Next morning, those on deck at 6 am saw sailors sewing up a burial sack for Mrs Milner. Harry was fetching gunshot to put at the feet to sink the body. At 3 pm, many people gathered to watch it committed to the deep. Passengers and crew alike, pressed in a mass around the shroud, for this was new to most of them. It was a touching melancholy sight to see the husband and his children huddled together in tears, while the service was read. A scuttle was opened on the starboard side, with a plank tied, so it projected overboard. After a solemn speech from the Captain, the end of the plank was raised and the body committed to the deep.
Mr Olsen stood next to Jessica at the funeral service. She didn’t care to admit that she continued to muse about him, a man she couldn’t easily fathom. During the day he would stop to talk, but then he would not look her directly in the eye. Instead he would look down and shuffle his feet, and act as if he would rather be any place but where he was. They had been together on this boat for what seemed forever and his behaviour towards her still seemed most peculiar.
Then one morning at church service Jessica became very aware that Mr Olsen was standing next to her. He gave a shy smile before self-consciously burying his nose in the hymn book, which rather amused her. She hid her own face in her book to hide a smile. That he even attended these services intrigued her, as he had declared he had no interest in religion.
After the service he appeared to want to linger and she asked him if he would sit with her. He made her comfortable on a chest on deck, but he remained standing and stood fidgeting while they talked. She could not believe a big man could be so nervous.
After idle talk for some fifteen minutes, with many quiet pauses, she ventured to ask him if she made him uncomfortable. When she touched his arm to reassure him, it was as if a mild shock went through both of them.
Then he said, in a soft Scandinavian accent, “I do like it when you laugh,” which seemed so silly, it first made her smile.
Then, with his face so drawn and anxious looking, she had to laugh, despite herself. This was like a spring thaw after a long hard winter. There was some inner release that made them both suddenly more at ease with each other and there was a flush of the pleasure of each other’s company. All too soon the ship’s bell rang eight times and he had to go to arrange the change of watch, promising to talk again the next day. For them both, the day had filled with sunshine and both eagerly waited for the coming day and their next meeting. He continued to see Jessica regularly, and she did her best to make him at ease, but he continued to fidget uncomfortably whenever she talked to him. There was a rosy glow on her cheeks and even Mr Olsen plucked up enough courage to compliment her on her looks. Goodness me, thought Jessica. Mr Olsen had now stopped to talk to her every day for an entire week, though he continued to stand a respectable distance away. What was it about the man? She felt she was able to learn a little more of him each day, but it was like picking gold flakes out of a raging river.
They were certainly well into the tropics; the heat, at ten degrees of Latitude south from the equator, was one hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the sun. It was even ninety degrees in the shade.
Jessica’s cabin was on the ‘wrong’ side of the ship—the favoured being PORT OUT (to the Colonies) STARBOARD HOME, that came to be known as POSH. In time, affluent people did get to become known as posh people. In the cabins on the port side of the boat, which was occupied by the ‘posh’ people, the hull timbers were not so baked by the sun and any small breath of wind could seep through the portholes.
Jessica’s cabin, on the other hand, was as hot as an oven during the day, barely cooling off at night. Many nights she lay with Douglas on the deck outside the cabin door, pooled in sweat, and panting listlessly.
In the stormy conditions, their cabin porthole was often completely under water. They lived in a cabin that was half the size of her sewing room back home. Yet, bad as it was, she knew how much more awful it was down below in steerage and Jessica was grateful for how blessed they were.
Now, after two months at sea, Jessica had been observing the downright snobbery of most of the first class passengers. They literally sniffed down their noses at even the second class cabin passengers, whereas their attitude towards the poor people in steerage left even more to be desired.
But they too looked so different, so ill, so dirty; the shine had quite gone off all of them. Not that she was any better. She herself longed to wash her hair, but it would be another week before it was her turn to the water. She knew she would try to actively dissuade any of her friends, married or single, from going out as a steerage passenger on a ship like this.
Mid September, and the ‘Nell Gwynn’ was now into good weather. They had reached into the trade winds of the tropics, and they were now making a steady mileage. Jessica thought it was splendid to sit on the poop with the children and watch the waves following the vessel, as the wind was right aft and pushing them in fine style. The waves would reach up to them, sometimes in friendship, sometimes in anger, but they were there constantly, for rarely ever was the sea calm. Jessica even imagined she was beginning to be able to read the moods of the waves, just by looking at them.
The popular theatrical performances were stopped when one of the principal performers met with an accident. A person let go a ladle of pea soup down the ladder and severely scalded her. This was quite a loss to everyone, as the theatre nights were gala nights, while all other forms of entertainment for the passengers were gradually falling away.
There was nearly another serious incident; a young lady tumbled down a hatchway on to another person, right at the bottom. Neither of them was hurt, but the fright caused them both to scream. When they realised that both were unhurt, they together howled with laughter, till both wet their knickers. This caused even more screams of laughter; such was the need for even the smallest humorous incident to liven up the dreadful monotony. Actually, it was astonishing that there had not been more accidents, or even more serious injuries.
