“EASTWARD HO!”
AFTER remaining in Liverpool a few weeks, during which time I was
made much of by those at home, who were all undoubtedly glad to see
me, and who listened with great interest to all that I had to tell of
what I had seen and passed through since I sailed away in the “Stormy
Petrel,” I went on a visit to Chester. “Rare old city of Chester”--one
of the most interesting places in this England of ours. What happy
days I spent rambling through those old streets which take one back to
a bygone age, with their covered Rows containing the best of shops,
with the houses above them and small shops beneath the larger ones.
What hours I spent in the old cathedral of St. Werburgh built in the
shape of a cross, the old weatherbeaten tower standing just in the
centre compartment of the cross, filled with hallowed memories of
bygone days, when the city rang with the shout of arms to arms, and
the walls that encircle it, built as only Roman hands could build
them, clasping the city in an embrace of stone, defiant alike of time
and foe. Like thousands of others who have walked upon those walls,
I stood on the top of the Phoenix Tower from which King Charles saw
his army defeated by the Parliamentary forces on September the 27th,
1645, on Marston Moor. This defeat was the beginning of the end, for
within three years from that day a great crowd was gathered in front
of the palace of Whitehall. A man in a mask severed at one blow the
King’s head from his body, saying as he held it up in view of the
weeping spectators “Behold the head of a traitor.” England was not
long before she discovered who were the real traitors, history tells
us of the brave and gallant defence of that loyal city, and how its
brave men and women held out until famine did what the sword could not
do, and the churches and cathedral still bear the traces of the way in
which the Parliamentary forces kept their word. Every street and stone
in the city and its surroundings were full of interest to me, and of
course I spent some hours on the River Dee, went to Ecclestone, and saw
Eaton Hall the country home of the Duke of Westminster, through whose
kindness the public are allowed to visit both the hall and grounds
during the summer months, on payment of a small fee, this being given
to the various Chester charities. Needless to say I availed myself
of this opportunity, and enjoyed it immensely: as I left the grounds
I walked for a little while about the village, every house being a
picture in itself, clothed in woodbine and choice evergreen, and with
its small but sweetly smelling gardens, the thought passed through
my mind that here at least was one of earth’s favoured ones, who saw
to the well-being of those living at his gate. This being my last day
of holiday, I returned to Liverpool, and the old restless spirit took
possession of me once again.
For several days I could not make up my mind in what direction my
next voyage should be, of one thing only was I certain, that it would
be somewhere quite unknown to me. Finally I decided to go out to
Australia, “Eastward Ho!” so again I paid a visit to the Docks. Here I
found a large new sailing vessel, the “John Kerr,” of Greenock, loading
for Melbourne. She was taking a large number of passengers out to the
colonies, amongst whom were several gold-diggers, returning from a
visit to the old country.
This was just the chance I wanted, so I at once went to the chief
officer, and asked if he had engaged all his crew, if not, I would like
to ship with him. He gave me a promise to sign on when the ship was
ready, which would be in about five days.
Having said good-bye to my friends, as I did not expect or intend
to return to England for a few years, having made up my mind to see
all there was to be seen in far off Australia before I returned, I
signed articles as an able seaman in the “John Kerr,” on a voyage to
Melbourne, and other ports, and returning to a final port of discharge
in the United Kingdom, term not to exceed three years. Such was the
agreement, and yet out of the thirty-five able and ordinary seamen who
signed it there was not one who intended to abide by it. Neither did
the captain or the officers expect that they would. Those were the good
days in Australia, when gold was cheap and fortunes easily made. It was
a rare thing indeed for a ship to return with the same crew she took
out. The seamen’s wages from England were two pounds five shillings per
month; from Australia it was ten pounds--was it any wonder that seamen
deserted from their ships when they arrived out in a country where men
were treated as men, and not as, in many ships, like mere machines?
The “John Kerr” was a splendid six top-gallant yard ship. The captain
was an old veteran in the eastern trade. He had a cast in one eye,
and the sailors at once christened him “Cockeyed Scobie,” and never
called him by any other name during the voyage, but of course not in
his hearing. The captain and second mate were brothers, but whether it
is the rule and not the exception, they were always quarrelling with
each other. Never having had a brother I am not able to say. The chief
officer, Mr. Broadfoot, was a gentleman every inch of him, and a seaman
to his finger tips; he was liked by all on board but the second mate,
who, for some reason only known to himself, could not get on with him
at all. The third and fourth officers were both young and had not yet
gained their certificates.
