James Weavers and the Voyage of HMS Guardian - Part 1
Thank you for asking me to talk today. I hope I can tell you something of a story which has fascinated me ever since I discovered that it was part of my own family history.
We've just commemorated the sailing of the First Fleet from Portsmouth — an important day. My talk is about the next two ships to set sail for New South Wales. The first was the Lady Juliana — she left in July 1789. She plays a small part in the story. The second was the Guardian.
As First Fleeters, you will know, I’m sure, that the situation at Sydney Cove had become desperate. Few of the First Fleet arrivals had farming skills, and little enough had been sent in the way of farm implements. Faced with soil which was unsuitable for growing crops, and with neither the knowledge nor the tools to become self-sufficient, their supplies had dwindled until they were existing on less than half rations, and starvation threatened. The successful return of the Sirius with supplies from Cape Town provided some relief, but the future of the colony was still not assured.
In his despatches to London, Governor Phillip had pleaded for supplies and for, as he said, men ‘who have been accustomed to agriculture or have been brought up to some trade or profession’, and preparations were begun for a naval ship, HMS Guardian, to make the voyage. Not only was she to bring supplies, but also 25 convicts, who were to be chosen because of their farming or practical skills.[1]
The Guardian was a 44 gun frigate, just 140 feet in length. Appointed to command her was Lieutenant Edward Riou. (See Fig.1. Lieutenant Edward Riou) At just 27 years of age, Riou was already highly regarded. Beginning his naval career at the age of 12 he had already served in Newfoundland, and had sailed as a midshipman in the Discovery, sister ship to James Cook’s Resolution, on Cook’s third voyage of discovery. A contemporary newspaper reported that he was ‘elegant in his person and manners, and owed his appointment to the command of the Guardian entirely to his own professional merit’.[2]
A seaman who had previously served with him remembered him as a harsh disciplinarian, with a fanatical concern for cleanliness, but his letters to his widowed mother and his sister, to whom he was devoted, as well as his concerns for the seamen and convicts under his care, show a different side of his character.
Preparations for the voyage were begun in May 1789, first at Woolwich, and then at Spithead, off Portsmouth. Guns were removed to make room for more cargo and, in addition to the usual necessities for such a long voyage, extra supplies were loaded: food, clothing, blankets, medicines, tools, building materials and farming implements, including wheelbarrows, wagons and carts. They were estimated to be enough to supply the colony for two years,
During this time Riou kept up a correspondence with his superiors at the Admiralty, making suggestion and receiving orders. He also corresponded with Sir Joseph Banks, making arrangements for the care of a collection of fruit trees, together with vines, and other plants and seeds, which Banks had chosen for their possible use to the new settlement. Banks himself came on board and marked out with chalk on the deck where a special enclosure was to be build to house over 90 pots for plants.
Preparations were almost complete when, on 9th Sept, Riou noted in his Log, 'Came on board twenty-five Convicts to be transported to the Coast of New South Wales'. Some newspapers also reported this event, and there were different versions of the skills of the men, but a list of those sent on board the Guardian shows their occupations; they included a gardener, a shoemaker, a house carpenter, a blacksmith, and a founderer. But most were farmers.[3] (See Fig 2. The Twenty-Five Convicts Sent on Board the Guardian)
And this is where my interest in the Guardian began, because one of those convicts, James Weavers, was my ancestor. James Weavers had been tried in the Suffolk town of Bury St Edmunds in March the previous year and had been convicted of breaking into a shop in the little town of Needham Market and stealing eight yards of callico. Burglary was then a capital crime, so James was sentenced to be hanged but, as was quite usual, this was reprieved. Instead he was to be transported for life. He was said to be a 35 year old farm labourer, although I have a theory that there may have been a clerical error and that he was actually nearer 25.
