It is doubtful whether, if left to his own devices, any boy would go a second voyage without a very considerable amount of hesitation. Indeed, a trip as far as the Downs quite satisfied the nautical aspirations of a certain friend of mine, who put to sea in the Roxburgh Castle and left at the earliest possible moment. This was poor Will Terriss, whose tragic ending is still fresh in the memory of his many friends and countless admirers. My own brother also had nautical aspirations. He went from London to Newcastle to join a vessel as an apprentice. Unfortunately he went by sea, and the trip was amply sufficient to cure him, for he took train and came back home at once, without even having seen his ship. I must say this was nothing remarkable, for sea-sickness is such a sheer horror that people become indifferent to all surroundings, and are frequently so demoralised that they would hardly resist being thrown overboard. I have known a case where, touching at a port some days out, it has been necessary to land a lad to save his life, the sea affected him so terribly.

Terriss and my brother, therefore, had my sympathy in deciding not to stick to the sea, but in my own case there was no alternative. I had insisted upon going to sea, so had to stick to it, and after six weeks’ holiday rejoined my ship in the London Docks. They had replaced the sprung mainmast, and the ship was again loading for Adelaide.

Without any doubt it is wrong to make boys live on board a ship in dock without any effective control. There were always three of us and sometimes four on board, and night watchmen looking after lights were easily hoodwinked. We had gorgeous and surreptitious feasts, and the seals of custom house officers on excisable goods were tampered with quite easily. I can recall on more than one occasion the mystified looks of officers who found seals intact and contents considerably shortened of what they should have been; and, generally speaking, there is scarcely any problem of food supply that boys on board ship will not find a way of solving. Very wrong indeed, many people will say; what became of your moral principle? I reply in the words of the Eton dame who, asked as to the moral qualities of the boys: said, “There was never a moral amongst them,” and, after all, it wasn’t much worse than orchard robbing! This is a digression, but it is a little difficult to sit down late in life to recount one’s juvenile villainies without at least a half-hearted attempt to palliate them—knowing also at the time that even then you do not mean your confession to be a complete one.

In due course the ship was loaded and the crew signed on. We had a new second mate, who we quickly discovered was of a different make to the last one. In fact, I think it was hinted to him that the rope’s-end rÉgime was not to our liking, and that we had begun to discover that unity was strength, but this was only possibly because he messed with us. For the “old man,” having started by turning King out of the cabin, thought fit to continue the innovation, and kind-hearted Geordie Roshwell was not the type of man to assert himself. A good seaman he was, but more sailmaker than second mate. Both mate and captain bullied him unmercifully, and destroyed the little authority he was capable of wielding. We were detained in the Downs for many days, one ship of a large fleet, for the wind was blowing too hard from the westward for us to attempt to beat down-Channel. When at last we did make the attempt we got as far as Dungeness and spent one night under short canvas, almost constantly wearing ship on short boards and eventually anchoring again; but we finally did get a slant of wind and fairly started on the voyage. I will only recall one incident as showing the sort of treatment that was then meted out to seafarers as the ordinary custom. It was one of the desires of Captain Hole that his apprentices should be first-class helmsmen, and for some unexplained reason that they should steer better than the able seamen. One day the ship was going her course with a very strong wind just free enough to carry a topmast stunsail in addition to all plain sail. She was steering badly when I relieved an A.B. at noon; in point of fact she was a bit of a handful and the old man had been taking a good deal of interest in what had been going on. This interest he now transferred to me, and because I could not do better than my predecessor I was sentenced to stay at the wheel until eight o’clock that night. Fortunately for my arms the wind grew lighter as the afternoon wore on, and about six o’clock my chum smuggled me a biscuit along. In this, however, with his usual bad luck, he was detected, and when eight bells came he was ordered to relieve me, and spent the four hours of his watch below at the wheel. It was a rough school, but injustice never seemed to be questioned, or thought much about; the master was absolute and despotic, and there was no more to be said.

