Captain Patey and his officials at the depot had taken considerable care in appointing from the Ticonderoga’s passengers the important roles of stewards and constables, who would manage various necessary tasks, such as the messing and meal arrangements, conducting educational lessons, and to assist the ship’s surgeons in maintaining levels of hygiene and cleanliness—a concept quite alien to some (and which, in the Ticonderoga’s case, would eventually prove impossible anyway). Nurses were likewise appointed to work in the two hospitals, particularly those whose written form demonstrated some prior medical or nursing experience. Among these were John and Mary Fanning, Presbyterians from County Coleraine near Londonderry in Ireland, travelling with their daughters, Mary and Catherine, and son, Patrick. Mary was listed as a midwife, a respected position in Irish society, and one of only two female professions to be listed in church records, the other being ‘nun’.[3] Mary was thus asked to work as a nurse in the women’s hospital while John was requested for the men’s. Both readily accepted. The other skill of the Fannings was their knowledge of the Scots-Irish dialect, closely related to the Gael of the Highland Scots themselves.
Recalling the voyage to a newspaper reporter in 1917, passenger Christopher McRae from Inverness, who travelled as a teenager with his family, wrote:
To carry out established rules and conditions imposed by the Captain and the Doctors, men suitable were elected to act as constables or stewards—the names of two of them I still remember—one being Andrew Dempster, a single man. The other—a young married man named Douglas Rankin. There were many others.[4]
Galley assistants had also been appointed to help the cooks, along with attendants for both the male and the female hospitals. Then there was the important role of ship’s schoolmaster, who would provide daily lessons for the numerous children—and some of the adults—on board. This fell to 46-year-old Charles McKay who, as a professional teacher and a graduate of Aberdeen University, was one of the most educated of the Ticonderoga’s passengers, and who also happened to be fluent in the Highland tongue, Gaelic.[5] Christopher McRae believed him to be one of the most important figures on board the ship.
Far from being a destitute Highlander, McKay was travelling to Melbourne to take up the role of Vice Principal of the newly established boys’ school, Scotch College, and boarded the Ticonderoga with his wife Margaret and five children, the youngest aged two. According to his grandson, Frank McKay, it had not been an easy decision and in a brief history of the family, he describes ‘the many heart searchings before Charles McKay made the big decision to take his family to Australia and start a new life in a new world’.[6]
The shipboard lessons over which McKay presided were usually rudimentary in nature, offering basic instruction in English, reading, writing and simple arithmetic. For some of the children, however, these were of a higher standard than anything they had experienced at home, and for others it was their first taste of schooling altogether. A fair proportion of the adults, many of whom could neither read nor write themselves, likewise took advantage of McKay’s instruction, picking up vital skills such as the writing of their own name, as opposed to the leaving of just a simple mark. Also listed as a sexton of a Presbyterian church—that is, one who has responsibility for the grounds and graveyard—McKay ‘would minister to the spiritual needs of the Highland passengers by conducting services in Gaelic. This he did throughout the voyage, as well as after landing on the station’.[7]
At the rear of the ship were the single women’s quarters, presided over by another of Patey’s appointments, the single women’s matron. According to the descendants of passenger Janet McLellan, the Ticonderoga’s matron was 38-year-old Miss Isabella Renshaw. It was into Miss Renshaw’s care that the precious key to the single women’s quarters was entrusted, which she used on a nightly basis to lock the girls in, preventing any illicit after-hours liaisons forming between them and the single men, or the crew. In the morning, they would begin their lessons in reading, arithmetic and Bible studies. Miss Renshaw was usually assisted by some of the abler and better educated girls, such as Annie Morrison from the Isle of Mull. Needlework and shirt-making were also taught, with the girls being able to keep the garments they made on the voyage.
Free time was allowed, and the sexes could in fact mix, but only on the open upper deck under the matron’s supervisory gaze. An obsession with women’s perceived ‘virtue’, particularly among groups of young and unattached females, was a feature of Victorian society, so it was replicated at sea. More than any other group on board the ship, all aspects of the young women’s behaviour, appearance and demeanour were constantly assessed and judged by passengers and crew alike, with ‘wantonness’ suspected as the motive behind many of their actions.
One of those girls who would have been under observation was 22-year-old Janet Blair, a Presbyterian from Argyllshire whose clan, fiercely independent Protestant Covenanters, had been all but wiped out in the ‘Killing Time’ of the religious wars with England in the late seventeenth century. Thanks to a detailed account penned by her granddaughter late in her life, Janet Blair’s personal story survives.
The eighth of fifteen children, ten of whom survived, Janet grew up on a farm of 320 acres on Loch Fyne in Scotland’s west. When she was fifteen, ‘the fever’ took her father and two more of her siblings, at which point her older brother gave up the farm and moved with the rest of the family to Glasgow, where Janet became a housemaid to a wealthy family of gentlemen farmers from Argyllshire, the McPhersons. One of their three sons, Dugald, had become a successful sheep farmer in Australia and, impressed with the girl, Mrs McPherson began to encourage her to travel there herself to become Dugald’s housemaid. Wages and conditions for a girl such as she, reminded Mrs McPherson, were far better than she could ever hope to receive at home. As Dugald was unmarried, Janet declined. Her enthusiasm to travel was sparked, though, and she even managed to convince a brother, a brother-in-law and two of her sisters to make the journey with her. At the last minute, they all backed out. Undeterred, Janet continued alone, and at Glasgow was seen off on the ferry in a tearful farewell by several members of her family.
At Birkenhead, she joined many other single girls likewise seeking a new and better life, and on 28 July was one of the first to board the Ticonderoga, several days before she sailed, bringing along her prized possession, a fine three-door oak trunk with ‘Janet Blair’ painted in elegant lettering on the outside. She even brought her own cutlery, and—quite contrary to the regulations—a blanket and pillowslip, together with as much warm clothing as she could carry. The journey, she had been told, would involve heading into some cold and icy weather to the south. Just how icy would only become apparent in the weeks to come. Although travelling alone, Janet was soon to make a firm friend of Georgina McLatchie, listed as ‘Baptist’, 25, from Edinburgh. As the voyage began, the two young women could have no idea of just how much each would come to rely on the support of the other.
Although many of the appointed steward positions were officially voluntary, a small gratuity was nevertheless usually forthcoming. It is not known what the Ticonderoga’s coffers offered, but a similar voyage taken a few years later on the emigrant vessel Atalanta, the schoolmaster and the matron were each paid £5, as were the galley assistants.
4
Letter written by Christopher McRae in 1917 addressed to Mr Kendall, Officer in Charge, Quarantine Station Point Nepean, held in the collection of the Point Nepean Historical Society, Sorrento, Victoria.