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At Sea
July to November 1863
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The ship rolled easily as it glided through the water, while the steady breeze filled the sails. The high summer weather was at its best on this mid-July morning. Twenty-one-year-old Daniel, embarking on the adventure of a lifetime, filled his lungs with fresh sea air. Thinking about his decision to leave England, he leant on the rails and watched as the ship, Helvellyn, set course for Auckland, New Zealand.
Its master, Captain Dalison, could be seen on the quarterdeck talking to the first mate and staring up at the square rigging with pride. They had first sailed from Gravesend around the English coast to Dartmouth to collect the ship’s surgeon, Dr Asham, but now they were truly on their way as they headed towards open sea.
Below, the passengers set about their day as the morning light seeped through. The ship was not due in Auckland until sometime in mid-November, but already, after only days into the voyage, passengers were forming into groups. The children ran around excited at the start of the journey, long before boredom would set in. Daniel smiled as two young boys chased each other.
“Morning, Daniel.” A voice broke into his recollections.
Daniel turned to see Old Joe walking towards him with a gait that spoke of his previous life upon the high seas. Joe was an old-timer from the California gold diggings back in 1849. He had sailed these waters more often than most and knew them well, so he said, but having made himself enough money he had given away the sea and settled in New Zealand some years before. He was returning after a final visit to sell off some land he still owned in Scotland.
“Hello, Joe.”
Joe finished filling his pipe as he eyed Daniel up and down.
Daniel hoped Joe liked what he saw – a young man of slight build, a little taller than average, certainly several inches taller than Joe, with a strong face and large, square hands.
Sucking on his pipe to make it draw, Joe asked, “How are you this bright morn, lad?”
“Watching those kids reminded me of my young days and got me thinking about me ma,” replied Daniel, as he ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair.
“Good thoughts or bad?”
“A bit of a mixture,” Daniel shrugged.
“You got any other family?” asked Joe.
“A sister, who lives with an aunt and uncle and does a little teaching – and a stepfather who couldn’t wait to be rid o’ me.” Daniel sighed, his blue eyes fixed on the horizon as he leant against the rail.
“You started to tell me about your army service afore but we never finished the conversation,” Joe prompted, and Daniel was grateful he’d led the conversation away from those unhappy memories.
“Yeah, I was with the 12th Lancers for a while.”
“I could tell you were military of some sort. Drilled into you.”
Daniel leaned back against the rails so he could see Joe better. “I quite enjoyed it in some ways, especially the horses.” He smiled at the memory. “The drill sergeants were tough blighters, though. We were all puffing and panting by the time they’d finished. Always doing some sort of drill: rifle drill, marching drill, riding skills, repairing lances, grooming our horses, cleaning our uniforms, kitchen duties – whatever they could dream up to keep us busy. Physical training camp they called it. Bloody hard work more like. Me and some mates took some time out and, well, we got ourselves into a bit of strife.”
Joe’s dark brown eyes sparkled with laughter. “Why does that not surprise me? What happened?”
Daniel shrugged. “Got drunk one night and missed curfew. Was hauled up before the officers and got punishment drill: double time with full packs twice a day and our booze ration cut for the next week.” He grinned as he admitted his misdemeanours.
“So, what happened that you’re on this boat and not wi’ your regiment?” Joe asked between draws on his pipe.
“Couldn’t keep us down, could they. Once we were off punishment we went out and got drunk again. That’s one thing I can say about my stepdad; he bought my discharge, so I got out clean. I suppose I shouldn’t complain about him too much. He were good to Ma, but we never got on. Winter by name and winter by nature. After my last bit o’ trouble, he told me to clear off and not come back.”
Joe, his face weather-beaten and bronzed by the sun, stroked his beard. “I don’t know whether to feel sorry for yer or take yer fer a fool fer being stupid, but it’s a good story. In my younger days, I were a bit of a rebel so’s I can understand what could drive a boy like you.”
“Yeah? Anyway, I’m away from it all now. I read somewhere a parcel of land’s promised for every man who fights the Maoris. So I thought, why not? What have I got to lose? Maybe my destiny is on the land.”
“Perhaps it is, my boy. It’s a new country, there for the taking, and opportunities aplenty for them with a bit o’ nous and willing to work. Me, I got a little farm with an inn and store, about half a day’s ride south of Auckland. Real handy these days, as there’s lots of traffic, what wi’ the war an’ all.”
“That sounds grand, Joe. Bit of a businessman, I see.”
A voice carried to them. “Come along, children; time for your morning lessons.”
Daniel turned his head and saw the parson and some of the mothers trying to round up some youngsters. He smiled. “Ma always insisted on us doing our lessons since she’d had none herself. Almost too insistent sometimes, but she had promised my da, she’d said, so I’d better get used to it.”
