Captain Charles Austen’s Ceremonial Spadroon

A naval captain’s awards and gifts in recognition of meritorious service are springboards to understanding the diversity of his professional career and his versatility as an officer. In the case of Captain Charles Austen, brother of Jane Austen, two special objects merit exploration.[1] I have already written about the significance of Charles’s General Service Medal with its two clasps, one, referred to as “Unicorn 8 June 1796,” was awarded for his participation in the impressive capture of an enemy vessel, La Tribune (44 guns), and the other for the campaign for “Syria[2] Charles received this distinguished British naval award in 1849. A very different mark of grateful recognition of his services occurred in 1827 during Charles’s naval mission to South America. This acknowledgement took the form of a beautifully decorated ceremonial “spadroon.”[3].

Fig. 1: Portrait of Charles Austen and his Sword

“[Charles’s] spadroon is a ceremonial sword with a canon-shaped cross guard and eagle-headed pommel. The loop guard is in the form of a rope, which is held in the eagle’s mouth, and loops around the canon. The grip is made of carved ivory. The steel blade has been etched with decorative patterns, with gilded decoration. The scabbard [or sheath for holding the sword] has been decorated with eagle and sun motifs on one side, and on the other side is inscribed the dedication to Charles Austen from General Simon Bolivar.”[4]

This wonderful artefact connects to a period in 1827, when, as captain of the frigate HMS Aurora (38 guns), Charles was one of the Royal Navy captains stationed in the West Indies. Part of this squadron’s duties was to provide various services of support for General Simon Bolivar, liberator of Spain’s former colonies in South America.

 This past summer in England, I tried to find out more about the circumstances surrounding Charles’s receipt of his spadroon. It made sense to follow the clue which the historic inscription on the scabbard of the sword provides. That text reads: “Presented to Charles John Austen, R.N. commanding HMS Aurora at the City of Caracas, 1st March 1827 by Simon Bolivar the liberator of his country as a mark of his esteem.”

I knew that Charles kept a private journal during his years as Captain of HMS Aurora (1826-28). His writings are contained in nine notebooks in the collection of the Caird Library, which is part of the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London. Once at the Caird Library, I expected to discover Charles’s entry for 1 March 1827 would provide a description of the sword’s presentation at a Venezuelan location, probably accompanied by Charles’s impressions of Bolivar. This was not the case. As Charles’s journal entry for that date reveals, he spent time at a Dockyard (most likely in Antigua) during the day.[5] That evening he entertained guests for dinner, the party concluding with “cards and liquors in the after cabin [of the Aurora].”[6] As further research revealed, Charles did not meet Bolivar until 20 April 1827, 50 days later. 

So here was a mystery. Where and when did Bolivar present the sword and for what reasons did he select Charles for this honour? Answering this question will provide a glimpse of how Charles undertook various assignments, and activities which would not ordinarily occupy a naval captain on a station.

In a later post, I plan to place Charles’s receipt of the sword in the context of his career, exploring how, for a short period, Charles played a small part in British international diplomacy in South America. That narrative will also introduce several interesting individuals with whom Charles interacted: the artistic and ambitious British Consul in Caracas, Venezuela, Sir Robert Ker Porter, the Honorable Alexander Cockburn, His Majesty’s Envoy Extraordinary to the Columbian States, and the flamboyant and dynamic General Simon Bolivar, the illustrious military and political leader, who was known to his people as the Liberator and hero of the South American revolution. During his time in Caracas, Charles was welcomed by these men into the social and diplomatic life of the city.

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[1] Owned by Austen descendent David Willan.

[2] See my blog for 26 May 2023, “Honouring Jane Austen’s Naval Brother Charles: The Story of his General Service Medal.” I have been recently told that Charles’s medal is very rare because of the two clasps. I thank Nick Ball of the Chatham Historic Dockyard for explaining to me that only four “Unicorn” claps were awarded, so the combination of one with the more common “Syria,” is almost certainly unique.

[3] A spadroon was lighter than a broad sword, because it was designed to both cut and thrust.[3] Earlier this year, Charles’s sword became part of the exhibit “Command of the Ocean,” at the Historic Dockyard, Chatham, Kent, England.

[4] Many thanks to the sword’s owner, David Willan for the fine detailed description of its appearance.

[5]Antigua is the most likely location as Charles’s guests included Captain and Mrs Wilson of the 93rd, a Regiment, which was stationed there.  

[6] Charles Austen, Private Journal, 1 March 1827, AUS/121.