There is little of interest to record of this passage. Adelaide was reached in due course; the cargo was discharged, the crew deserted, the ship was chartered for London and taken out into the stream to load, as it was likely to be a long operation. The wool was only coming down slowly, and the apprentices had their fair share of work cut out for them. The routine was something after this fashion—called at 5.30 a.m. and got to work by 6.0, washing decks, or doing boat work; half-an-hour for breakfast at 8 a.m.; then on again to 1.0, when there was an hour for dinner; 5.30 p.m. clear up decks. Even after supper the work was not over, for two of us had to pull the skipper on shore and remain in the boat waiting for him, usually till midnight. As we were taking in the ship’s water, the rest of us frequently spent the evenings in towing off a small lighter that carried water-tanks. Well, that was all right enough; it was hard work, but we were used to it and did not grumble; but I think the cause of the subsequent trouble was the interference with our shore leave, and I am also afraid that the eternal feminine had a little to do with it.

It was in this way. On the preceding voyage the skipper invited some young ladies on board to lunch, with one of whom he seemed to be somewhat smitten. Now, as it happened, I also was acquainted with the family, and as boys and girls we were on good terms together. Of this the skipper knew nothing until some kind friend gave the show away. That was quite enough for him, and I was duly informed when I asked leave to go on shore, that it was no longer permitted.

That evening we boys held a great pow-wow, at which I stated my intentions to do no more work, and two others also resolved to follow my lead. The sense of injustice rankled very strongly; we were worked most unsparingly and then denied the most ordinary privileges to which we had a right; and the proverbial worm at length turned.

Next morning came the usual summons to turn out, and as I woke up I remembered that I was pledged to defiance by the resolution I had come to the preceding evening. So when my fellow conspirators looked to me for guidance they got all they wanted.

Now that I am nearing the end of my career I can look back and see that there is, and has been, one very curious trait in my character. It is the greatest of my desires to live at peace with my fellows, and to pay the greatest respect and obedience to properly constituted authority, but once that idea has been overcome there is nothing that would stay me in carrying out my own will at any cost, or in the face of any obstacle. This characteristic has led me into much hot water, and I am not at all sure that it has left me even now.

“Now, you boys, turn out,” said the voice of “old Geordie,” as we nicknamed the second mate. To this we replied that we were not going to do any more work. I can see the smile of pitying incredulity that spread over his features as he listened to our resolve and pointed out the inevitable consequences. These, however, we had made up our minds to face, so, leaving us, he went and informed the mate, who, to our surprise, also tried to reason with us and pointed out, with considerable sarcastic energy, what was likely to happen if we persisted in our attitude and forced him to tell the captain. We said we had counted the cost and were solid in our refusal, but we came as far aft as the mainmast at his bidding and waited for developments.

They soon came. I can see the scene now as clearly as when it happened—a beautiful sunshiny morning. We three boys in shirts and trousers, bare-footed, and the old man just roused from his sleep looking like an angry bear, and not by any means dressed, rushing from the cabin, his eyes blazing with wrath at an act of rebellion such as he had not conceived to be possible. He began with me. Picking up the end of the forebrace, which was close to where we were standing, he gave me the order “Go to work,” to which I replied, “I won’t, sir.” Then, swinging his shoulders, he gave me three strokes with the end of the forebrace. It hurt, but it had not the least effect in disturbing my resolve, and the mate interposed with the advice not to strike us but to put us in irons in the after cabin. This was done, our hands were ironed behind our backs, and we were left to our own devices. To the best of my belief the other fellows escaped the rope’s end that had so beautifully scored my back.

The after cabin in which we were put was fitted with lockers for holding tinned provisions, wines, etc., and it had stern ports that opened outwards. Access to the deck could also be obtained through an open skylight. Our sentence involved no food or water, and it seems to me after this lapse of time that more care might have been taken as to our place of confinement, for we were fairly familiar with those lockers and knew exactly what they contained, also, being slim and active as young eels, it was a perfectly easy matter to get our hands in front of us, and ordinary irons do not prevent people from doing useful things on an emergency. During the day we were not absolutely hungry, for we were able to make provision against that, but the thirst was another matter, and that we could not remedy. At seven the next morning we had had enough, and surrendered in exchange for water that we could no longer do without. Our irons were taken off and we went forward.

I should here interpose that at the time of which I write the custom of “hazing” a man was still prevalent. In other words, if a man were obnoxious to either mate or master he would be kept at the most difficult, obnoxious, and perhaps even dangerous work until he deserted, for as a rule there was no purging an offence, and desertion was the only remedy. At the time I speak of there was a man on board a ship in the harbour who had been sitting on the end of a royal yard for some days. What he was doing no one knew, except the mate who was hazing him, and when once that treatment commenced, it was a dog’s life indeed for the individual on whom it was being tried. I mention this to show that we knew perfectly well what our future lot was likely to be, but up to then we had possibly not sinned beyond forgiveness, although that seemed a little unlikely.

