
* A Project Gutenberg Canada Ebook *

This ebook is made available at no cost and with very few
restrictions. These restrictions apply only if (1) you make
a change in the ebook (other than alteration for different
display devices), or (2) you are making commercial use of
the ebook. If either of these conditions applies, please
check gutenberg.ca/links/licence.html before proceeding.

This work is in the Canadian public domain, but may be
under copyright in some countries. If you live outside Canada,
check your country's copyright laws. IF THE BOOK IS UNDER
COPYRIGHT IN YOUR COUNTRY, DO NOT DOWNLOAD
OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS FILE.

Title: The Venturesome Voyages of Captain Voss
Author: Voss, John Claus (1858-1922)
Photographer: Powell, H. Price
Date of first publication: 1913
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: Martin Hopkinson, 1934
   [Reprint of 1930 "First Cheap Edition": includes
   some elements not found in the 1913 first edition]
Date first posted: 26 September 2010
Date last updated: 26 September 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #624

This ebook was produced by: Al Haines




[Illustration: The Pacific Ocean, showing courses of _Xora_, _Tilikum_,
and _Sea Queen_]





[Frontispiece: _TILIKUM_, NEW PLYMOUTH, N.Z., JUNE 1903]




THE VENTURESOME

VOYAGES OF

CAPTAIN VOSS



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

WESTON MARTYR




MARTIN HOPKINSON LTD.

23 SOHO SQUARE LONDON




  First Edition  . . . . . Yokohama 1913
  Second Edition . . . . . London 1926
  First Cheap Edition  . . London 1930
  Reprinted  . . . . . . . London 1934


PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

LOWE AND BRYDONE PRINTERS LTD., LONDON, N.W.1.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED




{v}

[Transcriber's note: the introduction by Weston Martyr (1885-1966)
has been omitted from this etext because of copyright issues.]


{xii}

PUBLISHERS' NOTE

The text of this edition is reprinted from a copy of the first edition
kindly lent to the Publishers by Mr. Durrell Hall, of Boston,
Massachusetts, and the Publishers wish to record their indebtedness for
assistance to Mr. F. Stone, of Yokohama, to Mr. H. Price Powell, on
whose property _Tilikum_ lay for many years, and whose photograph of
her is reproduced, and to Messrs. A. W. and E. Byford, the present
owners of _Tilikum_.

They would also draw attention to the note about the lines of
_Tilikum_, printed in the List of Illustrations.




{xiii}

CONTENTS

                                                                 PAGE

INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    v


I.  SEVEN MILLION POUNDS STERLING

CHAP.

      I.  A Chance of a Lifetime . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    1
     II.  In a Sloop on the High Seas  . . . . . . . . . . . . .    7
    III.  Encounter with the First Gale  . . . . . . . . . . . .   15
     IV.  Hunting Experiences--San Blas--Disappointing News  . .   21
      V.  Arrival at Cocos Island  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   27
     VI.  History of the Great Treasure--Where is it
            hidden?--Prospecting and its Difficulties  . . . . .   33
    VII.  Short of Provisions--Leaving without having lifted
            the Veil--The South American Coast . . . . . . . . .   41


II.  FORTY THOUSAND MILES IN A CANOE

      I.  An Adventurous Proposition . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   46
     II.  Vancouver Island . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   50
    III.  With the Indians . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   55
     IV.  Into the Wide Pacific--Sea-going Qualities
            of the _Tilikum_ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   60
      V.  The Calm Belt--Land in Sight!  . . . . . . . . . . . .   69
     VI.  Penrhyn Island . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   76
    VII.  Manahiki . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   86
   VIII.  Danger Island--Samoa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   94
     IX.  Niua-Fu--Fiji Islands  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   98
      X.  To the Australian Continent--Disastrous Voyage . . . .  103
     XI.  Sydney . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  114
    XII.  A Genuine Fortune-teller . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  122
   XIII.  A Lawsuit  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  135
    XIV.  Repairing a Wreck--An Overland Haul--With an
            Intoxicated Crew off for Adelaide  . . . . . . . . .  142
     XV.  A Sad Recollection at Hobart--Running too long and
          its Consequence--The Albatross . . . . . . . . . . . .  147

{xiv}

    XVI.  Arrival at New Zealand--Oysters and what they
            effected--The City of the "Mac's"  . . . . . . . . .  152
   XVII.  Christchurch--A Practical Demonstration  . . . . . . .  157
  XVIII.  Where is the Light?--My First Lecture--An Amusing
            Incident--Meeting with Maoris  . . . . . . . . . . .  162
    XIX.  Wanganui--Ladies on Board--A Wet Afternoon . . . . . .  167
     XX.  A Gale in Cook Strait and an Uncomfortable
            Night--New Plymouth  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  171
    XXI.  Nelson--The _Tilikum_ as a Mail-boat--"Pelorus Jack" .  174
   XXII.  Historical Reminiscences--Auckland--The Ambitions
            of Mr. Buckridge--Engaging a Fresh Mate  . . . . . .  180
  XXIII.  Leaving New Zealand--A Sea of Rocks--Crossing my
            Former Course: Flag half-masted--Savage Islands:
            Missionary and Trader  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  187
   XXIV.  The Great Barrier Reef--The Pearl and Bche-de-mer
            Fishing Industries of Thursday Island--A "Cure or
            Kill" Remedy--Marine Life Extraordinary  . . . . . .  199
    XXV.  In Sight of the Cocos Keeling Islands--A
            Miscalculation and its Consequences--Tropical
            Rains--The New Zealand Fruit Cake arrives, but
            at the Wrong Destination . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  207
   XXVI.  Exciting Fishing Experiences--The Devil in the
            Cockpit!--A Luxurious Breakfast--Rodriguez
            Island--The Effects of a Cyclone . . . . . . . . . .  214
  XXVII.  Another Miscalculation and a Meagre Xmas Dinner--Sad
            News received at Durban--Unexpected Vindication
            and Meeting of an Old Friend--The _Tilikum_
            as a Mountain Climber  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  220
 XXVIII.  Johannesburg--"Mac the Boar-hunter," another
            Surprise--Success in Life and how it was gained  . .  227
   XXIX.  What happened to the _Tilikum_ in Landlocked
            Pretoria--Engaging a Mate Again--Genuine "Cape
            Hopers"--Leaving Cape Town . . . . . . . . . . . . .  235
    XXX.  Culinary Presents and why my Mate did not care for
            them--St. Helena--Pernambuco--My Contract
            fulfilled--Changing the Flag . . . . . . . . . . . .  241
   XXXI.  Bound for London--The Atlantic Calm Belt--What the
            _Tilikum_ did for my Mate--When Ships meet on the
            High Seas--Short of Provisions--Boat and Crew in
            Quarantine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  247
  XXXII.  The Azores--A Royal Reception--Two Excursions--A
            Mule as Disturber of the Peace--Leaving the
            Hospitable Shores  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  253
 XXXIII.  The _Colonial Empire_--Arrival in England and a
            Hearty Welcome!  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  259

{xv}

III.  _SEA QUEEN_

  CHAPTER I  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  262
  CHAPTER II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  276
  IN CONCLUSION  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  296


APPENDIX

   1.  The Speed, Height, and Danger of Breaking Wind Waves  . .  300

   2.  In what Size of Vessel is it safe to Heave to Under
         Sail in Bad Weather?  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  303

   3.  The Proper Time to Heave to when Running before a Strong
         Wind and Sea  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  303

   4.  How to Heave to when Running Under Sail . . . . . . . . .  304

   5.  What Storm Sails should be carried in a Gale, and how
         to Set Them . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  305

   6.  What Signs assure the Master that his Ship is properly
         Hove to in a Gale, and thus Safe from Shipping Seas . .  306

   7.  The Drift of a Vessel when Hove to under Storm Sails  . .  306

   8.  How to Heave to Small Vessels of about Twenty-five to
         Fifty Feet in Length, under Storm Sails in a Moderate
         Gale  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  306

   9.  Why Small Vessels should Heave to under Sea Anchor and
         Riding Sail in a Heavy Gale . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  307

  10.  The Best Kinds and Dimensions of Sea Anchor suited to
         Different Sizes of Vessels  . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  307

  11.  The Best Kind of Cable for the Sea Anchor, with Regard
         to Material and Length, and how to Fasten the Same  . .  310

  12.  How to bring a Small Vessel's Head to Sea without
         Shipping Heavy Water . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 310

  13.  How a Small Vessel should Lie, under a Sea Anchor and
         Riding Sail, in a Heavy Gale, so as to keep Dry and
         Comfortable . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  310

  14.  How to Secure the Rudder when Hove to under Sea Anchor
         and Riding Sail . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  311

  15.  The Drift of a Small Vessel when Hove to under Sea Anchor
         and Riding Sail . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  312

  16.  How to Cross Surf Breakers in a Boat or Launch  . . . . .  312

  17.  What Gear should be Carried in Lifeboats Aboard Ships,
         for the Safety of Shipwrecked People  . . . . . . . . .  313

  18.  Various Indications of the Typhoon which appeared on
         August 31st, 1912, its Violence, the Seas Encountered,
         etc.  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  314

  19.  How to Manage a Small Vessel in a Typhoon . . . . . . . .  316

  20.  The Effect of Oil on Breaking Seas in Heavy Gales, and
         what Kind may be Expected to Give the Best Result . . .  316

Some Remarks on Loading and Ballasting . . . . . . . . . . . . .  318

Reflections on Steamship Disasters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  319

INDEX  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  323




{xvi}

ILLUSTRATIONS


_Tilikum_, at New Plymouth, N.Z., June 1903  . . . . . .  _Frontispiece_

Captain J. C. Voss . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   _To face page_ 64

_Tilikum_ in 1926  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .       "     "   100

_Tilikum_ under Sail . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .       "     "   158

_Tilikum_ at Canvey Island, 1911 . . . . . . . . . .       "     "   222
  (_From a photograph by Mr. H. Price Powell_)

_Sea Queen_ under Sail . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .       "     "   264

The Crew of the _Sea Queen_  . . . . . . . . . . . .       "     "   294

Sea Anchors  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .       "     "   308



MAPS

The Pacific Ocean, showing courses of _Xora_, _Tilikum_,
  and _Sea Queen_  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  _Front end papers_

Indian and Atlantic Oceans, showing course of _Tilikum_
                                                       _Back end papers_




{1}

SEVEN MILLION POUNDS STERLING


CHAPTER I

A CHANCE OF A LIFETIME

My seafaring life commenced in the year 1877, when I was quite a young
man, and was spent, up to the time I sailed in the _Xora_, in large
sailing vessels, during which period I have filled all sorts of
positions from deck boy up to master.

Throughout all those years I would certainly not have believed that a
vessel so small as the _Xora_ could live through a heavy gale at sea,
and, naturally enough, should not have thought of attempting a long sea
voyage in any small craft, had it not been for a gentleman, whose name
was George Haffner, an American citizen.

In the summer of 1897, when I was sitting comfortably in an easy chair
in the Queen's Hotel, Victoria, British Columbia, a gentleman stepped
up to me, saying, "Are you Captain Voss?"  I replied in the
affirmative.  He then introduced himself as Mr. Haffner, handing me at
the same time a letter, saying that it was from an old friend of mine,
whose death had taken place at sea just fourteen days previously, and
with whom he had stayed during his last moments.

The letter ran as follows:--


"Dear friend John,--You will be surprised to learn that I am now lying
on my deathbed.  Yes, dear friend, we are at present a long way out on
the Pacific Ocean, and {2} I shall never be able to see land any more,
but shall be buried at sea like a dog, and the Pacific Ocean will be my
grave.

"The bearer of this note is Mr. George Haffner, who knows the position
where the great treasure lies on Cocos Island.  Believe in him, and he
will make you a rich man.  Excuse my short note, because I am very
weak.  Kindly remember me to all my old friends and believe me,--Your
dying friend, JIM DEMPSTER."


About five months previous to this meeting with Haffner, a Victoria
sealing schooner of about seventy-five tons had been chartered by
several enterprising men of Victoria, of whom Dempster was one, for the
purpose of sailing down to Cocos Island to make a search for the great
treasure, supposed to be buried on that island.

[Sidenote: A treasure hunt]

Haffner was in possession of a permit, issued by the Costa Rica
Government, to secure the treasure if found by him, and he stated that
when this sealing schooner, called the _Aurora_, arrived at Cocos
Island, he had already been on the island for nine months, during which
time he had vigorously searched for the treasure and had located the
same.  Surprised at this, I asked him dubiously why he had not taken
the treasure back to Victoria in the _Aurora_.  He explained that
having arrived at Cocos Island by the Costa Rica supply boat which
undertakes a trip every six months to supply the guard on the island
with provisions, he met the crew of the _Aurora_.  Not knowing anything
of their intentions, besides not liking the captain, he did not feel
disposed to disclose his secret as to where the treasure was buried.

He continued:

"Meanwhile the crew of the _Aurora_ worked with all their might and
made excavations in many places without, {3} however, having the
slightest success.  Finally the men got tired and dissatisfied at
having come on a wild goose chase.  Besides, their provisions ran
short, so they were compelled to return to Victoria, giving me a
passage at the same time.

"Shortly after our departure from Cocos Island Dempster became ill, and
as a passenger on board I volunteered to nurse him.  I did all I
possibly could for him, but he grew worse and worse, so that it was
soon plain to me that he would shortly succumb.

"Not knowing anybody in Victoria and not being a sailor myself, I
thought of getting in touch with a responsible person in Victoria who
would join me on an expedition to Cocos Island to bring away the
treasure.  So I decided to confide the news that I had found the
treasure to Dempster.

"Greatly surprised at this, he almost gained new life, but realised
later that his end was near and that he himself could not profit by my
communication.

"I then asked Dempster to give me the name of a reliable man in
Victoria, who would be in a position to procure for me a suitable
vessel and crew with which to sail to Cocos Island and carry off the
treasure.  He mentioned your name and wrote the letter which I have
just handed to you.

"Because I had found, from the day I first met Dempster on Cocos Island
till he died, that he was a straightforward and reliable man I have
decided to place confidence in you.  I now ask, can you and will you
procure for me a vessel and fit her out properly, sail with me to Cocos
Island and assist me to put the treasure on board and take it to
Victoria?  As compensation, I offer you one-third of whatever we may
secure of the treasure, which would be the same as my own share, as we
have to hand over one-third to the Costa Rica Government."

{4}

To my query Haffner then explained that the treasure was valued at over
seven million pounds sterling, so that each share would amount to, say,
2,333,000, and as it had been said that the treasure consisted
principally of gold ingots, the total quantity of this gold would weigh
approximately fifty tons and measure roughly one hundred cubic feet.

Turning these gigantic figures over in my mind, my brain almost became
dizzy.  At last, at last, I thought to myself, your poor old daddy's
words will come true!  He often told me in a joking way, "When you grow
up, John, I shall make a millionaire of you."

When I was about sixteen years of age, and reminded him of his promise,
he thought it would cost too much money, and recommended me to go out
into the world and hustle for the million myself.  He told me that if I
kept on hustling well and hard, I would certainly succeed in becoming a
millionaire.

Of course, like a good son, I took my father's advice, went to sea, and
from then till the day I met Haffner I had been hustling up and down
and all round the world, but never had managed to commence becoming a
millionaire, even in Japanese sen, and as I was then already past forty
years of age, I had almost lost confidence in my father's prophecy when
meeting Haffner.

This gentleman explained to me in detail where the treasure was buried,
and showed me a chart of the island, with cross bearings marked on it
to give the position.

All that Haffner said appeared to me so simple and straightforward that
I certainly arrived at the conclusion that my fortune was made and that
I should in reality become a millionaire, not only in cents or dollars,
but in pounds sterling, and a double header at that.

What a grand feeling came over me, a poor man, firmly {5} believing
that I would be soon the possessor of millions of money, the thought of
which was with me day and night.

I dreamt, the first night after meeting Haffner, that we were both
standing on Cocos Island near a large cave, out of which glittering
gold and sparkling diamonds were shining invitingly.

But to cut a long story short, I really felt the happiest man in the
wide world, and did not fail to have a good time in advance at the
prospect of becoming a real millionaire.

In the meantime I was looking round for a suitable vessel, and found a
hundred-ton schooner.  Haffner, however, did not quite approve of it,
thinking it was not really fit to carry such a valuable cargo, and one
fine day said the vessel was unsuitable, but that he had luckily met
Admiral Pallister of the North-west British Squadron, who had agreed to
make a trip to Cocos Island, and, under the guidance of Haffner to
bring the treasure to Victoria in his flagship, the _Imperieuse_.

This news struck me like a thunderbolt.

"Well, in that case," I said, "I suppose I am out of it?"

"Very sorry indeed," he replied, "but I am sure you understand my
position.  In order to secure the treasure with safety I must have a
good ship, and, what is more essential, protection, neither of which
you can afford me.  And by placing myself in the hands of Admiral
Pallister, I shall have both."

I saw that Haffner was right, and probably should have done the same
had I been in his position.  However, I felt truly miserable.  I felt
as if I had lost my mental balance.  All the castles I had already
built in the air had vanished with this sudden blow, but what was worse
I had spent quite a little of my savings, so that the tide of my
banking account was at a low ebb.

After leaving Haffner I would not at first believe his story {6} that a
British man-of-war should undertake such an expedition.  But it proved
to be true when Admiral Pallister left Esquimalt Harbour in his
flagship _Imperieuse_, with Haffner on board, and escorted by a cruiser
for the south.

So, I thought to myself, instead of being on the road to fortune I have
to hustle again, and harder than ever before.

I solemnly vowed that I would never again build castles in the air or
have a good time and spend money in advance on the strength of a
promise of good prospects, but would wait until I actually had the cash
in hand.




{7}

CHAPTER II

IN A SLOOP ON THE HIGH SEAS

After a lapse of about three months following the departure of the two
vessels from Esquimalt Harbour, during which time I had been anxiously
waiting for news of their trip, I received, to my great surprise and
joy, the following letter from Haffner:--

"Dear friend Voss,--I have to admit that I feel very sorry indeed at
not having accepted your advice with regard to the hundred-ton
schooner, and the advantage of your company for a trip to Cocos Island,
but you know that at the time I felt confident that it was to my
advantage to avail myself of the man-of-war.

"Sorry to say the trip turned out a complete failure inasmuch as I
should never have been able to make use of the treasure after having
placed it on board the _Imperieuse_.

"During the voyage down, an officer one day questioned me about the
treasure and asked me whether I knew what would be done with it after
it was on board, and when I said, 'It will be taken to Victoria,' he
replied that a treasure such as that, when shipped on a British
man-of-war, would have to be handed over by the Admiral to the British
Government, who would in turn hand it back to the rightful owner,
_i.e._, the Peruvian Government.

"After carefully considering the officer's statement I made up my mind
that the treasure should not be shipped on board this vessel, in fact,
that it should not be found with my help.

{8}

"On our arrival at the island work was at once commenced under my
leadership, and I kept the men at a safe distance from the correct spot.

"After continually shifting the men about for a fortnight they got
tired, and the officers who were watching them also grew weary.

"Of course great excitement prevailed the whole time, and everybody
expected to see gold bricks and diamonds flying about by the shovelful.
But gradually disappointment set in when nothing came to light after
all the hard labour.

"The officer then told me that I must have made a mistake in the
location, which I reluctantly admitted, remarking at the same time that
I really did not know of any other place where it might be.  The
good-natured officer looked at me with a smile and said that he would
have to report my statement to the commander.

"That night, when I went on board, I expected a severe calling down,
but nothing happened.

"However, the next morning we put to sea again and made for Acapulco,
where I was put on shore, and where I am staying at the present time.

"I certainly must give the British credit for being good-natured
people, as they took it all in good part.  If I had played that trick
on Americans I am certain they would first have keelhauled me, then
hanged me on the mainyard and put twelve bullets through me, after
which they would finally have drowned me to make sure I was dead.

"Now, dear friend, I herewith repeat the offer made a short while ago
in Victoria.  Come down here as quickly as possible with any kind of
vessel you consider fit, and we will then sail to Cocos Island, secure
the treasure, and put on board as much of it as the vessel will safely
carry.  If we cannot bring off the whole lot at once we will leave the
rest {9} on the island for a second voyage, as it will be quite safe
where it lies now.

"Kindly let me hear from you as soon as possible, c/o the G.P.O.,
Acapulco, Mexico.--Yours very truly, G. HAFFNER."


Needless to say the contents of this letter excited me not a little.
The same feeling of having now the opportunity of becoming a
millionaire took possession of me, and my heart leaped with joy.
However, I did not again build castles in the air, nor did I have a
good time in advance, but instead, I carefully thought the matter over
and tried to arrange things as well as possible.

[Sidenote: Choosing a ship]

My finances were very low, so that it was out of the question to
procure a large vessel, and I quickly came to the conclusion that it
would be more advisable to start in a small one, especially as I did
not want more partners than were absolutely necessary.  Furthermore,
the season was favourable, it being the month of June, when the weather
is generally fine along the Pacific Coast of America.

I therefore tried to buy a vessel of thirty or forty tons.  There were,
however, no such craft available, and I finally selected a ten-ton
sloop, called the _Xora_.

Truly she was a small vessel in which to make a sea trip of some four
thousand miles, but I had made up my mind firmly to go in her whatever
might happen.  There was no alternative, as without money I could not
obtain a large boat, so I bought the _Xora_ and fitted her out.

She was strongly built of Oregon pine and fitted with a heavy wooden
centreboard, had a straight stem and a nice moderately overhanging
counter.  Her dimensions were: L.O.A. (Length over all) thirty-five
feet, L.W.L. (Length on the water line) thirty feet, beam twelve feet;
her draught, with the centreboard up and about five tons of ballast
inside {10} of her, was three feet six inches.  Her canvas consisted of
mainsail, gafftopsail, and jib.  When the _Xora_ was fully fitted out I
provisioned her with two hundred gallons of fresh water and sufficient
food, etc., to last three men during four months.  When everything was
on board the vessel's draught was a trifle over four feet.

On the 5th July, 1898, everything was ready for sea.  I had engaged two
friends of mine to sail with me: Mac, who had never before been to sea,
and Hahn, who was a sailor like myself.  The following afternoon at one
o'clock we cast off our lines and sailed out of Victoria, B.C.  Having
kept our intended cruise secret, we cleared as a pleasure yacht.  With
a light easterly breeze, and all sails set, we left the James Bay
boathouse and sailed down the harbour, while hundreds of Victoria
inhabitants bade us farewell, waving their hats and handkerchiefs and
wishing us bon voyage.

Soon after, the wind freshened a little, and in a short while we passed
the outer wharf and stood into the Royal Roads, after which we shaped
our course for Race Rock, rounding it at four o'clock and stood out to
the west into the Pacific Ocean.

The wind freshened considerably and hauled round to the west, at the
same time throwing up a lively choppy sea, which made the little vessel
jump about worse than a bucking horse.  Hahn and I, both old seamen and
used to large vessels only (which have an entirely different motion to
a craft like the _Xora_) did not feel over comfortable, but poor Mac,
for whom this was the first experience in a sailing boat, was hanging
his head over the rail and singing out, "If this thing keeps on jumping
about like this much longer I shall have to throw up my Irish heart, as
everything else is already overboard!"

Seeing the plight he was in, and we other two also feeling rather
"funny," we decided to stand into Sook Inlet, a very {11} nice little
harbour for small vessels about five miles west of Race Rock.  There we
anchored at seven o'clock.  Owing to strong westerly winds we remained
here until the 9th July, when at four o'clock, with a moderate easterly
breeze and a fine clear morning, we made another start.  Standing into
the Straits the light easterly breeze soon freshened, and early in the
afternoon we passed Cape Flattery, which is the farthest point of land,
in a north-westerly direction, of the United States of America.

[Sidenote: Off Cape Flattery]

Now the deep blue Pacific Ocean lay before us.  About forty miles from
Cape Flattery lies Cape Beal, which is the farthest south-westerly
point of Vancouver Island.  Both promontories are supplied with fine
lighthouses, and are about forty miles apart.  This region is known
among sailors on the Pacific Coast as the "seamen's graveyard," as many
a staunch vessel with all her crew has gone down to the bottom there,
through the heavy south-westerly gales, or through being smashed up
against the hard rocks on the Vancouver shore.

[Sidenote: The seamen's graveyard]

I shall never forget the night of the 1st April, 1887, when I was
second mate of the full-rigged American ship _Top Gallant_ and bound
out from the Straits of Juan de Fuca in company and almost side by side
with the fine three-skysail-yard full-rigged ship _St. Steven_ and an
American barque whose name has slipped my memory.  All three ships
under full sail passed Cape Flattery towards evening, shaping their
courses toward the south-west with a fresh easterly breeze.

None of the vessels was more than five miles outside Cape Flattery when
the wind hauled round to the south with thick and threatening-looking
weather.

"We are going to have a bad night of it," said our captain.  "The wind
will most likely haul round into the south-west, and then it will blow
hard."

{12}

"It is blowing pretty hard already," said I.  "Shall I take in the
three royals?"

"Take in nothing," he replied.  "Now is the time to sail, for we must
get away from the Vancouver coast as fast as possible before the wind
blows from the south-west and the gale falls upon us."

The _Top Gallant_ was well up in years, but was still a strong vessel,
and everything was in good order and condition, and if ever the ship
was sailed, she was sailed that night.  Her lee rail and deck were
under water, and heavy seas broke over her weather side.  At seven
o'clock the main royal was blown away, after which the fore and mizzen
royals were taken in.

"If the wind only continues to blow from the south for another hour we
shall be out of all danger," the captain said, but to our sorrow it did
not.  The wind soon hauled into the south-west, and it blew one of the
hardest gales that was ever experienced on the north-west coast of
North America.

"All hands on deck to shorten sail," the captain shouted.

The top gallant sails, mainsail, and some fore and aft canvas were
taken in as quickly as possible, but in spite of our efforts some of
the sails were blown to shreds before they could be secured to the
yards.  The foresail, lower and upper topsails and some fore and aft
storm sails were left standing, but in spite of the sails being quite
new and of the very best material they were torn to ribbons one after
another by the tremendous force of the south-westerly gale.

At eleven o'clock, while all hands were engaged on the foreyard arm in
saving what was left of the foresail, the lee fore lower topsail sheet
parted, and knocked one man from the foreyard overboard.

"Man overboard!" came the cry all along the yard, and, the few pieces
left of the foresail having been well secured, all hands rushed down on
deck to save the man.

{13}

Owing to the darkness and the howling and roaring noise of the storm
and the breaking seas, the man overboard could neither be heard nor
seen, and as the lifeboats of ships were at that time (and still are)
worse than useless to be launched in such weather, all the crew got
busy throwing ropes and lifebuoys after the man.  As luck happened, the
man got hold of one rope and was then quickly pulled on board, none the
worse for his trying experience.

At midnight the gale was at its height, and as all the sails by this
time had been blown away, the good old ship lay in the trough of the
seas at the mercy of the elements, drifting gradually towards the
Vancouver shore.

"We have lost our sails," the captain said, "but if the gale moderates
by eight o'clock in the morning, we shall, by having sailed as we did,
have saved the ship, cargo and crew."

Sure enough, Captain Wickberg of the _Top Gallant_ was right.  We had
carried on till the storm had blown all our sails to ribbons, and by
doing so had saved the ship, cargo and crew, for when the gale
moderated in the morning and the weather cleared we found ourselves
within four miles of the Vancouver shore.  New sails were then bent, we
continued our voyage, and arrived finally at our destination in safety.

The new and fine ship _St. Steven_, with her full crew, captain, his
wife and family and two lady passengers, went to the bottom of the sea
that same night.  The barque, which was in our company sailing out of
the Straits, also went down that awful night.  Two of her men were
saved by hanging on to some wreckage when the barque went down.

In these same waters, which have swallowed up so many young and brave
seamen, I was now sailing in a ten-ton sloop, and comparing her with
the large vessels in which I had up to then been sailing, I almost came
to the conclusion I did {14} not care to risk making a four thousand
mile voyage in this tiny craft to Cocos Island for all the money in the
world.  "But after all," I thought, "what is life without money?"  So
with the _Xora_ under full sail, and with an easterly breeze we sailed
hopefully out of the Straits of Juan de Fuca into the Pacific Ocean,
shaping our course toward the south.




{15}

CHAPTER III

ENCOUNTER WITH THE FIRST GALE

Shortly after passing Cape Flattery the easterly wind acted in just
about the same way as it did during the night when the _St. Steven_ was
lost, for it hauled from the east round to the south.  However, the
weather remaining clear, I knew there was no danger of a storm, and so
the _Xora_ was kept by the wind under all sail, taking a south-westerly
course.

Towards evening, the wind fell light, and when at nine o'clock the
light of Cape Flattery was dipping in the water, the breeze died out
and we were becalmed nineteen miles to the south-west.  Besides the
bright light of the Cape lighthouse, we saw several other lights from
vessels, which were also becalmed and drifting around in the same way
as the _Xora_.  As we were outside of the track of steamers, we placed
a bright light on deck, and all three of us went down into the cabin,
lit our pipes and talked about our promising future.  Mac swore that if
he could only get fifty thousand pounds sterling out of the Cocos
Island treasure he would be king of Ireland in a very short time.  All
sorts of castles went up in the air that evening.

When I went on deck just before midnight everything was moist with dew.
This being a sure sign in that part of the world of a westerly wind
blowing the next day, I went below, saying, "Gentlemen, we shall have a
westerly wind to-morrow, and as it is nearly midnight, we had better
draw for watches, after which the man who draws the {16} first will
take the first watch till two o'clock, the next man the second watch
from two till four, and the third from four till six."

"Keep watch, for what?" said Mac.  "It is dead calm and fine weather,
so why not all of us turn in and have a good sleep, the same as we did
in Sook Harbour?"

I replied, "Nothing of the sort, Mac.  We must watch our little vessel
now night and day while we are at sea."

We then drew for watches, and each took his turn.

The next morning at about eleven o'clock a light breeze came up from
the north-west, and the _Xora_ started to go south.  The breeze soon
freshened, and by seven o'clock in the evening the mountain tops of
Vancouver Island dropped out of sight.  The following two days we
experienced fine weather with the same wind taking the boat along at
the rate of about one hundred and seventy-five miles per day.  On the
following day the wind suddenly increased, which compelled us to take
in one reef after the other, so that at three o'clock in the afternoon
she was going along under a three-reefed mainsail at a speed of about
eight and a half miles an hour with the wind dead aft.  In spite of
some of the seas breaking quite heavily the _Xora_ steered excellently
and went along quite dry.  However, knowing from experience in large
vessels the danger of running before a high sea with increasing wind
force, I thought it better to experiment with the _Xora_ in time, as I
did not then know her peculiarities.

[Sidenote: Running before a gale]

I well remembered an incident that took place when I was quite a young
man, on the Canadian barque _J. W. Parker_.  Coming from the west coast
of South America with a cargo of nitrate, and making for the English
Channel with a strong south-westerly gale behind us, the barque steered
easily under a main lower and upper topsail, the fore lower topsail and
foresail.  About three o'clock in the afternoon, {17} when I had been
lashed to the wheel together with another seaman, the captain came on
deck and, observing the breaking seas behind us and that the vessel
remained quite dry, commented on the fact that she was a splendid
vessel to run before it: and I certainly believed this also, seeing
that the breaking seas overhauling us at a great speed, passed under
our stern with such a roaring noise, that it would give me the shivers.
However, the vessel would always raise her stern to the occasion, and
the sea would pass without doing any damage.

It was a few minutes to four o'clock when another large breaker came
along.  I heard it coming, but men at the wheel are not allowed to look
back when a vessel is running hard, so I did not see it approaching.
This time the vessel's stern did not rise quickly enough, in
consequence of which the sea broke over her stern with such tremendous
force that it did all the damage it possibly could have done, short of
sending the ship and crew to the bottom.  Owing to the rope with which
we two were fastened to the wheel having too much slack, I was washed
under the port rail, while my mate was hanging overboard, but as the
rope was still fastened to him he was successfully pulled back on
board.  The cabin doors and the skylight on the cabin were smashed to
splinters and the cabin was full of water.  Several doors of the
forward house were also smashed, and the same sea that did all this
damage caused the vessel to broach to.  It appears to me that the ship
would have foundered had it not been for the good carpenter who put her
together!

When a vessel broaches to in a heavy gale it happens in a few seconds,
the deck is filled with water from rail to rail, and the men, if not
washed overboard, are unable to attend to any sails quickly enough to
save them.  At the same time that this happened to the _J. W. Parker_,
and while the sea was breaking over her weather rail, the few sails
which had {18} been left standing blew away.  The ship was safe,
however, for after losing her sails she lay broadside on to the wind
and sea and was quite comfortable.

After the gale moderated all hands were busy bending new sails, and I
heard the first mate, who was an old experienced seaman, saying, "We
can thank God and not our seamanship that we are alive."  I have found
out during later years that he was perfectly right and well aware of
the great mistake that had been made in running too long.

Thinking back over that accident, and some other little troubles I had
met with at sea, I made up my mind to heave the _Xora_ to at once, and
bring her up to the wind with her three-reefed mainsail and a small
storm staysail.  My mates were standing by to haul in the mainsheet,
while I had the tiller, watching my chance to luff her up in as smooth
a sea as possible.  When I thought that my chance had come, while the
boat was on top of a comparatively smooth sea, I put down the helm, the
mainsheet was hauled in as quick as lightning, the boat shot round, and
before the next sea approached the _Xora_ was sailing by the wind,
shipping, however, a big sea over her bow.  The centreboard had not
been lowered since we sailed into Sook Harbour, and in spite of it
being up the boat would range ahead under the small sails, taking a lot
of water on board and making things very unpleasant in general.  I then
commenced operating with the vessel, trying to place her in such a
position as to make her lie comfortably.  First we took in the staysail
altogether, in consequence of which the boat shot up into the wind and
nearly shook the mainsail to pieces.  Then we tried her with the
three-reefed mainsail and the centreboard down, regulating her with the
rudder so that she would not yaw about, but this also proved a failure.

Under the above two trials the boat kept on forging ahead and would not
lay hove to, at the same time being {19} very wet and unmanageable,
sometimes going ahead and sometimes astern, placing us all in imminent
danger of foundering.  We then hauled up the centreboard, hoisted the
staysail with the sheet flat in to windward and the helm half-way down.
This fixed her; there she lay from three to four points off the wind
and making almost a square drift to leeward, being at the same time
comparatively comfortable.

[Sidenote: Lying to a sea anchor]

Towards night the wind increased to a heavy gale, but still the _Xora_
lay quite well and almost dry.  However, the vessel would at times
shiver from the pressure of the sails, and it became evident that we
still carried too much canvas, though we could not make them any
smaller, being reefed down entirely.  Then I decided to take recourse
to a sea anchor, although I had never used one before, so did not know
the real value of it; neither had we one on board.

I proceeded in the following manner: The mainboom crutch and some
boards from the bunks about six feet long were tied together with some
old canvas into a sort of bundle, and a forty-pound anchor fastened to
same.  Then we made a three-inch rope fast to this improvised sea
anchor, dropped it over the weather bow, took in the staysail, and when
the sea anchor was about fifty yards away, belayed the end of the line
on to the mast.  The mainsheet being hauled in flat I certainly
expected the boat to swing head to wind as soon as the rope became
tight, in which, however, I was very much mistaken.  The vessel would
sometimes swing almost broadside on against the wind and sea, and under
the pressure of the sea almost turned turtle.  We then lowered the
mainsail altogether, which proved somewhat a remedy, but we were still
not lying quietly enough, and shipping water all the time.

I was then convinced that the only way to steady her was to hoist a
small sail aft, and as we had no mizzen mast took {20} the storm
staysail, bending the tack to the end of the mainboom, and unhooking
the peak halyard, bent the head of the staysail to it and hauled the
staysail sheet forward instead of aft, thus obtaining a flat fore and
aft sail over the stern of the boat.  The _Xora_ at once swung head to
wind and rode as comfortably to her sea anchor as a vessel rides to her
mud hook in a landlocked harbour, so that when sitting in the cabin we
could hardly imagine that we were actually experiencing a howling gale
at sea, with huge breaking seas.  The direction of the wind was N.N.W.,
and the _Xora_, owing to her poor sea anchor, drifted at a rate of
about one and a half to one and three-quarter miles per hour to the
S.S.E.

The gale kept up its fury for nearly two days, and it was really a
pleasure to see the little vessel, with the help of her sea anchor,
mounting those large combers with perfect ease and comfort.  When the
gale had sufficiently moderated, we hauled the sea anchor on board, and
under very small riding sails kept the boat on her southerly course
again.




{21}

CHAPTER IV

HUNTING EXPERIENCES--SAN BLAS--DISAPPOINTING NEWS

The wind kept in the north-west, the weather became fine, and by
midnight the _Xora_ was once more under all sail making her course at
the rate of from one hundred and twenty-five to one hundred and fifty
miles per day till the 25th July, when at daybreak Guadalupe Island
came in sight about ten miles distant ahead of us.  This island lies
about one hundred and forty miles off the coast of the northern part of
lower California; it is about fifteen miles long and three to five
miles broad.

[Sidenote: Guadalupe Island]

As we approached the island the wind fell light, but at noon we were
about a stone's throw from the shore.  The land appeared absolutely
barren, with surf breakers all along the coast, so that we did not care
to attempt a landing.  We, however, followed the coast at as close a
distance as rocks and wind would allow, for a person never knows what
he may find on out-of-the-way uninhabited islands.  I was acquainted
with a man in Victoria who by cruising around out-of-the-way places
picked up a piece of ambergris worth a hundred and fifty thousand
dollars!  We were not quite so lucky.

We were reaching the south end of the island when we saw a few birds,
otherwise it seemed quite dead and uninhabited by man or beast.

Suddenly Mac shouted at the top of his voice, "See, there, what is that
standing on the cliff?"

Looking in the direction pointed out by him, we observed {22} a billy
goat.  We could do with a little fresh meat, so what about launching
our dinghy, making for the shore and shooting Billy?

The sporting fever came over us, but as it was impossible to land there
and then, we proceeded south, where we found a nice sandy beach, and
Mac and I effected a landing in the dinghy, he carrying a rifle and I a
shot-gun, while Jack took care of the vessel.

We directed our course to where we had seen Billy, when we came across
one without horns.

Mac shouted, "That is Mrs. Billy, and if she will only stop there for
another minute I shall hook it on to her."

Mrs. Billy stopped, Mac fired, but missed, and our feast had vanished.

Mac was very much annoyed at missing the goat and asked me to take the
rifle while he would play dog, but on my remonstrances he at last
consented to try again on the next opportunity.

We proceeded, and shortly afterwards found a goat lying beneath a small
tree.

Was he dead or only asleep?

We carefully approached, keeping our guns in readiness, but drawing
nearer saw that Billy was only taking a nap, Mac insisted upon taking
him alive.

Before I could reply he had seized him, and Billy, getting on his feet,
struggled for life.

If I could have taken a moving picture of what happened during the
following few minutes I should have made my fortune on the spot.  It
was just a toss up between the two as to who would come out second
best, but at last Mac got both his arms round Billy's neck and held on
like grim death.  I shouted to Mac to let the goat go and I would shoot
him, but he objected, claiming that if he did the goat would butt into
him.

{23}

Finally, the goat managed to extricate himself from Mac's grip and sped
away.

I fired a shot, but missed; fired again, but hit the same place; and
Billy got safely away.

Owing to the treasure fever we did not want to lose any more time, and
went back to our boat.  The _Xora_ was anchored about a hundred and
fifty yards from the shore, and while we were away Jack had shot a Mrs.
Billy from the deck of our vessel!  We took it on board and enjoyed
fresh meat for several days.

Soon after our return to the vessel we weighed anchor and made for
Acapulco, a distance of about twelve hundred miles.  The weather kept
fine and the wind light, and we were about fifty miles distant from
Cape San Lucas--the south end of California peninsula--when we drifted
about for two days in a dead calm amongst a lot of turtles.

The turtles proved much easier victims than the goats on Guadalupe
Island.  We launched our little dinghy and got near them with our
rifles.  There was a great deal of drift-wood floating about, and some
turtles would play with pieces of wood, not taking the slightest notice
of our approaching boat, till the bullet came.  We shot several of
them, and considerably augmented our stores thereby.

During the following few days we had a light south-westerly wind, and
with it made Cape Corrientes, but when about fifteen miles off shore we
got becalmed again.

At about two o'clock that afternoon dark and threatening clouds rose
over the high mountain tops along the Mexican coast.

"There is something behind that," I said.  But Mac was of a different
opinion, replying, "I don't think so; look at the barometer.  It has
remained steady for the last fortnight."

{24}

"That barometer is worse than Tom Pepper," Jack said, "and you know
what happened to him."

I, myself, upon receiving a warning from nature--and these threatening
clouds were of course a warning to seamen, who from experience take
notice of such phenomena--put my vessel into such trim as to be ready
for the expected storm.  Having plenty of sea room, and it being
absolutely calm, I lowered all sails and waited for the blow.

The clouds were coming from the south-east, and in moving towards us
were increasing in size.  I was watching them from the cockpit, when at
about four o'clock the first ripple appeared on the water, and after a
few minutes we were in the midst of a thunderstorm of the worst kind.

Owing to the storm approaching with such force I thought it would soon
pass over, but was very much disappointed.  It kept up with the same
fury hour after hour, and to make matters worse the wind veered round
to the south-west, blowing right on shore.

When we lost sight of the land we were about fifteen miles off the
coast, which meant that by putting the vessel under a sea anchor we
should be blown ashore in about nine hours, if the gale continued.  We
consequently decided to set sail, and everything being strong and new,
besides the boat being powerful enough to be pressed, we set the
three-reefed mainsail and the storm staysail, lowered the centreboard,
and the _Xora_ crawled off the lee shore, with her deck under water and
green seas breaking over the weather rail.

[Sidenote: Thunderstorms]

The thunderstorm kept up its full force till eleven o'clock, when it
abated, and the wind also moderating we tacked ship and stood towards
the land.  At midnight all rain and clouds had disappeared, and a most
beautiful starlit night followed.  A light south-westerly breeze was
taking us under full sail back to where we started at the beginning of
the storm.  However, the breeze soon died away, and we {25} drifted
about in a calm in exactly the same way as on the previous day.  The
weather kept fine, although there was not a breath of wind till about
two o'clock the next afternoon, when to our surprise we observed the
same spectacle as on the day before: dark, heavy clouds rose over the
mountains and came towards us, the barometer acting in the same manner
as before.  At four o'clock the first catspaw appeared, and soon we
were once more close reefed in a thunderstorm making for the open.

The night was exactly the same as the previous one, and as the old
saying is, all things come thrice, we had a similar experience on the
third night.  We had quite enough of it, and steered for San Blas,
which we reached two days afterwards.

No sooner had we dropped anchor than four Mexicans came alongside with
a boat, and one of them, a pilot, boarded our vessel.

"What are you doing here at this time of the year?" he asked, and
without waiting for our answer, explained that all their large vessels
were laid up on shore on account of the tempestuous weather they were
having.

"How dare you come here at this time in your little speck of a boat,
when all our big craft are laid up for fear of getting smashed in the
gales that now rage on our coast?  You must take your yacht up the
river to safe anchorage, otherwise you will be driven on the rocks," he
said.

Thinking of our three nights' experience, we followed his advice and
took the boat up the river, where neither sea nor wind could harm her.

We stayed a fortnight in San Blas, during which I found that the old
pilot was right.  All vessels were laid up from July till October owing
to the rough weather prevailing.  But we learned to our great regret
and disappointment that Mr. Haffner had lately died of fever in
Acapulco.

{26}

We held a consultation to decide whether to carry on alone or give up
the trip.  All had the treasure fever developed to the highest degree,
and what, after all, was the use of coming all the way here only to
turn back, when Cocos Island was but eighteen hundred miles further!
Besides, I had Haffner's chart of the island printed on my brain, so to
say, and felt certain I could remember the cross-bearings marked on the
chart, which led to the spot where the hidden treasure lay.

While at San Blas we experienced many more thunderstorms similar to the
three we had already sampled, and on our very last night on the river a
sloop of about the same size as our boat, and anchored not far from us,
was struck by lightning and split from stem to stern.

The next morning we weighed anchor in fine weather, but before going
any further I must say a few words about this beautiful place, San Blas.

It is a small Mexican town with about three to four thousand
inhabitants; the old pilot was the only one who spoke English.  There
is a fine fresh-water stream coming down the mountains on both sides of
the town and abounding with alligators and other reptiles.  The beach
is covered with fine white sand, which apparently is the finest
breeding ground for sand flies in the world.  Between these and the
mosquitoes, which are represented by many millions, and are most lusty
insects, it was pretty warm for us, to say the least.  They acted as if
they had never had a square meal in their lives.  The weather was just
about the same at the time we were there as during the three nights off
the coast, and Mac admitted that San Blas must have been about the last
place the Lord had created.  Jack, however, as a more experienced man
in that line, said it must have been the first, and had therefore been
greatly improved upon since.




{27}

CHAPTER V

ARRIVAL AT COCOS ISLAND

The first night out we had another fierce thunderstorm, and in order to
get away from this unpleasant coast, we let the _Xora_ go for all she
was worth under the three-reefed mainsail and storm staysail, steering
north-westward.  By so doing, we soon managed to leave this treacherous
weather behind us, and the next day ran into a nice moderate
north-easterly trade wind, for which change we were indeed not a bit
sorry.

Now, hurrah for Cocos Island, only sixteen hundred miles distant; not
much if you say it quick; and with this nice breeze on our port quarter
we soon ran off one hundred miles after another.  Both the trade wind
and the fine weather kept on just as the doctor ordered them, till the
7th September.  At three o'clock, while having an afternoon nap, I was
suddenly awakened by a tremendous noise on deck, and shouted, "What is
the matter with you folks out there; why can't you keep quiet when an
honest man wants to enjoy a rest."

"No time to sleep now," replied Jack.  "Cocos Island is in sight, and
we must get ready to discharge our ballast and make room for the gold
bricks and diamonds."

Mac replied, "Yes, old chap, I can see the gold bricks sticking out of
the side of the island; come on deck and have a look."

When on a yachting cruise, Mac could never tell the truth if he could
replace it by something else.  I went, however, {28} up on deck, and,
sure enough, the island was in sight, but only the tops of the
mountains were visible in the distance, about sixty miles away.

[Sidenote: Cocos Island]

During the night the breeze fell light, but the next morning we were up
to the east end of the island, and, owing to the wind having dropped
altogether, anchored in Chatham Bay.

Breakfast over, Mac and I took the dinghy and pulled round to Wafer
Bay, where the goods we had come for were supposed to be stored.  After
rounding a sharp, rocky promontory Wafer Bay opened up, and a small
house came in sight on the upper end of the right side of the bay.  We
made for it and landed a few yards from the building, when out of the
house stepped a man of rather slim build, and, I should say, certainly
six feet four inches in height, with a beard hanging down from his chin
about two feet long.  The gentleman was followed by a small,
pleasant-looking lady.

On reaching us, the gentleman introduced himself as Mr. Giesler,
Governor of Cocos Island, and the lady as his wife.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Giesler," I said.  This was not
quite ninety-nine per cent. of the truth, because I had nourished the
hope that we should have the island to ourselves.

"Where do you come from?" asked the Governor.

"Victoria, B.C.," I replied.  "We made Chatham Bay this morning at
daybreak, got becalmed, dropped anchor, and rowed round here in our
dinghy."

"After the treasure, of course?" said Giesler.

"No, not that exactly," I said.  "We are just on a little pleasure
cruise, and thought we would come and have a look at the island."
(Another one.)

"Of course, Mr. Giesler," Mac said, "if you've got any {29} gold bricks
you don't want, we don't mind taking them along."

Mrs. Giesler smiled at that, and said gold bricks were very scarce on
Cocos Island.

"Are they?" I said.  "I thought you had lots of them here."

"Yes," replied the Governor, "there are lots of them here, but we have
got to find them first."

Owing to Mr. Giesler's size and appearance, I considered it advisable
to keep on the right side of him.  I therefore said: "Mr. Giesler, we
have got a few days to spare, so will you allow us to prospect for the
treasure, and if we find it, will you allow us to take it on board our
vessel?"

"You can prospect as much as you like," replied Mr. Giesler, "but of
whatever you find you must give the Costa Rica Government one-third."

I could see no way of avoiding this gift of one-third to the Costa Rica
Government, so agreed to the Governor's offer.

When everything was settled Mr. Giesler said: "Now you had better go
and bring your vessel round here, and, by the way, how big is she?"

"Ten tons," I said.

"Ten tons; well, well, well!  And you came all the way from Victoria in
a ten-ton vessel!  Why, a ten-ton vessel will not hold even a fifth
part of the gold that is buried here."

After assuring Mr. Giesler that we would probably be satisfied with ten
tons of gold and a ton of diamonds and let him or the Costa Rica
Government have the rest, he seemed to be well satisfied, and asked us
to come into his house and have a drink.  I have never been known to
refuse a good thing, so we followed Mr. and Mrs. Giesler into the
house, and in little more than ten minutes Mrs. Giesler had a table set
for us fit for a king.  There was fine home-made bread and butter, and
ham, eggs, cold roast wild boar and other {30} things, and
notwithstanding the good breakfast we had had before leaving the vessel
we put that on top of it, and just about cleared up the table.  When
Mrs. Giesler saw all the empty dishes on the table she asked me if we
had plenty of provisions on board.  Of course I knew what she was
alluding to.  But now let me give the landlubber just a little advice.
Never offer a yachtsman anything to eat when he comes on shore, unless
you mean it, for a yachtsman when cruising is always hungry, and
doesn't know how to say "no" when anything in the shape of eatables
comes his way.

"What is the draught of your vessel," asked Mr. Giesler.

"Just about four feet," I replied.

"Is that all?  Well, then, you can bring your vessel right up here to
my house and tie her up to the trees."

He then took me outside to show me where to put the vessel.  Right at
the head of Wafer Bay is a sand spit, about three hundred yards deep,
between the higher land and deep water.  It is about half a mile wide,
and on both sides there is high land.  At high tide the sand spit is
about three feet under water, and on the right side, when coming into
the bay and within a few yards of Giesler's house, is a stream coming
down from the mountains.  Just alongside it is large and deep enough
for the _Xora_ to lay comfortably.  The stream had washed a hollow
through the sand spit, which the Governor claimed sufficiently large to
allow our boat to pass through.  I, of course, took his word for it,
especially as the man said he had been on the island for eighteen years
knew all the ins and outs of the place.  The only thing he did not
know, he said, was where the gold was hidden.

"We will find that easy enough," Mac said.

It was then about ten o'clock, and as Mr. Giesler said it would be high
water at noon Mac and I went back in our {31} dinghy to bring the
_Xora_ round, so as to be able to cross the spit at high tide.  A nice
little breeze had sprung up from the west, and with a small sail set in
our dinghy we were soon alongside the sloop.  Jack, in the meantime,
had been fishing, and was busy frying some of his catch, grumbling all
the while that the fish refused to bite.

"And how did you catch these fish if they didn't bite?" asked Mac.

"Went down and hooked them on," was Jack's reply.

"Come along here, now, and get up the anchor and set sail, and have
your growl afterwards," I said; and as my two shipmates were always
right on hand when I said the word, we had our anchor up and sail set
in no time.  With the centreboard down we beat up against the westerly
breeze to Wafer Bay.

[Sidenote: Aground in Wafer Bay]

On rounding the rocky point we saw Giesler hoisting the Costa Rica
flag, which he had informed us would be a sign that the water was high
enough for the _Xora_ to cross the sand spit.  I at once directed my
course for the channel, and everything went fine till we got about half
way across the spit, when she struck a rock, and in less time than I
can write it down the sloop filled with water.  We did not even have
time to save our provisions, much of which was spoiled by the sea
water.  The sails were lowered at once, and we tried hard to get the
vessel off, but were unable to move her.

I felt like shooting the Governor, and I think we would have shot him
if it had not been for his wife, as all three of us had murder in our
hearts.  Giesler was standing in front of his house and singing out,
"What is the matter?"

"Come here and see what is the matter," I retorted, after which Giesler
came wading through about three feet of water to help us to get the
boat off.

We did all we possibly could.  Stores, ballast and everything else we
had on board were put on shore, but the _Xora_ {32} remained immovable.
She had a rock through her bottom and was full of water.  Three hundred
miles from the mainland, and stranded on a small island with no steamer
or any other means of connection, and nearly all our provisions spoiled
with salt water!  Truly ours was not an enviable position.

Mac said he would like to get a gold brick with which to knock off
Giesler's head.  Jack said the only thing we could do was to follow the
example of Robinson Crusoe.

"You fellows had better stop your fooling," I interrupted.  "This is a
very serious matter, and we must get the boat off somehow.  We had
better get several small trees out of the bush, and when it is low
water we will try to pry her off."

Giesler, after seeing his mistake, helped us in every way he possibly
could.  At three o'clock she will be high and dry, he said, and in
about two hours we had everything ready to raise her.  Sure enough, at
that time the water was from under her, and a sharp rock could be seen
sticking through her bottom.  We then got the levers to work, and in
about two hours had her off the rock, and before night her bottom had
been repaired and she was again afloat, after which we moored her
alongside Giesler's house, where she was out of all danger.

The Governor told us that there were ample eatables, including wild
hogs, on the island, and that he would do all he could to see us right
again.  We then banished all care from our minds, and after a little
celebration and a good night's sleep in Giesler's house, we started
briskly early next morning to prospect for the great treasure.




{33}

CHAPTER VI

HISTORY OF THE GREAT TREASURE--WHERE IS IT HIDDEN?--PROSPECTING AND ITS
DIFFICULTIES

Cocos Island is about three miles wide, from north to south, and four
miles long, from east to west.  The shore is composed chiefly of steep,
broken cliffs, beyond which is high land.  The highest point is of
about three thousand feet.  The island is covered with heavy
vegetation.  Near the water is an ample supply of small, scrubby trees.
Being located in the Doldrums, there is a very heavy rainfall, and
there are several large streams from the mountains emptying themselves
into the ocean.  The stream in which the _Xora_ was moored was full of
fine fresh-water trout.  The water is very good for drinking purposes.
There is a good supply of edible fish near the land, and it is also a
great resort for large sharks.  Thousands of sea birds are to be found
circling round about the island.  Chatham and Wafer Bay are the only
two anchorages.  The latter, which is on the north side, lies about
east and west, and it is on the north side of the bay, along the foot
of the hills, that the treasure seekers from different parts of the
world have at different times honeycombed the ground.  One and all,
like Admiral Pallister, left the island without locating the object of
their visit.

When I looked over the place where the treasure, according to Giesler's
idea, was supposed to lay buried, for which seekers from far-off lands
have searched in vain, I thought to myself what a time the men would
have spent dragging {34} tons upon tons of gold through the heavy
vegetation with which the ground was covered.  I was told by Haffner
how the treasure got there in the first place; and I also saw the
chart, when in Victoria, with a bearing marked from a small rock about
one mile to the north-westward of Wafer Bay and leading across the sand
spit.  It appeared that the treasure was buried on the left side of a
bearing from the rock over the sand spit.  This strengthened my
confidence in Haffner's statement, and set me thinking.

Mr. Haffner had given me a short explanation of how the treasure got to
Cocos Island.

[Sidenote: The Cocos Island treasure]

Nearly a hundred years ago Peru and Chile were at war.  The Chilian
troops were victorious, and as Lima, the capital of Peru, was in danger
of capitulation, the Peruvian treasure was sewed up in beef hides, and
for safe keeping was taken on board a British vessel called the _Mary
Dyer_, anchored in the harbour of Callao.  The crew of the _Mary Dyer_
plied the Peruvian guards, who were left on board to guard the
treasure, with drink, and when they were thoroughly drunk got clear of
them, and sailed away with the vessel and cargo.

Now it was well known that the _Mary Dyer_ had very few provisions on
board, and would therefore be obliged to call at a neighbouring port to
secure the necessary stores to carry her on a long voyage.  A Peruvian
cutter was therefore sent out in search of the pirates.  The winds
along the Peruvian coast are nearly always from the south, and it was
therefore assumed that the vessel had sailed to the northward.  The
cutter called in at every little port and scoured every inlet along the
coast, and after calling at Panama, and just as she was getting ready
to depart, the _Mary Dyer_ came sailing in.  She was met by the cutter
outside the harbour and the crew taken prisoners.  The _Mary Dyer_ was
then searched, but the treasure was not to be found.

Eight of the crew, which consisted of eleven all told, {35} were shot.
The captain, first mate and a boy were kept prisoners, but on account
of the carelessness of the Peruvian officers on the cutter the captain
and mate disappeared during the night.  The boy was then the only one
left of the crew.  He made a statement to the effect that the treasure
had been placed on a small island, but did not know the name nor the
location of the island.  The captain of the cutter came to the
conclusion that the only place it could be was Cocos, and the cutter
was headed west, and on arrival the boy at once recognised the island
where the treasure had been placed.  He also pointed out Wafer Bay as
the place where the ingots had been taken, in the boats, but as the
vessel was kept outside and under sail, and the boy was not allowed to
go ashore, he could not point out the actual spot where the treasure
had been buried.  The island was then searched high and low by the crew
of the cutter, but nothing was found.  Not even traces in the
vegetation.

That no traces could be discovered in the vegetation so soon after the
crew of the _Mary Dyer_ had left the island is almost impossible to
believe, and to my mind the treasure could not have been buried in the
position described.  Therefore, I believed that Haffner's bearing from
the rock leading over the sand spit was right.  After looking carefully
over the foot of the hills and sand spit I came to the conclusion that
if I had been the captain of the _Mary Dyer_ I should certainly have
buried the treasure in the sand spit, for the following reason.  The
spit is solid sand, and at low water is dry.  At high tide it is
submerged to a depth of three feet, and it would have been very little
trouble to take a boat-load of the treasure over the spit at high
water, dump it overboard and bury it when the tide was out.  Then, in
about six hours' time, when the first tide washed over the spit, the
traces would have been entirely obliterated.

The spit, as I have already mentioned, is about three {36} hundred
yards deep by about half a mile wide, and being most of the time under
water tools are necessary to enable one to search for the treasure; and
these were not in our possession.  I therefore kept my idea to myself,
and only enquired of Giesler if the sand spit had ever been searched,
to which he replied in the negative.

Jack and Mac had the same idea that if the object of our quest had been
hidden at the foot of the hills it would have been discovered long ago,
since all the operations had been centred there.