New Details about Jane Austen’s Naval Brother Francis on the North American Station 1845-48

In my blog post for November 2020, I wrote about Jane Austen’s naval brother, Francis, as Admiral in command of the North American and West Indies Station from 1845 to 1848.[1] His was a peacetime commission. While on the northern end of the Station, his duties were to ensure the protection of the fisheries against the Americans, to make coastal surveys and to maintain a British presence in the colonial possessions of the area. His flagship, HMS Vindictive (50 guns), was known as a “family ship” for he had on board two sons, George (the chaplain) and  Herbert (an officer) along with his nephew, Lt Charles John Austen II. He also brought along two daughters, Cassy and Frances, as his designated social hostesses. What follows are some brief glimpses of Sir Francis at work and at leisure on the Station. They are suggestive of his personality and some priorities at this stage in his life and career.

Quebec City, September 1846

Fig. 1: Admiral Sir Francis Austen

Admiral Sir Francis Austen was keen to explore the extent of his Station and he was diligent in doing so. It entailed travelling northwest from Halifax, Nova Scotia, his northern base, to reconnoitre the St Lawrence River as far as Quebec City. While there, Sir Francis Austen also led at least one excursion on land. According to the Quebec Gazette, he and his family “returned yesterday from a visit to the upper part of the province.” Meanwhile, the same issue reports a tragedy that occurred aboard the Vindictive. On the night of 24 September 1846, “a midshipman from the Vindictive fell overboard and drowned while the ship was at anchor in the harbour…. A lifeboy was thrown over immediately and every effort made to save him, but the body never rose again. It was eventually recovered.”[2] The young man was eighteen-year-old John E. Haig.

The loss of a crew member, especially of one so young, was a matter of great regret. Moreover, young Haig’s family was presumably known personally to Francis Austen for it was the captain’s prerogative to select the young men who would be training as midshipmen under his command. Given Haig’s age, it is likely he had been aboard since the Vindictive left England and was probably studying for his lieutenant’s exam. It was Austen’s unhappy task to inform Haig’s widowed mother of the tragedy. She subsequently arranged for a memorial plaque to be placed on the wall above the left balcony in the Holy Trinity Anglican Cathedral in Quebec City and for a tombstone in the St Matthew’s church cemetery on Rue Saint-Jean. John Haig’s untimely death added a sobering touch to what must have been a fascinating trip for Sir Francis and his retinue into a French-speaking community in North America.[3]

Visiting Prince Edward Island: October 1847

The following year Sir Francis made a trip to the colony of Prince Edward Island in the Gulf of St Lawrence. This voyage was another opportunity for familiarizing himself with the scope of his command. It was also a chance to inspect a new navigational aid, the recently completed Point Prim Lighthouse. The light was situated on a point of land extending into the Northumberland Strait and marking the entrance to Hillsborough Bay and the colony’s principal port of Charlottetown. Prior to the choice of this site, the colony’s Lt Governor had consulted with Royal Navy captains about the most eligible location for the light, and he had concurred with their judgement.

 The completed lighthouse was impressive. Its construction featured a “tapered, cylindrical brick structure covered in wood shingles and it measured 18.3 metres from base to vane.” The tower possessed a prominent but elegant taper and a projected lantern platform supported by brackets which was topped by a multisided cast iron lantern.[4] Those on board the Vindictive could appreciate why the Point Prim Light was already an excellent resource for navigators in the region.

Fig. 2: Point Prim Light, Prince Edward Island

Sir Francis’s voyage took him from the Point Prim Lighthouse and into Charlottetown harbour, where local colonial officials were apparently expecting to welcome him and his party onshore. Such would be the normal courtesy when the Commander-in-Chief of the Station had dropped anchor in the harbour for three days. However, they were disappointed, as revealed by a headline in  The Examiner, a local newspaper. It read “Admiral Failed to Disembark.” In self-justification, Sir Francis wrote to the paper:

That we did not land was entirely owing to the heavy rain, which did not cease for many minutes together from the Saturday evening till 12 o’clock on Tuesday when I left Port. I beg further to add that it never was my intention to devote more than three days to visit; that it had nothing whatever to do with Politics; being solely for the gratification of personal curiosity, combined with a desire of becoming acquainted with every part of  my extensive command.”[5]

Note the detailed, crisp, dismissive tone of the letter. Sir Francis precisely describes the quantity of rain which made a shore visit ill-advised. He assures the readers he did not intend to stay longer. He does not want his decision to be interpreted as a political affront. He stresses he was in the area out of personal curiosity.

