After
death of husband James in Scotland
110 days on the sailing ship
Strathallan 550 tons
In company with her daughter
Christian- wife of Andrew Smaill
250 passengers sailing from
Leith to Port Chalmers under Capt. Todd
written
by her grandson William Smaill in 1926
a
passenger (at the age of 8 years) with the group
Re-typed
by Marloe Leavitt Archibald of Wellsville, Utah, USA
from a poor
copy of a typed transcription
July 2000
The
original of these reminiscences (both the voyage and around Mayfield)
is in
the Otago Early Settler Museum, 220 Cumberland Street,
Dunedin, New Zealand.
*************************************
New Zealand opened to pioneering families from Scotland. With two families traveling together,‘ the Smaill's and the Darlings, Agnes then had this company to travel with and the record indicates she was well loved by the parties involved and was known to them as ‘Grannie' Archibald.
This history is transcribed from a difficult-to-read, printed copy and is to be shared by descendants of this woman who gave birth to many children in the family of James Archibald and then pioneered on the Inchclutha River of Otago, New Zealand. There they built a house called the Mayfield House after living sometime in a Maori bowery. The details of the voyage are presented as they were written by her grandson William Smaill who was one of the members of the voyage.
This record is of two parts: The Voyage and The Pioneering, and was made available from cousins Aileen J. Wood and Pat McWatters of New Zealand and Australia. We are grateful to them for this account which has long been absent here in the Americas.
(re-formatted by Lana Archibald)
Part 1: The Voyage
The departure of Agnes Achibald and the Smaill families was reported by Robert Archibald, Christina's brother, as being on the 1 of October 1857 and arriving safely on the 1 of February 1858. This arrival date was probably when they arrived at Inchclutha, some miles from Port Chalmers where the ship went into port. William Smaill gives the date of the ship's arrival as 8th of January 1858 and we now follow his account.
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Strathallan, Captain Todd,
550 tons, 250 passengers
Leith to Port
Chalmers, 110 Days. Arrived 8th
January 1858
I have long wished
to set out in written form some of the things connected with the sea
voyage, in the clipper ship Strathallan;
of the landing in New Zealand; and the happenings up at the diggings;
which changed, not only the conditions of those earlier days, but
also the conceptions, so that those early days belong to a world
which closed with the advent of the diggings.
As I was only eight years
old on the ship, my personal recollections are such as would appeal
to a boy of that age. But, as I had always a vivid imagination and a
very retentive memory, most of the incidents are still wonderfully
clear in my memory.
As a boy, I may say
that all things outside lessons interested me, of all descriptions,
but anything connected with reading aloud, spelling, and grammar,
and, to a degree, counting, were anathema. This, I think, gave me a
keener relish for all other things. I liked writing, drawing, and
painting; and I can see now that I always had the artist’s way of
seeing things – that is, seeing the whole thing at once. The
resolving comes afterwards. With these opening remarks, we will get
to work with the opening at the voyage.
We sailed from
Leith. The first stage was by tug, a paddle-wheel steamer, that
towed us out to the Leith Roads, where we lay for a week. It must of
been very early when we sailed, as we were down the English channel
when I arrived on deck. I can remember the delightful sensation of
the sailing motion. It was different than anything I had felt before
or even imagined. Then the ship seemed to go so fast; a railway train
seemed slow compared to it. The water and the waves seemed to be
passing at such a rate. And then the formation of the white foam from
the bow of the ship swirling away at such a beautiful and graceful
angle. This was a delight that never paled and is still fascinating
to me [William says he was eight years old when they sailed] and all
through the voyage, it was a constant delight to watch the
wonderful play of the waters. But that morning, the feeling of
delight was simply intense, and I have always regarded those
hours passing down the English Channel as the most delightful
experience in my lifetime. There were others that came near, which I
still notice, but not just equal. It was an ideal morning, and
passing the White Cliffs of Dover was to me a dream of loveliness
beyond anything, I had ever imagined. (It should be remembered that
the adults were having these same experiences but more
wonderful to an eight year old).
I am not certain where the pilot joined us, but I have an idea
it was just after we passed Dover, from which port I think he came. I
remember passing land's end and seeing it being left behind us some
time in the afternoon. I remember the peculiar feeling of the
growing immensity of the boundless ocean, the land receding slowly
out of sight. Many, I remember, watched with tears. Such
was my first day at sea.
That night we met a gale from the south, which lasted for about a
week, in which passengers were not allowed on deck and, so as
far as I remember, the most had other feelings to attend to. But, for
myself, I never was seasick, although when we got on deck after
the storm, all us youngsters felt as groggy as drunks. We thought it
great fun, much the time as waltzing.
