History Scotland Magazine: Resurrecting the Swan: Archaeology of a Cromwellian Shipwreck, 1653.

Resurrecting the Swan: Archaeology of a Cromwellian Shipwreck, 1653.

Colin Martin (Reader in Scottish History, University of St Andrews)

Historical background

In early September 1653 a Cromwellian task force anchored off Duart Castle in Mull, the staunchly royalist Maclean stronghold it had come to besiege. The fleet's six ships disembarked a thousand troops under their commander, Colonel Ralph Cobbett, only to find the castle abandoned. Sir Allan, the nine-year-old clan chief, had prudently fled to the neighbouring island of Tiree with his tutor and personal retinue. The soldiers fortified the castle and set about preparing it for occupation.

Anchored in the shelter of Mull's looming bulk the ships were secure from the prevailing south westerly winds, but not from the open Sound to the north west. On 13 September a violent gale from this direction struck the anchored vessels, sinking three of them. Two were requisitioned cargo ships, Martha and Margaret of Ipswich and Speedwell of Lyn. These capacious merchantmen had been engaged in supplying Cromwell's forces in Scotland with East Anglian grain via Leith, where a strongly fortified maritime base had been established. There they were re-hired to convey troops and siege artillery to Mull to crush a royalist revolt led by the Earl of Glencairn and extirpate his principal supporters, the Macleans of Duart. Almost all the fleet's munitions and provisions were lost with Martha and Margaret, although her artillery was saved. The Speedwell was less fortunate, for of the twenty-three still on board (most of the troops had already landed) when she went down only one survived. All this occurred, according to a contemporary account, 'in sight of our men at land, who saw their friends drowning, and heard them crying for help, but could not save them'.

The third casualty was a small warship called the Swan, which had joined the expedition from Cromwell's western base at Ayr. This 200-ton vessel had a chequered and unusual history. She was built as a royal warship for Charles I in 1641 to replicate the light build and agile performance of a continental privateer, in an attempt to counter piracy in the Channel approaches and the Irish Sea. However, she was soon caught up in the Civil War, providing a vital link between the king's supporters in Ireland and North Wales. But in 1645, while anchored off Dublin, her unpaid and disgruntled crew was persuaded to change sides by the captain of a Parliamentary frigate on the promise of regular wages, and in due course the ship became part of the Commonwealth navy. In this guise the Swan came to Mull in 1653.

Shipwreck discovered

In 1979 the remains of a wooden ship and several iron cannons were located off Duart Point by a naval diver, John Dadd, who also recovered some seventeenth-century artefacts. The site was designated by Historic Scotland as a protected wreck in 1992 following seabed disturbances that uncovered well-preserved but fragile deposits of organic material. This led to a rescue intervention by the Archaeological Diving Unit, a government-sponsored agency based at St Andrew's University, in which the exposed items were recovered and brought to Edinburgh for conservation by the National Museums of Scotland.

At the time the situation was without precedent in Scotland, for until then historic shipwrecks had fallen outside the remit of its statutory agencies. In a landmark decision Historic Scotland allocated funding from its rescue budget to assess and consolidate the site, while further grants were provided by the National Museums. In 1993 a major award from the Russell Trust enabled an underwater archaeological team to be established at St Andrews to investigate the wreck under the writer's direction, while supporting facilities on shore were made available by the Maclean family at Duart, against whose ancestors the Cromwellians had launched their ill-fated attack. Further financial support from the Pilgrim and Esme Fairbairn Trusts allowed the project to go forward, and since 1999 the excavation has been sponsored by a grant from the Arts and Humanities Research Board.

Pluses and minuses of underwater archaeology

Archaeological work under water is carried out on the same principles, and to the same high standards, as on land. Although the sub-sea environment imposes restrictions on a diver-at Duart, for example, the time any individual can spend on the site is limited to two hours daily by its depth of about ten metres-there are compensating bonuses. Far from being an impediment to excavation, water is an excellent medium for sorting through seabed deposits and cleaning off features for recording. Then again, because a diver is effectively weightless, and submerged objects are lightened by the amount of water they displace, feats of apparently superhuman strength can be accomplished with ease. Terrestrial excavators might well envy our ability to hover above a trench without touching it! Finally, the site is contained in a small and clearly defined area in which archaeological features are readily identifiable, exceptionally rich in finds and environmental evidence, and attributable to interrelated, closed, and precisely dated contexts.

