“And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward.”--BYRON.
[Illustration: SHAKING A REEF OUT]
The late Clark Russell and I were at one time great cronies, and
consumed a good deal of midnight oil, and other things, discussing the
sea and its varied incidents. He was a seaman more by instinct than by
experience. He had, of course, served at sea, but for some few years
only, and yet he seemed to be the embodiment of sea lore for all time.
Trifles that would be passed without notice by the ordinary observer,
were absorbed by him and fitted into their proper place in his
conception of the grandeur of the sea and all that appertained to it.
No one man in his experience ever saw one half of the incidents Clark
Russell has related, but his instinct was unerring, and as to his power
of description there can be no question. Let me instance one example.
“A slip of a moon westering fast” may not appeal to the uninitiate,
but to a nautical mind it is most eloquent and expresses exactly the
meaning it was intended to convey in the fewest possible words. To
my mind this phrase is only equalled by Kipling in “as foot by foot
we creep o’er the viewless, hueless deep, to the sob of the questing
lead.” Both these quotations stand out as unique in compression of vast
matter.
There was one point on which Clark Russell and I did not agree. He
maintained that it was possible to have at the same time a dense fog
and a gale of wind. I maintained the contrary, for at that time I
had never seen the combination, and believed, like most people, that
wind was the enemy of fog and soon dispersed it. As it happened I
was wrong, for on my very next voyage I had a most convincing proof
of my error, which I duly acknowledged. We were running our easting
down on the parallel of 46° S., and from Lon. 62° E. to 140° E. we
got no observation of sun, moon or stars. I find the distance between
observations is logged as 3,216 miles for ten days; during a great part
of which period it was blowing a hard gale and a thick fog. To make
matters better we also shed a propeller blade, but that was only an
incident which slightly lengthened the passage. The really interesting
point about this experience was the demonstration of the invaluable
qualities of Lord Kelvin’s compass.
In a paper I had read at the Royal United Service Institution I made
mention of its value to navigation, and some little time after this
I was asked by the inventor, then Sir William Thomson, if I would
testify to this in a case that he was bringing before the law courts
to stop the infringement of his patent right. I was able to state the
following--
Between the longitudes I have mentioned the variation of the compass
or magnetic variation changes from about 30° W. to 10° E., for the
locality is in the vicinity of the centre from which the variation
lines radiate. It was consequently necessary to alter the compass
course at stated times to maintain the due east tract we wished to
take, and at certain times the alteration of a degree was made every
two, three, or four hours. My last observation showed Lat. 45° 58’, the
next one 45° 53’, so that in the ten days, run without sights, we were
only five miles out in our latitude.
To be called as an expert witness in such an interesting case as this
one was, is not a disagreeable experience. It was then that I first
met Sir John Fisher, now Lord Fisher, who with Admiral Hotham and two
staff-captains were subpœnaed to represent the Navy. I fancy that
Sir Charles Hotham was then one of the Sea Lords, and Lord Fisher
was then a Captain. Captain Squire Lecky, the author of _Wrinkles in
Navigation_, and myself stood for the merchant service. It was the
time of the Parnell trial, and the present Lord Chief Justice, who
represented the Crown in that inquiry, was secured by Sir William
Thomson to take charge of his case. I must confess that all we sailors
were looking forward with a kind of amused interest to see what the
lawyers would do when dealing with the magnetism of iron ships, and as
it happened I had one of the treats of my life. Sir Richard Webster,
as he then was, coming in fresh from the Parnell case, proceeded to
explain, in words that were to be understood by all, the theory of
the deviation of the compass in iron or steel ships, the defects of
compasses prior to Sir Wm. Thomson’s, and the advantages to which his
invention had given birth--all this in the clearest possible language
and with the most convincing mastery. He spoke one whole day and part
of the next, and, so far as I personally was concerned, taught me more
about what I considered was a special subject of my own than I ever
knew before. Sitting near Lord Alverstone at dinner some little time
since, I reminded him of the case, and he said it was an agreeable
change, at the time, to the other case he was engaged on. Sir William
Thomson won his case and wrote me a letter of cordial thanks for the
help I had given him in the matter. The most humorous thing in that
trial was the spectacle of Captain John Fisher in the witness-box
in the dusk of an autumn afternoon, looking like a school-boy, and
suggesting by his demeanour that so far as he knew anything, green
grass was his colour. But he recalled a youthful episode of a piece
of string tied to a compass to keep it lively by jerking it. He also
recalled how at the bombardment of Alexandria, he had been standing
looking at one of the Thomson compasses to see how it was affected
by the _Inflexible’s_ gunfire, when a big gun being fired lifted his
cap off but did not seriously affect the compass. Those days spent in
Court were of extreme interest, for it was a ding-dong fight between
scientific men of the first rank.