Then unexpectedly, just when all the bad weather and appalling conditions seemed to be over, a fever broke out amongst passengers and crew. A sanitary committee was formed to ensure that the decks were scrubbed with water three times a week and swept twice daily. Wind sails were put down each hatchway, which made a great difference to comfort to those below, the fresh air dispelling some of the stench. Mate Olsen had said there appeared a possibility of calling in at Cape of Good Hope, as the Captain was afraid the water supply was running short.
Jessica saw a large number of moving insects, like lice, quite visible in the drinking water. She was now sorry that she had forgotten to bring a filter, as they had been advised. On hearing of her situation, Matthew and Mr Olsen went off together for an hour and with a soldering iron and solder, and a tinman’s shears, they cut up a preserved meat can. Inside they put a charcoal sponge that could handle all the water she required. She was exceedingly touched by their kindness, and neither would take any money.
They saw several porpoises. A sailor harpooned one about five feet long, which was cut up and hung in the rigging, to be eaten by the seamen and passengers.
Nearly everyone was anxious to taste fresh meat. The general opinion was that it tasted something like a pig, darker in colour and quite tender. Anything was superior to the rotten salted meat they were now being served.
Amongst all the trials and tribulations of life on board, another child was born. Jessica went below to see if she could be of assistance to a woman who was a midwife. The woman in labour was carried to the sickbay for the last few hours of her confinement and there was great joy when the baby was finally born. The mother was very unwell, having suffered severe diarrhoea on most of the trip, but both survived.
About this time, a rich gentleman from first-class began to pay attention to Jessica whenever she appeared on deck. Mr Jock Purcell was a fat little man who was travelling to take up a government post in New Zealand. Obviously used to getting his own way, in her opinion he was rapidly going from poli
te to obnoxious. What an irritating man, Jessica thought. Surely a woman like me, alone with a child, cannot be attractive to a man of his position?
She listened for a while to his boasting, which was now beginning to sound more wishful than reality. His presence was spoiling any small pleasure she might have found by sitting there. Finally one day she lost patience and said,
“Oh sir, you are such a rude devil. I really would like to just be alone.”
The sighting of another ship took their attention. The ship the ‘Donavan,’ bound from London to Wellington was fifty-four days out as against the ‘Nell Gwynn’ of forty-two days. She had a large number of passengers, emigrating to found a new colony in Nelson. They were under the banner of The New Zealand Company, headed by Mr Wakefield. Jessica was quite surprised at the number of ships heading to and from the South Pacific. Of course she was not aware that this number was to explode in the years to come.
The night before her twenty-sixth birthday, Jessica woke to find the ship rolling from side to side with a fearful swing, which seemed likely at times to slingshot them all out of their bunks. Sleep was impossible and she lay rocking, head up, heels up, till morning. Trying to make the day more memorable, Jessica bravely went up to the poop deck and witnessed the gale. Not many ladies would venture out to see the waves when the sea is high. The sight was grand. The wind was blowing the tops off the waves and the sea was magnificently angry, with spume blowing down the backs of the waves in long tracers of foam. They tracked long white pencil lines from the wave tops to the troughs. She tried to imagine how the scene could be adequately captured by any painter, but it is impossible to put on canvas anything compared to the reality of bad weather at sea.
It was now late September, the days marked only by more wild nights and miserable days, a pitiless onslaught of rain and wind with an occasional exceptionally large wave to wet them thoroughly. Jessica resigned herself to retiring to her bunk early, but bed was far from pleasant at any time. The deck leaked above her and the beds, which were very roughly made, creaked and groaned in a maddening manner as the ship rolled from side to side.
Everyone on board was desperately weary; the poor steerage passengers were cooped up like sheep, barely better off than the animals themselves. It was wet on deck and wet below, the water dropping from the roof above on their heads, into their plates as they sat at dinner, into their clothing, and into their beds. Tins were rusting and mould seemed to be growing on everything. As well as contending with the cold, all on board were at the genuine risk of broken limbs or worse, by the sea chests coming loose from the rolling of the ship.
On the last day of September, the entire ship’s complement were instantly awoken by a tremendous shock, which made the ship stagger, then tremble like a leaf. Women and children screamed and men lay wide eyed, holding tight to their families. Could they have struck a rock? It certainly felt like it. These were scarcely chartered waters and it was not impossible that they were aground. Tons of freezing sea water cascaded down the hatch in a waterfall, seemingly without end, before the terrified eyes of all those below decks. A mighty sea had struck the ‘Nell Gwynn’ bodily amidships, the first impression was that the ship had stopped dead in the water and she was sinking, but the sailors sang out “It’s all right!'”