Following his conviction, James was sent to one of the prison hulks in the south of England, the Lion, lying off Portsmouth. It was from these hulks that prisoners were chosen to be sent on the Guardian. [4] James and the other convicts arriving on board the Guardian must have thought all their Christmases had come at once. Lieutenant Riou’s concern for them is clear from the outset. Certainly he had entered into a contract to transport them, and no doubt it was in his interest to ensure that they arrived in a fit state to be of use in the colony. But his care for their well-being was surely unusual for the time. Immediately on coming on board they were allowed a seaman’s portion of provisions and, as Riou wrote in a letter to his mother: '… they could not forbear exclaiming when breakfasting on the Burgoo without butter or salt or indeed without any kind of Sauce that they had not made such a meal for many a long day’.[5] Burgoo was a kind of gruel or porridge. They were also supplied with beds and bedding.
As we can see on a page from his log he ordered an inventory of the Convicts’ clothing and noted that: ‘each was in possession of a Woolen Jacket and Waistcoat, a pair of breeches of the same, a pair of worsted Stocking, a pair of Shoes and two Shirts. These things were in good order and I believe perfectly new when they came on board’. [6] (See Fig. 3. The Log of HMS Guardian, 14 Sept 1789)
By mid-September, preparations for the voyage were finally complete and newspapers reported their final departure, from England ─ from the Isle of Wight, on September 15, 1789: ‘Yesterday morning at seven o’clock, and not before, his Majesty’s ship Guardian, Lieutenant Riou Commander, sailed from St Helen’s with a fair wind for Botany Bay …’[7]
Sailing under Riou were a ship’s company of eighty-eight men. He was the only commissioned officer, though the warrant officers: the boatswain, master, and purser, were all experienced men. But there were also some forty additional people making the journey, including the twenty-five convicts.
One was the Reverend John Crowther, sailing to take up his post as assistant chaplain to the Colony. There were nine men who were to become superintendents of convicts. Two of these had worked at the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew and had been chosen by Sir Joseph Banks to look after the plants on the voyage. Another was a German, an ex-soldier named Phillip Schaefer, who was accompanied by his ten-year old daughter, Elizabeth. There was also a young 14-year-old midshipman, Thomas Pitt. He was the son of Lord Camelford, and a cousin of both the First Lord of the Admiralty and the Prime Minister. He was wilful, incorrigible, and eccentric, and had run away from school, determined on a life at sea, against his father’s wishes. They were a very mixed lot.
The voyage started well, especially for the convicts. Riou wrote of them: 'I verily believe the few convicts I have on board never were so happy in their lives, plenty to eat, little to do & less to think of ... ' But he was also very conscious of their situation. It is recorded that he gave orders to the Chaplain to leave out that part of the usual prayer at sea for a safe return home, 'in order, he said, that the convicts might not conceive a wrong notion of their situation, or desire of Providence what was forbidden by law.'[8] Most were being transported for life
Once at sea, Riou recorded in his Log: 'This morning on finding the Convicts had no Shift of clothing, or only two Shirts, and they already experiencing in colds and coughs the side effects of being obliged to wear their wet things, I ordered them to be supplied each with a frock and a pair of Trowsers'.
But, their good fortune was not to last. The Guardian arrived at Santa Cruz in the Canary Islands on 26 September, and stayed for four days, loading 2,000 gallons of wine. She reached Table Bay, at the Cape of Good Hope, two months later, and there more fruit trees and some livestock were added to the cargo — there were two bulls, sixteen heifers and cows, two stallions, five mares and an assortment of sheep, pigs, rabbits and poultry.
A letter written by Riou to Sir Joseph Banks from the Cape makes interesting reading. He wrote: 'I anticipate your fears respecting my rabbits, but I hope you will rest assured I have taken such means as to prevent them ever getting to the plants, and I thought them an animal too useful to be disregarded - however Governor Philip will be the best Judge how to dispose of them.'[9] But we can’t blame Edward Riou for any of the rabbits in New South Wales. They, like many others on the Guardian never arrived here.