While on the subject of accurate navigation I should like to say
that an invaluable adjunct to a successful navigator is a reliable
“instinct.” In some men this is developed very strongly. I first saw
it in Craigie of the _Lord of the Isles_. He was also a splendid
navigator, and on more than one occasion I heard him say when leaning
over the chart: “Our reckoning puts us here” (pointing with his
finger), “but I ken she’s here,” pointing to quite another place. He
was always right too. I had the sense to a certain extent, and it kept
me out of trouble more than once.
When navigating in high, or comparatively high southern latitudes,
there is always a possibility of encountering ice in large or small
quantities. There are, of course, certain localities where there is a
greater likelihood of meeting with it than others; for instance, as a
very unusual occurrence, icebergs have been seen from the Cape of Good
Hope itself; but no one would ever expect to see them there again, or
take precaution against them in foggy weather. In the austral summer
and autumn months there is a greater possibility of seeing ice anywhere
than at any other time, and again in the winter months you occasionally
come across stray bergs that have got out of their properly recognised
course and are wandering about aimlessly, a nuisance to every one. Such
an example of ice out of place may be found in Dana’s _Two Years before
the Mast_, where he relates his experience in the month of July off
the Horn. I should think that occurrence was quite abnormal, but it is
mentioned to show that there is never any certainty as to where ice may
or may not be, and in thick weather a master has to decide whether the
risk of ice is such as to justify him in taking precautions which will
lengthen the time of his passage. Now in the matter of navigating in a
fog there are certain rules laid down by which you will be judged by a
court of law if you come to grief, but those rules apply principally
to those waters where vessels do mostly congregate, although as far as
I know they are applicable everywhere. Generally speaking the rule is
that in fog, mist, or falling snow, all vessels are to proceed at a
“moderate” speed, which brings about some absurdities. “Moderate speed”
in a Mauretania might be nine knots or so, which in a low-power steamer
would be full speed. On the other hand if, in a dense fog, all ships
stopped, they could not harm one another, although they might drift out
of position.
Down south of course the danger of collision with ships was
infinitesimal; with ice it was another matter, and I consequently
resolved in my own mind that if I could not see I should either go full
speed or stop. On one occasion, half-way across the Indian Ocean, a
dense fog came on. I had seen no ice, nor had I any particular reason
to suppose I should do so, but the fog was dense, so much so that I
could not see either end of the ship from the bridge. I did not like
to stop, but eventually about 8 p.m. I stopped the engines and lay all
night without moving. Though it is needless to say I had run before in
a fog scores of times, on this occasion I did not do so, nor could I
give any definite reason for my action. But when daylight came and the
fog blew away we saw around us at various distances a dozen or fifteen
big icebergs. Of course, we might have passed them safely, but, on the
other hand, had a difference of opinion as to right of way taken place
between us we should probably have added one more to the mysteries of
the sea.
I ran down to one of those bergs to see if I could get an echo from
the steam-whistle. It was then clear weather and the echo was quite
perfect, but whether it would be so in fog I am unable to say. Clark
Russell wrote an article on this incident in the _Daily Telegraph_.
I think the only other occasion on which I was delayed by ice, and
it was again stray ice too, was on a homeward passage, and it was
winter time. It was coming on dirty weather when, at the close of the
afternoon, such as it was, ice was reported--and a good deal of it.
Another case of the homeless dog, but it had to be attended to. The
wind was strong from the north-west with the usual mist and drizzle,
the night coming down as dark as pitch. Again I decided I could not
run with any degree of safety, so brought the ship to the wind under
her trysails, heading about N.N.E. with the engines moving as slowly
as possible. About ten o’clock the glass was falling rapidly, and a
terrific squall came down. The quartermaster observed to me, or rather
shouted, “She is coming to against her helm, sir.” This was rather
interesting, so I said to the officer of the watch, “If she knows what
to do better than I, let her do it; stop the engines.” He did so. By
this time the main trysail was blown clean out of the bolt ropes, but
in the roar of the weather I did not hear it go. The wind had now
shifted to the west, but the ship lay broadside to the sea without
shipping any water. This was because I had put my oil bag equipment to
work, and my experience of it was most satisfactory. After some hours
the weather cleared sufficiently for us to put the helm up and proceed.
We saw no more ice after that night.
Before leaving this subject of Antarctic ice it may be of interest to
note some of its characteristics. Firstly its size. On one occasion
we passed a flat-topped mass which at a distance of fifteen miles
subtended a horizontal arc of twenty-four degrees, and another berg was
passed having in it an arch big enough for a ship to go through. As
nearly as we could compute, the arch was about 270 feet high.
Once, far south by the Nimrod Islands, crossing the great ice-bearing
current, we saw some bergs which were very remarkable inasmuch as they
appeared to be stratified, and when in one position reminded one of
enormous tulips. I embodied the experiences of that trip in a paper
read before the Australian Science Congress, and still hope that the
source of that particular ice-bearing current will be investigated by
one of the Antarctic expeditions.
