The Captain Transcript (Scotland: A Scottish History Podcast)
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Scotland - A Scottish History Podcast
Episode 59 - The Captain
NARRATOR
It is 1793. The storm rages around them as they try with everything they have left, exhausted, soaked, salt, and sweat, and blood blinding them to keep her from going over.
The brig has been home for many of them. Even though they all knew the risk they would rather be aboard the Clitus than anywhere else in the world… well almost.
And now she was failing them. She was going to kill them if they weren’t careful. The storm would force her onto her side, the rushing water would pull them all under.
Somewhere in the dark, occasionally looming with a dot of lamplight from a lone rider was the East coast of Scotland.
Too far to be helpful, too close to not see the torn sails billowing in the light of thrown lanterns.
Too close not to hear the cacophony of human disaster as a proud Man o’ War of the French Navy tried with everything she had not to give way and condemn her crew to either death or imprisonment.
War was war. It didn’t matter how the ship went down… the British would be happy that it did.
The Clitus was dying her first death, dashed on the rocks.
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This is Scotland. A podcast about history and where we made it. I’m Michael Park.
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It is 1807. You’d ignore your mother, risking the wrath of your father - if you could really call it a wrath - to watch the ships coming and going in the harbour. That’s where you learned to love the sea, to love the way it chopped and changed with every passing minute and at the whim of the wind.
The ship navigates its way into the harbour, provided the wind is right, before a team of men take up ropes and pull her sideways into her berth. Every time you watch it it gets more and more impressive.
The ship isn’t so big really but to you at just 14 years old she is massive. Business is starting to boom for your father and he is taking great pleasure in including you and your younger siblings in the success. He sits you down at night and tells you that if things keep going his way he is going to have a stunning brig built which will be able to carry both timber and coal between the two coasts.
You were expected to keep up your lessons and your father would throw testing questions about cargo loads and average yields at you over dinner.
You’d bat them back at him like an old hand.
Of course, you were expected to help with the daily chores after you came home from school but more often than not your mother would find you kicking your heels against the harbour wall and have to drag you home by your ear.
After all, you were the oldest of eight and if the others were to follow your example then nothing would ever get done. So you scrubbed the floors and emptied the coal out of the fire and went to fetch water. Doing what you were telt was part of life.
It is 1812 when the new ship is ready. You and your brothers and sisters sit on the harbour wall all day waiting for your father and then suddenly it hoves into view on the horizon... your father’s new ship, the one he had dreamt of for years and the one that would take the company to the next level.
A beautiful two-masted brig made from reclaimed timber. Its beautifully painted black hull dazzled in the morning sunlight and the brand new white canvas of its sails fluttered as it came into port.
The Clitus had risen, and she belonged to you.
He was a real character, your dad. The kind of guy that took absolutely no crap from anyone, but also stood more than his fair share of rounds in the local. He now ran the biggest timber company in the area, shipping wood up and down the coast and away over to Ireland. And the second you finished school you went to join him, taking over the books and the administration of the company.
And there you stayed, day in day out, six days a week with the odd Christmas Day off for years until you were in your thirties, your father was in his dotage and your wee brother John had pretty much taken over the day-to-day running of the family business and its ship.
The Clitus was a 14-hand cargo brig, and it was a little more luxurious than most, with the poop deck that was uncommon for a merchant ship of its size a direct callback to its former life as a long-range warship.
It was a sturdy, well-kept vessel with a good crew that knew what it was doing when the chips were down and wee John was a competent ship’s master who had a bright future ahead of him running the family business.
So it goes.
One day in September 1833 he would head out from Saltcoats with a few of the boys from the crew and his pal Gilchrist. Just a wee open sail boat for a day out with the lads on the Horse Isle... just across from the town. Barely an inconvenience, he’d done it loads of times.
And then when they were coming home the weather would pick up, the storm would get out ahead of them and although they were all experienced sailors who tried to make for a safe harbour in Millport, the sea would swallow them all and your life would never be the same again.
Your father was in no fit state to take the wheel back and you’d spent a fair bit of time at sea so…
You step aboard the Clitus. You, a 40 year old woman, stand in front of the 14 hands on the ship that you and your father sat around the kitchen table plotting to buy, planning the future, believing for every single second in the force of his ability to get it done.