But now I was confronted with another difficulty, for my chest had disappeared, and I went aft to inquire about it from the captain.

“As I neither intend to allow you money or liberty,” he replied, “I have taken charge of your wardrobe.” I remember the words as well as if spoken yesterday, and I told him that he could put me in irons again, for work I would not. Probably this was pot-valiant on my part, but I had had a good drink of water. Moreover, I knew the letters that box contained, and also guessed that their destination would be—the father of the girl who wrote them, so I went back solus to my irons in the after cabin. The others had had enough of the treatment to satisfy their longings for martyrdom, ardent though these had been.

With me, however, it was entirely different. I had been hurt in more ways than one, and much as I hated the idea of deserting I resolved that no power should make me risk the passage home in that ship if I could do otherwise. As I meditated I saw through the stern port the steward sculling the dingy on shore, and that gave me an idea. The ship was in the stream, possibly a hundred yards from the shore. I got the irons in front of me, slipped on deck through the skylight unseen by any one on board, threw the vang fall over the side, slid down it, and struck out for the shore. Although, manacled as I was, I could not swim in the ordinary way, I could paddle, and at times turn over on my back for a rest. Not a soul lent me a hand or interfered until I got to the landing-stage, where I was promptly arrested by a constable and marched up to the police station.

The police superintendent, as it happened, was imbued with an idea of fair play. He released me from the irons and told me what I should have to do. By this time my clothes had got fairly dry, I was sitting quietly wondering what would happen next when in came Captain Hole.

“Take that fellow into custody,” he said, directly he caught sight of me, “for being absent from his ship without leave.”

I subsequently learnt that he had called at his lawyers’ on the way up and they had suggested this course as a “try on.” It did not work, however. The superintendent declined, saying that I had come to him for protection and he would see that I got it, and on this the old man retired very crestfallen. The outcome was that I was granted a summons for assault, and the captain had to appear before the magistrates next day. I cannot at the moment of writing find the record of the police court proceedings, but anyhow the skipper was fined for the assault, as it was called, on the three of us, and was ordered to give up my property. We, on our side, had to return to our duties. The name of the lawyer who represented us was Edmunds, and I recollect well how he painted the terror we must be in (at which we grinned comprehensively) when one could risk life by venturing into the water with irons on.

After that episode life went on for some little time much on the former lines, except that there was shown to us a suspicious consideration which did not augur well for our comfort on the passage home. Indeed, I received a broad hint from the mate. “Bill,” he said, one day, “if I were in your place I should skedaddle and get a moke,” his idea for my future being some sort of a costermonger’s business, then very popular amongst the runaway Jacks. That scheme, however, had no fascination for me; I had gone to sea to become a skipper, and nothing was going to spoil the idea though there might be many obstacles. However, we finally resolved that we would bolt and get up-country, our objective being a place on the Murray River called Port Mannum. We laid our plans with care, for if we went too soon there would be the more time to catch us, and also it was necessary that we should have as many hours’ start as possible in order to escape immediate recapture. What we did with the clothes in our chests I have no very clear recollection. I should think we sold them, for we had to go very light for travelling; but certainly from that time I was not overburdened with clothes until my return to England.

On the fateful night Fred Wilkes and Bob Walters were the two to pull the skipper on shore, and having done so returned on board with instructions to fetch him off at 11 p.m. It was clear they would have to wait until that time or the hue and cry would be raised too soon, so it was settled I should go first and make arrangements for them to pick up their bundles. These were placed in a round washing-tub with my own apparel, and lowered over the side, followed by me. I swam on shore to the peninsula side of the river, pushing the tub before me, and gave a cooee. Then I dressed and, taking the bundles, left the tub for the enlightenment of those on board in the morning, and set off to the house of a town boy friend, who, with his mother, were aiding and abetting us. That was an evening of many incidents, some pleasant, all to be remembered, and I wonder if these words will meet the eye of any of the actors. If they do they will know that the waters of Lethe have not obliterated for me the memory of their kindness and help.

