A TOUGH SWIM IN BAD COMPANY
If you look at the map of the middle island of New Zealand you will
see the north coast of it, washed by Cook's Straits, is deeply
indented by fiords running inland, and that Tory Channel and Queen
Charlotte's Sound are two of the principal ones.
These run in separately for some miles, and then join together and
form one sound, which continues for a considerable distance, having on
one side, some miles farther south, the important seaport of Picton.
The island, surrounded by the water of the aforementioned fiords, is
known as Alapawa or Arapawa Island, and in the year 1872 was divided
into two sheep runs and occupied by two firms of squatters who had
already acquired a large number of sheep.
The scenery up these fiords is magnificent, the densely bushed
mountains coming down to the water, which is deep to the very shore,
so much so that the largest ship can sail close in and, if her skipper
wants to, can make fast to the big trees growing down to the water's
edge. The tide runs up and down these fiords at a tremendous rate, and
this must be remembered when you read the yarn I am now going to spin
you.
Arapawa Island is a range of high mountains, and on the side facing
Queen Charlotte's Sound I was staying at one of the sheep stations
for the purpose of recuperating my health after a rather long spell in
hospital.
The year before I had foolishly got in the way of a small piece of
lead that, being in a hurry, was travelling very fast. I had stopped
it, and had been punished for my imprudence by having to lay up while
doctors sunk shafts and drove drives in my corpus and generally
prospected me for a lead mine.
True, they had not struck the reef; but then they had not succeeded in
killing me, and when I got out of their hands I called it a drawn
game, and started to get well in my own way.
The shafts and the drives had filled up, and I had finished the cure
by staying two months in the glorious climate of the sounds, first
knocking about in a sailing-boat in the management of which I was a
dab, and then assisting my friends by running over the hills after
sheep. This exercise, with plenty of good mutton and damper,
turning-in just after dark, and turning-out just before sunrise, had
perfected my cure, and I was as strong as ever, and in good training.
At that time I neither used spirits nor tobacco; I was as hard as iron
and as tough as whipcord, and had, moreover, practised swimming,
boxing, fencing and other gymnastics from early childhood. The awful
hardships of the past wars had done me no harm, but rather good, as
they had squeezed the last soft drop out of me, and I was fit for
anything.
I should have rejoined my troop on the frontier of the North Island a
fortnight before, but waited to help my friends through with their
yearly mustering and sheep-shearing. Hands were scarce, and I had
never before seen a muster or sheep-shearing, so, my traps having been
sent on to Picton, I waited for it. Well, the shearing was over and
the men temporarily taken on for it were paid off.
In those days, on the last night before the extra hands were dismissed
it was considered the right thing to do for everyone to go on a big
burst, and men who had worked hard for weeks, and not touched a drop
of spirits, would get blind drunk. So it was at this station, with the
exception of myself, who did not touch grog; all hands, masters and
men, had a tremendous burst, drinking up every drop of strong rum laid
in for the occasion.
The following morning at daylight I started for Picton in a boat,
accompanied by one of the partners and four of the extra hands, all of
whom were what is known as suffering a recovery, which means they were
very ill from the effects of the previous night's debauch. I had
roused them up, got the boat out, and we started on as lovely a
morning as I ever saw in my life. My crew, very ill and sulky, lay
down in the bottom of the boat, a roomy craft of about twenty-three
feet in length, and tried to sleep.
Well, we made our offing, the sun rose very hot and the wind died
away. It was by this time slack water, and, as the men refused to pull
an oar, we lay motionless. Suddenly I noticed the day darken and the
mountains of Arapawa Island covered with a dense black cloud that was
rolling rapidly down them, and knew in a moment we were in for a
southerly buster.
The air grew rapidly colder, and I shouted to the men to get up and
shorten sail; but they would not move. I saw what resembled a dense
cloud of dust raised off a very dry road in summer-time coming at us.
In a moment it was on us; it was a spray torn from the sea by the
force of the squall, and it stung and blinded me. As the squall struck
us broadside on, it simply sunk us, turning us over at the same time.
I stuck to the tiller until the boat turned turtle, when I was, of
course, thrown out, and was swimming at her stern as the keel rose
from the water. The boat had a very deep false keel, and I saw that
everyone had got hold of it. Just as the squall was thinning the boat
rolled over and righted herself, and in the lull I shouted to the men
to leave go their hold on the gunwale and join me, so that we could
try and swing the stern to the wind, when perhaps one man could get in
and bail her out. But they would not listen. They all tried to
scramble into her at once, and over she went again. This happened
twice, and I could not get the men to obey me, or try to do anything
to save themselves. They all seemed to be mad with fright; one even
kicked savagely at me as I tried to get him to leave go his hold on
the keel. I saw the only chance to save my own and their lives was to
try to swim ashore, and get help and another boat from the station.
I had at least two miles to swim; and that in the teeth of a southerly
buster, which I could see was now coming on in full force. I was
dressed only in a thin flannel shirt and trousers; the latter I easily
tore off, but I determined to keep on my canvas shoes, as I would have
a long run round the beach to get to the house--that is to say, if I
ever got on shore. This was very problematical, as not only had I the
gale to contend against, but I knew the bay and sound swarmed with
sharks; and the evening before I had sat on a rock and shot at the
brutes as they were tearing to pieces the bodies of a lot of old and
worthless sheep that had been killed and thrown into the sea.