As the pilot was still on board, I suppose he ran the ship northwards
so that he could meet the steamer after the storm, which duly
happened. The old folks said his parting words to the
passengers were "have every confidence in your captain, as he is
a first-class sailor."
Now as the ship is safely on her way we will have a look at the crew
and the passengers. Taking the crew all around from captain to
apprentices they were, with one or two exceptions, a good lot. I
cannot give a detailed account of each member from memory, as only
the outstanding personalities were remembered. Of the officers,
Captain Todd, Mr. Grieve -- first officer, and Mr. Keeler -- second.
Mr. Grieve was
the outstanding personality in every way. He was taller by
inches, and a larger man in every way than the other two. The captain
was rather below medium height, somewhat thickset, a most capable man
and sailor when he left the drink alone. That was his one failing ,
which seemed to be caused more from weakness in nerve, when strain
was pressing, than from appetite. This was shown noticeably twice.
The first, when one of the young women passengers died and the doctor
was much blamed. I forgot to mention Dr. King, he was really the
captain's evil genius, as they spent most of their time together, and
in this trouble, the captain seemed to think something of an
epidemic. The doctor did not worry, but the captain did, and took too
much liquor. But, bad weather did not effect the captain's nerve, and
he was a quite kindly man, and was in goodwill with all, and most
attentive to all complaints, and courteous to all.
But, Mr. Grieve was a tower of strength.
Of course, he was a
sailor's man. He was also a passenger's man. Any fear or
trouble of any kind he was sure to be besieged by a band of
questioners, and the quiet good mannered way he answered was well
worth hearing. His answers were always hopeful and the best
that could be said, and his word always went.
Mr. Keeler, the second, was a man of totally different type. He
was just as firey as the first was cool. He was the only
one of the officers which had the "gift" and that
copiously. He and the bo'sun easily held their own in the profanity
line, although the bo'sun was certainly the most profane, or rather
blasphemous, especially if any of the passengers made any litter on
the deck, when he was going his rounds coiling up the ropes. He
might be described as a profanity pump-- it ran in such an easy
stream. The second mate was more detached, but just as direct.
But, they were both good sailors and brave to recklessness; both
valuable men aloft at night and in a crisis the bos'sun was always
given the wheel.
Among the sailors there were special favorites, and easily first was
Little Joe, so named as there was a Bigger Joe, also a nice clever
man and one of the best and most reliable in the crew. On a rush or a
risky job, such as clewing up in a gale, he was mostly the fartherest
man out. On the other hand the crew took more care of Little Joe; he
was kept mostly on inside jobs. He was of kindly nature, ready
to help all and sundry, carry kids or jelly pots for the others, help
the grannies to light their pipes, and had a good word for everybody.
He was a married man, and one of the crew that returned with the ship
and, I understand, he was drowned just before the ship reached home.
The next
sailor that was in favor was Bob, a wild harum skarum, always up to
mischief or a lark, but kindly with-all, and one of the most active
sailors. He was Mr. Keelers right-hand man, as Big Joe was the
First's. These are the outstanding characters among the sailors who
had their sleeping quarters under the fore-castle deck, a watch on
each side.
Then
there was the round house hands, the bo'sun , the two stewards, cabin
and passenger, two cooks, the carpenter and the two apprentices.
Jack
Allan, passenger steward, was another great favorite, running Little
Joe very close for first place. Another kindly soul, but at the
other end of the stick, was Duncan, passenger cook . He was a misfit
in every way. He knew nothing about cooking, or of cleanliness,
either of person or language. If the bo'sun was blasphemous,
his profanity was low and dirty and continuous. He cursed
everybody, some more than others certainly, but he was heartily
cursed by all and sundry. He was one black spot in the ship's
life. He said that he was shipped as a sailor, but it was found
that he was no good and he was dumped into the gulley, with wretched
results to the passengers. His doings and sayings, and their
opposites from the passengers, would fill a book; but that would have
an interest all its own. My father and he were daggers all the way.
Yet when he was ashore and dead broke, my father was the first to
help him. So much for the cook.
Jamie Strathan, cabin steward, was another kindly soul and very good
to others (when the cook was outrageous) in getting things for them,
so was the cabin cook. So much for the ship's company.
There were
five cabin passengers: the doctor; the minister, Rev. McNichol,
Highland to the bone and I expect more at home in the Gaelic than in
English, but a kindly soul withal, if easy going. He had Sunday
Service every fine Sunday; Dr. King and a Mr. Johnston (son-
in-law of Captain Cargill's); and a Mr. and Mrs. Curry.