About midnight Fred and Bob duly arrived. They told me that when they had taken the skipper off they intentionally left the oars in the boat. This he noticed and had them taken on board as usual. When he had turned in they quietly replaced them and pulled on shore. As there was no other ship’s boat in the water, the presumption was that we were safe from pursuit until the morning, but had the skipper had the imaginative faculty at all developed, the first omission to remove the oars might have provided him with the opportunity for a dramatic surprise. I always feel regret that I never met any one afterwards who saw what went on the next morning when it was discovered that the birds had flown. The skipper’s face must have been a study when he was told that the ship’s boat was to be seen made fast to the steps and the three apprentices missing. There was a fourth one, who stayed behind, but as he was delicate, and more or less used as a cabin-boy, our actions had not been any guide to him. These words are in no way intended to convey a reproach to you, Jim Powell, of Pimlico, for you were a sportsman, although you could not go quite the pace of your more athletic comrades.

Well, away we went, tramping through the hours of darkness, and when the sun rose we took shelter under a haystack and slept until awakened by the pangs of hunger. We had arrived at a place called Golden Grove, and, knowing the hospitality that was extended to travellers, had no hesitation in going to the house and asking for food, which was freely given. I cannot remember the name of the owner of the house, but he saw his opportunity of securing a useful hand on the estate and persuaded Bob to stay with him. Bob accordingly drops out of this story. Fred and I, after our appetites were satisfied, continued our journey, and I quite think we made a good time of it. The next night we spent in a place called Gumeracha, and experienced the hospitality of a landowner named Randall. I expect it was pretty clearly seen what we were, but there was always a great deal of sympathy ready for runaway seamen, and we certainly met it in this instance. The next day we started on what we meant to be the final stage of the journey. It was, but well do I remember the interminable white hills of that road. From the top of each one in succession we hoped to see the water of the River Murray, and this kept us going. Other characteristics of the road were trees and fields of water-melons. I also remember being struck with the appearance of great worn boulders perched on hilltops, and the soil turned up showing fields of white shells something of the nature of oysters. At length, however, we climbed the last hill and came in sight of our destination, a small cluster of huts by the side of a wide white river, fringed by great trees, and conveying to the mind an idea of vastness and grandeur.

Here we had reached a place where one could exist by one’s own exertion, and where, if you did not like the job you had, you could leave it and find another more to your liking.

As it happened Mannum was the head-quarters of a Captain Randall, who commanded one of the steamers that plied on the Murray. They took up all sorts of merchandise for the towns on the river banks, and towed down barges laden with wool. I did not make one of these trips, but I was told they were at times fairly exciting, for what with shallow water at one time and overhanging branches of trees at another, there was usually plenty of incident. There were five carpenters there building a new barge for Captain Randall. These men were accommodated in a large tent, and in a very short time it was explained to me that I could have a pound a week and my tucker if I could do their cooking for them. The offer was gratefully accepted, especially as it transpired that there was a shot-gun at my disposal, and that I was expected to replenish the stores from the sources of wildfowl that were to be found in the lagoons on the other side of the river. I do not well remember what occupation Fred found at first, but eventually he went as a deck hand in a river steamer, and thus he also drops out of my story. I heard afterwards that he took up his quarters at a town higher up the river. Good luck to him, wherever he may be, for he was a good fellow, although we had many a scrap together at odd times.

Left by myself I waited for the time I might safely return to Adelaide, but my life in the meantime was by no means a bad one. The Murray is an exceedingly beautiful river, running as it does, almost a milky white colour, between banks thickly wooded with splendid gum trees. Of course its volume depended upon whether there was a wet or dry season, but I saw no sign of drought while I was there. On one occasion two men and myself were towed some hundred miles up in a barge, and then cast adrift to drop down the stream, with instructions to stop at intervals and cut branches of trees that would be suitable for using as knees for the new barge. I regret to say that our success in this matter was not commensurate with our expectations. The life, however, was an ideal one, the weather all that could be desired, warm and beautiful, with a bright moon at nights. Life by the camp fire, with plenty of tea, damper and beef, was an excellent stimulant to high spirits, and a night passed in Swan Reach was especially noticeable in this matter.

If we were not as successful in our wood-cutting as we might have been, we certainly had a most enjoyable time, and when at last we got back to head-quarters I found a newspaper which gave me the information that the Alwynton had duly sailed for home.

