To Matthew Frost, God’s adventurer.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Part One: Survivor
1 Two Brothers
2 The Captain’s Story
3 The First Mate’s Tale
4 Eighteenth-Century Rashomon
Part Two: Soldier
5 Peter Alekseevich
6 Babel
7 Apraxin
8 Prizes
9 Court Martial
10 A History of the Russian Fleet
Part Three: Spy
11 Townsend
12 Who Sent You Here?
13 O’Connor
14 That Violent Spirit Now Ceasing
15 Tell Me What You Will Undertake And I Will Do It
16 Neither at Peace or at War
17 Revisions
Part Four: Statesman
18 Water for Wine
19 The Duke of Lorraine
20 Irish Confederates and English Smugglers
21 Abused by this Madman
Part Five: Survivor
22 1746
23 Mr Miller
24 Last Will and Testament
Epilogue
Appendices: John Deane in Fiction
Plate Section
Copyright
Acknowledgements
My thanks go to the following, whose assistance, tip-offs, encouragements and crash pads contributed to the writing of The Shipwreck Cannibals: Peter Nightingale; Susannah Nightingale; Alec and Jo Cobb; Gio Baffa; Nigel Brown (the Sheriff of D Block); Margaret Kight; Paul Baker; Carol King; the staff of the National Archives; Mark Beynon, Lindsey Smith, Lauren Newby and Cate Ludlow of The History Press; John Pycroft and the staff and pupils of Emmanuel Church of England School; Bromley House; Warren Weiss; and Richard Warner, whose original research provided the skeleton to which I added the succulent meat.
What shall we do unto thee, that
the sea may be calm unto us?
The Book of Jonah
Introduction
Of the ten survivors of the Nottingham Galley, Captain John Deane was one of the few that could still physically stand upright when a New England fishing boat retrieved him and his crew from the rock the locals had christened Boon Island. The fishing vessel, or shallop, had left the open sea and had entered the mouth of the Piscataqua River on the way to Portsmouth where food, lodging and medical attention awaited Deane and his crew.
There had been fourteen survivors when the ship had struck rock and marooned the crew on Boon Island. Four had died. Two had perished on the island and one was lost to the ocean. The body of the last of the dead had been discovered on the mainland. The rest had survived for twenty-four days blasted by the wind and soaked by the ocean, with no natural shelter and virtually nothing to eat. They had come close to starvation. They had come near to madness and had believed themselves eternally damned. They had all done something to survive that they were loath to talk about away from the confraternity of survivors. They had eaten human flesh.
John Deane’s credit was good and he was keen to get to his lodgings ahead of the rest. He had arranged for a canoe to take him to Portsmouth faster than the shallop could presently manage. Deane transferred from the shallop to the canoe. He took his friend Charles Whitworth with him. Whitworth was lame in both feet and incapable of walking. He had to be carried into the canoe. The two men reached shore at eight o’clock in the evening. Deane spotted his lodgings and leapt out of the canoe. He forgot himself for a moment. He had barely strength enough to walk but now he ran to his lodgings. He entered the house unannounced. He was skeletal. His hands were torn ragged and some of his fingernails were missing. The house belonged to Jethro Furber, a friend of Deane’s who had led the party that had rescued him and his crew from Boon Island. As Deane entered the house unannounced he encountered Thurber’s wife and children who fled from him in fright.
Deane seemed indifferent to the fact that he had driven his hosts from their own home. He walked around the house until he found the kitchen. He picked out the ingredients for a meal, some turnips and some beef. He placed them on the kitchen table, determined to cook something for Mr Whitworth and the men that had rowed him here. He began to prepare the meal. He reserved a small piece of turnip for himself and ate it raw.
Preparations for the meal were disrupted when a group of local men entered the kitchen. They laid hands on John Deane and dragged him from the kitchen table. Confusion reigned for a short while until Mrs Thurber returned to the house with more accurate information. John Deane was released, taken to his room and tended to. Mr Whitworth was lifted from the canoe and carried to the Thurber house.
The remaining survivors of the Nottingham Galley were brought to Portsmouth and taken care of by the town’s populace. Most of them were incapable of walking. Most had suffered horribly from frostbite. Only John Deane retained possession of all of his fingers and toes. Many of the survivors would never regain full health. A few would die shortly afterward.
The men convalesced as best they could. The town seemed to take them to heart. It was evident that a great drama had played itself out some seven leagues from where they lived. The survivors were rendered heroes in the eyes of the populace. But it couldn’t last. At some point the protest, the official account a captain must give when he has lost his vessel, had to be written. The shared secret needed to be addressed. They had all eaten human flesh. They had done it to survive. They had eaten a man already dead. No innocent blood had been shed. But any potential scandal Deane must have anticipated was all of a sudden subsumed in a new controversy.
