The barque _Otago_ was one of the finest crafts that ever rested a keel
on the water. She was of clipper build, had a carrying capacity of
about 1500 tons, was an able sea boat, and with a breeze of wind that
was suitable to her taste would reel off 15 knots easy.
On my first voyage as captain of this barque we sailed from Boston
bound for the East Coast of Africa, via Cape Town, Port Elizabeth, Port
Natal and other small ports. We had a general cargo with ploughs, hoes,
shovels, rakes and other articles too numerous to mention, which were
intended for the Dutch farmers or native Boers.
Our voyage out was a pleasant one, making about 58 days to Cape Town
and 27 days to the equator. At no time was there more than a wholesail
breeze, and nothing special of note took place, with this exception: we
never took in a royal until we hove to and came to our anchorage in
the beautiful bay or roadstead. On this voyage, two degrees south of
the equator, we sighted what appeared to be a steamer with fore and aft
sails set, and bound south.
At 11 a.m. we ran close up under his lee and spoke to him. He said he
was from Cardiff, Wales, and was bound for the Heathcote River, on
the middle of New Zealand. He had been 100 days out and had a large
lee-board out to prevent his vessel from making so much lee drift. He
asked me if I would not come aboard, but as we were going ten miles to
his one, I tacked ship and headed about north, eased off head-sheets
and hove main-topsail aback. We hove over our Yankee dory, which I
always carried, and was soon aboard of him. He was much pleased to see
me, and although he had drifted along for 100 days seemed reconciled to
his fate and fully expected the trip to take him at least 250 days. As
I was familiar with the New Zealand group and he had never been there
before, I gave him all the information required, and tracked off on
his chart for him the course he should pursue, and he was more than
grateful. He had his wife and child with him, a gay little girl about
ten years old. We had dinner and a glorious old talk; he put out his
best, plenty of wine and beer, and at 1.30 p.m. he hoisted signals to
our barque to come on. All this time from 11 to 1.30 she had made about
seven miles. Her main topsails were braced up and sheets taken in, and
about she came like a race horse--a thing of life. She did look so
handsome coming down, and seemed to say, “I will show you my heels in a
short time.” About 2.15 p.m., according to record, the chief officer,
Mr. Harding, brought her to and I went on board, having greatly enjoyed
the pleasant change of a visit at sea.
We filled away and passed under the Comet’s lee, saluting him by a
rousing good cheer, such as can only be given by a sailor, and bidding
him a pleasant bon voyage, and in one hour she was out of sight.
When I left the Comet the captain had given me a large English market
basket full of good things: a Yorkshire ham, English cheese, port,
brandy and beer, and that night I could not help thinking of that
captain and his family wallowing slowly along behind us. At this time
foul grass, in some places a foot long, had grown on the vessel’s
bottom, and in what a condition she must have been when, in 259 days
out from Cardiff, she finally reached New Zealand.
Ten months later I had a letter from the captain saying had it not
been for my advice he would never have arrived out, as it had been his
intention to make his Eastern or longtitude no further south than 35°;
instead he went direct to 45°, as I had suggested, and ran his Eastern
down in high latitude.
Here in this Southern belt the winds blow eleven months of the year,
from West N. W. to West S. W., and in this long stretch of over 7500
miles one seldom ever sees a sail unless overtaking some ship or being
overtaken by some ship bound to Australia, or Van Dieman’s Land, or
perhaps to New Zealand.
The never-absent companion of the sailor is the albatross, a large bird
which often follows a vessel for long distances, and which “Jack” calls
the “spirit of a departed sailor.”
The barque Otago reached Cape Town, and after entering at the Custom
House and reporting to the consignees, we commenced to discharge that
portion of the cargo which was to be landed, some of which had to be
transported by bullock trams 300 to 500 miles inland.
To these monstrous trek wagons are attached often some thirty or
thirty-six Cape oxen. They are immense fellows and their entire harness
is made of trecto, or raw hide. The campers or drivers are often 30 or
40 days on the way, and in the dry season, especially in the Southern
summer months, December, January and February, the cattle suffer much
for want of water, and travel in the night time and out span in day, so
they can feed and water their cattle if they are fortunate enough to
find it.