Joe drew on his pipe and puffed away a few times before answering. “Learning is important, lad. Don’t ever wish that away.”
“I don’t,” he agreed.
Daniel’s thoughts drifted to the evenings when his ma would light the lamps and make a pot of tea. They would sit around the kitchen table listening to stories about the big house and the people who came to visit. He remembered her laughter, the stories she told about his father and what little she knew of his grandfather. He found it strange she would never talk about her own family. Never mind how much prompting he and Lizzie gave her, ‘No,’ she would say, ‘there’s nothing to tell. I left home so young, younger than our Lizzie here, that I know nothing about what happened to them.’ Her side of the family was now lost forever.
“I hear tell there are over a hundred passengers on board,” Daniel said, abruptly changing the subject.
If Joe was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Probably right. Standard for this sort of tub. There’ll be around twenty up there in first class,” he said, pointing to the deck above with his pipe. “Another dozen in second class, and the rest, like us, ’ll be in steerage.”
“One day I want to be up there in first class. I bet it’s posh.”
Joe was more pragmatic. “Maybe so, but they’ll get there the same time as we do. An’ they have to put up with the same sort of weather, an’ the fresh food don’t last no longer neither. So it don’t make no difference.”
Joe knocked his pipe out on the rail, put it in his pocket and pulled out his harmonica. “Time for a song or two now, I think.”
His roughened, work-worn hands wrapped themselves around the instrument. As he did a few quick trills up and down, a group formed around him, some sitting on barrels, some on the deck, wherever they could perch. Daniel, who loved to sing, happily joined in and sat cross-legged on the deck. The rest of the morning was spent in idle chatter and singing songs. Daniel’s melancholic thoughts were swept from his mind by the companionship around him. There would be plenty of time to think about his past – and his future – later.
* * *
On the first Sunday of the journey the passengers gathered on deck for prayers. It would become a regular event and the time when Captain Dalison, standing high above them looking resplendent in his uniform with its braids and buttons, would give them news of the week.
The news was not good: during that first week a man named Copeland had died of consumption. Daniel watched as the sailors made preparations for the burial, some sewing the body into sailcloth, others setting up a plank. They fixed one end across the rail and balanced the other end on a barrel, lashing it into place until needed. In the late afternoon the passengers and crew gathered to lay him to rest. The sailors lined up on either side of the body, the grieving widow and her children stood at a respectable distance. The other passengers gathered in loose groups where they could, heads bowed, while the parson read from the Bible. With the final blessing, two sailors stepped forward and unlashed the ropes. They pushed the plank further over the rail, lifting the end so the body could slide into the water below.
His bereaved wife gasped, and clutched her two young children to her in an effort to contain her grief. The whole process took no more than a quarter hour.
A few of the women stepped forward to comfort her and help her below again. The remaining passengers moved to one side before disbanding to talk quietly in groups, the event having left their spirits dampened.
Daniel joined Joe at the rail. “I didn’t know sailors were so religious.”
Joe started to fill his pipe, tamping down the tobacco. “They’re not. Superstitious more like. Did you notice the sailor who stitched up the body putting the last stitch through the nose?”
“No. Why?” Daniel was shocked.
Joe winked. “To make sure the person is really dead, o’ course. It’s been known for the person to be woken from the dead, so to speak, by doing that. It’s become a ritual amongst some sailors now, like, to make sure first. Once the body be dead, they want to make sure his spirit goes to rest and not come back to haunt the ship, so they do a proper service.”
––––––––
A week passed. The Helvellyn continued its journey south towards the Bay of Biscay, a wide concave sweep of water that stretched around the western coast of France and along the northern coast of Spain. Between this land mass and the inconsistent prevailing westerly winds sweeping in from the Atlantic, ships had a long, 300-mile lee shore to negotiate. Unbeknown to the passengers, the Bay was known as a treacherous piece of water that could easily becalm a ship, leaving it stranded, or else force it to seek shelter, delaying the passage by days. This information the captain withheld in the hope that the passage would be without incident – as it turned out to be.
Time passed slowly, especially for the men. Frequent arguments broke out over not a lot. A game of cards or two-up would often end in a fight sooner or later. Nothing serious, and no one ended up in the brig, but enough to unsettle the day. The monotony was broken for short periods by sights the passengers had never dreamed possible. Adult and child alike were in awe of their first sightings of albatross or dolphins, or shoals of flying fish that leapt from the water to briefly fly through the air.
Another month passed. The monotony of the journey was not broken again until the ship crossed the equator. The children were excited, and the adults were relieved to know the journey was a quarter over. Before long, everyone had joined in the fun and hilarity.