The following morning Mac took a gun with the intention of exploring
the interior of the island, and to try his aim on the wild boars.  Jack
took the dinghy to survey the coast to the westward of Wafer Bay, and I
occupied myself that morning walking about the sand spit, shooting, and
at the same time keeping my weather eye open for gold bricks which
might be sticking out of the ground: but there was nothing doing.  It
was nearly noon when Jack returned from his cruise along the coast,
smiling all over his face, and in spite of being about half a mile from
anybody, whispered into my ear, "I have found the treasure!"

"The devil you have?" I said.

"Certain.  You come along and see," he replied.

It was just about midday, and though both of us were very hungry, we
did not wait for food.

[Sidenote: Treasure hunting]

"We must get a boat-load before we eat," said Jack.

Taking a pick and two shovels, away we went in our dinghy to fetch a
boat-load of gold.  I took the oars and Jack sat in the stern to pilot
me to the right spot.  When we got outside the bay we found quite a
swell setting in and the surf breaking on the beach with a tremendous
roar.

"There it is," said Jack, at the same time pointing towards the beach.

We had to make a landing, and as I in those days did not {37} know much
about taking a boat through a surf, and knowing that Jack had had much
more experience in that line, I asked him to take the oars.

The dinghy being very small, and both of us a little excited about the
good news, it was capsized while Jack and I were changing seats.  Both
of us were precipitated into the briny, and about two hundred yards
from the shore.  Jack told me to swim for the beach, saying, "I am a
better swimmer than you are, so will bring the boat back."

I thought that by taking my time about it I would be able to reach the
beach, so started to swim for it.  I was probably about one-third of
the way, when Jack shouted out, "Look out for sharks!"  Knowing that
the place was infested with these monsters of the sea I naturally
looked round to see if there were any about.  I could not see any, but
Jack was sitting astride the bottom of the boat, laughing as if
something very funny was going on.  I think if I had been a good
swimmer I would have gone back to the boat and had it out with Jack
there and then, but being a very poor one could not even open my mouth
for fear of getting a mouthful of salt water.  Therefore, I again
headed for the shore, and succeeded in making a safe landing through
the surf, crawling out on to the beach on my hands and knees more like
a drowned rat than a human being.

After giving him a piece of my mind with reference to his joking
propensities we proceeded towards the spot which Jack had determined
was our goal, and soon reached it.  A large flat-faced sandstone,
situated in front of a piece of flat land and looking very much like a
stone wall had suggested the idea, but this was nothing but sandstone.
Rain water running down from the mountains had cracked it in different
places, and as the cracks had naturally been filled with sand the stone
looked like an artificial wall.

During our stay on the island we stopped at Giesler's {38} house, and
when we returned from our adventurous trip, our friend had a splendid
lunch ready for us, to which we did full justice.  Mac was still absent.

"I suppose," Jack said, "when he comes home to-night he will have a
wild-boar yarn to tell about a mile long."

"Yes, that may be," I replied, "but it will not make so much trouble
for me as your treasure yarn did."

[Sidenote: Boar hunting]

I expected Mac back before dark, and should not have been surprised to
hear that dead boars were lying all over the country; but he had not
returned by dark.  There are no trails on Cocos Island, and, owing to
the very thick vegetation, it is difficult for a stranger to find his
way in broad daylight, let alone on a dark night.  We concluded that
our shipmate was unable to trace his way back again to the camp, and
therefore fired several signal shots, but got no answer.  We then made
a large fire, keeping up a succession of shots meanwhile.

Not hearing from Mac by midnight, we were certain that the poor fellow
would have to spend that night among the mountains, and as it was
raining very hard it would be very unpleasant.  Giesler said in German,
"Ich glaube der Kerl is von den Schweinen gefressen worden" (I think
the pigs have devoured him).  We continued the signals all through the
night, but never got an answer from our missing shipmate.

At daylight it was still raining, but about eight o'clock the weather
cleared, and as Mac had not turned up Mr. Giesler went in search of
him.  I was almost afraid misfortune had befallen our comrade, as I had
heard say that if a wild boar got into a tight corner it would make a
fight.  Knowing that Mac would in all probability attack a boar if he
got the chance I was afraid that he had come out second best.

About two hours after Giesler had left on the search I {39} heard a
double shot right near the house, and looking round discovered Giesler
coming along with Mac following in his track, looking as pleasant as
could be.

"Where have you been all night, Mac?" I asked.

"I have been hunting," he replied, "and it was the finest hunt I have
ever had in my life."

"Hunting be hanged," I said.  "Why did you not come home last night?"

"You would not talk like that if you could see all the wild boars I
killed," Mac retorted.

Giesler told me that he had found our shipmate sitting on a fallen tree
and eating a cocoanut for his breakfast.  "I am quite sure," he added,
"that Mac could not find his way back here, but would not admit it."

Both of them being wet to the skin, they went into the house to change
their garments, after which our good little lady, Mrs. Giesler, put
lunch on the table, and if ever there was a man that had an appetite it
was Mac.  In the early part of the meal he was too busy to speak, but
as his appetite was satisfied, he gradually came round with his
boar-hunting stories, and, just as Jack had prophesied, Mac had dead
boars all over the island.  The old Governor was listening attentively,
and when Jack or myself remarked that Mac appeared to have a very vivid
imagination, Giesler would come to his rescue, saying, "No, no, you
people don't know this island as well as I do.  There are lots of boars
here."

Of course the old Governor did not know Mac as well as we did, so he
backed him up in nearly everything he said, until Mac claimed he had
shot a boar on the west end of the island which was as big as a cow.
This was too much for the Governor, and it made him shake his whiskers
about, for he knew that there was no wild animal approaching that size
on the island.  Mac, as usual, was ready to swear to his statements,
and offered to take us to see the boar.  The {40} distance as the crow
flies to the south-west end of the island was about four miles, and,
after allowing for the ups and downs and twists and turns of the
mountains, it would be lengthened to about eight miles.  Taking into
consideration the moist, heavy undergrowth all over the island, and
everything else considered, the Governor said, "Look here, Mac, before
I go to the south-west end of the island to look for proof I'll see you
and your dead boar in Halifax."  And that was my opinion, too.




{41}

CHAPTER VII

SHORT OF PROVISIONS--LEAVING WITHOUT HAVING LIFTED THE VEIL--THE SOUTH
AMERICAN COAST

Time flies on an island like Cocos, where there are lots of hunting,
fishing and treasure-hunting, but as we had given up the latter and
tired of the other forms of sport we concluded to make ready for sea
again.

To get the _Xora_ safely over the sand spit we were obliged to take her
out light and put the ballast and stores on board after we got her to
an anchor in deep water, and as we only had our dinghy it took us quite
a while to get everything on board and ready for sea.

On inspecting our provisions I discovered that they had suffered very
severely in the accident, and even with all the provender which Giesler
could possibly spare we did not have nearly sufficient to take us back
to Victoria.  Owing to the northerly winds blowing along the American
coast, we could not think of sailing northward without securing more
provisions, and as we were in no particular hurry to get home we
decided to sail for Guayaquil, Ecuador.

On September 21st His Lordship the Governor of Cocos Island and Lady
Giesler honoured us with a farewell dinner, and after receiving all the
provisions they were willing to bestow upon us, we sailed the following
morning for Guayaquil, a distance of about seven hundred miles.  The
wind was from the north-west, and, after having left Wafer Bay in our
wake and cleared Rocky Point, we shaped our course to the eastward and
rounded the island.  No sooner {42} were we clear of the eastern end
than the wind hauled into the south-west, and with a fresh
south-westerly monsoon and the _Xora_ under all sail, we soon left
below the horizon the golden island on which, fourteen days previously,
we had expected to make our fortune.

[Sidenote: At Guayaquil]

The south-west monsoon was fresh and the weather clear, and by keeping
the sails trimmed by the wind the _Xora_ could just lay a course for
the bay of Guayaquil, which we entered about midday on September 27th.
The wind becoming very light we dropped anchor near a brig flying the
Peruvian flag.

No sooner was our anchor down than the captain of the brig came over to
us in his boat and asked where we were from.

"Victoria, B.C.," I replied.

"From Victoria in that little thing!" he said.

Seeing that our accommodation was not very elaborate, he asked us to
come on board his vessel.  He was a Peruvian, but spoke good English,
and, Jack electing to remain with the sloop, Mac and I went over with
the captain to his vessel.

When we got on board, the captain told us that on completing the
loading operations that day they intended to celebrate the occasion,
and would be pleased if we would join them, which invitation we
accepted.  On enquiring our destination I related our misfortune on
Cocos Island, and mentioned that we wanted to go to Guayaquil for
provisions.

"You take my advice and keep away from Guayaquil," was his reply.
"They have fever there of the worst kind."

"Well, we have got to go somewhere to secure provisions," I replied,
"and must get some soon, for we are nearly cleared out."

The captain advised us to sail to Callao, the port he was {43} bound
for, which is about six hundred miles to the south of Guayaquil.
"There," he said, "you have got the finest climate in the world and can
obtain anything you wish, and if you haven't enough provisions to take
you there I shall be pleased to help you out, as I have ample on board
and can spare enough to see you through."

I must say that the captain of the Peruvian brig was a capital fellow.
He gave us a real good time during the afternoon, and at about five
o'clock, after we had decided to go on to Callao, the good old sea-dog
provided us with all the provisions we required for the trip.

The captain, being an old coasting sailor, supplied me with valuable
information as to the winds, weather, currents, etc.  The winds are
from the south nearly all the year round, with fine clear weather.  The
current sets to the north at the rate of about twelve miles a day.

"You understand," he said, "you will have both wind and current against
you, but with a small and well-appointed boat like yours you can make
short tacks near the land.  By so doing you will be almost out of the
current, and in some places may even find a counter current in your
favour.  As for myself," he continued, "owing to the size and build of
my vessel I am obliged to go where there is ample sea-room,
consequently, on sailing from here I trim sails by the wind, which will
give me a south-westerly course for about two thousand miles, after
which I sail due east about one thousand miles, and then shape my
course for Callao, which is about another one thousand five hundred
miles."

"At that rate you sail nearly five thousand miles in making the voyage
from here to Callao," I observed.

"That is just about it," rejoined the captain.

The brig reached her destination more than a month later than ourselves.

We both got under way with our sails trimmed by the {44} wind, and with
a fresh breeze we started side by side on our southern cruise.  Soon
after, both vessels went ahead under all sails.  I could plainly see
that the old brig--which looked as though she had been built by the
mile and cut off by the yard--required ample sea-room and fair winds to
get along.  The _Xora_ was leaving her astern and making about a
two-point better course.  However, the Peruvian captain was right in
every respect.  We experienced fresh, southerly breezes, hauling pretty
well along the land, with clear weather day after day.  The current
also proved to be just about what he had suggested.  During the daytime
we made short tacks right under the land, which always gave us a better
distance to the southward than the night tacks, which were made more
off the land for the safety of the vessel.

The great Andes range of mountains along the Peruvian coast, with the
tropical sun shining on their snow-capped peaks, afforded most
beautiful scenic effects.  Here and there we sighted small towns along
the shore, with fishing boats about.  There being no harbours, but only
heavy surf breaking along the coast, we did not attempt to make a
landing until October 11th, when, early in the morning, we sighted the
island of San Lorenzo, which is about one thousand three hundred feet
high, thrown up during an earthquake years ago, and since has formed
the beautiful harbour of Callao.  At eleven o'clock at night we
anchored near the docks.

[Sidenote: I leave the _Xora_]

Owing to business, which called me back to Victoria, I fitted the
_Xora_ out, put another man in my place and sent her back to the north.
I then took a passage via Panama to New York and thence by the Canadian
Pacific to Victoria, B.C.

During this trip, the distance sailed by the _Xora_ was about seven
thousand miles.

In concluding the account of our voyage in the _Xora_ I {45} regret to
say we did not get what we went after, but apart from that we certainly
enjoyed the cruise immensely, and I also learned something which I had
not known in all my previous experience at sea, that a small vessel is
just as safe in a heavy gale as a large one, and a good deal safer than
many of them.  It was the experience gained on the cruise of the _Xora_
that eventually led up to the unprecedented ocean voyage of forty
thousand miles in the British Columbia Indian war canoe _Tilikum_.




{46}

FORTY THOUSAND MILES IN A CANOE


CHAPTER I

AN ADVENTUROUS PROPOSITION

It was during the Spring of 1901, in Victoria, B.C., that Mr. Luxton, a
Canadian journalist, asked me if I thought I could accomplish a voyage
round the world in a smaller vessel than the American yawl _Spray_, in
which Captain Slocum, an American citizen, had successfully
circumnavigated the globe.

"What were the dimensions of the _Spray_," I enquired.

"About twelve tons," Mr. Luxton replied.

"Well, I think we can go one better," said I.

"There is five thousand dollars in it, out of which you will receive
two thousand five hundred if we cross the three oceans," Mr. Luxton
told me, "and apart from that I shall publish an illustrated book after
we complete the voyage, and you shall have half of what we make out of
it."

"Do I understand, Mr. Luxton," I said, "that you intend to go yourself
on the cruise you are speaking about?"

"I certainly do," was the reply.  "How otherwise could I publish a
book?"

"Did you not tell me some time ago that you have never been to sea, and
have not had any experience in sailing boats?"

[Sidenote: An adventurous proposal]

"I did.  But did you not tell me at the time that you could sail a boat
round the world by yourself?  I therefore call upon you now to prove
your statement.  Instead of {47} making the trip alone, as you said you
could, you might just as well take me along, and I give you my word now
that I shall do my best to help you in sailing the boat."

I had been acquainted with Mr. Luxton for some time, and knew him to be
a temperate man, full of ambition, and his word as good as his bond.  I
accepted his proposal.

Mr. Luxton having had no experience with boats, it was left to me to
secure a suitable vessel and outfit for our intended cruise, and while
I was looking round about the east coast of Vancouver Island, where
there are boats of all sizes and build, I came across an Indian village
where I saw a fairly good-looking canoe lying on the beach.  It struck
me at once that if we could make our proposed voyage in an Indian canoe
we would not alone make a world's record for the smallest vessel but
also the only canoe that had ever circumnavigated the globe.  I at once
proceeded to examine and take dimensions of the canoe, and soon
satisfied myself that she was solid, and also large enough to hold the
provisions and other articles we would have to carry on our cruise.

While I was looking over the canoe an old Indian came along and gave me
to understand, in very broken English, that he was the owner of the
vessel and was willing to sell her.  Now, when purchasing anything from
Indians on Vancouver Island a drop out of a flask, the label on which
reads "Old Rye," goes a long way, because it makes them good natured
and liberal.  I know that if my old friend "Pat Dasy," the Indian
Inspector, had caught me in the act he would have given me three months
in which to repent.  But business is business, and with the aid of my
flask I secured the canoe for a reasonable price.  As the bargain, and
probably, also, the little drop of whisky, had made the old fellow feel
pretty good, he presented me with a human {48} skull, which he claimed
was that of his father, who had built the canoe fifty years previously.

Whether there was any truth in his statement I do not pretend to know,
as these Indians are apt to tell a white man anything as long as they
think there is a chance of getting something out of him, and I am
inclined to doubt it very much.  However, the canoe was sound and
answered my purpose admirably, and as the skull was one of the real old
flat heads I accepted it to take along as a curio.  I then brought her
to a small boat-building yard where I put her in such condition as I
thought necessary for my purpose.

The canoe as I bought her was made out of one solid red cedar log; in
other words, she was a proper "dugout," as used by the Indians for
travelling about, propelled by means of paddles, and at times, when the
wind and weather was in their favour, a small square sail was used.
Red cedar is very durable, but soft and easily split.  I was therefore
obliged to take great precautions in strengthening her so that she
would be able to withstand the rolling and tumbling about in hard
sailing or probably in the heavy gales she would most likely encounter
during our trip.  To put the little vessel in a seaworthy condition I
bent, twenty-four inches apart, one-inch square oak frames inside the
hull from one end to the other, fastened with galvanised iron nails,
and as the canoe was not quite deep enough for my purpose I built up
her sides seven inches.  Inside of the vessel I fastened
two-by-four-inch floor timbers, over which I placed a kelson of similar
measurement, and fastened the same with bolts to a three-by-eight-inch
keel.  On the bottom of the keel I fastened three hundred pounds of
lead.  She was then decked over, and I built a five-by-eight-feet cabin
in her and a cockpit for steering, after which I rigged her with three
small masts and four small fore and aft sails, spreading in all two
hundred and thirty square feet of canvas.  {49} The masts were stayed
with small wire, and all running gear led to the cockpit, from where
the man at the helm could set or take in all sails.

[Sidenote: Dimensions of _Tilikum_]

When all was ready I broke a bottle of wine over her figurehead and
called her _Tilikum_, an Indian name the meaning of which is "Friend."
The _Tilikum's_ dimensions were then as follows:

  Length over all, including figure-head . . . . . . .  38 ft.
  Length on bottom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  30 ft.
  Main breadth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  5 ft. 6 in.
  Breadth, water-line  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  4 ft. 6 in.
  Breadth, bottom  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  3 ft. 6 in.


I then put on board half a ton of ballast, which was placed between the
floor timbers and securely boarded down, and four hundred pounds of
sand in four bags was used as shifting ballast to keep the boat in good
sailing trim.  About one hundred gallons of fresh water in two
galvanised iron tanks was placed under the cockpit.  Three months'
provisions, consisting mostly of tinned goods; one camera; two rifles;
one double-barrelled shot gun; one revolver; ammunition; barometer and
navigating instruments completed our equipment.  With everything on
board, including ourselves, she drew twenty-four inches aft and
twenty-two inches forward.




{50}

CHAPTER II

VANCOUVER ISLAND

[Sidenote: Vancouver Island]

On May 20th the _Tilikum_ was lying in the harbour at Victoria, ready
for sea.  The little vessel was inspected by many people, and the
general opinion was that we should never get beyond Cape Flattery, but
if that was accomplished we should never get back to land.  Hundreds of
different opinions were expressed in regard to our intended voyage,
each spelled disaster for the _Tilikum_ and her crew.  However, my mate
and I had made up our minds that nothing should stop us from making at
least a good attempt at a successful voyage.

The following morning at six o'clock the weather was fine, so we pulled
up our little twenty-five-pound anchor, and, with a light easterly
breeze, sailed out of Victoria Harbour and shaped our course for the
Straits of Juan de Fuca.  The easterly breeze followed us until we
rounded Race Rock, about nine miles from Victoria, when the wind hauled
into the west, and as the tide was also against us our progress was
very slow.  We made tack for tack during the day with little or no
progress, and anchored in a small bay a few miles west of Race Rock for
the night.

At daybreak the wind was in the eastern quadrant again, so we hove up
anchor, set all sail, and once more sailed before the wind, this time
heading for the Pacific Ocean.  During the afternoon the wind increased
to a fresh breeze, and at three o'clock we were down to Cape Flattery,
where the blue bosom of the great ocean lay before us.  The wind
hauling {51} into the south-west, with threatening-looking weather, we
kept off for Port San Juan, where we remained a few days weather bound.

At six o'clock on the morning of May 27th another start was made.  The
wind was from the north-east, with fine clear weather, and under all
sail the _Tilikum_ was headed for the open sea.  The wind being off
shore the water was fairly smooth, and with the fresh breeze blowing
our canoe went along at the rate of six knots an hour, the mountains on
Vancouver Island sinking lower and lower in the sea behind us.  At
half-past ten the wind hauled into the south-east, accompanied by thick
and rainy weather, and the land was soon lost to sight.  The wind kept
increasing, and half an hour later it was blowing a gale, with the
_Tilikum_ lying under small sails.  Just before the land disappeared I
took a bearing of the south-west point of Vancouver Island.  It was my
mate's first voyage at sea, and consequently he was not feeling too
well!  In addition to this, the weather looked very threatening.  I
therefore decided to make for a small bay near Cape Beal Lighthouse,
and rounding the point at nine o'clock we anchored for the night.

The little bay was calm when we dropped the hook, and as my mate and I
were hungry, besides being wet through from both rain and spray, we
changed our garments and had a bite to eat.  By ten o'clock we were
sound asleep in our cabin.  Mr. Luxton occupied the only little bunk we
had, and I took a small seat on the other side of the cabin.  The space
between the bunk and seat was only ten inches.  The bunk was large
enough for a man of moderate size to sleep comfortably in, but the
seat, or top of the locker, where I had to rest, was only fourteen
inches wide, and I therefore had to lie very quiet to keep from rolling
off.  We both slept soundly till all at once the _Tilikum_ gave a quick
lurch, which tumbled me up against the mainmast, between the {52} bunk
and locker, but my head struck on the cabin floor, which not only woke
me up but nearly knocked my brains out.  However, I got up quickly, and
on looking out of the cabin door, in spite of the darkness I could see
sharp breaking seas rolling one after the other into the bay, with a
fresh breeze blowing at the same time.  I advised Mr. Luxton to get up
quickly, for I realised that we must change our position.  No sooner
had I spoken the word than he was on deck.  A few minutes afterwards we
had our anchor up and all sail set, and out we sailed into open water.
At daybreak the weather cleared up nicely and we sailed into the
harbour at Dodges Cove, where there was quite a large Indian village.

[Sidenote: at Dodges Cove]

Quite early in the morning we dropped anchor, and soon after the
Indians came off in their canoes and asked us if we had any whisky for
sale.  I told them that we were not in that line of business, but had
just come in weather bound.  The Indians did not seem to believe our
statement at first, as they offered us ten dollars a bottle.  However,
we at last made them understand that we had no whisky of any kind on
board, at the same time trying to be friendly with them, in which we
were eventually successful.

Dodges Cove is located about five miles north-west of Cape Beal, and is
a safe little harbour for small vessels, which can lie between two
little islands, and on either side there is quite a large Indian
village.  The houses are built along the water's edge with a fine sand
beach in front of them.  This beach was covered with canoes of all
sizes.  In the vicinity of Dodges Cove, and not very far off, are all
kinds of small islands, covered with trees and intersected by small
bays and inlets, where game and wild birds, principally ducks, abound,
and the waters are full of fish.

During the forenoon an old gentleman came alongside our boat in a small
canoe, and introduced himself as {53} McKenzie, the store-keeper of the
village.  We invited him to come on board.  In the course of our
conversation Mr. McKenzie told us he had been keeping a store there for
a number of years, and from the way he spoke led us to understand he
had made quite a pile.

"It seems to me that this is rather a lonely place in which to live.
Wouldn't you rather live in a city?" I asked.

"City?  No, not for me," he replied.  "City life is not to be compared
with life on the west coast of Vancouver Island, with its fresh, pure
air and mild climate.  The land is full of timber and game, and the
water covered with wild birds of all descriptions.  Yes," he continued,
"and besides all that, when the tide is low the table is set."

Mr. McKenzie was a real good old fellow, as the Scots generally are,
and said, "Come up to my house and stop with me for a few days, and I
will show you how we live on Vancouver Island."

We accepted the hearty invitation, and after anchoring the _Tilikum_
where we could see her from his house, went with him in his canoe.
McKenzie's residence and store were about a hundred feet from the
water's edge.  He was a bachelor, and did all his own work, including
the cooking--and a first-class housekeeper and cook he was.  He also
had some very good Scotch whisky on his shelf.

It was about ten o'clock when we got to McKenzie's house, and after we
had sampled the whisky our host said, "I presume you people are hungry,
so I will get something ready to eat."

It happened to be low water, so I said, "Mr. McKenzie, I heard you
saying a while ago that when the tide was low the table was set.  What
about that?"

"I will show you," said McKenzie.

He thereupon took a tin bucket and spade, and went down to the beach.
After throwing up a few shovelfuls of sand {54} we picked up clams
enough in five minutes to fill the bucket, and at noon we had the
finest clam chowder I ever had in my life.

The next morning my mate and I slept rather late.  About seven o'clock
we heard our host shouting, "Breakfast ready."

We were soon up and dressed and sat down to breakfast.  There was some
fine fresh red salmon on the table, and I asked Mac where he obtained
it.

"I went trawling this morning and got seven in less than half an hour,"
he said.

Our meal over, we went out to shoot ducks, and came home with a load
before noon.  The next day we shot five deer.  I certainly agreed with
Mac when he said that the west coast of Vancouver Island was a paradise.

Our friend was a very busy man.  Most of his time was, of course, taken
up in his store selling goods to the Indians, and they were very slow
in buying.  The women particularly would look at an article that cost
about five or ten cents for an hour, and then go away without buying
it.  An old Indian woman came in one day and after pricing everything
in the store finally left without spending five cents.  Mac said she
was nothing but an old hag, but I think she understood Mac, for she
turned round and said something in her own language which I did not
understand, though Mac apparently did, for he kept very quiet until she
got outside.  Then he said some more things.




{55}

CHAPTER III

WITH THE INDIANS

We had been with our host nearly a week, when I said to my mate, "Look
here, Luxton, we have a long way to go yet, so had better make another
start."  But Luxton was anxious to get some Indian curios before we
sailed.

Mac said, "Stop till to-morrow, for it is the Sabbath and we will go to
church."

So we decided to stay, on my part chiefly, because I thought Mac had a
little religious feeling in him, and therefore would like our company
to church.

The place was crowded with Indian men and women, both old and young.
The missionary was an Englishman, an earnest, good man, who tried his
very best to make the Indians understand.  Unfortunately, he was not
well versed in the language, and as the Indians did not understand much
English he was obliged to mix the two a little to make himself
understood.

During this particular morning he was trying to explain what a sinner
was, which he found it very difficult to do.  All at once, the old
woman whom Mac had called an old hag the day before, got up from the
very front bench and without saying a word came down to where we were
sitting.  Pointing her finger at McKenzie she looked at the missionary
and said, "That is one."

Mac was one of those long-whiskered old Scotchmen and very good
natured.  All he said was, "I will get even with her the next time she
wants to buy a new dress."

{56}

The bad weather returned for a few days.  The wind was in the
south-west and we were therefore obliged to wait a little longer for
better weather.  One day I stopped on board to do a little work that
had to be done, and my mate went out hunting, returning, a little
before dark, with a bag full of birds.  After we had finished our
supper he said to me confidentially, "Say, John, I have made some great
discoveries to-day.  I have found a place where we can get a boat-load
of all kinds of Indian curios, the best in the land; but we must keep
it from old Mac, as he would not like it."

"Where is it?" I asked, "and why wouldn't Mac like us to get them?"

"Because it is in an Indian graveyard, and we will have to go there at
night."

I wanted some curios myself--but to rob a graveyard at night!  Why, it
gave me the shivers to think of it.

Next morning we went out hunting, and after a little while reached the
graveyard.  Instead of proper graves, the dead bodies had been put in
all kinds of old boxes and left above the ground.  Some of them were
even placed in tops of trees, and all kinds of Indian tools, baskets,
spears, old guns, mats, etc., were piled upon the coffins.  On and
round one I counted fifteen bags of flour.  I found out later that it
was a custom among the Indians when one of them dies that most if not
all his belongings go with the body to the graveyard.

There was one large cave leading from a gravel beach about four hundred
feet into a small mountain, apparently washed in years ago by large
seas coming in from the Pacific Ocean.  But at the time of my visit the
cave was quite an appreciable height above the high-water mark.  The
mouth of this cave must have been about forty feet in diameter, the
shape nearly round, and getting gradually smaller and smaller from the
mouth.

{57}

My mate and I walked up to the innermost end.  It was as dark as night,
and we were obliged to strike a match to see.  There we found dead
bodies all wrapped up in some kind of Indian blanket.  In some of the
blankets nothing was left but human bones.  We helped ourselves to some
of the old flat-head skulls, which we were destined, however, to leave
behind on our way out, for when we got to the entrance of the cave we
saw some Indians outside apparently waiting for us to come out.  As
they were armed we dropped the skulls and walked out to meet them.
They appeared to be very angry with us for going into the cave, but
upon our assuring them that we did not know of the cemetery inside the
cave they let us off with a warning.  We went back a few nights later
and got some curios.

[Sidenote: Indian curios]

We also became acquainted with the Indian chief, who invited us to come
with him in his canoe on the next calm day to catch a whale.  Hunting
whales in a canoe was something I had never seen before, so I accepted
the chief's invitation, but as it could only be done on a calm day we
were obliged to wait some time before the weather was fine.  Three
canoes were got ready one afternoon.  The Indians put on board each
canoe whale spears, long lines and large sea-lion's bladders, together
with some provisions and blankets, and the next morning at one o'clock
we started off with three men in each canoe, except the one I was in,
which had four.  Of course I was only a passenger.

The distance from Dodges Cove to the ocean is only a few miles, but we
went about ten miles off the coast before we sighted a whale, and a big
one at that.  The three canoes went along abreast, about five hundred
yards apart.  I was in the middle one.  The canoe on our right sighted
the whale, and after giving the signal all three rushed after the
monster.  It was some time before we got near {58} him.  The canoe on
my left got in the first and only spear, but was apparently too near
when the harpoon struck.  The whale gave just one slap with his tail
which smashed the canoe to pieces.  The three men swam for dear life,
while the whale, with the harpoon inside him, rushed along at full
speed.  A long line was fastened to the spear, to which were attached
three sea-lion bladders, and as these floated on the surface we could
see the direction he took.  After picking up the three Indians, we went
after him, but it seems that the whale got too much of a start, as we
lost sight of the bladders and never saw the whale again.  We then
returned to get another canoe.  As the weather kept calm we went out
again the next morning, this time with better success.  We were only
about five miles off the coast when we sighted two large whales, and in
a very short time one of the canoes was fast to one of them.  The whale
travelled so rapidly that the Indians had to let him go with the line
and bladders, after which all three canoes put after him, following the
bladders, which were sometimes on top of the water and sometimes lost
to view, though only just for a second, when he would come up again.

[Sidenote: Whale hunting]

After the whale had gone quite a distance, with the heavy drag of the
bladders behind him, he slackened his speed and the canoes gradually
came up with him.  They then drove two more spears into his body, which
urged him to make another start; but the canoes stuck to him, and the
Indians continually throwing spears, soon had him conquered.

It seemed to me as if the sea monster knew that he had lost the battle
as he gradually came under the control of the Indians.  With one canoe
on each side of him, and one behind, they led him along under his own
power towards a sand beach near Dodges Cove, where they {59} wished to
cut him up.  When we got about a mile from the beach the whale
gradually stopped headway.  The chief told me that he was dying.  The
Indians then fastened all the bladders on to the whale to stop him from
sinking, after which the three canoes got ahead of him and towed him
in.  He was then placed on the sand beach at high tide, and when the
tide was low and the whale high and dry nearly all the natives from
Dodges Cove, old and young, cut him up, after which the Indians held a
great feast, where the whale meat was equally divided among all the
inhabitants.  The chief gave me a piece of the whale meat, which I cut
up in strips and fried, and it turned out to be excellent steak.




{60}

CHAPTER IV

INTO THE WIDE PACIFIC--SEA-GOING QUALITIES OF THE _TILIKUM_

Between old Mac, the Indians, fishing, war dances, canoe racing and our
own hunting and fishing, it was made so pleasant for us that we stopped
at Dodges Cove till July 6th.

Of course everything had been ready for sea for some time, and both of
us slept on board that night.  I got up early next morning, and found
the weather was fine, with a gentle breeze blowing off the land.  I
said to my mate, "All hands on deck, heave up anchor and set sail"; and
in a few minutes we were under all sail and heading out towards the
ocean.

[Sidenote: Heading south]

The light wind, which was from the north-east, gradually hauled into
the north-west, increasing as we got further off the land.  We shaped
our course to the south, as our plan was to cross the equator in one
hundred and twenty-five degrees west longitude and make the Marquesas
Islands our first place of call.  During the middle part of the day we
had a fresh north-westerly breeze, and at three o'clock, when the
mountain tops on Vancouver Island sank very low, I was sitting in the
cockpit steering, when I saw, quite a long way from us, a splash of
water thrown up in the air.  I kept watching that place for a little
while, and then saw that it was a whale spouting.  I knew from former
experience that that part of the ocean was full of whales, but as my
mate had never seen one spouting, and was at that time down in the
cabin making afternoon tea, {61} I called him up to have a look at the
sight.  While both of us were watching the whale we noticed that he was
coming towards us, and every few minutes throwing more than half of his
large body out of the water, and then falling back again, which latter
caused the splash.  The big sea monster came nearer and nearer to us,
and we soon discovered that he was trying to get away from the killers,
which are the worst enemy of the whale.  The whale was doing his best
to get away, swinging his large flippers about, his only means of
defence, but, whenever he came to the surface, the killers, sometimes
as many as half a dozen, would jump on top of him, while others
underneath ripped him up with their large fins.  It was a battle for
life, but we could see plainly that the whale, large as he was,
weakened fast from the awful punishment his enemies inflicted upon him.
The last time the combatants showed themselves they were only about a
hundred yards from us, and as we had our rifles all ready we fired a
few shots among them, after which they all disappeared.  The weather
kept fine and clear all day, and with a fresh breeze the _Tilikum_ went
along like a little ship.  That night before dark we lost sight of
land, which we did not see again for fifty-eight days.  We were now in
the open ocean, and running into harbour for the night, or tying the
_Tilikum_ up to a tree, was out of the question.  We were now obliged
to stay at sea by night as well as day and take the bitter with the
sweet.  Not only that, we also had to keep under sail and steer the
boat on her course, as we had a straight course of at least four
thousand miles to travel before seeing land again, and to make four
thousand miles on the ocean in a small boat a man must keep his eyes
open.  Therefore, the very first thing which I had to teach my
companion was how to look after the _Tilikum_ while I slept.

{62}

My mate was a man of good commonsense, and as the weather kept fine for
several days I had no trouble in teaching him enough seamanship to take
care of the _Tilikum_ at night as well as day.  From that time we took
turn about on deck, and we also regulated our meal hours as follows:
breakfast at seven o'clock, which consisted of porridge and condensed
milk, sometimes boiled eggs, with coffee and hard tack; dinner at noon,
at which we generally had boiled potatoes, tinned meat of different
kinds, coffee and hard tack and butter; for supper, at six o'clock, we
generally made some kind of stew from what was left over from dinner,
finishing up with tea, hard tack and butter.  The above is not much of
a daily bill of fare, but we got along fine with it, and always kept in
good condition.  In cooking we also took turns.

The weather kept fine and the north-west wind moderate until July 11th,
when it started to increase during the morning hours, accompanied by
heavy passing clouds from the north-west.  At noon the _Tilikum_ was
going along at her very best speed under all sail.  The seas began to
get larger, and at times some of the tops would come over just enough
to give us a good soaking.  As the wind and sea kept on increasing, I
took in the mainsail and spanker, and under the foresail the _Tilikum_
went along nicely.  Still the wind kept on increasing, and at three
o'clock in the afternoon it was blowing very hard, the seas getting
dangerous for a small boat.  I thought it best to heave to in time,
which would simultaneously give me a chance to experiment with the boat
to find out under what sails she would lay head to sea the best.

In preparing to bring the boat round head to sea, I first of all
lowered all sail to make her go as slow as possible before the wind.  I
then told my mate to go forward, hold on to the foremast and stand by
to drop the sea anchor {63} overboard when I said the word.  To my
great surprise he refused to do this, telling me that he would not do
it for his grandmother.  The _Tilikum_ was going along under bare poles
before the wind and sea quite comfortably, now and then taking a little
spray over, and as there was no particular hurry to heave to, I called
to him to come out in the cockpit and sit down alongside me while I
gave him a little advice; but instead of coming out as I asked him he
just put his head out of the cabin door and listened to what I had to
say.

[Sidenote: On heaving to]

"Look here, Norman," I said, "I want to give you a little explanation
of the danger of running before a breaking sea.  Many large vessels are
sent to the bottom with one breaking sea by keeping the vessel running
before a gale too long, and where would the _Tilikum_ and you and I be
if we let her run before a heavy gale.  This is not a heavy gale yet,
but it will be by to-night, and therefore we must put our boat in
safety before the seas get too large."

"Is it not much better and safer to let the boat run along with the
seas?  She will then go nearly as fast as the waves, and I should
think, therefore, that the seas would have no power on her and the boat
be much safer," my mate replied.

"It probably looks that way to you, but the reverse is the case.  To
begin with, waves (which seamen generally call seas) in a gale run at a
speed of about twenty-seven to twenty-eight miles an hour.  Our boat at
the very best can make only eight miles an hour, and the eight miles
are mostly made when she is on top of the seas, because when the boat
is between the seas the wind blows over her and she consequently loses
headway.  As long as there is no break on the seas we are quite safe in
letting her go as fast as she likes, but when the seas are breaking we
run a great risk by allowing the boat to run before it.  The {64} seas
are starting to break now, so we must prepare to heave to."

"I fail to see the point yet," my mate contended, "as to why a boat
should be safer with her headway stopped than when she is sailing along
the sea and wind."

[Illustration: CAPTAIN J. C. VOSS]

"Look here, Norman," I replied, "I should like you to be perfectly
satisfied on this point, for then I know you will have more confidence
in our boat.  I will therefore explain to you where the danger comes in
with running before breaking seas.  When a vessel runs before breaking
seas her stern is pulled down by suction of the water, and the faster
she sails the greater is the suction in this case, and when a breaking
sea overtakes the boat, and her stern is held down by suction, the
breaker will go over the top of her with tremendous force.  One
breaking sea of that kind may send a large vessel to the bottom; on the
other hand, if the broken sea runs under her stern then the bow will be
way down and the stern high up, and the rudder will have no control
over the vessel.  She will then come round sideways, and the same
breaker will most likely turn her bottom upwards.  But if a boat or
ship in a heavy gale is stopped from going ahead through the water, she
is free from suction and consequently will rise even to a breaking sea.
It matters very little whether a vessel lays head on, stern on, or
sideways, as long as her headway is stopped.  There is only one way of
stopping a sailing vessel from going ahead in a heavy gale, and that
is, to bring her head to wind and sea, and this is called 'heaving to.'
Large sailing vessels hove to under storm sails and properly loaded as
a rule lie very dry and comfortable.  They may take quite a lot of
water on board during a heavy gale, but water in a case of this kind
just rolls over the rails and is harmless.  If she does ship dangerous
seas when hove to it is a sure sign that the {65} vessel is carrying
too much sail.  Now, in our case, with our small vessel and only a
three-quarter-inch cedar deck we cannot allow even one sea to board us,
as one sea breaking over this vessel will most likely put us out of
business.  Therefore, to keep seas from breaking over us we must first
of all heave to in time, and heave her to in such a way that she will
not ship heavy water even in the worst gale; and that is what we are
going to do right now.  You understand me now, don't you?"

My mate looked at me and then at the waves, and I know he was wishing
himself ashore.  I then tied a life-line round his waist, and told him
to go forward and stand by to drop the sea anchor over the bow when I
gave the word.  This time he obeyed my orders, as I assured him that I
would pull him in again if he should get washed overboard.  He managed
to get forward on his hands and knees, and when forward held on to the
foremast to wait for orders.  By this time there was quite a large sea
running, and some of the waves were breaking heavily.  I waited for a
fairly smooth sea to come along, and when she got on top I put the helm
down, and as she came round inside of a few seconds, and just before
swinging head to sea, I pulled the small sail down which I had set for
that occasion.

When the boat got head to sea a breaker came up in front of her which
for a few moments looked very much like a brick wall.  I shouted at the
top of my voice, "Throw the sea anchor over," but instead of doing this
he dropped it on deck and climbed up the foremast, and owing to the
smallness of the boat his weight on top of the mast almost caused her
to turn over.  I quickly took a pull on the life-line and told him to
come down, and as the sea had passed the boat by that time he came down
just about as quickly as he went up.  After throwing the {66} sea
anchor over, the _Tilikum_ drifted along with the wind and sea and soon
tightened the anchor rope; then the boat lay about five points from the
wind, and, considering the sea which was running at the time, was
fairly comfortable and apparently out of danger.  I thought that she
would be more comfortable and safer if I could manage to get her to lay
closer to the wind; I therefore set my leg-of-mutton spanker and hauled
the sheet in flat, which made a riding sail instead of a driving sail
out of it.  No sooner was the sail set than she swung her head to the
wind and seas to about two and a half points.  The _Tilikum_ certainly
rode fine that way.

I then said to my mate, "The _Tilikum_ is all right now and we are as
safe here as in the Victoria Hotel in Victoria, B.C.  Now, tell me, why
did you climb the foremast instead of attending to the sea anchor when
I asked you?"

"Well," Luxton replied, "when I saw that sea coming up in front of us I
made sure it was coming clean on top of us!"

During the afternoon, while running before the strong wind and large
seas, the boat had taken some spray over, and both my mate and myself
got pretty wet; in fact, we were soaked to the skin; but now that she
was hove to, the decks, with the exception of the forward end, were
quite dry.  We then changed our clothes, had our supper, and then both
of us sat down in the cockpit to have a smoke and talk about the poor
people on shore, who at that very moment may have trees and houses
blown about their heads.

[Sidenote: Hove to in a gale]

The wind and sea was increasing fast towards evening, but the bow of
the _Tilikum_ rose finely to every sea.

"By Jove, John," said Luxton, at the same time tapping me on the
shoulder, "I thought sure it was all off with us when we hove to and I
saw that big sea in front of us, {67} but to see this little canoe
going over the top of those big monsters without rolling or tumbling
about is most wonderful.  Well, if ever we do get back to land, when I
publish our experiences in this gale, not one person in a hundred will
believe my story."

I may say that my mate, a young man, had never seen salt water until we
went out in the _Tilikum_.  Nevertheless he proved himself a
first-class shipmate in every way, good sailor, good cook, and quick of
action, but he acknowledges himself that the quickest move he ever made
was in going up the mast.

At dark I put a light on deck, and one of us laid down in the bunk and
the other one on the seat.  The little vessel laid very comfortably
during that heavy gale, in fact, well enough for both of us to go to
sleep.  Owing, however, to the wind keeping up its fury all night I got
up every now and then and had a look out on deck.  But the night was
dark and the wind howling, so I could see nothing but the breaking
water on top of the large seas, shining through the darkness, while the
roaring noise of the breaking seas made us feel rather gloomy during
that night.

We were very glad when daylight made its appearance on the eastern
horizon.  The wind kept up its fury all the forenoon, accompanied by
heavy seas and passing clouds.  At midday the sky was clear and the
wind moderating, and by standing on top of the cabin deck and putting
one arm round the mainmast to steady myself, and watching my chance
when the boat was on top of a large sea, I managed to get a good
observation of the noon sun.  According to that observation our little
vessel had drifted twenty-four miles to the southward in sixteen hours
while she had been hove to under the sea anchor.  The wind during that
gale was from N.N.W.

{68}

During the afternoon the wind kept on lightening, the seas getting
smaller, and the sky clearing, and the first gale of our long voyage
was over.  The _Tilikum_ had weathered it without the least trouble,
not losing as much as a ropeyarn; in fact, the gale had not left a
trace of any kind either on the _Tilikum_ or her crew.  The only thing
the gale had done was to give us great confidence in the _Tilikum's_
capability of carrying us to our appointed destination.  During the
afternoon the wind kept on decreasing.  At four o'clock there was still
a strong breeze blowing from the same direction as it had kept all day,
but the seas had lost their dangerous breaking tops, and therefore the
danger of the same had disappeared.  I hauled down the small storm
sail, took in the sea anchor, hoisted the staysail, and the _Tilikum_
swung round before the wind and sea on her southerly course.  I kept
her going under small sails for a while, but at midnight we were
spinning along once more under all sails.




{69}

CHAPTER V

THE CALM BELT--LAND IN SIGHT!

After the gale, the weather settled fine and clear, with a nice, steady
northerly sailing breeze, the _Tilikum_ making from a hundred to a
hundred and fifty miles a day.  On July 17th, shortly after breakfast,
we sighted a sail on our starboard bow, apparently a sailing vessel
standing to the eastward.  I changed our course to meet the stranger.
The wind was rather light during the forenoon, and it took us quite a
while till we met, which was about eleven o'clock.  When alongside we
found the vessel was the U.S. barquantine _Mary Winkelman_, from
Honolulu with a cargo of sugar, and bound for San Francisco.  The
captain and his wife invited us on board for dinner, but as there was
quite a large sea running at the time, we were afraid of something
happening to our little canoe if she was brought up against the side of
the barquantine by one of the seas.

"Would you like to have some fresh bread?" the captain's wife asked us.

We gratefully accepted the offer and the captain lowered a few loaves.

After comparing longitudes we said good-bye, and I put the _Tilikum_ on
her southerly course.  The place where we met the _Mary Winkelman_ was
three hundred and fifty miles south-west of San Francisco.  Just as I
swung the _Tilikum_ on her course the captain shouted, "I will report
you when I get to San Francisco," which he did, as I {70} found out
later.  The wind kept light during the afternoon, but at three o'clock
the barquantine was out of sight, and we were once more left by
ourselves on the ocean,

  Alone, alone, all, all alone,
  Alone on a wide, wide sea!


The weather kept fine and clear day after day, and the wind kept light
and variable from the north.  Averaging about one hundred miles a day
we soon got into the north-east trade wind, which was also moderate
with fine clear weather.  A fresh-water yachtsman could have sailed the
_Tilikum_ through that part of the Pacific.  My mate thought then that
all our troubles were over, and that we had nothing but fine weather
and smooth sailing before us.  The weather was certainly fine and our
sailing was as smooth as any sailing could possibly be, but as we were
approaching the equator the weather got warmer and warmer every day.
It finally got so hot that it was next to an impossibility to sleep in
the cabin.  As soon as we lay down, the sweat would just run out of us.
Then, again, in sitting in the cockpit we could not keep our eyes open
while steering.  Still, the latter had to be done at all costs.  One
night, while I was asleep during my watch below, I heard the sails
flapping and woke up.  I said to myself, "Hullo!  My mate is asleep at
the helm!"  Thereupon I looked out of the cabin door and there he was,
his head swinging from side to side, and the boat up in the wind.

"Wake up, out there," I shouted.

He woke up all right, and then denied that he had been sleeping, and
having no room for settling arguments on the _Tilikum_ I dropped the
matter.

[Sidenote: In the calm belt]

Day after day the north-east wind kept light, and some days we only
made about fifty miles.  The weather also {71} kept pretty warm.  About
a week later my mate again fell asleep at the rudder, and the flapping
of the sails woke me up.  Looking out of the companionway, I saw him in
the same condition as before.  The night was dark and cloudy, and he
could not see me from the outside, so I took a bucketful of sea water
and from the inside of the cabin poured the water over his head and
laid down again, without him seeing me.  As I said before, my mate was
a newspaper man, and therefore knew how to string language, but I don't
think Mr. Luxton would like to see in print the language he used, so I
shall keep it out just to oblige him.

About three hours later I get up, and as usual said, "Good morning,
Norman."  He did not speak, but looked very cross at me.

"What is the matter, Norman; don't you feel well?" I asked him.

"Look here, John," he said, "this boat should be put in a glass case
instead of on the sea."

"Why?" I asked.

"A vessel that ships seas in this kind of weather should never sail
outside of a millpond," and then he used some more of his own special
brand of language.

I don't think he knew that I had thrown the water, but by considering
it, later on, he thought differently, for some nights afterwards I got
the same kind of a sea over me, but all I said the next morning was, "I
agree with what you said, Norman, this boat should be in a glass case
or on a millpond."

In the latter part of July, when in latitude seventeen degrees north
and longitude one hundred and twenty-five west, the trade wind became
very light, and the sky cloudy.  At three o'clock in the afternoon a
heavy westerly squall, accompanied by rain, struck the _Tilikum_, which
made us {72} take in sail pretty quickly.  The squall was short and
sweet, but I knew then, by the way the weather acted, that we had
sailed out of the north-east trade wind and got into what is called the
calm belt or Doldrums.  It is rather unusual, and certainly very
unlucky, to lose the north-east trade wind as soon as that, as, it
generally means a long spell of dirty and contrary weather, which we
certainly got.  Why that part of the ocean is called the calm belt I
don't understand, because, from the trouble we had there with the
_Tilikum_, and also from former experiences, I should call it anything
but that.  "The belt of the seamen's trouble" would be a far more
suitable name.  For sixteen long days and nights we had nothing but
trouble with the weather and the sails; it was up sails and down sails,
hauling in sheets or slacking them, all the time.  During that time, we
experienced about fifty changes of weather every day.  It would be
pouring with rain for a little while, and then the sun would blaze down
on us.  The next thing would be a heavy squall of wind and rain
combined, but my mate and I stuck to it.  I don't think either of us
ever dozed at the rudder while going through this belt of trouble.  The
distance to the nearest land about the time we were going through all
that drilling was about fifteen hundred miles, so there was no chance
of running in somewhere and tying up to a tree as we did on Vancouver
Island.

One day a heavy squall of wind and rain came in from the south-west,
which made me take in every sail when it struck us, but in about ten
minutes' time the squall hauled round by the way of north, east, and
then south-east, after which the rain stopped, the sky cleared, and the
wind became a steady fresh breeze, which soon convinced me that we were
now in the south-east trade wind.  We were then in about five degrees
north latitude and one hundred {73} and twenty-eight degrees west
longitude, and our course to the Marquesas Islands about S.S.W.,
distant one thousand miles.  In sailing by the wind we could have made
the Marquesas Islands all right, but owing to the wind being too
strong, almost too strong for the _Tilikum_ to sail by the wind, we
changed our minds, and instead of steering for the Marquesas, shaped
our course for Penrhyn Island in latitude eight degrees fifty-five
minutes south and longitude one hundred and fifty-eight degrees six
minutes west.  The south-east trade wind was a good leading wind for us
to Penrhyn, and as it gradually hauled into the E.S.E., it was still
better, for this gave us the wind on the port quarter, which the
_Tilikum_ liked best of all.  In a few days we crossed the equator,
after which we had about as much wind as we could take care of.

Under all sail we were running off one hundred and fifty to one hundred
and seventy miles a day, and the best day's run we got out of the
_Tilikum_, which was also the record for the whole voyage, was one
hundred and seventy-seven miles.  My mate was by that time an excellent
helmsman, otherwise we could never have done it, for we had to keep her
going every minute to get that distance out of her.  The strong trade
wind threw up a large sea, which sometimes would break quite heavily,
and when a breaker came along with its roaring noise, my mate would
twist his head from one side to the other, watching it coming.  Now and
then he would say, "John, I think we had better heave her to, I don't
like this.  I'm getting nervous."

"No time to heave to round here," I said.  "Just watch the forward end
of the boat and the compass and keep her on her course, and you will be
all right."

There was no time for dozing at the rudder then, as carelessness in
steering just about that time would have {74} had a bad effect, but as
long as she was kept on her course the _Tilikum_ was quite safe.  Of
course at times the water would wash over the deck, and at times it
would even come into the cockpit and give us a good soaking, but the
weather being warm, we did not mind that in the least.  At any rate we
kept the _Tilikum_ sailing on her western course till September 1st, at
dark, when according to my reckoning we should be very near Penrhyn
Island.  We hove to for the night and waited for daylight next morning,
after which we kept her before the south-east trade wind again.

[Sidenote: Penrhyn Island]

At seven o'clock, as usual, we had our breakfast, and while we were
eating, my mate said, "I bet that old Waltham watch of yours got out of
time and we will not be able to find the island."  At that time,
according to my reckoning, we should only be about twelve miles from
the island, and I was just about thinking myself that there was
something wrong with my navigation.  Still, I did not want to let on to
my mate what I apprehended.  That morning we had been fifty-eight days
at sea, and both of us felt we would like to get on solid land once
more and stretch our legs.

Penrhyn Island was given in my sailing directory as a low island about
eight miles wide, which could be seen from a ship's deck about eight or
nine miles distant.  By being a little out in navigation we might have
sailed by without seeing it, but still, as our distance was not quite
up I was in hopes of making it.  At any rate, I kept steering the same
course as before.  My mate was in the cabin washing the breakfast
dishes, at the same time grumbling and growling about my only taking an
ordinary Waltham watch for a chronometer, and what would become of us
if we did not make land, etc.  I could not help listening to him
grumbling, but at the same time was almost looking {75} the eyes out of
my head trying to find the land.  The sky was as clear as could be, and
my mate was still at the dishes when I thought I saw something ahead of
me that looked like land.  But it had disappeared again just as fast as
it had appeared above the horizon.  I kept looking in that direction,
and in a minute or two I saw the same again.

"Land ahead," I shouted.

In a second my mate was alongside me, saying "Where?"  It had
disappeared again, and as my mate could not see it he looked at me; but
before he said what he intended I saw it again.

"There it is," I said; and this time we both saw it and also knew it
was real land.




{76}

CHAPTER VI

PENRHYN ISLAND

On seeing the land, my mate got so excited that he threw his hat up in
the air, and gave three cheers for old Canada.  Unfortunately, the hat
went overboard, and I had to tack ship to pick it up.

[Sidenote: Penrhyn Island]

When we got near the island, we saw that it was very small and, being
covered with cocoanut trees, it looked rather wild.  My South Pacific
sailing directory said that the natives on Penrhyn were not to be
trusted, and as we were only two in a very small boat I must frankly
admit that I did not care about making a landing on that lonely little
out-of-the-way island in the great Pacific Ocean, and amongst a lot of
dark people who were perhaps cannibals.  Therefore I told my mate we
had better keep on sailing till we came to Samoa.  I surely thought
that this advice would have found favour with Luxton, but instead of
that he blew up like a stick of dynamite.

"What do you mean by suggesting that we pass by an island like this,
the most interesting place we can go to.  Never; we must go in at all
costs.  That is what I have come out for, to see small, out-of-the-way
islands and people, and if you look at your agreement you will find it
is so.  No, John, don't talk to me like that."

Of course I knew that our agreement called for visiting small inhabited
and uninhabited islands, and also that my mate had made up his mind to
call in, and it was of no use for me to say any more about it.  So I
said, "Well, {77} all right, Norman, we will go in, but by all means
let us go about it in a careful way," to which he readily agreed.

The island was described in the sailing directory as being a low
round-shaped lagoon island and inhabited by four hundred South Sea
Islanders, who were not to be trusted, and that there were several
entrances into the lagoon, one in particular on the east and another on
the north side.  With the fresh E.S.E. trade wind we steered for the
eastern entrance, and I said to myself, "If the natives do get after
us, the easterly wind will also be a fair wind to take us through the
lagoon and out of the northern channel."

With our four one-hundred-pound bags of sand, which we used as shifting
ballast, we fortified ourselves in the cockpit, and with all our
firearms loaded and lying alongside us, ready for instant use, we
sailed in for the east end of the island.  We soon got near the east
coast, but could not see the entrance into the lagoon.  We then shaped
our course along the coast to the northward, and saw two wrecks of
large sailing vessels lying in amongst the rocks and breakers.  They
were lying abeam a quarter of a mile apart.  One of them was pretty
well broken up, but the other was lying on her side, with the hull
apparently still in fairly good condition.  Shortly after passing the
two ill-fated vessels we saw the roofs of some buildings quite a way in
amongst the cocoanut trees, but so far no entrance to the lagoon.  We
kept on following the coast to the northward, and finally reached the
gap we were looking for.  It was about half a mile wide, and there were
large breakers at the entrance.  We could see from the outside, while
still sailing amongst the large seas, the perfectly smooth shining
water of the lagoon, and as we got nearer and nearer could see small
boats and canoes sailing on the lagoon.  My mate said, "Now just look
at that picture.  {78} It is the finest I have ever seen.  See that
fine smooth piece of water with small boats sailing about in different
directions, while the bright morning sun shining on all of it gives the
water a silvery colour.  Just look at the sails of the boats and canoes
as white as snow, with all kinds of tropical birds flying about; and
all this surrounded by a ring of green cocoanut trees!  Well, John," he
continued, "there is no artist in the world that could make a picture
look so beautiful as this; and to think that you wanted to pass this
place without calling in!"

[Sidenote: In the lagoon]

"You may change your mind when you meet the natives," I replied.

As we still had the strong E.N.E. trade wind driving us along we soon
got out of the large seas and into smooth water.  The strip of land
round the lagoon was only about half a mile wide, and as soon as we got
through the entrance we changed our course along the land towards the
south, where we had seen signs of habitation shortly before.  While
sailing along near the land we saw several native men among the
cocoanut trees with very scanty clothing on.

I said to my mate, "Those fellows may have us for supper to-night."

"If they do they will have to fight hard for it," he replied.

We continued sailing along the land, and soon saw some houses near the
water's edge.  Next the village came into full view, and not far from
the village lay a fine-looking schooner, painted white.  To all
appearances it was a European vessel, and to make sure we hoisted our
little Canadian flag, which was answered at once from the schooner,
which proved to be a Frenchman.  Neither of us could speak a word of
French, but, as I told my mate, in all my travels I have been on
vessels of every nation, and have never yet found a ship on which there
wasn't {79} someone who could speak English.  At any rate, we changed
our course and steered for the schooner, and in about fifteen minutes
were alongside her.

The first words we heard from the French vessel were, in plain English,
"Take your sails in and we will give you a line to tie up with."  With
that, one of the sailors threw a line across our bow.  We soon lowered
our sails and made fast to the schooner.

"Where are you from?" was the next question from the deck of the
schooner.

"From Victoria, B.C.," I answered.

"Come on board," the same voice said.  One of the seamen put a ladder
over the side of the schooner, and both of us clambered up.

The first to greet us was a strong, heavy set man.  He shook hands with
us, and said, in good English, "My name is Dexter.  Allow me to welcome
you gentlemen on board my vessel."

Captain Dexter then introduced us to Mr. Winchester.  Dexter, an
American, and Winchester, an Englishman, were partners in the schooner,
and were trading among the South Pacific Islands.

We were hardly on board the schooner when the chief of the village came
off to welcome us to his island.  Soon after that, natives, old and
young, came off in their canoes and boats to get a glimpse of the
strangers.  The natives certainly looked very much better than I had
pictured them in my mind.  They were quite tall and well built, and
apparently very polite.  Some of the women with long black hair hanging
down their backs were exceedingly pretty, and all wore calico dresses,
which were as white as snow.

During the afternoon Captain Dexter took us on shore to the house of
the chief, who treated us to some cocoanut {80} milk served in cocoanut
shell, after which we were conducted through the village.  The houses,
which were built of wood and covered with dried cocoanut leaves, were
mostly situated along the water front.

"Where do you get all the North American pine from?" I said, seeing
that all the houses were built of that lumber.

"Did you see the two wrecks just outside the entrance when you came
in?" Captain Dexter asked.

[Sidenote: Wrecks on Penrhyn]

I replied in the affirmative.