They left the Cape on 11 December, setting sail to the south-eastward, for the long haul across the Southern Ocean. Riou noted: ‘We had a fine night ─ the cattle rather uneasy, but did very well … the Convicts were severally allotted to take care of these animals’.
But twelve days, and some 2,000 km, after leaving the Cape, the Guardian suffered, as the boatswain, John Williams, later wrote: ‘a moast Troablesum and disagreuble axident’.[10] It was 23 December, at latitude 40 degrees south, and the temperature had dropped below 10 degrees celsius. Unusually for that latitude, they had sighted an iceberg. The Guardian’s water supplies were now being rapidly depleted by the needs of all the livestock and plants on board and, as a means of replenishing the supply, Riou ordered boats to be lowered to collect pieces of floating ice. This was not unusual: naval ships in Arctic waters did this, and Captain Cook had used the same method to refill his water casks during his voyage to the South Seas in 1773.
The manoeuvre was successful but, as the boats were returning, a thick fog rolled in. So thick that it soon became impossible to see the length of the ship. With a strengthening wind, the sails were set and the Guardian proceeded on course cautiously, with extra lookouts posted. Riou himself remained on deck for some time, keeping watch, then, believing that the iceberg had been cleared, went below to his cabin.
But about half an hour later … disaster. The Guardian had struck what was described as ‘an island of ice’. She had hit an underwater projection, and a mountain of ice loomed above the ship. Riou described a huge cavern in the iceberg which he feared would swallow the ship entirely. The sails were altered to catch the wind, so that she might be blown away from the ice, but she hung there for some minutes, stuck fast. Eventually the rudder tore away and the Guardian was able to free herself. There was a hole in the bow, and the keel and sternpost were severely damaged.
Guns, cargo, and cattle were thrown overboard to lighten the ship, and the four pumps were manned. Miraculously, she remained afloat, though listing, and leaking badly. In an attempt to try to lessen the leak, the ship was ‘fothered’ — a sail filled with rolls of packed oakum was passed under the hull. But it did little to stop the rising water.
By the evening of the 25th, Christmas Day, in spite of all their efforts, many believed that the Guardian could not remain afloat, and demanded to be allowed to take to the boats. With Riou’s agreement, the five boats were lowered, and amid scenes of panic, some of the officers and seamen, and several of the convicts, scrambled into the boats. Many were drunk, having ransacked the captain’s quarters and broken into the liquor store. Riou was horrified to find many of his own belongings strewn about the deck, and he described one of his officers: ‘who stood before me, to my regret, beastly drunk - a most painful sight. He was dressed in a new gold-laced hat of mine, my sword, and two of my uniform coats. It was no time to upbraid!’[11]
Riou considered it his duty to stay on board and try to save his ship, but a letter he hastily wrote to the Admiralty shows that he had little hope of survival.
Sir,
If her Any part of the Officers or Crew of the Guardian should ever survive to get home - I have only to say their Conduct after the fatal stroke against the Island of Ice was admirable & wonderful in every thing that related to their duties considered either as private men or on His Majesty’s Service.
As there seems to be no possibility of my remaining many hours in this world, I beg leave to recommend to the consideration of the Admiralty a Sister who, if my Conduct or Services should be found deserving any Memory, their Favour might be shown to her, together with a Widowed Mother.
I am Sir remaining with great Respect
Your ever Obedt. & humble Servt.
E. Riou [12]
He entrusted the letter to Thomas Clements, the ship’s master, who was leaving in one of the boats. (See Figs 4 & 5 below. Two of several contemporary impressions of the Guardian disaster)
Again the boatswain later gave his version of events:
'… on the 25th the boats left us with moast of the officers and a great part of the seamen. The master-gunner, purser, one master’s mate, one midshipman, and a parson, with nine seamen, was got into the longboat and all saved. The doctor and four or five men got into a cutter and was upset close to the ship, and all of them was drowned. As for the rest of the boats, I believe must be lost, and all in them perrished, for wee was not nigh any land’
The boats that pulled away from the Guardian were overcrowded and with little food or water, and it certainly seemed there was little chance of survival. But, remarkably, one boat was picked up by a French merchant ship nine days later.
