The Career of Capt.Thomas Carter Fearon

This article on the career of Capt.Thomas Carter Fearon was originally published at the time of his death in 1931. It appeared on the Internet in 2001 but disappeared the following year. I have reproduced it here, because not only was Capt.Fearon from Cumberland, but also because several of the vessels he sailed in are recorded on this website.

The Lancaster Observer and Morecambe Times, March 1931;

" BY SAIL AND STEAM - MY FORTY-ONE YEARS AT SEA  (by the late Capt. Thomas Carter Fearon)

First Impressions

I first went to sea in January 1871, at the age of fifteen. I was then living in Cockermouth, Cumberland. Of course, my parents tried all they could to hinder my going to sea, but when they saw I was determined to go, they had me apprenticed to Mr Peter Iredale, shipowner of Liverpool, who sent me in his new iron ship, Dovenby, 833 tons register. This was a full-rigged ship, on her maiden voyage, from Newport, Monmouthshire, with a cargo of steel rails to Portland, Oregon.

So my first voyage was round Cape Horn, my chief recollection of which is a place of cold wet, and misery. Whilst I was there I wished I had not been such a fool as to go to sea, but with the advent of fine weather and sunshine, such thoughts vanished. Looking back on that period now, I am not sorry I chose a sea life. After all, it is a manly calling, which teaches self-reliance, and it is no place for weaklings.

From Portland, Oregon, the ship returned to Liverpool with a wheat cargo. During the homeward passage, I had my first experience of tragedy, and the needless waste of human life. All through the fine weather of the Trade Winds, the heavy double sheets had been taken off the mainsail, and only the single clew rope was used as a sheet. That was all right as long as the weather was fine, but before approaching stormy latitudes the double sheets ought to have been shackled on. I can only put it down to want of forethought, or carelessness; but this was not done until the ship was approaching the Azores, when during a stormy night it was evident the single clew rope on the mainsail was not strong enough to hold the sail. The order was given to shackle on the double sheet, and whilst doing so the clew rope parted. The man who was shackling on the sheet suddenly lost his support, fell overboard, and was drowned. There was no chance of saving him on a dark night, and the ship racing through the water, with an increasing gale. His life was needlessly thrown away. I got a shock the next day, when the man's clothes were callously sold by auction. Life was evidently cheap in those days. At that time we had no manilla ropes, and no patent sheaves; nothing but tarred hemp rope, which got as hard as iron in cold weather, and made taking in and setting sail much harder work than it became later with the advent of manilla rope.

Careful Captain

My second voyage in the Dovenby was from Liverpool to Yokohama, Japan. I shall never forget our arrival at the straits of Sunda and my first introduction to the delights of Tropical fruit; never before had I tasted anything so delicious, the pineapples in particular. But on the other side, I thought the captain was a very mean man, when he gave us yams to eat for dinner, and stopped our allowance of flour, in place of the yams. And I still think so, after being a shipmaster myself for many years. But those were the days of pound and pint and nothing over. We made a long passage up the China Sea against the North-East Monsoon, but eventually got to Yokohama. After discharging our cargo there, we loaded a rice cargo in Yokohama and Kobe, for Amsterdam. The ship could not get to Amsterdam, as the water in the canal was not deep enough, so we discharged at Niendeep at the entrance to the canal. From there the Dovenby went in ballast to London.

A Heavy Sea

After a short holiday I was transferred to the beautiful little barque Lizzy Iredale, 693 tons, loading general cargo in London for Brisbane. Whilst running the Easting down in this vessel, about five o' clock one afternoon, running before a heavy westerly gale, an unusually high sea swept over the stern of the ship, taking everything before it. There were a lot of cases of acid stowed on deck; they broke adrift, and had to be thrown overboard. One of the apprentices was washed overboard of the main deck and drowned. After that the ship was hove to until the gale moderated. Fortunately, the helmsman was not washed overboard. If he had, this narrative would never have been written. From Brisbane, the ship went to Newcastle, New South Wales, and loaded a cargo for Manilla, and from there to London with sugar and hemp. This finished my apprenticeship. I had not quite enough sea service to apply for my second mate's certificate, so I shipped as A.B on the wooden barque Chieftain of Maryport, 671 tons, on a voyage from Liverpool to Quebec, and back to Troon, in Scotland.

Second Mate at Nineteen

Soon after this I obtained my second mate's certificate at the age of nineteen. Being so young and too many second mate's available at this time, I had to be satisfied with the position of third mate on the ship Kirkwood, of Liverpool, 1300 tons register, on a voyage from Liverpool to Sydney. Not being enamoured with the job of third mate, I left the Kirkwood in Sydney, and went for a voyage as AB in the barque Bhering of Sydney, to the Fiji Islands and back to Sydney. I quite enjoyed that trip, and would have stayed in Australia, but the barque was laid up at the end of the voyage. Captain Tom Brown, of the Bhering became one of my most esteemed friends in Sydeny for many years after that.

An Officer at Twenty

Immediately after I was paid off from the Bhering, I signed on as AB on the wooden ship Strathdon, 1010 tons, of the Aberdeen White Star Line, bound for London. Soon after arriving in London I obtained the berth of second mate on the iron barque, City of Carlisle, 823 tons register, belonging to my former employer Mr.Iredale. That was in 1876. I was now twenty years of age, and beginning to realise the responsibilities of life. I had the good fortune to begin my career as an officer with a master who was a thorough seaman of the old type, who did not believe in taking things easy at any time, and kept everybody up to the mark. I refer to Captain J.H Rich, of Maryport, who was lost in the stranding of the Brier Holme on the coast of Tasmania in November, 1904. The City of Carlisle sailed from Liverpool for San Francisco, and from there in ballast to Moodyville, Burrard Inlet, British Columbia, to load a timber cargo for Valparaiso. From Valparaiso to Iquique, where she loaded nitrate of soda for New York. So far, I went to a different port every passage, and managed to see a good many places in my first few years at sea. From New York the ship loaded a general cargo for Liverpool, and so ended that voyage of nearly two years.

A Thrilling Experience

I now obtained my first mate's certificate, and after a short holiday at home, I was offered the post of first mate on the barque, Doriga, of Liverpool, 673 tons, on a voyage from North Shields to Valparaiso, with a coal cargo. We sailed from the Tyne on January 14th 1879, and had a quick passage down the channel. We passed the Isle of Wight on the 18th, wind north-west, veering later to north-east, east and south-east. At 2am on the 20th during a strong south-east gale, and heavy beam sea, the ship gave a tremendous lurch, and the whole of the coal cargo shifted suddenly to leeward, throwing the vessel on her beam ends. Finding it impossible to get the ship before the wind, or to ease the pressure in any way, it was decided to cut away the masts. This was done and nothing more could be done until daylight. Then all hands were sent into the hold, to try to trim the coal, but found it useless work as the heave of the sea sent the coal back again as fast as it was trimmed. During the afternoon, the s.s Zena of Liverpool, approached the ship and offered to take the crew off. The master did not want to abandon his ship before it was absolutely necessary, and tried to induce the crew to remain on board, but they refused to do anything more, leaving the ship in the steamer's lifeboat, leaving two men on board, the master and the mate. It was impossible for a boat to come alongside, on account of the heavy sea, and the wreckage; so the men had to go down a rope from the end of the jib boom into the boat. "