Part 3

With our little craft loaded with potatoes in sacks, we left the wharf late one evening, dropped down the bay, and out into the ocean. The ensuing four days and nights will never be forgotten by me or by those who were with me at that time. It blew a terrific gale, all the sail we could carry was the bonnet out of the small square-sail we carried. We put two reefs in this, and when the yard was hoisted up it served to steady her and keep the sea from flooding us from behind. Our decks were constantly filled with water and, heavily laden as she was, it seemed as if she would founder. Not one wink of sleep did I get for over 70 hours, the storm was so fierce, and we reached Littleton Heads in six days, beating the steamer by two days.

In beating up the harbor I passed a ship which I at once recognized as my brother’s, so we dropped anchor near-by, furled sails, and went alongside of him in my small boat. The deck officer gruffly hailed us and demanded to know our business, and when I explained to him that I was the captain’s brother, he said they had just arrived a few hours ago, and the captain was below and asleep.

I stepped in the cabin and woke him up, and there was great rejoicing. “Have you just arrived from Boston? I never thought your yacht would stand the trip, and had made up my mind you had gone to the bottom of old ocean.” When I told him that we had made the trip out from Boston in 82 days, and had already been to Tasmania and return, he laughed and said, “That is a pretty good yarn for Robinson Crusoe to tell.” But I finally persuaded him that the so-called “yarn” was true, and you may be sure he was pleased. He was some twelve years older than myself, and was as capable a commander as ever trod a ship’s quarter deck, being an expert navigator and handler of ships.

The next day the Littleton Times had quite an article in it about the little yacht and its remarkable trip out from the States, and the meeting of the brothers.

After leaving the sea, my brother went to Chicago, became a broker “On Change,” associated with the famous “Old Hutchinson,” and for years was a familiar figure in the stock exchange, and was called by all “Captain Jim.” On his 83rd birthday he dropped anchor forever, and one more of the old-time American sea-dogs passed on.

While in Littleton the news reached us of the destruction of the “Alabama.” I immediately ran up the American flag, and kept it up all that day. I really had no right to do this, as my yacht was under the British flag, but no one offered to molest it. This news created great excitement in New Zealand, as it practically was a forerunner of the downfall of the so-called “Southern Confederacy,” and the re-establishment of the Union.

THE YACHT CANTERBURY

(CONTINUED).

We made several trips in the yacht to different ports in the South Sea Islands, and to south ports in Van Dieman’s Land, trading and carrying passengers as the opportunity presented itself.

We now had an interesting experience, as we had entered her in the cup race which was held in the middle island of New Zealand, and was one of the events in that locality.

We were to race against the English mail ketch “Sylph.” She was a crack yacht, having been used in carrying the mails to the different islands, and up to this time had never been beaten in a race. We made everything ready; although our suit of sails were of English make and fitted badly, they were adapted to heavy weather, which, should it blow hard, would be in our favor.

The morning of the race came, and with it a heavy wind, and at 10 a.m. we maneuvred around the guardship for position. When we were in line the starting gun was fired and we were off. The course we were to run over was down the harbor to the heads, or entrance, where we were to round a large red buoy, and then run back to the guard ship.

On our first trip around the buoy the Englishman beat us by at least a quarter of a mile, but when we rounded and hauled up against the strong wind, we had him. Now he was obliged to take in his light sails, and even then was making bad weather. These conditions were just what I had been praying for, and on our second tack we crossed his bows about a half mile to windward, and I ordered a broom to be sent aloft and fastened there. I did this as, on our first trip down, he had passed us and when he went by had hung a line over his stern, indicating that he would tow us in, but he had commenced too soon.

We rounded the guardship on our first turn about 20 minutes ahead of him, and the natives were yelling like mad.

About we came and started down the harbor on our last leg, the wind increasing all the time so that we were obliged to reef our mainsail. As we passed the Sylph, not a sound came from them; they knew we had them, and we certainly had them good. On our last leg the waters were covered with white caps, and we pulled down all our headsails as we rounded the guardship for the last time, a winner. I now hoisted the American flag in the fore-mast and set our British ensign over the stern. This was a little cheeky, as I was sailing under the British flag, and the United States were not, at that time, any too popular. The weather was so rough that the Sylph came in with her top-mast and jib-boom both gone and with a crestfallen man as her captain, for it was the first race he had ever lost, and we had beaten him by 55 minutes, corrected time.

When the race had started the betting was 3 to 1 against us, and the captain of the Sylph had himself bet two hundred pounds sterling that he would win. That evening, at the hotel ashore, we were presented with the cup and a flag, a large crowd being present, and dancing and singing being the order of the night.

I was invited to spend that night ashore, with one of my owners, at Christ Church, a little village across the mountains and in the valley of Heathcote. As it was blowing very hard at the time, and as the mate was the only man on board the yacht, I reluctantly accepted, but felt very uneasy about my vessel.

During the night the wind blew a hurricane, and at 5 a.m. I started back to the port. My host had loaned me a saddle horse to cross the mountain with, and when I reached the top and looked down the river, a sad sight met my eyes. The yacht had broken adrift and was alongside of an English brig with her foresail partly hoisted. Before I could get a boat to put me aboard, she commenced to move down the harbor.

Then I knew the mate was drunk. We pulled and waved, and she finally came up into the wind and headed for the south side of the harbor. I boarded a ship (the British Empire), whose captain was a friend of mine, and he gave me a long-boat and crew and small hawser, and we crossed over to head the schooner off, shouting to the mate to drop the anchor and ease off his sheet. But it was of no avail. We pulled alongside just as he hove the wheel down, and, drifting on the rocks, we dropped anchor, but too late, for in twenty minutes her keel was out, masts gone, and she was bottom up in the surf on the rocks.

Thus ended the life of the Yankee yacht Charmer, or Canterbury, as she was re-christened under the British flag. It was a sad day for me, as I had spent nearly two years on her, making many record trips, and paying for her several times over.

During my voyages among these islands I met many of the native Maori or aboriginal Indians, and had much to do with them in my trading. They are a Polynesian people with some Melanesian mixture. They are of vigorous and athletic frame, tall stature, and pleasing features, and are among the bravest and most war-like of men. They were great wood-carvers, and had the art of tatooing down to a science. Formerly inveterate cannibals, they are now civilized citizens.

The English had many hard fights with them, but they were finally overpowered, the skirmishing lasting up to 1875. They raised many cattle and sheep, and many of them went in whaling ships.

The islands of New Zealand are among the most valuable of the British possessions, and are immensely wealthy in natural resources. The gold mines of Otago drew many American adventurers, who became very wealthy. I shall never forget those beautiful islands nor my boyhood experiences there in the old sea days.

CRUISE ON THE CLIPPER SHIP BLUE JACKET.

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.

THE AMERICAN BARQUE OTAGO.

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.