The wording of this letter invites comment. Sir Francis’s reference to heavy rain seems a poor excuse: had he and his party gone ashore, they could have expected to be entertained indoors. Additionally, Sir Francis’s “desire to become acquainted with every part of my extensive command” is inconsistent with his behaviour. He had been happy to take his family party on shore at Quebec, why would he not explore Prince Edward Island on arrival, even if it meant waiting for better weather?[6]

 Sir Francis’s letter leaves the impression of one who is unhappy to have his actions criticized. There is a note of authority which is void of real regret or apology. He chose the public forum of a newspaper to explain his failure to visit ashore. This may not have been the wisest choice as the formal and impersonal tone of his letter could have failed to placate the disappointed local officials and population. Maybe the decision to stay on board the Vindictive can be explained by reasons Sir Francis did not choose to reveal. His daughter, Cassy, was a dominant force in her father’s social and official planning. Perhaps she decided that her father and his retinue must avoid the inconvenience of getting wet, and her opinion held sway.[7] I have yet to discover whether Sir Francis ever became acquainted with Prince Edward Island.

Summers in Halifax, Nova Scotia: 1845-47

Sir Francis and his retinue ordinarily occupied summer headquarters in Halifax, living in the spacious and elegant Admiralty House, completed in 1819. He attended to his official duties and did what was expected of him socially but he preferred the company of his immediate family. He was an attentive father and particularly concerned that his daughters enjoy themselves, which meant they needed some means of circulating in public. Francis had grown up in a family that was devoted to gardening, so he was most likely appreciative of exotic plantings and varieties of trees and shrubs. Given these interests, the five-and-a-half-acre Horticultural Society Garden, the forerunner of what became Halifax’s Public Gardens, would be an attractive place to take his daughters.[8] It was comprised of handsome flower beds, winding paths, specimen trees, a pool and a stream along with a meeting place known as  Horticultural Hall. The Garden was private:  it was only open to subscribing members drawn from the wealthy, professional and administrative classes. However, someone of Sir  Francis’s rank and position, as well as his accompanying family, would undoubtedly be welcome as guests. Strolling about in the Garden would let Sir Francis mix with the upper classes among the Halifax citizenry, which, from his point of view, also counted as good public relations.

Fig. 3: Mature elm trees dating to the 1840s  with the Horticultural Hall in the background

One of the Vindictive’s officers, Jane Austen’s nephew, Charles John Austen II, may have favoured the Garden for his own purposes. While on shore in Halifax, he had met and fallen in love with Sophia Deblois, the daughter of a wealthy local merchant. The Garden was an ideal place for a courting couple to promenade, to enjoy conversations a deux as well as summertime band concerts. Perhaps Charles was able to escort his Sophia to the Garden’s annual fund-raising bazaar where “the music afforded by 2 Highland pipers and 3 military bands, also ministered to the enjoyment of the company, the wares for sale executed with the usual taste of the ladies.” [9] [10] 

Fig. 4: Halifax Public Gardens in September. The Bandstand was built in 1887

Three colonial centres: Quebec City, Prince Edward Island and Halifax- these are places where one can catch a fleeting glimpse of Admiral Sir Francis Austen during his naval career from 1845-48. He can be found in both his professional and personal capacities displaying diverse characteristics – now grieving over a drowned young trainee officer, then seeking to justify his arguably discourteous behaviour, yet on other occasions showing concern for his public relations and his daughters’ social needs. In 1848 at the termination of his commission as Commander-in-Chief of the North American Station, the Vindictive brought Francis home to England. Thus ended his last appointment in the active sea service at the age of 74.

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[1] See blog post for November 2020.

[2] See Charles Andre Nadeau, “One of Jane Austen’s brothers was in Quebec City 175 years ago,”  Quebec City newspaper, the Chronicle-Telegraph, September 22, 2021.

[3] Charles Austen’s letters reveal that he had occasion to mourn the loss of two midshipmen, part of a prize crew that failed to bring a captured merchantman into Bermuda in November 1808. Charles wrote to Cassandra on 25 December 1808: “I have lost her [the prize] and what is a real misfortune the lives if twelve of my people, two of them mids.” See Sheila Johnson Kindred, Jane Austen’s Transatlantic Sister, 216.

