There was no time lost in painting these colonial ships. There was plenty of other work to do without that, nearly all the passage was spent in fitting and roping new cargo baskets ready to discharge the coal on our arrival at Wellington. The weather was just splendid all the way across, which was fortunate for us, just a gentle seven knot breeze, with a smooth sea and a perfectly cloudless sky. The sea, when we had time to notice it, was a beautiful ultra-marine, and at night the stars were reflected like diamonds in a sea of glass. The waters were simply alive with fish, and at night, as they moved about in the star-lit waters, they left a phosphorescent trail behind them, like a design drawn upon a blackboard with a silver pencil.
Captain Saunders, or “Black Saunders” as he was called by colonial seamen, was a sturdy, well-built man, with jet black curly hair and beard. He was a thorough seaman, and never so happy as when he was paddling about in salt water. The mate, Archie McLeod, was a Scotchman and hailed from Glasgow, but had been sailing out of Sydney for a number of years. He was, without a doubt, one of the finest specimens of physical manhood I ever saw, quite six feet in height, trained and proficient in all kinds of athletic sports, and a first rate boxer for sport, but in general a very quiet, amiable sort of shipmate. The second mate was a young native of Sydney, not much of a sailor, but that was from want of experience and not from want of ability. Our crew consisted of eight able seamen—three English and three colonials—and two Swedes. The pay was seven pounds a month, and we signed to work eight hours per day in port, but when unloading coal the crew were given the privilege of working all night and were paid extra, so that we made very good money indeed.
After we had finished unloading our coals at Wellington, news spread around the town that gold had been found on the Thames river near Auckland, and that hundreds of people were flocking there. At once there was a rush, and four of our sailors cleared out and joined the throng en route for the gold fields. To replace them, the captain picked up four men who had just run away from a ship in Wellington, and who wanted to get over to Australia. They were not long on board before they began to bully the sailors in the forecastle. Evidently they were a set of scoundrels that the ship they had left was well clear of.
We hauled away from the jetty after tea, and anchored in the bay ready to sail in the morning. At daylight the mate called all hands out to heave up the anchor. None of the crew turned out, saying they were sick. The mate quietly told them that he would give them five minutes to get out on deck, if they were not out in that time he would kick them out.
“All right, Mr. Mate,” one of them answered, “try it, we’ll soon take the kick out of you.”
Just then I went into the forecastle to light a lamp for the chain locker.
“Drop that lamp, you son of a b—— sea cook,” snarled one of them, “or I’ll jolly well jump the stuffing out of you.”
“Were you speaking to me?” I asked him.
“Yes, blast you, I was,” he replied.
In an instant my blood was up, and I sprang over to him. Thrusting the lighted lamp into his face, I poured the oil over him, and set fire to his bed, as he tried to get up I beat him back with the lamp until his bed was all in a wild blaze. His three mates came to his assistance and the two Swedes came to mine, and for a few minutes there was a frightful pandemonium. The mate rushed forward when he heard the row, and called out to us to put the fire out at once. This was soon done, and we were ordered to heave up the anchor immediately. The newcomers looked sulky and inclined to refuse, but as there was no boat alongside, and they were likely to get roughly handled, they thought better of it, and turned to, though with a bad grace, and we were soon under weigh with all sail set, heading for Cook’s Straits.