We had about seventy-five passengers going out to Melbourne. Among the
saloon passengers were the five miners already mentioned. These men
were great gamblers, and among the crew were several men who at that
time were called “Packet rats.” They never made a voyage in a ship, but
just worked the passage from port to port, gambling with and swindling
everybody they could get in touch with. Throughout the passage these
men were gambling and card-playing in the forecastle every minute they
could spare either by night or day. Three of these sailors joined the
ship without a second suit of clothes to their backs, but before they
reached Melbourne they each had a large trunk of good clothes, and
about ten pounds in cash, all won, or swindled off the passengers.
About the time we left Liverpool there were several new ships about
to sail for Australia, and there was a considerable amount of betting
laid as to which ship would make the best passage out. The names of the
ships being the “John Kerr,” “Cambridgeshire,” “Dallam Tower,” “Loch
Ard,” “Rooperal,” “Chrisonomy,” and the “British Admiral,” all carrying
passengers.
We had a fairly good run to the Equator, and then met with very strong
south-east trades and squally weather. Our ship spread an immense area
of canvas. Being a new ship, with sails, ropes, spars, etc., all new,
and a thorough seaman in charge, we sped along gaily with every stitch
of canvas spread. We soon ran through the trades, then had variable
winds for a few days, and sighted the Island of Tristan d’Acunha on the
forty-second day out. There were great discussions and betting as to
what the ship would do when she got the westerly winds, and started on
her long run of six thousand miles.
There is no place in the world that tries the ability, courage, and
nerve of a seaman like running the Easting down. Captain Scobie was
an old veteran in the trade, and he paced up and down the poop like a
wild beast in a cage, while the winds were baffling about. No one dare
go near him, he was so irritable, his eyes were never off the western
horizon; he was just hungering for the westerlies, to see what his new
ship would do. The light, fitful easterly airs only irritated him.
The great sails were flapping themselves against the masts, and then
bulging out to every movement of the ship. Men and boys were aloft all
the time examining every hook and block, to see if they were well fast
and ready for instant use. Spare gaskets were sent up into the tops,
and everything got ready for the coming breeze.
At midnight of the forty-seventh day the easterly wind died away, and a
long rolling swell came up from the westward, and very soon afterwards
a long, low bank of clouds began to rise in the west.
The old captain rubbed his hands with glee when he saw it, and turning
to the chief officer he said, “I’ll go below now, let me know if
you get any change,” but before he lay down, he noted the barometer
was falling fast, so, calling the steward, he told him to see that
everything in his pantry and in the passenger’s cabins was well secured.
Two or three gentlemen passengers were still sitting up in the cabin as
the captain passed through to his room. One of them said, “where are we
now, Captain Scobie?”
With a dry smile he replied, “Just turning the corner of Melbourne
Road, gentlemen. It’s a grand road, six thousand miles long very
straight, but very uneven at present. Wants a sight of levelling down
as some of you will find before another forty-eight hours are past.
Good-night all.”
Towards four a.m., the bank of cloud astern had risen until it was
nearly overhead. Then a slight puff of cold air came from the westward.
The chief officer on the alert cried out “Stand by the watch.” Ere a
few seconds had passed every man was at his post ready for the next
order. “Square the after yards,” shouted the mate. With a roar, a
rattle and a shout round went the yards as the big ship payed off
with her head to the eastward. “Square away the foreyard,” gleefully
called out the mate again. Although up to the present there was
hardly a breath of air a big swell was rising from the westward, a
sure forerunner of a storm. For over an hour the ship lay rolling
gunwales under, until we expected every moment to see the masts roll
over the side. It was a fearful time for all on board, but at last
a low, murmuring sound was heard coming up astern of us, “stand by,
everybody!” called out the mate. The order was no sooner given than
with a roar the west wind struck us, the ship staggered for a moment,
and every rope and sail fairly cracked again with the pressure; then,
with a leap and a plunge, the noble vessel bounded forward on her long
run to the eastward, she had entered Melbourne Road in earnest.
The captain came on deck with a broad smile on his face, even his cross
eye seemed to twinkle merrily, he was happy now. The breeze freshened
rapidly and the sea rose to a fearful height.
