DR. A. C. BARKER’S JOURNAL IV CHARLOTTE JANE IN ANTARCTIC LATITUDES

Press, Volume LXXXVII, Issue 26491, 4 August 1951, Page 3

DR. A. C. BARKER’S JOURNAL IV CHARLOTTE JANE IN ANTARCTIC LATITUDES

This is the fourth of a series of extrac ts from the journal of Dr. Alfred Charles Barker of his voyage to New Zealand in the Charlotte Jane, one of the First Four Ships, in 1850. Thfe series is printed with the permission of Mrs A. L. Barker, daughter-in-law of Dr. Barker. The journal covers not only the voyage but also the early days of the Barker family in establishing themselves in Christchurch.

October 28, 1850. The last ten days have been rather barren of interest, at least I have been too lazy to notice much. We have, however, progressed rapidly and to-day passed the solitary island of Tristan du Cunha, at a distance of 20 miles. We have been buoying ourselves up for some days past with the thought of visiting a curious old fellow who lives a hermit life, called Commadore Glass. He seems to be one of the remainder of a settlement once held by England but abandoned some time since, and supplies ships that come to him with potatoes, beef and fruits.

October 30. I was prematurely stopped in my journal by the increasing sea and from that time to this, it has blown a tremendous gale, the details comic and tragic I shall not endeavour to describe. We have been accompanied for the last fortnight by numerous birds, most of which are quite new to me. They seem, however, to be nearly all of them either “Albatross” or “Petrels.” There has been a great deal of shooting at these and a few have been shot. I must confess it appears to me poor sport to shoot these luckless birds when, if you did not kill them outright, they have the certaintv of starvation before them, unless indeed their greedy fellows put an end to them by eating them uo. Since leaving the Tronics, our lovely little friends, the flying fish, haye quite deserted us and indeed we nave seen nothing in the shape. of fish for some w*eks. The day before the storm, two large cetacious fish passed close to the vessel. The sailors called them the bottle nosed porpoise. I do not know what the scientific name is. They are light brown above, breaking off suddenly into snow-white belly and nozzle.

November 18. 1850. Many days and eten some weeks have passed since I last wrote in my journal. We have had a succession of rough and variable weather which has tried our tempers sadly, though it has not been without its amusements. One day a sailor succeeded in harpooning what he called a porpoise, but which was undoubtedly the real dolphin. By the time I reached the forecastle, it was hanging dead over the side and the harnoon had been cut out in doing which they had nearly cut the dolohin in half. We had a steak from it in the cuddy and all pronounced it good though not quite equal to beef steak. It is a pretty sight to watch the men striking at the dolphin: thev generally stand on the chain, holding on to the spar below the bowsprit and watch the porpoises rushing through the water before the bows of the vessel. When one passes near enough, down goes the harpoon which misses nine times out of ten, but should he succeed in striking his mark, the rope to which it is attached is instantly hauled on board. The sailors also succeeded in hooking a great albatross. It was a female and seemed in perfect plumage, and measured nine feet one inch from wing to wing. They also caught several cape pigeons. We are now stretching across the Southern Ocean and passed 100 miles to the north of Desolation Island in a dense fog. The weather is bitterly cold. The long time that has passed since meeting any vessels or sighting land, together with the nearly constant confinement to the cabin, combines to make this part of the voyage intolerably tedious, and we are all counting the days which we expect to elapse before we can hail the green hills -of New Zealand. There are a variety of wagers as to the time we shall arrive and we are in confident expectation of making the harbour 98 days from Plymouth, which will be below the average length of voyages. December 9th, 1850. For the last three weeks we have been driving through the Antarctic Sea with an almost uninterrupted succession of heavy

winds, wet, cold and sulky. We have had, however the consolation that except one luckless week, we have made a capital run, frequently more than 200 miles a day. We have been down far to the south, nearly 53 S. Latitude and were constantly on the lookout for icebergs but saw none. The cold was intense and snow and hail, which repeatedly fell, speedily forced us from our delusion that we would get two summers instead of one. We caught four dusky albatross measuring 6J feet from wing to wing. We are now running across the sea dividing New Zealand from Australia, though many hundreds of miles south of Van Dieman’s Land. A few days ago, we had a quarrel with some emigrants who struck work and gave us a good deal of trouble, but the assurance that the galley fire would be put out and no food cooked for them, together with the sight of the arms chest which was brought on deck, made them listen to Mr Kingdon’s advice and knock under in time to get their dinners. We earnestly hope to see land in the course of two days and may reach our destination in a week.

December 11th, 1850. This morning when I came on deck, I declared that I distinctly smelt the sea beach, and was laughed at accordingly. As the day advanced, however, several others thought they smelt it too, and at half past five the welcome sound of "Land Ahead” was heard. On our weather bow was seen a mountainous island 25 miles off. As may well be supposed, we were soon anxiously gazing on our future home and watching it as every moment it grew more and more distinct. It proved to be the southern point of Stewart’s Island, and seems well to deserve its reputation of beauty. I took a hasty sketch of it just as the sun was setting. To the south of the island lie 12 rocks called the Traps, and we are, I believe, going to pass between them and the land, but this will depend on the weather. To-night we had to welcome us to our new lome the most beautiful sunset we had evfer beheld, indeed neither tongue nor pencil would give the slightest dea of'its splendour. The sea is covered with a vast number of albatross, and our little friend the cape pigeon is again surrounding the ship.

(To be Continued.) The third YEARBOOK OF THE UNITED NATIONS, published by the Department of Public Information of the United Nations at Lake Success, is an invaluable work of reference. This volume, of 1171 pages, covers the period from September, 1948, to the end of 1949—which is rather more up-to-date than the year-books published by most national governments. The special value of this volume, however, lies not so much in the account of the expanding work of the organisation in this period—and the expansion and achievement have both been more substantial than most persons realise—but in the authoritative description of the functions, structure, and organisation of the United Nations General Assembly, the Security Council, the Trusteeship Council, the Economic and Social Council, the International Court of Justice, and the Secretariat, and the specialised agencies, commissions, and sub-commissions.

J. A. K. Hay terms SWAGGER JACK (Bookie No. 3 Nag’s Head Press. 68 pp) a Station Tale, a crucial amour in the life of Jack Entwhistle, whose academic genius in the matter of racehorses was first shown us in Bookie No. 1, produced in Christchurch as a counterblast to miscellanymindedness in our literary life. This makes mild fun of the station-verse convention and the current earnest vogue for balladmaking, but the author lurking behind “J. A. K. Hay” brings just enough seriousness to bear on his subject so that a luke-Byronic tale results, authentically “cbok-house” and classically garrulous.