Of the other passengers there was a goodly crowd, somewhere about
three hundred, at least a hundred too many for the size of the ship.
The accommodation was primitive — two rows of bunks, one above the
other, ran pretty well all around the ship on the main deck: young
unmarried on the fore-hatch, the married and children under twelve
years in the main hatch, and unmarried women in the after hatch. Two
or three families messed, or drew rations together, according to
numbers and relationship.
Considering their being so closely packed together, they all agreed
wonderfully well, and many close friendships were formed.
They were rather a superior lot and have put up a good record in New
Zealand. To go into any descriptions would lead too far from my
intentions, as happenings and things interested so much more than
persons. What I have given will give an idea of the atmosphere
and conditions of the voyage.
One person I have forgotten, that is the purser. I am not sure if he
was first or second cabin, but I think the latter. He was not a very
efficient officer, but he had the knack of getting others to do his
work while he stood around, or to be more accurate, sat, as that was
what he mostly did. His duties were to serve out rations once a
week, which of course, was a kind of market day; weather, of course,
had a say in the matter, but it had to be got through somehow.
What we will
call the market was held on the main deck, just in front of the
quarter deck, that was the largest open space on the main deck.; but
in bad weather it was on the quarter-deck, or the poop as it was
called. Jack Allan, passenger steward, was the leading workman
with a team of assistants. The stuff was brought on deck and arranged
in rows around the purser, who sat on a cask with his notebook and
called out the passengers' mess numbers. He again had a lot of
assistants who served out the biscuits, sugar, butter, raisins, bully
beef, pork (this last was put in a net for boiling), rice, split peas
for soup, sometimes potatoes preserved, tea and coffee.
The provisions
were both good and plentiful, but the cooking was wretched. For
example, Jack Duncan was short of soda for dissolving the peas for
soup, so one of the sailors , I expect Bob, said "soap and soda
always go together, try soap," and he did. Of course the whole
lot had to go to the captain, and then overboard. Again the pork was
generally boiled in the pea soup. One day some of the pork had
maggots, he must have known, however in it went and that day there
was fresh meat in the soup, but it all went overboard.
So much for market day, but there was the daily parade three
times a day. One or two at the galley for each mess, and the general
row with the cook. Such then was the daily routine, very much as in a
military camp without the orderly in charge.
A little description of the vessel will help towards a glimpse of the
conditions of life on deck. Between the fore-castle and the
quarter-deck was a close bulwark eight feet high which it was
impossible to see over while standing on the deck, but all around
were spare spars lashed about half way up. While standing on them, I
could see comfortably over with without fear of over balancing, and
in fine weather, it was nearly always lined with children looking
over.
On the
fore-castle, just in front of the capstan, was a favorite
meeting place for a number of the older men to smoke and yarn, but
there were four who were nearly constantly there and, of the four,
two who were always there, if allowed by weather, which means orders,
for only orders would stop them. They were old shepherd's and
they never seemed to tire of watching the sea. And it was really
worth watching. Sometimes it would be a great flight of flying-fish
spurring from a wave-top to skim along and land on another and off
again. Or it might be porpoises, sometimes only a few, but sometimes
in hundred's and thousands.
Such were some of the interests of the fore-castle which made a deep
impression on my mind on the few times I had the pleasure of being up
there with my father, as it was not considered safe for children by
themselves, as there was only an open rope railing round the
fore-castle, so that was forbidden ground to children.
But if forbidden the fore-castle, we had free run of the quarter-deck
mostly in the afternoon. The great attraction there was to watch the
sea birds gathering in the ships wake; scraps thrown over-board
gathered there, and there were often great scrambles for anything of
the kind. Meat or fat wanted. Quite a number of albatross were so
caught. Such were the common daily interests.
Then there were always a watching for ships, the sight of which was
always a gayla day with the signaling. We had left port nine or
ten days after the Palmyro had left London and there was always the
excitement when a ship was sighted ahead going our way, and as we
overhauled and passed everything the excitement increased to know if
it was the Palmyro. However, we were all on the south side of
the line [equator] before we overhauled and passed the Palmyro, and
were in port a fortnight before the arrival of the Palmyro in New
Zealand.
The
most ships we passed in one day was five. One passed quite close and
took letters home. I think that was the third and last that took
letters, and this brings me to the first vessel we met, the first or
second night after the pilot left us; with her we came into a
collision about midnight. A steamer -- carrying no lights -- a
terrible disaster was averted by the closest of shaves. Keeler, the
second, was on watch and he caught sight of the light in her galley
fire and it seemed right under the bow. He jumped to the wheel and
threw our ship's head off. The next minute there was a crash forward.