You look each of them dead in the eye and they look back at you, dressed in all the finery of a Georgian lady right down to the wee lacey bonnet.
And the crew of the Clitus, in turn, say ‘aye ma’am’ as you give the order to prepare for launch.
There’s plenty of laughter and rolled eyes in your rival port of Irvine, but not a word is said in Saltcoats and Ardrossan where they know you - Betsy Miller - the Captain of the Clitus. The sea’s in your blood, and in the blood of your wee sister Hannah who acts as your second in command.
You go to sea without reputation, aside from being the only woman in command of a ship… anywhere as far as anyone can work out… but you gain a reputation for being fearless over the 30-odd years that the deck of the ship would become your home.
The fourteen men of the Clitus, experienced sailors all, know about your proclivity for risk. Your battle cry…
FV: Betsy
“I don’t wait for the ‘carry’!”
NARR
...is seen by many your two fingered salute to the prevailing winds which would make the life of most sea captains difficult on their sailings to Ireland. You knew that there’s always money to be made and make money you will.
When you took over the company the family had been heavily in debt but you work and you work… relentlessly and do everything you can to drag them back to prosperity.
Of course you’d sailed before, at any given opportunity, this wasn’t something that an inexperienced sailor could do. Especially not if you wanted to ignore the received wisdom of generations and beat the carry.
But it’s not about wanting to beat the carry and bring in more money than your peers.
This isn’t a challenge that you set yourself, some misplaced bravado. You have to sail more, you have to trade more. Because the good old brig Clitus has one more death to die.
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MIDROLL?
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It is 1839. The eye of a hurricane is quiet.
The rest of it is very, very loud indeed. And as you look out over the harbour where the Clitus has been happily resting in its berth you see the storm clouds forming.
They say it’s going to be a bad one.
They have no idea.
A valued correspondent of the Glasgow Chronicle takes up the story.
“THE LATE DREADFUL STORM. We noticed in our last the tremendous hurricane that visited Glasgow and its neighbourhood on Monday morning last. Little damage was done here; but have, unfortunately, another tale to tell respecting the sea and the south country. The following is from a valued correspondent at Troon:—
TO THE EDITOR OF THE GLASGOW CHRONICLE, Troon, Jan. 8, 1839, 4am*. Sir, l beg to offer for insertion in your paper an account of a most disastrous storm that has been and is still raging here. It began about the evening of the 6th, at South by West, and gradually increased, and veering round to the West.
When about five on the morning of the 7th it seemed to have assumed more of the hurricanes or tornados of tropical climates, than even the most violent storms that have ever been experienced here.
The harbour was unfortunately full of vessels, and some of them huge for coasters; and I am sorry to say, that in about an hour after the tempest appeared to reach its height, the vessels began to break adrift from the harbour.
To the seamen on board the feeling must have been awful; for though the moon was up, there was little light, and the vessels were crashing against each other fearfully, carrying away masts, bowsprits etc.
A dozen had got adrift nearly about the same time, and several others soon followed. At daybreak the scene was truly distressing. Upwards of twenty vessels on the strand, some filled with water, others filling, while shortly afterwards the seamen of some were seen on the rigging.
There was great apprehension that there might be a serious loss of lives, as it was thought no boat could be pulled off to them, and the life boat was sent for to Irvine; but, dreading its late arrival, eight brave seamen manned a boat, and proceeded to the vessels where the crew appeared to suffer most. The attempt was daring in the extreme from the outset; but after landing one boat full, there came a lull, and about 40 seamen were thus landed.
The life-boat came the afternoon, and was used to take off four seamen from a vessel ashore in a more exposed situation, where a boat could not have been sent.
About one a small sloop was seen approaching a rocky shore, and soon came on with a terrible crash, where she is likely to go to pieces. The crew were fortunately all saved. It is uncertain whether there are any drowned ; we think there cannot be more than one or two.
In the afternoon the storm abated, but towards night it increased, and has now for some time been raging, at North West almost as heavy as ever, accompanied with heavy snow showers, and I am afraid the work of destruction only half begun on the previous night, will by this morning, be completed.
