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The Things a Regency Romance Author Must Know – The Royal Navy Boarding Axe

Louisa Cornell

It is often said that romance authors, especially historical romance authors, must by necessity become masters of minutiae. Perhaps for some glossing over the fine details of a historical romance would be easier than digging into the sometimes tedious details of the little things one might mention in one’s story.

Then there are those of us who cannot bring ourselves to include those little details without researching them in order to get them right.

We are the Research Rabbit Hole Divers and these are our stories.

(Think Law and Order without the guns and cool cars!)

In our series Bow Street’s Most Wanted – The Four Horsemen one of our heroes is a former Royal Navy man who carries his boarding axe everywhere he goes. So what precisely is a boarding axe?

Warrick Dyer is a man haunted by his many years before the mast with the Royal Navy.

There’s no love lost between Mrs. Beatrice Rowe and the Four Horsemen’s gang leader ruling the London docks.

Can Warrick afford to risk not only his business, but that of his brothers for the love of a woman? Can Beatrice risk her son’s future, and her heart, to take a chance on the word of a crime lord?

The Boarding Axe

Royal Navy boarding axes from the 18th and 19th centuries were vital utility tools and close-quarters weapons. Featuring an axe blade, rear spike, and reinforced wooden haft, they were used to cut tangled rigging, smash through anti-boarding nets, lever open hatches, and board enemy ships.

During the Age of Sail, every Royal Navy vessel carried dozens to hundreds of these axes in racked armories. Distinctive features of the British naval boarding axe included:

The Head: Forged from iron or steel, featuring a chopping blade on one side and an elongated, slightly curved spike on the other.

Versatility: The spike was heavily utilized to cut lines, pull down nets, or even dislodge red-hot “hot shot” (cannons balls) from the ship’s planking to prevent fires.

Reinforced Haft: The axe head was frequently secured with extended metal straps called “langets” that ran down the top of the wooden handle, preventing an enemy from severing the handle with a cutlass.

Markings: Many Royal Navy-issued axes were stamped with the British Broad Arrow alongside the manufacturer’s name or rack numbers. (Image Below)

Although there is as yet no identified government specification for these axes, most that have been measured are made to very similar dimensions. (Image below)

The axe was made from two 1/4” iron plates hammer forged together to form the 1/2” thick head and hammered out to shape the blade, spike and langets. A steel bar was inserted to form the blade edge.

The overall length with original haft is between 24 – 25” (61 – 64 cm).

The blade edge to the point of the spike is generally between 8 – 9” (20 -23 cm) with some rare examples smaller at 7.5”.

The cutting edge of the blade is 2.75 – 3” (7 – 7.6 cm).

The spike is normally 3.5” (8.9 cm) or above and this holds true even on those axes with the smaller head.

The length of the langets are between 5 – 5.5” (12.7 – 14 cm).

The weight with an original haft is just over 2 lbs (910g)

The oldest axe identified so far (image below) that has a maker’s name is one marked Reddell. This tomahawk is also marked with a barely distinguishable Crown over B.O and a broad arrow mark. There was a Reddell firm operating in Birmingham from 1803 until 1821 and in 1808 it was contracted to supply two thousand 1804 pattern cutlasses to the Board of Ordnance. It is likely that this axe was supplied by them and therefore dateable to that time period.

As naval warfare transitioned to long-range steel-hulled vessels in the late 19th century, the boarding axe became obsolete in combat. However, their multi-purpose demolition and cutting designs heavily influenced the development of the modern fireman’s axe. Authentic British examples from the Napoleonic and Victorian eras are highly sought after by militaria collectors today.

Warrick and his boarding axe

“Move aside, Bow Street,” Warrick said as he stalked toward the door wielding a monstrous boarding axe. “I’ll knock.” Before Colwyn could stop him, Warrick swung once, twice, three times, and the door listed to the side enough for them to push into a cobbled courtyard.

