Now that the Canterbury was gone, I decided to go to the gold mines of
Otago and try my luck as a gold miner. But fate had decided otherwise
for me. Captain White of the clipper ship Blue Jacket called for me at
the hotel one morning and offered me the berth of sailing master on the
Blue Jacket at twenty-five pounds a month. They were short of officers,
and as the ship was about loaded and ready to sail for London, I took
his offer.
We were about ten days getting things in shape, and early one morning
we hove up anchor and shaped our course for the long run to Cape Horn.
A heavy southwest gale followed us for several days, and running our
eastern down, we averaged 20 knots an hour at times, with all sail set.
At times our patent log even showed 23 knots an hour. This may seem
almost incredible, but the American ship James Baines at one time made
an equal record.
After leaving New Zealand we had strong S. West gales, which carried us
well east until we rounded Cape Horn and hauled up to Norrard. We had,
up to this time, averaged 384 miles a day, beating all records ever
made by a sailing ship up to that time.
The Blue Jacket was an American built ship, formerly owned by Isaac
Taylor, of Boston, and built by Robert E. Jackson, of East Boston. On
her maiden voyage across to Liverpool she made the trip in eleven days,
out of which they were hove to for 36 hours to avoid ice on the Grand
Banks.
She was sold to an English firm, and her owners made a handsome profit.
Now they put her on the Australian Packet Service, carrying mail and
passengers, and she seldom varied five days on either outward or inward
trips from the 65 days, which was a record passage.
My commanding officer was James White, born in Ireland, a man of great
ability, who had run away to sea when a boy, and had been rapidly
promoted.
He was a large man, weighing over 200 pounds and standing over six
feet in height, and when he gave orders everyone jumped. He is said to
have been paid the highest wages of any sea captain sailing out of a
European port.
We crossed the equator on our 42nd day out from New Zealand, and docked
in the East India Docks at London in 63 days, a “lightning” passage.
Captain White was a great man to carry all sail, and one incident
occurred on this trip which will show some of his characteristics.
One night at sundown a stiff gale was blowing and he ordered me to take
in the main top-gallant skysail and royals, and these had no apparent
effect in reducing her speed. He told me that he had never taken a
top-sail off of her while at sea.
My watch on deck was from 8 bells in the afternoon to 8 bells at night,
and again at 8 bells the next morning for four hours more, being
relieved by the third officer at meal time. During that night I heard
the captain tell the chief mate, a Scotchman, by name of Craig, not to
take any sail off the ship unless he called him on deck.
The ship was equipped with a powerful steering gear with double wheels,
and under ordinary conditions one man and a boy could handle her. But
this night we had four men, two at each wheel, as a heavy sea was
running and the wind was quartering, and even then she would often get
away from them and broach to. It required all their strength to get the
wheels over so she would pay off on her course.
At 4 a.m. I came on deck and relieved the officer, who said, “My God,
if the captain don’t take off some of this sail he’ll have the masts
out of her.” A little after one bell we had a frightful squall strike
us. The night was as black as ink, and at times the sharp lightning
would blind one. I ran below and saw that the barometer had fallen,
and calling for Captain White to come on deck, ran up the after
companion-way on to the deck.
No sooner had I reached the deck than a fearful squall struck us and
the rain fell in torrents and the ship fell rapidly off her course. I
yelled out to let go the top-gallant halyards, fore and aft, and then
she payed off on her course again. By this time the captain had reached
the deck, and oh! how he jawed me for lowering those top-gallant
sails. I immediately ordered them hoisted again, and inside of ten
minutes she had the best of the helmsmen and came to several points
before she answered her wheel. An old comber of a sea now struck her
on the quarter, and tons of water flooded the decks, burst through the
after companion-way doors, and the water rushed into our main saloon,
filling it two feet deep. Then the passengers commenced to yell, “We
are sinking.” They were soon pacified, however, and returned to their
berths. In the meantime Captain White had ordered the top-gallant sails
down and the ship was riding easier. I had felt pretty badly over the
blowing up the captain had given me, but he now stretched out his hand
to me and said, “Accept my apology, Mr. Taylor; you were all right, and
the drinks are on me.”
Well, Captain White made his last voyage in the old Blue Jacket in the
early seventies from Melbourne, Australia, with a valuable cargo and
many passengers and a large shipment of gold. Neither the captain nor
the ship has ever been heard of since. Some think the crew mutinied,
scuttling the ship, killing the passengers and escaping with the
gold, who knows? But I never forgot his mania for carrying all sail,
no matter how windy, and believe that she was wrecked in mid-ocean
after she had become dismantled in some heavy gale, and then went down
with all hands. A fitting end for an old sea-dog, but hard for the
passengers and crew.
I now had a good opportunity to roam about the great city of London and
visit the places of interest. The Crystal Palace was at that time one
of the chief centers of attraction, and thousands were visiting the
place.
London is and always has been one of the world’s greatest centers, and
for commerce, crimes, customs and culture has no equal. Other cities
that I have visited have had many attractions, but great, dark, gloomy
London, with its ever-flowing tide of humanity, always interested me
more than any.
I now took passage for America on a small Allan Line steamer for
Montreal and came to Boston by rail, putting up at the old Bromfield
House, at that time a great place for sea-faring men. Presenting myself
at 15 Kilby Street the next morning, where my owners had their offices,
I was paid off and ordered home to await further orders.
As I had been out to New Zealand for several years, you may be sure
that I was glad enough to be able to get back to the old homestead once
again.
Thus ended my little experience on one of the greatest American built
sailing ships that was ever launched, and whose sailing records have
never been beaten.