FIFTY YEARS AGO

Otago Witness, Issue 3829, 2 August 1927, Page 77

FIFTY YEARS AGO

By

R. S.

(Special fob the Otago Witness.) Having been pretty constantly on the wing by land and sea for a matter of 55 years or so, it is not surprising that one should have occasionally encountered what our American cousins term a “ close call,” even in the linrited area afforded by the confines of those tight little islands of the Southern Seas.

A fairly ■well-filled list of such narrow squeaks has fallen to the share of the writer, principally on land, but there have been one or two experiences in deep water which, occurring over 50 years ago, made a lifelong impression on my youthful mind, and therewith a sympathetic feeling towards those who have to brave the dangers of the deep year after year in pursuit of their ordinary calling. Brought from the Old Country under the watchful guardianship of an affectionate mother who had had the sad

experience of having lost at sea a father, only brother, and a host of near and dear relations, I was carried ashore at

Port Chalmers when little more than a

yearling—to use the expressive phraseology of the horse and cattle breeders. That the mater neglected no_ opportunity of impressing on my youthful mind the many dreadful happenings that fell to the lot of toilers of the sea, in her anxiety to keep me from risking finding a home bn —or in—the “ rolling deep as so many of her people had had the bad luck to do, is not to be wondered at, but the mothers of those early times had a multitude of household duties to attend to, frequently unaided, which would cause consternation in the ranks of the “generals” of the present day if they should be asked to do them; hence it was impossible for even the most devoted mothers to do more than give an occasional call to see that all was going well with their young charges. Every healthy, adventurous child has, in its time, at least a few narrow escapes from being killed, or maimed for life, md it is really wonderful that so many of them survive the various means afforded them to “ cross the border.” I

had no recollection of the long sea voyage from Home to New Zealand; and, as I had been told not to entertain any notion

of becoming a sailor, I was intensely interested in all connected with the sea,

and lost no opportunity of visiting the Ocean Beach, to watch the great waves tower into the air and thunder on to the sand with a boom that could be heard for miles in calm weather. A ducking in the harbour and a tumble into a well were, in beyhood days, the nearest approaches to self-destruction until about my eighteenth year, and it was with mixed feelings of curiosity and dread of an encounter with that bugbear of the amateur tripper —seasickness — that I stepped on board the old s.s. Stormbird at Dunedin, outward bound, on business connected with my calling, to the Bluff and thence inland. I had often speculated ars to what a trip on the ocean was like; this was to be the end of guessing and the start of the real thing. The start of the voyage was an “ all right ” proposition, and just to my liking. There was a stiff northerly wind, but it gave no indication of the gale that was blowing outside the Heads. After parading the deck for a time, I was induced by the cold breeze to seek the shelter of the little snuggery dignified by the appellation of “ saloon,” and I began to think that, if this was deep-sea travelling, it was a much more pleasant and steady-going outing than I had been lerl to believe. A young man, at the time the only other occupant of the saloon, who was stretched on a lounge, reading a yellowback, said that he had just landed from England, and, even if the weather grew much more stormy, he felt quite sure that he was too thoroughly seasoned to be affected by it. He reckoned without his host, however, and so, also, did I, for we were not, as we thought, outside, but. only approaching Otago Heads; and, just after he had given the above assurance, we arrived in deep water with a smashing shock which made me think that the steamer had run ashore. After a few seconds’ pause the little boat apparently succeeded in lifting her nose, and started climbing skyward, to judge by the slant of the cabin floor, and presently, having reached the crest of a mighty wave, after another brief hut awful pause, again shot downwards with tremendous velocity, apparently landing on the bottom of the ocean with a terrific crash which suggested that the engines and cargo had broken bounds end escaped through her sides. In the interim my fellow-passenger and I had not been idle—it was impossible to be idle just then. We had been jolted and tossed about like tennis balls, and w’hen we at last managed to put a stop to our unpleasant acrobatic performances by hanging on to some saloon fixtures, the much-travelled young man gasped:

