At the back of the world

by George Pugh; Jennie Pugh

For several days I could not make up my mind in what direction my next voyage should be, of one thing only was I certain, that it would be somewhere quite unknown to me. Finally I decided to go out to Australia, “Eastward Ho!” so again I paid a visit to the Docks. Here I found a large new sailing vessel, the “John Kerr,” of Greenock, loading for Melbourne. She was taking a large number of passengers out to the colonies, amongst whom were several gold-diggers, returning from a visit to the old country.

This was just the chance I wanted, so I at once went to the chief officer, and asked if he had engaged all his crew, if not, I would like to ship with him. He gave me a promise to sign on when the ship was ready, which would be in about five days.

Having said good-bye to my friends, as I did not expect or intend to return to England for a few years, having made up my mind to see all there was to be seen in far off Australia before I returned, I signed articles as an able seaman in the “John Kerr,” on a voyage to Melbourne, and other ports, and returning to a final port of discharge in the United Kingdom, term not to exceed three years. Such was the agreement, and yet out of the thirty-five able and ordinary seamen who signed it there was not one who intended to abide by it. Neither did the captain or the officers expect that they would. Those were the good days in Australia, when gold was cheap and fortunes easily made. It was a rare thing indeed for a ship to return with the same crew she took out. The seamen’s wages from England were two pounds five shillings per month; from Australia it was ten pounds—was it any wonder that seamen deserted from their ships when they arrived out in a country where men were treated as men, and not as, in many ships, like mere machines?

The “John Kerr” was a splendid six top-gallant yard ship. The captain was an old veteran in the eastern trade. He had a cast in one eye, and the sailors at once christened him “Cockeyed Scobie,” and never called him by any other name during the voyage, but of course not in his hearing. The captain and second mate were brothers, but whether it is the rule and not the exception, they were always quarrelling with each other. Never having had a brother I am not able to say. The chief officer, Mr. Broadfoot, was a gentleman every inch of him, and a seaman to his finger tips; he was liked by all on board but the second mate, who, for some reason only known to himself, could not get on with him at all. The third and fourth officers were both young and had not yet gained their certificates.

We had about seventy-five passengers going out to Melbourne. Among the saloon passengers were the five miners already mentioned. These men were great gamblers, and among the crew were several men who at that time were called “Packet rats.” They never made a voyage in a ship, but just worked the passage from port to port, gambling with and swindling everybody they could get in touch with. Throughout the passage these men were gambling and card-playing in the forecastle every minute they could spare either by night or day. Three of these sailors joined the ship without a second suit of clothes to their backs, but before they reached Melbourne they each had a large trunk of good clothes, and about ten pounds in cash, all won, or swindled off the passengers.

About the time we left Liverpool there were several new ships about to sail for Australia, and there was a considerable amount of betting laid as to which ship would make the best passage out. The names of the ships being the “John Kerr,” “Cambridgeshire,” “Dallam Tower,” “Loch Ard,” “Rooperal,” “Chrisonomy,” and the “British Admiral,” all carrying passengers.

We had a fairly good run to the Equator, and then met with very strong south-east trades and squally weather. Our ship spread an immense area of canvas. Being a new ship, with sails, ropes, spars, etc., all new, and a thorough seaman in charge, we sped along gaily with every stitch of canvas spread. We soon ran through the trades, then had variable winds for a few days, and sighted the Island of Tristan d’Acunha on the forty-second day out. There were great discussions and betting as to what the ship would do when she got the westerly winds, and started on her long run of six thousand miles.

There is no place in the world that tries the ability, courage, and nerve of a seaman like running the Easting down. Captain Scobie was an old veteran in the trade, and he paced up and down the poop like a wild beast in a cage, while the winds were baffling about. No one dare go near him, he was so irritable, his eyes were never off the western horizon; he was just hungering for the westerlies, to see what his new ship would do. The light, fitful easterly airs only irritated him. The great sails were flapping themselves against the masts, and then bulging out to every movement of the ship. Men and boys were aloft all the time examining every hook and block, to see if they were well fast and ready for instant use. Spare gaskets were sent up into the tops, and everything got ready for the coming breeze.

At midnight of the forty-seventh day the easterly wind died away, and a long rolling swell came up from the westward, and very soon afterwards a long, low bank of clouds began to rise in the west.

The old captain rubbed his hands with glee when he saw it, and turning to the chief officer he said, “I’ll go below now, let me know if you get any change,” but before he lay down, he noted the barometer was falling fast, so, calling the steward, he told him to see that everything in his pantry and in the passenger’s cabins was well secured.