Remaining on the Guardian with Riou were about sixty people, including James Weavers and twenty of his fellow prisoners. Their situation was perilous.
This dramatic story continues in Part 2.
-------------------------------------------------------
Notes and References
Abbreviations
CO Colonial Office (The National Archives of the United Kingdom)
HO Home Office (The National Archives of the United Kingdom)
HRA Historical Records of Australia
HRNSW Historical Records of NSW
ML Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW
PRO Public Record Office (The National Archives of the United Kingdom)
SLNSW State Library of New South Wales
SRNSW State Records NSW
TNA The National Archives of the United Kingdom
References
lllustrations
Thank you for asking me to talk today. I hope I can tell you something of a story which has fascinated me ever since I discovered that it was part of my own family history.
We've just commemorated the sailing of the First Fleet from Portsmouth — an important day. My talk is about the next two ships to set sail for New South Wales. The first was the Lady Juliana — she left in July 1789. She plays a small part in the story. The second was the Guardian.
As First Fleeters, you will know, I’m sure, that the situation at Sydney Cove had become desperate. Few of the First Fleet arrivals had farming skills, and little enough had been sent in the way of farm implements. Faced with soil which was unsuitable for growing crops, and with neither the knowledge nor the tools to become self-sufficient, their supplies had dwindled until they were existing on less than half rations, and starvation threatened. The successful return of the Sirius with supplies from Cape Town provided some relief, but the future of the colony was still not assured.
In his despatches to London, Governor Phillip had pleaded for supplies and for, as he said, men ‘who have been accustomed to agriculture or have been brought up to some trade or profession’, and preparations were begun for a naval ship, HMS Guardian, to make the voyage. Not only was she to bring supplies, but also 25 convicts, who were to be chosen because of their farming or practical skills.[1]
The Guardian was a 44 gun frigate, just 140 feet in length. Appointed to command her was Lieutenant Edward Riou. (See Fig.1. Lieutenant Edward Riou) At just 27 years of age, Riou was already highly regarded. Beginning his naval career at the age of 12 he had already served in Newfoundland, and had sailed as a midshipman in the Discovery, sister ship to James Cook’s Resolution, on Cook’s third voyage of discovery. A contemporary newspaper reported that he was ‘elegant in his person and manners, and owed his appointment to the command of the Guardian entirely to his own professional merit’.[2]
A seaman who had previously served with him remembered him as a harsh disciplinarian, with a fanatical concern for cleanliness, but his letters to his widowed mother and his sister, to whom he was devoted, as well as his concerns for the seamen and convicts under his care, show a different side of his character.
Preparations for the voyage were begun in May 1789, first at Woolwich, and then at Spithead, off Portsmouth. Guns were removed to make room for more cargo and, in addition to the usual necessities for such a long voyage, extra supplies were loaded: food, clothing, blankets, medicines, tools, building materials and farming implements, including wheelbarrows, wagons and carts. They were estimated to be enough to supply the colony for two years,
During this time Riou kept up a correspondence with his superiors at the Admiralty, making suggestion and receiving orders. He also corresponded with Sir Joseph Banks, making arrangements for the care of a collection of fruit trees, together with vines, and other plants and seeds, which Banks had chosen for their possible use to the new settlement. Banks himself came on board and marked out with chalk on the deck where a special enclosure was to be build to house over 90 pots for plants.
