Why a modest memorial in Edinburgh to truly brave men needs a closer look

Colonel Alexander Seton, 74th Highlanders. | Contributed

You’ll know some of the names of the great and gone on the memorials lining the walls of the High Kirk of St Giles. The Duke of Argyle, Sofia Jex Blake and of course, Robert Louis Stevenson. But take a moment to find the plaque to the 74th Highlanders, and the name of a lesser known hero, but man whose actions have a global significance. 

You could easily miss it. Tucked between white marble and blazing stained glass, it's a modest memorial, but the man named halfway down would probably have approved of that. Colonel Seton of the 74th. 

In 1852, the troopship HMS Birkenhead left Portsmouth heading for South Africa. Originally named ‘Vulcan’, she’d been built by Scottish shipbuilder John Laird, at his yard in Birkenhead. She’d been planned as a frigate, but she was basically rendered obsolete before she could take up station. ‘Vulcan’ was a paddle-steamer, and the Admiralty had decided that paddles were out, propellers were in. She was refitted as a troopship and renamed ‘Birkenhead’. 

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On this voyage she was carrying about 650 people in total, mainly soldiers heading to one of our Victorian wars, along with some regimental wives and children. The senior military man aboard was 38- year-old Colonel Alexander Seton, 74th Highlanders. He was also the 5th Baron of Mounie, born at the family seat in 1814. 

He must have been an imposing figure. He stood around 6 fit 3 and the red of the 74th jacket suited him. 

The skipper of the Birkenhead was Captain Robert Salmond, a 49- year- old Fifer from Torryburn with more than two decades of experience under his belt. 

Birkenhead headed for Queenstown in Ireland, now known as Cobh, famous today as the last place the Titanic made landfall before she set off across the Atlantic. Salmond and his crew welcomed more women and children aboard, then headed for South Africa. 

According to the Portsmouth Times and Naval Gazette of Saturday 10 April 1852, by the time the ship had reached the navy base at Simon’s Bay, her passenger manifest now included three babies who had been born on the voyage. Tragically, all three mothers died in childbirth. A fourth woman succumbed to consumption whilst aboard. 

Some women and children disembarked at Simon’s Bay. Birkenhead took on some cavalry horses, then continued to the Cape. Captain Salmond gave commands to keep the ship close to shore.

On the 26th of February, at about 2.00 in the morning, HMS Birkenhead hit a submerged reef near Danger Bay. Salmond was on deck almost immediately, as was Colonel Seton. Salmond rapped out his orders. The anchor was lowered and her engines thrown into reverse. Sadly, this tore the hull apart. Men drowned in their bunks. 

There were only three usable small boats for over 600 people.

An eyewitness reported that Seton calmly told his men to listen out and follow Captain Salmond’s orders.  They tried to get the sea pumps going, but there was little point. The ship was breaking apart. The horses were forced into the sea. The woman and children were put into the boats and rowed to a safe distance away. A letter by Ensign G.A. Lucas reported that “Almost every body kept silent, indeed nothing was heard, but the kicking of the horses and the orders of Salmond, all given in a clear firm voice”

Men were gathered on the still floating stern. Captain Salmond called out that those who could should swim for the boats. Colonel Seton realised the danger at once. Panicking men could pull those boats under. 

His orders were clear “The cutter with the women and children will be swamped… I ask you to stand fast”.  Other officers repeated ‘Stand fast.”

The 74th, with the men and boys of another nine regiments, stood as the deck slid beneath their feet. It took about 20 minutes for the aft to sink into the water. Ensign Lucas was standing by Colonel Seton. The remains of the ship were going down. Seton turned to the ensign and said "Now Lucas you had better go, there is no use in waiting". We shook hands, I said I hoped we would meet ashore” Colonel Alexander Seton never made it. 

One of the survivors, Mr Culhane, Birkenhead's assistant surgeon, was standing next to Captain Salmond. When the sea reached the deck, he turned to the remains of his crew and said ‘all you that can swim leave the ship.” It's the final command a captain can give. Abandon ship, every man for himself. Salmond himself died with his ship. 

The sea wasn’t finished with them yet. Wounded men went into the water. The blood attracted sharks. Coronet Bond of the 12th Lancers told of men screaming all around him in the dark. 

There were approximately 631 people aboard the Birkenhead that night. Only 193 survived. Remarkably, five of the horses made it to shore. 

Word of the courage and dignity of the soldiers and crew quickly spread. Naturally, like all good Victorian disasters, someone wrote an epic poem about it. With his ‘Soldier and Sailor, Too’, Kipling sent the men of the Birkenhead and their gallantry into the Victorian stratosphere . “But to stand an’ be still to the Birken’ead drill is a damn tough bullet to chew”

The term ‘Birkenhead drill’ became part of the code of the sea. The skipper should never leave his ship, especially if she is carrying passengers, whether she is the pride of the White Star Line sinking in the Atlantic, or an Italian Cruise liner turning over in the Mediterranean. The women and children should be loaded into the lifeboats first. 

It is a modest memorial, but it is to truly brave men.