When the Gloucester hit a sandbank off the north Norfolk coast on 6 May 1682, most of the people on board were blissfully oblivious to the danger they were in. It was 5.30 in the morning, and the majority of the crew and passengers would have been sound asleep when disaster struck. Hundreds of people had crammed on to the warship, far exceeding its usual capacity, in order to accompany the Duke of York and Albany (the future James II and VII) on his journey to Scotland. As the vessel sank swiftly, there was no time to organise an efficient evacuation. Escape efforts were further hampered by royal protocol, which dictated that no one could abandon ship before the Duke, who was flatly refusing to leave in the hope that the vessel could be saved. After James finally agreed to abandon ship – escaping through the window of the stern cabin as the ship foundered – there was only time for another two rescue boats to launch, one of which immediately capsized. The boat bearing James to safety was kept deliberately under-filled in an effort to avoid a similar fate, and officers on board were charged with fending off any desperate souls in the water who might try to clamber aboard. The catastrophe cost some 130-250 people their lives, and the Gloucester itself was lost to the sea, disappearing beneath the waves within an hour.
There the wreck would remain, anonymously buried in sand, for almost 350 years, until it was rediscovered by experienced Norfolk divers, brothers Lincoln and Julian Barnwell and James Little, in 2007, and its identity confirmed following the recovery of its bell five years later. Although the site has not undergone excavation, maritime archaeologists have carried out rescue initiatives to bring exposed artefacts to the surface before they are lost to time and tide. These objects are gradually being conserved by York Archaeology, and ongoing analysis is helping to bring the story of the Gloucester to light once more: a story that is currently the focus of an exhibition running at Norwich Castle Museum & Art Gallery (see ‘Further information’ on p.34).
The Gloucester’s final voyage must have begun with great optimism, as the royal entourage set out in fine style (and, no doubt, a celebratory mood, as the Duke was set to return to court after years of exile – see box on p.30). They were accompanied by generous stocks of wine and beer, as well as musicians tasked both with entertaining elite passengers, and performing at ceremonies associated with the Duke’s progress. Matters deteriorated the following night, however, amid fierce debate between the Duke of York, the Gloucester’s pilot, and the captains of two accompanying yachts about the course that the ship should take along the north Norfolk coast. They needed to pass a series of treacherous sandbanks extending between 22 and 60 nautical miles (40-110km) from the shore, but as the vessel was out of sight of land, it was difficult to pinpoint its position in relation to these threats. Some suggested moving in to hug the coast so that the crew could navigate using visible landmarks; others favoured moving further out to sea, to avoid the obstacles altogether. Both were safer options, but much slower than the third, favoured by the Duke – namely, using charts to carefully pick their way through the sandbanks. Ultimately, the Duke’s proposed route won the day, and the ship’s pilot, James Ayres, navigated the ship with these directions. Ayres was by all accounts an experienced seaman, and at 4am on that fateful night he finally retired to bed, satisfied that the Gloucester was finally clear of danger. He was wrong. Around 90 minutes later, the Gloucester struck a sandbank, and events proceeded as described previously.
We do not know how many people lost their lives that night. No muster roll for the voyage survives, meaning that we do not know for certain how many people had been on board at the time (though it could have been as many as 400, when James’ entourage and their servants are added to the regular crew of c.280 men). Moreover, while the names of the higher-status passengers who drowned were documented – among them James’ brother-in-law, as well as several Irish and Scottish noblemen – as were deceased members of their household, the ordinary sailors who would have made up the largest proportion of the casualties were not. Professor Claire Jowitt and Dr Benjamin Redding from the University of East Anglia’s project ‘The Wreck of the Gloucester: the life and times of a 17th-century third-rate warship’ (funded by the Leverhulme Trust) have been able to glean some details by examining wills, transfer records of surviving seamen joining the crews of other ships and, most poignantly, compensation payments made to the widows and orphans left behind, but this is still an incomplete picture. These latter payments were made to the families of at least 63 of the crew, but they do not account for any casualties who did not have dependents.
At best guess, it has been estimated that as many as 250 could have died – a number that nearly included the famous diarist Samuel Pepys, who had been scheduled to travel on the Gloucester but had swapped berths with a friend on one of the accompanying yachts at the last minute, ‘for room sake’. It is thanks to Pepys’ presence that we have such vivid written details of the ship’s last moments, but an equally illuminating picture is also emerging from the archaeological evidence. The speed of the ship’s sinking and the ensuing panic meant that most people abandoned their personal possessions as they fled, leaving a 17th-century time capsule for archaeologists to examine.