[4] Point Prim Lighthouse: https://www.pc.gc.ca/apps/dfhd/page_hi_eng.aspx?id=14835.The lighthouse maintains the same appearance today.

[5] Quoted in The Guardian (Prince Edward Island newspaper), 12 October 2013. I am grateful to Penelope Player of Charlottetown who alerted me to this reference.

[6]In terms of the current political mood on the Island, a local newspaper The Examiner provides a clue. The paper quotes an editorial from another current newspaper, the Islander “on the subject of a Petition which a little knot of Charlottetown shop-keepers have got up praying His Majesty not to continue (Governor) Sir H.V. Huntley in the Government of the Colony longer than the allotted timelife (presumably the paper meant “lifetime”).[6] Yet, it would not be the mandate of a visiting naval Commander-in-Chief to address  a petition circulated by a ‘little knot” of local shopkeepers. So there does seem to be a pressing political issue to be specifically associated with Sir Francis decision to stay on board. He did not need to mention politics in his letter to the editor of the Examiner.

[7] See other references to Cassy’s domineering views in my blog about Sir Francis, November 2020.

[8] It was comprised the southern half of the current Halifax Public Gardens, fronting on what is now Spring Garden Road

[9]Charles married Sophia in September 1848. Two other officers from  the Vindictive married Halifax girls that year: W. D. Jeans, Sir Francis’s secretary, wed Bess Hartshorne; Officer William King-Hall married Louisa Foreman. 

Notes about the Horticultural Society Garden are courtesy of Halifax Public Gardens guide, Susanne Wise.

Photo Credits:

Fig 1: Private collection

Fig 2: Lighthouse friends

Figs: 3, 4: Sheila Kindred

The Loss of HMS Atalante: Heroes of the Rescued

I first wrote about Captain Frederick Hickey, Charles Austen’s colleague and friend on the North American station, in my blog for October 2020, titled “Captain Frederick Hickey and the Loss HMS Atalante.” Hickey’s leadership in a time of disaster marked him out as a hero. But there were other men and women from the shore community whose efforts also merited recognition. This blog relates to their contribution to the rescue of the survivors of the wrecked Atalante.

 On Wednesday, 10 November 1813, about 10:00 o’clock, the fine Bermuda-built sloop of war, Atalante went to pieces, fifteen minutes after she had run aground on the treacherous Sisters and Blind Sisters shoal off Sambro, Nova Scotia in dense fog. In the days that followed her captain, Frederick Hickey, was widely praised for his courageous action is the face of imminent catastrophe. Passenger Jeremiah O’Sullivan later wrote: “to the honour of Captain Hickey, he was the last who left the wreck; his calmness, his humanity, and his courage, during the entire awful scene, was superior to man: everything was lost but our lives.”[1] It was a matter of huge relief that all on board survived.

 Fig 1: HMS Atalante Passing Sambro, Halifax. N.S. The Sisters and Blind Sister shoal are located to the left of the lighthouse.

Fig. 2: Captain Frederick Hickey, school of Gilbert Stuart, 1810.

At the point when the remains of the Atalante disappeared beneath the waves, the 133 survivors were thankful to be free of the wreck as they sheltered in three small, overloaded boats saved from the Atalante. Yet, their worries were by no means over. According to Hickey’s subsequent report, they rowed “for two  hours, guided only by a small dial compass, which one of the quarter masters had  in his pocket.” By what must have seemed like a miracle, they were finally, as Hickey puts it, “picked up a fisherman, who piloted the boats safe into Portuguese cove where we landed, the boats containing 133 persons.”[2] Hickey’s official description of the events does not record the elation he and his men must have felt when they detected, through the fog, the outlines of a fishing boat, and the appearance of its captain, an “ old fisherman,” who Hickey later identified as John Chapman. He knew the waters and the offshore hazards which must be avoided, and so he was able to lead the pinnace and two smaller boats safely to shore. We do not know why Chapman happened to be at sea at the time, as fishing in the fog could be dangerous. Whatever his current plan, he set that aside in order to get the wet and anxious officers and sailors to the safety of land.

