“And the world went very well then.”—Mel. B. Spurr.

I was glad to make the transfer with Jones at Mossel Bay. For one reason it gave him a fair chance of retaining his command, for the Roman was to remain on the coast, and I also gave a certain sigh of satisfaction as I saw the blue ensign once again at the stern of the African, for she was a nice little ship and I was very fond of her. When I got on board I found that Ballard and his wife were taking the passage home with me. It is a curious sensation after you have been under the orders of a man to meet him upon terms of equality, and to this day some of my old officers, now in command, cannot get over the inclination to say “Sir” to me. I remember remonstrating with one of them some little time ago. He replied, “Well, I always said sir to you, and I always shall.” He was an Irishman, and the episode took place in the House of Commons, whither he had dragged me to meet some of the leaders of the Irish party. It was on that occasion that I first met John Burns, now the Right Honourable, who, speaking of the then recently concluded Boer War, observed that we had beaten “better men than ourselves,” from which statement, guided by my past experience, I mildly dissented.

On that passage home I lost overboard my boatswain, and to the best of my recollection he was the only man that parted company with me in that manner during my career at sea. I have known one or two instances of people disappearing on board ship, when the inference was they had gone overboard, but he was the only case of a man falling overboard, and not being picked up It happened this way. We were half way across the Bay and the ship was rolling, with the promise of bad weather coming, when I gave the orders to get the anchors inboard, for they had been left at the bows on leaving Madeira. It was neither a dangerous nor a difficult operation, but I had spoken to the man that morning and, curiously enough, remarked to my chief the far-away look in his eyes. I think now that he was what the Scotch call “fey,” and that the hand of Fate was upon him then. At all events he was unshipping a piece of iron rail when he slipped overboard, hanging on to the rail, and sank like a stone. I was on the poop myself and had a boat in the water immediately, but he never came to the surface again. We cruised round for at least an hour, and then I asked the men if anything more could be done. All agreed the case was hopeless, so we kept along on our course again. When next in Southampton I sent a circular letter to the captains of all our ships asking them to make a collection for the widow. They very kindly did so, and a sufficient sum was obtained to set her up in a small shop in comfortable circumstances, but she never forgave me, I was told, because when she came to my lodgings with a sister prepared to make a scene, I declined the interview. I dare say I was wrong, but I had had trouble enough of my own, and my old landlady, a very privileged person hailing from the West Country, when announcing the callers volunteered the advice, “Doan’t ’e see her, sir,” and I thought the advice good.

The ways of conscience are curious and it manifests itself at times in absurd fashion—here is an instance. Lodging in the same house was a chief officer, with whom I had been very friendly in years past, and was on good terms with then. One morning my landlady came to me with a request that I would go up-stairs and see Mr. —— who had something important to say. I went, and there was my friend in bed, crying. It seems he had been out on the spree the day before, had inherited a bad headache, and had sent for me to say that he was going round to see his captain and confess his delinquency. Words were no use for a case of this sort. A threat of a hammering, duly translated into fact, ultimately brought home the light of reason to a good fellow who would have made a most excellent curate, but was too gentle to be a success at sea.

