The Wreck of the Nancy Bell; Or, Cast Away on Kerguelen Land

by John C. Hutcheson

The Nancy Bell was a wooden ship, clipper built and designed for the passenger trade; but, being only of some nine hundred tons or so burthen, she had not that wealth of accommodation below that some of the first-class liners running to Australia and New Zealand possess, especially in these days of high-pressure steamers and auxiliary screws, which make the passage in half the time that the old-fashioned sailing vessels used to occupy.

She was, however, as well fitted up as her size permitted; and, as her list of passengers was by no means filled, there was plenty of space for those who now had possession of the main saloon, most of whom have been already introduced to notice. If she had had, indeed, as proportionate an amount of cargo as she had passengers it might have been all the better for her seaworthiness. Instead of this, however, she was, by far, too deep in the water, having a lot of deadweight amid-ships, in the shape of agricultural implements and other hardware, which she was taking out to Otago, that seriously interfered with her buoyancy, making her dip to the waves instead of rising over them, and depriving her of that spring and elasticity which a good ship should always have.

Now, she was groaning and creaking at every timber, as if in the last throes of mortal agony; and the manner in which she rolled when she got into the trough of the sea, between the intervals of the following billows, would have dispelled any idea one might have possessed as to her proper angle of stability, and made the observer feel inclined to treat it as “a vanishing point.”

Added to this, she pitched every now and then as if she were going to dive into the depths of the ocean; and, when she rose again in recovering herself, it seemed as if she were going down bodily by the stern, the surge of the sea along the line of ports in the cabin bearing out the illusion as it swelled up above her freeboard.

With the glass and crockeryware in the steward’s cabin rattling, as if in an earthquake, and trunks and portmanteaus banging from side to side of the saloon, or floating up and down in the water that had accumulated from the heavy sea that had washed down the companion when Mr Zachariah Lathrope so gracefully made his rapid descent below, the place was a picture of discomfort and disorder such as a painter would have been powerless to depict and words would utterly fail to describe.

Kate and Florry Meldrum had retired to their berths, having experienced a slight suspicion of squeamishness which the unwonted movements of the vessel had brought about. They thought in such case that “discretion was the better part of valour,” especially as they felt no alarm as to the safety of the ship, having perfect confidence that their father would look after them if there was any danger; but Mrs Major Negus, on the contrary, was firmly convinced that the Nancy Bell was going to the bottom. She sat in the captain’s seat at the head of the cuddy table, tightly clutching on to the sides to preserve her equilibrium at each roll of the ship, loudly bewailing her untimely fate; and between the paroxysms of her grief she found time now and again to scold her son Maurice, who was enjoying himself most delightfully amongst the floating baggage, narrowly escaping destruction every moment from the wreck of the débris on the cabin floor, as it banged to and fro with the swish of the water and the roll of the ship.

During one of the lulls in the series of squalls that swept over the vessel in rapid sequence, Mr McCarthy came below by the direction of the captain—who, of course, could not leave the deck—to see how the passengers were getting on, as well as to have the dead-lights put up in the state-rooms, in case of the stern-ports being battered in by the waves; for these had now swollen to an enormous size, and seemed veritably mountains high, rising up far above the cross-jack yard sometimes.

“And how are we getting on now, Mrs Meejor?” said he, good-humouredly addressing the lady at the head of the table, as he made his way to the aftermost end of the saloon, followed by a couple of sailors, who had accompanied him to aid him in his task of barricading the ports.

“Sir,” replied she, endeavouring to speak with as much dignity as her insecure position and her qualmishness would allow, “I am surprised at your asking me such a question and displaying levity when I feel as if I am dying, and we are all going down to the bottom—stee-ured!”

“Yes, mum,” said that worthy from the pantry door, to which he was holding on, surveying the scene of desolation before him with the air of a connoisseur.