An Account of Wrecks: North Cornwall’s 19th-century expert

The recollections of John Bray, a 19th century shipwreck expert from North Cornwall

The eccentric vicar of Morwenstow, Reverend Robert Hawker, has become a celebrated figure, not least as the author of Cornwall’s unofficial national anthem Song Of The Western Men (aka Trelawny).

But he is also remembered for recording dark tales of smugglers, wreckers and the shipwrecks that occurred in his parish on the wild north coast. Though a little prone to exaggeration and elaboration, his writings on the subject are still considered an invaluable resource.

In 1865, Hawker wrote: “So stern and pitiless is this iron-bound coast that within the memory of one man upwards of eighty wrecks have been counted within reach of fifteen miles...”

That man may well have been John Bray, a fascinating character who lived all his life in the Bude area and can, perhaps far better than Hawker, bring us closer to these dramatic episodes of our Cornish seafaring history. At Hawker’s request, Bray authored an account of 37 shipwrecks that occurred between 1756 and 1830, all of which he witnessed personally - the first when he was just 12 years old – often acting as salvager and sometimes rescuer.

Now held by the British Library, An Account Of Shipwrecks On The North Coast of Cornwall was written in about 1832 when Bray was 88. Although little is known about the man himself, his manuscript is unique and utterly fascinating. In it he describes the circumstances surrounding wrecks that happened between Millook and Morwenstow.

There was the Alert, a slave ship on its way to Africa from Bristol with a cargo of iron, wrecked at Maer cliffs below Poughill in 1790 with the loss of all hands; a sloop Bray said was carrying “many monkeys”, and another supposed pirate ship that cast a mountain of muskets, bayonets, boarding pikes, swords and three bedraggled survivors onto the rocks. oranges were saved from a ship called Vrow Geetina which came ashore at Millook. The Othello, a ‘Yankee’ ship, hit the rocks near Morwenstow and delighted locals with its bales of cotton strewn along the shore. Some cargo was seen as less of a prize: just a few days later, salted fish was left to rot on the sand following the wreck of a Newfoundland ship called John.

Bray knew the coast, and the people, like the back of his hand. Baptised in Launcells in 1748, he spent all of his life in the village of Poughill (pronounced Poffle). At one time or other he was a farmer, merchant, ship owner, constable and salvage agent. Said to have been shrewd, hardy, loyal and trustworthy, he was also “a man capable of giving hard knocks and receiving them”.

In a time when theft from shipwrecks was considered a normal part of coastal living, even a right, Bray worked hard with the authorities to legally salvage cargo, for a reward, and to retrieve goods that had made their way into local homes.

The fourth wreck that he writes about was a brig from Drogheda in Ireland which in about 1759 was on its way to France, laden with barrels of butter. Bray vividly describes the brutal, distressing scene as he stands on the shore watching the disaster unfold, unable to help the desperate crew. In the coming days he managed to raise enough money to give the sailors a proper burial and also salvaged “a thousand casks” of butter for the owners of the ship.

Bray, along with some constables from Stratton, were standing guard over this cargo when eight men attacked them, saying they have come to take the butter. Unfortunately for them, Bray knew most of them by sight. A battle ensued in which Bray gave a man called Cory, a blacksmith from Jacobstow, “a blow in the peeping holes” (eyes) and tore off his wig. The butter was saved and fines were handed out to the culprits. eccentric spelling and grammar ("the folt in my parrents”). Sadly, he often fails to record the names of the ships or the dates of events, probably due to it being written towards the end of his life. However, none of this detracts from the vivid clarity and passion of his writing.

In about 1770, Bray claimed he dreamt of a shipwreck. He awoke with in fright and, jumping on his horse, rode for Widemouth Bay. On arriving at the beach, he was astonished to see a French brig breaking up in the waves, “her sails split all in rags”. She was “laden with hides of a foreign kind, limmons and orranges”.

As he watched the sailors trying to tie themselves to anything that would float, Bray decided he must do something to help. In an act of reckless bravery, he repeatedly rode out into the waves on his horse. After several attempts, the horse swimming against the terrific undertow, both of them being pulled beneath the waves and nearly drowned, Bray managed to rescue all of the stricken crew. The next morning he rode out to see the sailors, who were being cared for in local homes, and received a hero’s welcome. He wrote: “They was all much recovered and if I could have swalled gould (swallowed gold) I might have had it. Instead they gave me as many limmons and oranges as I could bring home.”

In what may have been his last letter to Hawker dated July 31, 1832, Bray informs the parson that he has completed “the work”, a feat of memory which it seems he found particularly taxing. He closes the letter by saying: “This books contains all the wraks I can recollect, I have done this troublesome Task at last... this makes my labour on this bisness to be at an ende. I thank God for his Goodness in permeeting me to such rememberance in my advanced age of nigh eighty eight years.”

John Bray died in 1836 at the age of 92, and was buried at Poughill. l