On the next voyage we were loading for home when instruction arrived that the African was to remain on the coast, and do the mail service between the Cape and Natal. Trade on the coast was good, and it was no longer policy to depend upon the services of such vessels as the little Natal. The African was very well suited for the work, which was comparatively easy—at sea for at the outside ten days a month, and the remainder of the time in harbour at the Cape or Natal. Unfortunately we could not cross the bar at the latter port. Looking back at this period of my life it occurs to me that it was good, and that I was not sufficiently appreciative at the time. There was an excellent ship’s company; my chief, named Smythe, was afterwards long years in command and was a first-rate man; the other officers left nothing to be desired; there was a cook who satisfied all the passengers, and the ship was very nicely kept and popular on the coast. I had a sort of rough shelter built on the bridge for me, and when at sea always spent my nights there, for there was ample time to sleep when in port, but when the master of a mail steamer runs her on the principles of a yacht it is apt to prove a little expensive. At that time, however, there seemed to be lots of money about, for people were always wanting some commission carried out that could be done without any infringement of the Company’s regulations. I find by reference to old letter books that in my letters to the home authorities I mention the fact that we seemed exceptionally fortunate so far as weather was concerned, and indeed the luck in this respect seems to run in cycles. I cannot remember that there was anything approaching bad weather during our spell on the coast. But I had one little accident which cost me a wigging. One night coming down the coast I had discharged a considerable quantity of sugar into a large lighter at East London, finishing about 9 p.m. The lighter could not then be taken inside, and the boatmen asked me if I would give them a tow up alongside a steamer that was ahead of us. I thought it well to do so and accordingly steamed up at a fair distance from the vessel ahead, going very slowly, and eventually stopping the engines while the lighter sheered off. The current by this time was setting us towards the Balmuir, the vessel I was taking the lighter to, and some one on board her sung out, “Hard a port, captain, full speed ahead.” A second later and that would have been my order. As it was, wrath at the interference or impertinence surged uppermost, and I ordered: “Steady the helm, full speed.” That also would have put things straight, but the engines had stuck a little on the centre and the two ships rolled towards one another, my starboard quarter-boats catching her on the bow, and suffering severely in the contact.

This was just after the loss of the Teuton, and many people had acquired nerves in consequence when travelling, so in addition to the crashing of the boats, the yells of the women passengers were not nice to listen to. As soon as the engine moved there was no more trouble, and Captain Gibbs, who had been chief of the Essex when I was in her, and now commanded a steamer called the Clifton, very kindly lowered a boat and came alongside to ask if he could do anything for me. There was nothing to be done but proceed, which I did. Of course retribution was bound to follow; it came in the shape of a letter from Captain Dixon, to whom, of course, I had reported the occurrence. In conveying an intimation from the directors as to the future avoidance of what “might be termed somewhat lubberly conduct,” he regretted that my helping other people had obliged him personally to address such a letter to me, but the “lubberly conduct” was underlined viciously by him, and I could picture the expression on his face as he did it, knowing perfectly well that it would create on me its calculated effect, though quite realising that it was all just bad luck. It was not the only time in my experience, however, that ill-timed advice was productive of disaster, for to quote the words of A.L. Gordon: “Take it kindly.” “No—I never could.”

It was about this period (the close of 1881) that the value of the Transvaal goldfields began to be discovered. That meant much, and at the end of the year General Sir Evelyn Wood was leaving Natal with some of his staff. If my recollection is correct he had been acting as Lieutenant Governor of Natal. There are one or two incidents in connection with this matter that I may as well put on record.

The bar at Natal was a very uncertain quantity. The channel at times was fairly good, for harbour works in a small way were going on practically always, but there were occasions when it was very bad and very shallow. When I knew that Sir Evelyn was to go with me as far as Delagoa Bay I determined to make him as welcome as possible, and show all the attention I could, although I had not had the honour of meeting him. There was to be a farewell dance given in Durban at which he would take his leave, he having already taken up his quarters at the Alexandra Hotel at the Point. I reasoned that if, instead of going from the dance to the hotel, he could come straight on board the African, it would be a great saving of time and trouble, for we were to leave at daylight in the morning.

Accordingly I got the skipper of our tug, the Union, who had been boatswain with me previously, to agree to take the passage of the bar in the dark as soon as the party arrived at the Point, and I also gave my chief orders that when the tug was nearing the ship, he was to illuminate mastheads and yardarms with coloured lights. I was reckoning, however, without my host. In the afternoon I went on shore, and as I landed at the Point I met the General with some officer—I think it was Major Lane—who introduced me to him, and he immediately invited me to dine. I replied that I had no evening clothes on shore, to which he replied that I had better find some. At that time there was at the Point an ex-Naval Lieutenant named Woodruffe. I remember that he had been Flag Lieutenant to Sir Harry Keppel in China. We were great friends, and had consumed much midnight oil—and other things—together, for he was one of the nicest fellows I ever met, and was liked by every one. He was commonly called “Chummy,” and as it happened he was about my size. To him I went in my dilemma and borrowed his clothes, he waiving in my favour his intention of going to the dance, so that I duly appeared at dinner time, and in answer to the General’s query I told him how the clothes were procured, which seemed to tickle his fancy. We had a very jolly dinner, and I gathered why they were going home via the East Coast, for they wanted to have a look at Egypt, as they were greatly interested in a certain Major Kitchener whom they all seemed to think a great deal of. The General said he would be very pleased to embark on his return from the ball, from attending which I begged to be excused and went to return borrowed plumes and get on board the Union.