The wreck lies at the base of an underwater slope that drops from Duart Point to a flat shingle seabed thickly shrouded with kelp. It appears that the ship struck broadside-on before sliding down the rock face to break up at its foot. Few visible traces now remain apart from two mounds of stone ballast which pin down the largely buried remains of the lower hull, and a scatter of encrusted iron objects which dropped from the disintegrating decks above, including an anchor and some of the ship's guns. Here and there, pieces of structure and other eroded organic objects protrude from the sea floor. Most of what survives has been preserved by burial in the silt that was attracted and trapped by the disintegrating hull. Much consists of wonderfully well preserved but extremely fragile organic material-wood, bone, leather, fibre and textile. But the environmental instability which has revealed it is also threatening to destroy it, so precipitating Scotland's first underwater rescue excavation crisis.

A survey of the visible remains was completed by establishing datum points and grids within which standard one-metre drawing frames were placed. The building up of a composite plan, coupled with a range of assessment procedures, has revealed that the erosion is most serious in the area identified as containing the remains of the collapsed stern, and it has been decided to recover the information and artefacts preserved here by excavating the upper levels.

Identification

Though the historical context of the wreck is well established, its identification has followed a close assessment of the archaeological evidence. The latest coin so far identified is a silver crown of Charles I, issued by his temporary mint at Exeter in 1645/6, so the wreck must have occurred after that date. Because of their capacity for cross-national distribution, coins are not always reliable indicators of a wreck's nationality, but the probability of an English origin for this ship is reinforced by the find of three merchants' weights struck with Charles I's cipher and London control marks. An association with Scotland is suggested by part of a snaphaunce pistol lock bearing an Edinburgh maker's initials dating to c.1640-60, while a connection with the West Highlands is revealed by the find of a vernacular crogain pot and a block of peat. The mid-seventeenth century date is confirmed by other finds of pottery, including a corked Rheinish Bellarmine with its as yet unidentified contents intact, and a drug jar full of ointment in which the finger-scoops of its last user can still be seen.

More revealing of the ship's historical associations is a small group of clay pipes. Stylistically they support the date suggested by the pottery, and two examples bear the letters 'NW' inside a heart. These initials appear to be those of a Newcastle pipemaker, for almost all recorded examples of this mark have been found there. His name is unknown, but many of his products were discovered during the excavation of a pit that seems to have been dug when the city's Royalist defenders fortified it against an attack by the Scots in 1644. Newcastle fell to the Scots and so to Parliament, but with the changing fortunes of war it became the main base for Cromwell's operations against Scotland in 1650-53. This explains the distribution of the few 'NW' pipes discovered outside Newcastle-at St Andrews, Kirkwall, Belfast, and now Duart. These are all places associated with the activities of Cromwellian troops in the early 1650s, and so the pipes may reasonably be seen as indicators of the Newcastle-based commissariat that kept the Commonwealth forces supplied during their campaigns in Scotland and Ireland.

The establishment of a mid-seventeenth century date for the wreck, combined with its apparent association with Commonwealth troop movements, led to the identification of the 1653 disaster as the almost certain explanation for the remains off Duart Point. But which of the three lost vessels do they represent? A compelling answer was provided by an unexpected and unusual group of finds. Among the recoveries made when parts of the wreckage became exposed in 1992 were a number of wooden carvings from the ship's exterior decoration, and others have been found since. Decoration of this kind was reserved almost exclusively for royal warships, and from the early seventeenth century European monarchs sought to express their power and prestige by trying to out-do one another in the embellishment of their ships. The capsizing of Sweden's Vasa in 1628 may have been due in part to the excessive weight of carvings high above the waterline, while carving and gilding for Charles I's super-battleship Sovereign of the Seas, launched in 1637, accounted for more than ten per cent of her unprecedented price of over 65,000. This extravagance was criticised at the time not only for its excessive cost, but also for the negative effect it had on the stability and performance of the ship.

Visual impact rather than performance

Just such carvings have been found on the Duart Point wreck. They include a winged cherub, a helmeted warrior, and a draped female figure set between two trees with an anchor at her feet. She is holding a bird of prey. The latter carving, with its pseudo-classical connotations, is comparable with some of the well-documented motifs recorded on the Sovereign. A more direct royal connection is revealed by part of the coronet and ostrich feather badge of the heir apparent with its 'Ich Dien' motto, and by the harp and thistle, emblems of Ireland and Scotland. Of the three ships lost in the Duart incident only one-the small warship Swan-could have carried such symbols, which would have been entirely out of place on the two East Anglian supply vessels. The Swan had been built for Charles I to replicate the fast and agile performance of a continental privateer. Yet the evidence from Duart now shows that even this small ship-less than an eighth of the Sovereign's size-was encumbered with the same kind of costly and performance-reducing embellishment so roundly criticised on her bigger sister. To Charles I, it appears, the projection of a powerful visual image of kingly prestige at sea was more important than maximising the fighting efficiency of the vessels charged with the practical exercise of that power against his enemies.