The steamer fouled our fore-stays, carrying away part of our
figurehead, a high-lander in kilts. One of his arms was
carried away. Keeler went forward like a tornado, they said, making
the air blue with sulphuric language, an axe in one hand and an a
knife in the other, and was soon cutting adrift what had held them
together. It was said one of the steamer's crew jumped aboard
and Keeler told him he would split his skull if he didn't get back
from whence he came. It was said the man was half drunk, but
got in a hurry, and the fouling was cut adrift and the vessels
cleared. However, when we got to port they raised a rumour that
they had run into us and sunk us , as I suppose they saw nothing of
us in the morning. It caused quite a panic in shipping circles,
as we heard afterwards. Some short time after, the chance to
send letters was given by a passing ship. Among them my father
sent one, with the result that all the letters were opened and posted
up in the London office to contradict the rumour about the sinking.
So passed the first real sensation; it was a very close call, but
nothing was known on board ‘til morning.
As we worked south, the weather conditions steadily improved, the air
becoming sensibly warmer, and a general settling down to enjoy the
new life on board ship and, as the sailors said, "the passengers
were becoming as tame as mice!" Quite a number of the younger
men began charming and working with the sailors. Decks were
washed down and swept every morning, which was quite a job. The water
was raised with a big pump worked with two cross levers, working like
a see-saw swing. One man at each end could work it, but as there was
a T crossbar, two or more could get into it at each
end. Thus with four men on the pump, there was a big pressure of
water. And as the bo'sun always worked the hose, pity anyone who got
in the way and did not shunt quick. His language would most
likely reach them first, but if there was any inclination to dally,
they would get a flood of both, but as the bo'sun made no secret
about his movements, it was easy to keep to the other side.
The deck between the main hatch and the fore hatch was divided in
two, leaving a passage of about ten feet. At the main hatch was a
long boat on stocks, that is propped up and ready to float, and as
there was a sort of awning over it, it was quite a common place to
get into for a seat. Then just at the stern of the long boat
was the round house and galley, that came right up to the fore-hatch
so the washing down took first the one side and then the other.
The pump would first be just in front of the sides, and the
fore-castle. Then the pump was shifted aft in front of the poop deck
where the rest was reached, and the quarter deck. This took
quite a squad to work it, with three or four on the booms, but
the business that attracted the most attention was pumping the ship.
This was always after tea and before dancing began, if there was any
on.
There was
always a sing-song of sailor songs and quite a crowd if the evening
was fine. As we worked south, we were getting longer evenings and
moonlight nights and the ship on an even keel. Dancing was the
pastime and much enjoyed, the whole ship's company gathering
around, looking on and gossiping. And, as the climate was
steadily getting warmer, life on the whole was enjoyable.
The next event that comes to mind about this time was ‘ land- ho'
That was the cry that made a general rush on deck and all eyes were
fixed on what was supposed to be land. As the appearance is
only a smudge of blue-gray colour on the horizon, the eye can hardly
tell whether it is cloud or land, but the sailor's eyes know, besides
[before] the glass has been on it. It's land alright, the first
seen since leaving lands end and the next question is "Where?'!
What land is it ?!" Well! That question was not answered
in a hurry. There was plenty of time given for conjecture, but a
smudge grew into something with a definite outline. It was seen to be
an island. Some were placing it on the coast of Africa, others on the
coast of Brazil. Some of the extra wise ones were very
positive that it was Robison Crusoe's island. This was almost
accepted as a fact and were we not lucky to see it so nicely?
It was a lovely day and the island gradually grew into sight, and it
was a beautiful sight as it emerged from grey into purple, then into
beautiful chocolate and russett browns and olive greens, as it came
right abeam.
I
would suppose we would be three or four miles off. There was
nothing that artists would describe as detail visible, only the broad
masses of colour, but they were beautiful, soft as a dream under a
soft silver haze.
The officers were really the only ones who knew definitely the name
and they, I think enjoyed the situation, for as far as I can
remember, there was no definite name known that day, at least to the
crowd. But one old man, I remember, was very sure about
everything about it. I remember he explained that the olive
green masses were palm trees and so on. It was a most enjoyable and
exciting day, worth remembering in red ink.