Fig 3: The treacherous rocky shore at Portuguese Cove (Photo: Hugh Kindred)

Fig.4: The narrow entrance to the Cove. (Photo: Hugh Kindred)

Portuguese Cove is a tiny inlet along a dangerously rocky shore guarded by many reefs and shoals.[3] On reaching the safety of the Cove,  Hickey discovered that it was sparsely populated; in fact, it was home to only “five poor men and their families.” Although coastal communities might be expected to be sympathetic to the needs of shipwreck survivors, the residents of Portuguese Cove were a scattered, small group of people, with limited resources. It was almost mid-November, when whatever minimal gardens they had tended were no longer productive, and most of the remaining food on hand would have already been put away for the lean winter months ahead. Satisfying the needs of 133 hungry people would be very difficult! Yet, as Hickey related to his superior, commander-in-chief Admiral Sir John Warren, “the whole of the officers and crew received what nourishment and humane attention [the inhabitants] had in their power to bestow.”[4] The “humane attention” presumably included lighting fires to warm and dry out the shivering survivors, some scantily clothed, as they had discarded all clothing but trousers as they swam from the sinking Atalante. 

Hickey rushed on to Halifax by boat when he could, anxious to immediately deliver the urgent dispatches he was carrying to Admiral Sir John Warren. He took with him those who had suffered most from fatigue, and exposure to the harsh elements. As it was impossible to house all the survivors at the Cove, Hickey ordered all the able-bodied sailors to march 20 miles to Halifax where accommodation would be provided. Once more local help materialized. John Chapman apparently acted as a guide for this part of the rescue mission, most likely directing the survivors over part of a rough track leading to town himself or recruiting one of the men from the Cove to assist. It was a blessing that the men set out when they did for by Friday, the weather became even nastier, a mixture of “pouring rain and very thick fog” in the morning, then, as the Lt Governor’s wife in Halifax, Lady Sherbrooke, recorded in her diary, “it came on to blow, very much, and from 5 o’clock till 7, blew so hard as to be quite a hurricane.”[5]

In his report to Admiral Warren, Hickey did more than simply praise the “humane attention” he and his men had received from the families in Portuguese Cove. He pointed out that the survivors had been led to safety by John Chapman, who was subsequently given a $50 reward. Hickey also supplied Warren with the names of those who had spearheaded the onshore assistance, suggesting that $100 be distributed among the five heads of family.[6] By 17 November, this sum was paid out by the Commissioner of the Naval Yard in Halifax [7] to John Munroe, George Sadler, John Fegan, Samuel Purcell, and Richard Neale.[8]

Although Hickey’s quick thinking and brave example in a time of crisis, both onboard and afterwards, certainly merits admiration and commendation, it is also important to publicly acknowledge the men and women of Portuguese Cove who stepped up without hesitation and offered care and sustenance to total strangers with no expectation they would be rewarded for their generosity. They were, in effect, the unsung heroes of the day for, without their assistance, some of the sailors might not have survived. Credit must also go to John Chapman, fisherman and pilot, who found the Atalante’s small boats at sea, and guided them to the nearest safe place of habitation, before further dangers befell them.[9]

The hundred dollars sent to the Cove from the Naval Yard would have been a hugely welcome windfall for such a poor community. Let us hope that Christmas, 1813, was a particularly joyous one in Portuguese Cove, Nova Scotia.

Postscript:

Fig 5: Road sign for Portuguese Cove. (Photo: Hugh Kindred)

A roadside sign at Portuguese Cove mentions this location’s connection to the Atalante, although it does so with the bold and misleading claim that this was the “Site of HMS Atalante Wreck.” It would be better to acknowledge that the kindness of the people of the Cove was crucial to the safety of the 133 survivors of the wreck of the Atalante.

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[1] Marshall, Royal Naval Biography, 232.

[2] Hickey to Warren, 12 November 1813.

[3] By sea Portuguese Cove is eight miles south of Halifax Harbour. Its name apparently derived from earlier days when Portuguese fishermen worked in the area.  

[4] Hickey to Warren, 12 November 1813.

[5] See A Colonial Portrait: The Halifax Diaries of Lady Sherbrooke 1811-1816 (2011)  ed. G. Brenton Haliburton  Wednesday 13 November, 119.

[6] Hickey to Warren, 12 November 1813, National Archives of Canada.

[7] Wodehouse to RO, 17 November 1813.

[8] According to the 1827 Nova Scotia Provincial Census, fishermen John Munroe, George Sadler, and Richard Neale and their families were still living in Portuguese Cove. They also cultivated small acreages raising some hay, grain and potatoes.

[9] Thanks to Julian Gwyn for the information about the aftermath of the wreck of the Atalante, found in his book, Frigate and Foremast The North American Squadron in Nova Scotia Waters (2003), note 71, 183.