Well, with the least possible lapse of time I gave up my job, got a cheque for my wages, duly cashed it, and took my passage back in a sort of coach. I have no very clear recollections of any incidents in that trip, but I got to Adelaide all right and learned that a warrant was out for me as a deserter. That was no more than I expected, for it was the ordinary thing. The police, however, were not over zealous in worrying runaway seamen, for they themselves had mostly once been in the same category. The thing was to find a ship, and for that purpose I was advised to consult a certain boarding-house master, Jack Hanly I think his name was, and not a bad sort by any means, but it was rather an eye-opener to be fitted out with a discharge that had belonged to some other seaman of about my own age, and it further involved a change of name which I saw might lead to complication when it came to producing papers for the Board of Trade. The first trial showed me that it would not do. There was in the harbour a big American ship called the Borodino, and when Jack and I went to the captain the following conversation took place. Said Jack: “Captain, I’ve brought you a hand, wants to learn to be a captain.” “No, thank you,” said the skipper, “looks too white about the gills for me, no deal.”

That was the end of that episode, and I cast round myself to see what could be done. There was also in port another ship called the Troas, which I remembered we had spoken at sea on the previous voyage. On the strength of this acquaintance, I went to see her skipper, who, being badly in want of hands, agreed to see me through the police court and ship me as an ordinary seaman. When I was fined £5 or a month for desertion my new skipper paid the fine, and I forthwith took up my berth in my new ship. She was a full-rigged vessel of about 800 tons, and was bound for Foo Chow to load tea for home. So far as the officers were concerned the tone of the ship was on a fairly high plane. The mate was no great personality, but the second, George Davies, was a very fine seaman and a splendid officer. He was also a splendid athlete. I have seen him go out on a bare topmast stunsail boom to reeve a tack that had become unrove, in order to save the time it would have taken to rig the boom in. I believe he was afterwards in command of a sailing vessel that was lost in a typhoon in the China Sea—at all events his ship was reported as missing. There was also a third mate, whom I afterward met when he was serving in the P. & O. service.

The crew were a curious lot. There was especially one typical old sailor full of ancient lore and tradition. Commenting on the fact of the captain having his wife on board he predicted evil from the commencement. “You mark my words,” he said, “they are bad cattle to sail with.” That was not, however, the general opinion, for the lady in question was pleasant to look upon, and every one she spoke to was pleased with her charming manner.

The cause of our misfortune was something quite different, and might have been foreseen. After taking in about one hundred tons of stone ballast for the trip to Foo Chow, we took in for the remainder a great quantity of semi-liquid mud that had been dredged up from the bottom of the river. Whether any consideration had been given to the matter by those in charge I am unable to say, but the fact remains that as soon as we got to sea the ship showed a great want of stability or stiffness, and as she heeled over the moist mud picked up its lowest possible level. It was evident that this state of things would not do, so as the ship had sister keelsons we tried to build a dam amidships by driving down piles inside them and then filling up the internal space with stone ballast. The general effect of this procedure was, I think, to make matters worse, and as we could not get back to Adelaide, the wind being strong and adverse, we tried to get to Port Lincoln. Here, again, our luck was poor, for the wind came strong from the westward and cut us off.

The next idea was to run for Melbourne. We in the forecastle were dependent for our news of what was being done upon such scanty information as might be dropped by one of the officers, but we mostly recognised that we were in rather a tight fix and that we should be lucky to get out of it. Owing to the ship’s inability to stand up to her canvas we were driven south of Kangaroo Island and were hardly put to it to weather Cape Jaffa. From that point, however, the land trended a little to the north-eastward, but it was soon recognised that nothing short of a shift of wind would save us, and that there was no sign of. We had weathered Cape Jaffa about midnight, having carried close-reefed topsails and foresail with the greatest difficulty. The ship, of course, lay over tremendously, but she still carried some way. As soon as we were past the Cape the maintopsail blew away and, the foretopsail and foresail being furled, we lay hove-to under the mizzen-topsail. The next morning we were set to work to get up stay and yard tackles for the long boat, and to clear away the spars that were stowed on top of it. This was done and the stay tackles hooked on and hauled tight, but during this operation I had fallen on my left shoulder and hurt it so badly that it was difficult and painful to move my arm. Some time shortly after noon the weather cleared a little and some one shouted out “land on the lee beam.” There it was sure enough, and about two miles or so of breakers I should think. There was no escape, for the ship was simply drifting to leeward. Davies, who went aloft to obtain a better view, hailed the poop: “It’s all right, sir—a sandy beach;” and then scuttled down to help and advise the only thing possible, which was to run for the beach. As we discovered afterwards, it was the top of high water and fortune had directed us to the only patch of sand in the locality.

