Scalvaging British Warships

It’s October 4, 1744, and a fleet of 25 British and Dutch ships is beating its way towards home in the teeth of a fierce storm. The wind howls in the rigging, the sails on the ships whip and tear, and the sea churns the timber vessels ceaselessly.

The crews are aggrieved by this punishment. Some have already endured a three-month blockade, trapped in the estuary of the Tagus River in Portugal by enemy French forces. Now, here they are, in the chops of the channel separating England from France, fearing for their lives again even though they are near their home ports.

The commander of HMS Duke glances across the tilting deck and is uplifted by a glimpse of HMS Victory, the biggest warship in the Royal Navy. Under the command of the great mariner Admiral Sir John Balchin, the wooden colossus has led the combined fleet to break the French blockade and has since guided the freed ships homewards.

As the rain lashes down and the waves rise, the Duke drops into a swirling trough, losing sight of the Victory.

In the next few days, all of the battered fleet limped into the home ports of Plymouth and Spithead – except for one. The Victory had been lost at sea with all hands, a thousand souls, presumed wrecked on the infamous Black Rock off the Channel Islands.

The nation was stunned. Not only had the Victory carried the biggest, meanest array of cannon that had ever been assembled on one vessel, but also the sons and heirs of the naval establishment had been aboard. And there were persistent tales that 100,000 gold and silver coins were stowed between decks.

A memorial to Admiral Balchin was duly erected in London’s Westminster Abbey and blame for the tragedy was heaped upon a humble Channel Islands lighthouse keeper for allegedly not showing a warning light. Others gossiped that the admiral, at 74, had been too old and had not been able to command such a massive vessel. Victory’s topmast eventually washed ashore on the island of Guernsey and cash rewards were promised for anyone who could find the wreck. Nobody claimed them.

Years passed, a new Victory was built and lived up to her name under the command of the famous Lord Nelson. The memory of Balchin was eclipsed and the original Victory remained in the depths, undiscovered.

Now fast forward almost 264 years to a mild spring day in 2008. Wooden hulls have long been replaced by steel, sails by propellers and signal flags by radio. A side-scan sonar unit is being towed through the English Channel, a few metres above the seabed. Its job is to map the sea floor and detect things that don’t look right. It is assisted by a magnetometer that detects metal artefacts by measuring the variations they cause to the background magnetic field. These are the tools of the trade of Odyssey Marine Exploration – a Florida-based company of shipwreck hunters.