“He brought an axe?” Colwyn asked as they ran across the courtyard. “Did he think we were taking on the bloody French navy?”

“Warrick takes an axe if he’s going to Fortnum and Mason to fetch wine and cheese,” Con replied.

For More about Warrick Dyer and his boarding axe : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D5DL6ZDL/

Research Adventures of a Regency Romance Author

AND HER FEARLESS, INTREPID ENABLERS / SIDEKICKS

Louisa Cornell

A Visit to Horny-I-Am

Many of my fellow historical romance authors undertake numerous research trips to the UK in groups, alone, or with family members reluctantly dragged from stately home to museum to pub. I will admit to more than a little envy at those authors who go multiple times a year or even once a year. There, I said it! However, on the other side of that envy is my knowledge and appreciation for the trips I have been privileged to take and the marvelous company I have enjoyed on these trips. I would not trade a single moment of those trips for all the visits other authors have taken combined. Because I owe those trips and the adventures that came of them to a select group of friends whom I can never repay in a dozen lifetimes.

Now those other authors induce more envy in me because their research trips appear to be so perfect, so poetic, and so free of incidents involving the police, the fire brigade, museum alarms, or other singular episodes. Not that I would know anything about those sorts of things.

Today’s adventure involves a visit to Longleat House in Wiltshire. Now whilst I have fond memories of the glories of this gorgeous home and the amazing grounds for which I will create a later post, this particular post chronicles a simple trip to the local pub for lunch. Or rather, what should have been a simple trip to the pub.

CAUTION!!

Should a docent at a stately home tell you that the local is just up the drive, past the gates be prepared for a five mile hike past sheep fields and some lovely English countryside at a bare minimum.

I am all for a stroll through the English countryside. But not after having walked up and down miles of stately home corridors trying my best to see each and everything in said stately home. There are gold medal long distance runners who would need a nap after touring Longleat.

However, we innocent Yanks took the docent at his word and began the stroll up the drive to a place “Just past the gates.” which remained out of sight for the next hour of our walk. Another important tip? When a licensed sea captain of a mature age who has seen and sailed it all tells you that it is going to rain? Believe her! (You did warn us, Andrea K. Stein!)

As we began our trek “just past the gates” what had been a few sprinkles became a steady deluge. By the end of the first mile we were soaked to the skin. I looked to our intrepid leader, Kristine Hughes, and discovered an interesting bit of physics. A House of Lords baseball cap creates a fascinating waterfall before the face of the wearer.

Eventually we arrived at our destination The Bath Arms.

The Bath Arms Notice the mounting block visible just under the sign.

Established in 1736, the Bath Arms was a coaching inn. For us it was a refuge from the rain and a place to sit and dry out our clothes by the fireplace.

One last adventure was in discovering the name of the village where our refuge was situated. When we asked, the young barmaid announced what sounded like “Horny-i-am.” To which our intrepid leader replied “I can’t help you with that but I’d love a rum and coke!”

As interesting as that name sounded we were soon corrected and informed we were, in fact, in Horningsham.

The Bath Arms is in Horningsham, a small village with population of around 300 forming part of the Longleat Estate. The name ‘Horninges-Ham’ means ‘Horning’s Homestead’ in Old English.

Entries in the Domesday Book describe Horningsham as very small, being occupied by one cottager and four small holders. The Parish of Horningsham changed hands many times before the Thynne’s purchased it for the second time in 1716.

Horningsham

The Vernon families owned Horningsham during the 12th century and were founders of the village church. The Stantors then owned it for the next 200 years before selling it to Sir John Thynne c. 1550. Sir John Thynne increased the size of the Parish by buying more land. His descendant Thomas Thynne, the 1st Marquess of Bath was very interested in forestry and engaged Capability Brown to plant large plantations throughout his 900 acres of land.

The village pub was built in the 17th century. It became a public house with rooms in 1732 when it was then known as the New Inn. It later changed to the Lord Weymouth Arms and then the Marquess of Bath Arms in 1850. At the turn of the century there were 4 pubs in the village and The Bath Arms is the last remaining one.