At the time I first took a ship round Cape Horn the charts left a good
deal to be desired. As an instance of what I mean, Cape Horn itself was
noted as about 500 feet high. From my own observations I was certain
this was not correct, and calling on the Hydrographer, Sir W. Wharton,
K.C.B., one day, I assured him that it was at least 1,200 feet high. He
replied that this was impossible, “for Fitzroy had a station on top of
Cape Horn,” meaning Admiral Fitzroy, who had made the original survey
from which our chart was drawn. This was in 1885, and within a very
few days of this interview I received a letter written by direction
of the Hydrographer thanking me for observations that had enabled him
to correct the lines of variation near Cape Horn, and stating that
the French survey of 1882-3 had fixed the height of that promontory
as 1,394 feet. My observations were afterwards verified by Captain
Clayton, R.N., of H.M.S. _Diamond_, for magnetic observations made
in an iron ship are always regarded with a certain suspicion. I must
say, however, that I always found Sir William Wharton quite willing
and even anxious to receive any information that might be useful, and
the Superintendent of Compasses, Captain Creak, R.N., F.R.S., was most
helpful and encouraging, even to coming on board the _Kaikoura_ and
assisting me to compensate the compass for heeling error. Previous to
this there had always been some mystery as to the so-called vagaries
of ships’ compasses off Cape Horn, the truth being that the variation
lines as shown on the charts were in places as much as five degrees
wrong. It came to my lot to make the correction through my taking
nothing for granted which I could not verify.
I had the great good fortune once to get a fair wind between Cape Horn
and Rio that satisfied even me, and about that time also I became
convinced that the quickest way home was outside the Falkland Islands.
I had consistently taken a track through the Straits of Le Maire,
but, save under exceptional circumstances, I am confident that is the
wrong course for a vessel bound to Rio. It is true that you experience
fine weather off Cape Horn sometimes, but it is rare, and the sailing
directions commenting on the subject say “that each fine day should be
received thankfully as it comes.” For when bad weather sets in it comes
suddenly, often accompanied with heavy and dense snow. On one occasion
I was entering the Straits about midnight when snow came down heavily.
From the best bearings I could get while the weather was still fairly
clear I believed I was pointing fair for the middle of the passage,
but I did not feel by any means happy in the matter, for the tides or
currents thereabouts run strongly and uncertainly, swayed largely by
the prevailing wind. I had to decide pretty quickly too. If I slowed
down or stopped I could not tell where I might be set, so I came to
the conclusion it was better to shoulder the risk and let her go. I did
so and it came out all right, but I made a mental resolve that I would
not be caught that way again.
[Illustration: A HANDY MAINSAIL WHICH DOES NOT DRIVE SMOKE DOWN ON THE
BRIDGE]
The phenomenal fair wind which I have referred to was in the month of
April. We had made a fairly decent passage to Cape Horn and passed
outside the Falkland Islands as far at Lat. 44° S. when the wind began
to blow strong from the north-east, with a falling glass, and at the
same time showed an inclination to shift further to the eastward.
Here, I thought, is a possibility of deriving some benefit if, as I
concluded, a cyclonic system was passing to the eastward and we were
on the south-east corner of it. There was a good bit of sea running,
but I let her go off and set fore-and-afters. I was rewarded by the
wind freeing still more, so that before dark I got the single reefed
topsails and foresail on her, which was about as much as she would
stand, for the sea was just abaft the beam, increasing all the time,
and the ship was lurching very badly. That night stands out as one
of my pleasantest recollections of sailoring, for there was a clear
sea in front of us, as much wind as we wanted, and the need for good
handling if the most was to be made of it. About midnight we were
getting another pull on the weather braces, and the men of the watch
were finding that it taxed all their energies to do it, for she was
lurching horribly. The chief engineer came staggering along the poop to
me to ask whether I could do anything to keep her steadier, as she had
more than once rolled her vacuum away. This meant that her injection
plate had been out of water, and I could readily believe it. I told him
it was getting better all the time, so he must make the best of it,
and with that he had to be content. By morning the ship was on her
course again, the wind aft, and we with topgallant sails set running
about 16 knots. In three days we ran 1,064 miles, an average of close
upon 15 knots, and that with all the freezing engines going, but the
_Kaikoura_ was as grateful for canvas as a thirsty man for drink, and
revelled in the real sea dance. I felt rather pleased with myself over
that business, but it was all vanity, for we got to Rio before they
expected us, and there was no coal ready. The actual steaming time
between Wellington and Plymouth was thirty-seven days three hours, or
an average speed of just over 13 knots.