"Well," he said, "one of them came along here a few years ago with a
cargo of lumber for Australia, and got stranded here.  The crew managed
to get ashore, and as the vessel broke up, the lumber drifted in and
naturally the natives helped themselves.  The crew stopped here three
months, waiting for a vessel to come along to take them off.  But they
waited in vain.  Eventually they decked over the lifeboats which they
had saved from the wreck and sailed to Samoa in them.  From Samoa they
took a steamer for Sydney, where the loss of the ship and cargo was
reported.  The captain's wife also got lost in the wreck.  She was lost
because her husband had the same idea as I had--that the natives were
murderers and cannibals.  When the vessel struck the boats were
lowered, and, to keep out of the hands of the natives, the captain
ordered the crew to pull to sea, instead of for the shore.  The boat
which held the captain and his wife was overturned in the breakers, and
the poor woman was drowned.  All the rest got ashore and were received
with open arms by the natives on the island.  The owners of the lost
cargo at once sent for a duplicate cargo, and a vessel was chartered.
After the cargo was put on board she set sail for Australia, but she
also only got as far as Penrhyn Island, where she piled up on a dark
night alongside the other one."

No doubt many of my readers will think this is a most {81} wonderful
story, and so I did.  When I got to London I went to the trouble of
seeing the secretary of Lloyds, who assured me that the story was
correct.

These were the two wrecks we saw when coming in, and from which the
natives got the lumber to build their town.  I asked Captain Dexter how
the natives made a living, to which he replied, that the natives of the
South Sea in their own way are the most independent people in the world.

"To start with," he continued, "you see for yourself that this, like
all the rest of the low islands, is covered with cocoanut trees, which
are the most profitable tree they have.  The wood is hard and can be
used for any kind of woodwork.  The leaves are used to make different
kinds of plain and fancy hats, cloths, mats, baskets, brooms,
scrubbers, house roofing, fish corrals, and to make large 'flareups'
for the purpose of attracting flying-fish to the canoes, in which they
set out to catch them."

The sap of the tree is obtained from the blossom, and as much as a
gallon and a half can be extracted from a single tree.  This sap when
fresh tastes like excellent cool cider.  If left standing for a day it
turns into syrup, and in two or three days it becomes a liquor similar
to rum, and very little of it will make a man intoxicated.

If the sap is not drawn out of the tree it will grow cocoanuts.  Each
full-grown tree will have about one hundred nuts.  There are four
different kinds of trees, bearing the red, white, blue, and sweet
cocoanuts.  The latter is the most profitable, as the nut husk, when
green, is very good eating.  Its taste is very much like sugar cane.
All cocoanuts, when green, are full of milk.  The milk itself is a
sweet, cool drink and must be very nutritious.  While I was cruising
round the South Sea Islands I drank nothing else, and never felt better
in my life.  When the {82} nuts are soft they are also very good
eating.  The husk of the ripe cocoanut is splendid fuel, and it will
also make good rope, fishing lines and nets.  The shells can be used
for all kinds of drinking vessels and dishes.  When the nut is ripe the
kernel is taken from the shell and ground up fine, after which it is
pressed and a liquor is extracted which tastes very much like cow's
milk.  On boiling the liquor is transformed into a white oil, and can
be utilised for cooking and illuminating purposes.  It is also used by
the native women for hair oil, and if rubbed into the skin will repel
all kinds of insects.  It has also excellent healing properties.
Besides all this, the nut is converted into copra by drying, and
shiploads of this material are sent to Europe and the United States,
where it is manufactured into soap and other articles.

When a cocoanut is ripe it will drop to the ground.  If left lying on a
moist ground the nut will quickly sprout from one of the eyes, one part
descending into the ground to form the roots and the other part,
growing upwards, in about six years develops into a full-grown tree.
If the sprout is removed and the cocoanut opened, instead of the nut,
what looks and tastes very much like sponge cake will be found, and one
of them is just about enough to make a meal.

Bread-fruit and other tropical fruits are scarce on the low coral
islands of the South Pacific.  Besides the cocoanut, there are the
arrowroot, yam and taro, the latter plant growing to a very large size.
The pigs and poultry on the islands are chiefly raised on cocoanuts.

[Sidenote: Life of the natives]

The waters, both in the lagoon and along the outside coast, are full of
fish.  The natives catch many by building a fire on the beach, towards
which the fish will swim, only to be captured with a dip net.  Some are
caught by nets, or hooks made of pearl shell.

{83}

The best sport of all is catching flying-fish.  To do this, three
natives take a canoe outside the lagoon.  One of the three sits in the
stern and paddles her along; the second stands up in the middle of the
boat, holding up a large flare, made of dried cocoanut leaves, and the
third man, in the front end of the canoe, stands with a long-handled
dip net, and is kept busy catching the flying-fish on the wing as they
make for the fire.

In the Penrhyn Island lagoon pearl oyster shell is also very plentiful,
and is a good source of income to the natives who dispose of it to
traders, the proceeds of which are nearly equally shared amongst all
the inhabitants of the island.  The land, also, is divided in the same
way.  Some of the islands have a king, and others call their leader
chief, but both have full power over the natives and are very much
respected.

Only on one occasion have I seen a South Sea Islander drunk, the chief
of the island being very severe with those found guilty of this
weakness; his best friends got hold of the man before the chief got to
hear about it, and took him down to the beach, where, in spite of all
his kicking and shouting, they put him under the water and held him
there till I felt sure the poor fellow was drowned.  After a while they
made him stand up, but, following a period of sniffing and blowing, he
started to kick up "Old Harry" again.  So down he went once more under
water.  The next time they pulled him up he behaved a little more
civilly, but was not quiet enough to suit his friends, who thought it
advisable to give him another ducking.  This time when he rose, or
rather, was raised, they took him to the beach, and after rolling the
water out of him, he appeared to be very weak, but quite sober, and
without a word to say.  I thought to myself that if a similar remedy
could be applied to some people I know of, what a blessing {84} it
would prove to be to themselves and to others!  I was told by the
natives that three dips is a sure cure (for dipsomania).

We stopped only one day at the eastern village, as the next morning
Captain Dexter sailed across the lagoon, a distance of about seven
miles, to the village on the west side of the island, and we went along
with the schooner.

The lagoon is very deep in places, but there are also plenty of spots
where coral rocks are just high enough to make it dangerous for vessels
to sail about, but at the same time they can easily be avoided by
sailing through after ten o'clock in the morning, when the sun is well
up.  By keeping a good lookout from the bow, or better still, from the
end of the jibboom or masthead, with the sun at your back, the rocks
can be seen a long way off.

We dropped anchor at the western village about an hour after leaving
the other one.  This village was similar in appearance, the houses
being also built along the shore of the lagoon.  The chief came on
board our little vessel, and asked if I would like to have her taken
out of the water and cleaned up.  I stated that it was my intention to
give her a good cleaning and painting before we sailed.  The next
morning the chief sent natives down to me to take on shore all the
stores and ballast, after which they pulled the _Tilikum_ out of the
water and placed her high and dry amongst the cocoanut trees.  They
then scrubbed her inside and out, and after she was properly clean and
dry again, painted her.

[Sidenote: Cleaning up]

The third day after our arrival at the western village, the British
cruiser _Torch_ arrived, and after dropping anchor outside of the
western bay, Commander McAllister came on shore with some of the
officers and men.  Penrhyn Island is under British protection, and a
cruiser calls there once a year to see that everything is all right.
Commander {85} McAllister, during his short stay of two days at the
island, inspected the _Tilikum_, and also some of my charts.  I was
only in possession of one blue-backed chart of the South Pacific Ocean.
Commander McAllister told me I had not sufficient charts to sail
through the South Pacific, and as I was unable to buy any charts at the
island, he was good enough to present me with several, which were very
valuable to me later on in making certain islands.

After the _Torch_ left, Captain Dexter sailed across the lagoon to the
eastern village where he had some business to look after, and as he was
only to be away for a few days, my mate went along and I stopped with
the _Tilikum_ till the schooner came back, which was on September 17th.
The next day the _Tilikum_ was put into the water, the ballast and
stores placed on board again, and she was ready for sea.

On the morning of September 19th I got up at daybreak to get things
ready for an early start.  I saw the natives rushing about, and
bringing cocoanuts down to the _Tilikum_, and if I had left them alone,
they would, I think, have sunk our little vessel with cocoanuts and
other eatables.  However, when I considered she was deep enough loaded,
I told the good chief that the boat could not possibly take any more.
We thanked him for all his kindness, and while saying good-bye the
tears came to his eyes.  After shaking hands with all the natives, my
mate and I stepped on board, set all sails, and with our little
Canadian flag on the mizzen, we took our departure from Penrhyn Island.
The natives gave us three cheers in true English style as we slowly
sailed away from the village, which we answered by three dips of our
flag as a final farewell.




{86}

CHAPTER VII

MANAHIKI

[Sidenote: Manahiki Island]

It was a beautiful clear morning, with a moderate breeze from the
E.S.E., and in a little while we sailed through the channel near the
western village into the Pacific Ocean, after which we changed our
course for the Island of Manahiki, or, as it is called in English,
Humphrey Island, distant about two hundred miles.  The wind freshened
as we got away from the land, and a short time before the island
dropped out of sight a heavy squall struck the _Tilikum_, which forced
us to take in all sail; but it only lasted a few minutes, after which
the weather cleared up and the wind moderated again.  We then set all
our sails, and with a fresh breeze reeled off the miles in fine style,
and the following night at nine o'clock we sighted the Island of
Manahiki.  The wind keeping fresh from the E.S.E. we soon closed in
with the coast.  At eleven o'clock we rounded the north-west point of
the island, and as all villages of the small South Sea Islands that
have no harbour are on the west side, which is the lee side for the
easterly trade wind that blows nearly all the year round, we commenced
to look for the village, which should be, according to directions given
me by Captain Dexter, on the west side just after rounding the
north-west point.  Sure enough, after rounding the point, we saw lights
on shore, but as I was also told by Captain Dexter that the safest
anchorage was at the other village, which was four miles further along
(Manahiki also has two villages), we {87} followed the coast.  It was a
fine clear night, and being on the lee side of the island, the wind was
light and the sea smooth.  We had nearly reached the first village,
when we heard all kinds of shouting and noise coming from its
direction.  I was about to change our course for the open ocean again
when we were surrounded by several canoes full of natives shouting at
us to stop.

In a second we had our firearms up, and were ready for action, at the
same time keeping the _Tilikum_ on her westerly course, but as the wind
was rather light they could paddle faster than we were sailing, and in
a very short time one of the canoes was alongside of us, in which one
of the natives spoke a little English, saying, "Cabten, me chief, me
speak you."

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"Stop, me want speak."

With that I let the _Tilikum_ come up to the wind and stopped her
headway, allowing the canoe to come alongside.

Without any invitation, the man who called himself the chief came on
board and offered to shake hands, saying again, "Me chief."  The old
man told us in very broken English, but plainly enough for us to
understand, that the _Torch_ had called there on the way from the
Penrhyn, and had told them all about us; and since that time they had
been watching for us night and day, and as we had arrived now they
wanted us to stop.  However, we had made up our minds to go to the
other village, so we told the old chief that we would come and see him
and his people before we sailed from the island for the west, after
which they left us, and a little after midnight we anchored at the
western village, where we had another reception somewhat similar to the
one we had previously experienced, but no one came on board.

At sunrise the next morning a canoe came alongside us, {88} with three
men in her.  One of them, speaking good English, introduced himself as
Mr. Williams, the trader of the island.  Mr. Williams then introduced
one of the other men in the canoe as the King of the Island.  I asked
his Royal Highness (who was barefooted and without a hat) to come on
board with Mr. Williams, and after I had given the gentlemen a short
explanation of our doings, the king invited us on shore.

At eleven o'clock we both went on shore, and were received by the king
and queen and two fine-looking young princesses, but as neither could
speak a word of English, they had the trader, Mr. Williams, there as an
interpreter, who, on behalf of the royal family, asked us to accompany
the party to the town hall.  On arriving at the building, which was
only about a hundred yards from where we had landed, I saw a long table
covered with all kinds of eatables.  Mr. Williams informed us that the
table was set for us, and asked us to sit down and help ourselves.
Both of us were seated on a wooden bench, behind the table.  The royal
family sat at one end of the table, to our right, and Mr. Williams also
sat there to do the interpreting.  After this, all the natives of the
village, men, women and children, came in.  It took quite a time for
the hall to fill, and during the interval I took an observation of our
surroundings.

[Sidenote: Entertained by natives]

The hall, or rather building, in which this gathering took place was
about thirty feet wide by about seventy feet long, built of rough
lumber, and roofed with dried cocoanut leaves.

The table was spread for just the two of us.  One roasted pig, weighing
about one hundred and fifty pounds, was placed on the middle of the
table, and at either side were flying-fish, about half a dozen roasted
chickens, and yams, arrowroot, taro, cocoanuts and other made-up
dishes.  {89} Comparatively speaking, there was enough there for a
hundred people to make a good, square meal!

When all the natives had arrived and were seated, the king rose and
made a speech to them about our voyage, after which they all clapped
their hands.  After his discourse the king whispered to Mr. Williams,
and then Mr. Williams told us to help ourselves, and that the king and
all his people wished us a pleasant voyage and a safe return to our
home.

As there were only two places set, we knew very well that they were
intended for us, and the pig being too large for us to tackle, we
started on the chickens and taro.  No sooner had we started eating,
than the two princesses got up, and one of them placed a fine-woven
panama hat, nicely decorated with different coloured ribbons, on my
mate's head, and the other princess did the same to me.  Mr. Luxton
certainly looked queer with his head decorated, and I presume I did
also.  We stared at each other for a minute, and then my mate said,
"These two young girls must be partly gone on us."

By that time, the two princesses had taken their seats, and two more
young ladies came along with more hats of the same description, took
off the ones we had, and replaced them with theirs.  Immediately after,
two more young ladies came along, and repeated the performance.  That
was as much as my mate could stand.  He got up and said, "Mr. Williams,
will you please tell these young ladies for me, that the next one that
comes along and changes my hat is going to be kissed."  Of course the
word was sent along by Mr. Williams, after which they all started to
laugh and chat about something.  I told my mate that he had put his
foot into it.  The next thing we saw, the oldest woman of the lot (she
must have been about a hundred years of age, for she was all doubled up
{90} and could hardly walk), came along with a straw hat, and as she
got nearer Mr. Luxton turned pale.  I said, "Courage, Norman, courage:
don't go back on your word"; but I am sorry to say that my mate did on
that occasion.  However, the young ladies and hats continued arriving,
and by the time we got through with our feast, we had quite a few hats.

Later in the afternoon we were taken to the king's palace, where we
dined with the royal family.  The dinner was something similar to what
we had in the hall.  The king's residence was built on the same
principle as the hall, only smaller.  The furniture consisted of two
double sleeping places, which were made out of one-inch boards, covered
with mats, and raised about a foot above the ground, one table and two
wooden benches.  Apparently the King of Manahiki didn't care for very
much ceremony.

Dinner over, the royal family accompanied us to the beach where our
boat was anchored.  We found, to our great surprise, that our little
vessel was decorated with long ribbons of various colours hanging from
the tops of the masts, down to the deck and the water, and the decks
covered with fancy mats.  The decorating had been done by the same
young ladies who had presented us with the fancy hats.  Some of them
were still on board the _Tilikum_, and others were alongside her in
their canoes.  When we got on board, we found that all the hats,
chickens, pig, and everything that we had left on the table had been
carefully wrapped up in green leaves and put in our cabin, which was so
full that we could not get into it ourselves!  I told the trader to
thank the natives, on our behalf, for all their kindness, but that it
would be impossible for us to keep everything they had given us on
board.  In the first place, we had no room for it, and in the second
place the {91} meat would spoil in a day or two.  But the trader, Mr.
Williams, informed us that all the natives would take it as an insult
if we asked them to take it back, and advised us to keep it, and throw
it overboard during the night, which, to my sorrow, we were obliged to
do.

[Sidenote: A native dance]

The following morning I awoke to the sound of drums and bells, and on
looking out of the cabin saw Mr. Williams standing near the beach.
Asking him what was the matter, he informed me that the sound of drums
and bells was to call the natives to get ready for a dance, at the same
time asking us to come ashore by seven o'clock.  On landing, we found
the natives all gathered round the town hall, about seven or eight of
them playing different home-made instruments.  They were playing a
native tune, and about twelve young ladies, ranging in age from
seventeen to twenty, lined up in a double row and danced to the music.
The king's two daughters also took part in the dancing.  The lady
dancers kept it up for quite a while, after which their places were
taken by twelve young men.  After the men had finished their places
were taken by young girls from ten to sixteen years of age; and so they
kept changing about.  Children of seven years and upwards could
certainly dance wonderfully.  Sometimes men and women danced together.
It was continued the whole day, and when they got hungry or thirsty
some of the young men would climb cocoanut trees and get some green
sweet cocoanuts and eat the husk, the soft and sweet tasting kernels,
and drink the nice cool milk.

The dancing was kept up till dark, after which they retired into their
singing hall, where the men squatted down at one end and the women at
the other end of the hall facing each other, with the band-master
standing in the middle.  And it was certainly some of the sweetest
music that I ever listened to.  This was kept up {92} till after
midnight; then all retired, and we joined our ship.

The next day we took a small boat and sailed through the lagoon to call
on the chief and his people as promised.  Arriving at the village we
were met by the same old chief we had seen in his canoe when making the
island.  The old man could speak a little English, though not enough to
make himself plainly understood, but there was also a trader there who
spoke English.  He asked this man to tell us that he would be very much
obliged if we would come again in our own boat, when they would receive
us just as well as the king and his people had done.  As the people at
the other village had treated us so well, and on finding out that this
chief and his people had been watching for us for many nights past to
get us to anchor at their village so that they would be the first to
give a reception, we agreed to do as the chief asked.  We thereupon
returned to the village from whence we had come, and, in company of the
two princesses, sailed for the old chief's village next morning at
about seven o'clock, arriving there an hour later.  We could see the
natives, young and old, lined up along the beach, and when within about
two hundred yards of the shore the old chief jumped into the water and
swam towards us, and by the time we had our anchor down he was on board
the canoe to welcome us to his town.  We then went ashore and had just
about as good a time as we had had in the other village.

Just before dark we returned to the western village, as we had promised
the king and queen to bring their daughters back that night.  When we
got there both of us felt inclined to give up the cruise, and make this
place our home for the remainder of our lives.

[Sidenote: Manahiki Island]

The Island of Manahiki is, like Penrhyn, a coral lagoon island, but is
not quite so large, as the lagoon is only five {93} miles in diameter,
and there is no entrance, not even for small boats.  The ring of land,
which is also covered with cocoanut trees, seems to be wider than that
of Penrhyn.  The natives of Manahiki look like the Penrhyn people, but
are much more pleasant, and are lovers of sport.



{94}

CHAPTER VIII

DANGER ISLAND--SAMOA

On the morning of September 25th, after saying good-bye to all the
natives on shore, including the two young princesses, we went on board
to take our departure.  A good many of the natives came in their canoes
to see us off.

In trying to get our anchor up, we found that it had got foul of the
bottom, and we were therefore unable to move it.  The native
bandmaster, who was one of those who had come to see us off, went
ashore in his canoe, and in a minute or two was back with a water
telescope, with which he went overboard, and by swimming around for a
little while, and surveying the bottom through the telescope, he soon
located the anchor.  He then pushed the telescope aside, and down he
went.  He must have been under water nearly a minute when he came up
with the _Tilikum's_ largest anchor in his hand, swam alongside and
passed it on board.  I offered to pay him for his service, but it was
not accepted.  We thanked him, and once more saying good-bye to the
people who came on board to see us off, they re-entered their canoes
and we set sail and shaped our course for Danger Island, distant about
three hundred miles.

The weather was clear and the wind moderate from the E.S.E., but as we
got away from the lee of the island, it increased to a fresh breeze,
and by noon the island was out of sight.  While I was steering I asked
my mate to open the parcel that the two princesses had brought on {95}
board just before we sailed, which he did, and found two roasted
chickens in it.  Needless to say, we had roast chicken for lunch.

[Sidenote: Danger Island]

The three hundred miles to Danger Island, owing to a rather mild trade
wind, took us three days to cover, during which time we had fine
weather, and nothing unusual happened with the exception of our
catching quite a few flying-fish at night.  This was done by putting a
bright light on deck, to which they will fly, and very often strike the
sail and fall on deck.  The flying-fish is one of the best eating fish
to be found in salt water, so we made good use of them.

September 28th, a little before dark, we sighted the island, but
dreading the name Danger on the chart we hove to for the night, and the
next morning, at daybreak, set sail and steered in for it.  As we got
near the land we could see three small and apparently separated
islands, which we ascertained were connected and surrounded by low
coral reefs, on which the seas were breaking heavily.  We kept the
island, reefs and breakers on our port side, and with a fresh breeze
followed the breakers round till we got to the westernmost island.  At
Danger Island, as there is no lagoon or harbour for a vessel to go in,
the villages are on the west side.  When we arrived at a favourable
position we shaped our course for a village we espied amongst the
cocoanut trees, and as we neared the land I took soundings for an
anchorage, but found deep water right up to the beach.  A good many
natives came running towards us, and one of them, who spoke a little
English, told us that the water was too deep to anchor, but that by
putting our anchor on the beach the wind would keep the boat from
swinging on to the shore.  With that we did as the natives advised, and
apparently the _Tilikum_ laid there quite safely.

{96}

This native then introduced himself as the chief of Danger Island, and
invited us to come on shore to the village.  Not caring to leave the
_Tilikum_ at such a poor anchorage I declined the invitation.  It was
then about two o'clock, and, owing to the dangerous sailing round
Danger Island, I told the chief that we wished to get under weigh again
so as to be clear of the surrounding reefs before dark.  The chief did
not seem to like this, but seeing that we would not stay, asked us to
remain for one hour, which we agreed to do.  He at once sent two of his
men to the village, and in about an hour they came back loaded with
cocoanuts and eggs.  We thanked him and took our departure, and
rounding a long coral reef running quite a way into the north-westward,
shaped our course for Samoa, about four hundred miles, which we made in
three days, experiencing similar wind and weather as we had had all the
way from the Penrhyn Island.  On nearing the harbour we saw flags
flying at half-mast all over the town, and the first news we got was
that President McKinley of the United States had been assassinated
about a week previously, but Samoa had only received the sad news that
very morning.  Apia was the first port which we were obliged to enter
and clear in the same manner as any other deep-water vessel, but Mr.
Reinhart, the collector of customs, after coming on board and noting
the size and build of our vessel (saying with a smile that he would not
cross a millpond in the _Tilikum_) freed us of all harbour dues.

[Sidenote: At Samoa]

We remained several days in Apia, during which time we made the
acquaintance of the ex-King of Samoa, and some of the leading citizens
honoured us with a Samoan dinner, of which the serving of kava was the
most interesting part.  A root, of which the kava is made, was brought
in, cut to pieces and given to three Samoan beauties, and {97} after my
mate had examined their teeth, and reported them as clean and polished,
all three sat on a clean mat round a kava bowl, and chewed the root
into a juicy mass.  When sufficient root had been prepared it was put
in the kava bowl half filled with water, in which it was washed and
squeezed with the hands until every drop of the juice was extracted and
mixed with water; after straining it through a clean linen cloth, it
appeared of a whitish colour.  It was then served in cocoanut shell,
and to me the taste was anything but pleasant; still, as a matter of
courtesy, I, like the rest, drank to the dregs without a pause.  The
cups were at once refilled, and the ceremony repeated several times, so
that by the time we were ready to return I felt somewhat weak in the
knees, and in a little while I got so shaky in the legs that I was
quite unable to walk!  I then discovered that kava is an intoxicating
drink, but that instead of going to a man's head like other strong
spirits, it mainly affects his lower extremities.

The Samoan Islands, the natives and their habits have been so often
described that I omit that part, and proceed with my voyage.




{98}

CHAPTER IX

NIUA-FU--FIJI ISLANDS

[Sidenote: Niua-fu and Fiji]

After several days' rest in Samoa we set sail for the Fiji Islands, a
distance of about six hundred miles to the westward, and as the
easterly trade wind was strong we soon put the high mountains below the
horizon.  On the third day we sighted at daybreak the island of
Niua-fu, and as it was right in our track we sailed round the north
side of it, and beheld quite a large village on the western side.  We
at once altered our course for the village, and on reaching it found a
good anchorage in fifteen fathoms, with perfectly smooth water.

The chief came to pay us a visit in a canoe while other natives swam,
and amongst the swimmers was a young native girl.  The _Tilikum_ was
anchored about two hundred yards from the shore, and the young woman
swam that distance in no time.  When the fair maiden reached our vessel
she took hold of the rail and raised herself to the deck in true
athletic fashion.  She then sat down and said something which I did not
understand at first, but later discovered she was asking for tobacco.
I gave her a plug of T. and B., which she put in her long, dark hair,
lowered herself into the water, and went back the same way she had come.

The natives of Niua-fu and their habits are very similar to those of
Samoa, but their skin is darker in colour.  The island is about five
miles in diameter, with heights of five thousand feet, and all kinds of
tropical plants grow in {99} profusion.  The treatment we received was
similar to that extended by the inhabitants of the other islands.

Having stayed one day in Niua-fu we sailed for the Fiji Islands, and
sighted the northern part after a two days' voyage with a strong
south-east trade wind.  The first island we came to was a small low
coral reef, covered with cocoanut trees, on which the seas were
breaking heavily.  After passing the south-west end, we saw smooth
water on the western side, where we dropped anchor in three feet of
water.  It was nine o'clock in the morning when we anchored, and my
mate at once took a gun and a camera and waded ashore.  I stopped on
board to clean things up a little, at the same time cooking some
dinner.  At noon I fired a few signal shots to let my mate know that
dinner was ready, for he was one of those men that never think of
eating when out shooting.  I waited a little while, and as he did not
put in an appearance fired another double shot, but got no answer.  I
had a trifle to eat, and then took my gun and went ashore.  The place
where I landed was a fine coral beach, from the water to the cocoanut
trees about three hundred feet wide.  I walked across the beach, and
was soon amongst the cocoanut trees, where the ground was covered with
a kind of coarse grass, and through it ran what looked to me like an
old footpath, which led to the interior of the island.  Nothing could
be heard around except the song of the tropical birds.  Still, I was
satisfied in my own mind that people were or had been on the island not
long before.

I fired a few more shots, but there was still no reply.  I then
continued in the same direction, and presently saw something amongst
the trees that looked to me like a house.  I stopped and looked, but
could not see anything moving, neither could I hear any sound, but as I
had ten shots in my rifle I picked up courage and walked up to the
house.  {100} There was no sign of either my mate or anybody else.  The
little house proved to be one of the real old native huts, and near by
was lying a pile of human bones.

The Fiji natives were, not long ago, considered the worst cannibals in
the South Pacific Ocean, and I think the little house on the island
must have been a feasting place.  After seeing that I walked back
towards the beach, and collected a few shells.  At four o'clock, while
about to board the canoe, I saw a shark coming along with his back fin
out of the water, and once more I made for the beach.  This gentleman
was one of the yellow-striped tiger variety, the worst and about the
only real man-eating shark there is.  He kept swimming round and round
the boat.  Mr. Shark was not more than seven to eight feet long, but I
knew that if he ever got hold of me he could make it pretty warm!  I
watched him for a while, and by and by took a shot at him, making a
hole through his back fin, after which he left in a hurry, and I
returned to the _Tilikum_ unmolested.  No sooner was I on board than he
was alongside the boat again.  I then got my shark hook over the side
with a piece of bacon fat attached to it, and the next minute I had him
on the hook.  As the man-eater kept very quiet I raised him level with
the water, and in that position put a bullet through his head, killing
him instantly.  After getting the hook out of his mouth, he sank to the
bottom.  In a very short while the water all around was red with blood,
and I saw sharks, large and small, coming along with their fins out of
the water, all making for the carcase.  The latter was torn to pieces
in no time and eaten by his brothers, after which they all left for
deep water again.

About six o'clock my mate returned with a load of birds.

[Sidenote: Suva]

The next morning, at daybreak, we set sail for Suva.  The weather was
fine and clear, and as the south-east trade {101} wind still continued
to aid us we passed island after island during the afternoon.  The same
afternoon we sighted a vessel on our starboard bow.  We watched her for
a while, and as she did not change her position we altered our course
to have a closer look.  After a while we saw that the vessel was
stranded.  She proved to be a large sailing vessel, but as she was
surrounded by reefs and large breakers dashing all over her, we were
unable to get any particulars.

[Illustration: _TILIKUM_ IN 1926]

On October 17th, at nine o'clock at night, we arrived at the entrance
of Suva Harbour, but it being a dark and stormy night, hove to outside
and sailed in at daybreak.  On entering Suva Bay we were met by a steam
launch.  The man in charge was Captain Clark, harbour master of Suva,
and with him was the Reverend Mr. Williams, of New Zealand.  I invited
the two gentlemen on board.  Captain Clark, being a seaman, took into
account the size of the _Tilikum_ and stepped into the middle of the
cockpit, for which the boat hardly moved.  But the reverend gentleman
from New Zealand, nearly three hundred pounds in weight, instead of
stepping on board in the same way placed his foot on the gunwale.  The
_Tilikum_ at once gave way under the weight and put her deck under
water.  Mr. Williams made a quick step back into the launch, saying he
could see quite enough of the _Tilikum_ from there.  After conversing a
little while, Captain Clark took us in tow, and anchored us at the
landing-place.

Suva, which is the capital of the Fiji Islands, is a nice clean little
town with a population, I was told, of about six hundred Europeans.
There, as in Samoa, we were cleared of all harbour dues.  We dined that
day at the MacDonnel Hotel, and during the afternoon went to see a
dance performed by the native men and women of the Solomon Islands.
The dancing and music was a good deal {102} like that I had witnessed
in Manahiki and Samoa, but the Solomon natives were not so good looking
as the former They are of a dark, shiny colour, with black, curly hair.
There were also quite a few Fiji natives.  These are of very strong and
powerful build.




{103}

CHAPTER X

TO THE AUSTRALIAN CONTINENT--DISASTROUS VOYAGE

On October 20th Mr. Luxton came to me and said, "Look here, John, I
have got a good seaman to take my place for the run with you to Sydney,
and if you are willing to take him along I propose to take passage on a
steamship, and on your arrival there I will join you again and complete
the voyage, as I am satisfied now that the _Tilikum_ is quite able to
make it."

I accepted his proposal, and the next morning my new mate came on
board.  By the looks of him he appeared to be what he later on proved
himself, a first-class seaman.  His name was Louis Begent, aged
thirty-one, a native of Louchester, Tasmania.  I told Begent to go to
work and get the boat ready for sea, saying that we were going to sail
during the afternoon.  However, having made quite a few friends in
Fiji, we did not get away till the following afternoon at three
o'clock.  Captain Clark was good enough to give us a tow out as far as
the lighthouse.  An hour later he turned back with his launch, and we,
with a moderate south-easterly breeze, shaped our course for Sydney, a
distance of about eighteen hundred miles.  Just about sunset, about
seven miles outside the bay, we got into a channel between two islands,
and as this looked very dangerous for navigation, I ran close to a
beach in smooth water and anchored.

The following morning, at daybreak, when we were in the act of getting
under sail again, we found that our anchor {104} was foul of the
bottom, and were therefore unable to get it up.  My mate offered to
dive down to clear it, but as the water was full of sharks I cut the
anchor rope instead, and with a fresh easterly breeze we steered again
on our westerly course.  The wind kept fresh and the weather clear
until the morning of the 27th, when the sky became cloudy, and during
the day the wind freshened up to a strong breeze.  At ten o'clock that
night, I took in the foresail and spanker, and under the mainsail and
staysail, with a strong easterly wind, and steering south-west, the
_Tilikum_ went along quite comfortably, now and then taking over a
little water, but nothing to speak of.

It was my watch on deck from eight till twelve, and about half an hour
before midnight the compass light went out.  As the night was quite
clear, with a good many stars shining brightly in the south-west, I
picked out one of the stars nearly ahead of the boat and steered by it
till my watch came to an end, when I called my mate, who got up and
took my place at the rudder.  I told him to keep the boat going by the
star ahead till the light was fixed up.  I then took the box, which
contained the compass and light, down to the cabin.  My mate was well
able to keep the canoe on her course by the stars, so there was no
particular hurry about the compass, and instead of getting the lamp lit
at once, I lit a cigar for myself, another for my mate, and passed it
out to him.  I then set to work on the compass light.  While I was thus
employed my mate was telling me how he enjoyed the sailing in the
_Tilikum_ and how he would like to make the trip to London in her.

"If we keep this wind," he said, "we will be in Sydney in time for the
Melbourne Cup Race.  I expect my brother-in-law to be in Melbourne by
that time, perhaps you know him?  His name is Castella, and he is in
command of the American ship _Hawaian Island_."

{105}

"I am well acquainted with Captain Castella and his wife," I answered.
(The ship in question was at that time the largest and finest steel
ship under the American flag.)  After that I became very much
interested in my mate, and for a minute forgot all about the compass,
till he said, "It is getting cloudy ahead of us, so will you pass the
compass out?"

While we were chatting away the _Tilikum_ went along at her best,
answering her helm beautifully.  I had lit the lamp and handed the
binnacle out to my mate, who, for a second, let go the tiller in order
to place it in front of him on the seat of the cockpit, and just as he
put the binnacle back in its place, I saw a large breaking sea coming
up near the stern of the boat.  Knowing by the appearance of the sea
that it was a bad one, I shouted loudly, "Hold on"; but before I had
the words out of my mouth the breaker had struck us.

[Sidenote: Loss of the mate]

I had braced myself in the cabin door to keep the water out, but when
the sea struck it knocked me down.  However, I was up in a second to
see if any damage had been done on deck.  I could not see my mate, and
the boat was just about half-way round coming up to the wind.  I peered
forward, thinking that my mate was getting the sea anchor out or doing
some other kind of work, but he was not to be seen.  I shouted, but got
no answer.  I knew then that he was overboard, and of course that he
must be to windward, as the boat had been going very fast, and
therefore must have left him some distance astern ere she came to the
wind.  To try and beat back to where he had gone overboard was an
impossible task owing to the strong wind and large seas.  Therefore I
put the helm hard down, lowered the sails, and put the sea anchor out
to prevent the boat drifting too much.  Thinking that he might be able
to swim to the boat, and that this was the only way his life {106}
could be saved, I continued calling him by name, but got no reply.  All
my shouting and calling, which I kept up for a long time, was in vain.
Nothing but the sound of the wind, and now and then a breaking sea, was
to be heard.  Ten minutes passed; twenty minutes; thirty minutes; an
hour; and still no sign of my unfortunate companion.  Then I knew that
he was dead.

The loss of my mate was partly due to negligence, as I always had a
life-line, one end of which was fastened to the boat; the other end to
be put round the helmsman's body.  I told him, when he first came on
board, never to neglect to put that life-line around himself whenever
he took the rudder, as I always did, and if he had followed my advice
he may have gone overboard from the effects of the sea, but would never
have got away from the boat.

The sea that took my mate overboard was by no means very dangerous.  Of
course there was water enough in it to carry a man away if he was not
holding on to anything.  However, later on during the cruise the boat
shipped larger seas than this one, but I never again had a deplorable
accident of this kind.

After I had given up all hope of ever seeing my mate again I went down
to the cabin, and there found everything afloat.  The bedding was
soaked and everything else in the cabin was very wet.  I then baled the
_Tilikum_ out, after which I went on deck again, and sat down in the
cockpit thinking over the loss I had sustained.  I was approaching the
southern limit of the south-east trade wind, but instead of a trade
wind it developed into a howling gale during the morning hours.  I was
just going to have a look at the compass to see if the wind was still
in the same direction when I discovered to my dismay that the compass
and binnacle had gone too!

When daylight came, and the sun made its appearance {107} on the
eastern horizon, I got on top of the cabin deck and took a good look
round for my missing mate.  But there was nothing to be seen but the
large seas with their breaking summits, and the passing clouds in the
sky above, while the _Tilikum_ under her sea anchor and a storm sail
over the stern, rose bravely to every sea as it came along.

[Sidenote: The compass lost]

At eight o'clock I hoisted my little Canadian flag half-mast, and then
proceeded to search for a small pocket compass, which I knew my former
companion had, when we were hunting in the forest of Vancouver Island.
Being unable to find it, it struck me that Mr. Luxton kept the same in
one of his valises, and doubtless without thinking of it took the
compass with him when he left me in Suva.  Consequently, I was alone at
sea without a compass.

My position was then about six hundred miles south-west from Suva, and
about twelve hundred from Sydney, isolated, no compass to steer by,
everything soaking wet, and the boat hove to in a gale.  For some time
I was completely taken aback, and did not know what to do or what would
become of me.  The first thought that occurred to me was that I might
wait there for a passing vessel.  Then again, it struck me that I was
out of the track of vessels and might lay there for months and not see
one.

During the forenoon the wind abated somewhat.  At midday the sun was
shining brightly.  I took my quadrant, and getting on top of the cabin
deck, with one arm round the mast to prevent myself from falling
overboard, tried to get the noon altitude.  While standing there
watching the sun slowly rising to the meridian to the north of me, I
said to myself, "Well, there is north."  By facing north the wind was
about ten points to my right and the sea running from the same quarter,
which of course made the direction of the wind and sea from the E.S.E.
The latter observation almost satisfied me that I could make a fairly
{108} good course by steering in clear weather by the sun, moon or
stars, and in thick weather do the best I could, steering by the ocean
swell.

A little after noon the wind had moderated considerably and the seas
had lost their breaking tops.  I hauled in my sea anchor, and under the
forestaysail swung the _Tilikum_ on her course to the south-westward,
steering by the ocean swell which was running from the E.S.E.  By
steering the boat so that the E.S.E. swell would strike her two points
abaft the port beam, was to give her a S.W. course.

[Sidenote: Steering without a compass]

The guides I had to steer by were the sun, moon, stars, and the ocean
swell, but I soon discovered that the ocean swell was by far the best
to keep the boat making a good course.  Then, again, I was obliged to
use the heavenly bodies to get the set of the swell.  The only trouble
I had in finding the course was when after I got up from a sleep and
found the weather thick and overcast.  Still worse, when there was a
cross swell I was helpless, and obliged to heave to until the weather
cleared up.

For two days after the accident it kept blowing from the E.S.E., and as
I was unable to sleep I kept her going night and day until the third
day, when the wind died out and I lay becalmed.

From the time of the accident till the calm was two and a half days,
during which time I had no sleep, and very little to eat, and that
cold; I may say that I was just about played out.  I therefore went to
work and made myself some warm food, and after a fairly good meal, laid
down to have a sleep.  I laid in my little bunk for quite a while,
turning from side to side and thinking over the past few days.
However, I eventually dozed off only to dream about all kinds of
things.  I thought I saw my lost companion look in at the cabin door,
and it gave me an awful {109} start.  On looking up the time I found to
my surprise that I had only been asleep about ten minutes.  I tried
again and again to sleep, but in vain.  However, I laid down for a few
hours; then I fancied I felt a breeze come in through the cabin door,
and sure enough when I got on deck there was a moderate breeze from the
south.  The great trouble was that whenever I retired to my bunk to
sleep I could not do so, and when sailing, especially in light winds, I
could not keep awake.  Still, I set sail and did the best I could to
keep the _Tilikum_ going towards Sydney.

The wind and weather kept about the same till the following day.  It
was in the afternoon, while I was nearly asleep, when a heavy southerly
squall struck the _Tilikum_ under all sails, and over she went on her
beam ends.  So did I; it was only through a piece of luck that I did
not go overboard, for the boat was on the port tack, with the sheets
hauled by the wind.  I was sitting on the port side dozing when she
went over on her beam ends.  Landing against the lee washboards, which
kept me from going overboard, I nearly broke my neck.  As luck happened
the foremast snapped, and the boat righted at once.

From the fall I got a kink in the neck, and laid for a little while in
the cockpit before I was able to realise what had happened.  When I
came to my proper senses, I looked round and saw the foresail, part of
the foremast, forestaysail and all the head gear hanging overboard.
The mainsail and mizzen were still set, and these, with the aid of the
fore gear hanging overboard, kept the vessel nicely head to wind.
After stripping her of the mainsail, and hauling in the mizzen sheet,
the _Tilikum_ laid as well as if she was riding to her sea anchor.

For the next few hours, while I was thinking of my miserable plight and
what would next happen to the {110} _Tilikum_ and myself, I let her
drift as she was.  By and by I came to the conclusion that while there
is life there is hope, and where there is a will there is a way; and
being still in the possession of both, I went to work and picked up all
the head gear and sails that were hanging overboard, secured it on
deck, and as it kept blowing hard for two days I let the boat drift
under her sea anchor and storm sail.  All that time I was, of course,
unable to do anything toward repairing the damage, but by keeping a
riding light on deck during the night I got all the sleep I possibly
could.

During the second night the wind gradually died out, and at daybreak
the weather was calm and clear.  After the large seas had gone down I
went to work to splice the foremast and put everything back in its
place, and in the afternoon I was ready for another breeze.  I did not
have to wait long for it, a moderate breeze coming up the same night.
From then I experienced light winds and weather until October 14th, and
when my position was about a hundred and fifty miles north-east from
Sydney a strong breeze came in from the rear.  I kept running before it
as long as I thought it safe to do so, but when the wind increased to a
howling gale and the seas commenced to break I hove to in the usual
way.  I put a light on deck, and then turned in "all standing" (with
all my clothes on).  Now and then I would get up and see if the light
on deck was burning.

About midnight I got up to see if the light was all right, but to my
surprise it was extinguished, and, to make matters worse, a green, red
and bright light appeared ahead.  Of course, I knew at once that these
were a steamer's lights, and that the vessel was coming straight
towards me.  There was no time to lose.  I had to let the lookout on
the steamer know that I was ahead of her or in another five minutes she
would have run me down.  I knew that I had {111} no time to fix my
light, so pulled off one of my socks, soaked it with kerosene, and set
it ablaze.  I felt a good deal better when I saw the green light
disappearing from my sight.  They had seen my signal, and in less than
five minutes a large steamer passed by.

[Sidenote: Waterspouts]

The gale kept up its fury for three days and nights, after which the
wind moderated, but as I had seen neither sun, moon nor stars, and had
completely lost my position, I kept the boat under her sea anchor till
noon, when I got the position, which put me about a hundred miles
south-east of Sydney.  By that time the wind had died down and the sea
became quite calm.  Two hours later the sky was as clear as crystal,
with the exception of a very heavy cloud rising from the south-west.  I
watched this as it grew larger and larger.  In a little while, when it
rose to about forty-five degrees above the horizon, it looked like a
huge arch supported on the bosom of the ocean, one abutment in the
south-west and the other in the south-east, and it certainly appeared
as if I was getting into another heavy gale.  I therefore secured all
my sails and prepared for the storm; but the cloud rose no higher, and
while I was looking at it I saw what appeared to be a long, sharp point
forming underneath the centre of the span, which was gradually
approached by a similar point rising out of the ocean, and as soon as
the two points met they formed a large water-spout.  I at once made a
dive down into my cabin to get my rifle on deck, which did not take
longer than half a minute, and by the time I was on deck again there
were two.  Then, one after the other they formed until, in a very short
time, there were six, the nearest at the very most, one mile from me;
but there they stopped, and owing to the perfect calm I could hear the
water rushing up in the cloud, which sounded something like a distant
waterfall.  Shortly afterwards one of the spouts broke; then another;
then another {112} would rise; and so they kept on rising and falling,
one after the other, for about three hours.  The cloud got larger and
larger till six o'clock, when the last spout dropped.

I may mention here that I had sailed across the South Pacific several
times, and on different occasions I have seen water-spouts, but never,
before or since, have I witnessed spouts of the same nature.  All other
water-spouts I have seen moved more or less in a slanting position,
while those in question were all perfectly vertical.

During the afternoon, from about three till six o'clock, there must
have been at least thirty spouts that I saw from my boat, and the
nearest at any time I should judge was about a mile distant.  I fired
several shots at the spouts, and one of them broke shortly after I
fired, but whether it broke from the effects of the vibration of the
shot or from natural consequences I cannot say.  I have been told by
ship-masters who have had experience with water-spouts that they will
break every time from the vibration of a gun-shot, if it is discharged
within two hundred yards.  I, however, was well pleased that they kept
where they were, as, had they come near my vessel, and had I been
unable to break them with my gun, the _Tilikum_ and I might still be
sailing in the sky.

[Sidenote: A thunderstorm]

At six o'clock the bank that had up to then formed a large arch, and by
the looks of it had imbibed from the ocean thousands upon thousands of
tons of water, broke up and covered the sky in a few minutes with dark
and threatening clouds.  At the same time the weather still kept calm,
but I heard light thunder; then a flash of lightning was followed by a
loud peal of thunder, and I then experienced a very severe
thunderstorm.  There was no wind with it, but occasionally very heavy
rain squalls.  The lightning was apparently very near my boat, for it
would make the dark and cloudy night as bright as day.  I knew I was
{113} absolutely unable to prevent the lightning from striking my boat,
so went below and laid down in my bunk to await further developments.

The thunderbolts seemed to be very close to the _Tilikum_, and I was
apprehensive that the next flash of lightning would strike the canoe
and put the two of us out of existence.  However, nothing happened to
me or my boat, and later the thunder diminished, until at midnight it
stopped altogether.  I got up, opened the cabin door, and took a look
round.  There was then no cloud to be seen anywhere, and the sky was
dotted with stars.  There was also a light breeze from the south-east,
and as I had all the stars I wanted to guide me on my way, I at once
got sails on the _Tilikum_ and directed my course for Sydney.

The south-easterly breeze kept light during the night, but freshened in
the morning.  At noon I had as much wind as she could stand under all
sails, and this condition continued until dark, when the breeze
gradually moderated, and at nine o'clock I said to myself, "If my
reckoning is right I should see the Sydney light before long."

From that time I kept looking for the light, and in fifteen minutes
sighted it.




{114}

CHAPTER XI

SYDNEY

The wind fell very light towards midnight, and an hour later I was
becalmed.  Lowering all sails, I laid down in my little bunk and slept
till daybreak, when I awoke to the sound of a whistle.  I got up, and
there was a large tug alongside me.  The captain of the tug told me
that he had read in the Sydney papers that the _Tilikum_ had left Suva,
but owing to the bad weather that had been prevailing on the coast, she
had been given up for lost.  The captain then asked me if I had seen
any vessels outside, and when I answered "No," he said that he was
going out to look for some.  He surmised that there would most likely
be an easterly breeze at about ten o'clock, and then proceeded seaward.

[Sidenote: Arrival at Sydney]

My position at that time was about fifteen miles from the lighthouse.
As the captain had anticipated it breezed up from the east, and at two
o'clock in the afternoon I sailed through the entrance of Sydney
Harbour, one of the most beautiful harbours in the world.  I then
shaped my course towards the town.  The doctor's boat was soon
alongside, and I reported the loss of my mate.  He said he would like
to come on board and look at my log book.  As there was a strong wind
at the time, the doctor did not care to trust himself on the _Tilikum_.
However, after I assured him that I had come all the way from Victoria
in her, and that she was quite safe in Sydney Harbour, he came on
board, and after looking round said, "Captain, this is the {115}
smallest deep-water ship that has ever entered Sydney Harbour.  Some
years ago Captain Slocum called here in the sloop _Spray_, on a voyage
round the world.  I thought then that she was a very small vessel to
undertake such a cruise, but you could have put this one in her cabin."

I then showed him my log book and satisfied him that the loss of my
mate had been an accident, pure and simple, and one that might have
happened on the largest and best vessel afloat.

Shortly after the doctor left me I sailed into a small bay on the
left-hand side going up towards Sydney, made the _Tilikum_ fast to a
yacht, and went on shore to look up Mr. Luxton.  Mr. Luxton and I had
an understanding in Suva that he would leave his address in the Sydney
Post Office, and on enquiring there I found that he was at an hotel in
Manly, which is about seven miles across the harbour from Sydney.  A
ferry boat leaves Sydney for Manly every thirty minutes, so I boarded
the first one available, and met Mr. Luxton the same afternoon.

On saying good-bye to Mr. Luxton in Suva, I had told him that the
distance to Sydney was about eighteen hundred miles, and that he could
look for my arrival in about eighteen days from the time I left Suva;
but as I was ten days overdue Mr. Luxton had given me up for lost.

On meeting my old mate, he looked at me with astonishment, exclaiming,
"Is that really you, John?  Are you still alive?  Is it possible that
you got safely through that bad weather?  I thought once that we were
going to get lost on the large steamer I came across in, and people
here have already given you up."

When I told Mr. Luxton about losing the man who had taken his place in
Suva for the run to Sydney, he looked at me for a while and then almost
collapsed.  When sufficiently recovered, he said, "Well, John, if I had
known {116} that such a thing would happen, I would never have left
you.  I would far sooner have taken chances on my own life than to see
someone else die for me.  But, John," he continued, "after this
accident we must put a stop to our adventure here, sell the boat and go
back to Victoria."

In a way I did not blame Mr. Luxton for making such a proposal, and if
the accident had happened a day or even a few days before my arrival in
Sydney, I should certainly have agreed to his proposal.  As it was, I
felt so bad after the accident that if a vessel had come along I would
have been only too glad to part with my little craft on the high seas
and board her, but owing to the fact that I was all that time alone,
and had managed to bring the _Tilikum_ safely to land, in spite of the
bad weather, I had gained so much confidence in her that I felt in my
own mind that I should go on and complete the voyage I had undertaken.
I told Mr. Luxton that accidents would happen to the best of ships
afloat, and as the _Tilikum_ had proved her seaworthiness in all kinds
of weather I could not agree to such a proposal, and asked him to
fulfil his agreement.

[Sidenote: I become sole owner]

Mr. Luxton was a good shipmate in every way, and was also a very
careful man on board the boat, and I am quite certain that if he had
remained on the vessel in Suva and made the trip with me to Sydney, the
accident would not have happened.  I therefore urged him to continue
the voyage to Europe, but in spite of all my pleading he refused to go
on, and so I became the sole owner of the _Tilikum_ and all her
fittings.  My trouble did not end here, however, as I needed provisions
and another mate, and to get these more money than I was in possession
of at the time was necessary.  After considering the matter, I decided
to place my boat and the curios I had collected in Indian villages on
the west coast of Vancouver Island and the South Sea Islands on
exhibition.

{117}

I certainly had luck when the Mayor of Manly granted me permission to
place my outfit on exhibition in Manly Park, near the landing-place,
where thousands upon thousands of sightseers arrive on the Sydney ferry
boats every day, and within twenty-four hours I had sailed my little
vessel across Sydney Harbour to Manly, conveyed her to the park, put a
canvas tent around her, placed my collection of curios alongside the
boat, and there I was, ready for business.  I got all the advertising I
wanted from the Sydney papers, and so I thought everything would surely
be all right.

The next morning at nine o'clock I opened the door and hung up a notice
that the _Tilikum_ was on exhibition, admission sixpence.  To make the
exhibition look attractive I hung hundreds of photographs of the
natives of the South Sea Islands which we had taken all around the
outside of the canvas, and decorated the place with flags.  The next
thing I had to do was to act the part of a showman, and this I soon
found was the hardest proposition that I had tackled so far on the
cruise, and I very nearly gave it up at the beginning.

There was very little doing the first morning.  The only customer I had
was a woman of I don't know how many winters.  She was one of those
short, stout ladies, and after paying her sixpence she stepped on board
and sat down in the cockpit.  After she had been there for some time I
took heart enough to speak the first word, saying, "Well, madam, how do
you like my little boat?"

"Like what?" she said.

"My little boat," I repeated.

"I don't see anything to like about your little boat," she replied;
"but when is she going to start?"

"Start for where?" I asked.

"I don't know," she retorted; "you ought to know; {118} I paid you
sixpence for a boat ride, and I'm going to have it."

"Madam," I explained, "you are mistaken; this boat is not here to ride
about on, but on exhibition as a novelty."

To my great surprise the good old lady went off like a stick of
dynamite.

"Boat on exhibition as a novelty!  You must think I'm crazy.  I can see
hundreds of boats every day in Sydney Harbour for nothing, and you are
very much mistaken if you think I have come here to pay you sixpence to
see your old boat!"

[Sidenote: Exhibiting _Tilikum_]

The lady kept the floor for quite a while, calling me all kinds of pet
names.  I stood there listening quietly, for I had an idea that if I
said anything it would only make matters worse.  When she got tired of
talking I was only too glad to return her sixpence, which she accepted,
and then went out looking as angry as an old hen.  This person
certainly made me think that I was out of place as a showman, and that
the best thing I could do was to sell my outfit and go home with Mr.
Luxton.  However, the same afternoon at three o'clock the Sydney boat
came alongside the wharf just loaded down with people, and about five
minutes later there was hardly standing room left in my place of
exhibition.  Some of them told me that they had read with great
interest in the daily papers all about my adventures.

The same night, when I counted my takings for the day, I was quite
satisfied that everything would come right, which proved true later on.
Before I took my departure from Sydney I made up my mind that I would
not go direct to Europe in my boat, but would also visit some of the
largest cities of Australia, New Zealand, Africa, South America, and
then proceed to Europe, calling at different islands as I went along.
I may say that I was so {119} taken with Sydney that I stayed there
till the middle of January.

As I had fully made up my mind to proceed on my voyage I advertised for
a mate, thinking that it might be hard to get one, but to my great
surprise I received dozens of applications from all types of men, and
one woman even applied.  The latter wrote me a very nice letter in
which she told me that she had been to see the boat and myself, and
that she would give almost anything to make the voyage to Europe in the
_Tilikum_.  I answered her letter to the effect that to make the voyage
to Europe in the canoe would be very hard on a man, but it surely would
be too much for a woman.  A few days later I received another appeal,
in which she said that she had been sailing boats in Sydney Harbour for
several years and that she knew all about a boat and the sailing of
one, and pleaded hard that I should take her as my mate.  I, however,
was obdurate, and engaged a young man of the same type as Mr. Luxton.

While I was busy getting ready to sail I received a letter from the
secretary of the Sydney Harbour Board, asking me to call at his office,
which I did the following day.  On entering and introducing myself, the
good gentleman presented me with a bill for five pounds, representing
pilot dues for entering and leaving the harbour, and three shillings
and some pence for dues.  I told this gentleman that I had found my way
into Sydney Harbour without a pilot and that I thought I could find my
way out again unassisted.

"Pilotage is compulsory," he said, "and it must be paid before you can
sail out of this harbour."

I promised the secretary I would be in next day to pay the bill.  The
following morning I called at the office and said to the secretary, "I
think I owe you two pounds ten for pilotage and three shillings and a
few pence for {120} harbour dues."  With that I placed the money on his
desk.

The secretary looked at me, and added "Two pounds ten shillings more
for going out."

"I will pay you that amount before I sail out of your harbour," I
assured him.

[Sidenote: By train to Newcastle]

After a few words he gave a receipt for the money I offered him; I
reassured him that I would pay the balance of the pilot dues before
sailing out of Sydney Harbour, bade him good day and left the office.
A few days later I took the train for Newcastle, taking my boat along
as baggage, and during my stay there got a permit from headquarters to
the effect that I could sail in and out of any Australasian port at any
time, free of charge.

I soon discovered that taking the boat overland was a losing
proposition in regard to its exhibition.  In the first place the papers
would say nothing about my arrival, and as a consequence the exhibition
in Newcastle was a complete failure.  Of course, on Saturday night,
when the town was full of miners, a good many came in just to see what
there was to be seen, and when I related that I had crossed the Pacific
Ocean in the _Tilikum_ they told me that it very much looked to them as
if I had crossed the Pacific in her in the same way as I had come from
Sydney.  I made up my mind there and then that I would never take my
boat overland again to a place I could reach by water.

I then prepared to sail for Melbourne.  Shortly before my departure
from Newcastle I met my old mate, Mr. Luxton, who told me that the best
fortune-teller in Australia had asked him to inform me that I should
under no circumstances sail in the _Tilikum_ to Melbourne, as, if I
did, something very serious would happen; but as I had made up my mind
to see Melbourne, which city I was {121} informed was the finest south
of the equator, I told Mr. Luxton that if nothing more serious than a
fortune-teller would oppose my sailing to Melbourne, I would certainly
sail.  As soon as the _Tilikum_ was ready for sea, I took my departure
from Newcastle for the Queen City of the south.




{122}

CHAPTER XII

A GENUINE FORTUNE-TELLER

I set sail early in the morning of February 10th, 1902, and with a
fresh southerly breeze sailed through the harbour of Newcastle toward
Nobby Head lighthouse.  After rounding the head, my course was south,
but the wind being from the southward, I put her about seventy-five
miles on [Transcriber's note: off?] the land and took advantage of the
Australian stream, which was quite a help to me.

[Sidenote: Sea-sickness]

The quick motion of the _Tilikum_ was too much for my new mate's
stomach, and he soon hung his head over the rail.  I advised him to
take a good drink of salt water and he would soon be all right, but
somehow he could not get the salt water down, and kept sick day after
day, being therefore of very little use.  The wind remained in the
south day after day at times varying a little to the east or west, of
which I took advantage in tacking about, and between that and the
southerly current I gradually worked my way down as far as Cape How,
the south-east point of Australia, where I had to alter my course to
the south-westward for Bass Straits.  But as bad luck would have it,
not alone did the wind haul into the south-west but it started to blow
a heavy gale, which lasted nearly two days, during which time we were
hove to under a sea anchor, and drifted a long way out of our course.

That gale almost killed my mate.  In my long career at sea I have found
that, as a rule, if a person gets sea sick and takes a good drink or
two of salt water, he soon gets over it, {123} but my new mate was
unable to swallow it at all, and as sea water is the only remedy I know
of that does any good, I had to give him up as a bad job.  I may say
that nearly all through my voyage I took a drink of sea water every
morning.  That is about the only medicine I used, with few exceptions,
which I will explain later on, and I was nearly always in excellent
health.

After the south-westerly gale I was lucky in getting a leading all-sail
breeze and soon got up to the west of Bass Straits, after which the
wind hauled into the south-west again and increased fast, with
threatening weather, so I was practically sure of another gale.  It was
fourteen days since I had sailed from Newcastle; my mate had been sick
all the time, and I was afraid that if we should get into another
south-westerly gale it might kill him.

