The Adventure Continues: Aponivi Heads North
31 May 2010 | Neyland, South Wales
H. Veisz
Photo: Low Tide at Tenby, South Wales
The day before we departed the now familiar and much loved port of Falmouth, The Times (of London) published a column that deflated both our sailing and blogging endeavors. The column by Giles Coren, "A Round the World Voyage is Just Plain Sailing" began:
"Last Sunday, the papers were full of the stroy of Jessica Watson, aged 16, who had just become the youngest person to sail around the world. I say 'story'. But there was not really very much story at all. It was just: 'Jessica Watson, 16, becomes youngest person to sail round world.' There wasn't anything else to say because all that had happened was that this young lady had got into a boat and sat in it till it had gone around the world, then got out."
Coren complained that "tweeny" circumnavigators were mocking the "great circumnavigational tradition of Sir Francis Drake", adding parenthetically "I say 'great' although, of course, that was just a tradition of sailing round the world and occassionally robbing and killing people to pass the time, rather than posting dreary thoughts about whales and sunsets on the internet".
There will be no dreary entries about whales and sunsets in this blog. Unless you read otherwise, assume that sunsets are still beautiful and that whales are still awesome. The Wales where we are now docked is a different matter, and requires some discussion.
The first leg of this year's journey took us 60 miles under sail to the Isles of Scilly, an archipelago of 48 islands (if you include some large rocks) spread between 21 and 31 miles off the southwest tip of England. The islands have only one tiny port, St. Mary's harbor, but many pristine places to drop an anchor. Finding the harbor full when we arrived in the late afternoon, we anchored in the lee of St. Mary's Island, in crystal clear water. The other principal islands formed a sheltering circle around us.
At 09:00 the next morning (24 May) we began a 114 mile trip to Milford Haven, the first and best natural harbor in Wales. We began at a marvelous pace, and maintained it into the mid afternoon. But by the 70 mile point a strong hedwind developed, and combined with a strong adverse current to collapse our speed to a crawl. For a few hours during the middle of the night our speed over ground dropped to a mere 3.6 knots, and Lorraine and I alternated through a series of cold watches as as we slogged onward under power. We reached Milford Haven at 07:00 the next morning, after 20 hours.
Milford Haven is a seven mile long, almost totally enclosed, deep waterharbor. Near its entrance, on the western end of the Haven, Dale Bay makes a perfect anchorage. (The colorful hamlet of Dale sits invitingly on one shore.) On the other end of the harbor the full service Neyland Marina extends along the lower reaches of a small river that flows down from an adjoining nature preserve. We dropped anchor at Dale, caught up on our sleep, and proceeded to Neyland.
In the interest of full disclosure, it should be noted that the middle of Milford Haven is marred by a major oil tanker terminal, and is not nearly as attractive as either end of the Haven. But even the town of Milford Haven, close to the terminal, has its charms. It also has a history that will excite persons (of which there are probably few) with a keen interest in both Horatio Nelson (Britain's greatest admiral) and the Nantucket whaling industry. It was here, in August 1802, that Nelson came with his mistress, and his mistress' husband, to attend an event, organized by his mistress' former lover (her husband's nephew) at which a group of pacifist Quakers from Nantucket celebrated the anniversary of what was then Nelson's greatest and bloodiest battle (the Battle of the Nile). More on this later.
On the trip to Scilly and Wales, the boat and crew fell into a start-of- season routine: I concentrated on looking confident while secretely wondering what crucial bit of preparation I had overlooked; the boat waited for critical moments to remind me. As we neared the collection of small islands and obstructions that comprise the Isles of Scilly, prudence dictated a switch from sail to engine to navigate safely through the channels. I turned the key and the engine did nothing. Sprawled on the floor of the cockpit, I feverishly tightened every ignition wire while Lorraine sailed on above me. The engine started as we entered the archipelago, and has behaved since. Later,as we neared Milford Haven, prudence seemed to dictate a switch from a dwindling fuel tank to a fresh tank. It soon became apparent, however, that the second tank had occupied itself over the winter as a bacteria factory, and sludge began to flow into the fuel filters. Fortunately, we had enough fuel left in the original tank to switch back and carry on. The problem was since cured by draining all three tanks, scrubbing them, and refilling them with a few hundred gallons of very pricey British fuel.
While awaiting that exchange we had enjoyable days of land touring, starting with a day of biking. A dedicated bicycle trail, largely a rail-to-trail conversion, runs gthrough the Marina, the naturer preserve, nearby sheep country, and ancient towns. After a very pleasant day on that route, we travelled to Tenby, a 900 year old port town that is an absolute gem. (See the above picture and the photo gallery, if we manage to get it running) Much of the stone wall and fortifications that the Normans built around the town are still intact. A small picturesque harbor is located below the town, and a magnificent coastline is visible in both directions.
But enough suspense. Time for a brief explanation of how a naval hero and his mistress came to be toasted at Milford Haven by her husband, her former lover, and band of pious pacifists.
The story is best told by focusing on Emma. Emma was to social climbing what Nelson was to naval warfare -- the best of her era. Beginning as the daughter of a poor blacksmith, Emma worked her way into middle class society, and then slept her way into the aristocracy. At the age of 16, she became the mistress of a baronet. At 17, she transferred her affections to Charles Greville, the younger son of an Earl and the nephew of Sir William Hamilton. As a younger son, Greville had little prospect of inheriting his father's estate, and stood a better chance with his uncle.