“ In all my experiences I never struck anything like this, and I—” He was not allowed to finish the sentence; he had probably intended retiring to his berth, but a convulsive heave underfoot at that moment propelled him from the

saloon out of sight in some direction. I was too busy clinging to my own moorings to take an interest in him. A smoke-dried little man, the Malay steward, appeared on the scene, and started an unsteady pursuit of various dining-table plates, cruets, and other articles, which ha<V broken adrift and were making a great racket on the saloon floor. He seemed considerably disturbed in mind, and, as he staggered and capsized in different corners, rounding up his runaway utensils, he stated that he had been for years in boats on the New Zealand coast, and had never before experienced such a gale, so evidently it was “ some blow ’. ” It being a northerly wind, the steamer steadied up a bit when we got well clear of the Heads and turned southwards, but it certainly was far from a pleasant trip, and was a rough introduction to the realms of Father Neptune. In those days travelling by sea was a widely different thing from the steamboat trip of the present day; the vessels then employed in the coastal trade were not provided with engines of sufficient power to make headway against heavy weather. Later on the Stormbird had 20ft added to her length, but at the time of which I write she was probably about 30 tons burden, and her height out of the water was out of all proportion to her length; she towered above the water like a castle, and was certainly not built on lines that promised speed, but on that eventful night she was said to have put up a record (for the Stormbird) from Otago Heads to the Bluff. The passage can best be described by saying that the steamer stood on her head, with the propeller whizzing round well clear of the water most of the way. With a dreadful sinking sensation at the pit of the stomach, induced by the mad antics of the little vessel, I crawled miserably from the saloon to the deck, appearing there just in time to meet a heavy sea, which coiled me up and rolled me against the leeward bulwark, from which unenviable position I had sufficient sense and energy left to make a frantic struggle to the windward side, where 1 was clear of the water for a time at least, and watched three or four sailors up aloft, clinging to the yardarms in an

attempt, which after a time was successful, to get a bit of sail up to keep the steamer from pitching bow under. 1 could onlv see the dim outlines of the

men as they clung to the yards, which were almost tipping the crests of the waves as she rolled, with the white foam shewing up against the dark background all round us, but it seemed a risky job, and I felt relieved when it was finished and the men climbed back to the deck. Someone near at hand said that the vessel was running more easily. I did not feel it so, but I was long past argument. Presently a huge figure, that of Captain Charles Fraser, who, with his great bulk and mass of yellow, windblown hair, always brought to my mind the old tales of the ancient Norsemen, tramped fairly steadily along the uncertain deck, and, seating himself on the skylight, started crooning a remarkable, wordless ditty which seemed never end ing. To this he kept time with the taps of his sea-boots on the deck, and, soothed by the music of this sweet lullaby, I fell asleep. Oh, yes! someone certainly had engaged a berth for me, but, miserably cold and sick, I could not endure the comparatively warm, close atmosphere below, and 1 never asked for my cabin. Four or five years later, when better seasoned through the agency of many short coastal trips, I had another experience of a rude shaking up at sea which went perilously near to ending tragically, although the recollection of it has afforded me many a hearty laugh in later years. Just about 50 years ago the Union Shipping Company had put a little paddle steamer, the Samson, on the run from Port Chalmers to Oamaru. It was and has been my only experience of an open water trip in a paddlesteamer, and after the experience I registered a vow, “Never again,” as I stepped ashore on the breakwater at Oamaru. It was a lovely evening in the fall of | the year when I carried my bag aboard the Samson at Port Chalmeis, en route for the White Stone City and inquired about a bunk. Of course, sleeping accommodation was, as usual, just about full up; there was no room in the cabins, but the little Malay steward, who looked suspiciously like the steward of the Stormbird episode, pointed' out an upper berth roost in the saloon, and I slung my bag I and overcoat into it. and went on deck for a stroll before turning in. We had dinner, I think, between Port Chalmers and the Heads, and shortly afterwards, feeling drowsy, I climbed up to my bunk and slept so soundly and so long that we were close to Oamaru breakwater when there came a tremendous jolt, which would have shot me from the upper bunk to the cabin floor had I not instinctively grasped the brass rod in front and stopped further headway. It was afterwards explained that the steamer was not far from the breakwater, when a sudden squall came off Wanbrow Head with terrific force, caught the steamer under her paddle box, and threw her on her beam-ends, causing her to drift in this disabled state out of sight of the land. Be that as it may, it was undoubtedly a rough awakening from a sound sleep, and was followed by a series of strange happenings. Feeling quite secure with a good grip of the bed rail, I held a good position to view what the newspapers term the “ animated scene ” beneath me. With surprising suddenness passengers in considerable numbers tumbled out of the bunks in the saloon, or came stumbling out of the side corridors into where there was more elbow room, each one carrying some por-