Preparations were almost complete when, on 9th Sept, Riou noted in his Log, 'Came on board twenty-five Convicts to be transported to the Coast of New South Wales'. Some newspapers also reported this event, and there were different versions of the skills of the men, but a list of those sent on board the Guardian shows their occupations; they included a gardener, a shoemaker, a house carpenter, a blacksmith, and a founderer. But most were farmers.[3] (See Fig 2. The Twenty-Five Convicts Sent on Board the Guardian)
And this is where my interest in the Guardian began, because one of those convicts, James Weavers, was my ancestor. James Weavers had been tried in the Suffolk town of Bury St Edmunds in March the previous year and had been convicted of breaking into a shop in the little town of Needham Market and stealing eight yards of callico. Burglary was then a capital crime, so James was sentenced to be hanged but, as was quite usual, this was reprieved. Instead he was to be transported for life. He was said to be a 35 year old farm labourer, although I have a theory that there may have been a clerical error and that he was actually nearer 25.
Following his conviction, James was sent to one of the prison hulks in the south of England, the Lion, lying off Portsmouth. It was from these hulks that prisoners were chosen to be sent on the Guardian. [4] James and the other convicts arriving on board the Guardian must have thought all their Christmases had come at once. Lieutenant Riou’s concern for them is clear from the outset. Certainly he had entered into a contract to transport them, and no doubt it was in his interest to ensure that they arrived in a fit state to be of use in the colony. But his care for their well-being was surely unusual for the time. Immediately on coming on board they were allowed a seaman’s portion of provisions and, as Riou wrote in a letter to his mother: '… they could not forbear exclaiming when breakfasting on the Burgoo without butter or salt or indeed without any kind of Sauce that they had not made such a meal for many a long day’.[5] Burgoo was a kind of gruel or porridge. They were also supplied with beds and bedding.
As we can see on a page from his log he ordered an inventory of the Convicts’ clothing and noted that: ‘each was in possession of a Woolen Jacket and Waistcoat, a pair of breeches of the same, a pair of worsted Stocking, a pair of Shoes and two Shirts. These things were in good order and I believe perfectly new when they came on board’. [6] (See Fig. 3. The Log of HMS Guardian, 14 Sept 1789)
By mid-September, preparations for the voyage were finally complete and newspapers reported their final departure, from England ─ from the Isle of Wight, on September 15, 1789: ‘Yesterday morning at seven o’clock, and not before, his Majesty’s ship Guardian, Lieutenant Riou Commander, sailed from St Helen’s with a fair wind for Botany Bay …’[7]
Sailing under Riou were a ship’s company of eighty-eight men. He was the only commissioned officer, though the warrant officers: the boatswain, master, and purser, were all experienced men. But there were also some forty additional people making the journey, including the twenty-five convicts.
One was the Reverend John Crowther, sailing to take up his post as assistant chaplain to the Colony. There were nine men who were to become superintendents of convicts. Two of these had worked at the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew and had been chosen by Sir Joseph Banks to look after the plants on the voyage. Another was a German, an ex-soldier named Phillip Schaefer, who was accompanied by his ten-year old daughter, Elizabeth. There was also a young 14-year-old midshipman, Thomas Pitt. He was the son of Lord Camelford, and a cousin of both the First Lord of the Admiralty and the Prime Minister. He was wilful, incorrigible, and eccentric, and had run away from school, determined on a life at sea, against his father’s wishes. They were a very mixed lot.
The voyage started well, especially for the convicts. Riou wrote of them: 'I verily believe the few convicts I have on board never were so happy in their lives, plenty to eat, little to do & less to think of ... ' But he was also very conscious of their situation. It is recorded that he gave orders to the Chaplain to leave out that part of the usual prayer at sea for a safe return home, 'in order, he said, that the convicts might not conceive a wrong notion of their situation, or desire of Providence what was forbidden by law.'[8] Most were being transported for life
Once at sea, Riou recorded in his Log: 'This morning on finding the Convicts had no Shift of clothing, or only two Shirts, and they already experiencing in colds and coughs the side effects of being obliged to wear their wet things, I ordered them to be supplied each with a frock and a pair of Trowsers'.
