Mary Sophia, 15 years old, sailed down the Thames with husband James Collins, 24, outward bound for Portugal. The couple, from Holborn, hoped their cargo would reach Wellington’s Army at Lisbon, without them meeting French privateers or Napoleon’s warships. James would try to join a convoy off Deal, for safety, or go it alone.
Their brig ‘Diane’ had a small saloon and a few tiny cabins at the stern for the captain and mates; while some ten crew shared the bow fo’c’sle. About 97 feet long, their vessel was square rigged with two masts. Let’s hope Mary Sophia coped with the sea’s motion for weeks on end. The girl would have to fit in with the routine and keep to the stern deck when sails were being hoist. Did she just sew and darn James and his officers’ clothes? Maybe they had a coop of chickens aboard giving her fresh eggs?
Disaster struck in late August on the voyage home. James had likely bought a cargo of port wine and wartime luxuries to sell in London, but a violent storm caught them sailing alone in the Bay of Biscay. As the ship sank under them, they launched two small boats, but one soon disappeared under the waves. Mary Sophia, James and a few seamen were alone in enemy waters.
James, being resourceful, had a little sail rigged and set course to round Britanny. Once in the Channel there’d be a chance of rescue by a British warship. Winds turned against them. Fresh water ran out. Tongues black and swollen; James brought them ashore near Brest. The French Navy’s Minister and his wife had the girl and men fed and given some clothes.
Mary Sophia was told they’d be sent to the Prison Fortress of Verdun as James, mate John Groves and seaman John Kelly were classified as officers. So, with what they stood up in, they awaited a Gendarme escort for the 500 mile walk.
The month long march was gruelling. Thrown into fetid prisons for night stops, if in towns, the little group were often mistreated. Too late for food, no straw to rest on, loathed enemies. Several times the men protected Mary, with James on guard holding their one knife. With wrecked shoes, dragged out for another 14 mile trek no matter what the weather next day.
At Verdun prison, Maria Sophia found that women weren’t prisoners of war; they just couldn’t leave. Where would she sleep? Who would feed her? Luckily, there were other British ladies in the city whose high ranking husbands were incarcerated. They had formed a charity able to share out a small pension to those less fortunate, so someone must have taken her in.
Another stroke of luck was that James was allowed parole being an officer, if he frequently reported to the guard house. Being careful with his stipend from the French, the pair could afford a lodging room in town.
Allowed to walk a little way near the fortress, they’d meet and talk with other prisoners. Maybe other women could advise or befriend young Mary. Amongst the British prisoners ‘living out’ was Lieutenant Gilbert Kennicott, a one-eyed 26 year old veteran of Trafalgar. He and James Collins had become good friends.
After three years of this strange existence, everything changed for the captive ship master and his young wife. Mary Sophia was ‘with child’ and James became seriously ill. James asked Gilbert to protect his wife and unborn child.
Verdun’s 1813 death records:
“James Collins – 23rd April – aged about 29. Master of the Brig Diane of London”
Verdun’s 1813 birth records:
“Maria Mary Ann Collins – born 1st May to Marie Sophie née Evans Hoare widow of James Collins captain of the merchant ship, The Diane of London.”
Mary Sophia married Gilbert Kennicott. (We guess before they were freed in 1814.) Marriage may have been the safest option for the young mother and daughter, ‘prisoners’ in wartime France. Maybe it was best for her ‘reputation’ and hopefully affection grew between them. Whichever, she bore him a son and two daughters, and they remained together.
In 1817 we find them living by Gilbert’s parents near Dartmouth, while his ship was on anti-slavery patrols off Africa. Their son, Charles must have died, but Sophia is with them, as is Mary Ann. Gilbert was soon put on the reserve list, so they had to cope on half-pay. Knowing it was cheaper to live in France, they went to St Malo, by the harbour. Mary Sophia and Gilbert’s second daughter, Harriet, was born there in 1829. Two Royal Navy officers signed her birth registration.
Mary Sophia had to take her three girls to England in 1836, when Gilbert became a Coast Guard officer. She set up home at the Battery on the Bayle, the service’s base. Later they lived on Mill Hill and at Grace Vale House, when Gilbert was involved in local affairs, serving twice as mayor. Daughter Sophia married Colonel William Calder, following him on many postings. On retiring he took Sophia and their children to live in Boulogne, where they became well known. Maria Collins married a Scottish engineer in the town, later moving to Greenock. Harriet remained with her parents at Shellons Street, then after their deaths, living with Maria in Fife.
Sacred to the memory of MARY SOPHIA, beloved Wife of Capt. Gilbert Kenniccott, R.N.J.P. who died August 19th 1867. Aged 71 years leaving 3 daughters Mrd Alexr. Swan, Mrs Col. Calder & Harriet Kennicott.
[Rob M with Maryann M. in Australia, and James & Carole of FOFC]