Documenting the wreck
While the speed with which the Gloucester sank can only have compounded the loss of life in 1682, it did mean that the wreck was still largely intact as it settled into the seabed. Extensive photogrammetry surveys by the Maritime Archaeology Trust have confirmed that the buried hull is still relatively intact, with a large section of the port side still present, as is much of the starboard side, though not its uppermost section. Many of the ship’s guns can still be seen scattered on the surface – to-date, around 20 have been identified though, given that a broadside of 27 is reported to have been fired to welcome the Duke of York on board in 1682, the Gloucester probably had at least 54 at the time of its loss. Moreover, as the covering sediments are gradually eroded by currents, artefacts are beginning to be exposed and washed away from the main wreck mound. The focus of recent rescue investigations has been to recover these before they deteriorate or are lost altogether.
Perhaps one of the most significant items raised from the wreck to-date is the ship’s bell, which was discovered by the Barnwell brothers in 2012 – and which is the first object to greet visitors to the new exhibition. It was a particularly evocative find, as it would have been ringing during the distressed ship’s final moments, but it also held the key to putting a name to the otherwise anonymous wreck. There had previously been two main candidates for the ship’s identity: the other was the Kent, which was known to have sunk in broadly the same area in 1672. As the bell bore a manufacturing date of 1681, this effectively ruled the latter ship out.
While the bell was undoubtedly invaluable for helping to tell the story of the Gloucester itself, however, in terms of future research, one of the most significant finds from the site is an array of glass wine bottles representing the greatest number of their period ever recovered. These make up a significant proportion of finds from the Gloucester – of the c.450 artefacts that have been recovered to-date, some 149 are bottles – and they offer fascinating insights into wine-manufacturing and -consumption in the mid-17th century. At the time of the Gloucester’s voyage, glass was a relatively new technology in England for storing wine (having been patented by Sir Kenelm Digby in the 1640s) and a revolutionary development for a trade previously dependent on transporting wine in bulky casks. The drinks that they contained might not be to modern taste, however: 17th-century wine was only around 4-5% in strength, meaning that it had a short shelf-life and had to be consumed ‘young’, within 12 months of bottling. Glass was highly fashionable (not to mention expensive: the exhibition notes that plain glass bottles cost around four shillings per dozen, or five shillings if you wanted that dozen to be more decorative, so it should not be surprising that the majority of those recovered from the Gloucester appear to be older forms being recycled). Gentlemen and taverns alike proudly applied ‘globular seals’ with crests, initials, and other imagery to their collections to mark them out as their own. Seven of the Gloucester bottles have seals: four represent initials, the rest crests – and one has been interpreted as that of the Barons of Coventry, though none of their family is known to have been on board the Gloucester at the time of its loss, raising questions about how such glassware circulated.
Where there are wine bottles, you would expect to find wine glasses – though the much more fragile nature of these objects means that far fewer tend to survive in the archaeological record. Nonetheless, a handful of examples – both fragmentary and more intact – have been recovered from the wreck site. As for what those on board the Gloucester were drinking, 49 of the recovered bottles retain at least some of their contents, while 29 still hold their full capacity, including liquid and ullage (the airspace between wine and cork), which means that they have not been contaminated with seawater, making them perfect for sampling. The contents of two bottles – chosen for their different styles – have been analysed by wine biochemist Geoff Taylor, who found that they contained wines of different origins and of different strengths. It seems likely, then, that there was a variety of wines on board the ship for its elite passengers to enjoy. Together with the presence of beer jugs, tobacco pipes, and musical instruments, such finds testify that those on board had been intent on having a good time during their journey, little suspecting what was to come.Professional TOOLS, personal possessions
As well as the evidence for high-status recreation described above, some of the objects from the Gloucester reflect the professional activities of its officers and crew. As well as navigational instruments and the wooden handle of a saw that would have been employed by one of the ship’s many carpenters, divers have recovered a number of objects with a clearly medical purpose. It is known that there were two doctors on board during the voyage. One was Sir Charles Scarburgh, James’ personal physician, who was to attend to Mary of Modena, who was pregnant, during her journey home – Samuel Pepys records that he (barely) survived the sinking, being plucked from the sea, clinging ‘almost dead’ to a plank. The other was the ship’s surgeon, John Jones, who was not so lucky. Either could have been the owner of a distinctively shaped glass which has been identified as a urine flask; the wreck has also yielded two small glass apothecary bottles, and a pewter dish that could have been a bleeding bowl.