The _Zaro_, or headman, who has charge of the freight, is a native
Kaffir; under him are two drivers, one a young Kaffir, who is a leader
and who, when they in-span, directs the head yoke. Imagine a picture of
15 yoke of oxen, or thirty in all, strung up to a Crow wagon 30 feet
long, a Kaffir boy at the head with the leaders, and the driver with
a long bamboo whip in his hand. This whip is a rod 20 feet long, with
a whip lash over 80 feet long made of dry hide, attached to the end,
and is used in such a way that it will reach, at any time, any of the
bullocks.
The Kaffirs are men of great vitality and can endure great hardships,
but are at all times most faithful and trustworthy. They can go days
without food, and then have a big feast, and it is said that ten men
could devour the carcass of a good-sized bullock, and never leave the
table until it was all gone. Underneath their wagons they slung their
hammocks, made from native jute buts, and their cooking utensils. Their
pay, in the early sixties, was a pound sterling a month, and find
themselves, with no set hours for duty, and it often happened that they
were on the road for forty-eight hours at a time.
Today, rails and the steam engine do in an hour what in the old days
took ten.
Before we weigh anchor I will mention my visit to Table Mountain, 8000
feet above the level of the sea. This mountain is usually covered by a
thick mist or fog-bank, called by the natives and seamen “Table-cloth,”
but when it is perfectly clear one can depend on fine weather.
A party of sixteen men and women, led by Guide Wilson, started on our
journey up the mountain, by way of the bridal path, at three a.m. We
went round the Lion’s Rump, then round and round, reaching the top at
8 a.m. Such a wonderful sight I never before witnessed! The ship in
the bay looked like a toy vessel, and the town itself was full of tiny
houses. The top of the mountain was very flat--called Table-land from
the flatness of the surrounding Table Mountain--here is situated a
lake, said to be in some places more than 200 fathoms deep, and filled
with small thorny fish. We breakfasted and rested here until 11 a.m.,
and then gradually made our descent, reaching the town at 4.30 p.m.,
well compensated although weary from our journey.
I went to the end of the Long Pier and, signalling for my boat, was
soon on my barque enjoying my evening meal.
We started to get under way; I gave orders to the chief officer to
heave short loose top-sails and top-gallant sails, and it was done with
a merry good will, as sailors are always glad to reach port and to
leave it. While heaving up the anchor, Captain Smith and his crew came
on board to assist us in getting under way, a courtesy usually extended
in foreign ports by all ships.
The heavens were beaming with stars, a bright moon was shining, and a
light wind blowing from the southwest helped to make a lovely night and
a still one. Judson, our “Shanty-man,” started the crew up to sing the
old “Shanty songs,” such as “Bonney was a Warrior,” “I am going away
to leave you,” “Santa Anna was a one-legged man,” and numerous other
songs. The singing was fine, causing large crowds to gather on the
pier-heads, and the verandahs of the houses were filled with people.
The first officer shouted, “All away, sir,” meaning the anchor was
off the bottom, we hoisted jibs and filled away, heading out to the
westward, bidding good-bye to Captain Smith, whose boats-crew gave
three rousing loud cheers for the old “Otago,” who picked up her skirts
and started around the Cape for Algoa Bay, about 600 miles away.
At 10 p.m., or four bells by ship time, we tacked ship and ran in
to clear the Cape. At this time the wind had changed to north-west,
about an eight-knot breeze, which was a fair wind to lead us around
the Cape. We made the run to Cape Receme in 78 hours, hauled around to
the northward for about ten miles and cast anchors, mooring the ship
from east north-east to south-east with “open-horse,” as the sailors
say. As the east wind comes into this bay and causes a very heavy
swell, we adopted this position to make the ship ride easy and take
off the strain on chain and windlass. After a gale is over, great care
and watchfulness on the part of the officers is necessary so that the
slack chain may be hove in or paid out when the wind increases so as
to avoid fouling the anchors. The wind often changes several times in
twenty-four hours, and if the ship swings around there is much hard
work and time lost in clearing the foul chain.
