AFLOAT IN A TRY-POT

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22350, 22 February 1936, Page 27 (Supplement)

AFLOAT IN A TRY-POT

BY LONEHANDER

AUTHENTIC STORIES

Some years back I casually mentioned the case of a man getting away from his ship in a try-pot, or big cast-iron boiler, one of the kind used by the oldtime whalers for trying out the blubber of whales. The story of this old pot belongs to Russell's early days, when shore whaling stations wero in existence at several places about the Bay of Islands.

The story goes that Jim Moss was a foremast hand on the whaling barque Jasper of New Bedford, and one day, while the ship lay at anchor off tho old settlement, then generally called Kororareka by old residents, Moss went aft and asked Captain Rotch for his discharge. The skipper of the Jasper was known throughout the fleet as a hard man, but 011' this occasion he belied his reputation, for he good-humouredly told Moss that he could go on shore in the deck-pot, and, if he made a safe passage, his discharge and a rig-out of clothing would be given him. Tradition says that the adventurous whaler paddled safely to the shore, and Captain Rotch kept strictly to his bargain. The pot was afterwards sold to a storekeeper at Russell for £4, and was first used as a try-pot at Deep Water Cove, then a whaling station manned by Ngapuhi Maoris, with a European boatheader in charge of the gang. From the cove, Moss' unique wherry went to another whaling station a few miles westward of the Cavalli Islands. The Maoris called the place Motueka, which probably would be Flat Island, well known to yachtsmen generally. An uncle of mine served as a boat-header at this station, and he used to tell some interesting stories of the old whaling days. A Joke and a Pig At Motueka the chief boat-header, who was also head of the establishment, was a typical old-timer, and one of his pet possessions was a big fat pig, which lie intended to make bacon of—but not while tho whaling was on. One day the old man took more grog than lie could take care of, and, while he was sleeping it off, the next in authority gave orders for the pig to be killed. At first there was a job to find a man game enough to do the butchering. Finally, after all hands had joined in the conspiracy, the pig was killed, and one of the boat-headers broke a big camp-oven, and damaged a lot of the kitchen gear The next morning the first thing that caught the eye of the boss, was a wellbutchered pig hanging to the liitob of a tree near the cookhouse door. Presently he wanted to know who gave orders for the pig to bo killed. "Why, you did!" said the boat-header, "and you broke a camp-oven and pretty well wrecked the cookhouse. Ask the men if you don't believe me." And the boatheader left it at that. When the station at Motueka was abandoned the pot became the property of Captain Irving, the original of the family of Bay of Islanders of that name. Captain Irving was a noted builder of whale-boats of the colonial pattern, which in early tunes were all rowingboats. Irving's station was in a small bay, not far from Howe Point, on the north side of the Bay of Islands. The Marsden Cross is on the west side of the range that overlooks the bay. It was at this place that I first saw the pot and heard how it came there. A Lucky Oatch

When 1 was quite young and my brothers still younger, we had a whaleboat, and all the gear needed to tackle a full-sized whale, but not the ability that came later At this time I had two uncles who were experienced whalers, and after much persuasion they agreed to go out for a week or so and try for a while. But a one-boat outfit was not to their liking, although there were other parties on the different look-outs. However, we went, and managed to get the only whale that was taken that season.

The late Mr. J. B. Macfarlane had a properly fitted-out gang of experienced whalers, whose headquarters were at Captain Irving's old station, and it was there that we took our whale, after the most punishing tow of my experience. In the old days the towing was the hardest part of shore-whaling, and at its worst when only one boat was employed. It was hard luck for the professional whalers to stand by and watch a picnic party towing a whale into the bay, and harder still to watch the blubber boiling in the big try-pots, one of which was the deck-pot from .the Jasper, then on its third site in this country. When Cook Brothers re-established the Whangamumu whaling station, the pot that Jim Moss landed from was set 1141 at this old-time station, and 1 believe it is still there. Who were the first whalers at Whangamumu is not known to the present writer, but as far back as 1 can remember my father and liis brothers were stationed there during the winter months. From old whaling records I learn that this was previous to 1860. A Tale o! Utu

At this time my parents owned and managed tho Pacific Hotel, which in those days was much favoured by tho travelling public. However, it was from something that happened in tho bar that I can remember that my father had to leave for tho whaling station. Ten o'clock was the closing time, and, as usual, the bar had been cleared by force. On this occasion a young Ngapuhi chief, who had been forcibly ejected, put his bare foot in the doorway and dared my father to shut the door. I was in bed and asleep at this time, but the door was shut, and the Maori lost part of one of his big toes. This was a big insult, and no 0110 knew it better than my father. On the following day tho clear space in front of the bar, which has never been built 011 since Kororareka was sacked during Hoke's war, was covered with Maoris. 1 remember that the chiefs of the different hapus, then at Kororareka, sat in a big ring on the grass, and discussed tho affair from tho point of view of the native idea :>f things. What I know of tho Maori has been learned since then, and the Maori has to have utu (payment) in some shape or other. My father, being a half-caste, knew this, and never worried himself about the happening of the previous night until he was ready to leave for the whaling station. He then went behind the bar and picked up a small keg of rum, carried it to tho centre of the ring, and stood it up. Not a word was spoken by anybody. "This is the utu—take it or leave it," was plain to tho Maori mind. I followed my father to tho beach and watched until his boat disappeared round the point. Of any other happenings that took place about that time 1 have no recollection whatever, but the keg of rum and the big ring of Maori chiefs will be always one of memory's pictures. Tho story of Moss and the deckpot is hearsay, but as I myself have tested one of the same kind of pot, there is nothing against the story.