Lessons Learned?

1. Just past the gates is a British term meaning anywhere from a mile to five miles up the road.

2. When a sea captain tells you it looks like rain expect a deluge that would send Noah scrambling for his hammer and saw.

3. A House of Lords baseball cap serves as an excellent personal awning.

4. English rain will soak you down to your drawers in a matter of minutes.

5. Village names pronounced by natives of said village can create quite a bit of confusion!

6. Sitting before the fire in a pub with friends can cure a great many ills no matter where your native land is.

7. Friends who managed to reach the pub before the deluge will make fun of you and bandy about words like drowned rat.

8. In spite of the trouble, a trip to a 200 plus year old pub can afford you your first sighting of a mounting block in the wild !

9. Imagining a romance novel hero or heroine arriving at said pub after walking five miles in the rain can end up being the beginning of an excellent story.

10. Even years after one’s Longleat misadventures, the story can still make one smile!

Stay tuned for more Adventures of a Regency Romance Author!

A Haunting We Will Go – The Grenadier Pub

Tucked away down London’s exclusive Wilton Mews, on the corner of Old Barrack Yard, the patriotic Grenadier pub is painted red, white and blue and boasts a red sentry box that serves as a nod to the property’s military history. Reputedly, the Duke of Wellington’s Grenadier Guards used it as their mess. Inside it is small, dark, and cozy, the paneled walls covered with military and Wellington memorabilia. Reputedly, the pub’s upper floors were once used as the officers’ mess of a nearby barracks, whilst its cellar was pressed into service as a drinking and gambling lair for the common soldiers.

A display at the entrance to the pub informs us that “18 Wilton Row was built circa 1720 as the home to the 1st Regiment of Foot Guards regiment and famously known as the Duke of Wellington’s Officers Mess. Originally named The Guardsman as a Licensed Premises in 1818, and frequented by King George IV, the Grenadier enjoys a fine reputation for good food and beer.” From the same display we also find out that the 1st Regiment of Foot Guards was created in 1656, and that 1st Guards were renamed by Royal Proclamation as the ‘Grenadier Regiment of Foot Guards’ because of their heroic actions against French Grenadiers at Waterloo in 1815. Continuing the Wellington connection, directly outside in the old Barrack Yard at the side of the pub is what is reputed to be the remaining stone of the Duke’s mounting block, whilst an archway down the nearby alley forms part what was once the barrack stables.

Here, a young subaltern is said to have once been caught cheating at cards, and his comrades punished him with such a savage beating that he died from his injuries.

The Grenadier is said to be one of the most haunted places in London. People who have worked there have quit after supernatural run-ins with a solemn, silent spectre reportedly seen moving slowly across the low-ceilinged rooms. Objects either disappear or else are mysteriously moved overnight. Unseen hands rattle tables and chairs, and a strange, icy chill has been known to hang in the air, sometimes for days on end. A ghostly face floats in an upstairs window and – the most common tale – the sentry box out front is haunted by the ghost of the dead subaltern.

So . . . a few years ago, on Saturday, August 3, 1996, I was at the Grenadier with Sue Ellen Welfonder (Bozzy) and two other women whom I won’t name because I haven’t seen them in years and have no idea whether or not they want to be associated with the following story. I don’t often talk about it myself, as it makes one seem as odd as those who claim to have been abducted by aliens or to have seen the Loch Ness Monster and Big Foot. We, Reader, saw ghosts. Not a ghost, but a circle of ghosts. Regency soldier ghosts, no less.

We could see that the alley beside the Pub led back to a yard with stable doors and a row of quaint single story houses along one wall. Very atmospheric, very historic . . . very tempting. What was back there? we asked. Let’s go look! we answered. What. A. Mistake. As you can see by the photo, a sort of alley runs beside the Pub and opens up at the end to the barrack mews.