In the year that Emma moved in with Greville, 1782, Sir William's wife died, leaving him a wealthy and childless widower. His wealth was concentrated in estates that his wife had inherited in Pembrookshire, includng land around the waters of Milford Haven. Greville hoped to inherit them from Sir William.
The principal threat to Greville was the possibility that Sir William would remarry and produce an heir. Greville used Emma, then 18, to diffuse that threat. At the outset, he thought it enough to have Emma entertain Sir William during his visits. But, as Sir William recovered from the loss of his wife, he prepared to return to his post as ambassador to Naples, far beyond the effective range of Greville's strategy -- unless Emma was shipped off to Naples with him. As one writer, Ken McKay, put it, Greville "concluded that she could better serve his purpose by being an old man's comfort rather than a young man's fancy. It never crossed his mind that Hamilton would marry a blacksmith's daughter."
Greville and Sir William struck a deal, which Emma willingly embraced. Greville "transferred Emma's affections and services" to Sir William, and Sir William compensated Greville by settling some of Greville's debts, promising to name Greville as his heir, and employing Greville to manage his estate at Milford Haven. Emma went off to Naples with Sir William, and all three parties -- particularly Emma -- performed their roles with gusto. In 1791, five years after Emma moved to Naples with Sir William, he defied Greville's expectations and married her.
Greville continued to toil at Milford Haven, hoping that the marraige would not unravel the rest of his deal. Presiding over a quiet harbor with great potential, he sought to make it the home of a great fleet. Tthe whaling fleet of Nantucket seemd like a good place to start.
One Nantucket whaling family, led by William Rotch, had already tried moving to Falmouth (our base in England) to capture a piece of the London market. Failing to strike a deal at Falmouth, he moved on to France and established a Quaker whaling base at Dunkirk.
Greville convinced two other Nantucket whalemen, Samuel Starbuck and Timothy Folger, to move to Milford Haven. They arrived, with five whaling ships and 100 people, in 1792. Rotch, driven from Dunkirk by the turmoil of the French Revolution, joined them in 1794. Milford Haven, with little else to it at the time, thus became a whaling community populated by Quaker whaling families.
Naples, meanwhile, was an increasingly important port of call for the royal navy. Emma, as wife of the ambassafor, met Nelson in 1793 when he made a brief official visit.
Fast forward five years to 1798. The Napoleanic wars were raging on land and sea. Napolean had just landed an invasion force in Egypt. Nelson located the French invasion fleet off the Nile delta and attacked at once. Employing a brilliant plan of attack, Nelson's 14 ships of the line decimated the enemy. Of France's 17 ships, 14 were destroyed or captured -- the flagship was blown to bits -- and the remaining four took flight. The French invasion force was stranded, and left to wither away. Nelson's ships sustained heavy damage, but none were lost.
Nelson, wounded in the battle, sailed to Naples to repair his battered ship and body. The victory at he Nile made Nelson England's greatest hero, and an international super-star. Sir William and Emma were happy to have him as their guest while he recuperated. Emma took a longer term interest.
Nelson became infatuated with Emma, and Emma saw great advantage in having Nelson as her next conquest. Neith Emma nor Nelson saw a need to dump Sir William. Like an aging athlete, Sir William was simply relegated to the bench when Nelson was on land, with the possibility of returning to the starting line-up when -- as was often the case -- Nelson was at sea. Everyone, except Nelson's wife, was quite content with that arrangement. For Nelson, Emma, and Sir William, it seemed, three was marvelous and four was a crowd. In 1801, with Naples behind them, Emma purchased a home for the trio near London. Nelson footed the bill.
Back in Milford Haven, Greville sought to turn his whaling community into a broader based port; one with Royal Navy contracts. He perceived that a visit by Nelson, and a few Nelsonian words of praise for the Haven, could work wonders. Seeking to maximize attention, Greville invited his uncle, Nelson, and Emma to Milford Haven on the Battle of the Nile's fourth anniversary. Greville arranged several days of festivities, culminating with a banquet at the New Inn. (The inn is now the Nelson Hotel, at which I dined with Lorraine). At the banquest, Nelson and Emma, whose affair was open and notorious, sat with leaders of the Quaker whaling community -- Emma and Mrs Rotch facing each other across the table.
Conversation may have been strained, but the event was a success. The fortunes of the participants then divererged. Sir William died the next year, keeping his promise to leave Greville the bulk of his estate. The cost of maintaining Emma, however, had left little money to pass on. Emma gave birth to Nelson's daughter. Naming her Horatia was the first of many flaws in their plan to conceal his paternity. Nelson went on, in 1805, to an even greater victory at Trafalgar, where he demolished a combined French and Spanish fleet of 33 war ships but lost his life in the process. Nelson's death sent Emma into a downward spiral and she died, destitute, at the age of 50.
Horatia thrived, under the care of Nelson's sister. In 2005, Lorraine and I met one of her descendants -- the great, great, great, great granddaughter of Nelson and Emma -- at a Trafalgar bi-centenial dinner in Portsmouth England. Unlike Greville's anniversary banquent, this one had no ulterior motive. No pitch was made to use British harbors. But here we are, two more Yanks afloat in the Haven, 218 years after Folger and Starbuck entered its waters on the whaling ship Aurora.
One bit of potentially useful information: serious efforts are being made to preserve the Welsh language, and Welsh appears (along with English) on everything from road signs to supermarket signs. Having studied the latter, I can report that the Welsh word for beer is "cwrw". I can't help you with the pronounciation.
More in the coming days from northern Wales, Isle of Mann, and Scotland.
Cheers,
Howard