UNDER SAIL AND STEAM

Greymouth Evening Star, 30 August 1934, Page 3

UNDER SAIL AND STEAM

FIFTY YEARS OF ADVENTURE Fire at sea in the old days was bad enough in any case, but with thii tv tons of dynamite in the hold . . . This was one of the experiences that befel Captain G. J. Whitfield, now commander of the Arundel Castle, before he left sail for steam. He was second mate in the Jessie Stowe, a squarerigged bai’Que of 600 tons—thirty times smaller than his present vessel. They were in the middle of the Atlantic, he tells us, a thousand miles from land, when fire broke out: — For twelve hours the fire raged, creeping nearer and nearer to the magazine where the deadly dynamite was stored. . n 1 “The sole thought in our minds during these terrible hours was that at any moment we might be blown to eternity. The boats were provisioned and lowered, but as we knew there was little hope of escape in that direction, we fought the fire until the flames were actually licking the sides of the magazine.” ' But towards dusk they got the fire under . . . Just in time.

Nor was this the only adventure on board the Jessie Stowe. The captain was a madman who seemed bent on wrecking his ship. Although a squall was rising, he crowded on, all sail. Every man was aloft when the squall hit them with terrific force: — ’’ “We slid down the ropes like terrified monkeys, no man waiting to use the rigging. “Over she heeled, down, down, down, until her lee rail was under the water and up to the weather scuppers. "“Still down, down, the seas leaping high over her. '' ".She was completely on her beam

ends. ' ■“.lncredible though it may seem, we could’have walked upright on the outside hull of the ship.” " .Fortunately, the mainsail tore to ribbons;’ followed by the other sails, ajid the ship slowly righted herself. “ (to ‘the same voyage, in Cleveland Bay, Queensland, Captain Whitfield and four companions were returning from shore when their boat capsized. They spent nine hours clinging to the side in the shark-infested water before being rescued by a steamer. ■ “Later’ - that day we read in < the Townsville ‘Gazette’ that our timely rescue was only due to a chance remark let fall by a passenger on the steamer to the chief officer who was passing by; The report read: “ ‘Look, chief! Five crows sitting on a plank. I’ve never seen these birds at sea' before.’ ‘‘The chief officei’ . levelled his glasses: '“Crows! My god! It's five men’s heads.’ ”

But even shipwreck can have its humorous side. Captain Whitfield was chief officer of the Newark Castle when she struck a submerged rock off Natal in 1908. The ship was abandoned, but later, the third officer, finding her still afloat, boarded her again. He was amazed to find the lonely, pyjama-clad figure of a man crawling along the deserted decks. “Watsh the meaning of thish, officer?” ~ he hiccupped indignantly. “Wheresli all. the blankerty" blank stewards)! ?”

It appears that he had had one over the eight when ' he boarded the vessel at Durban and liad immediately turned in.'"

Despite the iloise, commotion and

the list of the ship, he had blissfully slept through it all, and it was only with th'e greatest difficulty that the third officer was able to persuade him to leave the vessel. One pitch black night Captain Whitfield, then second officer of the Avondale Castle, was hugging the South African coast, when he was joined on the bridge by the captain. He had just reported that all was well, when through the night air we heard the distant crow of a cockerel, followed hy a chorus of others.” “Good God! We’re nearly ashore,” yelled the old man. “Hard a-port! — hard a-port!” She immediately answered her helm and stood out to sea. “What’s the matter, sir?” I asked, amazed. “Matter! Matter!” he spluttered. "Heavens, man, we’re ashore—can’t you hear the damned chickens crowing?’’ “Yes, sir,” I answered, shaking with silent laughter, “they’re on. the poop deck, we took them on at Algoa Bay for Durban yesterday morning.”

HOW’ MUTINY WAS QUELLED Captain Whitfield crammed enough thrills into his first voyage as an apprentice to last most people for a lifetime. Fire was followed by mutiny, because some of the men thought the ship was not fit to sail round the Horn. The chief mutineer, a man named Cassey, was defying the captain, when "with one flying leap the second mate sprang over the poop taffrail on to the deck, an iron belaying pin clenched in one great fist. "With a smashing blow he opened Cassey’s skull from crown to chin and sent him "unconscious into the' scuppers. Striking right and left with terrific force, he felled the other, two ringleaders in the same Way, and before the'"‘mob’ had time to recover from the surprise and fury of Mr. Owen’s onslaught, the Old Man, the mate, the bo’sun, sailmaker and senior apprentices' were in among them.” ' In the end authority won and order was restored. ’’But some of the men still nursed’ a grudge against Owen, the second mate. He narrowly escaped death on several occasions through “accidents,” until one day “a long, steel',’'dagger-pointed marline spike, used for splicing ropes/whistled down from the topsail yard and buried it ; self inches deep info the deck almost between the second mate’s feet, the wind created by its descent blowing off liis'cap. . . ’Now,’ as a. rule, Mr. Owen was a most excitable man, ' but On tins occasion he quietly picked up his cap, fugged’ the quivering, spike out of-the deck and threw’ the latter into the'scuppers.” Then he called down the only man who could have been responsible aud gave him such'a thrashing.' that no more “accidents” occurred.

This mate, in spite of his bravery, must have been an uncomfortable shipmate. One freezing night young Whitfield went on deck muffled up ip a thick, brass-buttoned monkey jacket: — ‘Come'liere,'Whftfieid!’ No sooner did 1 reach' the deck than the deep boom of the second mate hailed me. “Wonderingiy, my conscience reviewing my' many■ miscievous misdeeds, I climbed on the poop and stood before him. He gazed at me silently.fpr a mean ent; "then shooting put" one great paw’ he grabbed my monkey : jacket.' and with one wrenchjill my beautiful

brass buttons flew into the air “ ‘Bare thy bosom to the storm, sir,’ he growled, as he gave me a soft pat which jarred every muscle in my body.” In those days depleted crews were often made up with men “shanghaied” in the docks. The most notorious “agent” in San Francisco was Shanghai Brown, who, it was said, had even shanghaied his own father. Nemesis overtook him at last, however, for a rival gang caught him one day without his usual bodyguard and he himself was shanghaied. When he came to far out at sea most of the sailors in the ship had been his victims 'at one time or another, and he was never heard of again. During the Boer War the Dunottar Castle, of which Captain Whitfield was third officer, carried Lord Roberts to Capetown. His favourite charger, Prince Charlie, went top. and figured in a mystery. He was housed in a horsebox so narrow that it was- impossible for a horse to lie down or turn round. One night, driving through a heavy south-westerly gale in the Bay of Biscay, shipping heavy seas, all the horses, as usual, had their heads facing inboard —including Prince Charlie. Much to the ship’s amazement, in the morning, the black head of Prince Charlie was missing from the row of his comrades, and in its place was his round rump and switching tail . . . How on earth did he get round? Turning a complete somersault wouldn’t have done it. Then how? If he had fallen on his back he must have been in that position in the morning, as it was impossible for him to twist round without breaking his legs. But the “vet” found nim absolutely unhurt. " And nobody could explain the mystery!

Captain Whitfield was commanding the Armadale Castle when, carryingnine hundred souls and four racehorses, she hit a fierce gale iir the Bay of Biscay: “That was a bad storm we had yesterday, sailor,” said one passenger, addressing an old Cockney shellback—“was the ship in danger?” “Danger, sir! Blimme, I should fink it was,” he replied, then in a confidential. whisper, he muttered, hoarsely, “The Old Man ’as to be werry careful, sir—we ’ave four valuable, racelosses aboard.”