Unhappy wanderers, 1774

And an unfortunate duck.

I came across this week’s diarist through her vivid account of a storm at sea, when crossing the Atlantic in the late 18th century on a voyage to the Caribbean. But reading more of her words, and learning more about her, opened up a can of worms. She provides a classic example of how we all contain multitudes – not all of them very attractive.

Let’s set the scene first. Janet Schaw was born in Edinburgh in the 1730s. She came from a well-heeled Scottish family and was a cousin of the novelist Sir Walter Scott. Details of her early life are scant, and we only know of her through the chance discovery of her travel diary in the British Library in 1904. This was published as Journal of a Lady of Quality, and it was only the detective work of Evangeline Walker Andrews in the 1920s that led to Janet being identified as the author.

The journal (written as a letter, but we don’t know who to) covers her travels from setting sail on the Jamaica Packet from Burntisland, Fife in October 1774, accompanying her brother Alexander who was to be a customs officer, along with a small group of children they were keeping an eye on and a couple of servants. Later, the journal describes her travels in Carolina, during the early stages of the American Revolution.

Janet has a sharp eye and has a great way with words – but like anyone, she was a creature of her class and era. Early on in the voyage, she is surprised to discover that the ship is not just home to the crew and her fellow ‘people of quality’ passengers:

We now ascended the Companion or Cabin stair, when, judge of my surprize, I saw the deck covered with people of all ages, from three weeks old to three score, men, women, children and suckling infants… Never did my eyes behold so wretched, so disgusting a sight. They looked like a Cargo of Dean Swift’s Yahoos newly caught.

It was impossible to account for this strange apparition, till the Captain informed me, that they were a company of Emigrants, whom the owner had made him smuggle aboard privately, and had ordered to be kept close under the hatches till we were out at sea…

Let’s recall that the Yahoos were described as “brutes in human form” in Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift. Janet goes on to share her disgust, in terms firmly dehumanising them as the ‘other’…

As I am resolved no more to encounter these wretched human beings, I will have the more time to write. Indeed you never beheld any thing like them. They were fully as sensible of the motion of the Vessel as we were, and sickness works more ways than one, so that the smell which came from the hole, where they had been confined, was sufficient to raise a plague aboard… Faugh! let me not think of it; it affects my stomach more than this smooth sailing Vessel, or this shocking rough Sea, in which we are tumbling about so that I can hardly hold the pen.

To her credit, Janet eventually gets to know some of these people, and her image of them resolves into individuals rather than a mass. On encountering a beautiful orphaned girl, Marion, Janet observes:

What a change has she wrought on me since my last visit to the deck. Where are now the Cargo of Yahoos? they are transformed into a Company of most respectable sufferers, whom it is both my duty and inclination to comfort…

She gets to know a Mr and Mrs Lawson, for example, who had lost their thriving farm when their landlord upped the rent and were now desperate to find a new life in the New World. And thereby hangs a tale: this is the era of the Highland Clearances (a topic I’ll write more about another time), when thousands of Scottish crofters were evicted by rich landowners in favour of the early sheep-powered form of agribusiness, and many fled abroad in the face of poverty and famine.

And so to the mighty storm that hits them hard for 10-12 days when they are halfway across the Atlantic. My original plan was to focus on Janet’s account of it, but her encounters with the ‘other’ make for a more nuanced story, I think. Here, though, are a few quick highlights…¹

On the fourth evening… the whole elements seemed at war: horror, ruin and confusion raged thro’ our unfortunate wooden kingdom, and made the stoutest heart despair of safety… The Vessel which was one moment mounted to the clouds and whirled on the pointed wave, descended with such violence, as made her tremble for half a minute with the shock… Our hen-coops with all our poultry soon [went overboard], as did the Cab-house or kitchen, and with it all our cooking-utensils… The helm no longer was able to command the Vessel, tho’ four men were lash’d to it, to steer her… At last we heard our fore main mast split from top to bottom…

… the Ship gave such a sudden and violent heel over, as broke every thing from their moorings, and in a moment the great Sea-chests, the boys’ bed, my brother’s cott, Miss Rutherfurd’s Harpsicord, with tables, chairs, joint-stools, pewter plates etc, etc., together with Fanny, Jack and myself, were tumbling heels over head to the side the Vessel had laid down on. It is impossible to describe the horror of our situation…

Janet explains how the ship has ‘broached to’ from the force of the wind, turned on its side and at risk of capsizing – and only breaking the remaining masts can save it. But eventually the storm subsided…

At last however it in some degree settled, and, thank God, no further mischief has happened, than my forehead cut, Jack’s leg a little bruised, and the last of our poultry, a poor duck, squeezed as flat as a pancake.