The second mate was now the man of the moment, the mate was not much use, and the master, never a noisy man, was apparently well contented to see Davies run the show. Foresail and foretopsail were loosed and set, the mizzen-topsail was clued up, the helm put hard-a-weather, and keeping her quarter to the sea we ran for the beach. Davies commanded the ship. A big German, a very fine fellow, was at the weather wheel, I was on the lee side. Needless to say, we were all a little curious as to what the next few minutes might bring about, though honestly speaking I do not think young people care very much what faces them. I perfectly well remember thinking that I might shortly be called to an account for all I had done or left undone, but decided that there was no time to dwell upon such thoughts. Just about this time the first real comber came on board, sweeping the main deck clean of everything. It left the stem and stern posts of the long boat, however, swinging in the tackles. By this time the ship was nearly on her beam ends and probably touching the ground, for the water was breaking very heavily over her, and to the best of my recollection the foreyard was touching the sand. We cut away the weather rigging so far as we could, and in long-drawn heaves and attempts to come right side up the masts and spars gradually left us to a precarious foothold on the outside of the ship’s weather quarters. I can remember that episode well, for the water came over bitterly cold and seemed blown by the wind into our very bones.

In the course of an hour or so it became evident that the water was receding and it was possible to see what could be done. The ship was breaking up fast, and before three hours had passed there was a hole through the middle of her. But the ends kept together and some of the comicalities of life commenced to appear. The mate was walking as best he could in the cabin with a lifebelt round him and a musket over his shoulder, and as little semblance of order remained, it was left to the stronger spirits to do the best they could. Here John, the big German, and the second mate came to the front, and they did well. By the time it was low water a rope had been got on shore, how I know not, and some had gone on shore by it, but I know that before we left the ship we had a feed of jugged hare in Davies’s cabin. That stands out vividly, but I cannot remember any drunkenness on the part of any member of the crew.

The landing of the captain’s little lady was accomplished with little trouble, for she was a plucky soul, and went through a trying time with a courage that was greatly to be admired, but she could not have avoided drawing conclusions which would have been invidious could they have been particularised. The next scene in this drama was round a big fire under the lee of a sand-hill, where most of the crew were gathered. Some of the crowd had secured food, and there was a general feeling of satisfaction that we had not lost the number of our mess. Also we gained the knowledge that a bag of flour made a first-rate life-buoy for a man who wanted to get on shore with a rope. One of the big deck water-casks had been washed on shore; we knocked the head in and placed it with its sound end to windward, and its opening to the fire to make a shelter for the lady of the party, and then, hot on one side and cold on the other, we waited for day. Some bold spirits had already tried exploration, and failed to find any sign of habitation.

Shortly after daylight, we saw two men on horseback gazing at the ship, and they expressed wonderment and surprise at the good fortune which enabled us to greet them. It appeared that the general character of the coast was rocky, and the other wrecks that had taken place in the vicinity had all been attended by fatalities.

As we were the exceptions we could only be thankful that Providence had been so good to us. Then we set to work to think out the next move. As for myself, I had got on shore with little more than a packet of letters, tied up with a rope yarn, and a copy of Byron’s poems. I have them both now, but they were neither of any considerable value when the world had to be faced in a shirt and trousers only.

Our friends on horseback came from a station near to Lake Albert. It was some miles away, but we went there and were hospitably entertained for days. We made occasional visits to what was left of the ship, and were lucky in finding some boots and articles of clothing. These were useful, as our hosts had begun to hint that it would be well if we made a move to see what some other station’s damper and mutton were like. Davies and I had tramped to Rivoli Bay, an old boiling-down station, to see if any vessel was there, but not finding one we returned, and soon afterwards we all set out for Port Macdonnel. There were many amusing incidents in that trip. The news had travelled that a party of sailormen were on the tramp, and at one station the cook was exceeding wrath because his master had not given him notice that we should be there for supper. He observed that the boss had done it for spite, to take him unawares. “Just,” he said, “as if twenty-five bally men could knock me out at any time!” I think his confidence was not egotism, for we were well done, and the people from the big house came down to the shed to look at us all.