We walked down the alley to the end, where the car is visible in the photo below. There was a car parked in the very same spot on the night in question. We got to the end of the alley and saw . . . . . a ring of ten to twelve men – soldiers, whose red coats had been thrown in a pile atop the cobbles. They wore breeches and boots and white shirts. They stood in a circle in the space between the front of the car and the stable doors – surrounding a man who was on his knees at the center of the circle, his face already bloody and bruised from the beating that had already been going on for some time (centuries?). These men were pissed off. Even taking into account the fact that cheating at cards was a much more serious offence then than it is today, their anger was beyond anything justified by such an offence.

We watched them as though we were watching a black and white film that was being played at half strength. That’s the only way I can describe it. The scene was playing out before our eyes, in the bricked space between the car and the black stable doors, the men utterly oblivious to our presence. The film ran for a minute, probably less in hindsight, and then flickered out. Except this film had something extra – this one had been filmed in “emotion-vision.” As we watched the ghostly events, each one of us could actually feel the anger and the venom that was being directed towards the poor schmuck on his knees in the middle of the circle. In fact, I think the strength of that collective emotion was more overwhelming to us than the fact that we’d actually just seen ghosts. The experience was so shocking, so unbelievable that I will be forever grateful that I was in the company of others when it happened or else I’d truly doubt whether it had taken place.

I suppose seeing ghosts is much like childbirth – the true horror of the experience abates with time and twenty-six years have since passed. I’ve been back to the Grenadier many times since, both alone, with friends and with tour groups. More recently, I’ve even ventured back into the mews and I’ve been taken into the private areas upstairs. I’ve never seen the ghost soldiers on the premises again, though several members of staff emphatically refuse to go down to the cellars. And just as emphatically refuse to discuss why.

This post originally ran in 2010 and has since been updated by the author.

HISTORIC PUB CRAWL – The Prospect of Whitby

ONE OF THE MOST HAUNTED PUBS IN LONDON

WITH GOOD REASON!

THE PROSPECT OF WHITBY

WAPPING / TOWER HAMLETS

57 Wapping Wall, London

LOUISA CORNELL

The Prospect of Whitby is one of London’s oldest pubs and it is believed to be the oldest riverside pub on the Thames. There has been a pub on this site since 1520 which means it existed during the reign of Henry VIII. In fact, the original flagstone floor is still visible in the pub today. Four hundred year old craftsmanship endures.

The four hundred year old flagstone floor and pewter bar make the Prospect of Whitby one of the most authentic historic pubs in London.

The first pub on the site was called the Pelican. Because of its proximity to the river it quickly became a den of cutthroats, pirates, thieves, highwaymen, and many other unsavory denizens of the area. Larger ships had to berth in the middle of the river and goods were ferried to shore in smaller boats by men called lightermen. This made it easy for criminals to steal from the ships, and The Pelican often served as a base for these felons to disperse their stolen goods. In spite of the name on the sign, because of the constant nefarious activity the tavern eventually became known as the Devil’s Tavern. Of course, with this sort of clientele the local prostitutes congregated here as well.

Naturally with the large criminal contingent in attendance, the tavern also claims its proximity to the execution dock used to hang those condemned to death by the Admiralty Courts. To this day there is a scaffold and hanging noose outside the tavern. Wapping Old Stairs next to the tavern was where some of those sentenced to death – usually pirates – were chained to posts to await the incoming tide and death by drowning.

Like the Town of Ramsgate pub, the Prospect of Whitby was a favorite of the Hanging Judge George Jeffries (1645-1689) (see the Town of Ramsgate post. https://numberonelondon.net/2021/05/historic-pub-crawl-town-of-ramsgate/) Once he began to frequent the establishment, the criminal element moved their activity elsewhere, or at least conducted their activities out of his sight. He had a special window built in the tavern that overlooked the execution dock so he could watch those whom he had condemned die. To this day people have reported seeing a man’s face gazing out the window where Jeffries used to sit. In an interesting side note, Jeffries supposedly had the bodies of those hanged dumped into the Thames. The body snatchers hid out in boats along the river’s edge to fish out the bodies and sell them to local medical schools.