While on this question of route some word must necessarily be given
to the Straits of Magellan, the passage through which figured largely
in the advertisement for passengers. Very wisely, however, no strict
instruction was ever given to the masters to adopt that route; it was
left entirely to their discretion. At that time there was great rivalry
to make the fastest passage, both between our own ships and those of
the opposition line, and to this day I do not really know who did the
fastest passage home, although I believe I did. Naturally, under those
circumstances, when a ship was in a good position for rounding Cape
Horn, it required some powerful argument to make a master go out of
his way to increase his distance, and undertake what is at best the
risky navigation of that magnificent waterway. For absolute grandeur
the western portion of the Strait is unsurpassed, but when a ship is
in a hurry there is little inclination or inducement to stop to admire
scenery. As it happened, however, in my case the “powerful argument”
was supplied. Leaving England in November 1885, we had on board a full
complement of passengers, and among them were General Sir Patrick and
Lady McDougall and the Earl and Countess of Dalhousie. They were
intending to make the “round trip” in the ship, and the passage of the
Straits was, I fancy, an event they all looked forward to. I never had
more pleasant passengers. As it happened Sir Patrick’s reading and mine
had been on very similar lines, and conversation at meal times was
by no means dull. Lord Dalhousie had been in the Navy and was still
a sailor at heart; he was also a great student of Shakespeare. Lady
Dalhousie also had had some experience of the sea when her husband was
Commander of the _Britannia_, apart from any other. It is superfluous
but natural to remark that she was charming as she was handsome, and
whenever she could further the harmony of the ship she spared no pains
to do so. We made a very fine passage to within four days of Cape Town,
when we dropped a propeller blade. We were at dinner at the time it
went. I felt it, and looking across the saloon caught the eye of my
chief engineer, which had sought mine. I said nothing and hoped it had
passed unnoticed, but one of my lady friends at table had caught the
look and artlessly inquired why the chief engineer had left the table
in the middle of dinner. It is little use trying to hide anything, for
we had to ease the engines, but even then we made a good run to the
Cape.
When we got to Table Bay, I was not trusting to any divers’ work. We
put her in dock, discharged an atom of cargo, and then dry-docked her,
cargo and all, replaced the blade, reshipped the little cargo we had
discharged, coaled and left again in about thirty-two hours, which was
not bad work all things being considered, for, much as I liked Cape
Town and its people, there were certain interests there that were very
pleased to welcome a “daily stranger” in distress. We had to make what
is known as a “particular average” of this matter in New Zealand, and
few things cause more irritation to consignees, but there would have
been no excuse for me if I had incurred needless risk which could be
avoided by reasonable expenditure. The remainder of the passage to
Port Chalmers was made without incident; but on the last night some
young men amongst the first-class passengers had too much to drink,
and succeeded in making themselves asses, and a nuisance to their
fellow passengers. The Port Chalmers pilot took us in on the ebb tide
and succeeded in putting us on a sandbank, where we stayed until the
next high water. There was no harm done, but a lot of inquiries were
afterwards made about it at the London Custom House. Our steaming time
out that passage was 39 days, 9 hours.
The new order of progress was now inaugurated, and we were having our
long spell in port at the New Zealand end. In all we had six weeks
there, but we left for home in the middle of February, and then I had
to face the music. I knew the _Doric_ was to sail the day after us,
therefore I was loth to lose the time involved by the passage of the
Straits, for the _Doric_ and _Kaikoura_ always ran very jealously of
one another, and I was confident our rival would stick to the great
circle. I also knew that if she once caught sight of us we should
never hear the last of it, for Captain Jennings, who was my very great
friend, never lost an opportunity of impressing upon me the immense
superiority of the _Doric_ and White Star fashions generally. With this
I naturally disagreed, although Jennings himself was one of the finest
specimens of an old seaman it was possible to come across. As we drew
down towards the Horn the questions with which I was plied concerning
the Straits and my intentions grew more and more pointed. We had a
fine fair wind, and I was loth to lose its benefit, but as it became
eventually a personal matter I shifted my helm for the Straits and was
fortunate enough to make them at daybreak, so that I had a really
long day’s run in front of me. Needless to say, my passengers were
delighted, for the scenery, if wild, was very magnificent, and to tell
the truth I enjoyed the trip myself, now that I had had a reasonable
excuse for losing time. There was no difficulty in navigating so long
as one could see, but in that locality the weather changes with great
suddenness and one watches it carefully from hour to hour. We passed
the remains of more than one big steamer, stranded and deserted. Some
speculation took place as to what the fate of their crews had been,
for at that time the natives of Tierra del Fuego were cannibals. We
were fortunate, and anchored at Sandy Point about nine in the evening,
just after dark. We started at daybreak again, and carried a fair
tide through the narrows, and that being so we raced past the land at
the speed of a railway train, the current running perhaps nine knots,
and the water one mass of boiling impetuosity. When we were past Cape
Virgins that afternoon I sat down to play a rubber of whist with very
great equanimity. We reached Rio in due course one morning, but coaling
was very slow and detained us until late in the afternoon of the next
day, by which time, as I anticipated, our friend the _Doric_ had made
her appearance, and I knew that for all eternity Jennings and his crowd
would relate how they caught up the _Kaikoura_.
On this occasion in Rio (it was before the revolution) the Emperor
favoured me with an intimation that he would be pleased to visit the
ship. He did so, and inspected her very minutely, afterwards lunching,
to the great relief of his staff, who had been attending some religious
ceremony for the whole of the morning, and had confided to me that
they were desperately hungry. His Majesty was extremely gracious, and
the function was a very pleasant one. There was no further incident
on the passage, and when we got to Plymouth early one morning, we were
boarded by several friends of Lord Dalhousie who came to announce that
he had been appointed Secretary of State for Scotland, and how both he
and the Countess must be on shore with the least possible loss of time.