The following day it was blowing with the force of a hurricane; the
royals were made fast and all the upper fore and aft sails taken in
and secured. Everything about the deck was doubly lashed, the booby
hatch aft was secured with wire lashing, and all the passengers
fastened below. By noon the next day the ship had run three hundred
and eighty-two miles in twenty-four hours. The whole surface of the
ocean was one mass of white foam, like carded wool, and when a sea
broke the spray would fly as high as the topsail yard. It was a grand,
yet an awful sight, when the great ship was in the trough of the sea,
the mountainous waves seemed on a level with the topsail yard, and it
looked utterly impossible for the ship to climb over them; but nobly
she rose to her duty, though the decks were constantly swept by the
quartering seas, as the ship yawed in spite of her helm.
For ten days did the westerly gales continue, and everybody on board
was sore with tumbling about. To cheer us, the captain reported on
that day that the ship had made 3,480 miles, an average speed of 14½
knots per hour, a splendid piece of work. And still the gale howled and
shrieked, and still the noble ship sped onward through the wild angry
seas, which every moment threatened to engulf her. The heart of every
seaman on board throbbed with joy and pride at the splendid behaviour
of the ship, as she rode over the mountainous sea, and shook herself
free from the inrushing waters. Not a rope had parted, not a sail had
split so far. But alas, there was sorrow and trouble in store for us,
and that soon. At midnight on the eleventh day, the gale suddenly
moderated, and before daylight it had died away, leaving a fearful sea
running after her, and at times tremendous seas would break on board.
The heavily rigged ship rolled from side to side, having no wind to
steady her. No rigging that was ever made could stand such a strain
long, and the following night the foremast, with yards and sails went
over the side. The chain-plates drew out of the ship’s side with the
enormous strain on them; the lower mast carried away about one foot
below the main deck; and in its fall the immense fore-yard cut the
bulwarks down to the deck on each side. We all thought she was gone,
but soon we heard the captain’s voice roaring above the noise of the
sea:
“Stand clear of the deck!”
Every man sprang to shelter, not a moment too soon either, as a
tremendous sea broke on board. The ship broached to, it smashed the
boats and washed away everything moveable from the decks. The noble
ship shuddered and paused like a frightened thing, then, crippled as
she was, again shook herself free, but she was in a sad plight.
“All hands clear away the wreck!”
With axes, knives and chisels the rigging was cut to let the broken
mast and yards drift clear of the ship. The steerage passengers were
battened down in the steerage, and their cries were heartrending.
After the wreckage was got clear, the captain ordered the main topmast
backstays to be cut away on the lee roll, as there was a danger of the
whole mast falling aft on the deck, but before the men could carry out
his orders the mast was carried away and came down with a crash on the
port side.
The upper masts went clear over the side, but the topsail yards came
down on to the deck end on, crashed through the deck, through the
steerage amongst the passengers and struck a bale of blankets in the
lower hold. The upper part then broke off, leaving about twenty feet of
the iron yard standing above the deck, ripping away the main deck each
time the ship rolled, the water meanwhile pouring in tons through the
torn decks into the steerage amongst the already terrified passengers.
“Get that yard out of that as quick as possible!” roared the captain,
who was as cool as a cucumber.
A tackle was made fast to the stump of the mainmast, and hooked on
to the yard and the fall stretched right aft, and all hands, male
passengers too, laid hold of it, and waited for a steady moment. The
chief officer called out “Stand by! Haul!” and with a wild frantic pull
the broken yard was hauled out of the deck and lowered over the side.
The deck for about thirty feet had been ripped up, and the seas had
poured down the gap. The carpenter reported five feet of water in the
hold. After some difficulty the donkey pump was started, and all hands
were set to work cutting away the wreckage and spars, and nailing
boards and sails over the broken deck. What a time we spent, all day
and all night we toiled without ceasing. The captain and mate were
here, there and everywhere, helping this one, relieving that one,
watching the horizon for a sail, watching the water in the well,
cheering this one and that one, giving their orders as coolly as though
they were in the dock at home, always the same, no trace of anxiety on
their faces it was impossible to judge the real state of their feelings.
The water rose in the holds in spite of the pumps, and our plight was
very serious. The cabin was packed full of passengers, the children,
poor mites, crying from sheer terror, the women praying, many of them
beyond tears, the men shouting to be let out; but beyond a dozen of
them who had been seamen in their younger days, and who had been
helping, it was felt that the rest were best out of the way.