“What’s this all about, Joe?” Daniel watched as some of the sailors came out dressed up in fancy dress: dried mops for hairdos, one with a trident in one hand, others with cloth slashed into strips wrapped around their waists.
“I told you sailors were a superstitious lot. Neptune is the old god of the sea and is always looking out for greenhorns – them as don’t know his ways, not having passed this way before. He has to be welcomed aboard. So you either have to do a forfeit or make payment – alcohol is a good one. Real good.” Joe nudged Daniel and pointed to an officer standing by the rum barrel.
Daniel nodded. “Wonder how we can get a cup or two without paying any forfeit,” he asked. “What happens next?”
“It’s called a ‘world turned upside down’ as we pass from the north to the south. For a short while power goes to the underdogs. The captain there, he has to hand authority over to Neptune during the ceremony. Usually it’s the oldest or most experienced sailor what has the honour of being Neptune. He’s got to be respected by his mates, mind you, an’ know his stuff. New hands will be ‘tried’ in a mock court ...” Joe demonstrated the quotation marks with his fingers, “... insulted and humiliated, and then sentenced.”
Daniel laughed. “I’m not sure I want to know, but go on, tell me. What happens?”
“Gettin’ shaved by Neptune’s barber is one of the sentences. Not pleasant, I can tell ye,” Joe said, shaking his head. “The shaving ‘cream’ is a mixture of tar and oil and, if they don’t like the fellow, chicken shit too. Another sentence is the ducking stool.” Joe pointed to the rigging. “They swing a stool from the yardarm over there, tie the fellow on it and duck him in the ocean. The more duckings he can take, the louder he can boast after, but he earns the respect of the old salts. Officers can avoid the ducking stool by paying the forfeit to the sailors in alcohol. Makes for a merry old time, I can tell ye.”
Daniel watched the escapades from a distance. He had no desire to be ducked. The mock court was held and sentences passed. Great hilarity prevailed. Laughter and curses in equal measure could be heard, despite the sailors being hard on their own.
They were kinder to the passengers, and much gentler with the children – their ‘punishment’ was to try to catch apples floating in water barrels without using their hands.
For the men there was a contest of who could knock the other person off the slippery pole first.
Daniel joined in about the time the rum and ale was generously passed around and more food rations given out. From out of nowhere a band was put together with a fiddle, harmonica, some spoons and an upturned barrel for a drum. Everyone partied, danced and sang, kissed and hugged, and drank until they fell asleep where they were – Daniel included, lying slumped against the ropes controlling the sails that were taking him to a life he could never have dreamed of.
* * *
From then on, the days melded into one seemingly endless day broken only by long, restless nights. Joe and Daniel would sometimes talk with the doctor as he kept a wary eye on his charges.
“If no infectious disease breaks out,” Dr Asham explained, “we won’t be quarantined – something to avoid if at all possible. It’s much better if I can keep everyone healthy. Pity about the man we lost early in the voyage, though.” He rubbed his chin as if in deep thought. “But I couldn’t help him. He’d begun the journey with consumption, hoping that the fresh air would help and he would live long enough to set up a new life for his family. But it was not to be. Now I’ve another death. Mister Thomas Finn, another who was already ill when he boarded, died this morning. He’ll be buried tomorrow.” The doctor shook his head.
“So how are the rations holding up, doc?” Joe eyed him warily, wondering if such a direct question would raise his ire, but the doctor responded keenly with pride in his voice.
“I’ve been checking them on a daily basis, and there’s still plenty of tea and hard biscuits and some butter and cheese remaining. I’ll release the dried peas and rice soon. It should make a good soup with some prunes and raisins added. There’s always salt pork and other meats stored in the barrels strapped below decks but little in the way of fresh food now, I’m sorry to say. Most of what we had was either eaten at the Neptune celebrations or has gone off. It was most unfortunate that were forced to ditch some of it overboard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am to join the captain for lunch.” He raised his hat to the two men and strode off purposefully.
Days later a passing ship was of great interest. Joe and Daniel were among the people crowded against the rails watching its approach and waving as it came closer.
“They’ll be out wi’ the flags soon.” Joe shielded his eyes from the bright sun.
“What’re they for?” asked Daniel.
“Sending messages, boy. We won’t be able to get close enough to talk to them so if they can hold the boats long enough, the captain will use the flags. Tell them about the weather we’ve been through so’s they know what to expect. He might tell them about the two burials, so as the folk back home will know and the officials can keep the records.”
“What a magnificent sight these ships make when in full sail.” Daniel listened as the ship creaked and groaned, ‘talking’ to them as it came round into the wind to shorten sail and hove to.
“That they do, son. That they do.” Joe watched as the northbound ship approached.