They had been exceedingly popular in the ship, and the following voyage
every officer received from them a souvenir of a pleasant voyage. I
personally cherish a little hand-painted Christmas card, for Lady
Dalhousie was fond of painting and had made some wonderful studies of
sunlight effects at Rio.
There are few more puzzling things than a dense fog on shore, even in a
well-known locality, but at sea it at times causes the most fantastic
incidents, one of which I propose to now relate. We were bound
down-Channel for Plymouth with a Channel pilot (Posgate) in charge, and
when off the Start it came on a thick fog. I will confess that I was
rather given to navigation under these conditions, so I kept on until
I knew that we were not very far from Plymouth Breakwater, when the
anchor was put down. Nevertheless, it is not pleasant to be anchored
in the fairway of the Channel, for there is considerable risk of some
one blundering into you, and a sharp look-out was being kept whenever
the fog thinned a little, to pick up the breakwater light. About nine
in the evening it was made out very dimly, but yet sufficiently well
for me to get under way, and in a short time we picked up the Plymouth
pilot, who then took charge. The fog was then heavy, but we kept the
loom of the light and passed it, the pilot being very anxious to use
port helm more than seemed to me to be warranted. At last I said, “How
do you want to go, Pilot?” “About N.E. ½ E. sir,” was the reply, to
which the London man said, “But you are E.N.E. now.” Said the Plymouth
man, “Never mind, sir, port please.” At which I stopped the engines,
although we were moving very slowly. Shortly after this the chief
sung out from the forecastle, “A man-o’-war close ahead of us,” and
immediately afterwards, “No, no, it’s the breakwater fort!” I turned
astern full speed, despite remonstrances from both pilots that I should
foul moorings and buoys, and as she backed out she just shaved the fort
with her bowsprit, which thereby got a cant that it carried for the
rest of its days. I asked the chief, East it was, if she had touched,
but he like a good man said, “No,” and indeed it was the lightest
possible graze. Eventually we anchored, nothing the worse for our novel
experience. I forget now what I said to the Plymouth pilot--no doubt
it was something very polite--but it was hardly ever possible to take
Cousin Jacker really seriously, for they knew themselves that they were
frequently as useful as a fifth wheel to a coach. The moral of this
story is, if there is a moral, that if one had tried to do as we did on
a fine day the chances are that we could not have done it, and indeed,
there are times now when I can hardly understand how it took place. It
did, however, and exactly in the manner I have described.
I must admit that during my entire sea experiences I was singularly
immune from any serious accidents. That was my good fortune. But there
were disagreeables at times. On one occasion we were hampered by a
bad epidemic of scarlet fever, and some very cantankerous people in
the saloon could not see that I had to act for the welfare of all,
and that it was consequently necessary to sacrifice some room to
secure isolation and hospital accommodation. To mend matters we had
an accident that gave a deal of trouble. In one of the orlop decks
was stowed a great quantity of casks of oil, illuminants for the New
Zealand lighthouses. By some mischance one of them worked loose, and
before it was realised the whole lot were adrift--for the ship was
rolling badly--dashing from side to side, eventually smashing and
deluging the orlop deck and lower hold with oil. It was a matter of
difficulty and some danger to secure the casks that were left, for
there was a curious cross swell on, and try as I might I could not
persuade her to keep quiet. The men worked well, however, although the
fumes affected their eyes badly. Great quantities were baled up in
buckets and thrown overboard, but enough was unavoidably left to damage
an enormous quantity of cargo in the lower hold. That was one of the
few disagreeable trips I had.
On the other hand there were passages where people made everything
a pleasure, and one very cheery time we had three young Englishmen
not very long from college. One was Lord Burford, another was named
Conolly, and the third was Seely, now (1912) Under-Secretary for War,
who was even then exercising considerable influence by perfect manners
and a knowledge of the world rare in one so young. Lord Burford has
since that time succeeded to the dukedom of St. Albans. He has the most
graceful seat on horseback I ever saw. Conolly, who afterwards joined
the Scots Greys, sleeps with his fellows, the bravest and best, under
the turf in the Transvaal. The reason I specially mention these three
young men is that they had the happy knack of getting everything they
wanted, and at the same time making it a pleasure for other people to
give it them. It is true that three tandems at one time bulked rather
largely in the streets of Wellington and caused a little comment, but
the New Zealanders with whom the friends came in contact liked them,
even to the extent of delaying the start of an express train while
they laid in a stock of provisions for a journey. Conolly alone made
the complete voyage with me, and on the run down to the Horn developed
a taste for going aloft to handle canvas in bad weather. I did not like
the risk he incurred, but could not well oppose it, and fortunately no
accident happened.