All day and all night the work went on. When daylight came again our
case seemed worse than ever, the real state of the damage became more
apparent. Old bronzed sailors, who had spent their whole lives at sea
battling with the ocean in all her moods, turned fairly white when they
looked around, and heard the despairing cry of the women and children
huddled together aft. Strong men, and we had some strong men amongst
the crew, flung themselves down on the deck, utterly exhausted, rolling
about as the ship laboured in the heavy seas, even the ship herself
seemed to give up struggling. One of the spars in falling had struck my
right foot breaking three of my toes, but there was no time to see to
them or to bind them up. Only the captain and mate seemed unchanged.
They never flinched, never seemed tired--true British seamen, staunch
to the back-bone.
For five days and nights we battled for our lives, and on the sixth
day after the disaster the wind and sea began to abate, and the pumps
got the water under. The captain then ordered all hands eight hours
complete rest, and they needed it. Every man forrard rolled into his
berth just as he stood--oilskins and sea-boots too.
The wind and sea were still moderating, and by the following day the
sea was fairly smooth, and the wind had died away to a light easterly
air, and promised to be a fine clear day. Just after daylight the
mate’s voice rang out loud and clear “all hands on deck.” The fourth
mate was ordered to take several male passengers with him, and lash
some planks across the broken bulwark, to prevent anyone from falling
over the side. The carpenter also took several passengers and set
about patching the broken decks temporarily. The captain and the other
officers then set all the sailors to work clearing up the wreck of the
rigging, and securing the remaining spars. Three of the boats had been
stove in by the falling spars, and a young man amongst the passengers,
who was a joiner, was set to work to repair them.
As the foremast was carried away just below the main deck the first job
was to get a jury mast up. We had several large spare spars on deck,
and five lighter spars on the forward house. As there was twenty feet
of the old foremast left in the hold, it was decided to use this as a
step for the jurymast. A spar was cut about eighteen feet long, and
dropped inside the stump of the old iron mast, to rest the heel of the
jurymast on. Two large spars were with difficulty raised up for shears,
and well secured.
The third mate and four of the apprentices were then told off to keep
watch at night, and all hands sent below to rest after a hard day’s
work. The following day, as soon as the first streaks of daylight
appeared, “All hands on deck!” was heard reverberating from one end of
the ship to the other. The men turned out fairly lively, and were soon
hard at work. There was need to make good use of the fine weather, and
to get a jury mast up before the breeze and sea sprang up again. One of
the spare spars was then fitted up for a jurymast. After some real hard
dangerous work, which brought out the true grit of the British seamen,
this large spar was hove up on end and secured. The crossjack yard
was hove forward, and used on the jurymast for a foreyard. A sail was
bent and set and the ship with difficulty put on her course again. The
steerage was repaired temporarily, and the passengers put below once
more. Many of them were half dead with fright, but the fine weather
lasted for ten days, and by that time we had all things well secured
about the deck.
Twenty-one days after losing our masts we sighted King’s Island,
where a few days before, unknown to us, the ship “British Admiral”
was wrecked and ninety-seven lives lost, so that bad as our case was,
there were others far worse. Three days after sighting King’s Island
we spoke the sailing vessel “Windsor Castle.” Her captain asked if we
wanted assistance. Our captain told him he would like to be reported,
as he feared she would be unmanageable when she got near the coast. The
captain of the “Windsor Castle” then very generously sailed back to
Cape Otway, and reported us disabled. The Government at Melbourne at
once despatched the tug “Warhawk” to look for us. Just as her coal was
about used up she came near us and told the captain she had not coal
enough to take us in tow, but would go into port to coal, and come out
again for us.
That night, however, after the tug had left us, the Government despatch
boat, which had been sent out to look for us along the coast; sighted
us and at once took us in tow. What joy filled the hearts of all on
board when we found ourselves in tow and nearing Melbourne. All our
suffering was forgotten in the joy of our safety.
On arrival in dock we heard that the “Rooperal,” “Chrisonomy,” “Dallam
Tower,” “Loch Ard,” and “Cambridgeshire” had all arrived crippled like
ourselves, but the “British Admiral” as already mentioned, had been
lost on King’s Island, and ninety-seven lives with her.
The passengers, you may be sure, lost no time in getting ashore. The
bulk of the crew was paid off as the ship would most likely be five or
six months there, as the new masts and rigging had to be sent out from
England. I was not among those paid off, but of that, and what came of
it shall be told in the next chapter.