Here Nemesis overtook me. About the last man I should have expected to find there was Captain Baynton. According to all canons of civilisation he ought to have been comfortably spending his evening in his house at the head of the Bay, engaged in that gracious hospitality for which he was famous, but it seems he had by some means got wind of my intention to cross the bar in the dark and had come down determined to stop it. He opened the conversation by saying that as the General was to sail at daylight, he thought he himself would sleep on board the Union, so as to make his farewell easier than coming to the Point so early. Vainly did I explain that the bar was easy and safe; there was the old grim look and stony glare.

“Yes, you go and stick the General on the bar, and a fine d—— fool I shall look. You don’t start before daylight.” And neither did we.

On that particular passage I had with me amongst others as passenger the Rev. E.L. Berthon, the inventor of the boats bearing his name. He was a remarkable man in many ways. For one thing, though he was sixty-nine years of age, he was as active as a cat, and was greatly distressed because on an occasion of boat drill at sea, just to show him the time it would take to pick up a lifebuoy, I would not let him be lowered in the Clifford boat, the ship running a good thirteen before a fresh breeze. I mention this incident, for the evolution was performed on the spur of the moment during a conversation with him, and on referring to a letter to Captain Dixon as to the efficiency on the ship, I find that the boat with the lifebuoy was being hooked on in five and a half minutes.

In his book entitled A Retrospect of Eight Decades, Mr. Berthon mentions the days spent by him on board the African, but was not complimentary concerning the crew. I wrote to him on the subject and received a letter in reply in which he stated that I had myself addressed them collectively as a pack of cab-drivers, but I submit that a man may take liberties with his own which other people have no right to do.

The general and Major Fraser came on board with me at daybreak in the morning, and the next day they were duly landed at Delagoa Bay, where they were to transfer to another mail steamer, and we on Christmas Day, 1881, left again for Natal. That evening we had a very remarkable exhibition of electric phenomena, which I never saw equalled. We had been running down the coast with a nice fair wind and all sail set, but as dusk came on, heavy clouds gathered ahead and as a shift of wind looked imminent, I took in all canvas and hustled the men a bit to get it stowed quickly. (This was the matter to which Berthon had referred.) No sooner was it done than the wind headed us with a rush and the rain came down in torrents, accompanied with a fine display of real South African lightning. At the same time there was a shower of corposants, and mastheads, yards and stays were thickly covered with them. The effect was weird in the extreme, and although the phenomenon is often mentioned as common I cannot recall seeing it to any marked degree more than twice. This squall lasted about an hour, after which the weather cleared.

After about eight months of this coasting work we were ordered home, for we had a defective crank-shaft, concerning which I might point a moral were it desirable to do so, but as we reached Southampton without mishap it is as well to let by-gones be by-gones. My connection with the African was not severed until March 1883, but the preceding twelve months were of considerable interest to me. I was married for the second time at the Cape, and all the ships in port displayed as much bunting as they possessed, Mr. Currie’s ship dressing with the Union flag in the place of honour. My directors also gave me permission to take my wife home in the African; for which favour I hope I was sufficiently grateful, and as we now regularly ran to Hamburg to pick up cargo for the Cape I had to thank Mr. Mercer for more than one similar favour on this continental trip. But the time arrived when I came across a junior in a better ship than I had, and I changed to the Nubian.