Although I had by this time lost touch with a great deal concerning the
Cape I had the good fortune at odd times when calling there to see old
friends when they were gathered together for any special function. On
one occasion there were some warships in the bay and a ball was taking
place that night at Government House, to which I was invited. Coaling
would be finished, I knew, by nine in the evening, and my anxiety
was to get all my passengers safely on board, for it was coming on
a south-easter. That, however, was safely managed, and then, having
seen the gangway pulled up, I started for the shore and had a couple
of hours amongst old friends and enjoyed it to my heart’s content. I
returned to the ship by midnight and got under way at once. I suppose I
really had no right to take those three hours, but it was the only time
I ever lost a minute on a passage, and the exception does not make me
feel repentant even now.
I think it was that passage that I had the satisfaction of carrying
out a very great scientist, Sir Julius Von Haast. We were friends, and
I had the greatest respect for his views and attainments. He gave me
a great deal of his time, and for one thing thoroughly convinced me
that our national system of free imports involved ultimate disaster.
Geology, however, was his forte, and his reputation in this science
was world-wide. I regret to say he died shortly after landing in New
Zealand.
Towards the close of my voyaging I became involved in the after-effects
of the various seamen’s strikes, and the dangerous spirit of unrest
and insubordination generated by them. The power of the master of a
merchant ship, be she a collier or be she an _Olympic_, is a very
uncertain quantity, inasmuch as it is limited only by the necessity of
the case that is being dealt with. In other words, you can act as you
consider the occasion rightly demands you should do, but you stand to
be called upon to defend your action when you get on shore.
It will thus be seen that the discipline clauses of the Merchant
Shipping Act leave a great deal to the discretion of the judicial
authority that may be dealing with any particular case, and it can
well be realised that some magistrates would view offences against
discipline with a more lenient spirit than others. Again, and I am
well aware of the gravity of the words I am using, it is not the Board
of Trade that has whittled down the master’s authority voluntarily,
but it is the deliberate action of shipowners, who, curiously enough,
have done more than any other agency to destroy authority on board
ship. So long as a master was certain of support from the owner, so
long would he act unflinchingly if necessity arose. But in many cases
a master will hesitate to involve himself in law when he knows that in
doing so he will get no support from his owners. Quite recently the
master of a great mail steamer told me that it would not do to have any
trouble with his crew, “for the Company would not like it,” a policy, I
submit, which is simply asking for trouble, for the men of to-day fully
realise that a clever lawyer can make a plausible case from very slight
grounds. Hence arises the crying need of _one uniform administration_
of the Merchant Shipping Act, for as it is dealt with at present there
is _no_ uniformity of practice.
I had occasion to take part in a police court case in Wellington where
a fireman was being prosecuted for assaulting my second officer and
knocking some of his teeth out. It was a particularly bad case, and
deserved the extreme penalty that could be awarded for that offence,
but the magistrate took an entirely different view and only inflicted
half the maximum penalty. I was rather put out at this and am afraid
that I showed it, for I told the stipendiary that I should advise my
officers in future to carry something for their own defence, as they
got little protection from the police. This was rather unfortunate,
for some little time afterwards, I think it was the next voyage, there
was a shooting case which caused a good deal of comment and which
nearly got me into serious trouble. The facts were as follows. Two
mates of sailing vessels had got themselves disliked by certain seamen
belonging to their own and other vessels. They had been threatened, and
consequently kept together for mutual protection, one of them, as they
went on shore one Sunday morning, putting a revolver in his pocket.
They were met by men in search of them with hostile intent, and the
mate in possession of the revolver was knocked down. Fearing worse
treatment he fired at his assailant from his pocket, and the aggressor
fell shot through the heart. It is to be noticed that although this
feud had been in existence some little time there was no sign of any
police supervision or watching until the mischief was complete. The
two men were put on trial for wilful murder together, but the judge
ruled that they were to be tried separately. Consequently the man who
fired the shot was first tried, and sentenced to a long term of penal
servitude. This was on a Saturday. The next day I sat down and wrote
a long letter to the _New Zealand Times_, which was published on the
Monday; in it I pointed out former complaints of my own as to police
inefficiency, and concluded with an appeal for mitigation of sentence.
I did not mention the other man, who had to stand his trial on the
Monday. This man was acquitted, but the public prosecutor was furious
at my interference in the case. He and I were on very friendly terms
as far as whist players went, but meeting me in the Club on Monday
afternoon he told me that I had been guilty of contempt of court, and
would have to take the consequences. I think, however, that it was just
one of those touch-and-go cases where it would have been difficult to
convict, for I heard no more of the matter. The man who was acquitted
came down to my ship on the Tuesday morning, and meeting East in the
gangway told him that he had come to thank me for getting him off, to
which my chief replied, “Clear out at once! The old man don’t want to
see you, I know!” and really he was quite right. So ended that episode;
but I did not make many friends over what was really a fight for
principle, and to this day I cherish animosity against a Christchurch
newspaper that, taking this case as a handle, attacked me falsely and
bitterly in my absence, when I had no opportunity of replying.
