began to ease as night came on, and with sighs of relief Gabo light was sighted at 2 o'clock in the morning. A little later the lights of a steamer were sighted, and in half an hour the Zealandic was alongside. She waited until daylight, and then passed a 5in. wire hawser to the barque, it broke. Four more attempts were made, and at last the Garthsnaid was secured. After a three-hour struggle the line was made fast, and the Zealandic set out for Melbourne with the barque in tow.

The Garthsnaid was laden with a cargo worth about £50,000. When she entered the Heads she signalled for a tug, but probably on account of the salvage, perhaps because she could not operate her anchor, she was towed to Williamstown by the Zealandic, which then returned to Geelong. Substantial salvage money will probably be paid to the Zealandic for her part in the rescue of the Garthsnaid, the crew of which pay a tribute to their rescuers.

Dismasted SV Garthsnaid under salvage tow by SS ZEALANDIC, April 1923

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SV Garthsnaid in Melbourne April 1924, showing storm damage.

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There, Garthsnaid was left to her fate, not worth repairing. She was finally broken up for scrap in Melbourne in February 1938, per the following story from the Brisbane Argus. Source:

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From the story above:

“Too damaged to be worth repairing Garthsnaid was sold for use as a coal hulk, but proved unsuitable for that…. Various plans, including one for loading the hulk with scrap iron and towing her to Japan, and another to convert her to a dance hall fell through and the hulk remained idle in the river until in 1936 the harbor dues owing were more than the total value of the ship. The authorities were powerless to order the removal of the ship because of legal technicalities.”

 Lovers of ships and the sea will recognize this all too familiar problem of wishful thinking. The most recent case is the fate of the fastest ocean liner ever built, the SS UNITED STATES, delivered in 1952 as the pinnacle of ocean liner technology. But within a few years, transatlantic jet aircraft travel became cheap and common, destroying the liner trade. Laid up since 1969 the SS UNITED STATES endured a similar sequence of wishful thinking for adaptive uses. Disputes since 1996 over unpaid docking bills in Philadelphia and lackluster fundraising efforts resulted in eviction notices. In September 2024 it was decided that she would be sunk off Destin, FL as a diving attraction although it will take some time and money to prepare her for the tow and sinking. 

S.S. UNITED STATES rotting at her unpaid for berth in Philadelphia, 2024.

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Not a sailing ship, but just as obsolete. Read all about this great ship, and her obsessed designer William Francis Gibbs (of Gibbs & Cox) in “A Man and His Ship : America's Greatest Naval Architect and His Quest to Build the S. S. United States” by Steven Ujifusa, available for under $10.00

Ships are inanimate objects made of steel, bronze, aluminum, wood or other materials and are seen as mere “things” by landlubbers. But, to their builders and crews they are endowed with near living properties, and often fondly remembered as a home, base of operations, or transportation. Their machinery is loved, or cursed, but respected for its contribution to life at sea. Shared experiences and sacrifices bind the crew together, and to the ship.

The scrapping of a sailor’s former ship is a truly emotional subject, nearly on the level of losing a friend, family member, or pet. A ship may be gone, but to those who sailed as crew or passenger they are never forgotten.

My last ship.
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Author's Note: Part 3 of 3 reveals the history of the man who took the photo of Garthsnaid in the storm.