But, their good fortune was not to last. The Guardian arrived at Santa Cruz in the Canary Islands on 26 September, and stayed for four days, loading 2,000 gallons of wine. She reached Table Bay, at the Cape of Good Hope, two months later, and there more fruit trees and some livestock were added to the cargo — there were two bulls, sixteen heifers and cows, two stallions, five mares and an assortment of sheep, pigs, rabbits and poultry.
A letter written by Riou to Sir Joseph Banks from the Cape makes interesting reading. He wrote: 'I anticipate your fears respecting my rabbits, but I hope you will rest assured I have taken such means as to prevent them ever getting to the plants, and I thought them an animal too useful to be disregarded - however Governor Philip will be the best Judge how to dispose of them.'[9] But we can’t blame Edward Riou for any of the rabbits in New South Wales. They, like many others on the Guardian never arrived here.
They left the Cape on 11 December, setting sail to the south-eastward, for the long haul across the Southern Ocean. Riou noted: ‘We had a fine night ─ the cattle rather uneasy, but did very well … the Convicts were severally allotted to take care of these animals’.
But twelve days, and some 2,000 km, after leaving the Cape, the Guardian suffered, as the boatswain, John Williams, later wrote: ‘a moast Troablesum and disagreuble axident’.[10] It was 23 December, at latitude 40 degrees south, and the temperature had dropped below 10 degrees celsius. Unusually for that latitude, they had sighted an iceberg. The Guardian’s water supplies were now being rapidly depleted by the needs of all the livestock and plants on board and, as a means of replenishing the supply, Riou ordered boats to be lowered to collect pieces of floating ice. This was not unusual: naval ships in Arctic waters did this, and Captain Cook had used the same method to refill his water casks during his voyage to the South Seas in 1773.
The manoeuvre was successful but, as the boats were returning, a thick fog rolled in. So thick that it soon became impossible to see the length of the ship. With a strengthening wind, the sails were set and the Guardian proceeded on course cautiously, with extra lookouts posted. Riou himself remained on deck for some time, keeping watch, then, believing that the iceberg had been cleared, went below to his cabin.
But about half an hour later … disaster. The Guardian had struck what was described as ‘an island of ice’. She had hit an underwater projection, and a mountain of ice loomed above the ship. Riou described a huge cavern in the iceberg which he feared would swallow the ship entirely. The sails were altered to catch the wind, so that she might be blown away from the ice, but she hung there for some minutes, stuck fast. Eventually the rudder tore away and the Guardian was able to free herself. There was a hole in the bow, and the keel and sternpost were severely damaged.
Guns, cargo, and cattle were thrown overboard to lighten the ship, and the four pumps were manned. Miraculously, she remained afloat, though listing, and leaking badly. In an attempt to try to lessen the leak, the ship was ‘fothered’ — a sail filled with rolls of packed oakum was passed under the hull. But it did little to stop the rising water.
By the evening of the 25th, Christmas Day, in spite of all their efforts, many believed that the Guardian could not remain afloat, and demanded to be allowed to take to the boats. With Riou’s agreement, the five boats were lowered, and amid scenes of panic, some of the officers and seamen, and several of the convicts, scrambled into the boats. Many were drunk, having ransacked the captain’s quarters and broken into the liquor store. Riou was horrified to find many of his own belongings strewn about the deck, and he described one of his officers: ‘who stood before me, to my regret, beastly drunk - a most painful sight. He was dressed in a new gold-laced hat of mine, my sword, and two of my uniform coats. It was no time to upbraid!’[11]
Riou considered it his duty to stay on board and try to save his ship, but a letter he hastily wrote to the Admiralty shows that he had little hope of survival.
Sir,
If her Any part of the Officers or Crew of the Guardian should ever survive to get home - I have only to say their Conduct after the fatal stroke against the Island of Ice was admirable & wonderful in every thing that related to their duties considered either as private men or on His Majesty’s Service.