Words fail me to convey the surprises of the next day’s tramp along the bush paths. We passed emu in droves; the wallabys hardly troubled to get out of the path; and to see the kangaroos cover the ground was a constant source of wonderment. I do not know what the record kangaroo high-jump is, but what we saw them do with apparent ease seemed absolutely marvellous.

It must not be supposed that the period between the wreck and our arrival at Port Macdonnel was only a few days. I should think it was about a month. There were certain matters regarding wages that the captain had to arrange with a great part of his crew, and he had to ride to Mount Gambier to find some one to finance him, subsequently meeting us at Port Macdonnel. My wages were no source of trouble to me, for he had paid my fine and I was consequently in debt to the ship, but with the others it was different. The skipper was the object of much wrath when it leaked out that he was not in favour of our getting a passage round to Melbourne by the coasting steamer, but preferred to play into the hands of a road constructor who was anxious to secure our services. One of the owners of the steamer was present when the altercation was taking place, and solved the question by giving a passage to those who wished to go. I shall always entertain a kindly remembrance of that action by the gentleman in question, whose name I think was Ormerod. This series of events led up to one of the pleasantest times of my life. We got to Melbourne, for the steamer went up the Yarra, and as many of us as wished were taken on to assist in loading and unloading cargo. For this we were paid one shilling an hour for eight hours’ work, and we lived at the sailors’ home. Strange as it may seem, we were satisfied with our lot, and the pay sufficed for all reasonable needs. When that particular ship was finished with, however, Davies, Dowling, third mate of the Troas, and myself thought it time to see about getting home again, and so, with our added store of knowledge of various forms of life, we got down to Sandridge Pier to look for a ship.

Sandridge Pier in those days was a beautiful sight to any lover of salt water. It belonged to a period that will never again come round—the time when ships were beautiful, and no pains were spared to make them so. Steam had not then got all the passenger trade, and the ships of Green, Wigram, Smith and Dunbar were the lineal descendants of the old East Indiamen. They carried big crews, and they were mostly commanded and officered by men who were splendid seamen as well as gentlemen. The command of one of these vessels for a voyage extending over nine months might be worth a thousand pounds; that was before the world woke to the period of extreme competition. But beautiful though these ships were, they only pleased the eye because they were to our belief the embodiment of all that was the finest to be found afloat. Many of the best specimens of them can be found to-day in various ports of the world serving as coal hulks. When I made a trip to the docks some years ago to see the Essex, it was difficult to believe that she was the ship one had known teeming with life, brilliancy and smartness. She was, I suppose, about 240 feet long, which was then considered a very fair length for any sailing-ship. What is known as “taking the time ball” was one of the events of the day. A midshipman belonging to each vessel would be perched in some prominent part of the poop of each ship, and in close proximity would be the boatswain and his mates, ready to pipe to dinner and grog at the instant the signal was given that the ball had dropped. The chorus of pipes was a thing to hear and remember, as it was taken up by the assembled ships; there was always a laudable ambition to be the first ship to commence.

The names of the ships there escape my memory, but there was more than one belonging to Money, Wigram & Co., and there was also a splendid old frigate-built ship called the Holmesdale. I am not quite sure whether the celebrated packet-ship the White Star was there then, or whether I came across her the next voyage, but both she and the Champion of the Seas were magnificent-looking vessels, and the captain of the latter ship, Outridge, I think, was his name, was in appearance quite in keeping with the name of his command.

The point I want to bring out is that these two last-mentioned ships, fast sailers and “packet-ships” though they were, did not rank among the aristocracy of the sea, such as the Blackwell ships proper were then considered. They were regarded in the same manner as, ten years later, a Union Steamship man would regard a Donald Currie ship. He would throw a condescending glance upon a Donald Currie ship as much as to say, “Very worthy, no doubt, but you are not us, although you try your hardest to get the set of our sail covers and to keep your yards decently square.” But of that more anon.

It appeared that the Essex wanted two able and one ordinary seamen, and as Dowling and I both wanted to ship as ordinary, Davies, who was the wise man of the party, advised me to ship as A.B. As he put it, “You want to get home, and they can only reduce your wages in proportion to your incompetency.” Accordingly, when we had concluded a satisfactory interview with the “first officer,” as he was styled, I followed this advice. This first officer’s name was Gibbs. He turned out to be a great favourite with all, and I can say with truth that the forecastle hands tried their best to please him always out of sheer personal liking. We used to speak of him as “Lady Jane.” He had his valet with him, and on one occasion he sang “The Lost Child” in costume and was much applauded. I met him years afterwards, on more level terms, and I hope he retains as kindly a remembrance of me as I do of him.