The next sensation was crossing the line [equator]. This began
some weeks before we reached it. All that was to happen, and
what was to be done to all men who had not crossed the line before,
was discussed. They, of course , must be shaved and washed afterwards
if the ship was to be lucky (the ceremony of crossing the line has
continued to the present and therefore all sorts of play has been
done then and since so this will not be covered in detail but is part
of the author's record) ..................................
Now I may return to the thread of my story which included another
cabin passenger, the minister no less. As I have said tea was over
and all was supposed to be over. The minister was leaning over
the rail beside the bell talking to little Mrs. Henderson — there
were two with this name, the other was big. They were congratulating
each other how well they had kept clear all day. However their
congratulations were suddenly brought to an end, with first one
bucket of water descending on them and then another until the row of
buckets set for that purpose had been emptied and the minister made
for his quarters — drenched.
Thus ended the day's proceedings of the crossing. Matters settled
down to their usual order, but I think there was a sad aftermath
which I will notice further on.
Crossing the line naturally divides the voyage into two distinct
divisions. As we neared the line our daily average speed decreased
considerably; from about ten a.m. until five or six p.m. The
slowing down was very marked; although we never came to a dead
stand-still, but very near it. I am not sure which side of the
line this took place but I remember the carpenter threw some shavings
overboard sometime in the forenoon just in front of the foremast
stays. The ship was moving but that was all that could be said
about it. By about three p.m. the shavings had just got abeam
of the quarter deck, when a nice breeze came along and away we went
merrily ripping through the water. What a relief to everyone and how
the good ship seemed to enjoy the run like a thing of life. Although
there were other slow days, that day was clearly the slowest and
every day the breeze came sooner in the afternoon until we were clear
of the tropics.
As I have said, there was a sad aftermath. One of the young women was
supposed to have caught cold from the effects of the wetting she got
in their water battle and, so far as I can remember, the doctor was
blamed for neglecting her at the onset, with the result
of lung
trouble. A hospital had to be fixed up and, as it was right at
the foot of the main hatch in a recess left for such purpose,
it was close by the mess, so we knew everything that was going on.
I well remember the anxious time of our friends, as she was a
favorite. She was brought down to the hospital. Both the captain and
the doctor were often enough down there, but matters grew daily more
serious until she passed away.
Then I suppose the most solemn of all funerals, one at sea, took
place. It was something, I will never forget. The coffin was
carried up covered, I think with a flag, and rested on the gang-way
ready to be slipped into the boundless sea. When the
funeral service was conducted, the whole ship's company were gathered
around; there were very few dry eyes. Then the hush after the coffin
slipped away was awful in its sudden quietness. A solemn day
most certainly. The captain was so much concerned that he was
drunk for about a week afterwards.
With the exception of the first storm, I have said nothing about
rough weather, although we had a fair share of it, and our ship
was what sailors call a wet one, that is she went through a wave
rather than raise over it. This was caused by her long clipper build.
I suppose her
length would be seven times her beam or width, (this is supposing a
beam of fifty-one feet [which] would give her a length of three
hundred and fifty feet, which is not far from her length). If there
was any decent breeze and the ship was what sailors call ‘on
the wind,' that is -- working into it instead of running with it —
the lee scuppers were always a-wash. In warmer weather it was
delightful wading for us boys, like the sea beach always backwards
and forwards, and when an extra big sea struck her generally on this
weather side, just forward of the main mast, there would be a
momentary pause and a tremble all over the ship, and a bog shower of
spray drenching the deck on the windward side. As these conditions
were almost usual, a little more or less was not taken much notice
of, although I believe even before we reached the line, conditions
had been bad enough to ‘heave to' sometimes at night, that is bring
the ship right head to wind and reduce sail. The ship of course,
drifts, but it rides the sea easier, and on the main,
holds her position, as enough sail is kept on to keep steerage way on
in lulls of the wind.
But we had not passed the line long before we met something much
beyond anything previous. During the day it was blowing a fresh
gale, and I remember the waves were, to my mind, simply tremendous. I
remember hearing a passenger asking Mr. Keeler, second mate, as he
stood in his oil-skins sou'wester, dripping with water, what he
thought of it. "Oh, it would be alright if the wind would
only lower a bit." I have a notion that at that time we
were running with the wind, that is "free," as the seas
were coming pretty well in all directions. Well! The wind did
not go down with sun, but rather increased, so that the hatches were
fastened down to keep the passenger off the decks, as there
were very heavy seas coming aboard -- what the sailors called ‘green
seas,' and there were two men lashed to the wheel, one of them
the bo'sun, and he was considered the best quartermaster on board,
which means the best steersman.