My position was at that time a little to the south-east of Cape
Liptrap, and according to a chart of the coast which I had there was a
good-sized lagoon at the head of Liptrap Bay, about twenty miles
distant in a northerly direction, to which there is an entrance for
small vessels.  As I had a strong south-westerly wind I kept off and
steered for the lagoon.  The wind was increasing fast, and in about
three hours' time I could see the entrance, and sometimes, when my
little vessel was on top of a sea, the smooth water in the lagoon; but
at the same time I saw heavy surf breakers both before the entrance and
also along the shore as far as the eye could reach.  I realised at once
that I had got into a very dangerous position, and could not think of
allowing the boat to get into the breakers ahead of me; and as the
place where I was formed a kind of horseshoe bight, with a strong wind
and large sea making straight into it for the land, I hauled up to the
wind at once and tried to beat out into the open sea again.  I made
tack for tack; but as the wind was increasing and the sea growing
larger I was {124} obliged to shorten sail.  Nevertheless, instead of
beating to the seaward, I drew ever nearer to the breakers, and thereby
knew that it was impossible to keep clear of them.  I therefore
prepared to sail the _Tilikum_ through the heavy breaking water.

[Sidenote: Sea anchor in breakers]

I asked my mate if he was a good swimmer.  He said that he was, but in
the condition he was in at the time, would last but a very short while
in the breakers.  I had two small life-belts, and put one round my
mate, advising him, if a breaker should turn the boat over, to be
careful not to get underneath but to get away from the boat as quickly
as possible, and then take his time in swimming ashore, as the
life-belt would keep his head out of the water, and to let all the
breakers pass over him.  I then donned the other, and swung the
_Tilikum_ before the wind and sea and steered straight in for the
breakers under small sails.  I also put my sea anchor over the stern,
with one line fastened to the mouth and the other to the point of it,
and, as I was sailing towards the breakers, towed it along by the line
which was fastened to the point.  The sea anchor being light it slipped
over the surface of the water without retarding the speed of the boat.
In a minute or two we were in the midst of the surf.  When I saw the
first breaker overtaking the boat, and when it was within a short
distance of the stern, I slacked the tripping line.  As the line that
was fastened at one end to the mouth of the sea anchor and the other to
the stern of the boat tightened, the sea anchor at once filled with
water and stopped the headway of the vessel.  The breakers would rush
at us, but owing to the headway of the boat being stopped she would
raise her stern to them splendidly, only taking a little spray over.
When the stern of the boat was on top of the breaker the rudder was out
of the water and, therefore, of no use; but the sea anchor took its
place.  It did not only prevent the {125} boat from going ahead, and at
the same time relieved her from suction by allowing the stern to rise
when on top of a breaker, but it also kept the boat from broaching to
while the rudder was out of action.  As soon as the breaker got under
the middle of the boat and her stern dipped the rudder took action in
the water again.  The boat being thus out of danger, I quickly pulled
the tripping line, which turned the sea anchor over, point towards the
boat.  Thus we gathered headway again.  I repeated the same manoeuvre
with every breaker, and we crossed the surf with a minimum of trouble
and taking over only a little spray.

The long beach was slowly shallowing, and before the _Tilikum_ struck
bottom we entered smooth water.  When nearly half-way through the
entrance we grounded, and owing to low water were obliged to remain
there until the tide came in again.  In a little while the water had
left us high and dry, and after we had taken a run on the sandy beach
my mate enjoyed a good meal for the first time in a fortnight.

We had hardly finished our dinner when the tide returned and the water
rose very fast.  The wind blew hard, also, and the water became choppy
round the boat.  As it rose, the waves grew larger, and before the boat
was afloat they developed into small but swiftly-breaking seas which
set the _Tilikum_ rolling about on her keel.  This stirred the sand up,
and as the tide came running in fast and the seas rolled the boat about
she gradually swung sideways, on to the wind and sea.  Presently the
sand began piling up on the lee side, and, the water rising, the
breakers grew larger and larger.  However, as the boat was lying
sideways, thrust up against a sandbank which increased in height faster
than the tide owing to drift sand in the current, we were absolutely
helpless.

It was a most difficult position.  The breakers would {126}
deliberately roll along and strike the boat on the starboard, hammering
it sideways up against the sandbank, and at the same time sweeping over
us.  All we could do was to hold on, to prevent our being washed
overboard.  While in that awful predicament, thinking whether it would
be advisable to give up the _Tilikum_ the Sydney fortune-teller's
prognostication came back to my mind.

At that critical moment I noticed four men running down the beach in
our direction; but they could get only within about two hundred yards
of us.  There they stood, we could not hear their voices, but saw them
waving their hats as if to invite us to leave our doomed vessel and
come on shore.

I said to my mate, "You go ashore, before the water gets too deep, and
save your life.  I am going to stay with the boat till she breaks up."

"I will leave her when you do," my mate turned round and replied.

[Sidenote: In Liptrap Bay]

Then, as a last resort, I hoisted the forestaysail and next the
foresail, and when I hauled the foresheet in it put the boat almost on
her beam ends.  Just then a large breaking sea struck the boat with
such a force that I thought it would dash her to pieces.  But, contrary
to my expectations, our boat was lifted, and the sails catching enough
wind to put her over the sandbank the _Tilikum_ was safe and sound once
more in smooth water, out of all danger!

Sailing on to the beach where the four men who had been watching our
struggle for some time were waiting to receive us, I jumped ashore and
introduced myself.  I then learned that the gap which we had passed
through into the lagoon, and where we had encountered all the trouble,
was not the proper entrance, it was simply an opening in the narrow low
spit of land that framed the lagoon seawards.  Large breaking seas
during a heavy south-westerly gale had done {127} this damage.  The
proper entrance lay a few miles more to the eastward.

We were congratulated upon our luck in successfully effecting a landing
through that false entrance.  On telling them what kind of trip we were
on they said that they had read about the cruise in the Melbourne
papers but never expected me to call at this remote place.  However, we
received a friendly welcome and were invited to their home which, they
said, lay about four miles distant.  It was also the nearest house to
the spot, and we gladly accepted the invitation.

After changing our clothes and assuring ourselves that the _Tilikum_
was well secured, we accompanied our newly-found friends up the beach
towards a forest, where four saddle horses were hitched to a tree.  My
mate and myself were given a mount, and in company of two of our hosts
rode for about two miles through the forest.  Passing for a like
distance over a stretch of grassland we finally arrived at a neat
farmstead, which belonged to the two gentlemen who had guided us.  They
were brothers named Pinkerton.

Within a very short time of our arrival the table was spread with a
sumptuous repast.  After two weeks of fasting my mate, who had been
compelled to part even with his last meal when the boat was bumping and
rolling on the sandbar, certainly did full justice to the good things
before him, and remarked at the conclusion of the meal that he felt as
well as ever.

After dinner the farmers entertained us with songs and music.  Hearing
"Life on the Ocean Wave," "When Ireland will have Home Rule," and
"Jig-jig with the Flap-flap," certainly made us feel that we were among
friends and welcome, and when I hinted at nine o'clock that it was time
for us to return to the boat, these kind people almost compelled us to
stop for the night, and even went so far {128} as to ask us to stay for
a week or two.  They offered us the use of their house and buggy for as
long as we liked.  We thanked them for their hospitality, but gave them
to understand that we had to go down to look after our boat.  We
promised, however, to come back the next day.

[Sidenote: Lost in the bush]

When we bade them good night and opened the door we saw to our surprise
three horses, saddled and ready to take us down to the beach.  I
mounted one, my mate another, and one of the farmers got astride the
third one.  Being a poor horseman I requested the farmer to take his
time, and in the clear starlit night we rode slowly over the
pastureland.  In about half an hour we had reached the forest.  The sky
had become cloudy and overcast, so it was very dark under the trees.
However, we made our way.  I was just thinking how it would suit me to
take a little more practice on horseback, and that I might eventually
develop into a fairly good jockey and strike a job in Melbourne to ride
one of the fast horses in the cup race.  Possibly this mind-wandering
caused me to be less careful, for somehow my horse had got off the cow
trail which we were following along between the trees, and I was
suddenly brought to my senses, only to lose them temporarily, by
falling heavily from my mount and nearly breaking my neck.  A stout
bough had caught me in the chest.  I lay on the ground for a few
minutes, not unconscious, but thinking again of a certain
fortune-teller.

On convincing my companions that I was unhurt I proclaimed that I would
prefer walking the rest of the way.  Thereupon, as my mate swore that,
while he was not much of a sailor, he could, on the other hand,
navigate through any forest in the southern part of Australia, our host
returned to his farm with the three horses.  So with my mate in the
lead we resumed the cow trail which was to take us down to the beach.
We chatted as we went along {129} through the forest, and owing to the
darkness made only slow progress.

Some considerable time had elapsed and my dead reckoning was up.  So I
ventured the opinion that we should be near the boat and I hoped we had
not got on the wrong trail.  My mate assured me that we were on the
right course towards the boat and that we would soon drop anchor there.
We therefore continued, but when I consulted my watch and discovered
that over an hour had elapsed since we had left the horses I was quite
sure that we had passed the place or got off the right trail.  Now and
then through an opening in the dense foliage overhead I could see the
stars, which were gradually disappearing behind a bank of heavy clouds,
and it looked to me like approaching rain.

"Back the mainyard and take a sounding.  I should like to find out
where we are," I said as I struck a match to have a look at the trail.
"This don't look to me like a cow trail.  At any rate it is not the one
we came along this afternoon which showed bare ground, worn by the
tracks of cattle.  This place rather resembles a pasture lately grazed
over."

"Indeed," my mate assented, "you are right, but just follow me, and we
will soon be on the cow trail again."

By this time the stars had altogether disappeared and rain began to
fall.  We went along as best we could, my mate making full speed ahead,
and owing to the darkness I lost sight of him.  But as he unceasingly
talked about his former bush travels in Australia I managed to keep
track of him by following his voice.  All of a sudden my pilot gave an
abrupt yell, and called for help.  I hurried to his rescue and,
striking a match, found him lying in what he called a prickle-bush.  In
my endeavours to free him from the rank undergrowth in which he was
entangled, I received my share {130} of the prickling.  When I got him
out of his unenviable position we started on our homeward journey
again, this time for the most part on our hands and knees, feeling for
the cow trail which we were unable to find.

The rain was increasing fast and soon poured down on us in torrents,
and as it was so dark in the forest that we could not see a hand before
our eyes, we were compelled to give up our journey and stop where we
happened to be to wait for the daylight.  It was about eleven o'clock
when we hove to in the heavy rain, which poured down on us for about
five hours.  We could not sit or lie down as the ground was flooded
with water, and as it was not advisable to walk about, lest we should
run into another tree or prickle bush, we had to stand like two
statues.  I did not say much during that time, my mind being occupied
with Luxton's fortune-teller, in whose ability I gradually gained
confidence.

We certainly felt gratified when the rain ceased at daybreak.  As luck
would have it, we were near the lagoon, and through the trees could see
the water shimmering.  A few minutes' walk brought us to the beach
where the _Tilikum_ lay high and dry on the sand: she had drifted up on
the high tide during the night.

[Sidenote: Leaving the lagoon]

In about ten minutes we were on board, and after having changed our
clothes built a large fire of drift-wood to dry our wet garments and
cook breakfast.  It was a beautiful morning, clear and warm, and we
soon forgot our unpleasant experiences of the previous night.  At nine
o'clock two saddle horses were sent down by the brothers Pinkerton, on
which we rode back to the farm.  During our stay the good fellows
treated us so well that I almost felt home-sick when we finally sailed
for Melbourne, after having enjoyed their hospitality for a whole week.

On the day fixed for our departure, at one o'clock in the {131}
afternoon it was high water, and we tried to get under way before that
time in order to cross the surf on the top of the tide; but owing to
the farewell dinner with which we were honoured by our hosts we did not
make a start until two hours later, and as the surf was breaking
heavily outside the new entrance I made up my mind to pass it and leave
the lagoon by the proper outlet, where, as the Pinkertons had told us,
we would have no difficulty in reaching the open sea.  A light breeze
blew out of the lagoon, which afforded us a beam wind to sail to the
eastward.  But when abreast of the new entrance, which I remembered so
clearly, the ebb tide went rushing through it with such a force that
the _Tilikum_ was drawn towards the treacherous gap at a rate of about
six miles an hour.  Face to face with the dangerous breakers which came
rolling towards us, and knowing that in another five minutes we would
be right in the midst of them if we did not succeed in stopping the
boat, I dropped anchor and lowered the sails.  The boat swung round,
but the anchor did not take hold.  So, as the boat kept on drifting, I
pulled the anchor on board, swung the boat before the wind and with the
light easterly breeze sailed straight into the roaring combers.  I knew
that between the wind and tide the boat would have headway enough to
resist the breakers' fury, and prevent her being turned end over.

And then it came!  In a minute we were in it.  The first few breakers
were small and only threw some spray over us, but now a large one
towered above us, and in an instant the _Tilikum_ and her crew were
submerged.  When the sea had passed over us I just had time enough to
ascertain that the boat was all right, and no sooner had I announced
another comber when it was on us with all its might.  But as before, we
stood the trial and got out safely.  After that we met with quite a few
smaller breakers, which, however, were {132} not of a dangerous
description, and as tide and a light northerly breeze took the boat in
charge, we soon passed beyond all breaking water and entered the open
sea.

In crossing the breakers no harm was done to the boat; but we obtained
another good soaking and my mate turned seasick again, this time worse
than ever.  By four o'clock the farewell dinner, which he had enjoyed
heartily, was overboard and he still retched, his head hanging over the
rail.

The wind freshened up a little towards evening and about eight o'clock
we rounded Cape Liptrap, whence we shaped a course for the entrance of
Port Phillip Bay, reaching the same on the following night at about ten
o'clock, but owing to a rumbling sound, apparently caused by the strong
tide setting through the narrow entrance and thus forming a dangerous
overfall, we kept off a little until the noise ceased.  Then we sailed
into the entrance and with a moderate southerly breeze made towards
Melbourne, a distance of about thirty-seven miles, dropping anchor off
St. Kilda at five o'clock the following afternoon.

The next day the _Tilikum_ was taken out of the water at Captain
Canney's bathing establishment, and a few days later she was
transported on wheels to Collance Street and exhibited there until
Labour Day.  She was then removed to the park and placed in the
Melbourne exhibition building during the celebration, and at the
conclusion of the latter she was taken out of the building to be
transferred by the same wagon that had previously served for conveyance.

[Sidenote: _Tilikum_ damaged]

I had contracted with a truck and dray company for transporting the
_Tilikum_ wherever I wanted her.  After removal from the exhibition
building, and when ready to be put on the wagon, the same sheerlegs
that previously had lowered her were used to raise her again.  These
were placed in position and two double-block tackles rove off {133}
with a three-inch rope.  The top block was hooked on to the top of the
sheerlegs and the lower block to a strop which ran around the boat.
Then the hauling part of the tackle was passed to a winch, which itself
was fastened to the lower end of the sheerlegs.  As I directed the work
myself I told the four men in attendance to heave away slowly.  The
_Tilikum_ soon swung in the air, high enough to push the wagon
underneath.  But just when I said "Stop heaving," the boat dropped to
the ground!  As I stood right alongside she nearly fell upon me.

There she lay at my feet, smashed to pieces, after having successfully
weathered all sorts of heavy gales and having carried me many thousand
miles over the ocean.  She had withstood all the tumbling about at the
lagoon entrance near Cape Liptrap and the tremendous breakers at that
unlucky place.  Now on this bright morning, she lay there a total
wreck, to all appearance; wrecked on dry land and in one of the finest
places in Australia, surrounded by all the products of a refined
civilisation, not to mention beautiful flowers and sweet singing birds!

Up to that time the _Tilikum_, from her keel to the top was a solid
vessel, not a seam nor a split in her hull anywhere.  After the
smash-up, when I examined her, I found splits in five different places,
one crack extending from the top and down the middle of the stern and
along the bottom nearly as far as the forward end, and four more
cracks, two on each side running from aft to forward to about the same
length.  Besides, there were several cross splits.  Some of the splits
were from one inch to two inches wide: in fact, the boat was all in
pieces.  In face of this calamity I arrived at the conclusion that I
should have listened to Mr. Luxton and his fortune-teller, when
advising me to leave the "Queen City of the South" out of my programme.

The breaking of the hook which held the top tackle {134} caused the
accident.  The hook had snapped like a piece of glass, and as it
dropped into the cockpit I picked it up and put it in my pocket.  After
having re-examined my little vessel carefully, I thought that I might
be able to repair her and proceed with my voyage.




{135}

CHAPTER XIII

A LAWSUIT

The contract which I had made with the manager of the carrier company
was a verbal one only.  However, I had informed that gentleman of the
weight of my boat and also told him that she held the world's record
for the only real canoe and the smallest vessel that ever crossed the
Pacific Ocean.  I had pointed out the fact that the _Tilikum_
constituted my home and my existence, and as I considered her of great
value to me I had urged him to employ the greatest care and good gear
to avoid possible accidents; whereupon the manager had assured me that
he would use the best appliances and that nothing would happen to my
boat: and I had taken his promise as a guarantee.

The manager was not present when the unfortunate smash-up occurred, but
I at once sent for him, not allowing anybody to touch the boat until
after his arrival.  I then asked the man whether he would be good
enough to have the _Tilikum_ repaired under my instruction, and
"Whether she proves seaworthy or not," I said, "we will call it square."

"Captain," he answered, "I am very sorry; it is rather a sad accident,
but I don't think I can do anything for you."

"Mr. X" (I refrain from mentioning the name for obvious reasons), I
said, "you will excuse me for correcting you.  The breaking up of my
boat was not an accident, but due to carelessness on your part.  I
repeat my offer.  If {136} you repair the boat under my instructions I
will call it square and say no more about it."

Mr. X promised to send a carpenter, who came the next day.  He offered
to repair the boat for twenty-two pounds ten.  Mr. X now proposed to
pay half of this sum on condition that I contributed the other half.
But the carpenter acted in a way which gave me some reason to doubt his
ability to restore my little vessel to a seaworthy condition.
Therefore I asked Mr. X to send another man of more experience, to
which he agreed.

The following day the new man arrived to examine the boat.  He was of
middle age, and I could see at once that he knew his business; so I
wished that Mr. X would entrust him with the job.  However, as he asked
thirty-seven pounds for repairing the boat Mr. X refused him and
adhered to the original proposal.  As I would not accept that a lawsuit
followed, which kept me in Melbourne for several months longer than my
programme provided for.

I was, of course, a perfect stranger in Melbourne, with the exception
of a few friends whom I had made during my short stay.  On the other
hand, the firm with which I was to go to law had the reputation of
being the largest truck and dray company in the city, and were very
wealthy.  When it became known, therefore, that I had sued the firm for
damages, people advised me not to appeal to law, for the company would
prove too strong for me, and that they would be sure to win eventually
at my expense.  Others came forward and even offered to pay for the
repairs to my boat.  In short, when I got into that trouble I
discovered that I had a good many more friends than I had supposed.
However, I declined all assistance, knowing from personal experience
that British jurisdiction is fair for rich and poor alike, everyone
getting his deserts.

I therefore took the advice of Mr. C. McLoughlin, a {137} member of the
St. Kilda Yacht Club, at whose house I was staying, and went to see Mr.
W. Wolcot, a Melbourne solicitor.  After having stated my case, Mr.
Wolcot assured me that my claims were substantial, and consequently did
not hesitate to file a suit for damages amounting to five hundred
pounds.  I told Mr. Wolcot that I considered this sum to be excessive,
inasmuch as I only wanted my boat restored to a sound condition.  But
he pointed out that I would have to suffer a loss of time amounting to
three months, until the court sat, and that the delay might even exceed
that time.

[Sidenote: A lawsuit]

Mr. J. E. Smith, a building inspector and Canadian by birth, had, ever
since my arrival at Melbourne, shown great interest in my voyage.  He
said he would like to see me complete the cruise, and was kind enough
to offer me a vacant plot near his home to put my boat in order.  This
I accepted, and as I wanted to be near the _Tilikum_, I likewise took
advantage of Mr. and Mrs. Smith's generous invitation to stay with them
as a guest until the case should be decided in court.  The people of
Melbourne having treated me so hospitably, I naturally disliked the
idea of taking action against a Melbourne firm.  However, as my cause
was just and I was advised by my new friends and the solicitor to go
ahead, steps were taken and the case was called in the Melbourne county
court.

The day came and I was present with Mr. Wolcot and my barrister, Mr.
McArthur, when the court opened.  There were three breach of promise
cases ahead of mine, and they were settled in about two hours.  I
consequently thought that in another hour or two I should have my
verdict, but in this I was very much mistaken, as my case required
seven days in all!  And because it took such a long time it may be
interesting to the reader to learn the most important points on which I
won and Mr. X lost.

{138}

The defendants' lawyer took me under a crossfire which lasted nearly
one whole day.  But it only served to prove that practically the sole
point of importance was the hook which broke and thus caused all the
trouble.  The lawyer asked me what I thought of the hook, to which I
replied that it was no good.  This seemed to upset the temper of my
questioner, and he evidently thought that he had already cornered me.
He looked at me, and then at the judge, and uttered in a harsh tone,
"Your opinion is that the hook was no good, but what will you say when
Professor Curnow, who is an authority on iron and steel manufacture,
will stand where you are now and declare under an oath that the hook in
question was made of the very best Swedish iron?"  Professor Curnow was
considered the most prominent expert on iron and steel in Australia at
that time, and he served as a witness to Mr. X.  I answered that in
such a case I still would uphold what I had stated, viz., that the hook
was no good.  Then the lawyer looked at me and said, "You are a most
wonderful man."  At this juncture the judge intervened and asked me to
explain why the hook was no good.

My contention was on these lines: To begin with, the iron of which the
hook was made was probably good Swedish iron before it was shaped into
the hook.  But the blacksmith who manufactured the hook made a mistake,
inasmuch as all hooks should be forged out of one single and solid
piece of stock.  In this case the eye and the hook proper have been
made each separately, and then the two pieces were welded together at
what is called the neck of the hook.  Besides, as the fracture plainly
shows, there existed at the inner side of the neck, where the welding
was done, a flaw about one-sixteenth of an inch deep which extended
half-way round the hook to the outside.  And the brittle condition of
the iron at the outer neck leaves no doubt that {139} in welding the
material had been overheated.  In other words, the iron, through being
overheated, became similar to cast iron.  For when the hook broke,
instead of straightening out at first before reaching the
breaking-point, as it would have done under normal circumstances, it
snapped like a piece of glass.  Consequently, though good Swedish iron
might have been employed, it was ruined through poor workmanship,
leaving the finished hook unreliable and unsafe to use.  Whereupon I
produced the lower end of the hook to corroborate my statement.

The next man in the box was Mr. X, and, like myself, he was kept there
for the best part of a day, being cross-examined by my lawyer.  The
agreement between Mr. X and myself with regard to moving the boat had
been a verbal one only, as stated above; but in his evidence he
acknowledged--which of course was bare truth--what I had said when
accepting his tender for moving my boat--to wit, the weight of the boat
was about three thousand pounds, that he should be sure to employ good
gear in order to avoid accidents, and that the _Tilikum_ was my home
and means of livelihood.  I do not think that Mr. X treated me
altogether properly when he refused to repair the boat, but he
certainly proved himself a gentleman when acknowledging the above
statement before the judge and jury.

The next to bear witness--also on behalf of Mr. X--was the carpenter
who had offered to repair the boat for thirty-seven pounds.  Here I
must premise that the three sheer-legs which were used for hoisting the
boat off and on the wagon belonged to myself, and I had purchased them
in Melbourne for the purpose.  I had also supervised the moving
operations, as already mentioned.  The carpenter's evidence ran as
follows: To lift any kind of heavy weight two sheerlegs, stayed by
means of a guy-rope fastened to the top should be used instead of three
sheerlegs, as employed {140} on this occasion.  Three sheerlegs, the
witness claimed, were good enough to lift a few bags of potatoes or
coal, but would never do for raising a heavy load, as they would shack
and swing about when the strain was applied.  This witness claimed to
be a shipbuilder.  The judge, who seemed much surprised at his
statement, asked him what he was talking about.  As to myself, having
been previously informed of the evidence that was to be brought forward
against me, I was prepared to meet the occasion.  I had made three
quarter-inch square sticks, two feet long, and to prove by actual
demonstration that the witness was altogether wrong, with permission of
the judge, I placed two of the sticks on a board like two sheerlegs,
with a stay fastened to the top, just as the witness had described it.
I then hung a small spring scale to the top of the two sheer-legs and
slowly pulled it down.  When the sheerlegs came to a breaking strain,
the spring scale indicated six pounds.  I then placed the third leg in
position, removing the stayrope, and without altering the angle of the
first two sheerlegs.  Now the sheerlegs would come to a breaking strain
when the scale showed fourteen pounds.  Mr. McArthur then told the
shipbuilder that that was all he wanted from him.

The next witness for Mr. X was Professor Curnow, and like the rest of
the chief witnesses he was kept under direct cross-examination for the
best part of a day.  However, the gist of his evidence was that he had
tested the lower hook of the tackle which did not break, and had
ascertained a breaking strain of nearly four tons.  He also stated that
the hook was made of good iron.  The Professor further admitted the
existence of the flaw in the broken hook.

When all the evidence was gathered, I requested Mr. McArthur to put it
to Professor Curnow whether he would or would not use a hook like the
one in question when about to lift a heavy and valuable load; to which
he replied that {141} he would not.  In giving that answer Professor
Curnow certainly confirmed my statement that the hook used with the
tackle was inefficient.  Several other witnesses were examined, whose
evidence had less importance.

[Sidenote: I win my case]

The case having been summed up the jury retired, and when returning,
about half an hour later, judgment was given in my favour for two
hundred pounds and costs.  Mr. X intended to appeal, but in order to
avoid further loss of time I came to a private agreement with him.
Thus the trouble was settled.




{142}

CHAPTER XIV

REPAIRING A WRECK--AN OVERLAND HAUL--WITH AN INTOXICATED CREW OFF FOR
ADELAIDE

Meantime, the _Tilikum_ lay at the vacant lot with all her bones
broken, and by looking at her no one would have thought that she was
good for anything but firewood.  However, I did not abandon the idea
that I would be able to fix her up and complete my voyage in her to
London, and as I have some experience with tools, being a bit of a
wood-spoiler myself, I went to work to put her together and see her
floating once more.

[Sidenote: Repairing _Tilikum_]

The first thing I did was to place the wreckage on blocks.  I proceeded
to screw here and there and all round until the boat had assumed its
former shape, I then laid ropes all round and by means of Spanish
windlasses tightened them.  In this way I gradually closed the splits
and brought all pieces together in their proper places.  Thereupon I
applied thin steel ribs from one end to the other, fastening the same
with screw-bolts driven from the outside and set up with a nut inside.
When I had all the steel ribs and bolts in place I removed the ropes
and put a new keel under her.  I then caulked all splits and fractures
and finally put the fittings back in their respective places.  After I
had applied two coats of paint inside and outside, the _Tilikum_ looked
almost as well as when I left Victoria.  The only difference was, that
with the exception of the top work not a split or seam could be seen in
her when I set out, for she had not suffered as much as a scratch all
the way to Melbourne.  Now, I had {143} but a patched-up canoe.
However, I decided to give her another trial, and if she would stand
the test, I was to proceed on my voyage.

During my stay in Melbourne I met people from Ballarat, an important
mining town with a population of about forty thousand, situated at a
distance of approximately one hundred miles from Melbourne.  They asked
me to bring my boat to their city.  As I was desirous of seeing a
little of the interior of Australia, I went up to Ballarat by train,
via Geelong.  Quite a surprise was in store for me on my arrival, for I
had no idea that such a fine city existed in the interior.  The main
street compares favourably with any I have seen in other parts of the
world.  There is a reason for this, as Ballarat is surrounded by some
of the best farming country found anywhere, besides being a great
mining centre.  It also derives fame from the fact that it is the only
place in Australia where a battle between Europeans was fought.  If I
am not mistaken, this happened about 1849, when miners came into
conflict with the police.  Just outside Ballarat is a fine park, the
centre of which is occupied by a beautiful lake, about a mile across.
The view of this lake, surrounded by splendid trees and flowers of
every description, and covered with pleasure-boats and yachts, with the
bright sun shining over all, reminded me of Penrhyn Island and its
lagoon.  On that bright sheet of water, enlivened by all the splendour
of a regatta day, I sailed the _Tilikum_ among a crowd of yachts and
pleasure-boats.  Proudly she carried her new suit of sails, which was
presented by the Ballarat yachtsmen.  And the people told me that she
was the first deep-sea vessel to sail on their lake.

My next move was to Geelong, where the _Tilikum_ re-entered the briny.
I was in need of a new mate, and several young Ballarat men had offered
their services.  After I had picked one of the number I took him to the
Mayor to have {144} him signed on for the trip to London.  The Mayor of
Ballarat, who had held that office for a good many years, was about
sixty-five years of age, and the people looked upon him as a father.
He told me, with tears in his eyes, that one of his sons had taken to
the sea and was lost; he warned the young man to be careful.  But when
I had assured the old gentleman that after the accident which had
befallen me I always made sure that a life-line was used he seemed to
feel more satisfied.  It was a day or two later that I took the
_Tilikum_ down to Geelong and put her in the water.

When everything was ready, a good strong breeze was blowing, which
turned up a short, choppy sea.  This gave me an excellent opportunity
for a trial, and I went out sailing, accompanied by some of the Geelong
yachts.  I forced the boat as much as she could stand under all sail,
and she sometimes put her bow clean under water.  However, the trial
proved successful as I could discover no sign of a leak.  The only
mischief that was done was the upsetting of my new mate's stomach, but
I consoled him somewhat with the assurance that in a day or two he
would get over that.  At nightfall we anchored alongside the Geelong
wharf again, and after advising my mate that we should sail the next
morning at daybreak I went on shore to bid good-bye to some friends.
When I returned to the boat next morning my mate was missing, and I
have not seen him since.

[Sidenote: My new mate]

I at once wired to the Seamen's Home at Melbourne for another man, and
the following morning, while I stood on the wharf awaiting the arrival
of my companion, I noticed a man walking towards me with a bag of
clothes on his shoulder.  He was very much intoxicated to all
appearance, as at times the bag would overbalance him, and both bag and
owner fell heavily to the ground.  However, he managed to regain his
feet each time, and by and by came near me.  Then the fellow dropped
his bag and said that {145} he had just arrived from Melbourne and was
going to join a vessel.  He pointed at the same time to a barque which
lay at anchor about three hundred yards distant.  He showed me a letter
which, he said, was addressed to the captain of the vessel he was hired
for.  I looked at it and saw my own name written thereon, and I knew at
once that he was to be my mate.  He then queried whether that was my
boat, lying alongside the wharf.  I replied in the affirmative, and
added that it was the vessel he would go in.  He was like all other men
when they are intoxicated, full of arguments and foolish talk, and
after some dispute I finally got him on board and he soon fell asleep
in the cabin.  I set all sail and losing no more time took my departure
for Adelaide.

It was about four o'clock when the _Tilikum_, with a light easterly
breeze, was gliding down Port Phillip Bay towards the ocean.  But at
sunset the wind lightened, so I dropped anchor for the night.  My new
mate was still sound asleep, in which condition he continued until the
next morning at daybreak.  When I got up and gave him a call he
exhibited great surprise.  He stared at me, then looked out on deck and
asked, "Where am I?"

"You are on board the _Tilikum_ and bound for Shanghai," I replied.

"Holy smoke, Shanghaied and bound for Shanghai," the new-comer uttered.

When I had explained matters to him, and what kind of a job he had
undertaken, he was not quite so dismayed.  Only, he felt very bad, he
said, and would give anything for a drink.  But as his bottle was empty
and I had no liquor of any kind on board I told him that a good draught
of water was the best drink he could take to restore himself.  We then
got our anchor up and headed once more for the open sea.  About midday
we sailed through the entrance of Port {146} Phillip Bay, and shaped a
course along the coast for Port Adelaide, a distance of about five
hundred miles.  When my new mate had sobered up he proved himself a
first-class seaman.

The wind was variable and moderate all the way, and nothing unusual
happened during the trip.  On the sixth day out we were becalmed near
Kangaroo Island, and anchored there for the night.  The next morning a
light breeze blew from the south-west and we sailed with it up to Port
Adelaide.  There the _Tilikum_ again was taken ashore and conveyed to
the City of Adelaide, the capital of South Australia, where I stopped
till December 28th.  Thereafter I removed the boat to Glenell, a summer
and pleasure resort eight miles out of Adelaide.

My mate was greatly addicted to alcoholic drinks, and I was obliged,
therefore, to engage another man.  When he was found, I sailed from
Glenell on January 4th, 1903, for Hobart, Tasmania, a distance of about
eight hundred miles, which was made in thirteen days with variable
winds and good weather.  The night before I was honoured with a banquet
given by the Glenell yachtsmen who, when leaving, accompanied the
_Tilikum_ for some distance in their yachts.

On arrival at Hobart my new mate from Adelaide assured me that he had
enjoyed the trip immensely and that he would like to accompany me to
London in the _Tilikum_.  His name was Ed. O. Donner, but he was better
known as the "Tattooed Man of Australia," being tattooed all over his
body.  He was a good entertainer and knew how to while away the time
pleasantly.




{147}

CHAPTER XV

A SAD RECOLLECTION AT HOBART--RUNNING TOO LONG AND ITS CONSEQUENCE--THE
ALBATROSS

Hobart is the capital of Tasmania, and has a population of about
forty-five thousand people.  The city is picturesquely situated at the
foot of Mount Wellington and on the River Derwent, about twelve miles
from its mouth.  Owing to its excellent climate, Hobart is visited
during the summer by many holiday-makers from the Australian continent.
The River Derwent and the Entrecasteaux Channel afford one of the most
beautiful cruising grounds in the world, and many yachtsmen take full
advantage of this.

While staying at Hobart, as in other places, I received many
invitations to afternoon teas, dinners, etc.  One afternoon, having
accepted an invitation from a young married couple, I was shown some
photographs.  One of them represented a bright-looking young man, and
it struck me that I had seen his face before.  The lady of the house,
who had passed me the picture and stood beside me, said, in a low
voice: "Do you recognise this photograph?"  And when I looked up into
her face, I saw tears in her eyes.

"I do," I replied.  "It is a photograph of the young man whom I lost
off the _Tilikum_ on the night of October 27th, 1901!"

"Yes," she said, "that young man was my brother."

Both the young lady and her husband must have noticed that I also was
moved by the sudden recall of that sad accident.  They assured me,
however, that they did not think {148} in the least of blaming me; they
knew that it was a very common occurrence to lose lives from much
larger vessels.

[Sidenote: New Zealand]

After a stay of a fortnight at Hobart, we sailed for the south end of
New Zealand.  I was advised by people at Hobart that I had better not
take that course, as the weather most likely would prove too much for
the _Tilikum_.  But by that time I was fully convinced that the boat
was as sound as she ever had been, and I felt as comfortable in her
during a heavy gale as in a calm.  I had made up my mind; so we set
sail on January 27th and shaped a course for Invercargill, the
southernmost city of New Zealand.  The distance as the crow flies is
about nine hundred miles.

We started with a light westerly breeze and under a clear sky.  The
wind freshened up towards night and we soon got into the open Pacific.
For the first two days the westerly winds kept fresh and the _Tilikum_
went along at her best.  On the third day the wind gradually hauled
into the north-eastward, and thereafter into the east.  As I had reason
to hope that it soon would haul into the westward, these being the
average winds in that part of the world, I kept the boat on the port
tack, thinking that in this way we would most likely secure a quick
passage.  But at the same time we were carried more and more to the
south and got down nearly as far as the fiftieth degree, while the wind
still blew from the east.  I then put her on starboard tack and stood
to the northward.

We always enjoyed a good strong breeze, just enough for the _Tilikum_
to nicely put up with under all sail.  Only at times, during the night,
I shortened down.  Having gone a few miles to the northward, the
easterly wind became light and hauled into the westward; after which
the force increased.  I kept the _Tilikum_ before it and steered for
the south of New Zealand under all sail.  Whenever a south-wester comes
in after an easterly wind in that part of the {149} world it very often
develops into a gale; and so it did on this occasion.

The wind continued blowing and the boat increased her speed as it got
stronger.  I took in one sail after the other, until she was running
under a mainsail only.  I told my mate to put one shutter into the
cabin door, as I intended doing a little sailing that afternoon.  I do
not like to press a small boat hard when sailing by the wind with a
strong breeze and head sea on a long cruise such as we were on, because
the jumping and pitching and the heavy spray which the boat will take
on board under those circumstances is anything but pleasant.  But it is
certainly a pleasure to sail a boat with a free wind, or when she is
running before it and has a good large sea in her favour.  In running
with wind and sea I could sit in the cockpit, with the tiller in my
hand, hour upon hour, and watch her going along.  When running hard, I
mostly used the mainsail only.  Sailing of this sort is a pleasure, and
it seemed so fascinating to me that afternoon, that I would sit there,
not conversing with my mate, but talking to the boat, after this style:
"That's right.  Go it, go it, good old _Tilikum_.  Get to New Zealand
quickly and we will have a fine time there!"

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon; the wind was increasing and
the seas getting larger, and I was thinking to myself about heaving to,
when all of a sudden I heard the noise of a breaking sea coming up
behind us.  "Hullo," I said to myself, "there it is."  And by that time
the sea certainly was there.  It turned out to be a bad one and the
boat was not quick enough to raise her stern to the occasion, so the
sea broke over us.  For a second, ship and crew were submerged.
However, as we had one shutter in the door very little water penetrated
into the cabin.  But whatever little did get in, it must have entered
like a shot; for my mate said afterwards, he had been sitting upright
{150} in the forepart of the cabin when the water, splashing over the
top of the low shutter, struck him in the face.  My chronometer watch,
which hung in the same neighbourhood near the deck, had disappeared
from its place--I found some pieces of it later on at the bottom of the
boat.  But apart from the watch and a few little things that got wet,
there was no damage done.

This sea was much larger than the one which took my unfortunate mate
and the compass overboard, and only the life-line which I had fastened
to myself prevented me from going along with it.  I managed to keep the
vessel from broaching to when the sea broke over her, but, of course,
after that reminder I hove to under sea anchor and riding sail.

Owing to our southerly position--we had almost reached the fiftieth
degree--the weather was rather cold, and as both of us had got somewhat
wet in the operation, we lit our little swinging stove (which was
something like the sea anchor--it never failed to do its duty in any
kind of weather), to make a cup of coffee which turned out to be, when
finished, a "number one and a half."  The stove could be utilised also
for warming and drying the cabin, and we soon had everything shipshape
again.

The gale proved to be one of the real "Old Cape Horners," accompanied
as it was by genuine breaking seas.  Apparently the _Tilikum_ enjoyed
it very much, raising her body over the large seas with almost as much
ease as the albatross, of which an ample number swarmed round us.
These great birds seemed to take much interest in the boat, probably
because of the build, size and painting of the little vessel.  There is
no doubt that ever since the Southern Seas have been the home of the
albatross, they have never seen a vessel of similar small size and
curious form.  They would glide close to the mast for hours, now and
then describing a {151} circle round the boat, and at the same time
taking an investigating look at the figurehead, which very much
resembled their own.

Some of the birds would alight near and alongside our boat and face
those large approaching seas with their white foaming and roaring tops
in the same manner as the _Tilikum_.  But instead of riding every sea,
as our vessel was obliged to do, the albatross, on the approach of a
bad sea, would spread its white wings and, gracefully rising just high
enough to let the breaker pass, alight again.  This gentle seabird
accompanied us all the way from Tasmania to New Zealand, and we felt
sorry when we lost such company.

[Sidenote: A gale]

The gale kept up its fury for two days and nights, after which the wind
moderated, and when the large seas had lost their breaking tops we
hauled the sea anchor on board and swung the boat before the wind.  Our
chronometer was spoiled, but it was beyond doubt that our longitudinal
position at that time lay somewhere south of the New Zealand coast.  I
therefore decided to sail to the northward until we reached the
latitude of the south end of New Zealand, whereafter a course was to be
shaped for Solander Island.




{152}

CHAPTER XVI

ARRIVAL AT NEW ZEALAND--OYSTERS AND WHAT THEY EFFECTED--THE CITY OF THE
"MAC'S"

The westerly wind soon settled into a steady breeze, and on the morning
of February 8th we sighted Solander.  Although the wind lightened
considerably during the day, we found ourselves towards evening right
alongside.  This is a small island, about a mile in length and half a
mile wide, with heights of eleven hundred feet.  It was too late that
night to make Invercargill, on account of the dangerous navigation on
New River, on the bank of which the city is situated.  We therefore
sailed round Solander looking for ambergris, but there was nothing
doing in that line.  We observed no signs of the island being
inhabited, and aimed a few shots at the birds which were flying about
in great numbers.  At dark we shaped our course for New River, and at
three o'clock next morning, when within about five miles of its mouth,
we hove to and waited for daylight.  After sunrise we sailed up the
river, arriving at Invercargill about midday, with boat and crew in the
best of condition.

Invercargill is a well-laid-out little city with a population of about
fifteen thousand.  I was assured by the people that no smaller vessel
than the _Tilikum_ had ever visited them, and both my mate and I
received a very warm welcome.

A day or two later my mate came to me and said, "Skipper, last night I
went into a pop and called for a glass of beer, for which I paid
threepence; and with it they gave me, free of charge, six great, big,
fine, fresh, juicy oysters {153} on a half shell!  Truly, this New
Zealand must be a great country."

We remained a few days at Invercargill and then went round to Bluff
Harbour, about eight miles distant, which serves as a port to the
former place, New River being too shallow for vessels of greater
draught.  The small town situated on the south side of the harbour is
Campbell, and I believe I am correct in saying that twenty-four hours
after our arrival everybody there knew us, and we in turn knew
everybody in Campbell.  Owing to the kind treatment we received, we
stopped for a few days longer than we should have done, and when
sailing, the crew of the _Tilikum_ was presented with a number of bags
full of "great, big, fine, fresh, juicy oysters," which were in whole
shell, and, needless to say, after my mate's heart.

Leaving Bluff Harbour with a moderate westerly breeze we followed the
coast towards Dunedin, a distance of about a hundred and twenty miles.
It is a pleasure on a fine clear day, with a moderate breeze off the
land, to sail along the beautiful seaboard of New Zealand, and to make
it all the more enjoyable we had oysters with every meal and a few
between meals.  My mate declared that he could slip down a dozen or two
at any time.

However, the fine breeze did not last; on the following day, about
noon, threatening clouds rose from the west, accompanied by a
fast-increasing wind.  This proved sufficiently that a westerly gale
was approaching.  As we were then too near the coast to ride out a
gale, and no harbour was at hand in which to take shelter, I altered
our course to the south-eastward in order to gain sea room.  Having
managed to get clear of the land for about fifteen miles, we were
compelled to take in the last sail and heave to in the usual way.  That
night it blew very hard and we must have been in a tide rip, for the
_Tilikum_ rolled and {154} tumbled about much more than in previous
gales.  My mate complained of the oysters he had eaten for supper,
saying that they tried desperately to return to the ocean.  I advised
him to bite the heads off, whenever eating oysters at sea, as I did,
and then they were quite dead.  "Bite their heads off," he said, "I
should say I did, and bit their legs off too, but..."  Something, not
quite a groan, finished our conversation.

The gale lasted for two days and proved to be one of the hardest blows
that I experienced on the _Tilikum_.  In fact, the tumbling about and
the oysters made my mate so sick of the sea that he gave me notice
right there and then that there would be no more _Tilikum_ and oysters
for him once he put his foot ashore again.

Two days after, we arrived at Port Chalmers, about eight miles from
Dunedin, where we remained for two days and then took the boat up to
the latter place.  This constitutes the "Scotch City" of New Zealand
and the headquarters of all the "Mac's," such as McDonald, McPherson,
McKenzie, and many others.  And we certainly found the Macs to be all
right, and so was Piper Gray, though not a Mac himself.  The latter was
the proprietor of the hotel at which I stayed, and the very night of
our arrival he and some of the Macs resolved that I could not run about
in Dunedin as a plain Voss.  Consequently my name had to be changed,
and I at once was christened McVoss.  If I remember rightly it was
Piper Gray who sprinkled the water on my head.

I remained for twenty-two days at Dunedin.  During that period, at the
request of the city authorities, the _Tilikum_ was removed on a wagon
to the park to take part in a floral fte.  There the ladies of Dunedin
decorated her from her keel to the tops of the three masts!

When, on March 25th, I was obliged to tear myself {155} away from the
Macs and Piper Gray, at the same time rechristening myself plain Voss,
it almost felt like leaving home.  My only consolation was the old
saying: "The best of friends must part."  With Mr. G. McDonald on
board, who insisted on making a sea trip in the _Tilikum_ and
volunteered to go with me to Lyttelton, I set sail shortly after noon.
Flags were flying all over the harbour, and thousands of people crowded
the water front, waving handkerchiefs and hats and wishing us a safe
voyage.  We were taken in tow by a large river steamer, full of people,
and accompanied by another passenger boat and a fleet of Dunedin yachts
we proceeded down the bay towards the ocean, a distance of about eleven
miles.  The wind blowing lightly the yachts soon dropped behind, but
the two steamers, with their decks crowded with passengers, escorted us
all the way down.  On arrival at the mouth of the river a nice
south-easterly breeze induced us to set all sail, so the steamer let go
and the people on board gave us three hearty cheers, which we answered
by three dips of our flag on the mizzen.  Then the steamers returned up
river to Dunedin, while the _Tilikum_ headed for the north.

New Zealand had so far afforded me a splendid reception, more than I
could ever deserve.  But as I am one of those who never get too much of
a good thing, I made up my mind to enjoy that beautiful country as long
as possible, and accordingly called in at nearly every port along the
coast.

The next morning after leaving Dunedin we sighted Oamaru, a small town
situated near the beach.  Coming nearer, we saw an artificial
breakwater, inside of which a large vessel lay alongside a wharf.  Near
that ship I brought the _Tilikum_ up, and as place and people also
looked inviting, we remained for a few days.  Then we resumed our
course northward and called in at Timaru, a town somewhat resembling
Oamaru.  After a short stop we {156} sailed for Lyttelton.  The
distance between the two places is only about a hundred and twenty
miles.  But as we got mixed up in a north-easterly blow we were
compelled to heave to under a sea anchor for about thirty-six hours,
and consequently it took us three days to make Lyttelton.  On our
arrival there the _Tilikum_ was transported by train to Christchurch, a
distance of about eight miles.




{157}

CHAPTER XVII

CHRISTCHURCH--A PRACTICAL DEMONSTRATION

At Christchurch many people came to inspect my boat.  The first
question, of course, always was: "How do you manage your tiny vessel in
heavy storms?"

On one occasion, a gentleman asked me the same question again and when
I had explained matters to him, said: "It is surprising indeed that you
have come all the way from British Columbia and weathered all gales
successfully in this little vessel.  Only a few days ago two friends of
mine entered Sumno in a launch much larger than your boat.  In crossing
the bar the launch was upset and one of the two, a particular friend of
mine, who only recently had returned from the South African war,
unfortunately was drowned, in spite of being a very good swimmer.  The
other was saved by the Sumno lifeboat."  I then related my experience
near Melbourne, where I was compelled to run the _Tilikum_ for half a
mile through heavy surf breakers, explaining how I crossed the breakers
by having a sea anchor over the stern.  Now, that gentleman asked me
whether I was willing to repeat the same manoeuvre on the Sumno bar.
"I am certain," he said, "the people of Christchurch would appreciate a
practical demonstration, as we have had many accidents on the Sumno
bar."

I am always willing and ready to put into practice what I preach.  I
therefore agreed to give a demonstration before my departure from
Christchurch.

"What kind of boat do you want to use?" he enquired.

{158}

"Any boat of, say, from eighteen to twenty feet in length," I replied,
"and one that three men can handle."

"I will get a boat of that description for you.  What day do you
choose?"

"Any time," I said; and we fixed the day on the spot.

[Sidenote: Crossing breakers]

Crossing a breaking bar requires three men, two must be at the oars
while one tends to the sea anchor.  Mr. McDonald, who had sailed with
me from Dunedin, had left the boat already to return to that city.
However, he was still in Christchurch, and as he had told me when we
parted that he would go with me again, at any time and in any vessel, I
notified him and he readily volunteered.  The second man was Mr. H.
Buckridge, who had just returned from Captain Scott's South Pole
Expedition on the relief ship _Morning_ and who had taken Mr.
McDonald's place aboard the _Tilikum_.

We left Christchurch on April 28th at nine in the morning by tramcar
for Sumno, which is about nine miles distant.  On our arrival there we
went down to the beach to have a look at the boat which we were to use
for the demonstration.  It turned out to be an ordinary eighteen-foot
fishing boat with a sharp stern.  The weather was fine, and the
breakers, running in towards the beach and over the bar, were just
about right to make things interesting both to the spectators and
ourselves.

The demonstration on the bar was to take place at half-past two in the
afternoon, but to get my two men into trim I went out with them for a
drill at eleven o'clock.  The boat lay a short distance from Sumno in a
quiet little bay.  My mates took the oars and I sat down in the stern
holding the same sea anchor that had guided the _Tilikum_ through
several gales ready for instant use.  We then rowed out into the open
where long, big rollers came running in.  Steering round, we rowed
towards the shore where the rollers struck {159} shallow water and,
with an overfalling top, ran up the beach.  Shortly before the boat
entered the breaking seas I dropped the sea anchor over the stern and,
instead of reversing it, as I had done near Melbourne, kept it full,
and slowly and safely we crossed the surf breakers.

[Illustration: _TILIKUM_ UNDER SAIL]

Just before the boat struck bottom I brought the sea anchor aboard and
we backed the boat towards the ocean.  That, however, was not quite so
easy, as great care must be taken to meet every approaching breaker
head on.  And if a boat has got too much speed when meeting a comber
the latter is sure to break over her and most likely will send her to
the bottom.  On the other hand, if a boat in that case has not enough
headway, it may be turned end over.  Therefore, it takes trained men to
accomplish a feat of that sort.  Both my mates were strong, able men
and knew how to pull an oar.  I watched the approaching breakers and
advised them how to pull, and thus we managed to bring the boat back
through the surf, but not without shipping her half full of water.

Having returned to the landing-place we changed our garments and went
back to Sumno, where, to our surprise, we found the town already alive
with people who had come from Christchurch, and still every tram
running in was crowded.

At the stated time we manned our little boat again, and this time
pulled in towards the bar.  In coming near the breakers we saw the
beach crowded with people, and just when we entered them a band,
concealed in the crowd on shore, struck up "Life on the Ocean Wave."
Then we passed over the roaring and foaming breakers only about a
hundred yards distant from the beach, while over seven thousand
people--a figure given me later on--waved their hats, caps, umbrellas,
and handkerchiefs, shouting at the top of their voices: "Well done!
well done!"

{160}

Having thus crossed the bar breakers we got into smooth water, where
the Sumno lifeboat lay with a crew of trained men on board, everyone
with a lifebelt around him, ready to come to our rescue in case of
emergency.

[Sidenote: Sumno Bar]

Our demonstration did not end when we had crossed the bar only once.
We desired to take another round trip to give the spectators something
for the money which they had spent on the tram from Christchurch.
Crossing breakers seawards, as I have stated before, is much worse than
coming in towards the shore, and on this occasion, as before, we did
not succeed without shipping quite a lot of water.  Nevertheless, after
having reached the open and baled out our boat we stood in for the
breakers again.  When we were half-way across and in the worst of it,
approximately a hundred and fifty yards from the spectators, we stopped
the boat's headway and let her lay to the sea anchor, and with the
additional help of the oars we kept her heading the breakers.  The boat
was then dancing up and down as the waves passed under her.  One moment
she would stand on her head and the next on her stern, but she was
entirely out of danger.

We in the boat enjoyed the sport very much, although in crossing the
bar on our way out we got thoroughly wet.  We imagined that, from the
spectators' side, the operation must have looked somewhat monotonous.
Therefore, in order to create some excitement and liven things up a
little, Mr. Buckridge, who was a first-class swimmer and diver,
unobservedly tied a rope round his waist, the end of which I kept under
control, and then simulated falling overboard.  The moment he
disappeared in the breakers the yell came from every mouth on shore
"Man overboard," the band stopped playing, and the lifeboat crew came
pulling along with all their might to the rescue.  Buckridge kept out
of sight until the lifeboat was within about fifty feet of us, and
{161} then pulling in the rope, I found him safe and sound at the end
of it.  The people on shore applauded and hurrahed, the lifeboat was
taken back to the station, and the band once more tuned up a "Life on
the Ocean Wave."  We rowed our boat towards the shore into smooth
water, and after that we crossed and recrossed the bar once more, and
thus successfully completed our demonstration.  However, the best part
of it, as far as the demonstrators were concerned, followed the next
day, when the manager of the tramcar company presented me with a cheque
for nearly fifty pounds.




{162}

CHAPTER XVIII

WHERE IS THE LIGHT?--MY FIRST LECTURE--AN AMUSING INCIDENT--MEETING
WITH MAORIS

Shortly after the demonstration had come to an end the _Tilikum_ was
entrained again and taken down to Lyttelton.  When afloat Mr. Buckridge
and myself went aboard and took our departure for Wellington, the
capital of New Zealand, a distance of nearly two hundred miles.  With a
moderate westerly breeze we soon sailed the four miles down Lyttelton
Bay, and once more the _Tilikum_ poked her nose into the Pacific.  The
wind gradually hauled into the south-east and with a fresh breeze the
boat went along flying towards Wellington.  When we were nearly abreast
of Cook Strait the wind changed to the north-east and forced us in
toward Cape Campbell, whose white revolving light we sighted shortly
after dark.  Just about that time the wind returned to the original
direction, and we shaped a course direct for Pencarrow Light, which
stands at the eastern entrance of Port Nicholson.

The south-westerly wind became very strong towards midnight.  Pencarrow
Light towers over four hundred feet above the water and is visible at a
distance of thirty miles; therefore, to my reckoning, we should have
sighted it at about midnight.  So I began to look for it, for it is one
of my established rules to be on the lookout when, according to dead
reckoning, land or a light should come in sight, and the vessel is
shaping for it, and I never leave the deck until satisfied.  But should
the weather get thick and the {163} likelihood of running into danger
arise, I do what every careful navigator should do in unfamiliar
surroundings, viz., put the vessel's head off shore and wait till the
weather clears.

On this occasion, with the exception of a few clouds hanging about here
and there, the weather was quite clear.  Being sure that we were in
sighting distance of the light but still unable to see it, I went to
the forward end of the boat where the sails did not obstruct the view.
My mate was steering and the _Tilikum_ went along with the wind and a
large sea right aft, at seven miles an hour.  I stood there from one
till five o'clock, when I thought that we should be within five miles
of the light; but still I could not make it out.  The morning hours
were very dark and I considered the advisability of heaving to, to wait
for daylight, when suddenly the light appeared right ahead of us and up
in the sky!

[Sidenote: Wellington]

Apparently the light in question stands too high to be seen in cloudy
weather, as, owing to its lofty situation, dark clouds at times will
accumulate and obscure it from view.  Regarding lights that are visible
for upwards of twenty-five miles, I may say that I have never recorded
another incident of that kind.  The night being dark, and both of us
unacquainted with the locality, we hove to under small sail.  When day
broke we kept the boat before the wind, and with a strong southerly
breeze sailed into Wellington Harbour, dropping anchor near Queen
Street wharf.

Wellington is the capital of the Dominion of New Zealand, and its
inhabitants very much resemble their fellow-countrymen in the other
places where I had called: all had ample means of living, and seemed
contented and happy, and as I was still hustling for the millions which
I had failed to secure on Cocos Island, I took the _Tilikum_ ashore and
had her exhibited in a large hall.

{164}

It was for the first time in my life that I mounted a stage to address
an audience, a task which so far had been out of my line.  I shall
never forget the moment when I stepped on to the stage and saw nearly
six hundred people looking at me and watching every movement I made.
Fortunately, the stage was strongly constructed, otherwise I think I
should have fallen through it.  A few days before the lecture was to
take place an experienced speaker who instructed me in the art of
lecturing warned me of stage fright.  "When you mount the stage," he
said, "and see the audience in front of you, you might become nervous
and won't be able to speak, as is frequently the case with beginners.
If that should happen, just imagine that all the heads you see before
you are nothing but a field of cabbages, and you soon will be all
right!"

[Sidenote: My first lecture]

Now, to allow my imagination to run away with me in this manner was,
for a man like me, who had met so many New Zealanders and had learned
to like them, a little more than I thought I should be capable, but as
my instructor assured me it was part of the business it had to be so.
So I spoke for about an hour, after which my mate, Mr. Buckridge, took
the floor and delivered a very interesting lecture on his experiences
while with Captain Scott's South Pole Expedition in the _Discovery_.
Among other occurrences, he related the jolly time they had when the
vessel was frozen in during the dark and cold winter months, and how he
and his comrades used to commandeer some excellent old Scotch from the
officers' stateroom and hide it in the snow where it would freeze, and
instead of drinking whisky in the ordinary way they would eat it as
they would ice cream!

When Mr. Buckridge had nearly finished his story, his voice suddenly
dropped, his eyes widened, and he looked very much bewildered.  At
first, I thought he suffered {165} from a sudden attack of heart
failure; but he managed to finish his speech in a whisper which I am
quite sure nobody could hear, then gave a little bow as if to say:
"That will be all you'll get from me to-night, my good people!" and
thereupon received a deafening ovation from the audience.  The latter
then left their seats and crowded round the _Tilikum_, and I was just
about to ask my mate whether he felt ill, when a tall, handsome young
gentleman stepped up to the stage and, shaking hands with Buckridge,
said with a smile: "I could never understand what became of my whisky!"
He was no other than Lieutenant Ernest Shackleton, of the _Discovery_,
and Mr. Buckridge happened to recognise his face amongst the audience
immediately after telling of the "iced whisky" he enjoyed so much in
the frozen plains of the south!

Lieutenant Shackleton is now Sir Ernest, and judging from what I saw of
him in Wellington, and later on in Scotland, and what I have read and
heard about him since, all the harm I wish him is that he may become an
admiral of the British fleet before reaching his fortieth year!

A splendid critique in the next morning's newspapers served as an
instigation to us to speak on several succeeding occasions to full
houses, and at the request of a white Maori chief from Palmerston
North, a fair inland city, we put the boat on a train and, in company
of the chief, journeyed overland to that place.  In the country
surrounding Palmerston live many Maori farmers who came to town by the
hundred to give us a call.  They were more than pleased to see a canoe
which had crossed the ocean to their country, and the fact apparently
strengthened their belief that in days of yore their ancestors had
emigrated in large canoes to New Zealand from some distant region of
the Pacific.  One Maori, who spoke English fluently, told me that he
had never credited the legend, as he thought it impossible {166} to
cross the ocean in such frail craft.  "And now, as I see with my own
eyes that you have covered thousands of miles in this Indian canoe and
have arrived safely on our shores, I do not longer question that my
forefathers can have accomplished the same!"