She was a much bigger ship than my last one, but there was no great difference in their respective speeds. She had two funnels, however, and the captain’s cabin was situated between them, which did not make for comfort in hot weather. Generally speaking she was a fine, comfortable craft. We were taking out guns and stores to Simon’s Bay in addition to our other cargo, and amongst our passengers was Captain Warton (of cricket fame), and a very charming lady of the theatrical profession about whose flaxen locks I should dearly like to tell a story. But woman-like it may be said, she emerged victorious from a considerable ordeal, so let it pass at that.

I was instructed to make coal consumption trials, and that I did to the best of my ability. The passage out was uneventful, and in due course we left Cape Town at noon for the trip round to Simons Town. A number of people had been given a passage for the trip, which was of about four hours’ duration, and I remember that I took the ship inside the Bellows Rock. There was, of course, no risk in doing so, but it was not usual for big ships. We picked up a nice anchorage in close proximity to H.M.S. Boadicea, the flagship of Admiral Sir Nowell Salmon, V.C., etc., the Commander-in-Chief on the Cape station, from whom, as from his officers, I received the greatest kindness and courtesy. Sir Nowell, however, would not permit any Sunday work, and that delayed us a little, but the stay was quite a pleasant one.

In due time we got to Algoa Bay, where the Mexican, our newest ship (then on her first voyage), lay at anchor. She was commanded by the Commodore of the Fleet, Captain Coxwell, who at that time was laid up unwell on board her. I should say that my fair-haired passenger was still on board, bound for Natal. One evening after dinner it was commencing to freshen from the S.E. and a nasty toss of a sea was on. Coxwell sent me a message asking that I would go over and see him as he had something particular to say. I proceeded to do so, and in response to the wish of the before-mentioned lady, but against my wish, I took her with me. We got to the Mexican all right, the wind freshening all the time, but when it was time to return there was some sea on, and prudence would have dictated remaining for the night. To this, however, my passenger would not listen, and taking me on one side observed, “If I am drowned in the attempt, you must take me back tonight, for I’ve no chalk to do my eyebrows with tomorrow.” Yielding to this force majeure we shoved off, and after a considerable dusting got safely on board my own ship again. I was glad to have seen the Mexican. She was then the last word in fine ships on the Cape route, and it filled me with longing to be master of such a splendid craft.

We made a decent trip home, and on arrival at Southampton found that Captain Coxwell had been invalided and that the command of the Mexican was vacant. Better still, there was no one at home senior to myself, and it was not long before I got a hint that my chances were rosy. Sure enough I got the command, hardly believing in my own good luck. That ship was a beauty. It is true she was only square-rigged on the foremast, but her lower yard was ninety-seven feet long, and that sufficed to give a spread of square canvas of no inconsiderable proportion—in fact, there were four reefs in her topsail. Contrasted with the ships of to-day she might not show to advantage, but she was beautifully fitted, and when it came to handling under steam she was a dream of delight. Although only a single-screw ship, her turning powers were marvellous, and I made use of them to the fullest extent. John Tyson was chief officer. He is now one of the senior captains of the Union-Castle line, and it goes seriously against the grain to write those words, for it seems to me that the Union Company is absorbed by the newcomer and its old identity lost. I never could see the necessity for the amalgamation, and think it was a sad day when the old Company’s flag was merged into that of the Castle line. My lament being absolutely sentimental does not of course carry the least weight in an age when commercialism is of the first importance, but I think that in the long run it will be found that the punishment will fit the crime, for there is no instance of one great company being successful in retaining a mail service which on public grounds should be shared by two. For a chief engineer there was Charles Du Santoy, than whom there were few better men afloat. We had been shipmates in the old Roman, and consequently I was well satisfied with everything. On the day we left Southampton there was quite a gathering of my friends to see the ship off and to wish us luck. Being the crack ship of the line we were of course full of passengers, and a very pleasant crowd they were, but on the way to Madeira the ship rolled to such an extent as to in some measure disgrace herself. There was a cross swell, it was true, but she had been badly stowed, and given too great a metacentric height. It was a quantity of cement which had been put quite low down in ship which caused her to misbehave on that occasion. As showing how ships are affected by their treatment I may mention that on that passage home an old gentleman came up to me, (it was William Acutt of Natal, Uncle William he was commonly called). “This is a funny ship, captain,” he said; “when I let go my cabin door it does not slam,” for she scarcely had any motion.