Fanny Palmer Austen: Challenges and Achievements in Making a Family Home Onboard HMS Namur

This month I helped the Chatham Historic Dockyard, Chatham, Kent, England celebrate their new exhibition, Hidden Heroines: The untold stories of women of the Dockyard. Here is the text from my talk on June 23 which was followed by a live Q&A.   For the video of this event, visit the Chatham Historic Dockyard website.

Fig. 1: Fanny Palmer Austen[1]

Fanny Palmer Austen was a young woman who had a unique connection to the Chatham Dockyard. She was never a flag maker in the Sail and Colour Loft or employed in Spinning Rooms as other 19th century women in this exhibition were. Fanny counts as one of the hidden heroines because of her life on HMS Namur.

The Namur was known as one of the most famous ships built at the Chatham Dockyard. When her husband, Captain Charles Austen, was in command from late 1811-1814, the capable Fanny undertook the unusual task of making a family home for him and their young daughters on board. Her candid and articulate letters written to family members reveal her opinions and sentiments about the challenges she faced. She tells us what it was like to be a naval wife and mother living at sea during the later years of the Napoleonic Wars. In fact, she provides a strikingly realistic picture of naval family life on board as seen from a woman’s perspective. Let me take you on board to discover how Fanny coped with this exceptional situation.

When Charles was commissioned into the Namur, Fanny must have wondered about the size of the ship and the vessel’s current naval duties. Launched at Chatham in 1756, the Namur saw action in nine sea battles.  Originally a three-decker ship of 90 guns, in 1804 she was reduced to a two decker with 74 guns. The Namur rode at anchor at the Great Nore, an area located offshore three miles northeast from Sheerness, Kent. She was in use as a receiving ship for sailors - both volunteers and pressed men - waiting to be assigned to warships needing crews. She also acted as a guard ship, the first line of defence against any enemy vessels that might attempt an attack on the Sheerness and Chatham Dockyards or an advance upon London further up the Thames. So, there was an element of risk where Fanny was to be located.

Fig. 2: HMS Namur as a ship of 90 guns. She is the largest vessel in the harbour.[2]

Once aboard, household management at sea tested Fanny’s ingenuity and patience. An initial priority was reconfiguring the captain’s quarters in the stern of the ship to best suit her family’s needs and comforts. She no doubt liked the look of the captain’s day cabin, with its large glass windows that provided a panoramic view of the Nore anchorage, and the opportunity for access to an exterior gallery. However, this room was sometimes used for Charles’s official business, so the adjacent areas became the family’s private preserve. Most likely there were existing walls which marked out a state room or sleeping cabin on one side and another cabin on the other. Fanny could complete the division of the remaining area assigned to the captain, by directing the placement of movable wooden panels. Fortunately, the family quarters enjoyed some measure of quiet and seclusion. They were only accessible from the quarter deck, which was the exclusive domain of the officers. An armed marine stood on guard at the entrance to the captain’s quarters, another unique feature of living on board.

So, what did Fanny think about what she had accomplished? I would like to read you some passages from Fanny’s letters, so you can hear her voice. Initially she was enthusiastic about the adaptations to make a family living space. She wrote to her brother-in-law, James Esten, in Bermuda. Mama & Palmer [her nephew] have been staying with us, … & we mean to keep them as long as the Holidays will permit: they are very much pleased with our habitation, which, now that we have got things to rights, we find extremely comfortable (21 January 1812). During a visit by her father several months later, Fanny noted: Papa is very much pleased with our accomodations & enjoys sleeping in a Cot extremely (5 March 1812).This was quite a feat for Fanny’s aging father, given that he was sleeping in a small canvas bed, only three feet wide, which swung suspended from the ceiling. Other members of the Austen family expressed an opinion. Charles’s sister, Cassandra Austen, observed to a cousin that [Fanny] and [their] children are actually living with [Charles] on board. We had doubted whether such a scheme would prove practicable during the winter, but they have found their residence very tolerably comfortable & it is so much the cheapest home she could have that they are very right to put up with little inconveniences.[3] Three months later, Cassandra visited the Namur to see for herself what she called Fanny and Charles’s aquatic abode.

Fanny was initially pleased she had got things to rights with our habitation, that she had created an establishment where they could live and sleep in relative comfort. Unfortunately, problems arose which interfered with the smooth running of her household. Fanny required at least one female servant to help with childcare, to perform basic domestic tasks and, by times, to serve as her lady’s maid. Yet, competent servants willing to live and work at sea proved difficult to find and even harder to retain. As Fanny wrote: I am much teased in my domestic concerns …  and am at this moment without a Nurse. Though I [had] a very nice woman in that capacity, …some lady has most unhandsomely enticed her away from me, by holding out advantages which I could not (30 June 1814.)  As a result of her servant problems, Fanny took on more domestic tasks herself than would ordinarily be expected of a gentlewoman.