{167}

CHAPTER XIX

WANGANUI--LADIES ON BOARD--A WET AFTERNOON

Having spent a few days at Palmerston North, we again boarded the train
and, making short stops at Fielding and other country towns, proceeded
down to Wanganui, which is a port of considerable size, situated about
four miles from the mouth of the Wanganui River, one of the most
beautiful streams in the world.  Across the mouth of the river lies a
bar over which the sea breaks very heavily at times, and as some
Wanganui people had read of our feat at Sumno, we were requested to
repeat the performance.  Consequently arrangements were made to give a
demonstration, this time in the _Tilikum_ herself, and under sail.

While staying at Wanganui we had taken up quarters at an hotel which
was owned by a young couple who, like almost all New Zealanders, were
fond of sport.  They asked me to be good enough to give them a trip on
the _Tilikum_, and I replied that on the day fixed for the
demonstration they were welcome to sail with us as far as the river
mouth.  "Oh, thank you," the lady exclaimed, "that will be so nice!"  I
will try to describe to my readers how nice it turned out to be.

When the appointed day came, the landlord was unable to leave his house
for stress of business.  So his place was taken by a lady friend who
joyfully agreed to accompany his wife, and in the pleasant company of
both ladies we sailed down the Wanganui.  When we arrived at the river
mouth the wind had died out, and in consequence the prospects {168} for
our performance became poor.  It was about two o'clock when large and
heavy seas, which almost broke on the bar, came running in towards us.
Many people had arrived from Wanganui by train to watch the _Tilikum_
crossing the bar.  But there being not the slightest breeze, the boat
could not be sailed, and therefore those standing along the beach wore
a disappointed look.

"Something must be done to create a little excitement," I said to my
mate, "but how?"  As luck would have it, just then a launch about
thirty feet in length arrived from Wanganui with a dozen passengers on
board, and as the bar was not breaking then the captain volunteered to
tow us across.  When everything was ready for the start I advised our
two lady passengers to go ashore.

"No, please, Captain," our landlady entreated, "don't put us off now,
when the real fun is to commence!"

"My good ladies," I endeavoured to persuade, "there will be not much
fun if one of those high seas should happen to break on us when going
out."

"We won't mind that a bit," the other assured me.

"And getting soaked with salt water; what about that?" I queried.  "Oh,
that we would enjoy enormously!" they both asserted.

Feeling confident that nothing serious would happen, I made no further
objection, and told the captain of the launch to go ahead.  In a few
minutes we were amongst the big, rolling seas.

[Sidenote: Wanganui Bar]

Crossing the bar at a rate of six miles an hour, both boats rose
comfortably to the seas as they came along, until we got about half-way
across the bar, when an extra large sea broke between the launch and
our boat.  I knew at once what was going to happen, but it happened so
quickly that the breaker was upon us ere we had time to hurry the
ladies into the cabin.  Before the breaker came over all {169} four of
us were sitting in the cockpit, and when the _Tilikum_ dived into it
our landlady clung to some ropes and cleats, whilst her companion, who
was one of the belles of Wanganui, grabbed my mate round the neck and
hung on for grim death.  Even when all was over he could hardly induce
her to let go again!  Why our charming passenger should have cuddled my
mate around the neck and squeezed him in the way she did, instead of
me, I was at a loss to understand; for at the time when the breaker
came down on us I was certainly much nearer.  However, we succeeded in
getting across the bar without further trouble.  This was the only sea
that broke upon us in going out, but nevertheless it was sufficient to
give all a good soaking.

In returning we had a similar experience, but on this occasion we
managed to shelter the two ladies in the cabin, shutting the door on
them.  When we were about the middle of the bar a large sea, as before,
broke under the stern of the _Tilikum_.  She took a little water over,
but went along with the breaker at a tremendous speed, with the result
that in a few minutes we were almost alongside the launch.  Presently,
the breaking sea passed under us and embraced the launch.  As we had a
hundred and fifty feet of towline out, a bight was formed alongside our
boat, and the latter naturally stopped headway while the launch forged
ahead with the breaker at a terrific speed.  When the tow-line became
taut it parted, causing the launch to broach to.  Instantaneously the
sea broke over her weather rail and almost resulted in her, with all on
board, going to the bottom.  As it was, the water she shipped stopped
her engine, but luckily enough no more breaking seas came in and she
was baled out and got safely into the river.  The _Tilikum_, with her
two lady passengers, who were now in a sorry plight, followed suit.

The breakers at Wanganui were then not nearly as high {170} or so
dangerous as were those we had experienced at the Sumno bar when
crossing it six times in an open eighteen-foot boat, and the accident
on this occasion could have been easily avoided if the launch had been
allowed to go slow in crossing the bar, as I had advised the captain.
Instead, she was driven full speed ahead, and consequently the accident
happened as it will nine times out of ten when care is not taken, and
possibly with more disastrous results.  I told the captain afterwards
that it was not his seamanship but the hand of Providence which had
saved his vessel and the lives of those on board.




{171}

CHAPTER XX

A GALE IN COOK STRAIT AND AN UNCOMFORTABLE NIGHT--NEW PLYMOUTH

Three days later we left Wanganui for New Plymouth, on the east coast,
distant about one hundred miles.  Cook Strait truly resembles its great
namesake: like Captain Cook it is not to be trifled with.  When it
blows there it blows hard, and owing to shallows and currents a very
bad sea is experienced.  Sailing from Wanganui with a moderate easterly
breeze, accompanied by a hazy sky, we directed our course to the
south-west.  This served our purpose by enabling us to obtain sea room
to meet a possible gale.

We were no more than about twenty miles off the land when the wind
hauled into the south-west with fast-increasing force.  However, in
order to clear the lee shore still further, we held our course until
the wind and seas compelled us to take in the sails and heave to under
sea anchor.  To be only twenty miles off a lee shore in a heavy gale is
rather risky, and we had gained little more.  So to lessen the drift of
our boat, we rigged a second sea anchor.  For this purpose we employed
our bunk boards, some old canvas and ropes, and one of our ordinary
anchors.  We discovered that with the two sea anchors the drift of our
boat did not exceed three-quarters of a mile, and we therefore felt
assured that the gale would have to blow quite a long time before the
_Tilikum_ would strike the rocks.  Having a riding sail over the stern
besides, and after putting a light {172} on deck, we both sat down in
the cabin, and over a comfortable smoke talked about our experiences on
the Wanganui bar a few days previously.

[Sidenote: Cook Strait]

Meantime the gale raged, and it proved to be the worst I experienced
throughout my cruise in the _Tilikum_.  It was accompanied by large,
hollow-breaking seas, and our little vessel had to do all she could and
tried strenuously to rise to the top of some of the high combers.  She
rolled and pitched and with heavy spray flying over her, sluggishly
worked her way over the seas.  It was the first gale my mate
experienced in the _Tilikum_, and he complained of the continuous
rolling and pitching, saying that it made him sick.

Before many hours had passed we were wishing for a change in the
weather, but the wind did not moderate, and was later accompanied by
heavy rain squalls.  The night was so dark that we could not see a hand
before our eyes.  As we drifted more and more landward I commenced to
feel a little uneasy; for I knew that if the gale lasted all day we
would be smashed to pieces before nightfall.  But a good shipmaster
never reflects on danger until he be right near it.  I stuck to the
principle, and refrained from expressing my thoughts about the weather
and the lee shore to my companion, but waited patiently for the change,
which eventually came with unexpected suddenness.  It was before
daybreak, when the wind rapidly hauled into the south-east and the seas
soon lost their dangerous breaking caps, when I steered the _Tilikum_
to the westward.  At seven o'clock the weather cleared up, our
approximate position then being ten miles off the land and forty miles
from Cape Egmont.

As a reminder of the previous night's gale, a large swell was still
settling through from the south-west; but otherwise the wind and
weather were all that one could wish, and {173} helped my mate's
stomach to recover its equilibrium.  Early in the afternoon we rounded
Cape Egmont and shaped our course for New Plymouth, which then was not
more than twenty-five miles distant.  However, the wind lightening
during the night, we failed to reach port before the following morning.

New Plymouth is a nice little town of about five thousand inhabitants,
and owing to the splendid farming country surrounding it, is named by
the Maoris "Taranaki," _i.e._, the garden of New Zealand.  Mount
Egmont, which rises approximately to a height of eight thousand six
hundred feet above sea level, is clearly seen in fine weather, being
only about fifteen miles distant from New Plymouth as the crow flies.
It forms a most beautiful feature of the landscape, with its regular
cone crowned with a white cap of snow.  One great drawback to the city
lies in the fact that there is no harbour.  The "Garden of New Zealand"
is thickly populated with Maoris.  When they discovered that we had
come a long way in a canoe, they apparently felt, like their countrymen
at Palmerston, reminded of the glorious days of the past, and honoured
us with a welcome in Maori style.  In crowds they flocked to town from
the neighbouring districts to inspect our little vessel, and a song was
given us in native language, followed by quite a long speech delivered
by a chief.  The natives then inspected the _Tilikum_ inside and out,
and having satisfied themselves that she was a real canoe, gave us
three cheers before they departed.




{174}

CHAPTER XXI

NELSON--THE _TILIKUM_ AS A MAIL-BOAT--"PELORUS JACK"

On leaving New Plymouth we again rounded Cape Egmont and crossed Cook
Strait to Nelson, a distance of about a hundred and twenty miles.  Cook
Strait this time was on good behaviour, and with a moderate
north-westerly breeze we sailed across in a little less than
twenty-four hours.  Nelson also is a fine town, located at the head of
Blind Bay and encompassed by high hills and mountain ranges.  It
possesses a pretty harbour, whilst the climate is excellent.

[Sidenote: Nelson and Napier]

While in the South Pacific, the _Tilikum_ had on various occasions
carried mail matter from one island to another, but along the coast of
New Zealand the people made her a regular mail-boat, for curiosity's
sake, as will be well understood.  And not only mails addressed to New
Zealand ports were entrusted to our boat, but also many letters
destined for Europe.  Nelson was no exception, and we had a
considerable mail taken on board here, mostly for Europe.  The
_Tilikum_ was almost ready for sea, when an elderly, well-dressed lady
brought down a tin box of ample dimensions and asked me to take it
along to the Cocos Keeling Islands in the Indian Ocean, having been
informed that our course laid that way.

"Madame," I protested, "you will please pardon me, but the box will
take up too much space in our small vessel."  She then begged and
pleaded with me, confiding that she had a son living on the islands who
was employed in the {175} British cable service, and that the box
contained a fruit cake which was intended for a birthday present to
him.  My mate happened to be standing near by, and on hearing "fruit
cake"--later on he gave sufficient evidence that he liked fruit cakes
quite as well as the ladies--whispered into my ear: "Take it, Captain,
take it; by all means take it along"; and as the good lady at the same
time was appealing so insistently on behalf of her beloved son, I
finally agreed and promised to do my best to deliver the parcel.  My
acquiescence nearly brought the tears into her eyes, and to show her
thankfulness, shortly before we sailed she sent on board another cake
for the entertainment of the crew of the _Tilikum_.  Buckridge said
that the second cake was to pay freight and insurance on the first one,
but also sarcastically remarked that if fruit cakes were as scarce in
the Indian Ocean as they were at the South Pole, something might happen
to the mail before we reached the Cocos Keeling Islands!  "Look here,
Buck"--I was wont to abbreviate his name for convenience'
sake--"broaching cargo is prohibited on board the _Tilikum_"

Leaving Nelson we sailed by way of the French Pass for Napier, which is
situated on the east side of the northern island, at a distance of
about three hundred miles.  French Pass is the name given to a narrow
strait separating the little island d'Urville from the main island,
which here forms a small peninsula, some thirty miles out of Nelson.

French Pass is remarkable for the tremendously strong tides that rush
through it at a rate of about nine miles an hour.  It has further
gained notoriety as the home of Pelorus Jack, the most wonderful fish
in the world.  This curious creature has a reputation for coming
alongside every vessel passing the strait.  It will accompany her for
from five to twenty minutes and then disappear again into the deep.

{176}

Having heard a good deal about Pelorus Jack's peculiarities we anchored
on the west side of the strait to wait for slack water with the turning
of the tide, as nearly all vessels intending to make the passage do.
It was a beautiful morning when we got under way at high water and with
a light westerly breeze sailed through the narrow pass.  We kept a
sharp lookout for Jack, but he failed to put in an appearance.  We
cruised about the place where he is wont to make his calls, but were
not honoured with a visit.  Needless to say, the crew of the _Tilikum_
felt highly insulted at this neglect.

[Sidenote: Pelorus Jack]

On the east side of the pass we observed a nice little house, and as
there was a good landing near by we ran the boat up the sandy beach and
I jumped ashore.  On walking towards the house I was met by a gentleman
who introduced himself as Mr. Brown, proprietor of the dwelling and the
surrounding country site.  Mr. Brown said that he had met me a few days
previously, at Nelson, but as I was introduced to so many people in
ports of call I did not recognise his face at once.  Now, we renewed
the acquaintance.  I told Mr. Brown what I had heard of Pelorus Jack,
and also of our vain endeavours to discover him, which had lasted for
two hours.  I added, furthermore, that in my opinion New Zealanders
were pretty good story-tellers.

"It is a fish story all right," Mr. Brown replied, "but nevertheless a
true one.  Jack calls on every vessel that goes through the pass and
accompanies it for some time, with the exception of a certain steamship
from which he was shot at.  Ever since he has never been seen from the
same vessel.  Neither will he acknowledge small vessels such as yours."

"That uncivil, self-conceited fellow," I said: "nearly every man, woman
and child, including the Honourable R. Seddon, Premier of New Zealand,
has come to see my {177} boat, and this Pelorus Jack flatly refuses to
pay any attention to her at all!"

"That question you must settle with Jack direct," Mr. Brown replied,
"but if you want to see him, wait till to-morrow, when a steamer will
pass, and he is sure to come alongside her."

Of course, I at once made up my mind to avail myself of the opportunity.

At ten o'clock the following morning a steamer entered the pass
eastward bound, and Mr. Brown took us off in his launch.  Shortly after
we had gone aboard and she had emerged from the narrows, a large fish
of whiteish colour made its appearance alongside the passing vessel.
"There he is!" came the yell from every passenger's lips.  They crowded
the deck and stretched their necks over the rail to obtain a glimpse of
the unique fish.

Pelorus Jack first appeared about fifteen feet off the starboard
quarter and went full speed ahead, gliding along in front of the
steamer's bow, where he remained for a few minutes.  Thereupon he made
a dive under the vessel's bottom and showed up again off the port side,
nearly abreast of the bridge.  It was quite a sight in itself to watch
the passengers, old and young, rushing about the deck to the various
places wherever Jack performed his tricks.  Jack kept up his manoeuvres
for about fifteen minutes, and then suddenly disappeared from sight.

This far-famed wonder derives his name from the beautiful Pelorus Sound
which forms the northern extremity of central New Zealand.  This great
and picturesque inlet branches into numerous arms and creeks, embracing
altogether some two hundred and fifty miles of coast line; its waters
are deep and sufficiently extensive to accommodate large vessels.
There are said to exist thirty landlocked anchorages in all!  French
Pass constitutes the {178} western-most part of the sound which Pelorus
Jack has made his home, according to the natives' legend, many years
before the arrival of white men.

Pelorus Jack is classed by zoologists as a dolphin, and thus in reality
is not a fish but a mammal, for which, also, his highly-developed
instinct and cleverness account.  He measures about fifteen feet in
length, his colour is nearly white, with a little admixture of grey and
yellow, and an additional decoration of brown stripes.  Jack shows a
large head and massive shoulders, while the body tapers towards the
tail.  He possesses a scythe-shaped dorsal fin and a large horizontal
tail, the latter very much resembling that of a finback whale.  The
animal is marvellously speedy, and will play around a steamer
travelling at a rate of from fourteen to fifteen miles an hour,
overtaking her with apparent ease, as if she was standing still!  This
wonderful creature serves as a great attraction, and doubtless forms an
economic feature in New Zealand, drawing yearly crowds of
holiday-makers and foreign tourists.  Jack has thus become a foremost
money-making concern and one of the wonders of the world.  His equal in
habits and colour is unknown, and his life is protected by the New
Zealand Government.

As Pelorus Jack is the only known specimen of his kind, he is much
esteemed by the population of New Zealand.  He is treated with almost
the same respect as a human being, and anyone guilty of detracting from
his character is liable to get himself into trouble.  About a year ago,
while walking along Main Street, Yokohama, I happened to come across a
passer-by who wore a down-hearted look on his face, and whom I at once
recognised as a New Zealander by his watch charm.  It should here be
mentioned that a green stone is found in New Zealand which is
manufactured into a variety of ornaments and takes a high {179} polish.
Usually it is mounted in gold, and extensively worn by the people of
that country.  I addressed the gentleman and discovered that I had made
no mistake.  The interest I take in New Zealand generally is due to the
splendid reception I received during my stay in that country, although
I have, in this regard, no reason for complaint anywhere.  On this
occasion, upon enquiring how things were at home, I was told that the
people of New Zealand were heart-broken and flags had been flying
half-mast when he sailed from Wellington.

"What is the matter?" I enquired.  "Did the Governor die?"

"Not that," the stranger replied; "a Governor can always be replaced,
but Pelorus Jack cannot; and he has abandoned his call and is given up
for dead!"

Since then I have heard that the great fish had been missing for some
time, but, fortunately, turned up again.  Evidently, Jack had thought
that after many years of continuous service he was entitled to a
vacation which could not but be beneficial to his health, and my
readers will agree with me that no one should blame the faithful old
pilot!




{180}

CHAPTER XXII

HISTORICAL REMINISCENCES--AUCKLAND--THE AMBITIONS OF MR.
BUCKRIDGE--ENGAGING A FRESH MATE

The weather was fine when we sailed from French Pass in the latter part
of June with a moderate westerly breeze and shaped our course across
Cook Strait towards the southern end of the north island.  Cook Strait
during the winter months--May, June, and July--is frequented by heavy
south-easterly gales, but we were favoured in that respect, the steady
westerly breeze staying with us until we had rounded Cape Palliser, the
southernmost point of the north island.  Then the wind hauled into the
south, and as the weather continued fine we made good headway,
following the coast towards our next port of call.

However, when we reached Cape Kidnappers we got becalmed and drifted
about for twenty-four hours near two white rocks, which looked very
much like haystacks.  Its name was applied to the cape by Captain Cook
on his first exploring voyage, when many natives came off in a large
canoe and tried to kidnap a little boy from his ship.  Some of the
natives lost their lives in the adventure.

The following day the wind came in from the east, and with its help we
sailed into the little harbour of Napier.  Here we remained for ten
days, and after receiving a considerable consignment of letters for
Europe we set sail for Auckland.

It was late in the evening when we sailed out of Napier Harbour, and
when just clear of the land a fresh {181} south-easterly breeze,
accompanied by a short, choppy sea, made the _Tilikum_ jump into the
waves up to the foremast.  Shortly before we left Napier some of our
hosts had treated us almost too kindly, and by urging me to "Have
another one," "Just one more," "I am sure you can stand another small
bottle, Captain," they had greatly over-estimated the capacity of my
stomach and caused me to stow away more than I was accustomed to.  The
latter, however, revolted and was not satisfied until I relieved it
from the extra pressure.  My mate, Buck, showed his sympathy by saying,
"That serves you right.  An old salt like you should know better than
to get sea-sick in a little blow!"

[Sidenote: Hawke's Bay]

During the night we crossed Hawke's Bay, which is about forty miles
wide, from Napier Harbour to Portland Island, arriving at the latter
place towards morning.  A strong easterly wind made it difficult for us
to weather the island, and we therefore anchored under the shelter of
the west coast of Mahia Peninsula beyond it, in smooth water.  There we
lay waiting for more favourable wind and weather--and, incidentally,
for my stomach to get into a seaworthy condition again.

Towards evening the wind hauled into the north-west and we resumed our
voyage to Auckland.  After rounding the point we shaped a course
northward, and with a fresh breeze off the land followed the coast line
until next morning when it hauled into the north-east, resulting in a
dead headwind.  We then put the boat on the starboard tack, and when
under land we got becalmed near Poverty Bay.

While we drifted about and waited for wind, a canoe and three native
men and a woman came alongside.  One of the men, who had a good command
of English, and acted as the speaker, offered his services as pilot to
tow us into Poverty Bay for the sum of ten shillings, promising to
conduct us to the very spot where Captain Cook had {182} anchored on
his discovery of New Zealand.  I would have accepted the Maori's offer,
but paying pilot fees and towage was against my principle in the
_Tilikum_.  Apart from this, my time was getting short and I was
anxious to make Auckland, otherwise we would certainly have called in
and availed ourselves of the opportunity to visit that historical place.

The south-west point of the bay near which we drifted is called Young
Nick's Head, named after a boy who belonged to the great navigator's
crew and first saw the land.  The small river Turango-nui flows into
Poverty Bay, and this is the celebrated spot where Captain Cook first
touched New Zealand soil.  In the immediate surroundings of this place
he met with inhospitable natives, and although he made them presents
and employed every means to be friendly, they remained hostile, and the
crew of the _Endeavour_, his ship, had on various occasions to resort
to arms for protection.  These unlucky circumstances and his
unsuccessful attempt to obtain provisions caused him to apply the name
"Poverty Bay."  At the present time the flourishing town of Gisborne is
situated on the shores of the bay, and the neighbourhood looks so
prosperous that, judging from what I could see from a distance, it is
about time to change the old name.

[Sidenote: Auckland]

We had drifted about near Young Nick's Head for several hours, when a
fresh breeze came in from the south-west which took us to the East
Cape.  Rounding the latter we shaped our course across the Bay of
Plenty, named so by Captain Cook in March, 1770, because of the number
of people seen on the fringing coast.  The wind kept fair and fresh,
and we soon passed Great Barrier Island on our starboard, and having
crossed Hauraki Gulf arrived at Auckland on July 20th, 1903.

Auckland is the largest city in New Zealand, and at the {183} time the
_Tilikum_ called had a population of about sixty-seven thousand.  As at
other places in Australasia at which I had called, almost every second
man I met was interested in yachting.  And if one considers the
splendid sub-tropical climate and the great cruising grounds available,
I think there is no place on the globe that surpasses Auckland in
water-sport facilities.  The cruising season here begins in September
and ends in May.  The other three months constitute the winter, during
which period the yachts are hauled out of the water for repairing and
cleaning.  As our time of call coincided with the winter season I did
not sail in one of the yachts.  However, I was honoured by some of
Auckland's yachtsmen, being taken round in a launch to various places
where the yachts were hauled up, and considering the number of
pleasure-boats and launches I saw that day it would seem that nearly
every man, woman and child in that fair city must be devoted to
yachting.

We had spent about a fortnight in Auckland, when my mate Buckridge
suddenly announced, "Captain, you better look for another mate, as I
have to leave you."  This, of course, took me by surprise and I asked,
"What is the matter with you?  Only a few days ago you told me that
this is the best layout you ever got into, and now that we have passed
through all that bad, dirty weather and intend to sail for the tropics
you are going to leave me!"  "It is not that I am dissatisfied in any
way," he assured me, "but I have made up my mind to build a boat of my
own and of about the same size as the _Tilikum_, to race you to
England."

Buckridge was for his age a man of wide experience.  As I have stated
before, he took part in the South African campaign, and afterwards
joined Captain Scott's Expedition to the South Pole.  But he had no
knowledge of navigation and very little practical seamanship.  As I was
well aware {184} of his weak points in this respect I advised him
strongly not to attempt such a voyage.

To make a cruise round the world in your own vessel and go as you
please certainly looks most inviting, and for myself I do not hesitate
to say that the three years spent in the _Tilikum_, in spite of her
small dimensions, was the most enjoyable time of my life.  But in order
to make the cruise a success the man in charge requires an absolutely
thorough knowledge of practical navigation and he must be able to
handle a small vessel in all kinds of weather.  And it is by no means
sufficient for him to understand when a boat is correctly built,
rigged, ballasted and provided with the proper sails and all gear
necessary to weather heavy gales.  He must also be a good judge of the
weather, as barometers are very unreliable at times.  More especially
is this necessary when the boat is near land and there is no harbour in
which to seek shelter from an approaching gale.  The safety of the
vessel and life may then depend on a quick decision to sail off the
land in order to obtain sufficient sea room before the gale compels you
to heave to.  It is further essential that the boat be fitted with good
water tanks to ensure an efficient supply of pure drinking water, and a
complete list of stores must be secured as there are no "road-houses"
at sea.  Apart from being an experienced seaman, the yachtsman who
ventures on the high seas must also be a good cook; for, owing to the
small dimensions of his boat, physical exercise is limited, and to keep
in good condition all food must be intelligently selected and properly
cooked.  It is also a factor of considerable importance to adhere to
regular meal hours in all kinds of weather.  By understanding and
attending to these points an ocean cruise is, in my opinion, the most
enjoyable and healthy pastime a man could possibly choose.  But it
would be a foolhardy undertaking for one who is not qualified or who is
ignorant {185} of the dangers involved to venture on his own account--a
miserable spell would probably end in an early disaster!

[Sidenote: Buckridge leaves]

As I have already observed, Mr. Buckridge could not claim to be an
experienced seaman; but ignoring my advice, he placed an order with a
yacht builder in Auckland for a boat of about four tons, in which he
proposed to proceed to England.  Unfortunately, this left me again
without a mate.  However, I was lucky enough to pick a strong, healthy
young man, whose name was W. Russell, from a number of applicants.

At this juncture it may be advisable to mention that the authorities of
all ports I called at never interfered with me, and whenever I engaged
a new mate the agreement was generally of a private character.  My plan
was to sail after leaving Auckland by way of some South Sea islands,
through the Torres Strait and Arafura Sea, across the Indian Ocean to
Durban, South Africa, _i.e._, a distance of about fifteen thousand
miles.  Bearing in mind the length of the voyage, I was especially
careful in selecting a reliable man and good companion.  When Mr.
Russell applied in person I catechised him after this manner:

"Where were you born?"

"In Ireland."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-five years."

"Have you ever been to sea as a sailor or in any other capacity?"

"As a passenger only."

"What is your profession?"

"I was trained for the Church."

"Are you still following that profession?"

"No; I lost my job some time ago."

"Have you done any yacht sailing?"

"Yes."

{186}

"Can you steer one?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell a good story?"  This was the last question put before the
candidate, and as he answered it by telling me a real "cracker jack"
right on the spot Mr. Russell was engaged for the voyage to South
Africa.

To replace my broken chronometer I bought a new Waltham watch, which
afterwards proved reliable and did excellent service throughout the
remainder of my voyage.

In a city like Auckland, with its yachting population, pleasure and
splendour, time quickly passes, and ere I realised it we were well into
August, and it was time for the _Tilikum_ to put to sea again.  The
little vessel had once more been favoured with a smile from the Goddess
of Luck: some Auckland yachtsmen had kindly presented her with a set of
new rigging, running gear and many other smaller articles which
afterwards proved of value on the long voyage.




{187}

CHAPTER XXIII

LEAVING NEW ZEALAND--A SEA OF ROCKS--CROSSING MY FORMER COURSE: FLAG
HALF-MASTED--SAVAGE ISLANDS: MISSIONARY AND TRADER

On August 17th the _Tilikum_ was moored near Queen Street wharf, ready
for sea.  In the early afternoon a large river passenger steamer,
crowded with people who had come to see us off, took her in tow, and as
we slowly drew away from the wharf we were cheered by thousands of
onlookers, gathered in the neighbourhood of the harbour, who stretched
their necks to obtain a last glimpse of the vessel.  The day was fine
and calm, and while our well-wishers on shore kept up their cheering,
vessels lying at anchor in the harbour dipped their flags, and steamers
tooted their sirens.  All this was accompanied by the strains of a
brass band on board our tow-boat which played the favourite piece,
"Life on the Ocean Wave."  By the time we left the harbour we had
assumed full speed and the fine and hospitable city of Auckland soon
dropped out of sight.  At four o'clock the steamer blew three whistles
to signify "set sail and let go the towline."  This was done
immediately, whereupon the steamer circled us twice, the passengers on
deck shouting themselves hoarse with "Good-bye" and "Good luck," the
band played once more and the whistle tooted.  Then our friends
returned to their homes and the _Tilikum_, left alone with a long
watery track before her, took advantage of a light southerly breeze and
was headed for the north.  The wind remained rather light all the
afternoon and the {188} weather did not look any too propitious, so we
anchored for the night under the lee of a small island.  The following
morning the weather was clear and a moderate breeze blew from the
south.  We got under way and bent a course towards Great Barrier
Island.  The wind freshened and at two o'clock in the afternoon we
sailed through the channel between the Great and Little Barrier
Islands, after which we stood out for the open ocean and shaped a
course for the New Hebrides, a distance of about twelve hundred miles
from Auckland.

[Sidenote: My new mate]

My mate was a well-educated man of refined manners.  It had struck me
when we left Auckland that some of his friends in bidding good-bye had
addressed him as MacMillen and others plainly Mac.  On enquiry he told
me that he had been known in New Zealand under that name and then we
agreed that he would be "Mac" also on board the _Tilikum_, for the sake
of brevity.

It was about eleven in the forenoon on August 22nd.  Land had been out
of sight for some time; the wind had hauled into the east and with a
beam wind our boat went along on her northerly course without the help
of steering.  It being a fine day, I availed myself of the opportunity
to instruct my new mate in all particulars on board and how to keep
everything in its place on deck.  After that I said: "Now, Mac, come
down into the cabin and I will initiate you in the mysteries of
cooking."  Mac had done a good deal of cruising in yachts and soon knew
as much about sailing the _Tilikum_ as I did myself, and when it came
to cooking, he proved himself a first-rate hand.  As it was drawing
towards noon Mac enquired whether I had any flour and lard on board.
"Any amount of it," I replied.  "Then let me show you how we
manufacture pancakes in New Zealand," he suggested.  It was indeed
surprising to see "Father" Mac kneading the dough and then {189}
turning out cakes of regular form as if they were produced in a
pastrycook's bake-house, and so tasty and light that they would almost
melt on your tongue.

"Well done," I said, "you are the right man in the right place," and he
certainly was!

The easterly wind continued until we reached the latitude of the north
of New Zealand, when it hauled into the north-east and started to blow.
The wind thus being almost dead ahead we hove to in the approaching
gale and took things easy.  The gale was a heavy one, and abated only
after the lapse of thirty-six hours, but the _Tilikum_ rode through it
as usual.  Mac showed that he was a seaman in bad weather as well as on
a fine day and that his stomach was sea-proof.  Gales will sometimes
blow at sea, the same as they do on shore, and generally a little
harder, and naturally people who have crossed the ocean in large
vessels will think that a yachtsman must experience an awful time in
his small craft during a gale.  But notwithstanding the great
difference in size, such is not the case; one feels quite comfortable
in a small boat when hove to, which may be further illustrated by my
new mate's admiring exclamation in that first experience of his: "This
is like a real picnic!"

On the night of August 27th at ten o'clock we were in latitude
twenty-nine twenty south by longitude one seventy-three east, and my
mate was in charge of the deck while I slept in the cabin.  Our boat
went along with a light westerly breeze in a beautiful dreamy night,
when, all of a sudden, I heard Mac shouting, "Captain, hulloa, Captain;
come up quickly; we are on shore!"  Although sound asleep, this brought
me to the deck in a few seconds.  According to the observation of the
previous noon our position should have been at least three hundred
miles from the nearest land, viz., Norfolk Island.  However, this
startling news made me a little excited, and I got an extra {190} move
on myself.  When I reached the deck the surroundings looked indeed as
if we were on dry land.  However, on a closer examination we discovered
that we had sailed into a field of floating pumice stone!  On picking
up some of the pieces we found them very light in weight.  In size they
varied from a potato to a man's head.  As the sea appeared to be
literally covered with it, we took in our sail and waited for daylight.

[Sidenote: A sea of rocks]

When the sun rose under the clear sky of a bright morning a strange
sight greeted us.  As far as the eye could reach the surface of the
ocean looked yellowish grey with the porous substance which, being
almost like cork, followed every movement of the restless sea.  A
moderate breeze blew from the south, so we set sail and kept the boat
on her northerly course again.  As we sailed along we found that the
pumice stone gathered in patches; some places were quite clear and had
the appearance of pools, whilst at other points it was thickly massed,
completely covering the surface of the water.  At first it caused an
apprehensive sensation to sail right into the "rocks" after crossing
one of the "pools," but we soon discovered that owing to the buoyancy
of the material the boat cut through it with the greatest ease, and
seemingly without losing any of her headway.

During the day the wind hauled into the east-south-east, and I knew
that we had reached the region of the welcome trade winds.  The
_Tilikum_ went along at five and a half miles an hour, and we expected
soon to see the end of the tremendous field of pumice.  On that day we
made about sixty miles, and at dusk the patches of stone appeared as
thick as ever, but as the boat did not suffer, not even the paint
showing a mark, we kept northward on our course.  The statement that
our vessel was not injured by friction with the hard material, and that
the speed was not {191} affected, may seem an exaggeration; still it
holds true.  The parabolic wave caused by the stem in ploughing through
the water would draw the floating stone sideways along with it, far
enough to create sufficient clearance for the boat to pass without the
sides coming in contact with the pumice.

August 30th found us in latitude twenty-two thirty south and longitude
one hundred and seventy-two east, and still we were cutting through the
pumice field, which, however, appeared to be thinning.  It was on this
day that we crossed the approximate position where on the unfortunate
night of October 27th, 1910, I lost my unlucky mate.  The weather was
fine and a moderate breeze blew in from the south-east.  Mac had
proposed that we should pass Mr. Begent's watery grave with our flag
hoisted half-mast, and, accordingly, this was done.  The flag was
hoisted in the morning at eight o'clock and hauled down at sunset.  The
following is an extract from the log:


August 31st.--Wind and weather the same.  Pumice stone floating in
patches and quite thick in places.

September 1st.--Wind and weather steady.  Sailed through large fields
of pumice stone.  Position at noon, one hundred miles S.S.E. from
Aneityum Island.


On September 2nd, when enjoying my morning sleep in the bunk, I was
aroused at daybreak by a voice on deck: "Land right ahead."  Knowing by
our previous day's observation what land it was, and that we were still
a long way off, I told my mate to notify me before the _Tilikum_ would
run it down, after which I rolled over and took another good sleep.  At
seven o'clock, when I got on deck, Aneityum, the southernmost island of
the New Hebrides, could be distinctly seen about twenty-five miles to
the {192} N.N.W.  The wind was lightening when we approached the island
and it was not before three o'clock in the afternoon that we came near
the south-easterly point.  The weather being fine and the water quite
smooth we were able to sail with the light easterly breeze within about
two hundred yards of the beach, where we saw numerous natives lined up
on the shore and apparently waiting for us to make a landing.  Being
near enough, we could plainly distinguish men, women and children, all
of a dark colour and wearing very little clothing, some of them having
no garments at all.  As the looks of the natives at close range did not
serve to increase our trust in them, we abstained from attempting a
landing and proceeded along the coast to the northward.  When they
noticed that we, evidently contrary to their expectations, did not
land, they came running along the beach, shouting, halloaing and making
signs to us to come ashore.  We could see beautiful cocoanut and other
fruit trees and, tempted further by the inviting gestures of those on
the beach, we were seriously considering a landing, and finally altered
our course for the shore.

[Sidenote: The New Hebrides]

An old saying is: "Tell the truth and shame the devil!" and that I will
do now.  When we came near enough to see the white in the black
fellows' eyes we got the shivers and thought it a better policy not to
try our luck here!  So we headed seaward again and when well clear of
the land we shaped our course towards the next island, Tanna, situated
about forty miles to the north-west of Aneityum.  At nightfall a fresh
breeze came in from the south-east, and at one o'clock the following
morning we hove to three miles off the east coast of Tanna and just
about due east of an active volcano, whose fire we had seen all night.
The latter is about eight miles west of Port Resolution, a pretty
little harbour, so named by Cook after his ship, at the time of the
discovery of these islands.

{193}

At dawn we prepared to sail into the harbour where we hoped to find a
missionary, but the wind died out and a current setting to the
southward carried us a long way from the land.  The day was most
beautiful and calm, and in drifting about we amused ourselves by
tackling several large sharks.  We dispatched these tigers of the sea
to the other world by sending a bullet through their heads.  At three
o'clock a moderate breeze started blowing from the south-east, and with
it we sailed up to the entrance of Port Resolution.  It was just about
sunset when we approached the harbour, and the wind fell very light.
We were not able to make out anything but cocoanut and other trees,
besides an old house of apparently native build near the water.  So we
headed seaward again with the intention to stand off for the night and
look for a mission house next morning.  Some of my readers might think
that we acted timidly in not sailing into the harbour to anchor there
for the night.  To these I wish to point out that the inhabitants of
the New Hebrides in former days had a very bad reputation for
cannibalism and treacherous manners in their intercourse with whites.
Being only two in a little vessel, and neither my mate nor myself
disposed to be slaughtered and eaten or to become involved in trouble,
we took this precaution.  We had just swung the boat round and pointed
to the open ocean when we noticed a boat passing the head of the
harbour.  I took a quick glance through my glasses and distinguished
eight fellows, who pulled straight towards us.  By that time the wind
had completely died out, and it was impossible for us to keep clear of
the approaching boat; we therefore at once made our firearms ready for
instant use.

The natives drew steadily nearer, and when they were within about four
hundred feet we put our rifles to shoulder and taking aim shouted
"Hands up!"  At this the {194} man immediately swung the boat round and
all hands stopped pulling.  Thereupon, the former stood up in the
stern, and I must confess that I felt somewhat cheap when he called out
in fairly good English, "Are you afraid of us, Captain?"

"Not exactly that," I answered, "but we want to know what you are
after!"

The man then explained that a missionary had sent them out to tow us
into the harbour.

"A missionary," I said; "where is the mission house?"

[Sidenote: Tanna]

He then pointed to a small opening in the tops of some high trees, just
large enough to allow a glimpse of the steeple of the mission church.
By that I knew that the man had told us the truth, we laid down our
rifles and invited the black strangers to come alongside, which they
did.  To be friendly with the darkies, I presented each with a small
plug of tobacco, and as there was no wind the natives towed us into
harbour.

On arrival at the anchorage near the mission house three Europeans came
off in a small boat to meet us.  When on board one of the gentlemen
introduced himself as Mr. Watt, missionary of Tanna, and one of his
companions as Mr. Wilson, a trader, while the third was a young
assistant missionary.  When the anchor was down, we gave a short
explanation as to our visit and cruise.  Following Mr. Watt's
invitation we accompanied the party ashore, where we enjoyed a very
nice dinner with him and his wife.

In the course of the ensuing conversation I asked Mr. Watt about the
habits and customs of the natives, and especially whether cannibalism
was still practised.  This question was immediately answered by the
trader who assured me that they ate a native man there only a few days
previously.  And Mr. Watt added that it was very difficult to stop this
horrible custom.  Mr. Wilson further explained that on the last {195}
occasion the younger missionary had gone to the place where the feast
had occurred in order to reason with the natives.  But instead of
taking his advice they had picked up some of the bones and throwing
them at the missionary gave him to understand that he had better mind
his own business.

On my enquiry regarding the enormous quantities of pumice stone we had
met with, and of which we saw much had also drifted on to the beach of
Tanna, Mr. Watt stated that it was first noticed three months
previously, but he had no clue as to its origin.

The next day we had a look at the village and its surroundings.  The
chief missionary was living in a nice cottage with a clean little
church beside it.  The only fault I could find with the station lay in
the circumstance that it was hidden by trees and therefore could not be
seen from the beach, at least very little of it.  This should always be
considered as a most important point on an island where the inhabitants
are reputed to be cannibals and not to be trusted.  For it may not only
prove a place of rest for sea-faring men, as in our case, but the
outward sign of a European habitation will always indicate a safe
refuge for vessels in distress and shipwrecked sailors.  Strange to say
that little heed seems to have been paid hitherto to this simple fact,
as I have found the same "invisibility" of the outposts of European
civilisation in other solitary spots of the Pacific.

It may be appropriate here to say a word or two regarding missionaries
and traders in the Pacific.  Both have been subject to adverse
criticism by travellers as well as from those who have spent longer
periods in these regions.  As far as I have come in touch with them my
impression has been a most favourable one.  And this holds true also
with native missionaries, who far exceed others in number.  {196}
Missionary and trader have shown me kindness and genuine hospitality
throughout, and though they do not always agree between themselves,
which seems natural, the difference being rooted in their callings,
they always did their best to entertain the stranger, whom it must be
remembered, they had little reason to believe they would ever see
again.  Some of the traders even went so far as to supply me with
provisions and material without accepting anything in return.

A native village clustering near the mission, was composed of the
shabbiest dwellings I have seen on my travels: little huts consisting
of rough posts leaning at an angle against a ridge pole and covered
with palm leaf fibre or coarse grass.  The whole resembles a large dog
kennel, with an opening at one end.  To effect an entrance one has to
crawl on his hands and knees.  The inner floor is bare earth, and no
furniture of any description is provided, except, perhaps, some mats to
sleep on.

The natives of the New Hebrides belong to the Melanesian race.  The
colour of their skin is very dark and they are rather strongly built.
At Tanna, round the village, they were dressed in calico garments.  But
some men who had come in for the day from a longer distance, and were
called "bushmen" by the Europeans, appeared quite nude.  The natives
were hospitable towards us new-comers in general and presented us with
fruit.  Nevertheless, in conformity with my above explanations, I
should not care to land from a small boat on any part of these islands
where there is no European settlement near at hand.

Tanna is a most fertile island and produces an abundance of excellent
fruit and vegetables.  Erromango is another island of the group, and
two men from there had arrived at Tanna some time previously in an
occasional steamer.  They now were desirous of returning and asked me
to afford {197} them a passage, having heard that my course lay their
way.  I would have taken them back home with pleasure, but Mr. Watt,
who had spent many years on these islands and knew the treacherous
habits of the people, advised me not to do so.  It was just on
Erromango that a Mr. Williams, the author of missionary enterprise in
the South Seas, met with the fate of so many brave men, and, like
several who succeeded him, was murdered.

Our second and last evening on Tanna we spent with Mr. Wilson in his
nice little European-style house.  Both missionaries and the trader
made things so pleasant for us during our short stay, and the natives
of the island were so interesting, that we should have liked to remain
longer.  But as my cruise in the Pacific had already exceeded by far
the time provided for this part of the voyage and there was still a
long way to go, we tore ourselves away that night at ten o'clock to
make ready for the start next morning.

The _Tilikum_ was anchored about fifty yards from the shore and we went
off in a small boat belonging to Mr. Watt.  Coming on board we found to
our surprise three bushmen in Adam's costume sitting in the cockpit.

"What do you fellows want?" I demanded, not forgetting at the same time
to reach into my back pocket.

"Whisky, tobacco," one of the darkies replied, evidently the only two
words they knew of English.

Having explained that there was no chance for whisky, I gave a stick of
tobacco to each, for which in return they gave us several large
oranges.  Then the three uncalled-for guests transferred themselves
into a small canoe in which they had arrived and, apparently much
satisfied, paddled back to land.  My mate said he did not like the look
of the chaps and they needed watching.  However, we remained at our
anchorage, and nothing unusual happened during the night.

{198}

On September 5th at ten o'clock we again went ashore to bid good-bye to
our hosts, and many native men, women and children crowded round us to
have a handshake with the foreign visitors, likewise.  Then we returned
on board and, accompanied by the three Europeans in their boat and by
several canoes filled with natives, we headed for the sea again.  The
harbour entrance was soon reached, and, after a final good-bye to the
friends we left behind, with a moderate south-easterly breeze we made a
course for the gate of the Pacific, Thursday Island, in the Torres
Strait, about two thousand miles distant!




{199}

CHAPTER XXIV

THE GREAT BARRIER REEF--THE PEARL AND BCHE DE MER FISHING INDUSTRIES
OF THURSDAY ISLAND--A "CURE OR KILL" REMEDY--MARINE LIFE EXTRAORDINARY

On the following morning we had lost sight of the New Hebrides and were
sailing over the Coral Sea towards Rain Island Passage in the Great
Barrier Reef.  The Coral Sea is considered the most dangerous portion
of the Pacific to navigation, owing to numerous small islands, shoals,
reefs, and the strong currents prevailing there.  However, by carefully
manoeuvring our boat and keeping a sharp lookout we got across without
a hitch and safely arrived at the "Barrier."  This great reef is
unequalled for its vast extent, and is a formidable obstruction to sea
traffic.  It runs for about a thousand miles along the north-east coast
of the Australian continent and extends still farther to New Guinea.
At low tide the reef is nearly level with the water, and numerous small
black coral rocks appear here and there in the heavy surf, which
ceaselessly breaks all along the great barrier.  It is so low that it
can be seen only within a distance of about four miles from a vessel's
deck, and owing to the strong current setting through from the east,
the passage is extremely dangerous after dark.  Rain Island Passage
forms one of several gaps which ships going east or west may use.  The
width of the channel is about five miles, and Rain Island, which is
marked by a beacon, is almost in the centre.

Shortly after clearing the passage we sighted a schooner {200} lying at
anchor near a small low island.  The wind being light and the water
smooth we sailed alongside, and on invitation from the captain went on
board.  The latter was a Japanese from Thursday Island, the schooner's
home port, and was engaged in fishing for "bche de mer," the edible
sea-cucumber so highly valued as an article of diet by the Chinese.
All the crew were absent plying their trade, and as the boats were at
no great distance from the schooner we could plainly see how these men
went about their work.  Each boat was manned by two naked native
divers, one rowing, while the other would frequently dive and bring up
some slugs.

We stopped there for about two hours, watching the divers and talking
to the captain who was himself busy spreading and drying the slugs in
the sun.  I noticed several large sharks hovering round the vessel, and
with regard to them asked the captain whether it was not dangerous for
his men to dive whilst they were about.  He assured me that he had
never lost a man through the medium of a shark although he had followed
this business for years.  This statement is in accord with my own
observations.  The surrounding water was infested with sharks, but, as
in many other localities, where there is every opportunity to feed on
human flesh the so-called man-eater never even attempts to attack a
man.  No doubt there are species more ferocious than others, but I have
come to the conclusion that the average shark is not so bad as his
reputation.

After bidding farewell to the captain of the schooner we shaped our
course for Cape York, the northernmost point of the Australian
continent, which narrows the Torres Strait to a width of about a
hundred miles.  The weather was perfect and the wind moderate, and as
we sailed along we passed numerous islets, some very low and without
vegetation while others were covered with cocoanut and {201} other
trees.  Small schooners were anchored here and there, fishing for pearl
or beche de mer.  The ever-changing scenery made the cruise across the
Great Barrier Reef a most delightful one.

[Sidenote: Thursday Island]

At dark we anchored near one of the islets and stopped there till next
morning when we resumed our journey.  At ten o'clock Cape York was
rounded and at four o'clock the same afternoon, September 22nd, we
arrived at Thursday Island.  Here we were warmly welcomed by the
Honourable Mr. Douglas, the resident magistrate, and the people,
amongst whom were many Europeans.  In the evening we delivered a
lecture on our cruise and illustrated it with the aid of lantern slides.

At Thursday Island is stationed a large fleet of pearling schooners,
small vessels of about twenty tons manned with a diver and four
sailors.  Some of the leading business men told me that pearling was a
very profitable business.  But sometimes heavy losses are sustained,
for the weather is not always as pleasant as that we chanced to meet
with at the pearling grounds, which extend all over the reef and the
Torres Strait.  A few years previous to that time a typhoon had swept
down upon the pearling fleet and nearly a hundred vessels and four
hundred lives were lost in a few hours.

While in port I received a letter from Auckland informing me that
Buckridge had started for Europe in a boat called _Keora_, accompanied
by a mate.  On the first day out he had drifted ashore, but the boat
was taken off and repaired, after which he had again sailed.

On September 26th we took our departure from Thursday Island.  A fine
breeze blew from the south-east, and the weather was splendid; so we
stood in for the Arafura Sea and shaped a course towards the Cocos
Keeling Islands in the Indian Ocean, the destination of the New Zealand
fruit cake which still lingered in our hold to fulfil its {202}
destiny.  The distance to be covered approximated two thousand five
hundred miles, and as the breeze stayed with us we crossed the mouth of
the Gulf of Carpentaria, a distance of about three hundred miles, in
fairly good time.

[Sidenote: Poisoned]

It was on the third day out, and we were sailing near Wessel Island on
the west side of the gulf, that I felt a sudden attack of painful cramp
in my stomach.  There was a fair medicine chest on board, and I
resorted to various kinds of medicine which I deemed appropriate.  But
all salts, castor oil and similar strong remedies failed to bring
relief.  We had plenty of tinned fish on board, of which I had
frequently eaten.  Some of it must have been bad and thus became the
source of my indisposition.  I suffered terrible pain, and as I was
unable to secure relief we steered in for Wessel Island, which we
reached in a few hours.  Luckily, we struck a good landing-place, with
smooth water and a fine sandy beach clothed with bushy trees and green
grass patches.  We secured the _Tilikum_, and with the assistance of
Mac I managed to get ashore.  Under a shady tree I dropped down on the
grass.  Added to the painful cramp, I now developed a very bad
headache, and as by that time I was so weak that I felt sure my end was
near at hand, I asked Mac to bring writing materials from the boat, as
I wished to leave a testimonial to exonerate my mate from any blame in
case I should die.  Mac was squatting at my side, and on looking at him
I could see that he felt nearly as bad as I did myself.

"I think I know of a remedy that will do you good," he said.

"Then let me have it by all means, whatever it may be," I replied
hopefully.

"It will either cure or kill you," Mac added.

"Then you had better get me the writing materials first," I retorted,
somewhat abashed.

{203}

"I will not," he replied, "but will run the risk and administer the
medicine first!" and with that he went off to the boat.

Meantime I lay there, rolling about in convulsions, and thinking of the
past, the present and the future.  The awful pain racked my body, and I
yelled for Mac to hurry with his medicine, for it seemed to me an hour
since he had gone.  On his return he said that it had taken him ten
minutes to provide his "kill or cure" remedy, which consisted of a
cupful of hot water and a tablespoonful of Colman's mustard.  These he
mixed and ordered me to swallow immediately, and every drop of it!

Now, a little mustard with meat is all very well, and a little too much
of it--we all know what that means.  But when Mac told me to swallow
this concoction I thought it would be impossible.  Nevertheless, under
the circumstances, and with Mac insisting that it must be taken at all
costs, I raised the cup to my lips and drank the nauseous mixture!
When half of it was down it endeavoured to return immediately.
However, I was determined it should not, and in this matter I was
victorious.  But the feelings that stormed within me it is impossible
to describe.  Mac was kneeling by my side and had reverted to his
former calling, as I faintly noticed.  My inside felt afire, and it
seemed as if an explosion would take place in my stomach.  I was just
about to accuse Mac of killing me when suddenly I became very busy.  I
could hear Father Mac praying that I might be helped out of my misery,
then "Colman" got to work and before two minutes had elapsed nothing
could possibly have been left in my stomach!  I felt a wonderful
relief, and after a short rest was myself again.

Well done, Doctor Mac!  But the forced vomiting had made me very weak;
so Mac went to work and made me {204} a plateful of Quaker oats.  This
helped me to my feet again, and I soon began to feel as well as ever.

It was nearing evening, and we had been ashore for two hours.  The wind
was very light and the weather beautiful, and as this was splendid
camping ground we decided to stay there for the night.  The favourable
weather continued next morning, and therefore, after having enjoyed a
hearty breakfast, we each took a gun to do a little hunting; but the
interior appeared to be sandy and barren and we could detect no signs
of habitation.  Nothing worth shooting was to be seen, and as the day
promised to be very warm we did not proceed farther, but retraced our
steps towards our little floating home and were glad to be back
although without any game.

At ten o'clock the _Tilikum_ resumed her westward voyage under all sail
and with a light breeze.  During the following two days we accomplished
a hundred miles of our course, and were then becalmed for three days.
During this time we experienced the hottest weather on the whole
cruise.  If it had not been for the awning spread over the after-end of
the boat in all probability we would have melted into grease spots.
But by occasionally soaking the canvas roof we managed to weather this
trying time with comparative comfort.

[Sidenote: Marine life]

The sky was clear during the three days of calm, and with the aid of my
sea telescope we could see plainly to a considerable depth into the
waters beneath us.  It was here that I saw the greatest variety of sea
life I ever have witnessed during my travels at sea.  Some big, grey
sharks lay motionless quite near our boat, while others could be seen
moving lazily to and fro further down.  Each of the monsters was
accompanied by a herd of pilot fish.  The latter are small and striped
greyish black.  About a dozen of them would busily ply round the head
of a shark, {205} sometimes entering his mouth, but soon came out
again.  On one occasion I noticed a shark, twenty feet in length,
apparently asleep within five feet of the bottom of the boat.  Through
my telescope I could distinctly see that his eyes were shut; the only
part of his long body that moved was the tail, which slowly swung from
side to side.  His pilots, however, seemed to be on the alert; they
kept swimming around the big fellow as if on the lookout for danger.
It was a real piece of life in the briny deep, and when we had watched
it for some time, I took an oar to give our friend a call.  But quick
as I was, the shark got out of danger before I could reach him.

Besides the sharks and their pilots there was a great variety of fish
of different size and colour.  These were either motionless or
sluggishly moved about as if also affected by the heat of the day.  I
observed a yellow sea snake, from three to four feet in length, pass
through the school of fish in a great hurry.  There were many more of
these venomous reptiles twisting and turning in all directions below or
whipping along almost on the surface of the sea.  But one and all,
wherever they were bound, showed the same haste, in contradistinction
to the finny philosophers near by.  The appearance of these strange
creatures was sufficient to give one the "creeps."  With the exception
of the mermaid and the mysterious sea serpent, this representation of
marine life seemed to be complete.

Light variable winds, alternating with more calms and most beautiful
weather, followed.  These conditions lasted for nearly a month.  One
evening I was sitting in the cockpit, smoking my pipe and waiting for a
breeze to take us into the Indian Ocean.  Suddenly I felt a tremor
through the boat similar to an earthquake.

"What is that?" Mac shouted out of the cabin where he lay in his bunk.

{206}

"An earthquake," I volunteered, wondering myself what it could be.

"It must be a seaquake then," my mate responded.

Just then we received another shock and it dawned upon me that some
large fish must be rubbing or bumping himself against the _Tilikum's_
bottom, which caused her to shiver from end to end, so immediately I
seized an oar and gave our unwelcome visitor, whoever it may have been,
a good and hard dig in the ribs which induced him to make a speedy
retreat.

Near Bathurst Island, on the south side of the Arafura Sea, is an
expanse of shallow water called the Mermaid Shoals.  I had been told by
seamen that the famous mermaids there had their abode.  Others connect
the name with the simple report that a ship of that name had been
wrecked on the shoals.  Be it as it may, we decided to visit the place,
and altered our course to that direction.

On approaching the home of the sea beauties we parted our hair in the
middle and made ourselves look respectable, as if going to a Sunday
afternoon church meeting.  When we reached the shoals the wind became
light and the water smooth.  So we again brought our water telescope in
position and kept a sharp lookout for the ladies.  We saw many fish
loafing about, but whether they were "mashers" or not it was difficult
to conclude.  As in other places, these waters teemed with life, but
the mermaids were evidently out on a picnic, for we could not discover
their whereabouts.  Of course, it was the old story; my usual luck with
the ladies!




{207}

CHAPTER XXV

IN SIGHT OF THE COCOS KEELING ISLANDS--A MISCALCULATION AND ITS
CONSEQUENCES--TROPICAL RAINS--THE NEW ZEALAND FRUIT CAKE ARRIVES, BUT
AT THE WRONG DESTINATION

In such manner we had spent a month on the Arafura Sea, drifting about
and only occasionally helped by light winds which gradually transferred
us into the Indian Ocean.  Then the south-easterly trade winds took us
in charge and made the _Tilikum_ again spin along at her best.  The
steady cool breeze came as a great delight after the hot time we had
experienced in the tropical Arafura Sea, and we made from a hundred and
thirty to a hundred and fifty miles daily towards the west.  In the
morning of November 8th we sighted the Cocos Keeling Islands.  When
within four miles of the south-eastern end of the group the wind died
out and once again we were becalmed.

"Just as the doctor ordered it," I said.  "Now we have a few hours in
which to clean things up and get dressed, and when the breeze comes in
this afternoon we shall sail into port in style and deliver our mail!"

But sailing vessels will always be victims to uncertainty, and no one
can rely upon the time of their arrival.  So it was in our case; I had
made a mistake in the calculation.  If we had known what lay before us
we could easily have pulled in to land, but we did not, expecting the
wind to come up every minute.  However, we drifted all afternoon, and
to kill time put everything on board in order.  {208} The following
morning we found to our great surprise and consternation that a strong
current had carried us nearly out of sight of the islands.  During the
forenoon a light breeze commenced blowing from the east and we tried to
beat back to Cocos Keeling.  But despite all our efforts the current
forced us to the west and the islands finally disappeared below the
horizon.  It was not only for the promise I had made the old lady at
Nelson to faithfully deliver the parcel to her son, and which could not
now be fulfilled, but still worse, we had only eight gallons of fresh
water left in our tanks, and the next land on our course was Rodriguez,
a small island about two thousand miles to the west-south-west of the
Cocos Keelings.  Calling to mind the good old lady who brought the cake
on board I felt sure that she would forgive me under the circumstances,
but to start a two-thousand-mile trip across the ocean with only four
gallons of water per head aboard was somewhat disheartening!

[Sidenote: Short of water]

The weather was fine, but the light easterly breeze and current setting
to the west made it absolutely impossible for us to return to the
islands.  I was fully aware of the fact that whatever happens on a sea
voyage, be the vessel large or small, the master is responsible.  And
accidents will happen sometimes, but nine out of ten so-called
accidents are due to carelessness or ignorance.  When we sailed from
Thursday Island we had our tanks full, enough water to last us for
seventy days.  We were now forty-three days out and having only eight
gallons left I could not help accusing myself of carelessness, and the
weight of the thought lay heavy on my mind.  The _Tilikum_ was a poor
vessel to sail by the wind, and to take a course for Rodriguez with the
light breeze then prevailing and eight gallons of water in the tank
meant almost certain death from thirst.  However, in going on we had
two chances {209} in our favour.  One, that we could be benefited by a
strong trade wind which would enable us to make the run in about
sixteen days, and by being economical the water supply would just last
for the voyage.  The second chance was the possibility of our meeting
with rain on the passage.  Consequently we decided to reduce our daily
allowance to one pint of water each, and set off for the west.