As there seems to be no possibility of my remaining many hours in this world, I beg leave to recommend to the consideration of the Admiralty a Sister who, if my Conduct or Services should be found deserving any Memory, their Favour might be shown to her, together with a Widowed Mother.
I am Sir remaining with great Respect
Your ever Obedt. & humble Servt.
E. Riou [12]
He entrusted the letter to Thomas Clements, the ship’s master, who was leaving in one of the boats. (See Figs 4 & 5 below. Two of several contemporary impressions of the Guardian disaster)
Again the boatswain later gave his version of events:
'… on the 25th the boats left us with moast of the officers and a great part of the seamen. The master-gunner, purser, one master’s mate, one midshipman, and a parson, with nine seamen, was got into the longboat and all saved. The doctor and four or five men got into a cutter and was upset close to the ship, and all of them was drowned. As for the rest of the boats, I believe must be lost, and all in them perrished, for wee was not nigh any land’
The boats that pulled away from the Guardian were overcrowded and with little food or water, and it certainly seemed there was little chance of survival. But, remarkably, one boat was picked up by a French merchant ship nine days later.
Remaining on the Guardian with Riou were about sixty people, including James Weavers and twenty of his fellow prisoners. Their situation was perilous.
This dramatic story continues in Part 2.
-------------------------------------------------------
Notes and References
Abbreviations
CO Colonial Office (The National Archives of the United Kingdom)
HO Home Office (The National Archives of the United Kingdom)
HRA Historical Records of Australia
HRNSW Historical Records of NSW
ML Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW
PRO Public Record Office (The National Archives of the United Kingdom)
SLNSW State Library of New South Wales
SRNSW State Records NSW
TNA The National Archives of the United Kingdom
References
- Grenville to Phillip, 16 Nov 1790, HRA 1, 1.
- Diary or Woodfall’s Register, London, May 5 1790.
- The twenty-five convicts sent on board the Guardian, TNA (PRO CO 201/5)
- The Bury and Norwich Post, 4 Apr 1787, Suffolk Record Office; Gaol Book, Lent 1787, Norfolk Circuit 1784 – 1788, p. 177, TNA: ASSI 33/7. Research, A. Attwood; Criminal Papers Entry Books, pp. 228 – 230, HO 13/5. ML: PRO reel 419; Treasury Board Papers, Lion Hulk, Portsmouth, Oct 1788 - Jan 1789, TNA: T 1/665, ML: PRO reel 3551.
- Riou to his mother and sister, quoted in Nash, M. D. (ed), The Last Voyage of The Guardian – Lieutenant Riou, Commander 1789-1791, Van Riebeeck Society, Second Series No 20, Capetown, 1990.
- The Log of HMS Guardian 14 Sept 1789, Manuscripts, oral history & pictures online, SLNSW.
- Whitehall Evening Post, London, Tues Sept 15, 1789, The Burney Collection – 17th & 18th Century Newspapers, SLNSW Electronic Resources.
- Reported in The Public Advertiser, London, May 3 1790, The Burney Collection – 17th & 18th Century Newspapers, SLNSW Electronic Resources.
- Riou to Banks, 10 Dec 1789, Nash, M.D. (ed), The Last Voyage of the Guardian.
- John Williams, boatswain, 27 Mar 1790, HRNSW Vol 2.
- The Log of the Guardian 1789 - 1790, edited from the Journal of Captain Riou by Ludovic Kennedy in Navy Records Society: Naval Miscellany IV/XCII, London 1952.
- Riou to Stephens, 25 Dec 1789, PRO, Admiralty Secretary’s In-Letters 1788-1790, ADM 1/2391.
lllustrations
- From a miniature by Samuel Shelley, National Library of South Africa.
- TNA, UK [PRO CO 201/5]
- Manuscripts, oral history & pictures online, SLNSW.
- Hand coloured engraving by Carrington Bowles ML, SLNSW.,
- Engraving by Benezack, ML, SLNSW.