That was the end of that episode, and I cast round myself to see what could be done. There was also in port another ship called the Troas, which I remembered we had spoken at sea on the previous voyage. On the strength of this acquaintance, I went to see her skipper, who, being badly in want of hands, agreed to see me through the police court and ship me as an ordinary seaman. When I was fined £5 or a month for desertion my new skipper paid the fine, and I forthwith took up my berth in my new ship. She was a full-rigged vessel of about 800 tons, and was bound for Foo Chow to load tea for home. So far as the officers were concerned the tone of the ship was on a fairly high plane. The mate was no great personality, but the second, George Davies, was a very fine seaman and a splendid officer. He was also a splendid athlete. I have seen him go out on a bare topmast stunsail boom to reeve a tack that had become unrove, in order to save the time it would have taken to rig the boom in. I believe he was afterwards in command of a sailing vessel that was lost in a typhoon in the China Sea—at all events his ship was reported as missing. There was also a third mate, whom I afterward met when he was serving in the P. & O. service.
The crew were a curious lot. There was especially one typical old sailor full of ancient lore and tradition. Commenting on the fact of the captain having his wife on board he predicted evil from the commencement. “You mark my words,” he said, “they are bad cattle to sail with.” That was not, however, the general opinion, for the lady in question was pleasant to look upon, and every one she spoke to was pleased with her charming manner.
The cause of our misfortune was something quite different, and might have been foreseen. After taking in about one hundred tons of stone ballast for the trip to Foo Chow, we took in for the remainder a great quantity of semi-liquid mud that had been dredged up from the bottom of the river. Whether any consideration had been given to the matter by those in charge I am unable to say, but the fact remains that as soon as we got to sea the ship showed a great want of stability or stiffness, and as she heeled over the moist mud picked up its lowest possible level. It was evident that this state of things would not do, so as the ship had sister keelsons we tried to build a dam amidships by driving down piles inside them and then filling up the internal space with stone ballast. The general effect of this procedure was, I think, to make matters worse, and as we could not get back to Adelaide, the wind being strong and adverse, we tried to get to Port Lincoln. Here, again, our luck was poor, for the wind came strong from the westward and cut us off.
The next idea was to run for Melbourne. We in the forecastle were dependent for our news of what was being done upon such scanty information as might be dropped by one of the officers, but we mostly recognised that we were in rather a tight fix and that we should be lucky to get out of it. Owing to the ship’s inability to stand up to her canvas we were driven south of Kangaroo Island and were hardly put to it to weather Cape Jaffa. From that point, however, the land trended a little to the north-eastward, but it was soon recognised that nothing short of a shift of wind would save us, and that there was no sign of. We had weathered Cape Jaffa about midnight, having carried close-reefed topsails and foresail with the greatest difficulty. The ship, of course, lay over tremendously, but she still carried some way. As soon as we were past the Cape the maintopsail blew away and, the foretopsail and foresail being furled, we lay hove-to under the mizzen-topsail. The next morning we were set to work to get up stay and yard tackles for the long boat, and to clear away the spars that were stowed on top of it. This was done and the stay tackles hooked on and hauled tight, but during this operation I had fallen on my left shoulder and hurt it so badly that it was difficult and painful to move my arm. Some time shortly after noon the weather cleared a little and some one shouted out “land on the lee beam.” There it was sure enough, and about two miles or so of breakers I should think. There was no escape, for the ship was simply drifting to leeward. Davies, who went aloft to obtain a better view, hailed the poop: “It’s all right, sir—a sandy beach;” and then scuttled down to help and advise the only thing possible, which was to run for the beach. As we discovered afterwards, it was the top of high water and fortune had directed us to the only patch of sand in the locality.
The second mate was now the man of the moment, the mate was not much use, and the master, never a noisy man, was apparently well contented to see Davies run the show. Foresail and foretopsail were loosed and set, the mizzen-topsail was clued up, the helm put hard-a-weather, and keeping her quarter to the sea we ran for the beach. Davies commanded the ship. A big German, a very fine fellow, was at the weather wheel, I was on the lee side. Needless to say, we were all a little curious as to what the next few minutes might bring about, though honestly speaking I do not think young people care very much what faces them. I perfectly well remember thinking that I might shortly be called to an account for all I had done or left undone, but decided that there was no time to dwell upon such thoughts. Just about this time the first real comber came on board, sweeping the main deck clean of everything. It left the stem and stern posts of the long boat, however, swinging in the tackles. By this time the ship was nearly on her beam ends and probably touching the ground, for the water was breaking very heavily over her, and to the best of my recollection the foreyard was touching the sand. We cut away the weather rigging so far as we could, and in long-drawn heaves and attempts to come right side up the masts and spars gradually left us to a precarious foothold on the outside of the ship’s weather quarters. I can remember that episode well, for the water came over bitterly cold and seemed blown by the wind into our very bones.
In the course of an hour or so it became evident that the water was receding and it was possible to see what could be done. The ship was breaking up fast, and before three hours had passed there was a hole through the middle of her. But the ends kept together and some of the comicalities of life commenced to appear. The mate was walking as best he could in the cabin with a lifebelt round him and a musket over his shoulder, and as little semblance of order remained, it was left to the stronger spirits to do the best they could. Here John, the big German, and the second mate came to the front, and they did well. By the time it was low water a rope had been got on shore, how I know not, and some had gone on shore by it, but I know that before we left the ship we had a feed of jugged hare in Davies’s cabin. That stands out vividly, but I cannot remember any drunkenness on the part of any member of the crew.
The landing of the captain’s little lady was accomplished with little trouble, for she was a plucky soul, and went through a trying time with a courage that was greatly to be admired, but she could not have avoided drawing conclusions which would have been invidious could they have been particularised. The next scene in this drama was round a big fire under the lee of a sand-hill, where most of the crew were gathered. Some of the crowd had secured food, and there was a general feeling of satisfaction that we had not lost the number of our mess. Also we gained the knowledge that a bag of flour made a first-rate life-buoy for a man who wanted to get on shore with a rope. One of the big deck water-casks had been washed on shore; we knocked the head in and placed it with its sound end to windward, and its opening to the fire to make a shelter for the lady of the party, and then, hot on one side and cold on the other, we waited for day. Some bold spirits had already tried exploration, and failed to find any sign of habitation.
Shortly after daylight, we saw two men on horseback gazing at the ship, and they expressed wonderment and surprise at the good fortune which enabled us to greet them. It appeared that the general character of the coast was rocky, and the other wrecks that had taken place in the vicinity had all been attended by fatalities.
As we were the exceptions we could only be thankful that Providence had been so good to us. Then we set to work to think out the next move. As for myself, I had got on shore with little more than a packet of letters, tied up with a rope yarn, and a copy of Byron’s poems. I have them both now, but they were neither of any considerable value when the world had to be faced in a shirt and trousers only.
Our friends on horseback came from a station near to Lake Albert. It was some miles away, but we went there and were hospitably entertained for days. We made occasional visits to what was left of the ship, and were lucky in finding some boots and articles of clothing. These were useful, as our hosts had begun to hint that it would be well if we made a move to see what some other station’s damper and mutton were like. Davies and I had tramped to Rivoli Bay, an old boiling-down station, to see if any vessel was there, but not finding one we returned, and soon afterwards we all set out for Port Macdonnel.