It was a glorious passage from Madeira outward. The weather was fine, the passengers were contented and happy, and altogether we were sorry when we got to the Cape and each went their separate ways. There had been some discussion on the previous voyage as to whether the ship could lay in the Company’s berth, or whether she was not too big to do so. There was only one way to settle this, and that was to put her in it and try. This I did, and I remember there were some complimentary notices in the Cape papers on the transaction. We went up the coast that time as far as East London, and had the best of luck in getting rid of our cargo. I profited greatly by the study of a little work on South African coast weather by my friend Captain Hepworth, who had obtained a wonderful insight into it. To know what the weather on that coast is likely to be is no small advantage in taking up an anchorage. Further, I began to discover that Harry Escombe was more than right in his remarks, and that to keep pace with the time there could be no resting on your oars, but a constant search for, and acquisition of knowledge. On the road back to Algoa Bay my old coasting knowledge saved me some miles, for time was short to save daylight. She was doing fourteen knots, and I slipped along inside Bird Island with happy results.

H.M.S. Boadicea was there, and we resumed former acquaintance, but when sailing day came Admiral Salmon expressed a wish that we should not leave before midnight, as a ball was to take place and a young lady friend of his wished to see a little of it. He promised to put her on board by midnight, observing that mail steamer captains were only like “so many tame cats,” and as the agent was agreeable we stayed until that hour, when we left for the Cape. In the early hours of the morning, however, we had an accident. The strap of the high-pressure eccentric got hot and seized to the sheave, the result being a breakdown which might have been very considerably worse. This, however, was just one of those cases when my chief engineer was at his best. He hung up the end of the link with a piece of chain, and a screw to adjust its proper length, and in a short time was ready to proceed, but was not prepared under any conditions to turn the engines astern. We got into Table Bay the next evening, but had to creep in very cautiously to get the anchor down. We were visited from the shore, and arrangements were made to repair damages, we remaining in the bay until they were completed. This was dreadful; it meant delay in final loading and coaling, and also meant things being in a mess on sailing day. I went to bed considering the matter. Daybreak brought one of those beautiful fine mornings when it is a pleasure to be alive. I had had all night to think over the problem and had made up my mind as to what was the proper thing to do. I ordered steam to move, and sent for John Tyson, my chief. To him I said, “Get the stern anchor ready for letting go (we had a stern davit) and bend on to it the biggest hawser we have; see that the hawser is taken to the bitts so that it can be veered, and let me know when it is ready.” In due course this was done, and shortening in the bower cable I steamed the ship round on her anchor until she was pointed for the dock entrance, but as she had swung a little too far before I got the anchor, I had to let it go again and repeat the operation, this time with success. As soon as the ship’s nose was inside the entrance I let go the stern anchor, and veering on the hawser and holding on as required we got to our berth without the least trouble or damage. I ought, however, to have buoyed the stern anchor, for it gave some trouble to trip to the boat that picked it up. All went on now swimmingly, and we were spick and span when sailing day came. I think the evolution I had performed was considered to have been a little risky by the powers that were, but as it came off all right nothing was said to me. The Cape Times, however, in commenting upon it said that as far as they knew this was the third time in history that such a thing had been done, the other two instances being St. Paul on the occasion of his shipwreck, and Admiral Lord Nelson at the Battle of the Nile! We made a very fine passage home, something just over eighteen days; it was not a record but something very close to it. There are upon my bookshelves now some very pleasant mementoes of kindly souls who helped to make a delightful and memorable trip for me.

I come to the conclusion that it is possible to say too much to your directors, unless you make it exceedingly clear what the point is you wish to bring out. I was being questioned as to the cause of the excessive rolling on the outward passage, which some of the passengers had written home about, and tried to explain that when a ship with a great beam started to roll, she naturally swung through a big arc of space, and that consequently people felt it more. This was construed into a criticism on my part of the build of the ship, than which nothing was further from my thoughts, and I was told afterwards it did not do me any good when the question arose as to my giving up the ship to a senior man. It is on such accidents, if there are such things, that human destinies hang. We had a very nice time in Southampton. I was able to pass my mornings at drill on the old Trincomalee, and one afternoon I was successful in taking the all-comers prize at the Hampshire rifle meeting. This gave me great pleasure, for the volunteers were very wroth at being beaten by a sailor.

