• 520 barrels (being the equivalent of 48, 711 pounds) of navy bread—a type of hard, simple biscuit
• fifteen tierces of ‘India mess’ or preserved beef (‘tierce’ being an antiquated unit of measurement amounting to 42 imperial gallons), plus 47 tierces of India pork
• 50 barrels of split peas
• 53 barrels of ‘finest raw sugar’ amounting to 10,496 pounds
• 27 barrels of rice
• 120 boxes of raisins
• eight casks (580 gallons) of mustard
• five ‘puncheons’ (7418 pounds) of treacle
• nineteen casks of pickles.
Added to this list were considerable stores of tinned foods (still a relatively new and not entirely trusted innovation), such as soup and bouilli (stewed or boiled meat), raw coffee, preserved potatoes, beef suet, pepper and salt.[3]
On private vessels on which passengers paid their own way, the luxury of live animals could be included for fresh meat on the voyage. This was not so for the assisted emigrants of the Ticonderoga. Fresh water was also an essential item, and one notoriously difficult both to transport and preserve. The Passengers Act allowed for just over three and a half litres to be provided per passenger per day, and on the upper deck of the Ticonderoga, Captain Boyle had installed several large wooden water casks, into which he had pumped nearly 353,000 litres from the Mersey River, which he aimed to keep fresh with the addition of charcoal. Nevertheless, it would struggle to remain so on the long journey to Australia.
The diets of the Scots and Irish differed slightly but significantly from those of the English, in that potatoes and oatmeal were considered staples. Potatoes, however, were not easy to keep, even in their ‘preserved’ form, which basically amounted to placing them in jars filled with earth or ash and storing them in the coolest place possible on the ship. With regard to the Scots and their diet, the Passengers Act ruled that three and a half pounds of oatmeal be provided to every passenger embarking from a Scottish or Irish port. Though leaving from England, Captain Boyle insisted that such provisions of oatmeal were provided for all his Gaelic passengers.
Apart from the food and provisions, the Ticonderoga also had to take on board utensils and galley supplies for around 800 people who would be dining in 126 ‘messes’, around the large wooden tables installed along the two covered decks adjacent to their bunks, and in fine weather, even on the open upper deck. In their hundreds, serving plates, bread baskets, butter dishes, water beakers and some more curiously listed items such as 246 ‘tin pots with hooks’ and 126 ‘potato nets’ were all included.
The list had been worked out meticulously, checked and inspected by Captain Patey who, to the relief of Mr and Mrs Smith, was pleased with what he saw. He needed to be meticulous. There would be no chances at replenishment of anything along the way. The Ticonderoga’s route, following the so-called Great Circle around the bottom of the world, would make not a single stop along the way. The next land her passengers would touch after departing the shores of Britain would be Australia. Anything that was not taken aboard at Birkenhead, the passengers and crew would have to do without.
In the late July heat, crew men had worked with the longshoremen on the wharf, assembling the mass of provisions and carefully arranging them like a gigantic three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle inside the gloomy hold and, using the ancient art of the stevedore, spreading the load so as not to upset the clipper’s delicate trim.
On the first day of the new month of August, the long process of embarkation began. No matter how long this moment had been contemplated, and despite the months—even years—of anguish, the agonising decision making, the advice taken, the information absorbed, the long procession of farewells and last-minute regrets, nothing could prepare the Ticonderoga’s passengers for the totally alien environment they were now to enter. As they prepared to take leave of the Birkenhead depot, harried staff shouted names from lists as anxious parents formed lines and wrangled their excited children. In small groups, divided into nationalities, then into their respective messes, the passengers were marshalled in a great shuffling line towards the waiting ship.
Queues stretched back from the wharf to the depot as families tried to keep themselves and their luggage together, snaking towards the great black wall of the Ticonderoga’s hull ‘like Noah and his Family going into the Ark’, as one departing passenger observed.[4] Several brass bands had been hired for the occasion and stood on the wharf belting out favourites like ‘Home Sweet Home’, ‘The Girl I Left Behind Me’ and, of course, ‘Rule Britannia’.[5]
With deck space on board at a premium, each person had been issued with two canvas bags into which they were told to pack only the clothing they would need for the voyage; the remainder was to stay in their boxes and trunks, which the crew had already stowed into the holds. After a month at sea, one box clearly marked ‘wanted on the voyage’ would be brought up to the upper deck for another month’s clothing to be taken out and exchanged, with the dirty clothes being packed away. Almost nothing except food would be provided once on board, so every essential item, from children’s nappies to cooking utensils, had to be carried by the passengers and stowed in the lockers under the already less than spacious bunks.
The ship’s deck was alive with the crew, who seemed to crawl over every inch of her. Heads craned up to the top of the main and mizzen masts, where men could be observed high up in the spars and top masts checking and rechecking lines, shrouds and braces. Even tied up and beside the wharf, it seemed a dangerous place for anyone to be. What it must be like up there at sea and in rough weather was beyond imagining. Not that it appeared to concern them, as the crew’s singing—both their work songs and traditional tunes of departure—rang out jauntily over the bulwarks.
More names were checked off more lists as passengers emerged onto the rickety gangplank, which felt more than unsteady under their feet. Then, setting foot for the first time on the upper deck, the line snaked down one of the hatches, which opened like a dark, gaping maw. Helped by one or more of the Ticonderoga’s crew, it was at this moment that her passengers were introduced to the crowded and claustrophobic underworld that would be their home for the next three months.
Some gasped as they ducked their heads at the entrance to the main deck, adjusting their eyes to the sudden darkness. Some gagged at the already strange mixture of smells of cut timber, whitewash and hot tar, as well as a strange, earthy smell left from the thousands of cotton bales that had been crammed into her from her previous incarnation as a cargo vessel. Some felt instant claustrophobia clawing at their chests. Embarkation staff and members of the crew, harried and impatient, saw them as quickly as possible to their assigned bunks then left them to stow their possessions in the small lockers as they attended to the next passenger. Panic about the tiny space in which they were expected to live over the coming months was experienced by many. Others were directed to proceed even further into the ship, down yet another gaping gangway to the Ticonderoga’s lower deck, feeling as if they were descending into a mine. The same thought crossed each of their minds as they lowered themselves and their families down into the hold: how could we ever get out of here in a hurry?