Yet another status-enhancing extravagance has been recognised among the remains of the Swan. The area of the wreck most affected by recent destabilisation has been identified as part of the stern, and comprises much of the after cabin's interior that had evidently collapsed in on itself. Contemporary shipwrights advised against panelling the inside of such cabins, for the practice not only added weight and expense but reduced the vessel's ability to flex in rough seas and encouraged rats. However the Swan's captain boasted quarters that would not have disgraced an aristocrat's drawing room. His cabin was lined with panelling, and entered by a framed and panelled door. Further embellishment was added in relief. Even on the king's smallest ships, it seems, the magnificent external decoration was matched by the luxurious accommodation provided for their commanders.

Royal symbols retained

Mystery surrounds the apparent acceptance of these kingly excesses by the supposedly puritanical Roundhead captains who took over the ship in 1645. Perhaps it was impractical to rip out the structure of the cabin, but more probably her new masters, given a choice between comfort and austerity, opted for the former. The retention of the external carvings is less easy to explain, especially that of the heir apparent's badge, symbolising as it did the continuity of monarchy vested in the exiled Charles II. It is possible that such profoundly anti-republican symbols had been removed from display on the ship's stern but preserved in case the political climate changed, a precaution known to have been taken by many churches when ordered to take down the royal arms. Alternatively such symbolism might have been less significant to contemporaries than we imagine, and it should not be forgotten that the attitudes of Cromwell and his revolutionary confederates towards the monarchy as an institution were in many respects ambiguous.

With the identity and background of the wreck determined, and a rescue-driven requirement to excavate the parts of it threatened by erosion established, a number of research questions could be articulated. Matters concerning the ship's unexpectedly ornate decoration, and her lavish interior, have already been discussed. But what of her general construction? Relatively little of the Swan's surviving hull has yet been examined-most of it is buried beneath the ballast-but a small section of ribs and planking exposed between the two ballast mounds suggests that the ship was quite heavily built. Once again this seems to contradict received wisdom about how agile warships of this kind were designed. The lightly-framed continental pinnaces upon which the Swan was supposedly modelled owed their high performance to a slender and flexible mode of construction. Might the Swan's more substantial framing reflect cautious conservatism on the part of the English shipwrights who built her, just as her decoration and internal fittings seem to reflect an overriding concern with status? And to what extent might these unprofitable inputs of weight, inflexibility, and instability have affected her efficiency as a fighting machine? Could they even have contributed to the Swan's eventual loss?

Navigation

And what of the routines by which the ship was managed? Navigation was a prime concern, and evidence of its day-to-day practice is revealed by the remains of a binnacle-the three-compartmented wooden box containing the ship's compasses which stood in front of the steersman on the afterdeck. The Swan's binnacle was jointed with oak pegs to avoid the adverse effect iron nails would have had on the compass needles, as contemporary authorities prescribed. Inside one compartment lay the bottom of a mariner's compass, while an almost intact compass complete with its brass gimbal ring was found nearby. Steering was effected by a long lever, or whipstaff, which could be moved from one side of the deck to the other, so a compass was housed in each outer compartment of the binnacle to allow the steersman view of one from whichever side he was standing. The middle compartment contained a lantern so that the compass faces could be seen at night. Close examination of the binnacle revealed that an inattentive steersman had allowed the lantern to burn a hole through its wooden top. Perhaps he dozed off. At any event the damage was crudely repaired with a patch secured, most inappropriately, with iron nails.

Armament

Because the Swan was a warship special interest attaches to her armament. Six of her twenty or so cast-iron guns lie scattered where they fell from the disintegrating hull, and these are now being stabilised in situ with sacrificial anodes . Most seem to be short six-pounder sakers. During excavation of the collapsed stern another small cast iron gun-probably a two-pounder minion-was discovered and raised for conservation and further study. Still attached to it was the hinged wooden lid that covered the port cut for it in the ship's side. The lid's size and slightly trapezoidal shape indicate that it belongs to the upper port side of the vessel, close to the stern, where the hull curved sharply upwards.