One pint of water per day is very little in warm weather, but
circumstances compelled us to follow the lines we had laid down and use
the little we had in a way that would give the best satisfaction for
quenching our thirst.  To begin with, we ate all our food cooled and
without adding salt.  Potatoes were boiled in salt water and eaten
after cooling.  Instead of consuming our pint neat, which would have
been an unsatisfactory and therefore uneconomical way, we mixed half
with a little oatmeal and used the remainder in making coffee.  Both
beverages proved to be greater thirst-quenchers, and we drank
sparingly.  We also took frequent salt-water baths, and kept the deck
and cockpit wet.  Neither of us was in the habit of chewing tobacco,
but at times, when our daily allowance was exhausted, and we felt dry,
we found that great relief was obtained by keeping a small piece of
tobacco in the mouth.  By adhering to these rules we trusted that we
would be able to keep alive for from sixteen to twenty days, and in
such condition as to be capable of sailing our boat to Rodriguez.

The first and second days passed, and on the third the weather was
still warm and the wind light.  Mac said he would give ten pounds for a
good drink of water.  I would have given that myself, as water under
the circumstances was much more precious than money.  And if the
_Tilikum_ had been loaded down with gold and diamonds it would {210}
not have made an iota of difference: we had to get along as best we
could on our allowance!

Our suffering from lack of water reminded me of Captain E. Reynolds,
with whom I sailed as first mate when still quite a young man in the
American ship _Prussia_.  Captain Reynolds was at that time over
seventy years of age, and had been a master of sailing vessels for over
forty years.  The old gentleman used to tell me, with a look of pride
in his eyes, that during all those long years he never lost a vessel
nor met with a serious accident.  When I joined the _Prussia_ I was, as
already stated, very young and had had little experience in first
mate's duties.  And the old salt instructed me in what way he wanted to
have things done in general.  In particular he dwelt on the water tanks
as we were going on a long voyage.  "Be sure and see that our water
tanks are in good order, properly cleaned and filled to the top with
pure water.  After our departure a certain quantity is to be given out
daily and no more."  He was the same captain who made me a seaman, and
though he has been dead for many years I never forgot his teaching, and
to him I owe thanks for having roamed the seas for many years in the
same way as he did: without losing a vessel.  Had I followed his
instruction on the water question, there would have been no occasion
for us to suffer.

[Sidenote: Rain]

On November 13th four days had passed since we kept off to the west.
During this time we ran off two hundred miles of our course; indeed
very slow progress.  There were no signs of rain or of the light wind
improving, so we did what people in Australia do during a long
drought--prayed for rain.  It seems strange, but nevertheless true, the
same night the breeze increased rapidly and the sky became cloudy.  On
the following morning we had all the wind our boat could stand under
all sail, and to make {211} things still more hopeful heavy clouds
darkened the sky in the south-east, a sure indication of approaching
rain.  Mac opined that our prayers were about to be answered.  At noon
the clouds hung over our head, but as so far there was no rain our
midday meal consisted of cold unsalted food and a little cold coffee,
as before.  Meanwhile the heavy clouds accumulated, and an hour later
it began sprinkling.  Not heeding the favourable and strong wind which
sent the _Tilikum_ along at her best, we lowered all sail and spread
them over the deck to catch the precious fluid.  We had hardly done
this when the rain came down in torrents.  While this lasted we
employed ourselves with buckets, and by three o'clock our water tanks
were filled to the top!

The wind kept fresh and fair, but with our tanks full we were not in a
hurry to get under sail again.  First of all, we lit the stove to
prepare a good drink.  While thus engaged, I said to my mate: "I say,
Mac, try to reef yourself through the after-hatch, and right at the end
of the boat you will find a square tin box; fetch it up and bring it
into the cabin."  Mac, no doubt, had a faint idea that there was
something good in the box, for without a word he disappeared, and in a
few minutes I saw the box coming through the hatch and Mac's face
behind it.

"What's in this?" he enquired, on entering the cabin.

"Open it and see," I replied, and he certainly lost no time.  There
before us was a fruit cake, to all appearance as good and as new as on
the day it was made.  Mac looked at it in astonishment and believed it
was God-sent.  "Not exactly that, Mac," I assured him, "the rain was
God-sent, perhaps, but this cake was sent on board by a kind old lady
of Nelson, New Zealand, to be taken to her son who is in the British
cable service on the Cocos Keeling {212} Islands; therefore, it is not
my property; but under the circumstances, what do you think we ought to
do?"

[Sidenote: The Indian Ocean]

The coffee was ready by that time, and Mac asked me to pass him a knife
and he would tell me what he thought of the New Zealand lady and her
cake; and eventually we were agreed that it was one of the very best we
had ever tasted, and as we had been without such luxuries for so long a
time, and being now provided with plenty of water, I am sure neither
Mac nor myself will ever forget how we appreciated the coffee and cake
aboard our little vessel that afternoon on the bosom of the great
Indian Ocean.  And I sincerely hope, as there had been no possibility
of my delivering the parcel, that the good lady and mother, on
receiving my letter of explanation from Durban, South Africa, has
forgiven me!

The wind kept up its force, the rain continued pouring down, and after
finishing our coffee we enjoyed a smoke and a sociable chat,
congratulating ourselves on our good luck.  Then we hoisted sail and
with the strong trade wind--the heavy rain preventing the seas from
breaking--the _Tilikum_ went flying to the westward again.

The rain had been the most welcome occurrence that could befall us, and
we therefore did not register any complaints when its ceaseless
downpour made things rather uncomfortable for us.  We simply kept
a-going and looked pleasant.  It rained all the afternoon, night and
next day, and when it did not stop on the third day we thought that
another great flood was descending, and we might be doomed to sail for
ever.  The wind stirred up a small gale, and only the heavy rain, by
keeping the high seas from breaking, enabled us to keep our course.
These conditions lasted a whole week, for eight days, during which time
we saw neither sun, moon, nor stars, and we were thankful when the rain
ceased and the weather cleared {213} up.  Then the wind died out and we
found ourselves becalmed once more in the finest weather imaginable.
For the first time since the rain had begun we took our position and
ascertained that we had made a little over twelve hundred miles during
the deluge.




{214}

CHAPTER XXVI

EXCITING FISHING EXPERIENCES--THE DEVIL IN THE COCKPIT!--A LUXURIOUS
BREAKFAST--RODRIGUEZ ISLAND--THE EFFECTS OF A CYCLONE

Calms, as a rule, are considered unwelcome visitors to sailing vessels,
but as almost everything on board had become wet we appreciated the
change of weather which afforded us an opportunity to dry things.  On
that warm sunny day we lowered all sail and hung our wet garments about
the deck and rigging, which made the _Tilikum_ look more like a
floating Chinese laundry than a sailing vessel.  Thereupon we spread an
awning over the cockpit and, devoting our energies to a comfortable
smoke, took the world easy.

[Sidenote: Dolphin fishing]

While thus resting, stretched out on the seats of the cockpit, we
observed a flying-fish crossing over our heads.  Getting up we found
ourselves surrounded by a school of these fish chased by dolphins.  The
latter showed great skill in pursuit, taking long reaches, they were
right on the spot to seize their prey whenever one was compelled to
drop into the water, its wings becoming dry after an extended flight.
Flying-fish had become very common on our daily bill of fare, but
dolphins had so far never entered the galley of the _Tilikum_.  So many
leaping about tempted us to get out our fishing gear to secure one for
home consumption.  Dolphins are caught in much the same way as salmon
or bonito.  In either case the boat sails through the water while a
long line with a hook and {215} a white rag attached to the end is kept
trawling over the stern, when the dolphin will mistake the rag for a
fish.  On large vessels I have also on different occasions caught
dolphins as well as bonitos by means of a line similarly prepared but
attended from the jibboom while the ship was travelling at a good
speed.  On this occasion, with the _Tilikum_ lying motionless, but for
a lazy roll caused by the ocean swell, the dolphins devoted their
attentions to the flying-fish and ignored our fishing gear.

It was shortly after sunset, and the beautiful tropical stars twinkled
overhead.  The dolphins had abandoned the chase and were indolently
swimming around the boat.  Now and then one would roll over on its side
as if to turn in for the night.  While sitting in the cockpit I noticed
a fat fellow in that attitude within easy reach and, thinking that I
could master him, I grabbed his tail to pull him aboard.  In this,
however, I was much mistaken.  No sooner did I touch him than he dealt
me such a blow with his tail that it reminded me of an electric shock.
I was only too willing to let go, and off he went like a shot.  About
eight o'clock, when I had retired to the cabin and Mac was still
flirting with a dolphin, I suddenly heard heavy splashes followed by a
tremendous noise in the cockpit.  My mate sang out, "What is this?
What is this?  I have caught the very devil himself!"  Out on deck I
went like a flash, and there found Mac scared to the top of the cabin
deck, keeping well out of the way of something struggling in the
cockpit, nearly smashing in the floor in an attempt to escape.  Owing
to the darkness I was unable to identify the noisy stranger, but on
getting a light I quickly recognised a young shark, about three feet
and a half in length, making desperate use of his tail.  In accordance
with seamen's etiquette the world over we despatched him and threw the
body overboard.

{216}

The incident had resuscitated our hunting spirit.  Dolphins were still
hovering about, and as all other means had failed we decided to rig a
spear.  For this purpose we employed a combination of a boathook, a
knife and a spike, and Father Mac, who claimed to be an expert
spearsman, took the matter in hand.  When the next dolphin turned over
within reach he succeeded in sending the spear through his body and
pulled him aboard.  We hung up the prize in the mizzen rigging for the
night and the following morning our bill of fare consisted of cream of
wheat with cream, fresh fried dolphin, hot biscuits with New Zealand
butter and coffee (Quality No. 1).  Such was our breakfast after being
fifty-eight days at sea.  Now, you landlubbers, do you think you can
beat it?

On that day we had dolphin for breakfast, dinner and supper, and still
there was a good piece left for consumption the next morning.  During
the day a light breeze came up from the south-east, and we proceeded on
our course.  The following morning the remainder of the fish, though it
felt somewhat flabby, smelt and looked quite good, and as our boat was
going at a good speed and the chances of catching another dolphin were
small, we cooked what was left and thoroughly enjoyed it.  Soon after,
however, I was taken bad with pains in my stomach and also felt a
slight headache.  My mate complained of a similar indisposition which
with both of us rapidly increased.  My head throbbed terribly and felt
as if it were likely to split.  There was little doubt that the fish
had turned without our noticing it; we had made a good meal and now
were suffering from the effects of fish poison.  In such a case, if
quick action be not taken, death may be the consequence.  Remembering
well the excellent service the mustard had done in a similar case on
Wessel Island, without delay we hove the boat to and lit the stove.
The mixture was soon {217} ready, and each swallowed his share, which
promptly relieved us of all pain.  However, feeling still weak, we
remained hove to all forenoon and at midday partook of a light meal
only, consisting of cream of wheat and a cup of tea.  This made us feel
better and enabled us to resume our voyage an hour later.  The same
night we had a substantial supper, after which we felt fully recovered.

[Sidenote: Rodriguez]

By that time we were within four hundred miles of Rodriguez.  The
south-easter kept blowing fresh, and on the morning of November 28th we
sighted the island.  In the afternoon, when approaching the
south-eastern end, seeing quite a number of fishing craft going in
towards the land, we followed them.  By and by we entered the coral
reefs by which part of Rodriguez is surrounded and soon dropped anchor
among the fishing boats which had arrived just beforehand.

When our anchor was down several negro fishermen boarded us.  They
spoke French, and Mac, who had a good knowledge of that language, soon
talked some fine living fish out of the darkies, which we cooked for
supper.  Having finished our meal we were invited ashore by the
fishermen, who numbered about forty in all.  They had a camp,
consisting of a few roughly-built houses along the beach, where they
slept whenever time did not admit of the walk to their homes which were
some distance away in the town on the northern end of the island.  To
the latter place we sailed the following morning, and on arrival made
fast to a small wharf.  A little later the magistrate of Rodriguez came
aboard to acquaint himself with the particulars of our voyage.  On
invitation I accompanied him to his house, Mac staying aboard, and with
him and his family spent a pleasant day.  In the course of the
afternoon, while we were sitting on the spacious veranda talking on
various subjects, a gentleman stepped up to {218} me and said: "Are you
Captain Voss of the _Tilikum_?"  I affirmed the question, when the
stranger introduced himself as the manager of the British cable
station, at the same time handing me a cablegram which read:

  "TELL CAPTAIN VOSS TO SEND THAT CAKE."

"What is the meaning of this, sir?" I enquired.  The manager explained
that he had been on board the _Tilikum_, where my mate, amongst other
things, had recited him the history of the New Zealand fruit cake and
its unforeseen though glorious end.  In possession of this news he had
at once cabled to his colleague on the Cocos Keeling Islands, with the
result that the indignant consignee sent back the above stern demand.
The gentleman evidently found it difficult to suppress a smile when
adding that he had further received instructions to immediately take
steps for recovering the cake.  "Now, what are you going to do about
it?" he asked.

[Sidenote: That fruit cake]

To reproduce a cake which had been consumed head and tail a fortnight
previously, was certainly impossible.  So I gave a short explanation
why we did not reach the Cocos Keeling Islands despite all our efforts,
and of the troubles encountered in the Indian Ocean--not forgetting, in
conclusion, to praise the high quality of the subject under
discussion--and finally I asked the manager to express my regret to the
consignee and transmit him my apology.  Both gentlemen had a hearty
laugh, and we all agreed that the matter was settled.

A short time previous to our arrival a cyclone had visited the island,
leaving considerable devastation in its track.  My host said it had
been the worst on record on Rodriguez.  A flagstaff had been erected
near the magistrate's residence, made of hard wood, nine inches in
diameter {219} and measuring thirty feet from the ground to the
cross-trees where it was stayed with four strong wires.  But the force
of the hurricane had snapped it at the middle like a piece of glass.
On my enquiring about the velocity of the wind the manager of the cable
station informed me that he had no record, as his anemometer, together
with the building in which it was mounted near the station, had been
blown to pieces and scattered so thoroughly that he was unable
afterwards to recover any of the fragments.  Iron pillars that
supported the roof of the veranda at the cable station were broken and
houses razed to the ground; much damage had been done all over the
island.  "If the cyclone had struck you in your little vessel," the
manager added, "you would never have lived to tell the tale!"  "I am
not so sure about that," I replied.  "I think our risks on the open sea
would not have been any greater than yours on the island here, with
broken flagstaff, pieces of iron pillars, houses, trees and other heavy
material flying about your ears."

On the second and last day before our departure I went on an exploring
excursion.  Rodriguez is a high and not too fertile island, extending
about twelve miles from east to west and six from north to south.  The
population aggregated about three thousand, and consisted chiefly of
African negroes intermingled with settlers of French origin and some
mixed descendants.  Cattle, beans, salt fish and goats form the
principal articles of export.  My mate and myself were honoured with a
dinner at the cable station, and on the next morning a mass was read in
the Catholic church, out of regard to my mate, for a successful voyage.
Thereafter, we set sail for Durban.




{220}

CHAPTER XXVII

ANOTHER MISCALCULATION AND A MEAGRE XMAS DINNER--SAD NEWS RECEIVED AT
DURBAN--UNEXPECTED VINDICATION AND MEETING OF AN OLD FRIEND--THE
_TILIKUM_ AS A MOUNTAIN CLIMBER

We made a good start with a fresh south-easterly breeze, and in
fifty-two hours were near the south end of the island of Mauritius.  We
sailed close enough to the shore to obtain a good view of some of the
great sugar plantations for which Mauritius is famous.  Cane fields of
a beautiful green hue came almost down to the shore, being planted on a
gradually inclining sweep of land which extended to a considerable
height.  Here and there comfortable homesteads, surrounded by trees and
gardens with an occasional windmill were interspersed, which lent a
prosperous aspect to the landscape.  There is a splendid harbour on the
north-western coast; the population numbers nearly four hundred
thousand.  I felt a strong inclination to call here, but being short of
time, kept on our course for Durban.

[Sidenote: The African coast]

The south-easterly trade wind stayed with us until we reached a
position fifty miles south of Madagascar, when it became very light and
gradually hauled into the south-west.  The following two days we
drifted about and at times were becalmed in sight of the great French
island.  There is a saying that a lull precedes a storm, but on this
occasion we obtained a moderate north-easterly breeze instead, with
which we approached the South African coast {221} in fine weather.  It
was only a few days before Christmas, and the wind being fresh and
fair, while the distance to Durban was not more than a hundred and
fifty miles, we wanted to make sure of spending the approaching
festival on terra firma.

On December 22nd we had the coast of Natal in sight and at noon Durban
was yet seventy-five miles away.  The north-easter sent the _Tilikum_
along almost at top speed and we got things ready for entering the
port.  An hour later the wind increased to such an extent that we were
compelled to take in some of our sail.  The sky looked clear, and the
land seemed to grow in proportion to our hopes.

"Roast beef and plum pudding and a small or perhaps a large bottle of
wine will be my Christmas dinner," said Mac in jubilation.  Just then I
noticed a small dark cloud rising in the south-west, and promptly
advised him not to count his chickens before they were hatched.  The
cloud quickly grew larger and assumed a threatening appearance.  Its
evolution left little room for doubt that there was a strong wind
behind it, and as another strong wind blew from the opposite direction
the two were bound to clash, and we hoped and prayed that the
north-easter would get the better of the battle.  About two miles ahead
we could distinctly see the spray and foam flying into the air.  This
was a sure sign that the two winds had met and now were fighting for
supremacy.  To our sorrow we noticed that the south-wester gained
ground and developed into a heavy storm, and as a precautionary step we
lowered all sail.

In a few minutes we were caught between the two air currents.  As both
were of nearly equal strength, heavy whirlwinds were formed, but
gradually the north-easter retreated before its opponent.  The
resulting whirls caused {222} the _Tilikum_ to swing round three times
in rapid succession and thereupon the south-wester enveloped us, and
heavy spray drenched the boat from end to end.  The strong blow lasted
for nearly two days and during this time our boat laid nicely to sea
anchor and riding sail.  This gave my mate occasion to make different
plans for his Christmas dinner.  December 25th proved a beautifully
calm day.  Our position at noon was a little over a hundred miles from
Durban, and we had drifted out of sight of land.

The unforeseen lengthy passage across the Indian Ocean had worked havoc
among our provisions, some of which had run short.  Of flour, rice,
biscuits, butter and the like we had ample, but on the other hand,
there was little meat left, and instead of roast beef, plum pudding and
a bottle of champagne which Mac had promised himself, our last
half-pound of corned beef had to be shared for dinner, supplemented by
Mac's celebrated New Zealand pancake biscuits and butter, and a cup of
Lipton's Ceylon tea.

[Illustration: _TILIKUM_ AT CANVEY ISLAND, 1911]

On the succeeding two days we experienced light variable winds and fine
weather.  On the 28th we got becalmed about three miles outside Durban
Harbour.  A large tug-boat came out and on approaching us slowed down
her engine.  When within hailing distance, the captain on the bridge
bade us good morning, and asked where we were from.  "Victoria, B.C.,
Canada," I said.

"By Jove, you have got a nerve!" he ejaculated.

"Absolutely necessary to get along in this world," I assured him.

"Going into Durban?" was his next query.

"Yes," I answered.  "What is your charge for towing deep-water vessels
into port?"

"Sixpence a ton," was the reply.

"Give me your towline, then," I said, "I'll take you at that."

{223}

"What is your tonnage?" he enquired.

"About three tons," I replied.

"That would hardly be sufficient to pay for a long whisky-and-soda,"
the master of the tug-boat calculated, and this ended our conversation.
Thereupon the tug steamed out to sea to look for more profitable
business.  However, we did not have to wait long, when a small launch
came up and towed us in.

[Sidenote: Durban]

Durban, or Port Natal as it is sometimes called, was full of vessels of
all nations, being very busy at that time.  We had difficulty in
finding sufficient wharf room to tie even the _Tilikum_ up.  Having
looked around for a while we succeeded in squeezing in between two
large vessels and made fast to the pier.  Owing to the smallness of our
boat the customs had taken no notice of her on coming in; when I
reported our arrival at headquarters the _Tilikum_ was freed from all
obligations pertaining to deep-water vessels.

While on my cruise I had been kindly admitted as an honorary member to
many yacht clubs.  I took about a dozen of these membership cards and
introduced myself to some of the leading Durban yachtsmen.  These at
once took matters in hand and were good enough to attend to all our
needs.  A spacious drill hall was placed at my disposal for exhibiting
the _Tilikum_.  On the same afternoon the boat was lifted out of the
water and transported there.

Soon after our arrival at Durban I received very sad news from
Auckland.  My former mate, Mr. Buckridge, had lost his life in the
renewed attempt to sail his yawl _Keora_ to England.  His companion
experienced a very bad time and hard struggles, but he had contrived to
regain the coast of New Zealand.  Thus what I had foreseen had
happened.  Buckridge had undertaken too great a task.  He was a genial
and jolly good fellow.  May his unlucky {224} fate be a warning to all
to thoroughly test their abilities before undertaking a similar venture
on the high seas!

[Sidenote: In South Africa]

As it was my first visit to South Africa I did not think that anybody
knew me there, in which, however, I was mistaken.  Whenever the boat
was to be taken out of the water, I had made it a point to employ the
services of a good man to lead the work.  My reason was that onlookers,
of whom there always were many, would ask me all sorts of questions
which made it impossible for me to devote proper attention to the
transportation.  But I was always present incognito among the
spectators to keep an eye on the boat.  On this occasion, as in other
places, I enjoyed immensely listening to arguments and surmises brought
forward with regard to my own person.

"Where is the captain of this little thing?" somebody asked.  "He has
come all the way from British Columbia in her; I should like to see
him."

"Rubbish," a sceptic replied.  "Came from British Columbia in this
nutshell!  Never!  This man, I tell you, is a fraud!"

"Yes," another one affirmed, "you know where British Columbia is, he is
a liar if he says so!"

These and similar remarks naturally amused me.  Then my attention was
drawn to a gentleman, a short distance off, who assured the crowd that
these remarks were unjust.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have heard here various observations about
this boat and the man who has sailed her.  May I tell you that
Victoria, B.C., has been my home for many years and I personally was
there when this vessel started on a cruise round the world, and
furthermore, the captain is a personal friend of mine, although I have
not seen him here as yet.  You may safely believe that he has done the
voyage in this boat, which is in reality {225} an Indian canoe.
Anybody with eyes in his head may convince himself of the fact!"

The speaker evidently was annoyed by these utterances in a much greater
degree than myself.  Stepping up closer, I recognised him and said,
"Thank you, Mr. Ervin Ray, for taking a poor orphan's part."  Mr. Ray
and I had been intimate friends in Victoria for several years, and it
certainly was a surprise to both of us to meet again under such
circumstances.

I remained a fortnight at Durban and was honoured by splendid
receptions from clubs and individuals of prominence.  Unfortunately,
Father Mac contracted the gold and diamond fever and left me to become
a millionaire.  My old Victoria friend, Mr. Ray, held a position with
the South African Railway at Pretoria.  He had come to Durban only to
spend the Christmas and New Year festivals and was now anxious that I
should accompany him home.  I agreed, having an inclination myself to
see something of the interior.  So the _Tilikum_ was entrained, and
made the journey via Pietermaritzburg across the high Drakens Mountains
to Johannesburg and Pretoria, dropping anchor there for some time.

At Pietermaritzburg, the capital of Natal, I stopped over for a few
days, and thereafter proceeded to Johannesburg.  The war had come to a
close only a comparatively short time since, and many places along the
railway in Natal and in the Transvaal still bore traces of the
devastation it had left in its track.  The first impression I received
was at Colenso, near the Tugela River, where a burial ground was fenced
in and beautifully decorated with flowers.  Amidst many graves, where
British officers and soldiers had found their last resting-place, there
was a stone erected to the memory of a young officer, the son of
Field-Marshal Lord Roberts, whose bravery will be {226} remembered for
many generations to come.  A little later the train crossed the Tugela
River and stopped for a few minutes at Colenso.  Thereafter, we passed
through Ladysmith and across the border into the Transvaal.  Here and
there other burial grounds were visible; farmsteads and guard-houses in
ruins, and fencing wires, covered with all sorts of tin cans, which had
served to give alarm of the approaching enemy.

Arriving at Johannesburg the _Tilikum_ was placed on exhibition in the
"Wanderers" grounds.  My boat was the first deep-sea vessel that had
ever come to that city, and therefore she attracted large crowds.  A
visitor told me that he had followed the call of the sea for some time
in his younger years, but had then quit and was now the proprietor of a
gold mine.  He congratulated me on having established a world's record.

"I beg your pardon, sir," I said, "my record has not been completed
yet, and it will not be until I have crossed the Atlantic."

"Quite so," the visitor assented, "but it is a different record I am
referring to.  We are here about six thousand feet above sea level, and
I feel pretty sure that no other deep-sea vessel has ever reached such
an altitude."




{227}

CHAPTER XXVIII

JOHANNESBURG--"MAC, THE BOAR-HUNTER," ANOTHER SURPRISE--SUCCESS IN LIFE
AND HOW IT WAS GAINED

At Johannesburg there was a great surprise in store for me.  One day,
when I had just finished a short explanation to a large audience, one
of the members addressed me, saying, "What about that big boar on Cocos
Island?"  This took me unawares, but a pleasant explanation followed
when, looking at the speaker, I recognised the face of my old shipmate
Mac who the reader will remember was a partner in the _Xora_ treasure
cruise.  At a glance I could tell that Mac had met with success in
life.  "Come up and dine with me to-night," he said, and of course I
accepted the invitation.

When arriving at Mac's residence I found a most beautiful home.  He was
seated in an easy chair, smoking a big cigar.  His wife, a handsome
lady, was also present, and two sweet little children played on the
floor.  After an exchange of words of a more general nature I said to
Mac, "It seems to me, old boy, that you have struck oil."

"Yes," was his reply, "I have, for there is more gold and diamonds in
this country than on Cocos Island, and if you stop here, I will see
that you also will strike a well."

"I appreciate your kindness, Mac," I said, "but Johannesburg is six
hundred miles away from salt water, and if I took up a landsman's
calling, it may prove injurious to my health and perhaps mean early
death to me!"

{228}

At my request Mac then gave me an outline of his experiences since we
parted at Callao, and related how he reached South Africa without
money.  I shall state here a few particulars of what I learned that
afternoon.  This is going off my course, but I trust that my readers
will pardon me, for the yarn is interesting enough, showing as it does
what a man can accomplish by sheer force of will once he has made up
his mind.

[Sidenote: A former shipmate]

In 1898, when we had reached Peru on board the _Xora_, we received the
first news of the South African war having begun, when Mac proclaimed
emphatically, "South Africa for me, it is there that I will shine."

"How will you get to South Africa without a dollar in your pocket?"
Jack asked him.

"Where there is a will there is a way," was the laconic reply.

Owing to his distressed financial circumstances Mac was unable to
secure a passage to the country of his dreams.  So he sailed north
again in the _Xora_ and safely reached San Diego, in California.  Here
his tale commences, and for convenience' sake I shall relate it in his
own words.

"When I arrived at San Diego," Mac said, "I had just enough money left
to buy a railway ticket to within about two hundred miles of San
Francisco, and to get over this distance I was compelled to ride brake
beams, walk railway ties and do the best I could.  On one occasion I
hung on for dear life to a cross-beam under a freight car while the
train went along at about forty miles an hour.  My strength was giving
out and every minute I thought I would have to let go and be cut up by
the wheels.  However, I managed to hang on until the train halted
between two stations, when a brakeman passed along to examine the axles
and discovered me.  He at once notified the fireman by calling out that
there was a tramp stealing a ride.  {229} Thinking that the two most
likely would be too much for me I made myself scarce.  The train soon
restarted, and I was obliged to foot it over the sleepers for the next
four hours.  Finally I reached a small town, hungry and dead tired.  I
asked a good-natured-looking policeman whether he could direct me to a
place where I might obtain food and a night's lodging.  The gentleman
in Uncle Sam's clothes looked at me severely and said, 'Move on, move
on, we don't allow tramps here.'  'But,' I commenced to entreat----
'Never mind the but,' the preserver of the law cut me short, 'move on
as I have told you, or I'll put ye in jail and supply ye with fourteen
days of hard labour.'  It was the fortnight of hard labour that I
respected, otherwise, if it was for one night only, I would have gladly
availed myself of the opportunity to obtain lodging, even in jail.
Walking over railway ties when tired out and hungry is hard luck, but
that big policeman again put me on the march.  My progress was slow,
and soon after I had left the town I saw two covered freight cars
standing on a siding.  The door of one of them was open, so I crawled
in and laid down, and was soon fast asleep.  When I woke up the door
had been closed, the car evidently had been attached to a train and was
travelling at a good speed.  I wondered whether I was retracing my
steps or whether I thus approached my destination.  Finally the train
stopped.  Looking through a crack in the door I could see that it was
daylight, and a signboard just opposite reading 'Restaurant' reminded
me, if that were necessary, that I must get something to eat at any
cost.  I called the attention of a man who happened to pass by and the
door immediately was thrown open.  'What are you doing in here?
Everyone of you d---- tramps should be in jail and break stones,' was
the gentleman's morning greeting.  Getting away from that cheerful
stranger, who threatened {230} to 'put a head on me' if he caught me in
a car again, I made a straight course for the restaurant.

"On entering I said, 'Good morning, madam,' to the woman behind the
counter.  Turning round she at once sized me up and said, 'If you want
something to eat go in the backyard and split firewood for an hour,
then I will give you a good breakfast.'  I accepted the job and after
an hour's hard work the good woman proved true to her word and provided
me with a first-class meal.  This made me feel much better, and when
ready to leave I thanked her for her kindness and enquired the name of
the town and the distance to San Francisco.  'This is Berkeley,' she
replied, 'and it will cost you fifteen cents to get to San Francisco.'
'Madam,' I said, 'I will split wood for another hour or two if you will
oblige me with the fifteen cents.'  To my surprise she handed me my
fare and said that she was well satisfied with what I had done, and
added, 'You have accomplished more in one hour than other tramps will
do in a day,' and I scarcely knew whether to feel flattered or angry.

"The same morning I arrived at San Francisco and took up lodgings at a
sailors' boarding-house, the proprietor of which directed me to the
shipping office he had business relations with.  At eleven o'clock I
signed on as an A.B. in a large sailing ship bound for Liverpool, for
twenty-five dollars a month."

Here I interrupted my old friend saying, "Excuse me, Mac, how could you
sign on as an A.B., for you were not an able seaman."

"Quite right," was his reply, "and that is how I got into trouble."

Then he proceeded with his narrative.

"The proprietor of the boarding-house looked also after some other
fellows who were to sail with me in the same {231} ship.  He handed us
five dollars each, out of one month's advance, and at the same time
gave sharp instruction to everyone to be on hand the next morning at
seven o'clock to go aboard.  All were ready at the appointed hour, and
accompanied by the boarding-house keeper and his 'runner' (a hard case)
we went on board.

"On reaching the vessel's deck I asked my host about my advance.  'It
is in that bundle there,' he answered, pointing to a parcel of
considerable dimensions.  'Take it forward,' his runner added, 'and get
ready for work.'  We had hardly been ten minutes in the forecastle when
the first mate appeared in the door and shouted, 'Get out of this now,
you fellers, heave anchor!'

"I had just time enough to discover that the contents of the parcel
sent on board by the honourable boardinghouse keeper were not worth
five dollars; but the gentleman had left the ship and we were ordered
to heave up.  Anchor up, we were taken in tow, and when outside the
Golden Gate the tug blew two whistles.  Then the first mate roared out
like a lion, 'Loose all sail!  Hurry up, now, and get the canvas on
her.  You young feller over there,' pointing at me, 'get a move on you
quick and loosen the main royal and skysail!'

"Did you get up?" I again interrupted Mac.  "Go up; how could I?  I had
no intention of breaking my neck!"  Then he continued:

"I was going to give an explanation by commencing: 'Please excuse me,
Mr. ----,' when the mate harshly attacked me.  'Excuse nothing, get up
there, I tell you, and no more of your confounded back talk to me!'  At
the same time he rushed at me in a most threatening attitude and like a
shot I made for the rigging, just in time to keep out of his clutches.
I managed to climb up as high as the mainyard, and not for all the gold
and diamonds {232} in the Transvaal would I have ventured any higher.
The first mate was a big, raw-boned Irishman and meantime was busy
chasing others round the deck and up the rigging.

"I had been hanging on to some ropes for dear life, and hardly five
minutes had passed when the big mate spotted me again.  The vibration
of the shout he let out almost caused me to let go.  'Come down, come
down, you ----,' he roared in a great rage.  Talk about a man between
the devil and the deep sea, he was I!  I had no alternative but to face
the brute, so I clambered down.  No sooner did I touch the deck when I
received such a kick, that I was lifted clean into the air.  He then
told me to help pulling on ropes, and that he would speak to me later
on.

"By noon we were going along under full sail, and with the exception of
one man at the wheel all hands were gathered in the forecastle for
dinner, and ship and officers were discussed.  One old sailor, who had
shipped many years before the mast, said that if he had not been drunk
he would never have gone aboard this red-hot Nova Scotia packet.
'Yes,' another one remarked, sending a stealthy glance sideways at me,
'the mates are regular floating devils, and anybody who does not
properly understand his business will have a hot time of it!'  'Quite
right he should,' a third one declared; 'a man has no right to sign on
to a ship as an A.B. who doesn't even know how to go up and loosen a
sail!'

"At eight o'clock we were ordered to line up on deck, when the mates
would pick their watches.  To my distress, I was included in with the
first mate's watch.  This over, we were addressed by the first mate as
follows:

"'Now, boys, do as you are told, for if you don't I will make yer do
it.  The port watch takes the first watch on deck, the starboard watch
goes below.  You, young {233} feller,' pointing at me, 'come over here,
I want to speak to you.'  With trembling knees and a fast-beating heart
I walked over to where the mate stood, expecting more trouble.  It was
a clear moonlit night and when I came near that big man who had more
power on the ship than any king has in his country, he put his right
hand on my left shoulder, looked me straight in the face and said in a
serious manner: 'How did you dare to board this vessel as an able
seaman?'

"Thereupon I told my hard-luck story, and when I had finished the mate
said, in a more friendly tone, 'Well, you are here, and I guess we have
to take you along.  But, mind you, be quick and obedient at all times!'

"I strictly followed the chief officer's instructions, and experienced
little further trouble on the voyage.  Four months later I was paid off
with fifteen pounds at Liverpool.  I bought some clothes, and a few
days later shipped on board a steamer bound for Capetown, as a steward.
When we arrived at the Cape, orders were given to the crew that no one
was allowed to go ashore.  However, I succeeded in effecting my escape.
Having put on my best suit I left the ship in the company of some
passengers and walked up to the dock gate.  Here I showed my card, on
which was written 'Reporter,' to the guard, and I had no difficulty in
getting past.  Thus I reached the goal, and though I was still poor I
entered Capetown with the gait of a millionaire.  I soon found
employment and gradually worked my way up.  And as you can see with
your own eyes," Mac concluded, "I am now well off and in happy
circumstances."

"You certainly are, Mac," I assented, "and a good man will always come
up in the end; but tell me, was that big boar which you shot on Cocos
Island really as large as you claimed it was?"

{234}

"Oh, yes," his pretty wife here chimed in, "what a great time you
people must have had on Cocos Island.  I would have given anything to
have been there.  And what about the goat my husband was fighting on
some other island?  He tells me that the animal had horns as large as
bent table legs and a beard longer than Uncle Sam's!"

"That is so," I affirmed; "I saw it myself."




{235}

CHAPTER XXIX

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE _TILIKUM_ IN LANDLOCKED PRETORIA--ENGAGING A MATE
AGAIN--GENUINE "CAPE HOPERS"--LEAVING CAPE TOWN

A few days later I put the _Tilikum_ on the train and travelled to
Pretoria.  Arriving there I found that my old friend Mr. Ray had made
all arrangements for my lodging and the exhibition of the boat.  The
next morning I went to the station to see whether she had arrived.  It
was quite early and the office not yet open.  I enquired from a young
man, who apparently belonged to the railway staff, whether he had seen
a boat come in on a train.  "Yes," was the reply, "she arrived last
night, and after we 'ad taken 'er off the car an 'orse came along and
kicked 'er 'ead off."

"A horse kicked what head off?" I demanded anxiously.

"The 'ead of the boat you are speaking about.  You know, that
figure-'ead."

We then walked to where the boat lay, and, sure enough, the _Tilikum's_
figure-head had been smashed and the pieces placed on the deck.  The
young man closely examined the broken parts, and then said, "You know,
Captain, the 'ead on this 'ooker of yours was an awful-looking thing.
A man who had a drop or two too much and 'appening to be confronted
with it was likely to get it bad.  No wonder that 'orse was scared.
But I am quite sure, when the incident has been reported to the office,
your boat will be refitted with a respectable-looking figure-'ead free
of charge."

{236}

The figure-head had been a genuine Indian carving, and, therefore,
could not be replaced in Pretoria.  However, the railway company placed
a carpenter at my disposal with orders to do anything I wanted to have
done with regard to my boat.  So it came about that the original
figure-head was replaced by one that looked a little more civilised.
As to other repairs, almost nothing was required; nevertheless, I wish
to acknowledge the generosity of the railway officials in Pretoria.

I met several old friends from Victoria, B.C., who had come here during
the war and stayed.  This induced me to stop at Pretoria a good deal
longer than my programme allowed.  There I also had the pleasure of
shaking hands with General Botha, who told me that he would rather go
through another South African war than attempt to cross the Atlantic in
the _Tilikum_.

Mr. Ray introduced to me a young man of about twenty-two years of age,
by name E. Harrison, who was employed in the same office as himself.
He asked me to take his young friend along as a mate to England.  Mr.
Harrison was a native of Gippsland, Australia.  He had left Melbourne
about a year previously as passenger on a steamer for South Africa.

He had had very little experience, I discovered; however, my general
impression was a favourable one, and I accepted his services as a mate.
As he could not leave his office then, it was arranged that he should
meet me in Cape Town.

[Sidenote: Port Elizabeth]

The day fixed for my departure came and the _Tilikum_ was lifted on to
the train, and in company of Mr. Ray, who had arranged for a furlough
of ten days, I journeyed down to East London.  Here I secured a
temporary mate for the run to Cape Town, and sailed for Port Elizabeth,
a distance of about a hundred and thirty miles, arriving there after a
journey of twenty-three hours' duration.

{237}

Port Elizabeth does not possess a harbour proper, but only a roadstead,
formed by a wide bay open to the south-east.  There I witnessed a sight
the like of which I have never seen before or since.  More than two
dozen large square-rigged sailing vessels lay stranded high and dry on
a sand beach near the city!  I was informed that all these doomed
vessels had been lying at anchor in the roadstead, some loading, some
discharging cargo, while others had been ready for sea and just awaited
orders from their owner.  Suddenly a heavy south-easterly gale had
sprung up, accompanied by large breaking seas, and all these
unfortunate ships were torn from their moorings and driven ashore to
meet their fate.  When the vessels had parted with their moorings they
had come in contact with each other; parts of their masts and yards
were carried away, while some of them were almost entirely dismantled.
Others were apparently left in a fairly good condition; but one and all
had abandoned the blue waters of the ocean for ever, destined to be
broken up on shore or to suffer slow decay.

Mr. Ray had followed me by train to Port Elizabeth, and when I sailed
from there I said good-bye to this faithful friend, who had a railway
ticket already in his pocket to return to his home in Pretoria.  He
asked me once more to take good care of young Harrison, and added, "I
think he has got a touch of consumption, but the cruise in the
_Tilikum_ will do him good."

"Consumption," I said; "in that case I cannot take him along."

Mr. Ray, however, pleaded so strongly for his protg that I finally
agreed to take him on the voyage to London, saying, "All right; the
_Tilikum_ has driven all sorts of troubles out of my former mates, and
at times has put even myself in proper condition.  She may perhaps
{238} succeed in taking the small touch of consumption, as you call it,
out of him."  With this my friend was greatly pleased, and we parted
after a final handshake.

[Sidenote: Cape of Good Hope]

The distance to Cape Town is approximately four hundred and fifty
miles.  The weather showed good behaviour when, with a fresh
north-easterly breeze, we sailed out of Algoa Bay and shaped a course
towards the Cape of Good Hope.  The wind kept fresh till we had Mossel
Bay bearing north, and then at first became light, but soon hauled into
the west and started to blow.  It was the first time I had rounded the
Cape, but I knew its reputation, and therefore did not care to get
mixed up with one of its famous westerly gales and bad seas, so I
steered in for Mossel Bay.  The wind was increasing fast, but by
sailing under small sail and with the lee rail constantly under water
we managed to evade the gale and anchored in Mossel Bay, which is
perfectly safe from westerly blows.  The next morning the weather had
resumed its normal condition, and, the wind coming in from the east, we
proceeded on our course.  This lasted until we had reached the
neighbourhood of Danger Point, about forty-five miles from the Cape.
Then the wind again hauled into the west and commenced blowing.  Not
knowing of any suitable place to run into for shelter, I therefore
steered the boat off the land, and, when we had obtained sufficient sea
room, we hove to, to ride out the gale.

After sunset, when we were below in the cabin, I asked my mate, who had
sailed the ocean for many years and rounded the Cape more often than he
counted fingers and toes, whether he ever saw the _Flying Dutchman_
which is said to haunt these waters in preference.  "I have," he
replied, "on several occasions, after drinking bad whisky, but as long
as you stick to a good brand you will never see him!"

{239}

During the night the wind developed into an extremely heavy gale and,
owing to a strong current setting through in the opposite direction, we
experienced a bad hollow sea.  At midnight gale and seas were at their
worst.  Now and then a high sea would break under the bow of our little
vessel, making her shiver from stem to stern.  From time to time I took
a turn on deck to see whether our riding light was burning and
everything in order.  On one occasion, when glancing up through the
scuttle, I saw the little vessel working her way apparently with great
difficulty over the roaring combers.  "Well, _Tilikum_" I said, "how do
you like the Cape Hopers?"  And through the howling wind and the noise
of the breakers it seemed to me an answer came, "Be at ease; I'm not
afraid of them; they are not half as bad as the hind hoof of a certain
horse in Pretoria."

The _Tilikum_ mastered the Cape Hope gale about as well as all previous
storms.  A few days later we arrived at Cape Town, where the first man
I met on landing was Mr. Harrison, who shortly before had come down
from Pretoria to report himself ready to join me.  A large circus
building controlled by the city authorities was placed at my disposal
for exhibiting the _Tilikum_.  Here I kept her for three weeks, and
during this time nearly all the people of Cape Town came to inspect
what some styled "the little Vancouver Island ship."

Shortly before our departure the _Tilikum_ was treated to a new coat of
paint, and when in the water again made ready to cross the Atlantic to
Pernambuco, Brazil.

On April 14th, equipped with full provisions, water, and quite a
quantity of mail for Europe on board, she lay to anchor near a small
wharf a little outside of the docks.  Our start had been fixed for
three in the afternoon.  A little beforehand, the embankments began to
throng with {240} crowds who had come to witness our departure.
Tugboats and other small steamers moved round us, now and then one
would come alongside, and passengers would pass on board various
presents.  All these parcels were piled up in the cabin as they came
along, we being very busy then handshaking and saying good-bye.

The weather was calm and beautiful.  Sharp to time one of the small
steamers took us in tow, and, accompanied by a fleet of about a dozen
others, each loaded with passengers, we proceeded seaward.  It was a
real pleasure being thus towed out, the steamers cruising round us and
their passengers waving hats and handkerchiefs.  When we were just
outside Table Bay a light breeze sprang up from the south, and we set
sail.  The steamers whistled for the last time, and from the cheering
crowds on their decks handkerchiefs, hats and caps again went up into
the air.  Then all steered round to return to the harbour, while we
headed for the north.




{241}

CHAPTER XXX

CULINARY PRESENTS AND WHY MY MATE DID NOT CARE FOR THEM--ST.
HELENA--PERNAMBUCO--MY CONTRACT FULFILLED--CHANGING THE FLAG

I then began examining the presents.  The first parcel contained what
looked to me like roasted turkey.

"Have a little turkey, Harry?" I called out through the scuttle.

"No, thank you," the answer came.

The second parcel was a duplicate of the first, and putting the two
aside I opened the next.  This contained another fine bird, evidently
goose.

"Have a little roasted goose, Harry?"

"Don't care about any."

"How about some chicken?"

"Chicken I don't like," he replied.

"Now, then, here is something you are bound to like."

"What is it?"

"It looks to me like roasted ostrich."

"I don't think I'll have any," was the languid reply.

"You don't seem to be hungry.  Here are some bottled goods.  Perhaps
you would prefer a drink?"

There was beer, fine old whisky, three-star Hennessey, and a variety of
wines.  The label on the bottle read, "Mumm, twenty years old."

"Harry," I said, "this old wine must be consumed at once, else it might
get spoiled on our hands."  I at once got busy, and no sooner had I cut
the wires than the cork {242} went off like a cannon ball.  I thought
sure that it had pierced the cabin deck.

In sampling the Mumm I found that despite its old age it was of the
best quality.  I passed a glass out to my mate, who sat there with one
hand on the tiller and the other on his stomach, and shook his head.
The _Tilikum_ had begun to feel the swell of the Atlantic Ocean--and so
had my mate.  I advised him to take a drink of salt water in order to
quickly get over the trouble and help me to do honour to some of the
presents.

We were nearly up to Robben Island, about ten miles to the north-west
of Cape Town.  The wind fell very light.  Therefore, we dropped anchor
under the east side of the island, in smooth water, near the beach.  By
that time my mate had mastered the spell of sea-sickness and both of us
did justice to the provisions.  The following morning, after a
substantial breakfast, we proceeded on our voyage.  A moderate wind
blew from the south and soon we dropped the little island and the coast
of Africa below the horizon.  However, my mate was ill again as soon as
we entered the ocean swell.

[Sidenote: St. Helena]

The weather continued fine, and with a steady moderate breeze from the
south, day after day, it was a most pleasant sail.  But my poor mate
remained sea-sick and was unable to get over his trouble; even the
salt-water cure did not bring him relief.  In this he somewhat
resembled the Australian bush pilot who accompanied me from Newcastle
to Melbourne, sea-sick day after day, eating very little and with a
strong inclination to discard.  In fact, in either case, it was a
mystery to me how they managed to keep alive.  As Mr. Harrison suffered
so much, I shaped a course for St. Helena.  When we had entered the
region of the south-easterly trade wind the weather still kept fine,
and seventeen days after leaving Cape Town we dropped {243} anchor in
St. James' Bay on the north-west coast of St. Helena, the best known of
all the solitary islands in the world.

No sooner had my mate stepped on shore than he felt well and was able
to eat a hearty meal, which, after his prolonged indisposition, was
remarkable indeed.  We remained for two days on the island, and visited
the residence of Napoleon Bonaparte, in which he died on May 5th, 1821.
Although the building was unoccupied, everything was kept in good
order.  The white-painted exterior of the house, and a well-trimmed
flower garden surrounding it, gave the whole a neat appearance; but in
the interior about the only thing worth noticing was a marble bust of
the great soldier.  A short distance off, between low green hills and
near a small fresh-water spring that gushed out from the hillside,
Napoleon's tomb is preserved, though the remains have been transferred
to Paris.  A small building near by contained a book in which were
written the autographs of visitors from all over the world.  I added my
signature to their number.

We spent a very enjoyable night in the company of some gentlemen of the
cable station and other residents.  The following day we took our
departure, shaping a direct course for Pernambuco.  The moderate trade
wind and the splendid weather continued, but no sooner had our little
vessel begun to enter the ocean swell than my mate fell sick again.
However, he was not of the kind that gives way to the feeling, but
regularly took his turn on the rudder.  The trade wind sent us along at
a rate of about a hundred miles a day, which enabled us to accomplish
the passage from St. Helena to Pernambuco in eighteen days.  Shortly
before dark on May 20th we obtained our first glimpse of the South
American coast.

The following morning, at four o'clock, we dropped {244} anchor in the
roadstead of Pernambuco, which made it three years, almost to the hour,
since I started from Victoria, B.C.  Thus the _Tilikum_ had succeeded
in crossing the three oceans and the contract I had entered upon with
Mr. Luxton was fulfilled.

A long time had elapsed since I first arrived at this port.  It was in
1877, on my first voyage to sea in a three-hundred-ton sailing vessel
from Hamburg, bound for Guayaquil, Ecuador.  The captain was taken ill
at sea, and we put in at Pernambuco to secure medical assistance.  At
that time the roadstead was full of sailing vessels of all nations.
But on this particular morning, instead of the beautiful sailing ships
enlivening the picture, one smoky old steamer was the sole ornament.  I
thought to myself, if I could be almighty only for a short while, the
first thing I would undertake would be the wiping of all those old
smoke-pots off the seas and replacing them by fine, fast, square-rigged
sailing ships, a delight to every seaman's eye.

[Sidenote: Pernambuco]

At seven o'clock the customs launch came off, and after I had made the
necessary reports the captain was kind enough to give us a tow into the
harbour.  On the way we passed the Pernambuco lighthouse, which is
built on the northern end of the most remarkable natural breakwater
that can be found anywhere.  Along the right side, on going in, extends
a fine stone quay with an avenue of shady trees running along it,
backed by a row of business houses.  The left side of the harbour,
which forms an oblong about one hundred yards in width, runs parallel
to the stone quay opposite the breakwater.  It consists of dark coral,
and its uniform shape makes it hard to believe that this is the work of
nature.  All along the breakwater were moored vessels from distant
countries.  And while large waves restlessly broke and worked on the
outside {245} of this wonderful structure, the inside, with the
exception of occasional spray, was quite calm.  I moored the _Tilikum_
near a boat-landing and reported our arrival to the British Consul, Mr.
Williams.  This gentleman showed much interest in my cruise and
accompanied me to the harbour to inspect my boat.  "Well done," he
said, when stepping aboard; "crossing the three great oceans in this
vessel certainly constitutes a world's record!"

The following day, while I was in the Consul's office, Mr. Williams
said, "Yesterday, when on board of your vessel, I noticed that you are
flying the Canadian flag.  I must tell you that this is against the
law.  I am, therefore, obliged to ask you to replace it by the British
ensign."

I had sailed the _Tilikum_ for three years under the Canadian flag, and
therefore I did not altogether appreciate the Consul's order.  However,
orders from the Government representative given to shipmasters in
foreign countries must be complied with, so from that day I flew the
British flag.

We remained a fortnight in Pernambuco, during which time Mr. Williams
entertained us splendidly and looked after our wants in every way.  He
also secured for us free railway passports, thus affording us an
opportunity to see something of the rich level country so abundantly
wooded.  Sugar cane, tropical fruits, palm nuts and many other useful
plants are raised in this stretch of Brazil.  Here and there, nestled
amidst trees and gardens, small villas appeared, and naked little negro
children were playing about in the sun.  Through the influence of the
Consul we furthermore received several invitations to dinners, and the
night before our departure a banquet was given to us at the British
cable station, at which many people were present.

Although Mr. Harrison had been sick all the way across {246} the South
Atlantic, he insisted upon completing the voyage to London.  On the
afternoon of June 4th, at three o'clock, we were taken in tow by a
launch, and, accompanied by a steamer loaded with passengers, including
the British Consul, we proceeded seaward.  When five miles outside the
breakwater we set sail and let go.  We than bade farewell to our hosts,
and giving three dips with our new British ensign we shaped a course
towards our final destination, London.  Owing to the north-east trade
wind we were obliged to follow different courses.  Thus it came about
that the total distance amounted to about six thousand miles.




{247}

CHAPTER XXXI

BOUND FOR LONDON--THE ATLANTIC CALM BELT--WHAT THE _TILIKUM_ DID FOR MY
MATE--WHEN SHIPS MEET ON THE HIGH SEAS--SHORT OF PROVISIONS--BOAT AND
CREW IN QUARANTINE

A new coat of paint had been presented to the _Tilikum_ by the captain
of a Norwegian ship, and, under all her canvas, with a fresh trade
wind, she went along as proud as ever.  Who will wonder that the little
vessel by that time had become to me something more than inanimate
wood, constructed to be run down and then replaced without difficulty
by another?  No, she was worth more to me, having proved a trustworthy
friend on many occasions, as her name implied.  I never felt this more
than on that day, when, starting out for a final run, and, patting her
side, I said, "_Tilikum_, after all the ups and downs you have
experienced in surveying the three oceans you have taken it cheerfully,
and it was to you like a picnic.  You have weathered heavy gales; seas
have broken over you; every bone in your body was crushed at Melbourne,
and at one time even your head was knocked off.  Still, here you are,
looking as well as ever, and working diligently your way over the salt
waves towards your final destination.  Sure enough, it is quite a long
way yet, six thousand miles across the ocean; but if we look after each
other as we have done in the past we are bound to make it!  We shall
then, on our arrival at London, have the satisfaction of laughing at
all those 'didn't-I-tell-you' people and {248} other sceptics who
prophesied at our outset from Victoria, B.C., that we would perhaps get
to sea but never return to land again!"

We had not gone very far when my poor mate hung his head over the rail
again.  However, as before, he faithfully attended to business.  The
trade wind kept fresh, and on June 4th the _Tilikum_ crossed the
equator and passed into the northern hemisphere.  My mate crossed the
line for the first time, but, as he still was sick, Neptune had pity
and did not trouble him.

A few days later the trade wind became light, and on a beautifully
bright morning we found ourselves becalmed.  We had entered the
Atlantic equatorial calm belt.  This was the first morning, indeed, the
first occasion, since our departure from Cape Town that my mate
displayed signs of an appetite.  "That is a different proposition," I
said: "what would you like?  Ham and eggs?"  "Just the thing," he
answered.  I prepared a large dish of the favourite breakfast food, and
it was a real pleasure to see Harry diving into it.  Up to that day he
had been very quiet and poor company to me, but from that time onward
he seemed to be a changed man and said that he felt quite sure that if
he ever had a touch of that deadly disease Mr. Ray spoke to me about
the _Tilikum_ had shaken it out of him.

[Sidenote: Becalmed]

The North Atlantic calm belt did not turn out as troublesome as its
counterpart in the Pacific three years previously.  After two days of
variable weather, spells of calms interspersed with puffs of air from
different directions and accompanied by rain showers, we passed into
the influence of the north-east trade winds.  I trimmed the sails by
the wind, and during the following three weeks we covered a distance of
two thousand miles, the boat going along without steering.

{249}

After we had lost the trade wind we followed a northerly course in
order to reach the region of the North Atlantic westerly winds.  In
this we were successful, and made good time until we arrived at a
position about one thousand miles west of the Azores, where we again
got becalmed.  After having made a fairly good run we did not mind a
day or two of calm, but to my sorrow the matter did not end here.  Day
after day we drifted about, and when at times we made a few miles on
our course with light, variable puffs we would invariably drift back
again, and consequently, when a fortnight had gone by in this manner,
we had covered only twenty miles in all!

Anyone recovering from a long period of sea-sickness generally will
make up for what he has missed in eating in a short time, and most
likely he will even do more than that.  At least, I received such an
impression from my mate.  He could eat at almost any hour.  The colour
which, so he said, he had lost in Pretoria, returned to his cheeks, and
he put on flesh every day.  On the other hand my provision locker was
losing flesh fast and the voyage becoming protracted, I began to fear
that my mate would have me eaten out of house and home before we
reached England.  These circumstances induced me to change our course
for the Azores Islands.

We had drifted about in calm weather for about fifteen days when, on
July 24th, at daybreak, we sighted a sail about seven miles to the
north-eastward.  We at once completed our breakfast, and then started
rowing towards the stranger, hoping that he could possibly provide us
with enough provisions to take us through to England.  The _Tilikum_
was only a small vessel, but we found that rowing her at sea meant hard
work, and not until almost noon did we arrive alongside.  A side ladder
was immediately lowered and I went on board.

{250}

The vessel turned out to be the British barque _Port Sonachan_, one
hundred and forty-two days out from the west coast of Costa Rica with a
cargo of dye wood, and bound for Dunkirk.  On comparing the logs I
found that we had crossed the equator on the same day, but the _Port
Sonachan_ had been becalmed for three weeks and, like ourselves, was
short of provisions.  The captain told me that flour and salted beef
were the only foodstuffs left on board, and of these, he said, they had
sufficient to last them to their destination.  The calm continued for
two more days, during which we remained on board the barque and spent
an enjoyable time with the captain and his officers.

[Sidenote: Ponta Delgada]

When the wind freshened we parted company, the _Port Sonachan_ sailing
northward while we went to the east, and we soon lost sight of each
other.  We experienced moderate and at times fresh westerly winds, and
on the morning of August 3rd, when near the south point of San Miguel
Island, we were compelled to shorten down.  While running under
mainsail only, the strong wind blowing split the sail from top to
bottom!  This was the first and only sail split on the whole cruise.
At half-past five we sailed into the harbour of Ponta Delgada and
dropped anchor near the water front among some pleasure yachts.  A few
minutes later a doctor came alongside in a launch and asked me, through
an interpreter, for a bill of health from our last port of departure.

The Consul at Pernambuco had assured me that I did not require a bill
of health, so I had sailed without one.  When I informed our
interviewers of the fact, it was funny to see how the crew of the
launch, who had their hands on our boat to keep her alongside, let go,
as if the _Tilikum_ was a hot brick.  We then were ordered to
immediately move to the quarantine station.  This was very much against
our liking.  I therefore asked the interpreter {251} whether it could
be arranged that we might receive the provisions which we were badly in
need of.  After that we would not trouble them longer but proceed on
our voyage.  We were then informed that they would tow us out to the
quarantine station, after which arrangements would be made to meet our
wants.  About half an hour later we were swinging to our anchor just
outside the harbour, left to ourselves.

We then both went below to survey our remaining stock of provisions.
We discovered that in spite of our long passage from Pernambuco, ample
flour, rice, lard, butter, hard bread, and a few other things remained.
In view of this fact we had just decided to get up anchor and proceed
on our voyage when we heard a voice outside.  "Somebody is coming," I
said, and looking out of the cabin I saw a boat with several men in it
lying about fifteen feet away.  One of the occupants then passed a
basket to us, attached to the end of a long pole.  The basket contained
beefsteak, mutton chops, eggs, vegetables, and fresh bread-and-butter.
After having delivered it, and without accepting payment, the boat was
rowed back to shore.