tion of his rigout, and proceeded to dress themselves as well as it was possible under the circumstances. This was no easy task, as the floor was steeply angled, and was surging about at a great rate. Just on the heels of the first rush there came through a side passage doorway a man whom 1 knew by sight. He was a horse owner and, I think, bookmaker; and was credited with the command of a ready flow of blasphemy, when he considered that- it was necessary to use it, which left far behind all his fellowbookies, with one notable exception. As I shall now have to deal principally with this fello.w-passenger, I shall henceforth refer to him as W . When he first appeared clinging to the jamb of the entrance opposite me he cast a fear-stricken glance round the cabin, and I am convinced the man thought that the vessel had turned completely over; added to this, the tremendous roar of the gale; the plunging of the steamer; and the racket caused by the paddle wheel on the weather side, which was well clear of the sea, and was racing at a furious speed, altogether combined to strike terror to the heart of poor W , and to my surprise he dropped to his knees, and linking his arm through the bracket of a lounge beside him as a stay, he began to pray in a very rapid and excited fashion. Though astonished at a prayer emanating from such a source. I bowed my head and prepared to listen reverently to his appeal, but the first few words uttered by W , I regret to confess, put all rever-

ent thought completely out of my mind, and caused me quite to forget the serious plight we were in. “Oh, God,” prayed W , “ only give me a chance of getting safely ashore, and I promise never again to go to sea ” What he would have said in addition was rudely interrupted; the howl of delight with which I greeted this extraordinary start stampeded the men dressing on the cabin floor, who scattered like rats, evidently thinking that fear had driven me mad. Continuous loud laughter must have sounded evidence of insanity at such a moment, and when I had recovered sufficiently to see and hear it was to find that W bad risen to his feet and again clinging with one hand to the jamb of the doorway, was pointing an admonitory forefinger at me, and saying impressively : “ Young man, can you laugh in that way when in another few minutes you may be in the presence of your God ?” “Oh! I know,” I sobbed. “But that prayer is the most extraordinary utterance imaginable. What interest do you think the Almighty can take in whether you go to sea again or not?”

Further discussion of the matter was ended by a timely interruption. Captain Jones’s tremendous voice echoed above all the hideous noise. “ Batten down the hatches and keep those fellows below!” In a moment my fellow-passengers were elbowing and scrambling up the steps to the deck; those who had not succeeded in fully dressing carrying parts of their clothing with them. W , to His credit, kept me in mind. “Come on, young fellow,” lie cried. “It’s our only chance; don't stay below to be drowned like a rat.” It was at least warm in the saloon, and I stayed there. There must be an end tr all things earthly, and there was accordingly an end to this little contretemps. The squall gradually subsided, and the steamer recovered her equilibrium, and after a tedious battle against a heavy sea landed her passengers safely on the Oamaru breakwater. I sighted W—— only once again. A year or two after the “ shipwreck ” I went, into the Terminus Hotel at Christchurch to have a parting drink with a friend who was leaving by train. The hotel bar was partitioned off into small compartments, so that from one to four customers could enjoy comparative privacy. The sound of a voice that seemed familiar came from an adjoining compartment, and, looking round the nartit:on, I discovered W talking, as usual at high pressure to a companion, who was standing partly turned away, apparently listening intently. I couldn’t resist the temptation : putting my hand op his shoulder. I asked as he looked round: “Ever been at sea since we last met?” A ghost-seeing expression came in his eyes; he put his glass on the counter, and walked out of the bar without making a reply. So quietly did he go that his friend did not know until, no longer hearing the voice, he looked round surprised to find that he had left. I have never forgotten W *s prayer. That a man who habitually blasphemed the Almighty, and who was, apparently, quite callous on the subject of a future state, should turn when panic-stricken to beg for mercy’ from the God Whom he has continuously offended is an anomaly that is difficult of explanation. The prayer as an exhibition of ignorance in matters religious, and as an example of utter selfishness, is very hard to beat.