Well, the sharks would have their chance at me now, and turn and turn
about is only fair play. In tearing my trousers off I sank a bit, and
on coming up I shouted to the men I would try to bring them help, and
started. Just then down came the true gale. The wind rushing through
the tops of the mountains struck the water as if forced through a
funnel, and tore it into foam and spray, which not only blinded me,
but simply drove me under the water, and I quickly saw I must dodge
the fierce blasts by diving. I was a very powerful swimmer and had the
lungs and wind of an ostrich, so that, whenever I saw a cloud of water
dust coming at me, down I went and swam under water for all I was
worth. Then, when I had to come up for air, if there was a lull in
between the squalls, I would strike out with a good long side-stroke,
and make all the way I could.
This sort of thing went on for a long time, and I thought of and used
every dodge I had ever learned or heard of to save my strength and use
it to the very best advantage. My long experience in scouting and
despatch-riding had trained me to think quickly and to act decisively.
I was as cool as a cucumber and as hopeful as a boy setting out to rob
an orchard. The water was warm. I was in splendid fettle, and I had a
wild feeling of elation, as I dodged the squalls, that was simply
grand, although my eyes ached and smarted with the spray. If it had
not been for the danger of my helpless mates I should have simply
revelled in my struggle against the elements. As I rose for air,
during a lull, I took a good look at the land, and was surprised at
the very rapid progress I was making.
For a minute I could not understand it. I was certainly drawing more
under the lee of the land, and the squalls were not so fierce as at
the first start, but still I was quite a mile off, and they were bad
enough; but all at once I understood what was befriending me; it was
the tide.
It had been slack water when the accident had happened, and the tide
had turned and was simply helping me all it knew; now I felt certain
of getting ashore, bar accidents. Yet, bar accidents, I was all right;
but there were other things also, as I quickly discovered, for when I
determined it was no longer necessary for me to dodge the squalls, and
had settled down to a long, steady side-stroke, I glanced to my right,
and there, not thirty feet from me, was a long, triangular fin
sticking out of the water, which I knew belonged to a shark of the
largest size. Instinctively I turned to the left. There was another
one; and as I raised myself in the water and looked astern of me,
there was a third.
To say I was in a funk is not to tell the truth; funk does not fully
describe my feelings. I knew what funk was; I had been in a funk
before, plenty of times. I had been in many a tight and hot corner
before. I had often looked at what might be certain death, but then I
had weapons in my hand and the prospect of a good fight before I went
under; but now I was helpless. There was to be no fight, there could
be no fight. I had not even a knife, and had I possessed one I was
outnumbered and outclassed.
As I trod water for a few moments I knew what real fear was. I had
never felt it before, and, thank heaven! I have never felt it since. I
can't describe my feelings, and I would not if I could. Certainly it
was not the fear of death that caused these sensations; but it seemed
so hard that I, who had almost overcome my danger, should be turned
into long pig for a beastly shark.
But my cowardice did not last long. I was still at least
three-quarters of a mile from shore; the good tide was still sweeping
me in, and my wild Irish blood all at once boiled up in me. My duty to
myself and mates required me to get on shore, and get on shore I
would. If a shark took me, well and good, kismet. Stick to my work I
would, shark or no shark; so I fell into my stroke, and swam as if
there had not been a shark within a degree of latitude of me, escorted
by a guard of honour I never want again.
Yes, I got ashore, those d--d sharks keeping company all the way; and
when my foot hit bottom and I stumbled through the shallow water and
fell on the sand there they still were, cruising about, not a
stone's-throw away, as if they were the most harmless beasts in the
ocean. Why did they not go for me? I don't know; certainly my time had
not yet come, kismet. As soon as I had taken a few breaths I looked
for the boat, but could not see her for the dense spray which the
gale, now at its worst, was kicking up; so I started to run the four
miles round the bay to the station. The rough beach and rocks soon cut
my soaked shoes to pieces and, as the soles became detached, I had to
run with bare feet, and suffered awfully. Fain would I have halted and
rested, but my mates' danger spurred me on, and I ran as if a Maori,
with his tomahawk, were after me.
I came to the head of the bay and suddenly remembered that between me
and the house there was another very deep indent of the sea. At the
mouth it was not more than 250 yards across, but it ran very far
inland, and with my feet in the state they were it would take me hours
to get round. No, I must swim it; and I was just plunging in,
notwithstanding the squalls, which were tearing the surface of the
water into dust, when I was struck with the horrid thought of sharks,
and for a moment I paused like a coward on the brink.
It was only for a moment. Curse the sharks! my mates were on the boat;
and in I went and crossed after a hard swim. To get to the house,
rouse up the other partner and the one remaining man, and to get out a
small whale-boat did not take many minutes. We manned the boat, peaked
the oars and ran before the gale. We came up to the derelict in
mid-sound, rolling over and over, but not a sign of a man was on her,
nor was a single body ever found. We ran across the sound, beached the
boat, and, when the gale subsided, pulled back.
This is, I think, the nearest call I have ever had, and if there is
any moral in my yarn it is to leave drink alone, keep in training, do
your duty by yourself and mates, and trust to your luck while doing
so. Since then I have always hated sharks. The curse of Cromwell be on
them.