It may have been so on deck, but it was not so with any of the passengers, either in cabins or steerage, for there was no place for the water to escape, and it ran backward and forward across the floors and decks, lapping up against chests and bunks alike. With great urgency, the pumps were manned in an attempt to get the water level down. Passengers and crew took it in turns, but it was many nervous hours before the level finally began to recede and everyone could breathe easily again. Mr Olsen went below and reassured the passengers. He told them honestly, that they had been hit by an exceptionally large wave, one that is only one in ten thousand. They are called rogue waves, but fortunately a ship like the ‘Nell Gwynn’ could handle such an enormous wave. He had only experienced one other like it in the past ten years.
Chapter Twelve
Crew Rebellion
Quite unexpectedly, there was great excitement which affected passengers and crew alike; there was a mutiny of the ship’s crew. On the morning of 1st October, the ship took on board two heavy seas which appeared to be the fault of the helmsman at the wheel. A discontented fellow named Jackson, he argued with the Captain, who had him put in irons. When the crew heard this, they refused to work and remained in the forecastle playing cards, led perhaps not surprisingly, by Pig Murphy.
The Captain sent for them and asked them separately if they intended to return to work. When they refused and argued that they were in sympathy with the helmsman, they too were quietly put in irons in the deck-house and the brig by Mr Olsen. The ship now had few crew; most of the able-bodied seamen having stopped work, claiming it was a rebellion, not a mutiny. As such, they would return to work when the matter was sorted.
Originally, their discontent had risen from having been denied porridge by the Third Mate, but the argument with the Captain was enough to set them off. As the boatswain and the two lower mates had revolted with the crew, the few men left to handle the ship were; one ordinary seaman, two apprentices, a carpenter, a sail-maker, two mates, two boys and the Captain. A number of the male passengers would have to help out, but if the wind should rise, it would be very risky for them aloft.
The passengers spent an anxious night, knowing how unfit their undermanned crew were to manage the ship; to make matters worse vicious squalls were common in this area. Fortunately the rebellion was short lived, the brig being a rat infested, fearful place at the best of times. The Captain overcame the difficulty with the crew and they all returned to work the next day.
They sighted a vessel in the morning that proved to be the ‘Glen Monarch’ from Liverpool to Australia sixty days out, while ‘Nell Gwynn’ was only fifty five days to the same distance and yet the other ship was a fine American clipper.
The Captain announced that the wind was stopping them from being able to land at Cape Town. The shortage of water was a big concern to the Captain, and he issued orders to cut the ration in half. This was accepted by the passengers without too much grumbling, as the cold made them less inclined to need water, unlike the passage through the tropics.
Despite their wishes, the winds kept pushing them a long way south. The skies were bleak and the rain appeared with maddening regularity. With so many wet days, the passengers spent a lot of their time below decks. For many, it was the constant confusion of a madhouse down there. When it was fine, most passengers would get on deck, children included, and even Douglas now seemed to be thriving on the fresh air. His coughing spells were lessening and he was out constantly playing with the other children.
Chapter Thirteen
Jessica’s Diary October 3rd
Dear Diary,
October 3rd 1839
Many days I have not been able to even open my diary. The pages are damp and the ink runs, or just makes blots.
Oh how dreary are the days! I am like everyone on this boat. We smell. We are dirty beyond belief; our clothes all suffer mould and mildew. I snapped at Douglas for no real reason and of course immediately regretted it.
We are all constantly tired and sometimes I feel I am drifting around in a fog. I now desperately want to see green grass and green hills and get off this wretched boat. Generally I am of good humour but even that seems to be leaving me. Thank goodness, the maternal need to protect my young one keeps me sane.
It is now October, and there has arisen a wooden spoon mania. As I wander around the decks I see a dozen men and boys whittling wooden spoons and even Matthew and Mr Olsen are involved. Anyone with original ideas of making anything for themself opens the eyes of others to their own wants. When Mr Olsen made the water filter many passengers made similar, for there are good tradesmen on board. He also made some tin baking dishes and soon enough scores of others were made. It is astonishing wha
t can be converted to use when there is so little material. Mr Purcell wanted to buy all Mr Olsen’s dishes, but he said he had already promised them to me. This was not true but it made me smile when I heard it.
5th October
Last night passed very quietly, and we actually enjoyed a good sleep, as the ship was making little motion. About nine o'clock the lookout could see in the moonlight the shadow of land on the horizon. The Captain said we were passing the Islands of Amsterdam and St Paul’s. When the observation was taken today we had sailed two hundred and twenty five miles in 24 hours. The day was clear and the air bracing.
7th October
Relentlessly, the days and nights have dragged on, one after another. One advantage of having a small cabin is that we are able to huddle together for warmth at night. This morning we stepped outside to an unexpected surprise - the ship was covered with snow. What joy for twenty six bored children - their shouts and snow fights were of great pleasure to watch. I managed a good snowball down the neck of Douglas before he chased me to the cabin!
Today I bought two pounds of flour from the ship stores. The cook had just commenced selling it at four pence a lb, and when the galley ovens are free, we can make some scones. We just cannot eat the ship’s sea biscuits, which are as hard as slate and totally unpalatable. I have found I can grind them in a coffee mill and mix them with flour to make very inferior and unappetising scones. How we long for fresh vegetables.
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