The “Indian Queen.”
The Indian Queen, 1041 tons, the most notable Black Baller launched in 1853, and advertised as Marco Polo’s sister ship, was a very fast vessel, her first voyage to Australia being made in 6 months 11 days, and in 1855 she came home from Hobart in 78 days. In 1859 she narrowly escaped the fate of Guiding Star. On 13th March, 1859, she sailed from Melbourne for Liverpool under Captain Brewer, with 40 passengers and the usual cargo of wool and gold dust. All went well until she was half way to the Horn, when on the 27th March the weather became thick with a strong N.W. wind and heavy westerly swell.
On the 31st March she was in 58° S., 151° W. by account; the day was wet, foggy and very cold and the ship logged a steady 12 knots with the wind strong at N.W. At 2 a.m. on the following morning those below were aroused by a violent shock, the crash of falling spars and a grinding sound along the port side, and the first of the frightened passengers to arrive on the poop found the ship lying broadside to broadside with an immense iceberg. All her spars and sails above the lower masts were hanging over the starboard side, the foremast was broken off close to the deck and was held at an angle by its rigging, the mainyard was in half, the bowsprit was washing about under the bows, and though the mizen topmast was still standing the topsail yard was in two, broken in the slings.
The night was dark and rainy and at first the watch below and passengers thought that all was lost. They found no one at the wheel, the port life-boat gone, and not a soul on the poop, but they were somewhat reassured by the appearance of the carpenter who had been sounding the pumps and pronounced the ship to be making no water. Then the second mate appeared aft and announced that the captain, mate and most of the crew had gone off in the port life-boat. Apparently there had been a disgraceful panic which involved even the captain, who actually left his own son, an apprentice, behind on the ship.
However those who had been so shamefully deserted began to buckle to with a will, headed by the second mate, Mr. Leyvret, and the cool-headed carpenter, a man named Thomas Howard. Passengers, cooks, stewards and those of the crew left on board were promptly divided into watches, the captain’s son was sent to the wheel, and whilst some set about clearing up the raffle of gear and getting things ship-shape as far as possible, others shovelled the ice, which lay in masses on the decks, overboard.
With some difficulty the crossjack was backed and the head of the spanker hauled in. At the same time the boat was perceived tossing in the swell on the port beam and apparently endeavouring to regain the ship, and faint cries for help could be heard against the wind. She seemed to be without oars and with sea after sea washing over, she was soon swept past the ship by the back wash off the ice and lost sight of in the fog never to be seen again. The ship, though, with the backed crossjack, began to drift along the side of the berg and presently dropped clear of it into smoother water to leeward.
Day now began to break and all hands set about cutting away the wreck, but the mainyard and the rest of the raffle hanging from the stump of the mainmast was hardly clear before the terrible cry of “Ice to leeward!” arose and a huge berg appeared looming out of the mist. The crossjack was at once braced up, the spanker set and the foresail trimmed in some fashion or other, then in a tense silence the survivors watched the ship slowly forge ahead and, dragging the wreck of masts and spars and torn sails along with her, weather the new danger by a bare 100 yards. And scarcely had she done so when the foremast fell crashing on to the long-boat, the other boats having been already stove in by falling spars. The next business was to get the wreck of the foremast over the side and clear of the ship. Here the carpenter displayed the greatest coolness and skill, being ably backed up by the second mate and the 4 seamen left on board. With the last of the wreck overside, time was found to muster the survivors, when it was discovered that the captain, chief mate and 15 men had been lost in the port life-boat, leaving behind the second mate, carpenter, bosun, 4 A.B.’s, 1 O.S. and 2 boys, besides the cooks, stewards, doctor, purser, and passengers who numbered 30 men, 3 women and 7 children.
A course was now steered for Valparaiso, some 3800 miles away. It was not until the 7th April that the ship got finally clear of the scattered ice, but on the 3rd the wind came out of the south and with a lower stunsail and main staysail set on the main, the ship began to make 3 or 4 knots through the water.
One iceberg of huge size and square like a mountainous box was only just cleared before it broke in two, the smaller portion bursting into the sea like an avalanche, and sweeping a huge wave in front of it, did not bring up until it was 2 to 3 miles away from the rest of the berg. The last ice was seen in 54° S., it being reckoned that the accident had happened in 60° S.
As soon as 49° S. was reached, a direct course was shaped for Valparaiso. Sheers were now rigged and a topmast secured to the stump of the foremast, then topsail yards were crossed on the jury foremast and mainmast, which improved the ship’s progress another knot. In this condition the Indian Queen slowly wandered north, weathering out gale after gale. On the 7th May a welcome sail was sighted. This proved to be the New Bedford whaler La Fayette, whose captain boarded them, offered them every assistance and corrected their longitude, which was 3° out. On the following day the French man-of-war Constantine appeared and promised to convoy them in. On the 9th May land was made some 20 miles south of Valparaiso, and on the morning of the 10th, as the crippled Indian Queen approached the Bay, the boats of H.M.S. Ganges, 84 guns, came out to her aid and towed her in to the Roads, where she anchored safely, just 40 days after her collision with the iceberg.