(J. N. TAYLOR, _Master_).
On this voyage we were from New York to the Cape Colonies and different
ports on the south and east coasts of Africa.
We sailed from New York on March 18th. 1867, and had pleasant winds and
clear weather with fine start, for a good voyage. But the fine weather
did not last long. The wind hauled around to the north east and thick
weather set in. At noon-time the wind kept hauling to the eastward and
increasing, so we shortened sail accordingly and at 2 p.m. there was
every prospect of a hurricane.
We now “wore” ship, with her head up to the N. E., close reefed
topsails, and hove the ship to. At this time there was a high cross sea
and the ship labored heavily, making considerable water. Through the
night and up to the noon of the 21st. the heavy gales and high seas
increased. It turned out that we were caught in a rotary storm, the
wind going around the compass every 24 hours and the barometer very
low, 28-15. The sky was dark and the spray flew in all directions and
she pounded so much she strained badly and commenced to leak so that we
were obliged to pump all the time to keep her free from water.
We had very little sail on her, only 2 lower topsails, and
fore-stay-sail, but she rolled badly and shipped tremendous seas. At
midnight she made several heavy rolls to windward and all of a sudden
on the return roll to the leeward, the strain was so great, it caused
2 of the weather chain-plate bolts to draw out from the side, and
slacking, swayed inboard.
We hove up the wheel, braced in and got her round on the starboard tack
and put on temporary tackles, but they were of little use, our mainmast
head weakened with the strain, and crash, down it came. A heavy flaw
now struck us and ripped our topsails and staysails as though they were
paper.
At daylight the weather had moderated some so we got up the mainmast
head and after a great deal of work fixed up the damage done to the
chain plates. She still rolled fearfully so that we were obliged to
drive in new eye-bolts from the inside and then key them up.
On the morning of the 21st. of March, 1867, there was no change in the
weather and it looked as if we might have to abandon the ship and take
to the boats. The water was gaining on us all the time and the crew
were worn out with the tiresome job of pumping, and as I came on deck
the whole crowd came rushing aft and their spokesman demanded that I
put back to New York, as they were afraid the ship would sink, she was
so unseaworthy. I well knew that myself, so at 8 bells we turned the
ship’s head for New York and had proceeded on that course for about 15
hours, when, as the sailors say, “we were struck butt end foremost.”
It blew a hurricane from the N. West and we were obliged to run dead
before it under bare poles. We now found ourselves back in the same
place as we had been before we started back for New York.
Search had been made to find the leak, and aft, in the port run, we
found water running in through several seams. These were caulked with
oakum and backed up by heavy tarred canvas, until, to our great joy,
we had the leak stopped and about 100 strokes to the hour at the pumps
seemed to hold it.
At about 8 bells on the morning of the 22nd we saw a wreck under our
lee bow, about 8 miles off, with signals of distress hung on the stump
of his mizzen-mast, as all his masts had evidently gone by the board. I
succeeded in getting a little sail on the Barque, and we bore down on
him. About 9 a.m. we made out his signals, which read, “Will you stand
by, am in sinking condition?”
Everything was gone from his decks except the stump of his mizzen-mast,
to which he had rigged his signals. I came as close as I could to him
and made him out to be the British Barque Blond, of Lanely, England,
and she was on her beam ends, rolling frightfully. She had left New
York with us, bound for Sligo, on the West coast of Ireland with a load
of grain, and had been struck by the gale, dismantled, and thrown on
her beam ends as the cargo had shifted.
It now began to blow so hard that we were obliged to take off what
little sail we had on and let her run under bare poles again. At about
2.30 P.M. we discovered a boat astern of the barque, about a mile under
his lee, with six men in her. One big sea now struck the boat and over
she went, throwing them all into the water. They managed, however, to
reach her and upright her, but had only one oar and a small piece of
board left. We now bent on a stout rope to some pieces of boards and
payed it out toward them, and by good luck they caught it and we drew
them by degrees alongside of us. As we were rolling heavily at the time
their boat caught under our rail and again they were all turned into
the sea, but we hove ropes to them and they were all pulled aboard, wet
and exhausted, and with but little clothing, as they had cast off what
they could when they were tipped over the first time.