I was always a light sleeper and I remember getting out of bed and
crawling to the top of the main hatch steps which were quite close to
our bed or bunk. The main hatch was covered with a thick glass
skylight which was open enough to see through. There must have
been a moon, because I can still remember the appearance and feelings
of the night. To me the appearance was simply terrific. That
was the only time I ever really saw ‘spin-drift'. It was
flying in sheets. I remember crawling very quickly back to
bunk, but not to sleep. Well! Matters steadily got worse until
after midnight. The ship was in a continual tremble, coming
often to what seemed like a standstill, and then of a sudden plunge
forward, well-described as reeling like a drunken man and at its wits
end! Then all of a sudden came a tremendous crash right on the
main hatch, smashing the skylight to atoms, and such a deluge
of water came down! Many of course , jumped out of bed into
water, and such a hub-bub — in which the laughable was as
much in evidence as the tragic. I always remember my aunt's
"God Almighty! We are all away to the bottom!". And
with that she was out, where she met a small cask floating or carried
with the water, that took her feet from under her, sending her
sprawling. Then my uncle, in a great rage, kicked the cask and
blessed the owner — this without his boots was not pacifying
by any means, as he and the owner, my father to boot, were sooner
louder than the storm, until my father saw the fun of the thing and
ran to my aunt's help, leaving my uncle to attend to his toes.
That fortunately
was the last heavy sea that night and so on the party in our mess was
laughing over its troubles. What had happened was this:
Matters had got so serious with the heavy following seas that the
captain decide to ‘heave to', and a big risk in
such at sea , but he considered it the safest, and the ship met this
tremendous sea right amidships just as she ‘came to'!. In our
boat sailing days I have seen the same thing happen and it often
reminded me of that night. We had any amount of rough going after
this, but nothing quite like that night. From this until we reached
New Zealand, there was no monotony as far as weather was concerned.
About this time
the ship made some record running and here I may say something about
‘heaving the log;' this was generally done about 4 p.m. Or
rather in time to be logged then. There is, first, a reel not unlike
a reel of a fishing rod and on much the same principle. It would be
about eighteen inches long — one man held at arm's length.
On the end of the line was a piece of wood about a foot long ‘the
log.' It took three men to take the log and always one of the
mates, who took the time with the sandglass, was present. When all
was ready, the mate gave the word ‘heave!' Enough line
was free to let the log reach the water. As the log struck the water,
the sandglass was turned up and the sand began to run down. Now
the line is running out at the exact speed of the ship. As soon as
the last grain of sand leaves the top glass , the man in charge of it
cries ‘out', when the line is at once locked. The next
business is to wind in the line and count the knots that have been
run out, from which the average for the hour and the general
measurement made for the twenty-four hours is calculated and gives a
fair idea of the speed made. Our speed was mostly around ten
knots an hour. Conditions were such one day about this time
that a record was made, with the result that the reel was run out
before the glass, with a chronometer, when it went somewhere between
fifteen and sixteen knots and we kept that up for some time.
Needless to say there was much excitement. I remember Mr. Grieve was
in charge, and I will never forget the express pleasure was certainly
there, but there was his natural caution — the more excited
he got the quieter he became, but quick and alert in his movements. A
quick glance up with his characteristic laugh, "We are going
quicker than we want!"
The next sensation occurred shortly after this. Sometime in the
afternoon of a rather equally day, the ship was on the wind on a port
tack, when the call came from aloft "a whale!" Sure
enough, there he was coming straight for our lea bow, which would
bring him pretty close when we passed him. I do not think
he changed his course, and I suppose, had we been going slow enough,
he would have run into us, which would have been a bad jar for him,
as I do not think he was big enough to have affected the ship.
All the same, I have no doubt they would have made him glance off. He
was a regular orthodox whale; I would think somewhere between twenty
and thirty feet long. ... he sent up a jet of water as a signal.
I now have to
describe something I really never saw, although I heard of it, that
is a whirlwind that was causing something in the nature of a water
spout. There was a great volume of water in suspension, which
was really the danger. It was just about the same time of day that we
saw the whale, only blowing harder and more sea on. We were on the
same tack and I remember us boys were waiting in the lea scuppers. It
took us well over the knees sometimes. When that was the case
things were lively. What I remember was the second mate, Mr.
Keeler, giving a great yell from the port side of the quarter deck
and his coming tumbling down the steps in about two leaps. He had
just jumped out of bed in his sleeping things and went forward like a
tornado, yelling "all hands on deck!" And the watch turned
out just as suddenly and in the same direction as the mate when they
followed, first on the one side of the ship, untying the halyards,
leaving a man to hold it with a turn on the belaying pin. Then
at a signal, one side let go and the other pulled it in, with the
result that the ship changed direction in about her own length.