By this time I had become tired to some extent of spending so much time
at sea; I wanted for one thing to do some training in the _Excellent_,
and for another my wife had been so pulled down by repeated attacks
of influenza that it was necessary I should look more closely after
my family affairs. I accordingly thought I would stay at home for a
voyage, and one fine summer’s afternoon I took my leave of the old ship
that had served me so well, and as I stood by Manor Way Station seeing
the blue ensign replaced by a red one I felt as though I was taking
farewell of a much-loved friend. I never saw the _Kaikoura_ again, but
grieved to hear that she had met her fate at the shipbreaker’s hands.
She deserved a better ending.
It is one thing to be a Naval Reserve officer in command of a fine
ship in peace time, but it is quite another matter to give up separate
command, inferior to the Navy as it is, and take your place as one of
the eighteen hundred or so units that carry on the principal duties of
H.M. Navy. This fact had long been dimly recognised by me, although in
all my periods of drill service I had always been shown a great deal of
consideration.
As soon as one had reported at Whale Island one’s identity was lost in
the particular class in which one was merged, and I thanked goodness
that drill had always been rather a hobby of mine, and that I could
hold my own respectably with other lieutenants of the senior class to
which I was attached. Indeed, I discovered that so far as actual drill
was concerned the teaching of the drill ships had been very thorough.
It was only that here one was faced with the handling of the latest
and newest weapons. In other respects the lieutenants of the regular
service had not been better instructed than we were.
The senior staff officer was a lieutenant named Waymouth, now captain
of a battleship, and he it was who put us through our gunnery tests,
and lectured on those matters requiring explanation and blackboard
diagrams, such as hydraulics and kindred matters. He was a wonderfully
gifted man, and had the rather rare faculty of being able to impart
his knowledge to others. He had, I think, made gunnery his particular
study, for there was no possible question concerning any gun in the
service the answer to which was not immediately forthcoming. Indeed, so
far as I could judge, the whole staff of the _Excellent_ had reached a
standard of efficiency and excellence it would have been difficult to
find fault with. The first lieutenant, Adair--now admiral--was a man of
great personal character.
The torpedo school, H.M.S. _Vernon_, was another thing altogether, and
here I suffered considerably from my inability to chase “X.” Highly
interesting though the lectures were, they required a knowledge of
algebra, which, though learned in my school-days, I had entirely
forgotten. As it happened I had to leave the course before the
examination, so my shortcomings were not discovered. I had been
through all the practical work connected with mining, etc., but as the
Whitehead came last of all I did not then make its acquaintance. The
following year I was appointed to H.M.S. _Devastation_ for the naval
manœuvres, at which I was highly pleased, and duly proceeded to join
her when she was lying in historic Mutton Cove. She was commanded
by Captain Oxley, who gave me a very cordial welcome, and her first
lieutenant was none other than my old acquaintance of Zanzibar, P. G.
Vanderbyl. The other lieutenants were all men who have since done well
in the service, and one with whom I was on specially good terms, named
Hall, I found acting as inspecting captain of submarines when I was
down at a review at the invitation of the Admiralty just a year or two
ago. With that peculiarity men in the service have, Captain Hall hardly
looked a day older.
Service in the _Devastation_ was a novelty. She was one of the earlier
types of ironclads, and at the time she was built was of considerable
utility, but as a sea-going craft she was not a thing of joy. Even in
that capacity, though, she had her good points, one of which was her
extreme steadiness in a sea-way, but on the other hand, the ventilation
below left much to be desired, and in anything like bad weather, when
the ship was closed down, a considerable amount of potted air was
consumed by every one.
We left Plymouth the morning after I joined her to join the fleet
at Portland. We were making our best possible speed, but she was a
ship that resented being driven beyond a certain pace, for when doing
anything over ten or eleven knots her steering was erratic to the
last degree. A yaw of three points on either side was of constant
occurrence, and my sympathies went out to the chief engineer, who
stood looking at her wake in grim calculation of an enormous amount
of wasted energy. In due course we joined up at Portland with the Red
Fleet under the command of Admiral Fitzroy. Compared with our fleets
of to-day it was a motley gathering. The best vessels in the manœuvres
were four ships of the _Royal Sovereign_ class, all allotted to the
Red Fleet, while first-class cruisers were put into the line of battle
to make up sufficient numbers to carry out the scheme of operations.
But if the Red Fleet was one of all sorts, the Blue Fleet was still
worse, for with the exception of some armoured and other cruisers,
there were not in it any two homogeneous ships. This, be it remembered,
was in 1894. It would be interesting to hear the comments of an
admiral to-day if he were given the command of a fleet of battleships
consisting of six different types, such as _Alexandra_, _Barfleur_,
_Benbow_, _Inflexible_, _Colossus_, and _Edinburgh_. It speaks well for
the capacity of the officers in charge that they were able to obtain
satisfactory results from so strange a mixture, but that really was the
transition time of the Navy, for since that date ships have been built
with a view to homogeneity.
No object would be served by relating the details of those manœuvres.