A long boat had now been launched from the Blonde, and four more men
had succeeded in jumping into her, but a big sea had carried them away
from the Barque, leaving the captain and mate aboard of her. It took
them some time to get back near enough for these two men to jump in
and then began the hard task to row to the Otago. The sea was running
mountains high, sometimes we could see the boat and then she would
disappear as though she were swallowed up. They reached us at last,
just as night came, and they all managed to jump aboard, without the
loss of a man.
Now we had 12 extra men to feed and help work the ship, but it seemed
as if they had almost jumped from the frying pan into the fire. We fed
them all and fitted them out with clothes from the “slop chest,” and at
midnight I turned in, not to sleep, but to moralize, and wonder how we
were going to get out of our troubles.
We carried a cat and a dog and as soon as I was in my bunk they both
jumped up close to me, the cat meowing and the dog howling. After a
time they both calmed down and I patted them and talked to them and I
guess we all felt better.
The crew of the Blonde had been helping at the pumps, but now refused
to work any more. I soon settled this by making them sign articles
with me at 3 pounds a month. The weather now moderated and I told the
crew that as we were nearing the tropics the weather would improve and
I should hold the ship on her original course to Cape Town, but if we
could not keep the leak down, would put her in the nearest port, which
would be far better than going back to New York in a bad season. To
this they all agreed but I had already made up my own mind to carry the
ship to Cape Town, if she would keep afloat that long.
Things ran along smoothly until we reached 35 degrees south, where
we were to “run our eastern down” when some more things happened.
At noon-time, aboard ship, we take the sun, and work out the ship’s
position. On this particular day I had performed that duty, and Capt.
Bently, the commander of the ill-fated Blonde, had also worked out our
position. The weather was fine and looked as if it would continue, so I
went below to take a nap.
I had not been asleep more than half an hour when I awoke and very
naturally looked over my head at the telltale compass, which told me
whether or not, the man at the wheel had her on the course. I also
looked at the barometer, and to my surprise, it had dropped 3/10th.
I ran out on deck and everything seemed pleasant and the barque was
running dead before the wind. I looked all around and about 5 degrees
above the horizon, I saw a big white mist, increasing rapidly. I sang
out, “All hands on deck, and let go all sails and clew up.” The officer
of the deck looked at me as though I had gone mad, and he afterwards
said he thought I had become suddenly insane from the hard strain I
had been under since we had left New York. But when I pointed aft at
the mist, he understood. We had let go all the halyards we could reach
and all hands had got about half the sail off her, when it struck us.
It carried away the foreyard, the main top-gallant mast, all the light
sails, and flooded the decks with water. It seemed as if she would
founder the pressure was so great, but it lasted for only a short time,
ending with a terrific downpouring of rain which beat the sea down as
smooth as a mill-pond.
I ordered the pumps sounded and the mate reported 12 feet of water in
the hold, and said that we would all be on the bottom soon. On closer
examination, it seemed that our sounding line had become wet, and after
we had chalked the line and tried it again, we found but 18 inches of
water, instead of 12 feet. But what a mess things were in! Some of our
braces had parted and everything hung by the “eyelids.”
After the excitement was over, we commenced to patch up and save what
we could, and found she had been heavily strained. The foremast head
was sprung and the bob-stay broken. Lucky for us, the sea was so smooth
as to enable us to replace some of our spars, and by evening we had her
all pumped out and running on her course under light sail. I now felt
that, crippled as we were, if the wind continued westerly, we could
make Cape Town, even under jury-masts, if we could keep her afloat, but
that was a question.
It now appeared that the ship was so badly wrenched that we had to keep
the men at the pumps all the time, and we could not gain on the water.
Two or three feet of water stayed in her all the time and we could not
pump her clear. However, we reached Cape Town the last of May, and
entered the harbor with six feet of water in the hold. Now, the harbor
master always directs a ship to her anchorage, and he had pointed out
to me where to anchor, but I informed him of our sinking condition, and
ran her up on the beach before she sank. Thousands of people watched
this unusual scene as we ran her up on the beach. She was condemned and
sold for the benefit of the underwriters, and the cargo was so damaged
that it brought only two hundred and fifty pounds. Thus ended the final
trip of the barque Otago.
[Illustration: Wreck of American Barque “OTAGO” 1867 Cape Town, Africa]