IN CROW'S NEST.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 21, 26 January 1933, Page 14

IN CROW'S NEST.

TALE OF FREE TRAVEL.

STOWAWAY FROM AUCKLAND.

HEAVY "BOOKING" FOB, HOME. We were sitting on the quayside at Auckland, and England was six long weeks away, writes D.O.N, in the "Traveller and Clubman," an English magazine. "It's all very well to talk about going home, but what about the fare; you can't go into the orchard and pick £47 off the trees, you know," said John. "Well," I replied, "there are two ways of going that I know of; first, by paying your fare, second, by not paying your fare. As the total resources of all four of us amount to 8/6, that leaves only the non-paying method, and that's what it will have to be for me." A boa*, was to leave in a week's time; so I sold all the things that would bring in a little cash, packed up, and had everything ready for action. I had already chosen my place of concealment, the -crow's nest high up on the mast. We found out that the ship was clue to sail on Monday at 5 p.m., so at about midnight on Sunday I strolled down to the wharf. Determined to arrive in England somewhat as I had left it, I had put on my best suit and over it two pairs of trousers, the whole surmounted by a boiler suit, belted in at the waist, and into the top of which I stuffed all the rest of my luggage. I chose Lawrence's "Revolt in the Desert" to accompany me on my travels, together with one or two small books. Slinging my boots round my neck by the lacee, I made my way over the ship's side and along the deserted deck and up the steel ladder on the mast. On my head I had a new felt hat, which I had worn as a city clerk, and in my right hand I carried a huge parcel of food. Thus I arrived in my stateroom, the crow's nest. To my disgust the ship did not sail that night as scheduled, but on Wednesday evening, two days late, we let go and set sail for England. At about six o'clock we dropped the pilot, and I heaved a sigh of relief, because he was the last link with New Zealand, and so there was no chance of being put ashore unless the ship put back. Look-out Keeps Silent. At about S p.m. I heard the sound of boots coming up the ladder on the side of the mast, 60 I thought, well, it's all up now. However, when a sailor climbed in and slithered into the lookout's seat, he did not see nie in the gloom, so I thought to myself, here goes, and touched him on the shoulder. The poor fellow nearly jumped over the front, he was so taken by surprise. "Hello, mate," said he. "What? a stowaway?" Hearing a reply in the affirmative, he went on to say that it was all right, and that he would not give me away, and had done the same thing himself in Brisbane.

* I climbed down at midnight, having been up in the crow's nest for three days and three nights, and went along to the wheelhouse right aft, and spent the rest of the night reading. Next morning I stepped out, but when I looked over the rail I saw land only about one mile away. I nearly swooned, for I had reckoned on the ship being about 200 miles away by morning, not dreaming that we should hug the coast ttll night. The only thing to do was to get back to the wheelhouse again, and luckily no one saw me.

At about six o'clock I had a look out of the porthole, and as I could not eee any land and we were beginning to roll, I decided it was time to make tracks for the bridge again. Walking along the deck, I came abreast of the entrance to the stokehold, and there I saw six of the blackest white men I have ever seen, covered from tip to toe with thick black coal duet. One of these men came up to me and said, "Please, mister, can you tell U3 where we can get clean T" So I said, "Who are you, anyway?" The same fellow replied, "Oh, we are sis stowaways"; so, seeing a tap through the doorway and also some buckets, I said, "Well, go through there." I then continued my way to the bridge. The skipper, when he found six stowaways in the bunkers, was very annoyed, but seemed quite resigned when he heard that I was a seventh. Going down on deck again, I found the other six men had partially washed themselves, so I presented myself to them as stowaway No. 7, but I did not like their company much, eo I left them to their own devices, and wandered down aft, where I started chatting with the bo'sun. He told me that he had a spare bunk in his cabin which I might sleep in, if I liked to keep the cabin tidy in return. Naturally, I accepted, for after three nights in the crow's nest and one in the wheelhouse, I felt I should like a decent bed again. On the morning after our discovery, we were all given a job of work; mine consisted of chipping the rust off the decks, which are all steel on this ship.

Put Under Lock and Key. The night we reached the Nore lightship at the mouth of the London River, we were all told to go into the hospital for the night, and there we were locked up, for they thought perhaps somebody might try to jump overboard and swim for it. As there were only three bunks among the seven of us, four had to sleep on the floor. Being the first in, I bagged a bunk and promptly went to sleep, and so missed the little episode in the middle of the night, when one of the four on the floor unscrewed the lock.

First thing in the morning we proceeded up the river and into King George Y. Dock, and as eoon as we were secured to the wharf, the oldest man in the party opened the door and bolted. Shortly afterwards the other five also went out and were apparently walking about the ship. However, as our names and addresses had all been taken, I could see no point in trying to escape. About nine o'clock the third, mate and about six policemen and an inspector came along. Just outside the door I heard the "third" say, "Yes, we locked the seven of them up all ready for you." I could not help laughing at the look 0® his. face when he opened the door and found only one left. They eoon rounded up the other five. Later evening the missing man arrived in the custody of two detectives; he had been picked up at his home in London. Next morning we were taken to the courthouse and placed in a cell to await our turn. Judging by the number of names on the walls, it was a regular stowaways' cell; there must have been well over 100 of them, coming from all parts of the world. Charge Based on Saloon Fares. Our turn came at last, and we were brought before the magistrate and charged with defrauding the steamship company of £59,"i worth of passage money,'very fair,'l must say, and made u£ on /the basis of th« fifst-class ealocm

fare of £S5 per person; for had we not all done sumptuously, sleeping in coal hunkers, and painting the ship ? In fact, we had lived the life of a saloon passenger—l think not. However, perhaps the prosecutor may be forgiven, because only the week before a stowaway had bolted and got away, so the shipping company, the same one, had had to pay £100 —the penalty of an alien landing without permission—and they were just recovering from the shock when seven more were landed on them. The magistrate was very stern, and said that he was going to put an end to this sort of thing. (He has as many chances as he has of swimming the Atlantic.) The result -was that we were given 28 days' hard* labour, the maximum penalty.

Off we went. in a luxurious motor coach, -without windows, and painted black, bearing the mystic letters to spend a brief holiday at His Majesty's expense. I was lucky enofigh to be put in the prison library, which is the best place to work, as everyone is placed on their honour, and there is no officer in charge. We got on very well, as they were all fairly decent, and we even had some of the titled aristocracy with us.

So, after having spent six weeks on the chip, and a further four -weeks paying for the first six, I arrived in London, having achieved my object.