Also on board the Gloucester for business rather than pleasure were two groups of musicians. The first, four royal trumpeters and a kettledrummer, were accompanying James for ceremonial purposes. We know that the drummer, Walter Vanbright, died during the sinking, as James established an annual pension for his widow, but at least two of the trumpeters (the Shore brothers) survived, with one ultimately playing in James’ coronation procession. It appears that at least some of their instruments were lost, however: among the objects recovered from the wreck is a brass trumpet mouthpiece, a rare find that is an invaluable addition to our understanding of such instruments. Musical entertainments were provided by a separate group, the King’s Private Musick, and we know that some of these individuals survived, including the violinists Thomas Farmer and Jeoffrey Aylesworth, the oboist James Paisible, and Edmund (or Edward) Flower, who played a kind of lute called a theorbo. Less fortunate were the violinist Joseph Fashion Snr and Thomas Greeting, a celebrated player and teacher of the flageolet who had published an instruction book about the instrument and had counted Samuel Pepys and his wife among his pupils.
Many of the passengers’ personal possessions have also been recovered. Perhaps the best illustration of the remarkable preservation of the wreck site comes from two large chests that were discovered and raised in 2015 and 2016. Each measures around 90cm by 45cm by 60cm, and each had lost its lid, allowing archaeologists to investigate their contents without damaging the containers. The first, known as Chest A, had two compartments into which almost 100 items had been placed. These are strikingly diverse, spanning both high-status and much more everyday objects (from a decorative glass-handled knife to a simple wooden spoon), possibly suggesting that several passengers’ possessions had been packed together for transport, or perhaps that a servant’s belongings had been put with their employer’s.
Many of the objects from Chest A were associated with eating, drinking, and smoking – wine bottles, a wooden tankard with a pewter lid, some spoons, 16 tobacco pipes – and there were many items indicating an educated, literate owner. These included a pot of sealing wax and the brass shaft of a seal stamp; another pot containing traces of ink; three leather book covers; and, most significantly, a delicate pair of spectacles tucked inside a beautifully carved box. All of these suggest a higher-status passenger, but there was also an object more likely to have been used by a servant associated with the royal household: a leather pouch stamped with five small images of the 1661 Crown of St Edward, a potent symbol of the Restoration, as it was created to replace the medieval Crown Jewels that had been melted down after the Civil War. In a lower layer, though, there were objects more appropriate to tradesmen: bobbins and a square frame for winding thread; shoemaking tools including awls, leather punches, and a wooden last shaped like a human foot; and a lead seal used by merchants to mark bales of cloth.
An officer or a gentleman?
The most stunning survival lay at the bottom of the chest: a tightly rolled bundle of textiles had survived at the bottom of the sea for centuries. When carefully teased apart, the bundle proved to be pieces of female clothing. They were mostly made of fine silk, although there were also knitted fragments that could have come from stockings or part of a jacket. The largest pieces of fabric were identified as two silk skirts – then called petticoats, though unlike their modern namesakes they were intended to be seen – decorated with vertical stripes of floral damask, and there was also a soft gathered silk hood and a cape collar. These items can be seen worn by women in many images of the period, and at the heart of the bundle was a delicate pair of leather shoes, well-made and fashionable, with low wooden heels and a high, squared-off tongue.
Signs of wear on all of these items suggest that they came from someone’s wardrobe, rather than being gifts or new merchandise being transported for sale. Were these items being brought to their owner in the baggage of a male friend or relative, or could they be a clue that there had been women travelling on the Gloucester in 1682? There is no record of any female passengers (though, as mentioned above, we do not have an account of everyone on board), but a contemporary newspaper article based on eye-witness accounts includes a reference to ‘an English lady, whose name we cannot as yet learn’, who had reportedly drowned during the disaster. We do not know if this was a factual statement, or a snippet of gossip reflecting the libertine reputation of James’ circle, but the female items included in Chest A highlight how little we can say for certain about who lost their lives during the sinking.
As for Chest B, its contents are more typically ‘male’ items, evoking an educated individual of wealth and status. They include wine bottles, male shoes with fashionably high heels, leather book-bindings, and brass navigational instruments. There was also an object known as a pace stick or dressing cane, topped with a silver knob that had been stored separately. This was a social signifier rather than a walking aid: perhaps we are looking at the presence of a senior officer or a gentleman passenger with maritime interests.