The most famous criminal hanged at the execution dock at the Prospect of Whitby was Captain William Kidd. Ironic, as the Scottish sea captain was originally appointed by the Crown to hunt down pirates. He discovered piracy was much more profitable than hunting down pirates. He did quite well for a while. Unfortunately, in 1698 he captured The Quedagh, which was sailing under a French pass. The captain, however, was an Englishman and the rich cargo Kidd took was property of the East India Company. Kidd was eventually captured and brought back to London where he was sentenced to death for piracy and for the murder of one of his own crewmen (in 1697) who had dared to cross him.

It took three tries to execute Captain Kidd. The first two ropes broke. The third one held and once he was dead his body was dipped in tar and hung by chains on the banks of the Thames as a warning to other pirates.

After a fire in the early nineteenth century the tavern was rebuilt and renamed. As the owners had tried everything to disassociate their tavern from its dangerous reputation, for a while they had removed all signage. Those who wished to direct someone to the tavern would say “You want the tavern across from the Prospect of Whitby. The Prospect of Whitby was a collier that berthed next to the tavern. The ship hauled coal from Newcastle on Tyne to London. Eventually the directions were shortened to the Prospect of Whitby and the owners of the newly rebuilt establishment decided to adopt the name permanently. Much more amiable a name than The Devil’s Tavern. Even with the new name a few of the tavern’s more lucrative activities continued. The cock fighting pit and the bare knuckle boxing arena were in use well into the nineteenth century.

Of course the pub claims its more upstanding celebrity visitors as well. The diarist Samuel Pepys (1633-1703) was said to have had supper at the tavern quite frequently. Charles Dickens (1812-1870) was known to visit as well. The artists J.M.W. Turner (1775-1851) and James Abbott MacNeill Whistler (1834-1903) both visited and made sketches of views from the pub.

Is the pub haunted, you ask?

According to customers from the eighteenth century forward, the Prospect of Whitby is the grand central station of riverside hauntings. To name just a few:

Supposedly one is often accosted walking to the pub at night by the waterlogged ghosts of the men hanged or drowned at the execution dock in search of their bodies taken by the body snatchers. Other similar ghosts are said to be in search of Judge George Jeffries to exact revenge.

The ghost of a young woman dressed in a doublet, breeches, and smoking a pipe is often seen sitting in the dark corners of the pub watching guests drink. Supposedly, she was a moll cutpurse – a woman who would sidle up to unsuspecting (translation:drunk and in search of feminine company) men and cut their purses from their belts. She is believed to have been caught by one of her marks before she could get away and the gentleman beat her to death in the back of the tavern. One wonders if she is visiting the pub these days in search of her next mark.

Oh, and remember that fire in the early nineteenth century? The cobblestone streets around the tavern all but guarantee it is shrouded in fog at night. The cobblestones retain heat and the cold night air pulls that heat out as fog. The fog was even thicker in the nineteenth century when horse and foot traffic kept the roads heated at all times. As a result it was not unusual to see shapes, but nothing clearly, if one happened to stroll by the tavern after closing time. However, people began to say they saw lights in the Prospect of Whitby long after the owners had closed up and gone to bed. Not just lights, but lights enough to see clear through the pub to the river. And in those lights they saw a figure moving about the tavern. A figure very like that of Captain William Kidd. Eventually the owners decided they did not want people coming to the pub after closing in an attempt to see the mysterious figure. So one night they decided to leave the lights on in the tavern. Big mistake. That very night a fire broke out in the back of the tavern and burned nearly to the execution dock. If not for the newly inaugurated fire brigade the fire might have spread throughout the dockside buildings. Needless to say once the tavern was restored the lights were left out after closing. Just in case. A vengeful Captain Kidd is not to be trifled with.