Nearby was the wooden carriage on which it had been mounted. This is of the familiar stepped box or 'truck' form, usually fitted with four small solid wheels. In this case, however, wheels were only provided at the front of the carriage, the rear ones being replaced by two solid blocks of wood, or 'chocks'. Similar carriages are known to have been supplied to the Swan's bigger sister, the Sovereign of the Seas. For reasons of royal prestige Charles I had insisted that the Sovereign should carry 100 guns (in the end she was given 102), thus becoming the first warship to reach this number. To achieve it a new, lighter kind of gun called a 'drake' was specified. These pieces had tapered chambers so that the gunpowder charges could be reduced, lessening the pressure inside the barrels and allowing them to be more lightly constructed. More could therefore be carried for the same weight. However the reduction in weight increased the violence of the gun's recoil, and such pieces were provided with rear chocks instead of wheels so that friction on the deck would help to absorb their 'unruly reverse'. Once again the Swan seems to follow, on a microscopic scale, the innovations and idiosyncrasies of the Sovereign of the Seas.

Several cast-iron cannonballs have been found, and this kind of ammunition was normal in ship-to-ship combat. For close-quarter action, however, other types of projectile were used. Contemporary inventories mention wooden 'cases' containing 'burr' shot. The exact form this took was unknown until examples were recovered from the Swan. Each 'case' was made up of wooden cylinders, split into quarters and hollowed out before being reassembled, filled with lead musket bullets, and tied together with string. Every bullet was carefully 'burred' by roughing its surface with a metal gouge to give a lethal dum-dum effect. Fired from a cannon, the case would disintegrate on leaving the barrel, scattering the deadly burrs like giant shotgun pellets. Many smooth lead musket balls were also found, together with examples of the small lidded wooden flasks which held a single shot's gunpowder charge. Twelve were normally slung on a musketeer's bandolier, giving rise to the nickname 'twelve apostles'. These items probably belonged to New Model Army soldiers carried by Cobbett's fleet, and although the musket balls are very similar in size, suggesting a common bore for the army's main infantry weapon, variations in the capacity and design of the 'apostles' indicate that absolute standardisation of basic military equipment still lay in the future.

The crew

A ship's crew is a self-contained community, similar in many ways to a small village in the wider contemporary world. Everyday objects and personal possessions recovered from a wreck are therefore much more than individual items of interest or value-studied in their totality they represent an integrated and unique snapshot of contemporary culture and society, a moment in time frozen within the archaeological record. The Swan's wreck has yielded prized possessions of the elite-an ornate sword hilt exquisitely wound with gold and silver wire, and a pocket watch with every detail of its movement revealed by X-ray photography within the lump of concretion in which it has been preserved. But it is the fragile and commonplace which, paradoxically, is often the most revealing, for such items rarely survive in other archaeological contexts. Shoes and textiles have been found on the wreck, as well as many domestic items of wood, reminding us that treen [made of tree] was as important as pottery to most past societies. Finds of turned wooden bowls, lanterns, barrels, and other stave-built vessels emphasise the potential of wet environments to preserve the varied organic evidence so vital to a holistic reconstruction of the past.

And what of the people themselves? Among the debris of the Swan's collapsed after cabin we found many human bones. All appear to belong to one individual, who had perhaps been trapped below deck when the ship went down. Though the bones are scattered and disarticulated, about 60 percent of the skeleton has been recovered. From this material an intimately human picture emerges. The victim was a male between twenty-three and twenty-five. He was quite short-about five feet three inches-although his lack of stature was partly due to childhood rickets which had left his lower legs badly bowed. Above the waist, however, he had been extremely robust, with unusually well-developed shoulder, arm, and wrist muscles. Repetitive-strain injury to his hip joints suggests frequent shock stresses such as might have been caused by regularly jumping from a height. All of these characteristics are commensurate with the active life of a seaman, clambering up and down the shrouds, hauling on ropes, and heaving on capstan bars. The level of activity required to develop and maintain such powerful muscle groups suggests that this individual had enjoyed a nourishing and reasonably varied diet-confirmation that the Commonwealth navy looked after its men.

Had he lived into later life, however, there would have been problems in store for our sailor. He still had all his teeth, but a preponderance of stone-ground flour in his diet had worn his molars almost flat: serious and agonising tooth decay lay not far ahead. And a congenital spinal abnormality would, as he approached middle age, have developed into increasing levels of disability and pain. In the event he died alone and far from home, along with more than twenty of his comrades aboard the other ships. It is fitting that they should be remembered with dignity, and once an examination of these remains is complete they will be interred in a small cemetery outside Duart Castle, where members of the Hannoverian garrison who died while serving there a century later are also buried.

Historic shipwrecks are as much a part of our heritage as archaeological sites on land. Each is a time capsule unique to its particular period and function, and each is deserving of protection and careful study. The Duart Point wreck, interesting in its own right as a microcosm of the Civil War and its bloody aftermath in Scotland, is a timely reminder of an infinitely greater archaeological heritage that lies beneath our seas.

Colin Martin
Reader in Scottish History,
University of St Andrews