Deane wrote his protest. Christopher Langman, the first mate, countersigned it. But as soon as he was well enough to leave his lodgings Langman turned on his captain. Along with the boatswain Nicholas Mellin and George White, a member of the crew, Langman appeared before a local magistrate and all three signed affidavits denouncing John Deane. They accused Deane, his brother Jasper and Charles Whitworth of fraud. They claimed that Jasper Deane and Charles Whitworth had overinsured the ship’s cargo and that John Deane, on at least two separate occasions, had tried to lose the ship so that Jasper Deane and Charles Whitworth might claim on the insurance. The second attempt to lose the ship had resulted in the wreck of the Nottingham Galley and the subsequent loss of four lives. Langman, Mellin and White also accused John Deane of having perpetrated a violent assault on the first mate in the hours immediately preceding the shipwreck.
Little seemed to have been done to address the accusations in New England so Deane and company, and Langman and company, returned to the British Isles and resumed the controversy there. In London, John Deane got wind of the fact that Langman intended to publish a detailed account of the Boon Island adventure. Jasper Deane quickly rushed into print Deane’s version of events, narrowly beating Langman to the punch. A pamphlet war erupted. And although accusations of fraud and brutality were the principle charges for each side to either prosecute or refute; tales of cannibalism were the salacious anecdotes lapped up by the reading public that turned the affair into a cause celebre. And although both parties agreed on the necessity of eating human flesh in their warring versions of events, each put their own spin on theirs and their enemies’ attitudes towards cannibalism.
Everyone involved would be tainted by the events of Boon Island. But because John Deane lived the longest and achieved the most, the weight of the broken taboo hung heaviest upon him. And despite a career that would bring him into the orbit of Peter the Great and Robert Walpole, heaping glory and further shame upon him, the spectre of Boon Island would always cling to him, like Sinbad’s Old Man of the Sea, wrappe
d around his throat and waist, choking him, virtually impossible to dislodge no matter how hard he tried.
1
Two Brothers
John Deane was born in either 1678 or 1679. His older brother was named Jasper after their father. He had a sister named Martha. The family was moderately wealthy. Other than that, virtually nothing is known of Deane’s youth and early adulthood. His childhood home was the village of Wilford. The parish of Wilford was situated on the southern borders of Nottingham. Nottingham Castle was visible across the River Trent and the fields that separated Nottingham from Wilford Village. The dark, compact Anglican beauty of St Wilfrid’s church dominated the river bank on John Deane’s side of the Trent. Access to Nottingham was granted by ferry. In landlocked Nottinghamshire the ferry would have been John Deane’s principal contact with the element of water in his early years.
By the time John Deane was ready to embark for New England, Nottingham was still the modest conurbation that Daniel Defoe would describe in the 1720s as, ‘one of the most beautiful and pleasant towns in England’. Wilford was a benign satellite to the pleasant East Midlands town. Although subject to the rigours of an eighteenth century quasi-pastoral existence that included unnavigable roads, punishing winters, flooding, poaching and the occasional act of highway robbery, Wilford was a relatively pleasant place for John Deane to have grown up in. The only real emblem of the chaotic world beyond the county’s borders was the presence in Nottingham of a prisoner of war, the French aristocrat Camille d’Houston, the Comte de Tallard, captured at the Battle of Blenheim and residing in the town under luxurious house arrest.
The biographical void of John Deane’s early years would become filled with tall tales. John Deane was a butcher’s apprentice. He fell in with a gang of professional deer thieves. He left the gang for fear of the gallows but the itch for excitement remained. He sought satisfaction through legalistic channels and joined the Royal Navy. He fought against the French in the War of Spanish Succession. He prospered under the martial governance of Admiral Rooke. He was present at the liberation of Gibraltar. He was promoted to the rank of captain. He left the navy but by 1710 was broke and in need of a financially rewarding venture that would satisfy his taste for high adventure. He threw in with his brother and decided to go to New England.
Apart from the friends and business contacts the Deanes had clearly established in New England, and a reference in a letter John Deane wrote in the late 1720s to having been in the coastal Irish town of Dungarvan ‘at the beginning of the late French wars’, virtually nothing of the elaborate prequel to the events of 1710 can be substantiated. Most of it came from the imagination of the forgotten Victorian writer W.H.G. Kingston, author of a popular novel about John Deane. Many of the fanciful imaginings of Kingston’s fiction were reported as fact by Victorian and Edwardian historians and still exist as corruptions in the biography of John Deane to this day. Whatever the true nature of John Deane’s naval apprenticeship, his brother Jasper certainly felt confident enough in his abilities to offer him the captaincy of a small ship in a trade voyage to the English colonies on the east coast of North America. Jasper Deane had gone into partnership with the merchant Charles Whitworth. He had bought a 120-ton ship. He named the ship the Nottingham Galley. Its cargo of rope and cheese was jointly owned by Jasper Deane and Charles Whitworth. A crew was recruited and plans were made for a late-season voyage to Boston in 1710.
The Nottingham Galley may have originally been Swedish, a prize taken in war and then sold on to Jasper Deane. Its ten guns were certainly Swedish. If the vessel itself wasn’t from Sweden then the guns may have been fitted onto an unarmed English vessel, weapons on a merchant ship being a necessity even in times of peace as attack from pirates was a constant threat. But England was still at war with France and the coastal waters were fertile hunting grounds for Louis XIV’s privateers.
