An Epic Tale of Shipwreck, Human Endeavour and Rescue in the Age of Sail

Marked for Misfortune was my first maritime book, and I was incredibly lucky that nobody else seemed to have come across the story in any detail. It began back in about 1985 with a painting by the 18^th Century maritime artist Thomas Luny, owned by a London art dealer who wanted to know if the subject, the Honourable East India Company’s ship Winterton had any history. It certainly did, but it took a very long time to track it down.

Winterton set sail for India in May 1792, bound for Madras and Bengal. As well as a crew of over 100, she carried army recruits for the 75^th Regiment, under the command of Lieutenant Henry Quinn Brownrigg, and male and female passengers. In all, there were more than 300 people, and they enjoyed a relatively comfortable voyage until August 20^th when, in the early hours of the morning, the ship struck a reef off the SW coast of Madagascar and, having defied all attempts to get her off,  went to pieces.

Extract:

       "To the limits of the dark horizon the sea shone satin beneath the brilliance of a starlit tropical sky, reflecting the moon in a rippling strake of gold.   From the quarterdeck of the Winterton, his nightglass lowered, John Dale glanced at the helmsman to check he still held the ship on her course. The broad, bluff bow rose and fell in its satisfying rhythm, parting the dark water with a deep and heavy plash that no longer disturbed the sleep of the passengers in their stuffy cabins below.  Rope and timber groaned and flexed as they restrained the canvas against the south-southeasterly wind, holding the big East Indiaman to a prudent 6 knots. So familiar were the sounds that the absence of footsteps and voices gave an illusion of silence.  Dale raised the nightglass to his eye once again and scanned the eastern horizon. Nothing. No breakers to warn of rocks; no fires to indicate coastal settlements.  Nineteen days out of False Bay, Winterton was heading ENE up the Mozambique Channel between the coasts of East Africa and the island of Madagascar, bound for Bengal. A perfect night under the new moon: no cause for any more concern than a conscientious Third Officer ought to feel when left in charge of one of the world’s finest merchant ships, a cargo worth over £100,000 and the lives of nearly 300 souls. Nevertheless, Dale was anxious. The light wind brought a smell of land to his nose, sapping his confidence in their position…”