Some of the ships used a long shackle, which saves trouble, but was not
considered as safe to ride to, as it did not give an equal strain on
each anchor. We now proceeded to enter at the Customs and go through
the regular formalities, reporting to Taylor Bros., consignees, who
were agents of Isaac Taylor, the ship’s owner. While in port I made my
stay with them and was royally entertained. Saddle-horses and carriages
were placed at my disposal, and we saw much of the country.
Unfavorable weather delayed landing of the cargo, as it was necessary
to discharge into large flat-bottomed lighters which could be used only
in a fairly smooth sea. A large anchor is placed about 300 feet off
shore, to which a hawser is attached and then made fast to one end of
the lighter; on the shore end is another anchor fastened to forward end
of lighter, and by manipulating these hawsers the lighters are run back
and forth and the cargo discharged. Once on shore, the goods are put on
the heads and shoulders of the Hottentots, who worked clothed only in a
breech-cloth. They work all day long and receive very good pay; at that
time they got a half-crown a day, about 62 cents in American money. The
Kaffir gang of carriers were kept apart from the Hottentots, as they
never mixed. Many of the Hottentots in this neighborhood had attained
great wealth as cattle dealers, and came out gaily decked on Sunday
afternoons. Having discharged our cargo at Port Elizabeth, we proceeded
with fine west wind to Port Natal, E. N. East from our departure. A
sand-bar prevented our entering this harbor until part of the cargo was
taken off by lighters. Having reduced our cargo till we drew but 12
feet of water, we were now able to get over the sand-bar and proceed
up the river. This port is the center for all East African goods, and
raw-hide and sheep skins are the principal exports. The Boer farmers
bring in their goods in the bullock-wagons, sometimes being thirty
days on the road before getting into Port Natal. Here they rest up
for a week and enjoy themselves drinking Dutch brandy. Then they load
up with household goods and provisions enough to last them until next
sheep-shearing season.
Many of the farmers were very wealthy, owning 75,000 head of sheep and
cattle, visiting Europe every year, and keeping well posted on market
conditions. Game was very abundant, and the farmers were all expert
with the rifle. In later years this prowess was well shown in their
dealings with the English army. We made the acquaintance of a Mr.
Hoffenhimer, who had lost the previous night some twenty head of cattle
by a tiger. He had prepared a large cage, baited it with a lamb, and
the next morning was rewarded by catching an immense big tiger alive.
European zoological gardens paid a big price for these fellows, and the
skins were also valuable.
We now put ballast in our barque and returned to Port Elizabeth to load
with wool, hides and skins for Boston, Mass. At Natal we had taken on
board a Mr. Thompson and wife, who were bound out West to settle, and
we now embarked twelve more passengers who were a mixture of Dutch,
Irish and Africanders, or native-born whites. These had “made their
pile” and were returning to civilization to settle down.
With a good easterly breeze and threatening weather, we got under way,
close-hauled by the wind and a heavy swell on. We stood south, hoping
to clear Cape Receif, which we did without tacking ship. In fact, it
would have been difficult to tack, as we were too near the shore to
wear ship. I ordered the lead to be hove, and fully expected to strike
bottom every moment. By good luck the wind hauled around and we headed
up two points to eastward, and at dark, with the roar of the surf
breaking under our lee, we cleared the rock.
Outwardly I showed no nervousness, but I assure you my heart was in my
mouth, and it was a happy moment when I shouted, “Hard up your wheel,
brace in main and fore yard, and keep her west by south.” It was now
blowing a living gale, east-north-east, nearly astern, but hauling up
the clews of our mainsail, we set the main top-gallant sail and sent up
a silent prayer for safe deliverance.
An easterly gale prevailed through the night, and our good ship
bowled off 15 knots an hour until 8 a.m. next morning. However, under
fore-sail, fore-topsail, main-topsail and main top-gallant sail, she
made splendid weather, although there was a very heavy swell from the
East.