Half of the Nottingham Galley’s cargo was in London. The other half was in Ireland. To get there the Nottingham Galley would have to sail the long way round the British coast in order to minimise the chance of encountering the French. This was not the only risk. The lateness of the season meant a greater chance of storms and bad weather.
In August 1710 fourteen men set sail for New England. What follows is John and Jasper Deane’s version of events.
2
The Captain’s Story
John and Jasper Deane’s account of the voyage began as they approached the Irish port of Killybegs to pick up their cargo before setting sail for Boston. Prior to this, as Langman’s account would attest, they had set sail from Gravesend in early August and sailed to Whitby under the protection of a merchant convoy guarded by two men-of-war before Deane had broken away from the convoy and sailed to Killybegs. Between the shore of the mainland and the island of Arran, as they approached Killybegs from the south, they spotted two ships heading toward them. The ships were French privateers.
Langman would make much of Deane’s encounter with the privateers, accusing him of deliberately trying to secure the ship’s capture. John Deane, in his account, didn’t mention the privateer episode at all. The Jasper Deane-sponsored account gave it short shrift, stating that John Deane’s intentions, should the Nottingham Galley fail to outrun the French, was to run the ship aground and torch her rather than submit to capture.
The privateers were successfully evaded and the Nottingham Galley docked in Killybegs. Deane’s cargo was a mixture of rope, which he had taken on board in London, and butter and cheese, which was waiting for him in Ireland. Three hundred pieces of cheese and 30 tons of butter were loaded onto the Nottingham Galley at Killybegs. The ship set sail for Boston on 25 September 1710. Nothing dramatic happened of any significance until the Nottingham Galley approached New England in early December.
Land was spotted. The Nottingham Galley was east of the Piscataqua River, heading south toward Massachusetts Bay. The coast of New England was covered in snow. A north-easterly gale assailed the Nottingham Galley with hail, rain and snow. A thick fog enveloped the ship and the mainland was obscured from view. The fog hung on the ocean for approximately twelve days. Around the eleventh day the fog lifted for fifteen minutes. In that tiny window of visibility John Deane observed the mainland and tried to determine where they were. Neither Deane nor his crew could make any kind of accurate judgement as to their exact position; ‘unaccountable currents’ had dragged them off course. Nevertheless John Deane ascertained that the safest course of action would be to steer the ship in a south-westerly direction because the wind was blowing in from the north-east and land lay to the north-east and the south-west. His intention was to sail south-west until ten o’clock that evening and then lie by until daybreak the following morning. It was the eleventh of December, or thereabouts.
The weather was against them. The Nottingham Galley was peppered with further rain, wind and snow. John Deane had posted a member of the crew as a lookout. Deane stood watch himself. The time was somewhere between eight or nine o’clock at night. Through the evening black, John Deane spotted waves breaking where there shouldn’t have been waves. He called instructions to the steerman to, ‘Put helm hard a starboard!’ The command caught the steerman by surprise. The steerman bungled his orders but it made no difference. The command had been issued too late. The Nottingham Galley had struck rock.
The impact was violent and disorientating. The waves were high and the night so dark that whatever the ship had hit was barely visible through the black. The crew couldn’t stand upright on deck. The ship was lifted by the waves and swung parallel with an island that none of the crew could yet see. Waves broke across the deck. John Deane ordered his crew to take immediate shelter in his cabin. Fourteen men huddled together below deck. John Deane called his crew to prayer for their immediate deliverance. Once they had offered up pleas to God, John Deane set them to work. He ordered his men back on deck. He commanded them to chop down the masts. He led by example. Some, but not all of the crew, followed him. Those that stayed be
hind had temporarily lost their nerve, paralysed by the fear of death and the prospect, despite their prayers, of imminent eternal damnation.
The wind, for the only time that night, aided John Deane and his crew. The force of the gale snapped the masts before Deane and company could do any real damage to them. The ship’s masts fell toward the mass of rock barely discernible in the dark. A crew member risked his life by climbing onto the bowsprit and trying to see what it was exactly that the ship had struck. He was the first to make out the small land mass and reported his observations to the captain. The masts had formed a bridge and a possible route of escape, should the hull of the ship be breached. Deane summoned Christopher Langman, the first mate. He called on Langman because he was a strong swimmer. Deane selected two more equally skilful swimmers and gave them the task of reaching the rock and finding the safest place for the remainder of the crew to join them. Once Langman and company had found a safe point of disembarkation they were to alert Deane. Langman and company shimmied across the masts toward the rock. Deane returned to his cabin.
John Deane had gone back to the cabin in order to retrieve anything that might have been of value to the crew if the ship sank. He was looking for official papers, money and the means to make a fire, namely gunpowder and a flint. He was making provision for the dual prospect of either being marooned or rescued. Deane descended the steps below deck and entered his cabin. As he began gathering his things the ship lurched and the stern sank deeper into the ocean. The walls of the ship bulged inward. Seawater entered the ship at a frightening rate. Deane had underestimated the damage that had been done. The spine of the Nottingham Galley had been shattered and she was drowning in salt water. Deane grabbed what he could and struggled to get back on deck. It was a near call. He had come dangerously close to drowning in the belly of his own dying vessel.
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