It did not help that the weather was changeable and sometimes exceptionally rough. Seasickness was a problem for which Fanny had no easy remedy. Her eldest girl, Cassy, was particularly vulnerable and Fanny hated to see her grow thin and look poorly. Nor did Fanny want her children to suffer on board in frigid weather when a damp chill penetrated and persisted. From 1813 onward Fanny regularly sent a daughter to spend time on shore with her aunts: Jane, the acclaimed novelist, and Cassandra Austen at Chawton Cottage in Hampshire or to Fanny’s sister, Harriet Palmer, in London. This distressed her. She missed her daughters terribly in their absence. Such arrangements made it impossible to maintain the family intimacy which Fanny so greatly valued.

Furthermore, her efforts to create a pleasing and peaceful atmosphere within their home space were sometimes frustrated by the darker side of naval life. She was living in a world where misdemeanors were punished swiftly and brutally. The Royal Navy required that instances of mutinous language and conduct, disobedience of orders, theft, inter-personal violence, drunkenness or riotous behaviour must be punished by public flogging. During Fanny’s tenure on board there were five occasions of the cruellest sort of punishment, known as flogging around the fleet. Presumably, Charles was able to warn Fanny in advance when a flogging was about to occur. Perhaps he even arranged for her to be on shore in nearby Sheerness. Yet inevitably there must have been times when there was no ready escape from the distressed cries of the punished. We do not know how Fanny managed to cope with the cruelty of flogging, with the sound of suffering, with the ominous pulsating of the drums which accompanied the lashings, all terribly disturbing noises for her and her children.

Other features of Fanny’s situation came to bother her over time. She was lonely in her isolation from genteel female company. She felt confined by the limited area of the ship where she could move freely, this being parts of the quarter deck and the poop deck above.

It may sound as if Fanny was having a terribly difficult time on board, but in between the situations which tried her patience and triggered her disappointment, were happier, more satisfying occasions. She helped to create an atmosphere of supportive friendliness for midshipmen, the young trainee officers under Charles’s tutelage.  As these young men received some of their instruction in the captain’s cabin, they must have also benefited from Fanny’s feminine attention. They in turn gave her a sense of community within the navy of the quarterdeck.

Fanny also appreciated Charles’s initiatives to bring civilizing influences to rough and rigorous shipboard life. There was a band of musicians on board, although Fanny’s father, while visiting the Namur, remarked on the indifferent talent of the clarinet player. Nonetheless, it was cheering to have a source of music, even if it fell far short of professional standards. Charles encouraged his sailors to present theatrical entertainments for the edification of the officers and men. This pleased Fanny, although on one occasion she notes: we were all disappointed for the Theatre was not finished, & consequently, they were obliged to postpone acting until next Monday (22November 1813). 

Best of all was the joy of the uninterrupted togetherness of her family.  Fanny and the little girls had the pleasure of Charles’s regular company. He was at hand to help with the children’s education, to play with them at bedtime, and to celebrate the milestones of their development, such as when the baby of the family, little Fan, born early December 1812, showed great determination to walk on her own. Fanny and Charles could also share in their children’s newfound pleasures, such as Cassy’s delight when she mastered the technique of leaving the ship by the bosun’s chair, which swung her out from the Namur’s main deck and swooped her down to a waiting tender that would take her to shore.

So why is Fanny to be seen as a heroine? She was brave to take on the project of creating a home for her beloved family on a working naval ship during wartime. She was courageous to take the chance of living with small children on a coastal guard ship, exposed to the possibility of attack from the enemy’s navy across the North Sea. Fanny was also heroic in the way she carried out her life distinct from the expected behaviour of naval wives, who made homes on land, where shops, services and supplies were readily accessible, where social routines were predictable and comforts dependably available.    

Finally, Fanny had the courage to commit to a lifestyle of immediate support for Charles, to be his affectionate companion and to encourage him during the hazards and uncertainties of his naval career, regardless of the risks to herself. She was his heroine, as well as ours.[4]

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[1] Fanny’s portrait was painted by British artist, Robert Field, in Halifax in 1810. Private collection.