During the evening the chief officer had very foolishly told the
passengers what a narrow escape they had had in rounding Cape Receif,
and it had caused considerable uneasiness among them as to their
safety, for the wind was blowing fiercely. After I had assured them
that there was not the least danger, I got Mrs. Thompson to play a few
good old Methodist hymns on the organ, and we all sang until confidence
was restored, and all retired saying, “God bless Captain Taylor.”
The next morning at eight bells, 8 o’clock a.m., the wind moderated and
hauled round to the S. S. East, and all sails were set and we passed
the next twenty-four hours in comparative comfort.
The next day we made land about fifty miles to the westward of Cape of
Good Hope. Here we passed several Cape fishing boats, fishing for the
famous Cape snook. We passed so near that many of the men, thinking
we were going to run them down, shouted out to us in their Hottentot
language.
At sundown that evening we made Cape Light, distant about eight miles
under our starboard lee-bow. With a good south breeze we shaped our
course at 8 p.m. for the island of St. Helena, lying directly in the
path for all homeward-bound American vessels. A beautiful breeze
followed us until we struck the S. E. Trades, in latitude 28° S.,
and from there we had fine weather until we hauled to close under
the land and cast anchor at this island, made famous by the exile of
Napoleon. We had been twenty-three days on the voyage from the Capes
to the Island, most of the time the sea being like a mill pond it was
so smooth. Casting anchor at early daybreak, and so close that our
jib-boom touched the rocks, found twenty fathoms of water, and, after
breakfast, launched the boats and gave the passengers a day’s liberty
to visit the island.
The older part of the town was in ruins, caused, strange to say, by
the fact that the St. Helena ants had worked their way into the mortar
and undermined the foundations. The township is located in the center
of the island, and is surrounded by high hills on both sides. On the
top of the hill on the northwest side are the English barracks, where
several companies of troops are stationed, ready for call to any part
of the Cape or British India. The island is also used as the recruiting
ground of the invalid soldiers.
We spent most of the day on the southeast side visiting the home of
Napoleon, while he was exiled on the island, and the place on the
hillside where he was buried, before his body was removed to France.
We returned to the town, and I made purchases of fresh ship stores,
green groceries, fowl, and a few sheep, for fresh meat to be used as
needed on the voyage home.
At 6 p.m., pretty tired but delighted with our visit to St. Helena, we
boarded the ship, and after supper, with sails all aback, we drifted
off a piece and squared away on our homeward journey.
We crossed the equator in sight of Cape St. Rourke, and taking the N.
E. Trades we made straight course, with yards eased in a little, to 30
degrees north latitude, when the wind headed us off a little to the
westward, and passing Cape Hatteras, about thirty degrees off shore.
The wind favored us until South Shoal Lightship was made at 10 a.m.
We had been fifty-seven days out from Algoa Bay, South Africa, and
thirty-four days from St. Helena. After leaving Nantucket Lightship, we
shaped our course to clear the shoal ground, and hauled in under the
Cape. Fifteen miles off the Cape, the wind hauled to the eastward and
it commenced to snow. The barometer commenced to fall, and there was
every indication of a nasty night. First it would blow, then a snow
squall, then clear a bit. We finally got sight of Race Point Light, and
got good cross bearing and at nine o’clock shaped our course for Boston
Light. Noting that our patent log was set, I ordered one of our best
helmsmen to take the wheel, and the chief officer to have the anchors
off the bow ready to let go at any moment. The wind had commenced to
blow N. E. to E. with terrific force, and at times one could not see a
ship’s length ahead, but with light sails furled, only running under
two topsails and jib, the ship bounded along.
I have often thought how imprudent I was to run for port on such a
night, yet I had confidence that my course was right, and all hands
were on the lookout both port and starboard.
For one instant I at last caught a glimmer of Boston Light on our
starboard, and all hands forward shouted, “Light ho, right ahead!”
We hove wheel hard down, let sail run, and dropped both anchors,
just forty-eight hours from Nantucket Shoals Lightship. Next morning
everything was covered with snow, but we took a tug at nine o’clock,
and docked at Lewis Wharf at ten o’clock. Later in the day I reported
at the office, and the first words that greeted me were, “Foor
goodness’ sake, Captain, where did you come from and how did you get
here?”