What he did was "ware ship." I do not know how
near we were but it was as near as the whale. Keeler was white
as a sheet when it was over, and there was no swearing. He took
a long breath then said "You talk about storms. That's ten times
worse and you will never be nearer!" And off he
went, but it was considered a piece of superb seamanship. The
way the sails swung around on each mast as the ship ‘payed off',
was perfect, leaving the howling horror behind her.
Such, I suppose, was our greatest peril passed.
Soon after this, it seemed to me, we had a long run right before the
wind. I will never forget those days, nor their sensations.
Standing just beside or behind the wheel, one got the best view of
the whole situation, and it was really something grand to watch. The
outstanding motion before the wind is the steady swing from left to
right, swinging so far, sometimes that the main yard would touch a
wave tip, not often certainly, although we wondered why it did not
every time, as it seemed to make a straight run for it, and one held
one's breath until the swing ended. It made conditions very
uncomfortable on board, as there was no time for adjustment. Then
there was the fore and aft movement; from the wheel, the ship seemed
like to stand on end, bow down. Then she would make a great rush down
and begin climbing up the other side and gradually make ready for
another plunge.
We were now approaching a time of tension and expectation which came
to a climax in "Land ahead!" I am not positive, but I
think it was just before dusk that the gray smudge of colour was
first seen, as early next day we were in full view of the Snares, and
that they were well-named, was the general impression and
expression. Their first appearance suggested a row of shark's
teeth, cruel and bare, not a vestige of vegetation to be seen
anywhere. As we came nearer, the day being fine and mild, we
got above Queenstown from the beach there. The view reminded me very
much of the Snares, of course I was much further away from the
Remarkables than the Snares, but there is a marked resemblance.
That day, the Snares were pretty well in sight all day, but again
just at the dark, "land ahead!" was the cry and this was
New Zealand at last. We were told
afterwards that it was
Stewart Island, but that was a [minor] detail, as the main land was
soon sighted, and next morning we were in ful view somewhere off the
Nuggetts, and a lovely sight it was. The weather was perfect
and it was a day of perfect delight.
As it was January, we must of been on deck very early. This was our
last day at sea, but it was a long one, and much happened that day
before the anchor dropped in Port Chalmers in darkness. The
first and really only trouble was that the captain went on a spree,
and as soon as he took over the watch from the first mate, he
turned the ship's head to sea. He evidently did not want to get
in that day, whatever was behind his mind. He was not that
drunk, but that he knew what he wanted, and was as head-strong as
liquor could make him.
We went right out until we were nearly out of sight of land, and all
faces grew long as we moved out.
It was common speculation what Mr. Grieve would do when he came on
deck, which happened about four p.m., when he promptly turned the
ship's head towards Otago Heads, and as there was a nice easterly
breeze, she was soon nearing the shore again, and it was not long
before the signal gun fired for the pilot. This brought the captain
on deck. Mr. Grieve took no notice of him and he did not say
anything. He just walked about looking as black as thunder. The
captain was sober enough now, and was realizing what this meant to
him. He might have been painted to represent a ‘dammed soul,'
his look was awful. Although I was only a child, I pitied him,
although I did not understand the position, but his face was terrible
to look at.
But
we soon forgot him, as the ship was making grand speed and soon the
pilot's boat was sighted, dancing over the waves — a green whale
boat. Soon we made out our Maori crew, and driver, the pilot,
standing in the stern sheets. Soon he was aboard giving
directions, and now the whale boat was under sail and challenging us
to a run, which at first was all our favor, but as sail was steadily
being reduced, our speed was also reduced. The sun was just setting
as we entered the heads, a most lovely evening. The sea was
smooth as the good ship slipped along at about six or seven miles an
hour, the motion perfect.
By this time the Maoris, at the Kaik were waving us welcome. Needless
to say, they were well answered and as Tennyson says "joy was
heard" and all the time the sailors were aloft stowing every
sail as it was taken in, all in perfect quietness; only the foresail
and jib were left. The lovely evening was closing in and now
the foresail was furled and stowed, only the flying jib keeping way
on.
Now it is
quite dark, but still we slip along smoothly and quietly. The
excitement could be felt, so tense was it, until the signal "cast
anchor," when away went the chain with a great
rattle, then the sailors from every part of the ship send up three
ringing cheers, such a cheer as one only hears once in a lifetime.
It must have been brewing ever since the day the anchor was weighed,
such was the outburst that now broke out, in an outburst of joy with
something of the song of thanksgiving in it.