Soon after taking up our quarters on board, we had our first lesson in “Blackwall fashion.” Davies and I were on a stage on the ship’s side busily painting when one of the Jacks put his head over: “Here, you chaps, you’re doing too much work, that ain’t Blackwall fashion,” and I must confess that we immediately complied with the regulation.

That ship, of 1042 tons about, carried captain, four mates, midshipmen and apprentices, twenty-four able seamen, and a boatswain and two mates. It was a fine crew, and could work the ship handsomely. It was then considered that it took four A.B.’s to stow a topgallant sail, but I have some recollection that upon one occasion Davies managed by himself at the fore, where he was stationed as a foretop man. I was a maintop man, and, being under the immediate eye of the officer of the watch, had not that same freedom of action they enjoyed forward, and yet I seem to remember some association between the game of euchre and the maintop on fine afternoons.

The first night out on the homeward trip we had three topsails to reef at once. It was well done and quickly, and, in the curious way in which news gets forward, we learned that the old man was very pleased with the way in which it was done, and said he never had a finer crew. And let me here, as one of that crew, pay a tribute of respect to Captain J.S. Attwood, who was in command of it.

The said crew was one such as I am thankful to say I never had to deal with as a skipper. Almost without exception they were men holding Board of Trade certificates of competency, having been runaways or something of the sort. There was one man whom I had seen in command of a sailing-ship in Adelaide, the Jessie Heyns, he was working his passage in order to buy a ship in London. He did so, and afterwards wanted me to go as second mate with him. Fine seamen as they were, the men knew too much to be tractable. Their bÊte noire was the third mate. Now there are various ways of annoying officers. One punishment that can be served out by a crew is not to sing out when hauling upon the ropes in the night time. By the tone of the men’s voices it can usually be learned in the dark what they are doing, but to shorten sail with silent men was an ordeal that was spared me as an officer, I am thankful to say. I learned a lot on that trip, however. For one thing I cultivated the art of chewing tobacco, so that I might be able to demonstrate undeniably to my people at home the fact that I was an A.B., and could, therefore, spit brown with a clear conscience.

It is a curious thing how trifling incidents come back to the memory when dealing with past events. There was one night the third mate had already given rather more trouble than we thought he ought to have done, when he put the finishing touch by giving the order to set a lower studding-sail. The night was pitch dark, and we were being as awkward and as slow as we knew how to be. The captain was on deck, and ordered the third to go forward and see what the delay was caused by. He did so promptly, and got a ball of spun yarn thrown at his head by a hand unknown, on which he retired aft and told the skipper. Now Captain Attwood was a man who feared nothing or no one, and he promptly came to inquire who had “thrown a ball of spun yarn at his third mate’s head?” Such was the temper of the men that the betting was very even as to what he was likely to get himself; but after some talk of more or less lurid hue, Davies solved the difficulty by saying, “Look here, Captain Attwood, if you want the work done we can do it, but we are not going to be humbugged round by that third mate of yours; now we’ll show you how to set a stunsail.” And we did. But, as I said before, I am glad that I never had such a crowd to deal with. This little incident will serve to explain the temper of crews on the southern seas during the ’sixties.

We rounded Cape Horn without any striking incident. It was winter time, and beyond the clothes I stood in I had precious little. There was, however, some sort of a sale on board, for I know that I got a warm monkey jacket. We ran from the Horn to the line in under sixteen days—a good passage—and off the western islands were becalmed for some days with a number of other vessels, tea ships mostly, and vessels of repute at that. But when once the wind began to make from the westward, as it did, what a glorious spin home it was! The Essex was not loaded deeply, she had fine lines, and it took something to pass her. In this case I think she was the second ship to dock, the winner of the race being a ship called the Florence Henderson.

Blackwall dock at last, and my mother to meet me! I can see her look of horror as I jumped on shore from one of the maindeck ports, bare-footed, dressed in shirt and trousers, with a quid of tobacco in my cheek that was intended to be obvious even to the casual observer!

It is a little remarkable how one’s views on the conventions change with one’s surroundings.