There were many amusing incidents in that trip. The news had travelled that a party of sailormen were on the tramp, and at one station the cook was exceeding wrath because his master had not given him notice that we should be there for supper. He observed that the boss had done it for spite, to take him unawares. “Just,” he said, “as if twenty-five bally men could knock me out at any time!” I think his confidence was not egotism, for we were well done, and the people from the big house came down to the shed to look at us all.
Words fail me to convey the surprises of the next day’s tramp along the bush paths. We passed emu in droves; the wallabys hardly troubled to get out of the path; and to see the kangaroos cover the ground was a constant source of wonderment. I do not know what the record kangaroo high-jump is, but what we saw them do with apparent ease seemed absolutely marvellous.
It must not be supposed that the period between the wreck and our arrival at Port Macdonnel was only a few days. I should think it was about a month. There were certain matters regarding wages that the captain had to arrange with a great part of his crew, and he had to ride to Mount Gambier to find some one to finance him, subsequently meeting us at Port Macdonnel. My wages were no source of trouble to me, for he had paid my fine and I was consequently in debt to the ship, but with the others it was different. The skipper was the object of much wrath when it leaked out that he was not in favour of our getting a passage round to Melbourne by the coasting steamer, but preferred to play into the hands of a road constructor who was anxious to secure our services. One of the owners of the steamer was present when the altercation was taking place, and solved the question by giving a passage to those who wished to go. I shall always entertain a kindly remembrance of that action by the gentleman in question, whose name I think was Ormerod. This series of events led up to one of the pleasantest times of my life. We got to Melbourne, for the steamer went up the Yarra, and as many of us as wished were taken on to assist in loading and unloading cargo. For this we were paid one shilling an hour for eight hours’ work, and we lived at the sailors’ home. Strange as it may seem, we were satisfied with our lot, and the pay sufficed for all reasonable needs. When that particular ship was finished with, however, Davies, Dowling, third mate of the Troas, and myself thought it time to see about getting home again, and so, with our added store of knowledge of various forms of life, we got down to Sandridge Pier to look for a ship.
CLIPPER SHIP “ESSEX,” 1042 TONS. J. S. ATWOOD, COMMANDER
Sandridge Pier in those days was a beautiful sight to any lover of salt water. It belonged to a period that will never again come round—the time when ships were beautiful, and no pains were spared to make them so. Steam had not then got all the passenger trade, and the ships of Green, Wigram, Smith and Dunbar were the lineal descendants of the old East Indiamen. They carried big crews, and they were mostly commanded and officered by men who were splendid seamen as well as gentlemen. The command of one of these vessels for a voyage extending over nine months might be worth a thousand pounds; that was before the world woke to the period of extreme competition. But beautiful though these ships were, they only pleased the eye because they were to our belief the embodiment of all that was the finest to be found afloat. Many of the best specimens of them can be found to-day in various ports of the world serving as coal hulks. When I made a trip to the docks some years ago to see the Essex, it was difficult to believe that she was the ship one had known teeming with life, brilliancy and smartness. She was, I suppose, about 240 feet long, which was then considered a very fair length for any sailing-ship.
What is known as “taking the time ball” was one of the events of the day. A midshipman belonging to each vessel would be perched in some prominent part of the poop of each ship, and in close proximity would be the boatswain and his mates, ready to pipe to dinner and grog at the instant the signal was given that the ball had dropped. The chorus of pipes was a thing to hear and remember, as it was taken up by the assembled ships; there was always a laudable ambition to be the first ship to commence.
The names of the ships there escape my memory, but there was more than one belonging to Money, Wigram & Co., and there was also a splendid old frigate-built ship called the Holmesdale. I am not quite sure whether the celebrated packet-ship the White Star was there then, or whether I came across her the next voyage, but both she and the Champion of the Seas were magnificent-looking vessels, and the captain of the latter ship, Outridge, I think, was his name, was in appearance quite in keeping with the name of his command.
The point I want to bring out is that these two last-mentioned ships, fast sailers and “packet-ships” though they were, did not rank among the aristocracy of the sea, such as the Blackwell ships proper were then considered. They were regarded in the same manner as, ten years later, a Union Steamship man would regard a Donald Currie ship. He would throw a condescending glance upon a Donald Currie ship as much as to say, “Very worthy, no doubt, but you are not us, although you try your hardest to get the set of our sail covers and to keep your yards decently square.” But of that more anon.
It appeared that the Essex wanted two able and one ordinary seamen, and as Dowling and I both wanted to ship as ordinary, Davies, who was the wise man of the party, advised me to ship as A.B. As he put it, “You want to get home, and they can only reduce your wages in proportion to your incompetency.” Accordingly, when we had concluded a satisfactory interview with the “first officer,” as he was styled, I followed this advice. This first officer’s name was Gibbs. He turned out to be a great favourite with all, and I can say with truth that the forecastle hands tried their best to please him always out of sheer personal liking. We used to speak of him as “Lady Jane.” He had his valet with him, and on one occasion he sang “The Lost Child” in costume and was much applauded. I met him years afterwards, on more level terms, and I hope he retains as kindly a remembrance of me as I do of him.