While the finds from the Gloucester cannot yet provide a complete picture of the ship and its occupants, as they comprise only artefacts that have happened to emerge from the wreck, they shed invaluable light on the individuals who travelled on that final, fateful voyage and, in many cases, lost their lives without historical note. As analysis of the artefacts continues, more and more details about these forgotten individuals are being brought to light – and exhibitions like the one currently running in Norwich, which pieces together as much information about them as possible, serve as the memorials that they never received.
The Gloucester in context
The Gloucester’s story begins in 1652, in the heated aftermath of the English Civil War, when the ship was commissioned as part of Cromwell’s ambitious expansion of the Commonwealth navy. It was a third-rate warship (a classification referring to its size rather than its quality), measuring 117ft at the keel, and bristling with 50-60 guns throughout its life. Under Cromwell, it saw action in the Caribbean, and after the Restoration it served Charles II in the Second and Third Anglo-Dutch Wars. It took its name from the 1643 Siege of Gloucester – a Parliamentarian victory – but, while many other Commonwealth vessels were rechristened with more suitably royalist names, the Gloucester’s remained unchanged, probably in honour of Charles II’s youngest brother, who held the dukedom of the same name.
The Restoration did not settle the political strife of the mid-17th century, though, and religious tensions continued to fester, with a deep suspicion of any potential Catholic influence over the workings of the state (particularly after Charles II agreed an unpopular alliance with Catholic France). Adding to these anxieties, although the famously flamboyant king had fathered many children with his mistresses, he had not managed to produce a legitimate heir with his queen, Catherine of Braganza. Instead, Charles’ brother James was expected to succeed him – but there was growing disquiet about the religious leanings of the Duke, who had converted to Catholicism, and who was married to a Catholic, the Italian princess Mary of Modena. Amid a growing constitutional crisis, with plots and conspiracies swirling, and having already dissolved parliament in 1679 to prevent the passing of an Act that sought to exclude James from the order of succession, Charles had finally had enough. He ordered his brother to leave court, and James and his family travelled first to the Continent, and then to Scotland. As time passed and threats subsided, though, the exiled Duke was eventually invited to return. This he did, initially alone, but on 4 May 1682 the Gloucester began its final voyage so that the Duke could settle his Scottish affairs and collect his family from Holyrood Palace.
After the sinking, James completed his journey on board the Mary, one of the yachts that had been accompanying the royal vessel. The official response to the tragedy was to look forward and deflect any negative attention from the Duke, instead publicly celebrating his escape. A flurry of poems, ballads, music, and plays all extolled his miraculous survival against the odds, carrying themes of fortitude, heroism, and the strength of the Stuart dynasty. At the same time, the search for a scapegoat began. Two courts martial followed, and the pilot Ayres was condemned to life imprisonment (in a letter to William of Orange, James notes that he had expected the man to be executed), though the following year Charles II ordered his release. Christopher Gunman, captain of the yacht Mary, was also punished for failing to adequately warn the Gloucester of shallow waters (he had waved flags, but not fired guns); he was imprisoned, fined, and dismissed from his post – though only for ten days, as James personally intervened to have him restored to his former role.
ALL IMAGES: © Norfolk Museums Service, Norfolk Historic Shipwrecks Ltd, unless otherwise stated
Further information The Last Voyage of the Gloucester: Norfolk’s royal shipwreck, 1682 runs at Norwich Castle Museum & Art Gallery until 10 September. The exhibition catalogue, The Last Voyage of the Gloucester: Norfolk’s royal shipwreck, 1682 (Aylsham: Barnwell Print, 2023), by curators Ruth Battersby Tooke, Claire Jowitt, Benjamin Redding, and Francesca Vanke, provides more details about the history of the Gloucester, the finders’ story, and the artefacts on display. For a fuller account of the Gloucester’s final voyage see Claire Jowitt, ‘The Last Voyage of the Gloucester (1682): The Politics of a Royal Shipwreck’, The English Historical Review, vol. 137, issue 586, June 2022, pp. 728–762: https://doi.org/10.1093/ehr/ceac127. For further information about visiting the exhibition, see www.museums.norfolk.gov.uk/norwich-castle/whats-on/exhibitions/last-voyage-of-the-gloucester, and to learn more about ongoing research into the wreck, see www.gloucestershipwreck.co.uk. You can also listen to the PastCast podcast; see www.the-past.com/podcasts.