We had just got our breakfast ready, and what a breakfast it was!  It
did one good to look at it.  Then another small boat came alongside,
and the operation was repeated.  This basket contained several bottles
of wine, and the label on one read, "Ready-Mixed Cocktail."

Well, now, after a sixty days' ocean voyage in the _Tilikum_, if anyone
thinks that we did not know what to do with that ready-mixed cocktail
he would be mistaken, and with the above-mentioned breakfast on top of
it we came to the conclusion that we would stay a little longer with
the Portuguese to see what else they would do for us.

At nine o'clock the interpreter came and enquired whether we were
willing to have our boat and our persons fumigated.  {252} "Quite all
right," I replied.  He then left, but at ten o'clock returned with the
news that a cablegram had been sent to Lisbon, the capital, to ask
permission for us to land without being fumigated.

Two hours later the interpreter returned with the welcome message that
a dinner would be prepared and sent to us at noon.  This promise was
duly redeemed.




{253}

CHAPTER XXXII

THE AZORES--A ROYAL RECEPTION--TWO EXCURSIONS--A MULE AS DISTURBER OF
THE PEACE--LEAVING THE HOSPITABLE SHORES

During the afternoon we had many callers, but one and all kept at a
distance, until at about five o'clock, when a launch came right
alongside our boat.  Our friend the interpreter was again in evidence
and a well-dressed gentleman in his company stepped over into our boat.
Then the interpreter introduced his companion as the Mayor of Ponta
Delgada and commodore of the yacht club.  After supplying the gentlemen
with a few particulars of our voyage and showing them at the same time
a few of my honorary membership cards from various yacht clubs, we were
towed back again to harbour.  On landing we both were ushered into a
carriage, and accompanied by the mayor and the interpreter, drove into
the city, where we were taken to an hotel.

In the evening we were entertained by many ladies and gentlemen, and
the interpreter being the only one speaking English, he gave to the
audience a short explanation of our cruise.  After he had finished we
were embraced by the gentlemen present, but I considered myself very
much out of luck again when the beautiful Portuguese ladies, in their
snowy-white attire and their dark hair decorated with flowers, only
shook hands.

The following morning the mayor in his carriage drove up to the hotel,
accompanied by the interpreter, to take {254} me down to the harbour.
On the preceding night I had asked the interpreter whether there were
facilities for hauling my boat up for general cleaning and eventual
repairs, to which he assured me he would attend.  On stepping out of
the carriage it was, therefore, not a small surprise to me to see my
little vessel lying high and dry and men engaged cleaning her, inside
and outside, scraping spars and repairing the split main-sail.

[Sidenote: The Azores]

In the afternoon we were shown round the city and suburbs.  Ponta
Delgada is the capital of the Azores, and has a population of about
twenty thousand.  It is a fine city, and the climate is perfect.  Its
latitude is about the same as that of Washington.  Tropical fruits of
the best quality grow here, notably pineapples, which are raised in
large glass-houses and thus mature all the year round.  I was told by a
fruit merchant that some of the pineapples will fetch as much as a
pound each in England about Christmas time.

It was a fine Sunday morning, just five days after our arrival, and Mr.
Harrison and myself were looking out of the window when we were
attracted by the music of a brass band marching towards our hotel, and
which halted at the entrance.  "They must be playing a salute to some
high personage stopping at this hotel," I said to my mate.  With that
we saw the mayor and the interpreter alighting from a carriage which
had followed the band.  A few minutes later both entered our room and
informed us that they had come to take us along for a ride.  We
accepted the kind invitation, and with the brass band at the head and
many people following we proceeded through the main street down to the
harbour.  Without my knowledge the _Tilikum_ had been launched again,
and with everything cleaned and shining, freshly painted, and with
flags flying on all three tops, she looked a pretty sight.  Two
passenger {255} steamers, decorated with flags and loaded with people,
were lying near by, and flags flew from all the yachts and other
vessels.

"What is up to-day?" I enquired.  "Is the King of Portugal expected?"

"Not that," was the reply, "but a grand excursion has been arranged in
your honour!"

The mayor, with the interpreter, my mate and myself, then went aboard
the _Tilikum_, and a few minutes later were taken in tow by one of the
excursion steamers.  With the band playing on the other one we left the
harbour and followed the coast eastward, a fleet of yachts under sail
following in the rear.  After an hour we anchored at Alagoa, a small
city, the population of which afforded us a splendid reception.  Large
fire rockets were sent up into the air, although it was midday and
bright sunshine.  Basketfuls of beautiful flowers were showered over us
as we marched through a long narrow street which led up to the city
square.  On our arrival there the people were addressed in a speech
which gave an explanation of our cruise.  In short, everything with
regard to the excursion and our reception had been carried out in a
most complete and successful way.  The only disappointment lay in the
circumstance that the embracing following the public speech was again
exclusively confined to the sterner sex.

Two days after another excursion was undertaken.  Accompanied by eight
gentlemen, we left the city at six in the morning in two carriages.
The road which we followed at first ran along the coast, affording fine
views of the ocean on the left, while on the right rich cultivated land
extended, divided into small patches by fences.  Here and there
farmhouses could be seen partly hidden amongst fruit trees and flower
gardens.  After a drive of an hour and a half we turned to the right,
and a steep incline {256} necessitated our changing the comfortable
carriage for a mule.  In another place I have already stated that I am
a poor rider, and mules I consider still worse than horses, and,
naturally, I did not feel much inclined to avail myself of this means
of locomotion.  However, being assured that the animal was very quiet,
I mounted and followed the rest up the long, sloping hillside.  We had
been riding for about an hour and a half when, near the road, a
circular pool appeared, about two hundred feet in diameter, and fed by
a small stream which rushed down from the mountain.  Large boulders
projected here and there from the basin and pieces of washing lay piled
up on some.  About a score of women with double-reefed petticoats were
wading in the water, the latter reaching above their knees.  They stood
scattered all over the pool washing clothes.  Our mules evidently had
become thirsty, for they made a straight course for the water and
carried us in a few minutes near the women.  The animal I rode,
apparently being older and therefore more experienced than the others,
passed all of them, and despite my efforts to hold him back rounded the
margin of the pool till he came near the place where the mountain
stream emptied itself.  He then entered the water to obtain a good
drink of the clear liquid.  In doing this he naturally stirred up a
good deal of mud and gravel, and when the dirty water reached the
washerwomen they became angry, and several of the sturdier specimens
approached me in a threatening manner.  I saw trouble coming and tried
my best to persuade the beast to retire.  But as anybody knows, a mule
is a stubborn animal, and will always be so, and no earthly power can
change his disposition.  I pulled with all my might on the bridle,
kicked him in the ribs, and shouted at him, but in spite of all the
mule remained as immovable as one of the boulders and took his time in
taking a long draught.  In a {257} short time I found myself surrounded
by the washerwomen, and judging by their expression and gesticulations
with wet garments in their hands I knew that they meant business.

One of the militants struck my mule over the head, while another
belaboured him with a wet garment at the other end.  Two or three
carrying similar weapons aimed at me, but before the first swing got
home my companions came to the rescue.  By this time the troublesome
quadruped seemed to have quenched his thirst, and quietly retired from
the protesting amazons, and it was left to my hosts to finish the
battle.  Experienced men know that whenever an argument arises with the
other sex the latter should be permitted the last word; and it is also
a fact that if it is not conceded she will take it nevertheless.  This
little trouble ended in the same manner: some of my companions received
a good soaking with wet clothes, and the tongues of the indignant women
were wagging rapidly when we rode over a small eminence near by and
lost sight of them.

[Sidenote: A picnic]

About an hour later we all had reached the top of the mountain.  After
dismounting, Mr. Harrison and myself were blindfolded and then each led
by two of the gentlemen a short distance.  Soon we halted and the
bandage was removed from our eyes.  Then the most wonderful panorama I
have ever seen stretched before me.  We found ourselves standing on the
brink of a lofty and steep mountain; one step farther and we would have
dropped into a lake about a thousand feet below.  Apparently we were on
the edge of an old crater, the bottom of which formed the lake.  The
latter measured about three miles in length and had an average width of
half a mile.  A peculiarity was that the water showed two distinct
colours, being a muddy grey at one end and at the other a beautiful
dark blue, resembling ocean water.  The dividing line of {258} the two
colours ran straight across the lake about one mile distant from the
west end.  Mountain peaks and smaller crags, clothed with vegetation,
surrounded the lake on all sides, and below, to the left, half hidden
in green foliage, and almost level with the water, a little village
nestled near the shore, along which a few boats lay.

St. Miguel is a most beautiful spot, and owing to its lovely climate,
rich tropical vegetation, and excellent harbour is destined to become
one day a great holiday resort, the more so as it may be reached in a
few days from the English Channel.  With regard to ourselves the
inhabitants' genuine hospitality and obliging kindnesses were carried
to the extreme.  Mr. Harrison or myself could go into any store or
hotel and be served with anything we cared to ask for, but payment was
never accepted.  When I requested my bill for cleaning and painting the
boat and the fresh stores which had been provided I was politely
informed that everything, including our hotel bill, had been settled!
As a matter of fact, neither Mr. Harrison nor myself ever had a chance
of spending one cent during our stay.

But the day came when we had to bid good-bye to the amiable people of
St. Miguel.  On August 13th, at two o'clock, escorted by a fleet of
yachts, we sailed out of the harbour.  About an hour later all the
yachts dipped their flags which we answered from our mizzen.  They then
returned to port while we proceeded on our course to London, a distance
of about eighteen hundred miles.  The wind kept blowing fresh from the
south.  During the succeeding five days we covered seven hundred miles
of our course, attaining a position about three hundred miles west of
Cape Ortegal, on the Spanish coast.  The wind then hauled into the
south-west and for thirty-six hours blew a heavy gale.




{259}

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE _COLONIAL EMPIRE_--ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND AND A HEARTY WELCOME!

The gale was succeeded by a fresh westerly breeze, which lasted until
August 25th and then moderated.  At nine o'clock that morning we
sighted a sail on our starboard bow.  The vessel was going to the
south, therefore we changed our course to meet the stranger.  At
half-past eleven we were within hailing distance.  She was a large
four-masted British barque, the _Colonial Empire_, and as seen from the
cockpit of the _Tilikum_ looked like a huge floating island.  All the
crew stretched their necks over the rail to watch our approach.

"Good morning," I shouted to a group of men standing on the after-end;
"what is your longitude?"

"Come on board and I'll tell you," a man answered from the quarter-deck.

Next we heard the order "Back the main-yard," followed by the loud
command, "Starboard main-braces."  The big yards and sails swung round,
the ship stopped headway, and I sailed the _Tilikum_ alongside and tied
her up to the _Colonial Empire_.  She was from Antwerp and with a
general cargo bound for San Francisco.  Captain Simson, the master,
proved an hospitable fellow.  He invited us to dinner and tried hard to
keep us on board until dark.  But as he went to the south and the wind
freshened up, which would have taken us away from our destination, we
were obliged to part company.

{260}

On the following day we experienced another westerly gale, in which the
_Tilikum_ proved that she was able to cope with the Atlantic combers as
well as with the "Cape Hopers" and others.  When the gale had died out
easterly winds commenced blowing which headed us away from our course.
On August 29th, at three in the afternoon, we were tacking within a
mile of the Scilly lighthouse.  On the next day the wind hauled into
the west; at midnight we passed the Cape Lizard light and the following
forenoon sailed within a stone's throw of the Eddystone light.

[Sidenote: The voyage ends]

The westerly breeze kept fresh and the _Tilikum_ sailed through the
English Channel, passing one lighthouse after the other until on
September 2nd, at four o'clock, with a very light breeze we rounded the
jetty at Margate, where thousands of people crowded to watch our
approach.  When we were within speaking distance a voice from the jetty
called out, "Where are you from?"

"Victoria, British Columbia," was my reply.

"How long have you been on the voyage?" the questioner enquired.

"Three years three months and twelve days!"

A loud applause followed.  When we were inside we tied the _Tilikum_ up
to a fishing vessel called the _Sunbeam_.  Thereupon I stepped on the
jetty and at once became very busy shaking hands.  While this was going
on I suddenly felt myself lifted from the ground.  Some gentlemen had
got hold of me from behind and carried me over the heads of the
cheering crowds, finally dropping me into a carriage.  We soon arrived
at an hotel, where our successful arrival from the long voyage was
celebrated with champagne.

The British Consul at Pernambuco had provided me with a letter of
introduction to Sir Alfred Harmsworth, proprietor of the _Daily Mail_.
At ten o'clock the next {261} morning I entered the offices of this
newspaper, and when I presented the letter to the gentleman in charge
he looked at me in surprise.

"Where do you come from?" he asked.  "Arrived here yesterday," I
answered.

"Did you not meet our representative off Dover?  We had a steamer
cruising round there for the last two days with orders to look for you."

Unfortunately, we passed Dover at night, which easily explains that the
_Daily Mail's_ representative overlooked the tiny _Tilikum_.

The _Tilikum_ had come to a well-deserved rest.  During the Navy and
Marine Exhibition in 1905 she was exhibited in Earl's Court western
garden.

While in England, shortly after my arrival, I again met with Lieutenant
Shackleton, who then held a post as secretary of the Scotch Royal
Geographical Society.  It was through his influence that I was able to
lecture on my cruise in the _Tilikum_ before large audiences at
Edinburgh and Glasgow, and at various places in England, and later on
was honoured by being elected a Fellow of the Royal Geographical
Society in London.




{262}

"SEA QUEEN"

CHAPTER I

One fine sunny day in the month of October, 1911, I was sitting quietly
in the cabin of the sealing schooner, _Chichishima Maru_, which was at
anchor in Yokohama Harbour after her voyage to the Siberian coast.  I
was thinking over the law which had just been passed prohibiting
sealing, and what to take up next, when two young men came on board,
and after introducing themselves said, "Are you the same Captain Voss
that made the voyage round the world in the _Tilikum_?"

"Yes," I replied, "I am."

From that time I had a good many visitors to the schooner, all more or
less interested in my past experiences.  Sealing, however, was
prohibited for fifteen years, so on the 1st of November I left the
vessel and took lodgings ashore.

In 1911 a treaty was made between the United States, Canada, Japan and
Russia to prohibit sealing for fifteen years.  A sum of money was set
aside to compensate all sealers, and as I came from Victoria, British
Columbia, to take charge of a Japanese sealing vessel, and had sailed
out of Yokohama for three years, my share of the compensation should
have been paid by the Japanese Government.  But they were very slow
about paying out.

[Sidenote: _Sea Queen_]

In the month of June, 1912, while I was busy waiting for this money,
the two young Yokohama yachtsmen who had first called on me, came and
enquired if it was quite {263} safe to make a voyage across the ocean
in a small vessel.  My reply was precisely what it has always been to
questions of this kind since I made the cruise in the _Xora_, that a
small vessel is as safe at sea as a large one.  At times, when making
statements of this kind, people would look askance at me as if to say,
"Oh, tell that to somebody else."  On such occasions I have put my foot
down and retorted, "Yes, and a good deal safer than some of them," a
statement which has surely been proved by the cruise of the _Sea Queen_.

The two young men who spoke to me about making a long voyage were
Messrs. F. Stone and S. A. Vincent, and in the course of that day's
conversation we three agreed to attempt a cruise round the world in the
yawl _Sea Queen_, which was then being built by Mr. Stone and about
half finished.  The _Sea Queen_ was built on the lines of the _Sea
Bird_, in which Mr. T. F. Day, editor of the _Rudder_, made his famous
voyage from New York to Rome.  Her dimensions were: length over all,
twenty-five feet eight inches; water-line, nineteen feet; breadth,
eight feet three inches; and draught, three feet six inches; sail area,
four hundred square feet.

In the beginning of July the little vessel was launched, and on the
26th we put on board a hundred and thirty gallons of fresh water, three
months' provisions, two rifles, one revolver and ammunition, one kodak,
one gramophone, navigation instruments and our personal effects.  The
vessel was then ready for sea.  All three of the crew being members of
the Yokohama Yacht Club, we were honoured with a farewell dinner by the
members of that organisation.

At two o'clock on the afternoon of July 27th, 1912, accompanied by all
the boats of the club, we started on our voyage.  There was a light
wind blowing from the south, and our progress was slow, so the _Sea
Queen_ was {264} caught up by a steam launch and taken down Tokyo Bay
at a seven-knot clip.  When the launch cast off the cable with which it
had been towing us, I accidentally let the flag drop overboard while
endeavouring to unfasten it, and it drifted away and disappeared from
sight.  The launch was filled with passengers who had come to see us
off, and we heard one of them say "Down goes the British flag."
Vincent, who was still dressed in his shore-going clothes, said
"Never!" and dived into the sea, coming to the surface after a few
moments with our ensign safe and sound.  On reaching the yacht, he was
loudly cheered by the onlookers.

After the launch had given us three blasts of her whistle, our friends
turned back towards Yokohama, and we with our wet flag on the
mizzen-mast gave three dips as a farewell salutation.  We then
proceeded under all sail towards the south.  The light south-westerly
breeze took us within about three miles from Uraga, which is about
fourteen miles from Yokohama.  All the yachts had been keeping close
under the land, where they had a nice off-shore breeze and soon came up
with us.

It was understood that we would anchor that night in Uraga Harbour.  On
account of the light wind, it was rather late before we dropped anchor.
All hands went ashore, and to our great surprise the crew of the _Sea
Queen_ were honoured by the yachtsmen to a geisha dance, which was kept
up till the early hours of the morning.  It was a most enjoyable night.

[Illustration: _SEA QUEEN_ UNDER SAIL]

The following morning at eight o'clock all the yachts set sail, and
after wishing us a final farewell they departed for Yokohama, while we
were obliged to remain at anchor to repack our stores.  During the last
few days we received numerous gifts from our friends, chiefly in the
way of provisions, and the cabin and cockpit were filled with all {265}
kinds of things which had to be stowed away before we could go to sea.
This repacking and various other minor details kept us busy all day,
and it was not until six o'clock on the 29th July that we sailed out of
Uraga Harbour.

[Sidenote: Leaving Uraga]

The little _Sea Queen_ sailed away from Uraga with a light northerly
breeze, which increased in force somewhat as we rounded Sunosaki, the
last point of land, after which we directed our course to the eastward,
and the blue bosom of the great Pacific Ocean appeared before us.  The
wind was then hauling gradually to the east-north-east; and with a
light breeze and quite a large easterly swell the _Sea Queen_ made slow
progress to the south-eastward.  This of course was not according to
our wishes, our plan being to sail some thousand miles east before
going south for the Marshall Islands.  However, we had to take the wind
as it came, so let our ship go full and by, and after a good meal of
soup, fish, tinned meat and stewed fruit, and while enjoying our
after-tiffin smoke, we set to work and fixed up our rules and
regulations as follows:--


1.  Three watches of four hours each shall be kept, with the exception
of from four to eight p.m., when the four-hour watch is divided in two,
these two-hour watches being known at sea as "dog watches."

2.  Meal hours to be as follows: breakfast at seven o'clock, lunch at
noon, and dinner at half-past five.

3.  There is on board the good ship _Sea Queen_ a place for everything,
and everything must be kept in its place.

4.  The man at the helm is responsible for keeping the boat either full
and by or on her given course, and is prohibited from falling asleep
under pain of a bucket of sea water thrown over his head by the {266}
man who catches him.  He shall not leave the deck when on duty, but
must wait till relieved at the end of his watch.


Rules and regulations being duly approved, we sailed to the
south-eastward full and by, every now and again passing a Japanese
fishing junk.  We were now lowering the peaks of the mountains on the
horizon, and by the evening we were almost out of sight of land.  At
daybreak next morning the _Sea Queen_ and her crew of three were well
out on the broad expanse of the Pacific Ocean, where mosquitoes, flies
and gnats are unknown, and smiling income-tax and bill collectors do
not pursue the luckless human, fleeing from pecuniary embarrassments.

The 30th July opened out with a gentle south-easterly breeze, which
remained the same all day.  We sighted two whales, which appeared to us
to be fighting, as they were leaping out of the water together and
making a tremendous fuss.  The next day we had a moderate easterly
breeze in latitude thirty-five degrees forty-four minutes north,
longitude one forty-two degrees ten minutes east, with a strong current
setting to the north-eastward.  During the afternoon, the wind hauled
more towards the south, enabling us for the first time since we took
our departure to lay our course, but later freshened considerably, and
we were compelled to tie one reef in the main-sail.  The boat then went
along for about twenty-five hours at a speed averaging five knots an
hour.

The wind lightening early on the morning of the 1st August we shook out
our reef, but this only proved to be the calm before an approaching
storm, as within a few hours the weather became very threatening,
commencing to blow hard at about nine o'clock.  The main-sail was
immediately reefed, but the weather getting worse, the {267} yacht was
laid to under jib and mizzen, when she rode over the large seas in fine
style.  As the gale showed signs of still increasing, we hove to under
a sea anchor.  The _Sea Queen_, under a sea anchor alone, acted in the
same way as the _Xora_ and _Tilikum_, as without a riding sail she laid
sideways to the sea, but no sooner was the little mizzen hoisted, and
the sheet hauled in flat, than the vessel swung head to sea and rode
every sea that came along so beautifully that in the cabin one would
not have imagined that the vessel was really at sea, so steady was her
motion.  It was very fascinating to my two young shipmates, who had
never had a like experience, to watch the way our little vessel rose up
on the crests of large seas, and then gently sink again into the
hollows ready for the next.  I expected to see them get sea-sick for a
few days, which of course would have been hard luck on them, but it
would have saved the provisions, and a man on a voyage of this kind has
to figure out everything, but there was no such luck.  They were always
ready to do their duty at meal hours, and sometimes between meal hours
too.  I was soon convinced that my hopes were vain, and it made me
think very seriously as to how I could manage to reduce their appetites
by about two-thirds.

[Sidenote: Hove to in a gale]

That same night, while the _Sea Queen_ was hove to, our dinner
consisted of four fried eggs each, four large slices of bacon, apples,
bread, butter, cheese, tea and stewed fruit.  We passed the evening
away smoking, chatting and listening to our gramophone.  We were hove
to all night with a full moon and a beautiful evening, but blowing hard.

The following morning the wind moderated, and we got under way again
under a single-reefed main-sail.  That day and part of the next we
experienced fairly good weather, and with a moderate westerly breeze
were making {268} an average of about four miles an hour.  Toward night
the wind increased rapidly, and by ten o'clock it was blowing hard,
which compelled us to heave to under reefed sails.  The blow, however,
did not last very long, and an hour after midnight we were going along
before it again.

[Sidenote: More dirty weather]

On August 5th the wind hauled into the north-east, with increasing
force, but as the seas did not appear to be dangerous we kept the yacht
going under small sails to the south till about two o'clock in the
afternoon, when we had a warning from nature to heave to.  A large
breaking sea struck the _Sea Queen_ on the port quarter, which almost
turned us on our beam ends.  Stone and I were on deck at the time, and
it was as much as we could do to hang on.  Vincent was thrown clear of
his bunk against the opposite side of the cabin.  A considerable amount
of damage was done below in the way of broken crockery, and a box of
eggs overturned, precipitating its contents into Stone's new helmet,
giving one an impression of a saucepan in preparation for frying eggs.
This seemed to amuse the crew, with the exception of the worthy owner,
who did not appreciate the point of the joke himself.  Rifles,
ammunition, camera and outfit all got their share of sea water.  We
then hove to under a sea anchor and riding sail.  About a dozen eggs
got broken in the helmet.  Vincent said they were too good to be thrown
away, and as Stone refused to keep them in his helmet, the broken eggs
were transferred to the frying-pan, and disappeared with our afternoon
coffee.

At four o'clock I went out into the cockpit to see how the vessel was
getting along with the breaking seas, when I noticed that she was still
laying head to sea and riding the huge mountains most gracefully, but
the speed of her stern drift had increased to about double.  Something
wrong with the sea anchor, I thought.  Looking towards the {269} bow, I
noticed that the sea-anchor float was still in the same position.  I
was in the act of going forward to find out if there was still a strain
on the rope, when I saw a great shark right under the anchor float.  It
struck me at once that the big brute had been playing with our drag.

"Bring a rifle on deck!" I shouted.

The beast swam round the boat some two hundred yards away.  Now and
then he would appear on top of a sea and look at us, as if to say, "I
have done my work; the seas will do the rest and you three will be my
victims," but I think he soon discovered that the crew of the _Sea
Queen_ and a rifle were a little too much for him, and decamped.  An
hour later it was blowing a heavy gale, accompanied by a large breaking
sea, and to show my two friends the effects of oil on breaking seas, I
did a little experimenting with different kinds of oil which we carried
for the purpose.  Our first experiment was with kerosene.  Now,
kerosene, being very thin, takes quite a lot to do any good, but by
using heavy oil, such as fish oil, just a small drop will smooth the
top of a large breaker.  It is certainly astonishing to see the effect
of a small drop of oil on large breaking seas.  As soon as the oil
strikes the water it will spread itself over quite a large surface, and
as soon as a breaking sea strikes that part, it appears to crawl under
the oil, and loses its breaking top.

As the _Sea Queen_, like the _Tilikum_ and _Xora_, weathered all seas
without the aid of oil, we saved it for some future occasion.  Vincent,
after being knocked off his perch several times, managed to get some
photographs of the breaking seas.  The boat was drifting astern at an
unusually fast rate, but as she lay very comfortable we let her drift
for the night.  The next morning we noticed for the first time that our
yacht had sprung a leak.  During the forenoon the gale moderated, and
hauling the sea anchor {270} aboard, we found it very much torn.  This,
no doubt, was what caused the fast drift the previous night.  The
damage had undoubtedly been done by the shark.  The wind moderated, and
as it kept in the north-east we let her go to the south-east.  The leak
became worse, and it being dead against my principles to go on a long
voyage with a leaky boat, whether large or small, I proposed to put
back to the Japanese coast to overhaul her.  My two mates were very
much against my proposition, and offered to bale night and day if I
would only keep on going to the east, so I consented, provided matters
got no worse.  However, the leak increased from time to time, and I was
afraid that the weight on the keel was too heavy for the boat and was
gradually loosening the fastening in the frames.  We had then about two
thousand miles to cover before sighting the nearest island of the
Marshall group, and only about five hundred miles to the Japanese
coast.  I therefore again made the proposition to turn back, and after
explaining the danger of proceeding in a leaky boat on a long ocean
voyage, my friends both agreed to my suggestion.  We then declared to
make for the Bonin Islands.

[Sidenote: A leak]

On August 6th the wind hauled into the south-east, the weather
clearing, and for the first time in three days we had a look at the sun
and got our position, finding the vessel in latitude thirty-seven
degrees fifty-three minutes north and longitude fifty-one degrees
forty-five minutes east.  The north-easterly current had carried us a
hundred and twenty miles more to the north than I had expected, and
owing to our leak increasing, we altered our course for Aikawa, a
whaling station near Sendai, which, according to my reckoning, was
about five hundred miles distant.  Never before in my life have I been
obliged to turn back with a leaky vessel, and I therefore felt bad
about our luck.  To make matters worse it was my birthday; I was {271}
fifty-four years of age, but it had to be done.  We shaped our course
to the westward, and with a fresh south-easterly wind the leaky _Sea
Queen_ under all sails stood in for the land.  On the morning of August
7th the wind increased to a moderate gale, and once again we were
obliged to reef the mainsail.

At three o'clock the following morning, while the boat was going it
pretty strong, a small sea came over the stern, which I took to be a
warning from nature to shorten sail.  After that we took in the
mizzen-sail and kept running before a strong easterly wind and quite a
large sea under the stay-sail only; the boat went along that way very
comfortably till on the morning of August 8th things got a little too
wet round the cockpit, so we hove to under a reefed mizzen and storm
stay-sail with the sheet to windward.  In that condition, in spite of
the strong wind and large seas, she lay very comfortably.  At ten
o'clock the wind moderated, and at noon the little vessel under all
sail went along again towards the coast of Japan like a scared dog.
The afternoon turned out beautiful.

From the day we left the Japanese coast we had experienced nothing but
bad rainy weather, so the change in the elements was very welcome.  The
night was fine too, and it was really a pleasant change to find oneself
lying peacefully in one's bunk, without the howling of the wind and the
noise of breaking seas, the little _Sea Queen_ sailing peacefully along
with a light breeze and smooth water.  After our evening meal, owing to
the beauty of the night, we all three sat in the cockpit talking over
our experiences since we had left Japan, and about our misfortune in
having sprung a leak.  At nine o'clock Vincent and I turned in, leaving
the mate to keep watch till midnight, after which it was Vincent's turn
till four o'clock the following morning.

{272}

When I went below, I said, "Now look here, I'm going to have a good
sleep, so don't you people start shouting again 'All hands on deck,
shorten sails.'"  I had hardly touched the bunk when I was off to
sleep, and I slumbered till I heard those familiar words which I had
spoken so often myself during the last ten days, "Reef the main-sail!"
but this time it was Stone who spoke just before his watch finished.
In a second I was on deck.  There was the _Sea Queen_ going along like
a racehorse, with her lee rail under water.  We put one reef in the
main-sail and took the mizzen in, after which the yacht went along
quite comfortably.  At midnight Vincent took the rudder, and Stone and
I turned in.  I then slept soundly till I heard Vincent's gentle voice
coming down the companion-way: "Down below there, Captain, it is four
o'clock; your watch on deck."

"All right," I said; "how is the weather?"

"Fine," came the answer.  I then went on deck, and, sure enough, the
wind had moderated, and the sky was clear.  After setting all sail
again I took the rudder and Vincent lit the stove to make a cup of
coffee.  Within half an hour the coffee was ready, and as the morning
was so beautiful we all three had our coffee in the cockpit.

At about nine o'clock we sighted smoke to the north-eastward, and by
looking through our glasses we could see two masts and the top of a
smokestack rising gradually out of the water.  It was apparently a
large steamer steering to the south-west, and an hour later, when the
steamer was about a mile and a half ahead of us, she turned and stood
towards us, and coming alongside proved to be the Japanese steamship
_Chicago Maru_ from Seattle, bound for Yokohama.

"What are you people doing round here in that boat?  Have you been
blown away from the land?  Are you {273} lost?" the Japanese captain
shouted.  "Come alongside, and I will hoist you on my davits and you
can go with me to Yokohama."

We thanked the captain for the trouble he had taken for us, and for his
kind offer to take us on board, and after a short explanation of our
doings, the captain gave us his longitude, and we parted the best of
friends.  In less than an hour the steamer was out of sight and we were
left to ourselves again.

[Sidenote: Fishing]

At about noon we got amongst a lot of fish, in fact, the water was just
alive with them.  Hurrying through tiffin, we got our fishing gear on
deck.  My two mates were well satisfied that I should take the rudder
while they did the fishing, and so was I, because I knew from former
experience that fish in that part of the ocean were very hard to get.
While they were almost breaking their necks to catch a fish, I told
them that I would eat raw all the fish they caught during the day.
About four o'clock in the afternoon a school of porpoises came
gambolling along, and both fishermen made a dive down into the cabin
for rifles.  In less than a minute they were standing on deck with
loaded rifles waiting for the porpoises to come near our boat.  No
sooner were they within range than my mates opened fire, and one of the
big fish turned belly upwards.

"Tack ship!"  "Wear ship!"  "Put her round!"  "Quick, hurry up, he is
sinking!"

I received about a dozen orders in one second, and getting so rattled
with all the orders, I got the boat between two winds.  At least I
could not do anything with her to get near the fish.

"Hoist the main-sail," Vinny said.  "Hurry up; if we lose that fish
there will be trouble in the family."

"The main-sail is up; what are you talking about?" {274} I asked.
However, after all kinds of shouting and manoeuvring we got alongside
the dead fish.

"What are you going to do with it?" I queried.  "You can't get that
fish on board, it weighs about five hundred pounds."

"If the weight is a thousand pounds he has to come on board," Vincent
replied.

The main-sail was then lowered, and by hooking the main throat halliard
on to the tail of the fish, we gradually managed to get the monster on
board.

Having the fish laying across the forward deck--the weight of the same
almost putting the bow of our little vessel under water--Vincent looked
at me and said, "I heard you say that you are a man of your word."

"Every time," I replied.

"Eat that fish raw then."

"Eat what?" I asked indignantly.  "I am afraid you will have to excuse
me this time, Mr. Vincent, because you will doubtless remember that a
porpoise is not a fish but is classified by zoologists as a mammal."
Thus I managed to escape the penalty for a hasty assertion.  However,
the incident served as a lesson to me, and I made up my mind to refrain
in the future from rash promises.

[Sidenote: At Aikawa]

The weather continued fine, and on Saturday, the 10th August, at
half-past four in the afternoon we sighted land.  However, the wind
died out, and we were becalmed until the following morning, when a
light breeze came up from the south-east, and at eleven o'clock we
dropped anchor in the snug little harbour of Aikawa, a whaling station
situated on the mainland and about four miles west of Kinkasan Island.

Aikawa is only a small place, and there is no accommodation for
repairing vessels; but with the assistance of Mr. Kurogane, the manager
of a whaling company, we got the {275} _Sea Queen_ out on the beach,
and found the cause of the leak was bad caulking, otherwise the vessel
was in first-class condition.  We had her recaulked, and after putting
her in the water again she was as tight as a bottle.

During our stay at Aikawa, we made a trip on a small coasting steamer
to Kinkasan Island.  This island is a resort for pilgrims, being
dedicated to religious purposes.  Deer are numerous there and are
considered sacred.  On our arrival the steamer was anchored about a
hundred yards from the west coast of the island, where we landed with
much difficulty owing to the heavy surf breakers.  After following a
trail which led towards the summit of the island, we came to a large
Japanese temple, where we were invited by one of the priests to inspect
the great temple, which the Emperor of Japan, I was told, visits once a
year for the purpose of worshipping.  Entering the temple, we were
shown into a large Japanese room and treated to Japanese tea and fancy
cake.  "How kind this old priest is," I thought; but my opinion of the
old gentleman changed when he told us that it was the custom, among
foreigners visiting the island, to give about a hundred yen towards the
upkeep of the temple.

"Pretty expensive afternoon for distressed sailors," Stone said.

"I think so, too," I replied.  "I haven't even got a hundred yen in my
pocket."  However, after we explained our circumstances, he was
satisfied by our paying for the tea and cake only.

The island is covered with different kinds of large and small trees and
splendid grazing lands for the deer, which can be seen in herds all
over the island, and are as tame as sheep.  On the east side of the
island stands a lighthouse, which shows a fixed bright light and can be
seen at a distance of nineteen miles.




{276}

CHAPTER II

The _Sea Queen_, after completing repairs, and with everything ready
for sea again, left Aikawa on August 22nd at half-past three in the
afternoon, and proceeded on her course toward the Marshall Islands.
When outside the harbour we steered south-east by east.  The weather
was dull, with a heavy swell setting from the north-east.  The wind
being light, our progress was slow, and at midnight Kinkasan light was
bearing north by west, distant nineteen miles.  On the following two
days we experienced light and variable winds accompanied by spells of
calm.  August 25th the _Sea Queen's_ usual head wind arrived, starting
to blow from the east and accompanied by a choppy sea.  Similar
conditions were experienced on the 26th and 27th, the wind blowing from
the east with increasing seas and heavy rain squalls.  The boat was
kept going to the south-east.

On August 28th our position at noon was latitude thirty-two degrees
forty minutes north and longitude one forty-five degrees five minutes
east.  This day came in with a strong south-easterly breeze,
accompanied by heavy rain squalls, and a very large swell set in from
the same direction.  Towards noon the weather cleared and the wind
moderated, but the swell kept on increasing.  According to the state of
the weather and the swell setting in from the south-east I said to
myself, "I should not be at all surprised if we get a change, and that
it will be from bad to worse," as according to indications a typhoon
was approaching.  I, however, kept my thoughts to myself {277} till the
following day, August 29th, which was ushered in with a moderate
easterly breeze and clear weather.  Apparently Father Neptune was
trying to make things a little easier for the crew of the _Sea Queen_,
but the large south-easterly swell continued, and at about nine o'clock
a large heavy-looking ring of varied fiery colours formed round the
sun.  The atmosphere became very sultry, and the appearance of a dense
bank of clouds of threatening appearance on the horizon convinced me
that the dread visitor was close at hand, and that I would be called
upon to prove the statement I had so often made, _i.e._, that a small
vessel is as safe at sea in a gale as a large one.

It was then that I spoke to my two shipmates about the approaching
typhoon.  The large circle and the similar appearance of the sky
followed the sun round till about four in the afternoon, after which
the sun disappeared behind the cloudbank on the horizon.  Between
sunset and dark the clouds which covered the sky became a fiery hue.
The weather during the night was warm and pleasant, and anyone who does
not understand the indications of a typhoon would not have thought
that, inside of thirty hours, the _Sea Queen_ would lay in the centre
of one of the worst typhoons that has ever blown in the North Pacific.
When darkness set in and the angry clouds had disappeared, the only
indication of the approaching typhoon was the south-easterly swell and
the barometer, which, however, was not a low glass by any means.  At
eight o'clock it stood at twenty-nine eighty, but was going down
steadily, and between this and the increase in size of the tremendous
swell, which almost began to break, I was sure that the approaching
hurricane was not far off.

August 30th came in with a light, baffling wind, flying about between
east and south, and accompanied by a dark, cloudy sky.  At six o'clock
the wind settled in the {278} south-east with increasing force and
occasional heavy rain squalls.  At noon Port Lloyd of the Bonin group
bore south by west-half-west two hundred and forty-five miles.  An hour
later, as the wind was still increasing and the squalls getting
heavier, we laid the boat to under a reefed mizzen and storm stay-sail,
but at two o'clock we were obliged to put the little vessel under sea
anchor and riding sail.  The barometer registered twenty-nine
forty-five and was falling steadily.

During the afternoon and night the wind continued to increase in force,
accompanied by heavy rain squalls and breaking seas, and by two o'clock
the following morning the force of the wind was that of a heavy gale,
and as the seas were breaking badly we hung two oil bags over the side,
which we changed every hour.  The proud little _Sea Queen_ rode the
large seas as they came along; now and then a sea would break near us,
and she would give an extra little roll.  At eight o'clock it was
blowing so hard that I did not think it possible for the wind and sea
to increase, and seeing that the boat was laying head to wind, with her
drag ahead and a reefed mizzen over her stern, and in spite of the
large seas lying quite comfortably, I told my shipmates that the little
vessel would weather the typhoon without much trouble; and I am certain
she would have done so had our storm gear been stronger.

[Sidenote: In a typhoon]

After making the cruises in the _Xora_ and _Tilikum_, I thought I
surely knew all about the sea and what was required to manage a small
vessel through a heavy gale.  As far as heavy gales are concerned, I am
quite sure I did understand the management of a boat, but was convinced
that morning that I still had to learn something about typhoons.  At
nine the wind blew with such force that it was impossible to stand on
deck, and we were obliged to lie flat down in the cockpit and hang on
for {279} dear life.  Still the gallant little boat kept facing the
gale, and it was most wonderful how she got over the top of the
tremendous seas.  Up to an hour previously the oil bags did quite a lot
of good in keeping the break off the large seas, but now the oil seemed
to have little effect, and no trace could be detected on the water.
Nevertheless my two mates were employed in the cabin getting the bags
ready, while I looked after them outside, thinking that if the oil did
no good it would not be harmful.  The water was then flying over the
boat like a heavy snowdrift, and it was impossible to look up against
it, but fortunately no heavy seas came aboard, and there was therefore
no danger of the vessel foundering.  Vincent and Stone every now and
then would open the cabin scuttle a little to enquire how we were
getting along.  My reply was always the same--"All right."

Shortly after nine, when I noticed the boat fell sideways into the sea,
the mizzen sheet parted.  "All hands on deck!" I yelled.  In a second
my two mates were alongside me.  All three of us were crawling about
the deck on all fours on the after-end of the vessel, and with the seas
washing over us we managed to take in the mizzen and save the sail.  We
then found that our sea anchor was lost.  Stone managed to get forward
and pull the anchor rope on board, and Vincent and I got busy and made
a temporary sea anchor by tying together the cabin ladder and one of
our anchors.  All this had to be done while lying flat upon deck.
After fastening the anchor line to the temporary sea anchor we dropped
it overboard, and as it was impossible to set the mizzen again we were
obliged to let the vessel lay to this temporary arrangement alone.
Owing to the fact that this sea anchor was not much of a drag, and
being without the aid of the storm sail, it did not do much good.
Shortly before eleven o'clock we lost {280} the temporary sea anchor
also, and the boat then lay sideways to the sea.  The rudder up to this
time had been lashed amidships, but as the boat was lying sideways to
the sea, I took the rudder lashings off to allow it to swing about and
give her a better change to drift sideways with the seas.

[Sidenote: We turn turtle]

My two mates were down in the cabin again and I was lying in the
cockpit holding on with one hand and with the other keeping the oil
bags in the water when a huge sea struck the boat and put her on her
beam ends, in which position she remained for just a second or two.  I
wondered what would happen next; whether she would recover or turn
turtle.  I was not left long in doubt, for I then felt a little jerk
which told me that the boat was turning bottom up, and to save myself
from getting under her I let go my hold.  The next moment I was in the
water, and felt certain that it was all up with us; in fact, I took two
big mouthfuls of water, thinking to go down quickly and be done with
it.  When a man gets into a fix of that kind, however, many thoughts
will run through his mind, and after I had said good-bye to the world
and taken in the water ballast I thought of my two young shipmates who
were inside the boat and unable to get out, and wished just to see them
once more to say good-bye.  By that time I had been under water long
enough to be dead, but wasn't.  I popped up again behind the stern of
the boat and saw the _Sea Queen_ in front of me, with her keel pointing
to the sky.  I made one kick and grabbed hold of her stern, and then
made up my mind to get on her bottom and do something towards righting
her again.

I have heard it said that "While there's life there's hope," and "Where
there's a will there's a way."  At that time I was still alive and had
a little will left, but I {281} thought it was going hard with the
hopes and ways.  Anyway, I made use of the little determination that
remained and climbed over the stern of the boat.  Just as I got on the
bottom I saw an enormous breaking sea coming towards us, so I dug my
nails into the keel to avoid getting washed off again.  In a second the
sea struck the boat along the keel, but I managed to hang on.  The same
sea caused the boat to heel over, and the weight of the iron on the
keel slowly but surely brought her right side up again, and as she
turned over I scrambled over the gunwale, and by the time the little
vessel was floating on her bottom again I was in the cockpit.  The next
thing I saw the scuttle open, and heard Vincent shouting at the top of
his voice, "Are you there, Captain?"  And then my two shipmates leaped
out of the cabin.

No doubt some of my readers have seen two porpoises jumping out of the
water at sea, one after the other.  Well, it looked just like that to
me.  In spite of being on a small craft which was broadside on to the
worst storm and largest sea that I ever experienced in all my years at
sea, and all three of us lying down in the cockpit and hanging on for
dear life, our meeting after the incident was quite joyous, and if the
boat got smashed up in the typhoon, it would have given us a chance to
say good-bye to each other.

The storm was then at its worst, and the force of the wind was that of
several concentrated heavy gales.  Large seas were washing over us in
rapid succession.  Owing to the wind, the heavy rain and salt-water
spray, we were absolutely unable to open our eyes when facing windward,
and could only see about a hundred feet to leeward.  Every few minutes
the little vessel was heeled over with the mast in the water.  The
vessel and gear up to that time was still in good order, and nothing
had been lost or {282} broken, but in turning upside down a tremendous
amount of water got into her.  We were lying with our starboard side to
the sea and wind, and as our cabin scuttle was on the port side it was
taken under water every time the boat was thrown on her beam ends, and
consequently much water got into the cabin.  It was impossible to open
the cabin door while the boat was lying on the starboard tack, and we
were therefore unable to bale her out.  At the same time I was certain
that if she kept in the same position for another twenty minutes she
would have filled with water and foundered; so the only thing that
could possibly be done was to put the boat on the port tack, and owing
to the condition we were in it had to be done quickly.  Consequently, I
told my mates to hold on tight so that none of us would get washed
overboard during the operation.  I then put the helm up to get headway
on the boat, and to make her steer I slacked the mainboom off.  No
sooner was that done than the little vessel started to go ahead, and in
a few seconds we were round on the other tack.  Everything had gone
wonderfully well until the boat came sideways to the sea, and as she
was still going ahead a sea broke over the top of us and smashed the
mainboom.  This was the first thing, apart from the sea anchor, that
had got broken until then.

[Sidenote: Baling out the ship]

The next thing to be done was to bale some of the water out of the
boat.  Stone and Vincent both knew what it was like to be in the cabin
when she turned bottom up, and both being good swimmers elected to take
their chance on deck.  I myself, being a very poor swimmer, stood a
better chance inside; so it was therefore agreed that Vincent and Stone
would tend the scuttle, keeping it open when there was a chance, and I
went below to bale her out.  It was also agreed that in the event of
the boat turning bottom up again my two faithful, athletic {283}
shipmates would get on the lee side of her bottom and help the large
seas to right her again.

The scuttle of the cabin door was then opened and I made a dive into
the cabin.  No sooner was I inside than the scuttle was closed over my
head and the boat thrown on her beam.  I felt sure that she would turn
bottom up again, and with all the water that was already inside I
thought it must be the last of us.  To my surprise, however, she
righted herself to an angle of about forty-five degrees, which of
course raised the scuttle out of the water, and it was at once slightly
opened by my mates on deck.  I shall never forget the sight that met my
eyes in the cabin.  Apart from having a good opinion of my ability to
handle boats at sea, I also thought I had learnt all there was to know
about stowing stores and cargo so that they could not shift in any
weather.  In this I was rudely disillusioned, and consequently I came
to the conclusion that I was adding to my experiences during that
typhoon in more than one sense.

The boat was just about one-third full of water, in which were floating
pieces of our gramophone and many records, amongst them "Life on the
Ocean Wave."  Our photographic outfit, tinned goods of various
descriptions, bedding, blankets, books, clothing, silver watches, gold
chains and navigation instruments were washing about in a mixture of
fish oil, kept for use against stormy seas, which had got upset amongst
the lot.  Now the smell of fish oil is about the least dainty perfume I
can possibly think of.  The smell and the rolling of the boat, with
everything washing from one side of the cabin to the other, and myself
amongst it, almost turned me sea-sick.  But I gave my stomach to
understand that I could not afford to be particular just then, but was
obliged to set to work to get some of the water out.  For a baler I
used a five-pound sugar {284} tin, and whenever my mates outside had an
opportunity to open the scuttle far enough I threw some water out.  It
was certainly baling under difficulties, for nearly every minute the
boat was thrown on her beam ends and the scuttle had to be closed till
she righted again; then, instantly the scuttle would be opened, and I
emptied the tin as fast as I possibly could.

We had kept up the performance for about an hour, and as I had made
very little impression on the water in the cabin I thought that the
little vessel must have sprung a leak, but as it was a matter of life
or death we kept at it.  A little later Vincent opened the scuttle just
enough to shout through the opening, "Stone is overboard!" and then
quickly closed it to keep the water from pouring into the cabin, for
again the boat was put on her beam ends.  Next time she righted the
scuttle was opened and Vincent shouted, "He is on board again."  Of
course I was quite certain that neither of my shipmates would get away
from the boat as long as she kept afloat.

We had been working hard for three hours, and in spite of the boat
being thrown on her beam ends time after time she never turned turtle
again, and the water was then pretty well out of her.  Vincent opened
the scuttle again and said, "Captain, I think we are in the centre of
the typhoon."  "No, not in the centre yet," I answered, "but I think we
will be shortly, and the sooner we get there the better."  I knew by
that time that in spite of the tremendous size of the breaking seas
they could not harm our little vessel, but that it was the terrible
strength of the wind that forced her bottom upwards, and put her on her
beam ends time after time.  I knew also that in the centre of the
typhoon there would be no wind, and we should be all right.

Stone got washed overboard a second time, and the {285} nerve-racking
experiences were now beginning to tell upon both my companions, so, as
the cabin was free of water and nothing further could be done on deck,
I advised them to come down into the cabin.  We then shut the door up
as tightly as we could and waited for further developments.

[Sidenote: Centre of the typhoon]

Our timepieces being out of action, we did not know the exact hour, but
I think it was between two and three in the afternoon that the
barometer registered twenty-eight twenty-five, and after the three of
us had been sitting down some time expecting the boat to turn turtle
again any second, we were surprised at her righting herself on an even
keel.  I at once opened the scuttle, and found that we were in a dead
calm, and that both masts and all the gear were overboard.  All three
of us lost no time in getting the broken spars, gear and sails on board
again.  We were then in the centre of the typhoon.

I have heard ship captains say that once a vessel gets into the centre
of the typhoon she will never get out again.  After my experience, I
can quite agree where a large vessel is concerned, as with such
tremendous seas and without a breath of wind she would roll herself to
pieces.  But the _Sea Queen_ did not mind it in the least; she just
simply bobbed up and down as the seas came along.  I never had a better
chance to prove my statement, both while the typhoon was blowing and
after we got into the centre of it, that in a heavy gale, be they large
or small, as long as their headway is stopped and they are allowed to
take a natural drift with the sea and wind, a sea has no power on
vessels, and if it does roll on board a large vessel there is no force
behind it.

After we got all our gear aboard and well secured on deck we cleared up
the cabin; and of course everything was soaked with salt water and fish
oil.  You may talk of the odour of bad eggs; it isn't in it with the
smell of {286} fish oil.  All our bedding was saturated, and
consequently we were obliged to transfer it to the deck and manage
without for the time being.  We only had one thing dry in the boat:
that was our matches, which we kept in sealed bottles.  Our stove was
similar to the one I used on the _Tilikum_, which, like my sea anchor,
never failed me.  On this occasion, however, the sea anchor had failed
to do its duty, but the stove, in spite of being tumbled about in the
cabin, was there ready when wanted, and in a very short time we had
water boiling and made a good cup of coffee, which put us all three in
good humour again.  This was the first time in all my experiences in
small vessels at sea that I was obliged, owing to the weather, to go
without my regular meals.

As the barometer remained stationary, we were certain that the second
half of the typhoon was near at hand.  We were not mistaken, for in
about half an hour's time we entered the second stage.  It then blew
very hard for about four hours from the west, but with the spars out of
her it was a picnic for the little vessel.  Shortly after the wind
changed the barometer started to rise, and by midnight showed
twenty-eight fifty-five.  During the following twenty-four hours the
weather gradually cleared, but as there was still a large sea and
strong wind from the west we were unable to do anything towards
repairing the damage.

September 2nd came in with a moderate breeze and a large westerly
swell, and as the boat was still tumbling about quite a lot we were
unable to do anything to our main-mast, but managed to lash together a
piece of the broken mizzen-mast and spinnaker-boom, and after some
difficulty we managed to step the same in place of the main-mast.
Owing to the flimsiness of our temporary jury-mast, all it would carry
was the storm stay-sail.  During that day and night {287} we
experienced fresh south-west breezes, and with our stay-sail made a
mile and a half an hour to the north-north-west.  The distance from
Yokohama was about three hundred and fifty miles.

September 3rd came in with a moderate south-westerly breeze.  At
daybreak the wind became very light, and as the sea was quite smooth we
went to work brightly and early to look over the damage that had been
done, and to repair it as best we could.  In our survey we found that
the main-mast had been broken just above the deck and about three feet
below the eyes of the rigging, the main-boom about four feet from the
inner end, and the mizzen-mast, like the main-mast, just above the
deck, about five feet higher up and again just below the eyes of the
rigging.  The rigging and chain-plates were in good order, so the two
masts had simply buckled up and by the force of the wind blown out of
the boat in pieces.  The rudder post was broken in the top part of the
rudder blade.  The hull of the boat was as good as ever.

The dimensions of the main-mast were: Length from deck to eyes of
shrouds, twenty-one feet nine inches.  Diameter at the lower break,
five inches.  Diameter at upper break, four and a half inches.  Length
of mizzen-mast from deck to eyes of shrouds, fifteen feet.  Diameter at
lower break, four inches; at next break, four inches; and at the eyes
of the rigging, three inches.

[Sidenote: Jury rig]

Both masts were made of Japanese pine, and at the time they blew out of
the boat she was lying sideways to the sea and wind at an angle of
about forty-five degrees away from the wind.  Now, I should like to
know what was the speed of the wind when the masts were broken!

Having cleared the rigging, ropes, sails, etc., from the deck, we laid
the two broken ends of the fore-mast together, after which we took
half-inch pine boards, which had {288} served until then as inside
planking along the side of the boat.  These boards we cut into narrow
strips three feet long and nailed them side by side around the mast.
We then put five lashings over the nailed-on strips of wood at an equal
distance apart.  This is called "fishing a spar" and if properly done
the spar will be as strong as ever, which was the case with us.  Owing
to the lower break being near the deck, it could not be "fished" very
well without enlarging the mast hole through the deck, and as we did
not wish to do that, we cut a step on the mast at the lower break,
which of course made it that much shorter.  It was then about eleven
o'clock and the main-mast was ready to be stepped again.

Ever since the typhoon the talk in the _Sea Queen_ had been in
connection with getting the main-mast into the vessel again, and as we
had such difficulty in stepping the first jury-mast, my two young mates
had almost given it up for a bad job, and when I repeatedly told them
that to men like us, with good hands, it was nothing, they replied that
I was blowing my whistle again, as I had done about eating raw fish.

[Sidenote: Re-stepping the mast]

The main-mast was lying on the deck with all rigging, blocks and gear
attached, ready to be stepped, and we proceeded as follows.  We took
the small jury-mast down, and used the spinnaker-boom for one sheerleg
and part of the main-boom for the other.  We then put on the sheer
lashing, fore- and aft-guys and a tackle to raise the mast with.  The
sheerlegs being in place, we set up the fore-guy to the end of the
bowsprit, and the after-guy to the end of the boom-kin.  The lower ends
of the sheer-legs we lashed solidly to the chain-plates.  The sheerlegs
were thus so secured that not even a typhoon could have blown them
overboard.  The lower block of the tackle was then fastened about eight
feet from the lower end of {289} the mast, and when everything was
ready to hoist, and as things then looked very prosperous for the _Sea
Queen_ and her crew to get back to mother earth, I said to the mate,
"By the way, Mr. Stone, just before we put in this mast we must have a
little understanding about the promise you made the other day.  You
remember when we were in the centre of the typhoon and just after the
masts blew out, you said something about if we got safely back to land
you would treat the crew to a champagne dinner.  Now I would like to
know if that promise is still good."

"I shall certainly keep my word," he replied.

"Mr. Vincent," I said, "you heard that?"

"I did," said Vincent, "and shall see that he carries it out."

"Hoist away on the mast halliard," I said, and up went the mast.

Owing to the sheerlegs being too short to sling the mast in her
balance, we were obliged to fasten the tackle in such a position that
the lower end of the spar would just clear the deck when it was hauled
down to be stepped.  Consequently, when the mast was hoisted up the top
was lying on the after end of the deck, and the lower end was sticking
up over the bow.  Just then the vessel got broadside to the swell and
started rolling about, which certainly made it very difficult to step
the mast, so by means of our oars we brought the boat head to sea, and
then, by pulling the lower end of the mast down by means of a rope it
was stepped almost as quickly as I can write it.  It was a great relief
for the crew of the little boat to see a mast in her again.  Of course,
it was about three feet shorter than originally, and the splice below
the eyes of the rigging gave it the appearance of a horse's leg in
splints.  Still, it was a mast; and we were well satisfied, since it
was large and strong enough to take us back to land.  Our medicine
{290} chest still contained some brandy, and we would have celebrated
the occasion but for the fact that there was a lot of other work to be
done before we were able to set sail again; so we had a little tiffin
instead.

We then shortened and reset the rigging as before, after which we
"fished" the main-boom, repaired the main-sail, which had been badly
torn, and also the jib.  To repair the rudder, we fastened two ropes to
the after part of the rudder blade, carrying one up either side of the
vessel and fastening them to the tiller.  The mizzen-mast, being in
four pieces and therefore beyond repair, our work was completed at
half-past four, and the _Sea Queen_ was ready to sail again.  Vincent,
who had been attending to the cooking during the day, giving us a hand
when called upon, sung out, "Come down here, you sailormen, and have a
number one and a half cup of coffee," and as the weather was calm we
joined the cook in the cabin and over a nice cup of coffee and a smoke
decided to sail back to Yokohama, a distance of about three hundred and
twenty miles.

[Sidenote: Under jury rig]

Half an hour later a light breeze sprang up from the south-west
accompanied by light drizzling rain, so we set our reefed main-sail and
jib.  Under these two sails, and with a moderate breeze, the little
_Sea Queen_ sailed along again almost as if nothing had happened.  The
rudder also worked as well as ever.  The only trouble then remaining
was the ever-present perfume of fish in our bedding and most of our
clothes, which were saturated with the horrible oil, and since there
was no prospect of eliminating the smell, we cast them all overboard.
Two blankets were all that remained on board for the accommodation of
the crew and they also smelt so bad that we gave them a wide berth.  In
an endeavour to remedy this, we tied them to a rope and dragged them
through the sea.  In the evening, {291} the weather being quite cool,
Stone lay down on the bare bunk boards to have a sleep, saying that he
would be quite satisfied to sleep on the boards if he only had
something to cover himself with.  "There is the frying-pan lying near
the stove," Vincent suggested; "you might use that."

The blankets we towed for about twenty-four hours, but as the smell was
as bad as ever, we gave them up for a bad job and cut the rope.

September 4th came in with a moderate south-westerly breeze,
accompanied by thick and rainy weather.  During the forenoon the
weather cleared, and at midday, by an observation of the sun, I found
that we were about two hundred and forty miles south of Yokohama.
Owing to our chronometer being put out of action in the typhoon, and
the strong current setting to the north-east, we were not sure of our
longitude, and as the wind had hauled into the south-west we kept
steering by the wind to the north-west to get the land aboard.  The two
following days the weather continued much the same, so we kept the boat
under small sails, making a northerly course, and prayed for better
weather.

During the first and middle part of the next day the strong
south-westerly wind was accompanied by large seas and heavy rain
squalls.  The boat was hove to under a double-reefed main-sail, and
storm stay-sail to windward, under which our little vessel rode the
large seas like a duck.  In the afternoon the wind moderated and the
weather cleared up.  It was about three o'clock, shortly after having
shaken the reef out of the main-sail, that, with the little vessel in a
fresh westerly breeze making in for the land, I was sitting in the
cockpit steering, and on turning my face to windward I fancied I could
smell land.