Then the ship swung quietly around, head to anchor. The jib was
stowed and the ship's company, except the officers, gathered in the
forecastle and started a singsong with all their most stirring sea
songs. And no wonder. The continual strain of three
months was at an end for the present, and the tension was off.
Thus ended the Strathallen's voyage and joy was supreme. Her
part of the business was finished fitly on a Saturday night.
The next day was
Sunday and it was a special Scottish Sabbath, as quiet and orderly as
if we had been in Leith. Such was Otago in those early days.
There were a few visitors aboard but really not many and very few
left the ship. It was a day of rest and quiet.
Monday, the James Daly, a topsail schooner , came along side
to take the passengers to Dunedin, which might have been accomplished
had she taken only passengers with what luggage they could carry or
little more, say bedding, such as could have been taken quite
easily. But the captain of the James Daly was one of
those men who are always at sixes and sevens with their crews and all
he came in contact with. Getting the boat alongside was a long
wrangle of bad temper and worse language. After a long wrangle,
they began to take in passenger luggage. She would be between a
fifty and sixty ton boat. Well! She was loading virtually all
day with the result that she was far too deeply loaded, and it was so
late that she missed the tide. It must have been after five
before sail was made for Dunedin, with the deck crowded like a skep
of bees. As the passengers had been served the week's rations during
the week, on Monday there was no regular cooking, therefore, any food
that was taken was of a sketchy order.
However hope was high. There was a nice fair wind up the harbor and
with good steering, we could have been at Dunedin wharf in good
daylight. Even though she was sailing against a falling tide,
she was making good time. Her passage between the islands was
good and most pleasant, and joy and hope were high. But, alas,
short-lived. The steersman evidently knew little about the
harbor, as he sailed right into the shallow water at St. Leonards,
and came to a standstill. Then there was a racket. They tried —
everyone blessing the other fellow — to trim the vessel off by
shifting the passengers. They got a ketch anchor out but, as
the tide was falling all the time, it was a hopeless business, which
meant an all-night job for all hands, without food or bedding.
It was an unpleasant prospect for those who understood it.
Fortunately, us youngsters did not, and until the actual discomforts
did come, we were not much concerned. We did get some sort of tea of
a very black mixture, and we had some hard tack. But sleeping
was the job, everyone had to sleep just where he sat, there was no
room to lie down. I
remember mother was the center of the group, at least the younger
lot. She had Tom, the infant, in her lap, Jack and Bob had a
head on each side, then I was on the left side with my head on her
knee, Jamie on the other side, and thus we spent the night.
The Darlings and the Huldanes were just as closely packed together in
the same style. I think Mother and Mrs. Darling were supporting each
other, sitting on top of the luggage. It was certainly a night
of many funny sights and sounds, but like most things, it came to an
end.
The
morning was fine and warm, and to show how deep the water was, many
were wading and enjoying the water. It was about all there was
to enjoy. Some time in the morning, Adam's Lighter, the
Queen, came from Dunedin and got alongside and took a load of
passengers on board. I remember the second-cabin passengers'
claim for precedence was very marked, with rather funny results.
They and their belongings had to go first, then a few extras, and
finally the Queen got away, very heavily loaded. She got
about a hundred yards when she sat fast and remained there all day.
So much for precedence. Somewhere between ten and eleven a.m.
Mr. McAndrew had got word of the plight we were in, and he turned up
with a boat load of bread. I do not remember anything else.
I remember, again, the second-cabin folk wanted to be first, and in
fact, one of their men began very daintily and slowly, not at all to
Mr. McAndrew's idea. He got hold of the knife and cut a loaf
into about four slices and threw them in all directions. Talk
about broad grins as that bread got home. I remember getting hold of
a two-inch slice and attending to it. I have been as hungry
since, but only once, and bread again was the relief. It was
not long before everyone was satisfied.
(Upon reflection, perhaps the previous action by the captain, of
heading out to sea, was not so much that he was drunk but that he had
knowledge of the tides which produced the above results)
After that, things got better. Not long after this, the
captain's gig came along on its way to town, and my father and Mr.
Huldane had stayed with the ship to assist in unloading. They were
both on the oars and the captain had come to see what was up.
This was the first they knew of our trouble. When he saw how
matters stood, he said that the wives and children of his two boatmen
were to come with him, so we gladly scrambled in leaving the
second-cabin folk with very long faces as we passed the Queen's
bow. We were not long before we were at Dunedin wharf, and then to
the barracks, and thus our voyage ended.