On the next passage out we called at St. Helena, and I had my first opportunity of visiting Longwood. It was a morning I shall never forget. As we got up to the high land the weather was misty, with a drizzle of rain, and it was not possible, to me at all events, to avoid the thought of the torture it must have been to that great master mind who ended his days there on that weather-swept spot. The house in which he had lived gave me the impression of having only recently been vacated, and the bust of the Great Emperor by Thorswalden seemed to dominate the place with his personality. No work of art that I have seen has impressed me in the manner that did, for the grandeur of the face is most imposing, and surely not one ever to be rivalled in marble. Resist the feeling as one might, the very place seemed permeated with the being of the mighty spirit that sped from within those humble walls.

There was nothing more to call for comment on the outward trip. There were many nice people and several sportsmen who arranged all sorts of sports and pastimes. I remember one remarkable boxing-match. In the final bout there came together a big bluejacket and a little featherweight of a man, which recalled the meeting of David and Goliath. When the word was given to begin, the little fellow rushed in to close quarters and set up no end of a mill, doing this with extraordinary impunity, for the big fellow could have knocked him silly if he had got home. When the bout was over, the referee, a military officer of proved knowledge of boxing, awarded the prize to the big man as being the best boxer, the little man getting a prize as a good fighter.

In the Nubian I had had a compass that had been tried and proved during a great many voyages. In the Mexican we had one of the best, but we were only now finding out how to adjust Sir Wm. Thompson’s compass for changes of latitude. On this particular voyage I pulled mine to pieces in Algoa Bay and re-adjusted it by stellar azimuths. It was a long operation, but it was well worth doing, and no one can appreciate the value of a really good compass until they have been well broken in by attempting to navigate with an indifferent one. There was one other little matter that may well be mentioned. The Mexican always seemed to us all to be a brilliantly lit ship, and oil lamps appeared to meet every requirement, but as soon as the electric light came in, we all wondered how we had managed to exist in what was by comparison a state of semi-darkness.

Once more in Cape Town, homeward bound, and coming events did not cast their shadows before, for little did I think as I took her out of dock in the most approved “show off” fashion that it would be the last time I should do so. Sailing days at the Cape for the mail steamers were red-letter days, when all men interested came down to criticise the way in which the various ships were handled. On this particular occasion I managed to retain my reputation, but the pitcher sometimes goes to the well once too often, and I fear I was what the boys call “coxy” over what I could do with that ship. Altogether that was one of the days of my life on which I felt pleased with myself, and it may be observed that there have not been many of them. Sailing day at the Cape was once well described by Leigh, who, speaking of visitors generally, said, “They come on board in ballast trim, and leave drawing twenty-seven feet by the stern.”

Few things would give me greater pleasure now than to revisit the old scenes and see how the modern school of men deal with the great ships they command, but the early negotiators of Cape Town dock had a fair amount of pioneer work to do. We learned as we went along.

My chief recollection of that last trip home was that I first made the acquaintance of Clark Russell’s novels, and on my arrival at Southampton I wrote him a letter expressing my admiration of them, which resulted in a friendship still unbroken. There are few men who have so faithfully painted life at sea as it really was. His Wreck of the Grosvenor is simply a marvel of realism, having only one equal so far as my knowledge serves me,—Dana’s Two Years before the Mast.

Southampton dock came at last, and it was with little pleasure that I learned the Commodore was at home without a ship and that I should have to make way for him. It was no use kicking against the pricks; seniority was the law of the service and it had to be abided by, so I turned the Mexican over with regret to Ballard, and once more joined the army of the “stand-bys.”