(Sad, but hard not to be amused by the detail of the duck… and the idea one would bring a harpsichord along on such a trip.)

Now that she sees them as people, Janet also takes time to consider the plight of the poor folk in steerage…

A brig damaged in a storm. [Guernsey Museums and Galleries]

Judge then what must have been the sufferings of the poor emigrants, who were confined directly under it; without air but what came down the crannies, thro’ which also the sea poured on them incessantly. For many days together, they could not ly down, but sat supporting their little ones; in their arms, who must otherwise have been drowned. No victuals could be dressed, nor fire got on, so that all they had to subsist on, was some raw potatoes, and a very small proportion of mouldy brisket…

In this wretched situation, a poor young woman, who had been married only a few months, was so terrified, that she miscarried. She was supposed for sometime dead by the women about her, nor could the least assistance or relief be afforded her. This was a sight for a fond husband; the poor fellow was absolutely distracted, and, breaking thro’ all restraint, forced up the hatch, and carried her in his arms on deck, which saved her life, as the fresh air recalled her Senses. He then flew to us, and in the most affecting manner, implored our Assistance, but what could we do for her? her cloaths all wet, not a dry spot to lay her on, nor a fire to warm her a drink. I gave her, however, a few hartshorn drops, with a bottle of wine for her use, and she is actually recovered…

But alas our Voyage is hardly half over; and yet I ought not to complain, when I see the poor Emigrants, to which our living is luxury… They have only for a grown person per week, one pound neck beef, or spoilt pork, two pounds oatmeal, with a small quantity of bisket, not only mouldy, but absolutely crumbled down with damp, wet and rottenness. The half is only allowed a child, so that if they had not potatoes, it is impossible they could live out the Voyage…

As soon as I heard they were released from their gloomy confinement, I went on deck to see and to congratulate them on their safety. I was happy to find my number compleat, for I hardly expected to see them all living, but was much concerned to find them engaged in a new scene of distress. When these unhappy wanderers were driven from what they esteemed their earthly paradise, they had gone to Greenock, in hopes of meeting a Vessel to bear them far from the cruel hand that forced them forth, but most unluckily all the ships were sailed. Having no means to support life another year, they rejoiced to hear of our ship, which, tho’ late, was yet to sail this season. With infinite labour and expenccs from their little stock, they reached Burnt Island. They threw themselves on the mercy of the owner, who was generous enough to take only double, what he had a right to. Their long journey had so far exhausted their finances, that they could only pay half in hand, but bound themselves slaves for a certain number of years to pay the rest…

The owner in question who is subject now to Janet’s disdain was one George Parker, a Scottish merchant who had traded in Wilmington, North Carolina for some time. ‘Slaves’ here means indentured servants. For every migrant in distress, there is someone willing to exploit them for money – sound familiar today? Janet says more about him and the circumstances of the migrants:

This was too advantageous a bargain for Avarice to withstand, he greedily closed with the proposal, but thought only of deceiving us, not of providing for them, so that as soon as they were got on board, with many kind and fair promises, they were shut under the hatches, where they were confined, till the third day we were at sea. In the meantime, all that remained of their worldly wealth, was contained in a timber chest for each family, which were without mercy or distinction thrown into the long boat, and as that was under water for near fifteen days, the consequence was the glue had given way, the chests fallen to pieces, and every thing was floating promiscuously above the water. Notwithstanding all their former misfortunes, this severely affected them; the women particularly could not stand it, without tears and lamentations.

Lest we imagine Janet to be reformed of all prejudice, next time we’ll meet her again on land, and with a new ‘other’ we must not overlook.

1. The full journal can be read here.