[2] “Town and Harbour of Halifax as they appear from the opposite shore called Dartmouth,” by Dominic Serres, 1762. Art Gallery of Nova Scotia.

[3] Cassandra Austen to Mrs George Whitaker (Phylly Walter), quoted in Austen Papers 1704-1856, ed. Austen-Leigh, (1942), 249.

Fanny Palmer Austen and HMS Namur: An Intriguing Connection and a New Exhibition

Fanny Palmer Austen created a home for her young family aboard her husband’s ship, HMS Namur (74 guns) during the later years of the Napoleonic wars. In so doing, Fanny entered a new phase of her life as a naval wife and mother, a role which challenged her courage and ingenuity. How she coped with this unusual situation and setting is the subject of one of the most interesting periods of her life story.

Fanny’s residency on the Namur is discussed at length in my book, Jane Austen’s Transatlantic Sister: The Life and Letters of Fanny Palmer Austen (MQUP, 2017, 2018).

This month, Fanny’s associations with the Namur are part of an innovative new exhibition opening at the Historic Dockyard, Chatham, Kent, England. Its theme is: Hidden Heroines: the untold stories of women of the Dockyard. It explores the valuable roles women played throughout the Dockyard’s 400 years history.

Fig. 1: Poster for Hidden Heroines.[1] Fanny’s face appears in the top right corner.

Fanny Austen’s grouping with these women is apt. Fanny was never part of the female work force at the Yard, like the other “hidden heroines” identified in the exhibition, but she vividly recorded her impressions of naval life on board the Namur, which was one of the most famous ships built at Chatham.[2] In her articulate and candid letters, Fanny speaks to the challenges of domesticity at sea and of her commitment to support and sustain the intimacy of family life while living in their “aquatic abode.”[3] Her remarks shed light on the challenges facing a naval wife in war time. Moreover, Fanny’s unique perspective makes an intriguing contribution to the saga of the women associated with the Dockyard over a period of several centuries.

Hidden Heroines is mounted in the No. 1 Smithery building of the Historic Dockyard, Chatham and runs May 29 – October 31, 2021. There will be a free digital version of the exhibition available on the Historic Dockyard website.

I am delighted tell you I will be helping the Historic Dockyard to celebrate Fanny Austen’s role as a hidden heroine. At a free Zoom event I will discuss Fanny’s life on the Namur, followed by a Q&A. The details are as follows:

Fanny Palmer Austen: Challenges and Achievements in Making a Family Home onboard the HMS Namur

June 23, 7:00 – 7:45 pm British Summer Time (6:00 - 6:45 pm GMT)

Click here for event registration

Please join us. June 23, 2021, by the way, would have been Charles Austen’s 242nd birthday. This is a unique way to celebrate! 

If you can visit the Hidden Heroines Exhibition on site, there is another fascinating display that has important connections to Fanny Austen.  The restored timbers of about 10% of the Namur’s frame are the significant centre piece of The Command of the Oceans Gallery, located in the 18th century Mast House and Mould Loft. The Namur was broken up at the Dockyard in the 1830s, but it was only in 1995 that a quantity of her timbers were discovered under the flooring of the Wheelwright’s Shop. These remnants of a once great ship contribute to understanding her design and construction, and together with accompanying contextual material, secure her place in the history of the Age of Sail.  But imagination also prompts consideration of another narrative. These timbers are the surviving remains of what was once Fanny and Charles Austen’s home at sea, an establishment where their little daughters laughed and played, where family members visited, and Jane Austen’s latest novels were most likely read. 

Fig. 2: Timbers from the Namur [4]

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[1] Photo credit: Chatham Historic Dockyard Trust

[2] HMS Namur, originally a 2nd rate ship of the line with 90 guns was launched at the Chatham Dockyard in 1756. She subsequently saw action in nine sea battles during the Seven Years War, the French Revolutionary Wars and the Napoleonic Wars. By the time the Charles Austen family had taken up residence aboard in January1812, she had been cut down to a two decker of 74 guns and she was not longer sailing into battle. Instead, the Namur was the guard ship at the Nore, the anchorage three miles northeast off Sheerness, Kent. She was also a receiving ship for sailors waiting to be assigned to warships.

[3] This is Cassandra’s terminology. See Cassandra Austen to Mrs George Whitacker (nee Phylly Walter) in Richard A Austen -Leigh, Austen Papers 1704-1856, 1942, 251-2.

[4] Photo credit: Hugh Kindred.