But it was in reality much worse than merely standing down. At the end of the year 1883 the trade to the Cape was in a very depressed condition, and it was not found possible to keep all the ships employed. Consequently “rotten row” began to fill up, and there were many masters and officers on shore on half pay. “Economy and retrenchment” became the watchword of the board of direction, and the Union Company was by no means singular in commencing its retrenchment policy by seeing how much it could possibly save from the pay of the sea-going staff. There was one favourite question commonly asked of masters by directors. “Did not we consider the difference of pay to be too great between the chief officer and the master?” and we always rightly and religiously answered “No,” for the chiefs were content to wait their turn and the masters knew perfectly well that if any levelling was to be done, it would not be in the upward but the opposite direction. The blow descended at last, however, for, taking advantage of an indiscretion by a prominent master, to whom pay was no great object, the Company gave him the choice of signing a new agreement for less pay, or being unemployed for an indefinite period. The master in question was taken completely by surprise and signed without consultation with any of us, and the path of the directors was then easy, for the rest of us had no choice but to follow suit. I remember, though, that when he came from the office and told me what he had just done, I made use of remarks that might have strained a great friendship of many years’ standing.

At this time many of our intermediate ships had been put into the North American trade, amongst them the Nubian with my old friend Jones in command. They were in no way fit for the trade. As showing the difficulty of finding two seamen who will take the same view of any situation I may mention that during a conversation at dinner one night I said to Jones that he was the only man of my acquaintance to whose opinion I would defer on a point of seamanship. Shortly after this he was telling me how he had run for Holyhead in bad weather and let go both anchors at once to bring the ship up. I at once proceeded to argue stoutly that he was entirely wrong in doing so, and if he were alive today, which unfortunately he is not, that point would serve for an unending difference of opinion.

There was now a chance to put in a good spell of drill on board the Trincomalee, and this I took full advantage of, but the system of training officers which obtained in those days was not one calculated to give the best results. In that particular ship the commanding officer was always most anxious to do everything possible to further the interests of officers on drill, but the guns were hopelessly obsolete, and indeed the ship was shortly after replaced by an up-to-date vessel. I think it was about this time that I succeeded in obtaining for officers the loan of a confidential book from which they could obtain useful information.

I had found it necessary to take steps to obtain my promotion in the Royal Naval Reserve, for at this time very little attention was paid to the officering of this force. Admiral Sir Augustus Phillimore was the admiral superintendent, and with him I obtained an interview which I did not consider to be by any means satisfactory. He informed me that he considered the rank of sub-lieutenant was ample for the master of a mail steamer, and with that I had to content myself, but when H.R.H. the late Duke of Edinburgh became admiral superintendent I renewed my application in writing and was promptly granted the rank of lieutenant.

Between one thing and another the time in no way hung heavily with me. I was on half-pay, it was true, but that was the worst of it, and there is no doubt I should soon have had another command, but it cannot be denied that losing the Mexican had made me discontented, and that frame of mind is not a healthy one.

One morning I received a circular letter from Captain Dixon, enclosing one from the manager of the New Zealand Shipping Co., asking if any of the Union Company staff would wish to apply for the command of their new ship the Ruapehu. I had no wish to do so, and after talking to Captain Dixon, gave no further thought to the matter. Incidentally, I heard the names of Captains Leigh and Griffin mentioned in connection with the command. One morning, I think it was Christmas Eve, I saw the two of them standing outside Kelways Hotel engaged in animated conversation, so I walked to them and joined in. Naturally I asked, “What about the New Zealand ship?”

I was answered that both of them had accepted the command and both had given it up. I asked why, and learned that they disapproved of going into regions where ice might be encountered, and also that neither of them cared to contemplate the passage of Magellan Straits upon the homeward passage. Well, it was very absurd of me, but I said as the ship was to sail on January 12 they had not played the game with the New Zealand Company, also that the honour of the Company was at stake, and immediately walked over to the telegraph office and sent a wire offering to take the ship for them. I received an immediate reply asking me to go to town and see them as soon as possible.