I shall content myself with one or two remarks upon occurrences that
impressed themselves upon me. We left Portland in due course for a
week’s manœuvres in the Channel, and Admiral Fitzroy expressed his
satisfaction at the manner in which they were performed. We then put
into Falmouth to coal and get ready for the battle that would probably
take place between the opposing Fleets. By this time the crew and
officers had got used to the ship and to one another. We had on board
about thirty Naval Reserve men and they fell to my division; the great
mistake made was in putting them on board with an insufficient kit.
This led to all sorts of excuses being made for them, and it was easy
to see that instructions had been given that they were to be treated
with a very light hand. This they were not slow to discover. They were
not a bad lot, but it was unsatisfactory to me to have to handle them
under those conditions, and when the captain expressed his satisfaction
at their general appearance, I had to take it seriously, but knew that
Falstaff’s regiment must have been in his thoughts. The matter of
inferior appearance by some members of a ship’s company is no trifling
matter.
We left Falmouth one evening to cruise off Ushant, waiting for a
declaration of war. We knew the plan of manœuvres but not the exact
hour of commencement. It was blowing freshly from the S.W. and the
_Devastation_ with her low ends was like a half-tide rock. In fact only
the superstructure was negotiable, and the greatest care had to be
exercised to prevent water from getting below; even then there was a
fair quantity on the maindeck. But she had this advantage--when every
vessel in company was rolling we were almost motionless; certainly we
never had the fiddles on the ward-room table. The _Resolution_ rolled
badly, and had to haul out of the line to try and secure a boat which
came to grief. Life in the small craft must have been wearisome in
the extreme, for they had a motion that approximated in speed to the
pendulum of a clock.
When the appointed time arrived our Fleet started off up the Irish
Channel, and one day at noon all the cruisers were sent on ahead at
full speed to try both to elude the enemy and to join hands with our
friends separated from us by an opposing Fleet. They parted company
from us like a flock of swallows, and then came the turn of our
battleships to put on full speed, for the admiral had determined
to push on, leaving us as slowest ship to make the best of our way
after him. I shall never forget that run. The night was dark, we were
showing no lights, and the foredeck was one mass of white creaming
water. We saw lots of ships, but there was no trouble in keeping clear
of them, and I am not sure that the sight in the engine-room was not
as interesting as any, for there was no difficulty in keeping steam,
and the engines were being driven for all they were worth, all being
done without the least trouble or fuss. About nine o’clock the next
morning we sighted our Fleet, which was hanging back for us, as they
had sighted their enemy. In a short time we were all at it as hard
as we could go, engaged in the sham battle of South Rock. Two things
were noticeable. In the middle of it all a Norwegian sailing collier
drove down through the contending lines, which had to keep clear of
her; and, secondly, the splendid appearance of Admiral Dale’s Fleet as
they came to our assistance headed by the _Empress of India_ and the
_Repulse_. As is usual in such matters both sides claimed the victory.
After this the hostile Fleets separated, we putting into Belfast and
our adversaries into Queenstown, but as there was no certainty that
hostilities were over we got out torpedo-nets for the night. They
were not wanted, however. On our way to Portsmouth on the return
trip we had some time at our disposal. It was a fine August afternoon
in mid-Channel; all the ships stopped their engines and turned eight
points to starboard; those ships which had a band used it; the men were
piped to bathe, and some boats were used for visiting purposes. The
impression left on my mind was that our “home was on the deep,” and
that the custom of centuries would keep it inviolate.
In due course we got to Spithead, where I left the ship, and so
practically ended my sea career. I landed with a very decided opinion
that there was a deal of truth in the old adage that “standing
rigging makes bad running gear.” I had been in command so long that
a subordinate position irked me, although I trust that fact was
never apparent. Still I feel confident that for a man to become
a satisfactory Reserve officer it is necessary he should get his
experience as early as possible, and it is matter for satisfaction that
this has now been recognised.
I quitted the sea with deep regret, and were my time coming over
again, I should, even with my present knowledge, unhesitatingly adopt
it as a calling. But if Britons value their heritage “the sea” they
will see that British ships are manned by British men, and take some
pains to bring this about by encouraging the youth of the country to
adopt the sea as a calling. It is a _man’s_ life in a properly found
and officered ship; it is also necessary that, as I have pointed out
on many occasions, our long-sea-route steamships should be given the
means to protect themselves against the guns of a hostile merchant
vessel that has been armed for the special purpose of preying upon our
commerce.
THE END
_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.
Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.
Illustrations have been repositioned to be within the pages referenced
by the List of Illustrations, and the phrase “To face page” has been
removed from their captions.
Redundant “CHAPTER” headings have been removed from this eBook.
Text uses both “dam” and “damn”.
The List of Illustrations listed the last two illustrations in reverse
order (but with correct page numbers). They have been switched to the
proper sequence in this eBook.
Page 141: “hear it if killed” probably is a misprint for “hear if it
killed”.
Page 174: semi-colon added after “as it then was”.
Page 197: “If I could have have laid” was printed that way.