By stress of weather: the loss of the Nelly

I'm conscious it's almost a year since I've posted on here but I'm breaking silence to report that I've bought a subscription to The British Newspaper Archive. 

And boy, is it worth it! For the last few days I've been addicted: I'm like a kid in a sweetie shop peppering it with search terms of interest and coming up with far more gems of results than I'd imagined. I'll need to rationalise my researches somewhat once the novelty has worn off but in the meantime I wanted to share the news story I've found so far that's grabbed me the most. It's from the Caledonian Mercury of 6 October 1779:-

What a story is concealed in these six meagre lines! Let's try and flesh it out a bit with a bit of intelligent speculation.

The Nelly (even the name lends an air of tragedy!) was a sailing ship of - I'm guessing - about 80-90 feet in length and two masts with her home port at Newcastle-upon-Tyne. I suspect she probably looked quite like this:-

Picture credit: Wooden ships

In September 1779, she set out from Lochmaddy in North Uist in the Outer Hebrides to sail east round the north of Scotland to Whitby in Yorkshire. On 16 September, "by stress of weather" (i.e. in a storm) she was wrecked on an island called Eynhallow (as it's now usually spelt) in Orkney. All on board perished except a single seaman.

 

Eynhallow is a small island (about a quarter of a square mile) in Eynhallow Sound between the mainland of Orkney and the neighbouring island of Rousay.

It looks as though the Nelly was attempting to traverse Orkney through Eynhallow Sound rather than by the normal route through the Pentland Firth between Orkney and the mainland of Scotland. Both routes are plagued by ferocious tidal streams adding to the complexities of navigating an unwieldy 18th century sailing ship. In Eynhallow Sound, the tide races - or rosts (pronounced "roosts") as they're called in Orkney and Shetland dialect - on either side of the island even have names: the Burgar Rost and the Wael Rost. The passage to the north of Eynhallow is also studded with reefs and skerries so it's a navigational death trap: a modern yachtsman recommends (here) the south passage and keeping the yacht's engine running in case needed to get out of trouble, not a luxury available to Captain Nathaniel Brown of the Nelly. Fifty years later, he could have avoided the perils of Orkney waters by using the Caledonian Canal.

The hazards of Eynhallow Sound as seen on a mid-19th century Admiralty Chart - National Library of Scotland

The only survivor from the wreck of the Nelly was a seaman who got ashore by clinging to the ship's separated foremast. Though deserted today, Eynhallow would have had a population of a few dozen in the 18th century. They presumably assisted in rescuing the survivor and sheltered him before taking him over to the mainland of Orkney once the storm had subsided. 

It's interesting to note that the letter informing of the Nelly's loss (addressed to her owners in Newcastle, I assume), dated at Stromness (on the mainland of Orkney) on 24th September, was known about in Edinburgh in time to be published in the Caledonian Mercury on 6th October, only twelve days later. That seems quite a short time to me for the 18th century - was the letter conveyed by ship all the way from Orkney or by post runner overland? (No mail coaches in these days, I think, at least not in the north of Scotland - no roads for them to run on.)

Eynhallow from Mainland with Rousay behind: picture credit Tim Martin

Interesting as well that the Nelly's cargo from Lochmaddy was kelp. I've written about his before (here) but, briefly, kelp was a crystalline material produced by burning seaweed. It was used in the soap and glass making industries until the chemicals kelp contained became more cheaply available from other sources in the second quarter of the 19th century. The seaweed was gathered on the west coast of Scotland (and Orkney) and burnt in pits on the shore to produce kelp: North Uist was prime kelping territory. The industry boomed c.1775-1825 providing employment for islanders and huge wealth for the landowners along whose coasts the seaweed grew until its collapse gave rise to poverty leading to emigration in some of the grimmest episodes of the Highland Clearances while bankrupt landlords were forced to sell their estates. (The owner of North Uist, Lord Macdonald, built Armadale Castle on the profits of kelp then had to sell the island in the 1850s.)

Eynhallow Sound from the west. Eynhallow is the low lying land with no snow, Rousay with the snow. Picture credit: January Joe

And finally, what of the other three characters apart from the surviving seaman - Captain Brown and the two lady passengers? I have a mental image of someone like Ioan Gruffud or the Poldark bloke, all tricorn hat and reefer jacket. Did he die heroically trying to save the ladies? Or was he a scoundrel who's first instinct on realising the ship was lost was to rifle their luggage for valuables while he shouted at them to silence their screams of terror as the Nelly pounded itself to splinters on the rocks of Eynhallow? 

And who were these ladies and why were they going to Whitby? It's a reasonable guess they were "quality", perhaps the daughters of a tacksman (Scottish word for gentleman tenant farmer). And maybe they were actually going to London or Bath or somewhere for the season but Whitby was the nearest to there any ship from Lochmaddy was likely to be sailing to. The fact they're not named suggests the surviving seaman didn't know who they were but did he have the wit to suggest another letter be sent from Stromness to Lord Macdonald's chamberlain on North Uist informing of their demise? We shall never know but the speculation this briefest of notices in the Caledonian Mercury in 1779 provokes almost makes the subscription to the British Newspaper Archive worth it by itself!

The Loss of a Merchantman by Francis Hustwick. Picture credit: Ferens Art Gallery via ArtUK