When I got home that day my action was not altogether approved of, in fact it was strongly deprecated, but the die was cast and there was the end of it. I went to town next day, it must have been Christmas Day, for the London streets were deserted and the office of the Company was only open to meet me. The London Manager took me to the West End to meet the General Manager, Mr. Coster, and before I had time to turn round I had promised to go to Glasgow and bring the ship round to London. I must say that my new employers were very nice people, and evinced a strong desire to meet my wishes in every way possible, but it was a sad time for me when I turned out into the street and realised that it was no longer the Union Company’s flag I should sail under, and that my most cherished connections were to be severed. I regarded it, and rightly, as the opening of a new page in the book of life which I had not yet had the chance to glance at, but the only thing was to go through with the undertaking and make the best of it; so I got back to Southampton, spent the rest of my Christmas Day in the conventional manner, and next evening saw me in the limited mail for Glasgow.

I found the ship at the tail of the bank off Greenock, and she was quite good-looking enough to please me; but as soon as I put foot on board her it was evident that for so long a run she was too small to pay. I was not quite correct, however, in this, for I was not then acquainted with the frozen meat trade and its possibilities. I found as chief officer a man from the Union Company, and there also others from the same source, so that I was not in the midst of strangers. The ship was well fitted in every respect, and she had, what was then rare even in first-class ships, an electric light installation. There were two dynamos, but from the first they gave considerable trouble. Still, Fairfield had had a very free hand in turning out the ship, and that notable yard was not in the habit of making many mistakes.

On the 28th the manager and others came down from London and we ran a short trial. It was on this occasion that I first met Mr. Pearce, afterwards Sir William, who had built the ship. We were, I think, mutually satisfied with one another. The ship steamed well, and the next day we started for London and reached Gravesend on the last day of the year, remaining there for the night. In the early hours of the morning a small steamer caught one of her backstays on our bowsprit and pulled her mainmast down, but as she did not stop to leave a card, and no damage was done to us, I am ignorant to this day as to what vessel it was. I do know, however, that the Scotch pilot who brought us round, and others of his countrymen on board, paid a midnight visit to me to be sure that I properly welcomed the New Year. We duly moored in the Royal Albert Dock the next day.

I found from the commencement, as was only natural, that there was a vast difference between my old Company and the present one. There, things had gone on well-defined lines, here there were no lines at all, and the machinery was hardly in evidence that was to trace them. My general instructions were that my ship was to be brought to the standard of the best mail steamer afloat, and I must say that any recommendation I made received the greatest attention; but when one has lived under a fairly consistent discipline its loss is felt very much. Our marine superintendent was Captain Underwood, who had been selected from the staff of the Union Company of New Zealand, and I always found him a very nice fellow to work with. As superintending engineer we had Archibald Thompson, who had filled the same position in my late Company, of which it will be seen there was a very strong leaven. The New Zealand Company had for many years run a line of sailing-ships between London and New Zealand. They consequently had many well-tried officers in their employ who were perfectly competent to command in sailing-ships, yet lacked any knowledge of steam. Certain of them, however, were placed in the new steamers as second officers, and naturally were rather inclined to regard the newcomers as interlopers. Further, when Mr. Coster and the New Zealand directors decided to commence with steam, they chartered vessels to commence the service until their own ships could be built, among them being the Ionic and others belonging to the White Star Line. These ships were fitted with refrigerating chambers and plant, and when released by the Company were chartered by the Shaw Savill Co., so that the New Zealand Company people had done their best to popularise these ships, and the opposition reaped a certain reward from their efforts. Also it let in the White Star Line, which was no inconsiderable item. Some time previously the Union Company had had the chance to tender for this particular traffic, but I do not think the directors fully grasped the future of the frozen meat trade. I know that Captain Dixon had not regarded it with any favour, but it was a great chance missed. In point of fact we were here face to face with a situation not unlike that between the Union Company and Donald Currie, and it might have been forecasted that the best business men would win in the struggle.

I found a warm welcome waiting for me at the office, and a pressing invitation for my wife and self to go and stay at the house of the manager, Mr. Strickland. At dinner that night we had the pleasure of meeting my old friend, the Rev. R. Fair, who I found had told my new chief more to my credit than was perhaps my due. A new ship and a new voyage, however, deserve a new chapter.