Many have lost their little all, particularly sailors, who will Ic thrown out ot employment with loss of clothes, etc.
VESSELS ON SHORE OR DAMAGED AT TROON, JANUARY 8TH, 1839
Dundonald, of Troon; Dykes, Maryport; Waterloo Packet, of Yarmouth ; Margaret, of Dundalk ; Ariel, of Aberdeen ; Clitus, of Saltcoats; Endeavour, of Holyhead ; of Dublin Roe, of Troon; Harmony, of Troon ; Betsy Packet, of Campbeltown ; Waterloo, of Belfast ; Gooiintent, Troon Eclipse, of Ayr; Saint Irvine, Strangford ; Adeoua. Gloucester; Jean Margaret, of Dumtries; Margaret Brown, of Troon; Tarbolton, Troon; Martha, Cardigan; Eliaibeth, ol liangur; Success, of Belfast; Barassie, of Troon Bei- Icck Castle, of Troon; Enterprise, of Belfast; Commerce, Ballast Ann, of Dundee; Aim, of Limerick; George Lawrence, Cork; Pilot Wexford; John Metcalf, ®f Bangor; Commodore, of Ponaferry and Helen, of Belfast. correspondent writes that the Irvine life-boat, under the command Captain Wylie, and boat belonging the Duke of Portland, were essential service in saving the lives of several crews. Messrs. Wilson, Thomson, Douglas, and Paton, were conspicuous for their efficient exertions, and lives were lost, but vast damage has been sustained the ships.”
The Clitus was one of the ships ripped from its berth by hurricane strength winds, leaving you to pick up the pieces along with 33 other ships beached at Troon.
Left with expensive repairs and no income you were forced to laugh in the face of the carry. You were forced to take the jobs that no-one else would take in the worst of conditions to put yourself back on track. The debts you had inherited with the company weren’t going away anytime soon but now you had to pay for the extensive repairs to your ship which, by the whim of bad fortune, had been dashed on the sands at Troon while your crew tried desperately to save her.
All the while you cracked jokes about your rivals in Irvine, while your livelihood tried to kill you.
FV: Betsy
"Haud on lads, I'll gang below and put on a clean sark! Ah’d like to be flung up on the sauns haf’ decent. They Irvine folks are nasty, noticin' buddies."
The Clitus could die as many times as it wanted. You would always bring it back. It would always provide, whether it liked it or not.
From 1833 to the day you retire in 1861 you ignore the received wisdom. You fight the carry. You make the runs that others refuse to make.
After all, you’re Betsy Miller. You’re the Captain.
[10 seconds]
"A Glasgow paper notices the demise of Miss Betsy Miller, aged 71, whose life and labours have often been quoted as illustrative of what a right-minded, earnest, and indefatigable woman can do in order to discharge a debt and earn an honourable maintenance. Miss Miller was a daughter of the late Mr. W. Miller, for a long time a shipowner and wood merchant in Saltcoats. In her younger years she acted as clerk and "ship's husband" to her father, and when business affairs took an unfavourable turn, with a resolution which truly might be called heroic, she took the command of an old brig, the Clitus, and became "sailing-master". So successful was her career that she enabled to pay off a debt of £700, which her father's estate owed, maintain herself in comfort, and bring up two sisters left dependent upon her. The Clitus traded between Ardrossan and the coast of Ireland for more than 30 years; she transacted all the business connected with freight, cargo, and ship's course through all weathers"
Your younger sister Hannah would go on as master of the Clitus for as long as she could, but she didn’t love the job in the same way you did and the ship would be sold in 1876 for £122 and broken up.
The final death of the good old brig.
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You’ve been listening to Scotland, it was written and produced by me, Michael Park and is a production of Be Quiet Media.
This episode takes inspiration from the Captain in Criniline and Lady Mariners by the late, great Joan Biggar.
The music for every episode of Scotland is by Mitch Bain, you can check out more of his work at mitchbain.bequiet.media.
Jamie Mowat does amazing illustrations for us which you can see in our episode art. See more and buy prints at tidlin.com.
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