A horrible mockery of the spirit of Christmas

Disasters were common in Davis Strait in the whaling days of the 1800s.

Many ships were beset in the ice and unprepared crews forced to spend long winters of privation in the Arctic. Those iced in near land could occasionally rely on help from the Inuit, but most winterings were far from shore. In many seasons, the loss of life was huge. 

One of the greatest tragedies in Arctic whaling occurred on a whaling ship sent out from Hull, England, in 1866. She was the Diana, a steam whaler, and her captain, John Gravill, was a veteran of 50 years in the whaling business. But his years of experience were of little help in this desperate year. 

In May, Capt. Gravill sailed from Hull and put in at Lerwick in Shetland to hire the rest of his crew. With 50 men, 30 of them Shetlanders, he made for Davis Strait and to its farthest northern reaches, Baffin Bay.

In company with other whalers, Narwhal, Esquimaux, Intrepid and Truelove, the Diana made her way through the pack ice of the bay to the north water, where she took two whales valued at ₤2,050.

Later the Diana and 10 other ships were trapped by heavy ice near Pond Inlet. Eventually she was able  to struggle southwards.

With little fuel left, the crew burned everything that would burn, including many of the ship’s spars.

But on Sept. 21 the ship was firmly beset off Clyde River, imprisoned in the ice there, and with only two months’ provisions remaining. 

For the next six months the ship zig-zagged southwards in the grip of the ice. 

The men made the best they could of Christmas Day under their trying circumstances. Charles Smith, the vessel’s surgeon, tells about the day:

“This morning the men held a prayer meeting in the half-deck. They commenced with singing the chaunt, ‘How beautiful upon the mountains.’”

“Joe, the cook, was up at three o’clock this morning, busy as a bee making plum puddings for the different messes. Every man and boy on board had a large slice of very good plum pudding served out to him at twelve o’clock in honour of Christmas Day. As most of the men have been saving up meat, biscuits, etc. you may be sure every one of our ship’s company enjoyed a good dinner. In the cabin we dined at one o’clock, and had a large plum pudding, which was equally divided, our usual ¾ pound of boiled salt beef, and a dish of tripe.

“We ate our Christmas dinner almost in silence, each man’s mind being occupied with gloomy thoughts of home, families and friends. The poor old dying captain lay upon the sofa, occasionally turning over or dozing uneasily in a half-unconscious slumber.

“What a Christmas dinner! What thoughts of the many merry ones at home, and of last year’s Christmas. What a change! Thoughts of father, brothers, and sisters, at home on Christmas Day and thinking of me, as I am thinking of them.

“To these thoughts add my anxieties and apprehensions on the captain’s account, and the gloomy prospect before every one of us. You will readily believe that a more miserable Christmas dinner would be difficult to imagine even … I was glad when ‘twas over, it seemed such a horrible mockery of the spirit of an English Christmas.”    

On the day after Christmas, Capt. Gravill died. His body was not consigned to the sea but rather was sewn in canvas and placed on the quarter deck. Half the crew was ravaged by scurvy. The living quarters were encased in ice. 

A survivor recalled: “Our beef got done in January; coffee and sugar about that time also; and our last tea was served out in the beginning of February. I do assure you it was precious cold — especially at night, when your breath froze in the top of your berth, till the ice came to be three or four inches thick … The men began to get down-hearted, and some of them were so weak that they dropped at the pumps.”

In mid-March in southern Davis Strait, the ship was finally released from the ice and began a race against death across the Atlantic, leaking badly all the while. 

On April 2, she limped into Ronas Voe, an inlet on the west side of Shetland.

The captain and eight other seamen lay dead on deck, and four more men were breathing their last. The remaining men were so weak that only three could go aloft to stow the sails when she anchored.

One man dropped dead in shock at the sight of land. One report called the ship “a charnel-house of scurvy-stricken, dysentery-worn, dead and dying men.” 

The Diana took on a new crew in Shetland and continued on to Hull, reaching her home port on April 26 after an absence of 14 months.

She was repaired and returned to whaling. In 1869, she sank — the last whaler to sail from Hull.

Many of the dead were Shetlanders.

In 1890, the surgeon’s brother had a large memorial fountain erected near the harbour in Lerwick. It bears the words: “In Memory of the Providential Return of the S. Whaler Diana of Hull.”

The fountain has since been replaced with a chalice, but the creation is still referred to as “the fountain.” It’s hard to miss. At the edge of a parking lot at the dock, a few steps from the town centre, it keeps the tragedy of the Diana alive in the minds of Shetlanders.

It is still spoken about, an integral part of Shetland’s history, and a symbol of the fate of many island men who went to the Arctic whaling. Earlier this year the structure was protected as a “C-listed building” by Historic Environment Scotland.

Taissumani is an occasional column that recalls events of historical interest. Kenn Harper is a historian and writer who lived in the Arctic for over 50 years. He is the author of Give Me Winter, Give Me Dogs: Knud Rasmussen and the Fifth Thule Expedition, and Thou Shalt Do No Murder, among other books. Feedback? Send your comments and questions to kennharper@hotmail.com.