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.