When the coast of New Zealand was sighted and we were running through the Bay of Islands, the captain thought it prudent to overhaul the ship’s armoury, and muskets, pistols and cutlasses were all got on deck for cleaning and putting in order. Here it was discovered that I was of some use, for firearms had been one of my hobbies, in which I had been encouraged by the officer in charge of the coastguard at Margate—dear old Bob Aldrich. After a long lapse of years I can recall his cheery face and the infinite patience with which he initiated me into the mysteries of powder and shot. He succeeded after a time in making me a fair marksman.
With a view to testing the hitting power of the crew a bottle was hung at the fore yard-arm, and we all fired in turn. The bottle survived until it came to my turn, and then, probably because I had loaded the musket properly, I hit it, but suffered reproof afterwards because I could not do so with a ship’s pistol. I mention this matter of loading because, even with an old smooth-bore gun, if the bullet was properly centred by means of the spare cartridge paper, it was quite possible at short ranges to get decent shooting from it, but if, as commonly happened, the bullet and cartridge were rammed down anyhow, the bullet went anywhere.
There are few harbours in the world more beautiful than Auckland; it is worthy of Kipling’s description “last, loveliest, loneliest, exquisite, apart—on us, on us the unswerving season smiles.” I have known the apple of beauty claimed often for Sydney. Of that harbour I cannot speak personally, but I have heard a great Sydney authority confess that the apple should, in fact, be given to the harbour of Rio, and with that judgment I am inclined to agree.
The most striking object in entering Auckland is the mountain Rangitoto. It is doubtful whether it can best be described as a cone or a pyramid; from whichever side it is viewed it presents the same shape, and it possesses considerable interest by the speculation it creates as to whether it is an extinct volcano. In point of fact the whole region is volcanic, and once, many years afterwards, in a little altercation with an Auckland man concerning some point in connection with the harbour, I heard it observed that he need not put on too much side, “for he was only living on the outside of a bally cinder, anyway.” Curiously enough, within ten days of that altercation, there occurred the eruption of Tarawera, and the celebrated terraces were destroyed.
Anchored off Rangitoto was a splendid-looking ship, the Tyburnia, as spick and span as any first-class London sailing-ship could be. My recollection of her is vivid even now. I think that she had taken troops there. As we got further up the harbour we came across H.M.S. Miranda, an object of admiration and respect, for the tales concerning warships that were then told in merchantmen were many and wonderful, creating an atmosphere of awe. There was also the vague idea still existing that a man-of-war could send on board and take any men she pleased for the state service. Old traditions die hard, and at the time I write of the great mass of the songs and ditties sung by seamen were reminiscences in verse of the Great Napoleon, and the men of the navy and the merchant service were more interchangeable than they are to-day.
The Queen Street wharf was not then the imposing feature it now is; but it was a very fair size and we got to a comfortable berth at the end of it, quickly getting clear of our live cargo. I have reason to think that the entire shipload was extremely welcome, for the town was at that time more than a little anxious concerning the future of the Maori War. We, however, saw no signs of fighting.
As showing the vast changes a few years make, twenty-one years later I lay at that same wharf, in command of a splendid mail steamer fitted to carry frozen mutton and produce to the home country.
One great characteristic of Auckland in the early days was the peculiar abruptness of some of its streets. It was not lit at night-time with any degree of brilliance, and the sudden inequalities of road surface required some practice to deal with; still we were generally pleased with the place and the scene of bustle there was about the shipping. We, being the end ship of the wharf, often got visits from the members of other ships’ companies, and in particular there was one midshipman from the Tyburnia of whom we heard great things. He was a good-looking lad and a gentleman, but it seemed that he was rather made much of by his captain for his smartness as a seaman; he was credited with being able to start from the deck, stow the mizzen royal, and be down again in four minutes. Our ship was not exactly popular as a rendezvous, however, for the custom of the grog tub, prevalent in most ships in harbour, was entirely unknown to us.
In due course the cargo was discharged. The mate, having kept careful tally, clapped on the hatches when he had landed the exact quantity he was responsible for. There was a considerable surplus, but how the matter was finally arranged I know not—probably by compromise I should think, for the mate, being a canny Scot, was not likely to have given much away. Our captain was anxious to secure a cargo for London, so the ship was what is called “laid on” for that port, and we commenced loading with casks of Kauri gum. These were stowed, with ballast to fill in such spaces as would hold it, for it was necessary to give her some stiffening; but one afternoon I was taken up to the agents by the captain and sent back with a message to the mate to commence and break out and land all we had taken in, as enough could not be procured to fill the ship. We all thought that bad luck, for we now had to ballast the ship and return to Adelaide in the hope of filling with wool and copper. We made rather a long passage back, for there was a good deal of strong head wind, the ship being hove-to under a close-reefed main topsail for some days. That made no difference to the work of the crew, for day after day we were kept at it scraping and oiling the woodwork of the hold, in other words the inner skin of the ship. I personally was very glad to recognise some of the landmarks I remembered in Bass Straits, and to know that we were that much nearer home. We duly arrived at Adelaide without adventure, and commenced preparations for the homeward run.
Before going further with the narration let me describe a scene, not an unusual one in those days, which took place on the passage from Auckland. There were certain epithets which were considered fair and lawful to use, and which men did not resent, on the other hand there was one term only used if he who was delivering the oration was prepared to back his opinion by muscular arguments. Our ship was fitted with patent reefing topsails, but as most good things have drawbacks to them this particular main topsail had developed a habit of carrying its halliards away, and their replacement usually caused some little trouble. For one thing, it was an “all hands job,” and with the scanty rest the crew were permitted, this did not tend to increase the smoothness of current matters either for officers or men. Upon this particular evening the halliards had parted and the yard came down with a run. As the chain passed round the yard it was necessary it should be kept clear of turns to ensure smooth working of the patent, and this was a job of some little difficulty. The second mate and a fair number of men were aloft reeving the chains when one man in the top incurred the wrath of the mate, who was superintending operations from the quarter-deck. He yelled out to his subordinate aloft: “Mr. King, kick that son of a —— out of the top.” King on his part addressed some drastic remarks to the delinquent, but did not appear to consider it necessary to do more, so the work proceeded until the man who had been “mentioned” came down the rigging saying loudly: “I’ve never been called son of a —— before and won’t stand it.” That was enough for the mate. As the man stepped on deck he was met by a straight one, two, in the face, and then began a rough-and-tumble about the end of which there could be no doubt. The captain came along to see what was going on, and the mate sang out: “Put this man in irons, sir.” The captain did so, and poor Canadian Bill, as he was called, was duly ironed and dropped for security down the lazarette hatch, where for some days he endured the scanty bread and bitter waters of affliction. Needless to say he lost no time in deserting on arrival in port, which no doubt fitted in with the higher policy of the master, who did not wish to retain the services of men at high colonial wages during a long stay in port when the absolutely necessary routine work could be carried on by apprentices, the cargo of course being stowed by stevedores.