These days there is no need to imagine what the pub might have looked like when pirates, cutthroats, and thieves occupied the tables there. From the rickety stairs to the stone-flagged floors to the crooked doors and heavy rum flagons the Prospect of Whitby looks very much as it did then. For a trip back in time to the swashbuckling days of yore, this pub is definitely worth a visit. Just pay attention to sudden chills and the hairs on the back of your neck!

HISTORIC PUB CRAWL – The Grenadier – aka The Most Haunted Pub in London

THE GRENADIER

BELGRAVIA / KNIGHTSBRIDGE

18 Wilton Row, London

LOUISA CORNELL

The building that houses The Grenadier was originally built in 1720. It served as the officers’ mess for the senior infantry regiment of his His Majesty’s Army, the 1st Regiment of Foot Guards. The building was, in fact, located in the courtyard of their barracks. This particular regiment played an important role in the defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo. And after they defeated the emperor’s French Imperial Guard they felt the need to adapt the Imperial Guard’s bearskins as their regimental trademark and they changed their name to the Grenadier Guards. Apparently when one whoops the derrieres of Napoleon’s elite one can do that.

It is understandable then that when the building was repurposed as a tavern called The Guardsman in 1818 that many of its customers were members of the regiment still housed in the nearby barracks. In honor of their success at Waterloo it wasn’t long before the tavern changed its name to The Grenadier. Because of its rather out of the way location, the Duke of Wellington and even King George IV are said to have stopped by for a pint or two.

The upper rooms of the tavern were used by the more urbane customers. The common soldiers used the cellar as their personal haven to drink and wile away the hours playing cards. It is said on a September evening in 1818 a young Grenadier guard named Cedric was caught cheating at cards. His fellow card players punished him with a beating so brutal he died, right there in the cellar of The Grenadier.

And apparently, Cedric never left. Whilst his presence is felt in various ways throughout the year, for some reason the month of September still gets Cedric stirred up. During September a solemn, silent spectre is said to be seen moving slowly across the low-ceilinged rooms. Objects have been known to disappear or to be moved during the night. Unseen hands rattle tables and chairs. Footsteps have been heard in empty rooms. Low moans can sometimes be heard from the cellar when there is no one down there. At times rooms in the pub become icy cold and can remain so for hours, days, or even an entire month at the time.

A Chief Superintendent from New Scotland Yard was having a drink at The Grenadier one evening when he noticed puffs of smoke swirling around him. He reached out to try and detect the source of the smoke and snatched his hand back in pain. He’d been burned by a cigarette. The thing was, there was no one there.

Another even more recent event involved a barman who went down into the cellar to fetch some cigars for the bar. Cigarette breaks were hard to come by, especially when The Grenadier was busy. He stopped for a moment to have a cigarette. The landlord’s cat appeared in the cellar, an unusual event in and of itself as the cat wasn’t ever allowed out of the owner’s flat over the pub. Suddenly the cellar turned icy cold. The barman’s crystal ashtray flew across the room into the wall. The cat bowed up and sank his teeth and claws into the barman’s ankle. Needless to say the barman shook off the cat and shot up the stairs out of the cellar and back into the pub.

The Grenadier is still hard to find if you don’t know exactly where it is. The building is surrounded by lovely cottages and one must weave in and out of various cobblestone lanes and narrow private side streets to reach the beautiful Georgian building beneath the shade of a magnificent tree. The distinct red and blue accents against the whitewashed walls gives the pub a distinct pop.

The Grenadier is the typical old pub with random objects on the walls and sturdy wooden furniture. The Boot Room is where the general public imbibes as it has more of the common touch. Which includes a ceiling papered with pound notes. Why? To pay Cedric’s gambling debts, of course. If one doesn’t want to incur his wrath or have him light up a cigarette next to one it is best to do one’s part.

The Wellington room is a bit more elegant with ornate mirrors and leather Chesterfield seating. Which creates an atmosphere that has been called spooky. Be forewarned.