"Land ho!" I shouted, and my two mates, who were {292} at the time
resting on the bunk boards, came bundling into the cockpit and
demanded, somewhat excitedly, "Where is it?"

"Can't see it just yet, but I can smell it," I assured them.

Neither of my friends having stood in the background when those organs
were passed round, pointed their smellers up against the wind.  After
they had been sniffing for a few minutes Vincent, with more than an
element of disappointment in his voice, said, "I can't smell anything."

"Neither can I," agreed Stone.

"Yes," observed the former, "I'll eat my hat if anybody can smell land
from here"; and with that they both dived back again into the cabin.

The weather was quite clear, and as no land was visible I became a
little doubtful of my own sense of smell.  About twenty minutes later,
however, I saw a dragon-fly circle the boat looking for a
resting-place.  When these flies can be seen it is a sure sign that
land is not far away; and if this was not a sufficient reassurance I
later saw a land bird, and this completely satisfied me.

Not having seen anything of the sun since September 4th, it was a
difficult matter to ascertain our position within a hundred miles.
According to our dead reckoning we should have been in the
neighbourhood of Oshima Island.  This is very high land, and is visible
for a distance of fifty miles.  However, while the weather was clear no
land was in sight, and I was not a little puzzled, having made sure of
seeing land by sunset.  Nevertheless, we continued in a north-westerly
direction.

Shortly after sunset, the west wind increased to a strong breeze and
the weather became threatening, so, as the night was very dark, we hove
to till the morning.  The threatening appearance of the weather
prepared us for another {293} storm, and at midnight the wind increased
and was accompanied by heavy rain, but half an hour later the weather
calmed down and the sky cleared.  At one o'clock it was a dead calm,
and with the exception of a thick haze round the horizon the weather
was clear.  During my watch on deck I thought I heard a light rumbling
noise.  I was listening for the sound again, but owing to the slatting
of the sails, caused by the rolling of the yacht in the calm, I was
unable to distinguish the sound or its direction.  I immediately
lowered all sails, and then, by putting my ear to the deck, I could
hear plainly that the rumbling noise was the sound of surf breakers,
and that we were not more than five miles from land.

[Sidenote: Land ho!]

The remainder of the night kept calm and fine, and at four Stone
commenced his watch.  It was about five o'clock when daylight made its
appearance, and almost immediately afterwards, in tones which almost
made the little vessel shiver from stem to stern, he yelled "Land ho!"
Coming on deck, I saw to the west the summit of a high mountain over a
dense fog.  It was only a small piece of land, but after all our
vicissitudes it was a welcome sight, and to show our appreciation we
all three made a bow, saying, "Good morning, Mother Earth, we are very
glad to see you."

The calm continued until seven o'clock, when a light breeze sprang up
from the south and the fog round the land lifted, and on seeing the
outlines we put it down to be Oshima Island, which is sixty miles from
Yokohama.  We then shaped our course for Tokyo Bay, and as the light
wind soon increased made certain of being in Yokohama the same night.
The weather was much the same as on the previous afternoon, fine and
clear, and one would have thought that on such a day high land such as
we saw would be visible at a distance of fifty miles, but we {294} were
not more than twelve miles away when the island was enveloped in the
same kind of mist as we experienced the previous afternoon.  At the
time when we saw the dragon-fly and land bird, we could not have been
more than fifteen miles from the island.  Sailing along with a fresh
southerly breeze we should, at noon, have been near the Boshu coast,
when to our surprise high land loomed up out of the fog about six miles
away on our port beam, which proved to be Oshima; that we had sighted
in the morning was Miyake Island.  However, we were right then, and as
the wind was from the south, we would most likely be in Yokohama some
time during the night.  At three o'clock, when Oshima Island was about
twelve miles distant on our port quarter and the coast of Boshu looming
up on our starboard bow, the wind fell light and hauled into the
north-east, which was very much against the wishes of the crew of the
_Sea Queen_.  Later in the afternoon the weather commenced to look
threatening, with a fast increasing wind, and we kept off for Habu
Harbour, Oshima Island.  The entrance of this harbour is very narrow,
and darkness setting in before we fell in with the land we hove to
under sails for the night.  The following morning, at daybreak, with a
strong north-easterly wind, we steered in for Habu Harbour.  On nearing
the land the wind became light, and a strong current setting to the
south-west we drifted to Toshima Island, about ten miles south-west of
Habu.  During that day and the following night we experienced squally,
rainy and misty weather.  It was weather that you read about, but
seldom see.  The current was now against us, but by taking advantage of
the heavy squalls which struck us at different times, from all points
of the compass, we managed to get near the mouth of Habu Harbour by ten
the following morning, September 10th, and in an hour were snugly
moored.  {295} We found the village wrecked by the typhoon through
which we had passed, and were told by the oldest inhabitants that it
had been the worst on record.  Besides wrecking their town it had torn
up trees by their roots, and sunk a two-thousand-three-hundred-ton
steamship, with her crew of forty men, but the _Sea Queen_ had passed
through the centre of the typhoon and brought her crew safely back to
land.

[Sidenote Habu Harbour]

[Illustration: THE CREW OF THE _SEA QUEEN_]

With regard to our health, after the hardships we went through Vincent
was in excellent health.  I myself during the typhoon received a bad
cut on my left leg, and not being able to treat the wound properly, I
had a pretty bad leg on our arrival at Habu.  After that it soon got
well.  Stone was still worse off, as at the time when the vessel turned
turtle he happened to be in the forward end of the cabin where our
gramophone and a heavy box containing our photographic outfit was
placed, and as the boat turned bottom up these two articles got mixed
up with Stone on the round journey.  Stone said when the Queen turned
bottom up it became pitch dark in the cabin, and as the gramophone and
box were flying in all directions and made an attack upon him in the
dark, he being helpless, the two articles with their sharp edges and
corners dug holes into his unfortunate ribs and other parts of his
anatomy.  The wounds, like my own, not receiving proper attention, had
got worse instead of better by the time we arrived at Habu.  We had
almost given Stone up for a bad job, and it came therefore as welcome
news to the crew when we were told by a Japanese doctor at Habu that he
was still worth repairing.

After remaining a few days at Habu we sailed under our jury rig to
Yokohama, where we arrived safe and sound.  And as Stone was true to
his word, we celebrated the cruise of the _Sea Queen_ with a champagne
dinner.




{296}

IN CONCLUSION

In the Appendix I have said much about sea anchors, riding sail and
oil.  My readers will, no doubt, agree with me that they are useful
things, but no one can appreciate their value in a higher degree than
he who had to rely on these friends at the time when death stared into
his face.  Sea anchor, riding sail, and oil bag, despite their great
importance, are apparatus by no means found aboard every vessel and
lifeboat, and deserve to be much better known than they have been
hitherto.

[Sidenote: Small craft voyages]

The cruises which I have made in small vessels not infrequently have
been denounced as foolhardy undertakings.  However, when I had given a
short explanation such doubters would become silent.  They soon
understood that there is still much to be learned about breaking waves,
and that there is no better way to study the safety of ocean travel
than these solitary cruises on which all kinds of weather and sea
dangers are met with and fought.

Then, I ask, why should not a seaman like myself who loves the ocean
and likes to sail on it, devote his time to this study?  The more so as
I for one feel perfectly convinced in my own mind that I am safe in my
small vessel of which I have complete control, far safer indeed than
thousands who race across the briny deep in big greyhounds and have to
entrust their lives to the care of others!

Captain Slocum, who made a trip round the world in the _Spray_, a
twelve-ton yawl, was lost when attempting another long cruise in the
same boat.  The _Pandora_, a ten-ton yawl, left Australia on a cruise
round the world, {297} and after arriving in New York and having
departed again, met with the same fate.  Both these boats were
considerably larger than mine, the _Tilikum_, and the two cases have
been cited frequently as a sure proof that small vessels were not safe
at sea.

Captain Slocum sailed single-handed and, therefore, was unable to watch
his vessel night and day.  The two men constituting the crew of the
_Pandora_ have stated that both of them on repeated occasions went
below, and like Captain Slocum left the vessel to look out for herself.
A practice of this kind may pass for a long time, but sooner or later
it will revenge itself, for the dangers are many if a vessel is not
properly navigated and watched.  Both small boats, through
accomplishing long cruises previous to their disappearance, had
certainly proved their seaworthiness.  The ill fate they met with was
not due to size or faulty construction but rooted in quite a different
cause.  Nobody will ever exactly know what happened to them.  Therefore
it would be unjust to blame those who perished and are unable to defend
themselves; but I wish to emphasise that human weakness is common the
world over, on land and sea, on vessels large and small; and wherever
poor management is met with it originated in such weakness or, as an
English philosopher has aptly put it, "the intelligent human mind, face
to face with something it downright ought to do, does something else."
But for a great many it is much easier to find fault with others or
with the dead material than with themselves.

The call of the sea is a strong one.  The blue waves and whistling
breezes have a never-ending charm to him who spent a life in their
company.  And though it had been much toil and little gain it does not
make an iota of difference.  As I have already stated, I am advanced in
years but still feel confident and strong to venture out on {298}
another cruise.  I have a longing to visit old places and shake hands
with old friends once more.  If fortune favours me and this desire be
fulfilled I shall be ready to conclude my life as a sea-faring man.
And to all those to whom the ocean is not a barren desert but a source
of life and wholesome joy I bid a hearty GOOD LUCK AND A FAIR WIND!




{299}

APPENDIX

During my travels, principally in small vessels, I have, perhaps, met
and exchanged views with more yachtsmen than the average man afloat.  I
have found that the majority, although fully capable of sailing a small
boat on an inland lagoon or other landlocked waters, also like to know
something about the peculiarities of the high seas and how to overcome
the danger of breaking wind waves.  As stated in my narrative, I have
sailed in and managed sailing vessels of different sizes, from the tiny
_Tilikum_ up to a ship carrying nearly three thousand tons of cargo.
This has offered me an excellent opportunity to study breaking seas
under all weather conditions, of which I have tried to take the best
advantage.  The knowledge thus obtained in my long sea-faring career
has condensed into certain rules which, I have reason to hope, may
prove of practical value to a wider circle.  And I trust that these
explanations and instructions will not alone be interesting and useful
to yachtsmen, but also may serve as hints to young officers and even
masters of ships, when danger looms ahead.

I have provided twenty paragraphs in all which follow under their
respective headings.  The subsequent remarks and reflections on
loading, ballasting, and the management of steamships in heavy gales
are a further attempt on my part to contribute to the interests and the
safety of practical navigation.

{300}

1.  THE SPEED, HEIGHT, AND DANGER OF BREAKING WIND WAVES.

[Sidenote: Breaking wind waves]

The speed of waves I have estimated in the open ocean during various
gales when they had attained full growth, as follows: When hove to
under a sea anchor with a hundred and fifty feet of anchor rope out and
when just on the top of a large wave, the sea-anchor float which was
fastened with fifteen feet of line would appear at a distance a little
less than half-way to the top of the next wave.  By allowing for the
angle in which the anchor rope inclined I ascertained an approximate
total distance from crest to crest of three hundred feet.  Under the
same conditions I have measured the speed of the waves by marking the
difference of time between two succeeding seas when their crests passed
the boat.  The interval was seven seconds on the average.  In basing
the calculation on the above figures an average speed of twenty-five
and one-third nautical miles per hour is obtained.

The height of waves I have ascertained on large vessels.  I chose a
position in the rigging just high enough so that the tops of the large
waves would appear a little below a line between my eyes and the
horizon.  The exact distance from the water-line of the ship to the
level of my eyes was known to me.  While hove to in the ship _Prussia_
during a heavy gale in the South Pacific I found in this way the height
of the waves from trough to crest to amount to nearly forty feet.  In
this connection I may mention that in books and newspaper reports from
time to time statements appear recording the height of waves
encountered at sixty and even seventy feet!

Breaking wind waves in the open ocean where no obstacle is met are
caused by strong winds the speeds of which are much faster than the
velocity of a wave.  As the wave {301} culminates in a crest the wind
behind forces it over, transforming that part of the wave into a
forward-moving body of water, spray and foam.  A wave in this condition
is termed by seamen a "breaking sea."

Breaking seas have washed countless numbers of seamen off vessels'
decks and provided them a watery grave.  Their irresistible force has
smashed in bulwarks of ships, buckling and bending iron stanchions, and
tearing away steel plates; and many cases are on record where breaking
seas have sent to the bottom new and strong ships with every man on
board.  There seems to be no limit to the destruction wrought by the
overwhelming power of breaking seas.  But are these breaking seas so
formidable in themselves, or is there not many an instance where those
responsible for the management must be blamed for the damage suffered
by their vessels during heavy storms?  I take the liberty of stating
certain facts, and making certain inference.

When sailing in large sailing vessels I have noticed that they will lie
perfectly comfortable and dry, provided they are properly loaded and
hove to.  Even when storm sails are carried away, there is no imminent
danger: the vessel will roll about and in doing so ship seas, but the
water in this case is harmless.

For five years I have been master of sealing vessels averaging in size
seventy-five tons.  In these I have sailed from Victoria, B.C., and
from Yokohama in the depth of winter, when they were loaded down to the
scuppers with sealing outfit.  From six to nine sealing boats, each
from eighteen to twenty feet in length, were lashed on deck.  These
latter were built of so light a material that their planking could have
been knocked in with a stroke of the fist.  In those vessels I have
ridden out the worst of gales in which other ships were smashed to
pieces.  But through properly heaving to, on no occasion did I ever
have a boat {302} smashed in, nor have I sustained the slightest damage
to vessel or outfit.

Thus it becomes evident that the action of heaving to in time and in
the right way is of the utmost importance in order to avoid damage or,
eventually, total loss.  I may say that I believe in oil to calm
breaking seas.  I have always used it freely when in sealing vessels
during heavy storms for the protection of the boats.  For if our boats
had been broken we would have been robbed of the means of carrying out
our enterprise.  It is advisable, however, not to attribute too much
efficacy to oil, as the following incident goes to show.  On March
19th, 1911, while three hundred miles to the south-south-west of Cape
Lopatka in the seventy-five-ton schooner _Chichijima Maru_, from
Yokohama, we were hove to in a heavy gale.  When oil was administered
it froze as soon as it came in touch with the water.  Notwithstanding
this, and despite the vessel being loaded down to the scuppers, we did
not sustain the slightest damage to ship, boats or outfit.  But we were
readily hove to and thus safe from shipping seas, which proved to be a
sufficient safeguard.

I will go a little further, claiming--and I have absolute confidence in
doing so--that on no occasion while in charge of a vessel which was
hove to under storm sail in a violent gale, have I shipped a sea that
caused any damage to ship or outfit, even though the storm sails had
been carried away by the force of the wind.  And the same applies to
the small boats I have sailed on long cruises when they were hove to
under sea anchor and riding sail.

These results I have obtained by observing the following: The storm
sails were trimmed in such a way that the vessel's head lay near the
wind, her headway was stopped and she made a nearly square drift.  The
wake then, instead of being under the stern, as is the case in sailing,
will appear {303} along the vessel's weather side, which has a most
wonderful effect in smoothing down breaking seas on their approach.  To
sum up, I have found that breaking wind waves in the open ocean become
dangerous only when the vessel is driven through the water, and the
faster she is travelling the more damage a sea is likely to inflict.
Pooping seas, _i.e._, seas breaking over the stern when running, are
the worst of all.


[Sidenote: On heaving to]

2.  IN WHAT SIZE OF VESSEL IS IT SAFE TO HEAVE TO UNDER SAIL IN BAD
WEATHER?

The smallest vessel in which I hove to under storm sail only, _i.e._,
without using a sea anchor, was the _Ella G._ from Victoria, B.C., an
eighteen-ton schooner, forty-nine feet over all, fourteen feet beam,
and eight feet draught.  In her I weathered four heavy gales in the
North Pacific while under a storm try-sail hoisted on the main-mast.
With this she swung about, sideways to the sea and wind, as much as
eight points.  However, a square drift with the wind was maintained
throughout and never a sea was shipped.  I used oil in addition.  From
this experience I conclude that a vessel of at least fifty feet in
length is quite safe to heave to, with the exclusive use of storm sails.


3.  THE PROPER TIME TO HEAVE TO WHEN RUNNING BEFORE A STRONG WIND AND
SEA.

With regard to this, I may say that even a large ship, when deeply
loaded, is liable to be smashed up by a single bad pooping sea.
Consequently, to be on the safe side she should heave to right at the
beginning of a gale.  But the greatest care and precaution are
necessary when small vessels are concerned.  Therefore, my
recommendation is, at the approach of a gale, when waves commence
breaking and the vessel becomes heavy on the rudder, heave to.  {304}
Always remember that things are quite different in running from when
you are sailing with a beam or by the wind.  In the latter case a
vessel will ship spray, which serves as a warning to you.  This happens
more often and gets worse as the wind and sea increase, until you are
obliged to shorten sails and heave to.  But in running before it your
vessel may go along quite comfortably and dry for a time, and then,
with dreadful suddenness, a sea may come over the stern and put you and
your ship out of business.  So, once more, I repeat my advice: be most
careful in running, and heave to rather a little earlier than might be
deemed necessary by others.


4.  HOW TO HEAVE TO WHEN RUNNING UNDER SAIL.

If a vessel is about to heave to before the seas have started breaking
heavily, all that is required is to put the helm down and let her come
to the wind with the sails she is running under.  But if it be blowing
hard and bad seas are appearing already, care must be taken in bringing
the vessel's head to sea.  For if a bad sea is met with in coming round
while the vessel is still retaining headway, disastrous results may
ensue.  To avoid this the man in charge should be on the lookout for a
chance when the seas are running fairly smooth, which will occur from
time to time even in the height of a gale.  Then put your helm down and
let the vessel come up with a stay-sail sheet to windward.  The latter
will help to stop the ship's forward motion when she swings head to
wind, which is the principal factor in the manoeuvre.

While sailing in sealing vessels I have on various occasions when
running before a bad sea lowered all sail and let her come up to the
wind under bare poles, setting storm sails afterwards.  And I have
found it to be an excellent plan.


{305}

5.  WHAT STORM SAILS SHOULD BE CARRIED IN A GALE, AND HOW TO SET THEM.

[Sidenote: Storm sails]

It depends entirely upon the build, lines and rig of a vessel, as to
which sails she will lay under to the best advantage.  To find out this
early, one must study her weak points, and it is the duty of every
shipmaster to make trials with regard to this matter at the beginning
of the first gale he encounters.  I shall cite an instance here.

The schooner _Jessy_ from Victoria, B.C., length over all seventy-five
feet, beam twenty-two feet, draught aft eleven feet, forward nine feet,
was built on the lines of a yacht and was a very fast sailor.  With
this vessel, deeply loaded to the scuppers, I sailed from Victoria on
December 1st, 1907, and a few days later met with an exceedingly heavy
gale off the Columbia River.  At the beginning of the storm I went
through a variety of storm-sail drills, and by doing so found that she
lay to splendidly under three-reefed fore-sail with the sheet well
hauled in, double-reefed fore-stay-sail with the sheet nearly at
midships, and the wheel a little down.  Under these sails the vessel
reached ahead a little and lay to very comfortably.  Gradually, as the
wind and seas increased, I put the wheel down more and more and hauled
the stay-sail sheet more to windward.  When the gale was at its worst
she lay comfortable and dry with a double-reefed fore-stay-sail sheet
to windward, three-reefed fore-sail sheet well in and the wheel
half-way down, and made seven points leeway.

Another example is the previously mentioned schooner _Chichijima Maru_,
length over all seventy-five feet, beam twenty feet, draught aft eight
feet, forward six feet six inches, full built but fairly fast.  This
vessel lay to excellently under a three-reefed fore-sail sheet well in
and a {306} close-reefed try-sail, the sheet flat at midships, and also
made seven points leeway.

Other vessels will lay to under close-reefed fore-stay-sail, fore-sail
and try-sail, and so on, according to their peculiarities.


6.  WHAT SIGNS ASSURE THE MASTER THAT HIS SHIP IS PROPERLY HOVE TO IN A
GALE, AND THUS SAFE FROM SHIPPING SEAS.

If your vessel lies four to five points from the wind and makes nearly
a square drift she is safe.

For example: if a vessel lays to on the port tack in a north-westerly
gale she should be heading about north to north by east and make an
approximately easterly drift.  However, she may fall off at times a
point or two, but as long as the vessel does not range ahead there will
be no seas coming over to do any harm.


7.  THE DRIFT OF A VESSEL WHEN HOVE TO UNDER STORM SAILS.

This depends upon the draught.  A vessel with a deep keel or great
draught respectively will drift from a mile to a mile and a quarter per
hour in a heavy gale, while shallow, round-bottom craft will be borne
away at the rate of nearly two miles per hour under like conditions.


8.  HOW TO HEAVE TO SMALL VESSELS OF ABOUT TWENTY-FIVE TO FIFTY FEET IN
LENGTH, UNDER STORM SAILS IN A MODERATE GALE.

The sloop _Xora_ behaved surprisingly well under a small
storm-stay-sail-tack set up over the stem with the sheet to windward
and closely-reefed main-sail with the sheet well in, the helm being
half down.

The yawl _Sea Queen_ went through a moderate gale under {307} a
storm-jib with the sheet to windward, single-reefed mizzen, and the
helm a little down.  On another occasion she lay to even better than in
the former case under the storm-stay-sail with the sheet to windward
and a close-reefed main-sail, the helm half-way down.

When trimmed in this manner vessels will range ahead a little and make
about four points leeway.  But it is surprising to see how nicely they
will ride over large combers, at the same time remaining comfortable
and dry.


9.  WHY SMALL VESSELS SHOULD HEAVE TO UNDER SEA ANCHOR AND RIDING SAIL
IN A HEAVY GALE.

A small vessel hove to under a sea anchor and riding sail is
comfortable and dry.  She is out of danger from shipping seas and needs
little watching.  This will give the captain the chance of a night's
rest.


10.  THE BEST KINDS AND DIMENSIONS OF SEA ANCHOR SUITED TO DIFFERENT
SIZES OF VESSELS.

In the _Tilikum_, owing to her light draught, I used a sea anchor made
of an iron ring twenty-two inches in diameter and a bag four feet in
length.  Riding to this the little vessel weathered sixteen heavy gales
without shipping as much as a bucket of water at one time.  The same
sea anchor I employed for crossing the dangerous bar near Melbourne and
also in the demonstration at the Sumno Bar, New Zealand.

In the _Sea Queen_, which had greater draught, I increased the
dimension of the ring to twenty-six inches, while the length of the bag
was not altered.  To this sea anchor she lay splendidly in heavy gales,
and even rode the tremendous waves of the typhoon in style until the
bridles broke.  I am quite sure that, had the gear been stronger, the
tiny craft would have weathered the typhoon without a hitch!

{308}

I should, therefore, recommend for boats and yachts up to thirty feet
in length sea anchors made of a conical bag with a round mouth, and for
vessels from thirty to fifty feet in length a square mouth.  It makes,
of course, no difference in principle whether the mouth be round or
square as long as the bag is fairly deep and the diameter of the mouth
large enough to suit the size of the respective vessels.  My only
reason for choosing a sea anchor with a round opening in the case of a
small vessel is the consideration that there is less room to work.  The
iron-ring style is ever ready, besides involving less trouble when put
out.

[Sidenote: Sea anchors]

[Illustration: SEA ANCHORS]

There is still another style of sea anchor, which is especially useful
when surf breakers are crossed in a small boat.  This type I claim to
be my own invention, having constructed the same and experimented with
it for the first time when on the _Tilikum_ voyage.  Instead of the
iron ring, one made of strong, flat wood is employed, weighted at one
side with a piece of lead just heavy enough to cause the ring to tilt
up when put into the water.  The canvas bag will then quickly fill with
water and the whole sink to the required depth.

This style avoids the necessity of using a float and line, and
facilitates readier handling; besides which, the wooden-weighted ring
will skim over the water when hauled in by the tripping line without
the danger of the latter becoming entangled with the anchor rope.  The
iron ring, on the other hand, is liable to sink too deep and get foul
of rocks or other obstacles hidden in the shallow surf.

However, for long voyages and in deep water I recommend the iron ring
and float type, as it is stronger and stands more wear and tear.

The dimensions of sea anchor for a deep keel boat of {309} about twenty
feet water-line should be as follows: Diameter of mouth, twenty inches;
length of bag, thirty inches; opening at point, two inches.  For larger
boats, add for every foot more of water-line one inch to the diameter
of mouth and an inch and a half to the length of bag.  Increase the
width of opening at point in proportion.  A sea anchor with a
thirty-inch ring should have a point opening of four inches.

A square-mouthed sea anchor of say thirty inches in width is
constructed as follows: Two flat, wooden or iron bars, each forty-eight
inches in length, are fastened to each other in the middle with a pin
swivel.  The mouth of the canvas bag in this case is shaped square and
rope is sewn all round, leaving a small loop at the four corners in
order to haul the bag out taut and secure it to the ends of the bars.
If wooden bars are used, put a weight on the sea anchor to sink it to
the required depth.  When not in use the bag may be taken off, and
after being dried, wrapped round the bars, which are brought together
on the swivel pin, and the whole stored away in a dry place.

The dimensions of sea anchor for a deep keel boat of thirty feet
water-line are: Mouth, twenty-eight inches square; length of bag,
forty-two inches; opening at point, four inches.  For larger boats add
proportionately, as before.

A small strop, by which it is hauled on board, should be placed over
the point opening in both styles of sea anchor.  Two bridle ropes, to
which the anchor mouth is fastened, must be of the same length as the
bag, and should continue along and be sewn to the latter down to its
point.  With the square type they run over the corners and edges.  A
cork float of sufficient size to keep the anchor suspended at a depth
of fifteen feet complete the outfit.  All iron parts should be
galvanised, and everything must be made of the best material.


{310}

11.  THE BEST KIND OF CABLE FOR THE SEA ANCHOR, WITH REGARD TO MATERIAL
AND LENGTH, AND HOW TO FASTEN THE SAME.

Manilla rope of a good white quality serves the purpose well.  The size
varies according to the length of the boat.  Thus, with vessels of
twenty feet water-line, two and a half inches circumference; thirty
feet, three inches; forty feet, four inches; fifty feet, five inches,
should be employed.  Length of the rope from vessel to sea anchor, one
hundred and fifty feet.

In long, lasting gales the rope is liable to get chafed on bow or
headgear; therefore a chain should be spliced to its upper end, and
should be sufficiently long to fasten it to the fore-mast and to lead
clear of the headgear.  In an ordinary gale the sea-anchor rope is
sometimes fastened to the end of the jibboom, but I strongly deprecate
this practice when a real, heavy storm is raging.


12.  HOW TO BRING A SMALL VESSEL'S HEAD TO SEA WITHOUT SHIPPING HEAVY
WATER.

This is done on the same principles as No. 4.  When the boat is head to
sea put the sea anchor out and set storm-riding-sail.


13.  HOW A SMALL VESSEL SHOULD LIE, UNDER A SEA ANCHOR AND RIDING SAIL,
IN A HEAVY GALE, SO AS TO KEEP DRY AND COMFORTABLE.

Your boat should lie straight head to sea, or nearly so.  The sea
anchor is out about a hundred and fifty feet ahead and fifteen feet
below the surface, kept there by its cork buoy.  The riding sail is set
over the stern with the sheet hauled in flat.  If the vessel be
provided with a bobstay, put a tackle on the mizzen-boom and haul the
sail a little {311} to that side which is opposite the anchor rope
hawse.  To explain it thoroughly: if the anchor rope plies out over the
starboard bow, haul the mizzen-boom to the port side.  In that way your
boat will lay a trifle off the wind which, far from being a
disadvantage, will prevent chafing of the bobstay and headgear.  The
mizzen- or riding-sail should be made of strong canvas, and in order to
keep it set flat put a preventer-stay from the mizzen masthead forward.

All blocks, ropes and strops as well as the sail, and everything else
should be of the very best.  For when a small boat is hove to under a
sea anchor the riding sail will shake heavily at times, as if electric
shocks were passing through it.  This is very hard on the gear and the
sail itself.

A ketch, schooner-ketch, yawl, or schooner-yawl are the best small
vessels in which to make an ocean cruise.  For all these carry a
mizzen-sail, which is ever ready and avoids the necessity of having an
extra riding sail when hove to.


14.  HOW TO SECURE THE RUDDER WHEN HOVE TO UNDER SEA ANCHOR AND RIDING
SAIL.

When a small vessel is hove to under sea anchor and riding sail she
will have stern way, and the swinging about of the stern as caused by
breaking seas at times will be hard on the rudder.  Through neglecting
precautions, I have on two different occasions lost the rudder post
while hove to in the above way.  To avoid breaking the rudder post,
fasten two heel ropes to the upper back of the rudder blade, one to
each side, and haul them up over the quarter: then place the rudder at
midships, haul the heel ropes tight and fasten on deck.  The tiller, on
the other hand, should remain entirely unlashed.


{312}

15.  THE DRIFT OF A SMALL VESSEL WHEN HOVE TO UNDER SEA ANCHOR AND
RIDING SAIL.

Not counting prevailing ocean currents the drift will always occur in a
direction opposite to the wind, _i.e._, if the wind is north the vessel
will experience a southerly drift.  A small vessel hove to in a gale
under sea anchor and riding sail will in this way drift at a rate of
about one and a quarter miles per hour when out at sea.  In a bay or a
similar place where no ocean swell is perceivable the drift will be
faster.

In speaking about the drift of a vessel in a heavy gale I have been
asked on many occasions: What are you going to do when you have no sea
room?

To this I answer: he who is in charge of any vessel on an ocean voyage
should thoroughly understand to interpret the indications of an
approaching storm.  He must take care to bring his vessel timely into
such a position as to weather the storm in safety.


16.  HOW TO CROSS SURF BREAKERS IN A BOAT OR LAUNCH.

Whether a boat be propelled by an engine, sail, or oars, drag a sea
anchor behind the stern and let her go in slowly and straight before
the breakers.  You will be surprised to see how nicely she will raise
her stern to the combers.

In case of a launch or tug towing another small vessel across surf
breakers towards the shore, have a sea anchor over the towed boat's
stern and proceed as above.  But it is most essential to have a strict
understanding with the man in charge of the towboat beforehand, as to
go "slow," and there will be no trouble similar to that I witnessed on
the Wanganui Bar, New Zealand.


{313}

[Sidenote: Lifeboat gear]

17.  WHAT GEAR SHOULD BE CARRIED IN LIFEBOATS ABOARD SHIPS, FOR THE
SAFETY OF SHIPWRECKED PEOPLE.

Apart from what the Board of Trade and other regulations prescribe, the
following should be provided for each lifeboat:

A complete sea-anchor outfit as described in Nos. 10 and 11.

A small mast to set a riding sail, including the latter.

Two tins of oil and two oil bags.

Two trained men who understand how to handle boat and gear.

Owing to the many shipping disasters of recent years and the loss of
life involved, the question how to obtain a sufficient number of
competent men to take charge of the lifeboats in case of a shipwreck
has become acute.  As I may, perhaps, claim to possess more experience
than the average boat sailor, and trusting that it will serve a good
purpose, I take the opportunity of giving here my opinion on the
subject.

On various occasions I have witnessed lifeboats being lowered from
passenger vessels in a harbour and in dead calm weather.  And in spite
of there being from twelve to twenty-four men at the oars and an
officer at the helm they were absolutely unable to control the boat.
We can easily imagine what would happen to such a lifeboat at sea, in
bad weather and when loaded with passengers.  I think it quite safe to
say that when it comes down to a case of dead earnest nine out of ten
lifeboats on passenger vessels are manned on the same lines.  My
suggestion, therefore, is that all steamers should have on board two
trained lifeboatmen for each boat.

However, here the question crops up: How are such men to be secured?
My own idea is that this may be arranged for in the following way:

{314}

There are many lifeboat stations in all quarters of the globe where
provision could be made to train able-bodied men, have them pass an
examination, and then provide them with a certificate to the effect
that they are capable of taking charge of a ship's lifeboat at sea.
Men in possession of such certificates, whether they be deckhands,
firemen, stewards or whatever else, should be and naturally would be
given preference in shipping; the required number should receive a
little extra payment.  And in a few years there would be ample trained
men, which would prove of great advantage to themselves as well as to
shipowners and the travelling public.  In addition, there could be
appointed in each passenger ship an officer or other competent seaman
also holding a certificate to be in charge of all lifeboat gear.  One
of his chief duties would be to arrange for a drill from time to time
to keep his men up to the standard.

Ships' lifeboats, according to existing regulations, are provided with
some sort of a sea anchor, but even if it were of the best kind, a boat
without a riding sail will not lay head to sea in a seaway.  Therefore,
the fate of such a boat loaded with women, children and inexperienced
men, when swinging sideways up against a breaking sea may be considered
sealed.  The occupants will go with the roll of the frail craft, which
is sure to ensue, and the boat will capsize in spite of the sea anchor
being out.  But this will not happen when all the rules of properly
heaving to are observed.


[Sidenote: Typhoon of August 31st, 1912]

18.  VARIOUS INDICATIONS OF THE TYPHOON WHICH APPEARED ON AUGUST 31ST,
1912, ITS VIOLENCE, THE SEAS ENCOUNTERED, ETC.

AUGUST 27TH.--An unusually large swell was setting through from the
south-east, accompanied by squally and rainy weather.

{315}

AUGUST 28TH.--The weather cleared up during the day, a moderate breeze
blowing from the east.  But as the south-easterly swell was getting
larger and the barometer falling very slowly, I gradually came to the
conclusion that a typhoon was approaching.

AUGUST 29TH.--The moderate easterly breeze and clear weather continued
until nine o'clock.  Then an extensive and heavy ring of varied fiery
colours formed round the sun.  The atmosphere became exceedingly sultry
and a dense bank of clouds of a threatening appearance arose on the
horizon.  These conditions lasted until four o'clock when the sun
disappeared behind the cloudbank on the horizon.  Between sunset and
dark the clouds covering the sky assumed a fierce yellow tone, which
gradually became grey as darkness set in.  At eight o'clock the
barometer stood at twenty-nine eighty, and went down slowly.  The
temperature during the night was warm and pleasant; the ocean swell,
however, increased, while some of the seas almost came to a break.

AUGUST 30TH.--This day opened with a light baffling wind alternating
between east and south and accompanied by a dark cloudy sky.  At six
o'clock the wind settled into the south-east with increasing force and
occasional heavy rain squalls.  Barometer twenty-nine forty-five.  The
wind and squalls increased during the day and the following night,
until on

AUGUST 31ST, at about nine in the morning, the typhoon had attained its
full strength.  The tremendous force of the wind lashed the sea up to
such a height and confusion that oil became utterly useless, leaving
not the slightest trace on the troubled waters.

The barometer meanwhile continued falling until it stood at
twenty-eight twenty-five.  A short time after we entered the centre of
the typhoon where dead calm {316} prevailed.  The glass then kept
steady till the wind started to blow again, when it commenced to rise.
The second half of the typhoon blew hard for about four hours and then
gradually moderated to a fresh breeze.


19.  HOW TO MANAGE A SMALL VESSEL IN A TYPHOON.

If you feel sure that a typhoon is approaching prepare to meet it,
because it is a tough customer to deal with.

First of all, as in an ordinary gale, have your sea anchor and riding
sail in readiness.  As the force of the wind is much greater than in
even the heaviest gale, unbend all sails except the riding sail and
strip the vessel as much as possible.  All running gear should be
unroved, the fore-gaff and boom lashed on deck, also the top masts, if
there are any.  If you should be unlucky enough to have your sea-anchor
gear carried away, don't hesitate to cut away the fore-mast to lessen
head pressure.  This latter measure, if taken in time, may prevent your
vessel from being blown on beam ends or, which is worse, capsizing, as
happened to the _Sea Queen_.  However, be careful not to lose the mast.


[Sidenote: Oil on breaking seas]

20.  THE EFFECT OF OIL ON BREAKING SEAS IN HEAVY GALES, AND WHAT KIND
MAY BE EXPECTED TO GIVE THE BEST RESULT.

If a vessel is hove to in the proper way under a sea anchor and riding
sail she will only ship spray even in the worst of gales.  I was never
particular about a few drops of water taken over, and therefore in
small vessels, with a few exceptions for experimenting purposes, and
while on the _Sea Queen_ in the first stage of the typhoon, I hardly
ever used oil during my cruises.  However, throughout my five years of
sealing in the North I employed oil on many different occasions, and
have found that that obtained {317} from the fat of hair seals, fur
seals, and sea lions gave the best results.  Next to this comes fish
oil, which is nearly as satisfactory.  The former is difficult to
procure, while fish oil may be bought in almost any port.

To utilise a small quantity of oil to best advantage proceed as
follows: A canvas bag a little smaller than a fifty-pound flour bag is
loaded with loose oakum, woollen rags or waste until about three parts
full.  A few small holes are then punched through the bag and the whole
is saturated with oil and tied up.  After securing a lanyard and adding
a weight to prevent the bag from being blown back again, put it over
the rail and lower to the water level; then make fast.

If your vessel is lying to a sea anchor and head on to the sea, put the
bag over the bow.  If she is hove to under storm sails and makes a
square drift, or nearly so, put it over the weather bow.  If the vessel
be a long one, place one bag near the fore- and another one near the
after-rigging.

A ship's lifeboat loaded with passengers and hove to under sea anchor
and riding sail with the additional help of such an oil bag will lay
dry and comfortable.  On the other hand, when a vessel is lying to
under storm sails or steam, and reaches ahead, oil will be useless.  It
is only good, and certainly works wonders, when a vessel is allowed to
drift along with the wind and sea.

Oil will also render good service in case of large vessels running
straight before a bad sea.  One bag is placed on each side of the
forward end while a long bight of a large rope is payed out over the
stern and dragged along.  By allowing the vessel to go slow under small
sail, or, still better, under bare poles, she is in this way quite safe
and may keep running before almost any gale as long as she steers well.
The same course, when followed in the case of {318} small vessels, will
likewise prove a great help.  However, if you want to be on the safe
side, "heave to."


SOME REMARKS ON LOADING AND BALLASTING.

If iron or any heavy cargo is put into the lower hold of a vessel till
she is down to the loading mark serious consequences may follow.  From
the quick, jerking roll ensuing and through shipping heavy seas she
will most likely get dismasted or break up in the first gale
encountered.  If too much cargo is put in the between-deck or on deck
she is liable to turn turtle.  But if the cargo is properly distributed
in the lower hold, between-deck and on deck, whatever the case may be,
and if then the vessel is handled in the right way, it will be
surprising how easy her movements are in heavy gales and large seas.

When I made my first voyage in the _Prussia_ as first mate, the ship
being deeply loaded with coal, she behaved as badly as any vessel
possibly could.  No matter whether we were running, hove to or in a
dead calm, she would roll about in an awful way.  Old Captain Reynolds
told me that I had put too much cargo into the lower hold.

The next time when we took a cargo of coal I filled up the
between-decks and left a space in the lower hold empty, and with the
same draught as on the previous voyage the vessel steered and sailed
well and behaved much better in every way.

The same principle pertains to small vessels.  The _Tilikum_, for
example, I had to ballast well down in order to facilitate sailing with
a beam wind or when close hauled.  The result was that in running,
especially with the wind and sea a little on the quarter, she would
roll, roll--well, she would roll the teeth out of one's mouth.  But as
soon as I had placed my four hundred pounds of shifting ballast on the
cabin deck, or still better, tied half of it in two bags {319} to the
main-mast about three or four feet above the deck, she would go along
as steadily as a lumber-loaded ship.  The latter, with their large deck
loads, I have found to be the steadiest vessels as far as rolling is
concerned.


REFLECTIONS ON STEAMSHIP DISASTERS.

As regards steamships I must say that my experience with them is
limited, having sailed in engine-driven vessels as a passenger merely.
However, I have crossed in steamers the North Sea and the Atlantic each
four times, the Pacific once, not to mention voyages on smaller seas.
Therefore, although I do not wish to attempt a full criticism, I may be
allowed to say a few words on the management of some steamships in
heavy storms as laid down in records.

Many times I have read in daily papers of steamships that have been
smashed to pieces and foundered from the effect of large seas breaking
on them.  Then there were reports of other steamers which, deeply
loaded, had lost their propeller or rudder and were absolutely beyond
control.  And while in that condition they had weathered most severe
gales and by some means managed to make port with little or no damage
to hull or cargo.  This set me thinking.  After carefully comparing my
own notes with statements obtained from various shipmasters I deem it
permissible, in spite of my inexperience with steamships, to pass an
opinion on the subject.

Only lately I read an account of the terrible experiences of the SS.
_Narrung's_ in which I noticed that the most important points which led
the captain to despatch a wireless S.O.S. distress signal were the
following:

"On December 26th, 1912, while the vessel was in the Bay of Biscay her
head was kept towards a heavy gale, the waves broke over her with a
relentless force which threatened to overwhelm her.  Then a sea broke
over the {320} vessel, which literally wrecked the fore end of the
ship.  Plates were torn and twisted, rails carried clear away, two
steam winches weighing several tons had been lifted bodily and tossed
along the deck where they lay, a confused mass of bent and twisted
ironwork.  Water got into the hold and gave the ship a list to
starboard.  The vessel was then put round before the sea and, as she
appeared out of danger, the captain replied to the news of coming
assistance with the tidings that his ship was under control and that he
could manage to return without assistance."

Here is another report.  The SS. _Volmer_ was lost on the same day with
fifteen members of the crew twenty-five miles south of the Scilly
Islands.  The captain and one of the crew were saved.

"Although the waves," so the captain's statement goes, "mounted higher
and higher we had to keep going full steam ahead in the teeth of the
storm in order to be able to steer at all.  All night we struggled, but
at half-past ten on Boxing Day morning, when about twenty-five miles
south of the Scillies, a tremendous sea broke aboard, sweeping away
everything on deck, ripping off the bulwarks, and smashing in the
hatchway.  Water rushed in torrents into the hold and engine-room,
putting out the fires and leaving the ship practically in a sinking
condition.  With hatches open, the vessel deeply loaded with coal, lots
of water in the hold, and the fires out, the doomed vessel swung round
and, absolutely out of control, kept afloat for five more hours in a
heavy gale!"

How much longer would the vessel have kept afloat after she had
received the deadly blow if the engines had been preserved in good
condition and the ship continued heading into the gale?  In my opinion,
not five minutes!  If the engines had been stopped when the _Volmer_
was threatened with being overwhelmed the vessel may have {321} drifted
a little out of her course; but I am quite sure that she would have
received, if any at all, only slight damage.  And the same applies to
the _Narrung's_.

There is no better proof of the correctness of my assumption than the
incident that befell the SS. _Snowden Range_, which lost her rudder
last winter in the North Atlantic.  Deeply loaded and absolutely beyond
control she weathered gale after gale, and eventually, after
experiencing forty days of the worst weather, drifted into port with
the cargo in first-class condition.  Apart from having lost her rudder
and a few small breakages the vessel appeared none the worse for all
the wear and tear!

Only by comparing the above three cases, I think, any experienced
seaman should become convinced that an engine-driven vessel in a heavy
gale at sea acts precisely on the same principle as a sailing vessel,
large or small, as explained in my narrative and record of experiences.
And therefore I deem it advisable that a steamship, whenever she
encounters a real heavy gale, should not be driven into a dangerous
head sea just for the sake of keeping steerage-way on her, with the
possible result that she gets badly damaged or even broken up.  It is a
far better plan to stop the vessel's headway dead, tell the engineers
to take a rest, and, with the wheel down, let her drift where she
likes.  In that condition the vessel may swing about, probably as much
as eight points, as she may lay with the wind on the quarter.  But
however she lies, she is bound to make a drift with the wind at the
rate, I would judge, of about a mile or perhaps a little more an hour.
Leave her wake to windward and she will be out of all danger.  Besides
this a few oil bags over the weather side will do no harm.

The above points on the management of steamships in heavy gales I have
discussed with old experienced {322} shipmasters, and in most cases
they agreed with my views.  Some, however, claimed that a steamship
laying to in the trough of heavy waves would roll too much.  The latter
may be so if she be badly loaded.  But if properly loaded, as every
vessel should be when going on a voyage where there is a likelihood of
bad weather, this will not happen.  The force of the gale blowing up
against her side and topwork, I am quite sure, will prevent her rolling
excessively.




{323}

INDEX


  Acapulco, 8 f., 23
  Adelaide, 145
  Africa, South, 220 ff.
  Aikawa, 270, 274, 276
  Anchor fouled, 94, 103 f.
  Aneityum Island, 191 f.
  Apia, 96 f.
  Arafura Sea, 185, 201, 204 f.
  Atlantic Ocean, 239 ff.
  Auckland, 180 ff.
  _Aurora_, schooner, 2
  Azores, 249 ff.

  Baling (_Sea Queen_), 284; (_Tilikum_), 106
  Ballarat, 143
  Ballast of _Tilikum_, 49, 318
  ---- stowage, 318
  Bathurst Island, 206
  Bay of Plenty, 182
  Beal, Cape, 11, 51, 52
  Bche de Mer fishing, 200
  Begent, Louis, 103 f., 147
  Bill of health, 250
  Bluff Harbour, 153
  Boar hunting, 38, 227
  Bonin Islands, 270, 278
  Botha, General, 236
  Brazil, 243 f.
  Breadfruit, 82
  Breakers, crossing, 131, 157 ff., 168 f., 312
  Breaking seas, 17, 63 f., 105, 149, 300 ff.
  Broaching to, 17, 64, 169
  Brown, Mr., 176
  Buckridge, Mr. H., 158, 162 ff., 183 f., 223

  Cable for sea anchor, 310
  Callao, 34, 42 f., 228
  Calm belt (Atlantic), 248 f.
  ---- (Pacific), 71 f.
  Campbell, Cape, 162
  Cannibalism, 100, 193, 195
  Cape Town, 233, 238 ff.
  Capsized, _Sea Queen_, 280
  Carpentaria, Gulf of, 202
  Castella, Capt., 104
  Chatham Bay (Cocos Island), 33
  _Chicago Maru_, S.S., 272
  _Chichijima Maru_, schooner, 302, 305
  _Chichishima Maru_, schooner, 262
  Christchurch, N.Z., 156 f.
  Chronometer watch, 150
  Clark, Capt., 101, 103
  Cocoanuts, uses of, 81 f.
  Cocos Island, 2 ff., 33 ff., 227
  ---- arrival at, 27
  Cocos Keeling Island, 174, 201, 207, 211, 218
  _Colonial Empire_, barque, 259
  Compass, loss of, 107
  Cook, Capt., 171, 180, 192
  Cook Strait, 162, 171 f., 174, 180
  Cooking, importance of good, 184
  Coral Sea, 199
  Corrientes, Cape, 23
  Curnow, Prof., 138 f.
  Cyclone, effect of, 219

  _Daily Mail_, 260
  Dance, at Suva, 101
  ---- on Manahiki, 91
  Danger Island, 95
  Day, T. F., 263
  Dempster, J., 2
  Derwent, River, 147
  Dexter, Capt., 79
  _Discovery_, S.S., 164
  Dismasted (_Sea Queen_), 285; (Tilikum), 109
  Dodges Cove, 52 ff.
  Doldrums, cf. Calm Belt.
  Dolphin fishing, 214 f.
  Donner, Mr. E. O., 146
  Douglas, Hon. Mr., 201
  Dover, 261
  Drift when hove to, 303, 306, 312, 321
  Dunedin, 153
  Durban, 185, 220 ff.
  East Cape, 182
  Egmont, Cape, 173
  _Ella G._, schooner, 303
  _Endeavour_, H.M.S., 182
  English Channel, 258 f.
  Entrecasteaux Channel, 147
  Erromango, 196
  Esquimalt, 7
  Exhibition, at Cape Town, 239; Durban, 223; Johannesburg, 226;
    London, 261; Manly, 117; Melbourne, 132; Wellington, 163

  Figurehead, loss of, 235
  Fiji Islands, 98 f.
  Flattery, Cape, 11, 50
  _Flying Dutchman_, 238
  Flying fish, 83, 95, 214
  Food shortage, 222, 249, 251
  Fortune-teller's prediction, 120, 122 f.
  French Pass, 175 f.

  Gale, Atlantic, 260; Cape of Good Hope, 239; Cook Strait, 172;
    Indian Ocean, 222; Pacific (_Xora_), 15; (_Tilikum_), 67, 105,
    110, 150, 154, 189; (_Sea Queen_), 267, 278 ff.
  Geelong, 143 f.
  Giesler, Mr. and Mrs., 28 ff., 33 ff.
  Gippsland, 236
  Gisborne, 182
  Glenell, 146
  Good Hope, Cape of, 238 f.
  Gray, Piper, 154
  Great Barrier Island, 188
  ---- Reef, 199 f.
  Guadalupe Island, 21 f.
  Guayaquil, 41 f., 244

  Habu Harbour, 294
  Haffner, John, 1 ff., 25, 34
  Hahu, 10 ff.
  Harmsworth, Sir A., 260
  Harrison, Mr. E., 236 ff.
  Hauraki Gulf, 182
  _Hawaian Island_, ship, 104
  Hawkes Bay, 181
  Heaving to, 301, 310
  ---- proper time, 303
  Hove to (_Sea Queen_), 267; (_Tilikum_), 62 ff.; (_Xora_), 18
  ---- drift when, 303, 306, 312, 321
  Hobart, 146 f.
  Honolulu, 69
  How, Cape, 122
  Humphrey Island, 86 f.

  _Imperieuse_, H.M.S., 5 ff.
  Indian Ocean, 185, 207 ff.
  Indians (Vancouver Island), 47, 55 ff.
  ---- graves, 56 f.
  Invercargill, 148, 152 f.

  Japan, 262 ff.
  _Jessy_, schooner, 305
  Johannesburg, 225 f.
  Juan de Fuca, Strait, 11, 14, 50
  Jury rig (_Sea Queen_), 287

  Kangaroo Island, 146
  Kava, 97
  _Keora_, boat, 201, 223
  Kidnappers, Cape, 180
  Kinkasan Island, 274, 276
  Kurogane, Mr., 274

  Lagoon (Penrhyn Island), 78 f., 84
  ---- Liptrap Bay, 123 f., 131
  Leak in _Sea Queen_, 269 ff.
  Lecture, 164
  Lifeboats, gear for ships', 313
  Life-line, use of, 106
  Liptrap Bay, 123 f., 132
  ---- Cape, 123
  Lizard, the, 260
  London, 246
  Lopatka, Cape, 302
  Louchester, Tasmania, 103
  Luxton, Norman, 46 ff., 107, 115 f., 133, 244
  ---- leaves _Tilikum_, 103
  ---- withdraws, 116
  Lyttleton, 156, 162

  McAllister, Commander, 84
  McArthur, Mr., 137
  McDonald, Mr. G., 155, 158
  McKenzie, Mr., 53 f.
  McKinley, President, death of, 96
  McLoughlin, Mr. C., 136
  Madagascar, 220
  Mahia Peninsula, 181
  Mail boat, _Tilikum_ as, 174 f., 239
  Manahiki Island, 86 ff.
  Manly, N.S.W., 115
  Man overboard, 12, 105 f., 160, 280
  Maori interest in _Tilikum_, 165, 173
  Margate, 260
  Marquesas islands, 60, 73
  Marshall Islands, 265, 276
  _Mary Dyer_ (vessel), 34 f.
  _Mary Winkelman_, barquantine, 69
  Mauritius, 220
  Meals (_Tilikum_), 62; (_Sea Queen_), 265
  Melbourne, 120, 130, 132 ff.
  Mermaid Shoals, 206
  Miyake Island, 294
  Mossel Bay, 238

  Napier (N.Z.), 175, 180
  Napoleon's House, 243
  _Narrung_, S.S., 319 f.
  Nelson (N.Z.), 174 f., 211
  Newcastle (N.S.W.), 120
  New Hebrides, 188
  New Plymouth, 173
  New Zealand, 148, 152 ff.
  Niua-Fu, 98
  Norfolk Island, 189

  Oamaru, 155
  Oil, in cabin, 283, 290
  ---- on sea, 269, 279, 302, 321
  Oretegal, Cape, 258
  Oshima, 292

  Pacific Ocean, _Tilikum_ enters, 10; leaves, 201
  ---- (_Sea Queen_), 264 ff.
  ---- (_Xora_), 1 ff.
  Palliser, Cape, 180
  Pallister, Admiral, 5, 33
  Palmerston, North, 165
  Panama, 34
  _Pandora_, yawl, 296 f.
  _Parker, J. W._, barque, 16
  Pearling, 83, 201
  Pelorus Jack, 175 ff.
  ---- Sound,177
  Pencarrow Light, 162 f.
  Penrhyn Island, 73 f., 76 f.
  Pernambuco, 239, 243 f., 260
  Pietermaritzburg, 225
  Pilotage, 119, 182
  Pilot fish, 204
  Pinkerton, Misses, 127 f.
  Poisoned by fish, 202 f., 216
  Ponta Delgada, 250 ff.
  Porpoises, 273
  Port dues, 119
  Port Elizabeth, 236 f.
  Portland Island, 181
  Port Lloyd, 278
  Port Nicholson, 162
  Port Philip Bay, 132, 145
  Port Resolution, 192
  Port San Juan, 51
  _Port Sonachan_, barque, 250
  Poverty Bay, 181
  Pretoria, 225, 235
  _Prussia_, ship, 210, 300, 318
  Pumice-stone, floating, 190 f.

  Race Rock, 10, 50
  Rain Island Passage, 199
  Ray, Mr. Ewin, 225 f., 235
  Reinhart, Mr., 96
  Re-stepping mast, 289
  Reynolds, Capt. E., 210, 318
  Riding sail with sea anchor, 66, 171, 222, 305 ff.
  Robben Island, 242
  Rodriguez, 208, 217 ff.
  Rudder, how to secure when hove to, 311
  ---- (newspaper), 263
  Rules on _Sea Queen_, 265
  Running before high sea, danger of, 16, 63 f., 149, 304
  Russell, W., 185 ff.

  Sailing by the wind, 149
  St. Helena, 242 f.
  St. Kilda, 137
  St. Miguel, 258
  _St. Steven_, barque, 11
  Samoa, 96 ff.
  San Blas, 25
  San Diego, Cal., 228
  San Francisco, 69, 228, 230
  San Lorenzo Island, 44
  San Lucas, Cape, 23
  San Miguel Island, 250
  Scilly Islands, 260
  Sea anchor, 62, 65 f., 107, 156, 222, 267 f., 300, 307 ff.
  ---- cable for use with, 310
  ---- damaged by shark, 268 f.
  ---- improvising, 19, 171, 279
  ---- in breakers, 124 f., 157 f., 312
  ---- lost, 279
  ---- sizes of, 307
  ---- using two, 171
  _Sea Bird_, yawl, 263 ff.
  Sealing, suspended, 262
  _Sea Queen_, yawl, 262 ff., 306; capsized, 280 f.; dimensions, 263;
    dismasted, 285; in typhoon, 278 ff.; jury rig, 287; recaulked, 275;
    spars of, 287
  Sea room, 11 f., 24, 153, 171
  Sea-sickness, 123, 242 f.
  Seddon, Hon. R., 176
  Sendai, 270
  Shackleton, Sir Ernest, 165, 261
  Sharks, 100, 193, 200, 204, 269
  Simson, Capt., 259
  Sleep, difficulty of, 109
  Slocum, Capt., 46, 115, 296 f.
  Small boat voyage, requirements, 184, 296 ff.
  Smith, Mr. J. E., 137
  _Snowden Range_, S.S., 321
  Solander Island, 157 f.
  Solomon Island, 101
  Sook Inlet, 10
  _Spray_, yawl, 46, 115, 296
  Stars, steering by, 104, 108
  Steering without compass, 107 f.
  Stone, F., 263 ff.
  Stormsails, in a gale, 304.  Cf. also Riding sail.
  Stove, in _Tilikum_, 150
  Sumno, 157 ff., 307
  _Sunbeam_, smack, 260
  Sunosaki, 265
  Suva, 100 f., 115
  Sydney, N.S.W., 103 ff., 114 f.

  Tanna, 182 f.
  Tasmania, 146 f.
  Thirst, precautions against, 209
  Thunderstorms, 24 f., 112
  Thursday Island, 198, 200 f., 208
  _Tilikum_, canoe, 47 ff., 262, 267, 269, 278, 297, 299, 307, 318;
    damaged, 133; dimensions, 49; figurehead lost, 235; fitting out,
    48; mail carrier, 174; repairing, 142
  Tokyo Bay, 264, 293
  _Topgallant_, ship, 11
  _Torch_, H.M.S., 84 f., 87
  Torres Strait, 185, 198, 200
  Toshima Island, 294
  Trade winds, S.E., Indian Ocean, 212
  ---- Pacific, 73, 99
  Treasure, on Cocos Island, 2 ff., 33 ff.
  Turtle, 23
  ---- turning, 280 f.
  Typhoon, 276 ff., 307, 314 f.
  ---- effects of, 295

  Uraga, 264 f.

  Vancouver Island, 47 f., 50 ff., 60
  Victoria, B.C., 1 ff., 46, 50
  Vincent, S. A., 263 ff.
  _Volmer_, S.S., 320

  Waterbay (Cocos Island), 28 ff., 33 ff.
  Wanganui, 167 f.
  ---- Bar, 168 f., 312
  Watches, 265
  Water shortage, 208
  ---- spouts, 111
  ---- supply, 10, 49, 184, 210, 263
  Watt, Rev. Mr., 194 f.
  Waves, height of, 300
  Wellington, N.Z., 163 f.
  Wessel Island, 202
  West wind, sign of, 15
  Whales, 57 f., 60, 266
  Wickberg, Capt., 13
  Williams, Mr., killed at Erromango, 197
  ---- Mr., Consul, Pernambuco, 245
  ---- Mr., of Manakiki, 88 f.
  ---- Rev. Mr. (Suva), 101
  Wilson, Mr., 194 f.
  Winchester, Mr., 79
  Wolcot, Mr. W., 137 f.
  Wrecks on Penrhyn Island, 80 f.
  ---- at Port Elizabeth, 237

  _Xora_, sloop, 1 ff., 227, 263, 267, 269, 278, 306
  ---- aground, 31
  ---- dimensions of, 9 ff.

  Yokohama, 178, 262 f., 290, 302
  York, Cape, 200




      *      *      *      *      *

[Transcriber's note: The source book had page headers that varied with
the material on each page.  In this etext, the variant headers have
been converted to sidenotes.]




[End of _The Venturesome Voyages of Captain Voss_ by John Claus Voss]