The first mate barked orders to the bosun. Deck hands scrambled up the mast to alter the sails and the slackened ropes were coiled below. Before long, Daniel could see a lone figure on the bow, signalling. The rapid movements fascinated him but all too soon the ship sailed by, and the Helvellyn continued its journey under an endless blue sky on an endless blue sea. The vastness of the ocean could be frightening to those used to solid walls around them and solid earth underfoot, but not to Daniel. He was exhilarated by the power of nature.
Boredom was uppermost in the passengers’ minds, and people sought whatever small distraction they could. Daniel enjoyed watching people. He sometimes caught a glimpse of the cabin passengers on the upper deck, taking a stroll: the ladies with their parasols up to protect themselves from the harsh sun; the men, overdressed given the summer weather, stood about in groups talking and smoking.
One day, Daniel saw a young lady set up her easel to paint the scene before her. He watched the young men crowd around her, vying with one another for her attention, not that she gave the least impression of being attracted to them.
In steerage, space was cramped with foul, stale air, and the fresh water allocated for drinking each day was severely rationed. What was left over could be used for washing, but there was never enough. The smell of stale bodies added to the trials caused by the oppressive heat, but so far, at least, the passengers remained healthy enough.
Daniel preferred to spend most of his time on deck, finding it far too hot below. The nights were almost unbearable. He liked to look up into the night sky and study the myriad of stars, or watch the phosphorescent light displays as the bow split the waves. One night the clouds obliterated his view of both and made him restless. He longed for something he couldn’t name. The captain told them the land to their port side was called the Cape of Good Hope, and he hoped it would live up to its name, but it was not to be.
In the early hours of an October morning a powerful storm struck soon after they had rounded the cape at latitude 44 degrees south. Within a short time, Daniel and the others were wishing for the calm, sunny weather they had found so monotonous. They soon learnt there was nothing quite so terrifying as being below in a storm.
The passengers in steerage bore the brunt of the bad weather. The hatches were battened down in a futile attempt to keep the crashing waters out. Soaked through and tossed from side to side in the dark, fetid air, there was no let-up in their misery. The children wailed and whimpered, adding to the tension. Fear built like a living beast, spreading its curse as it grew.
Hour upon hour the passengers hung on to whatever they could to keep their balance, not knowing from one minute to the next which way the ship was going to move. Would it pitch up and down or roll from side to side? Anything loose sloshed along the deck to gather in a heap at one end, including anyone who had lost their grip at the moment when the ship rose to face the gigantic waves and crashed down again on the other side. Screams and curses rent the air, but there was little conversation. People contained their alarm in silence.
Fearful the ship would tip over, mothers clutched their children, and huddled together on every available bunk, desperate to calm their terrified youngsters. Many were seasick, which added to the putrid detritus washing back and forth along the deck. Yet, in amongst the mayhem, miracles still happened: a baby girl was born as the storm abated.
Daniel was exhausted. For hours, he had hung on to the solidness of his bunk, but the lack of sleep and a general malaise had left him feeling weak. He thought the women had shown great courage through it all, and was grateful he only had himself to worry about.
After a while, most of the passengers regained their sea legs and managed to move about again, but while they were willing to put their backs into cleaning up the mess, their spirits were low. Strong winds and rolling seas followed them for the remainder of the journey. No longer was the air full of excitement. The conversation now was all about how to survive the remaining weeks.
––––––––
At long last, a voice carried down to them from the crow’s nest. “Land ahoy! There she is.”
On the 11th of November 1863, New Zealand came into sight. The relief at having finally made it erupted into excited chatter and laughter. The passengers crowded around the rails, staring into the distance to catch a glimpse of the land they had travelled so far to see.
Joe pointed out the sights to Daniel. “Them islands are known as the Three Kings. Many a ship’s been lost there when they got too close with the wind in the wrong direction. Shortly, we’ll see the cape at the far north of New Zealand.”
Daniel stared out into the distance looking for a dark shape. “What’s it called?”
“Cape Reinga. The locals, the Maori that is, believe all the spirits of the dead leave from there. It’ll be another few days before we get to dock in Auckland. She’s around 180 nautical miles away, and the wind is coming straight for us.”
“Why should that be a problem?” asked Daniel.
“No ship can sail directly into the wind, laddie, but it’s where we’re heading, directly upwind. The only way we can get there is by sailing close-hauled, sometimes called beating, ’cos it feels like the hull is beating against the waves all the time.”
“What does that mean for us?” Daniel turned his head towards Joe to assess how serious this could be.
“The cap’n will have to keep tacking back and forth so the wind comes from the port side for a while, then he’ll turn the ship back again through the eye of the wind and carry on sailing with the wind coming from the starboard side. See?” Joe tried to demonstrate with his hands. “If we keep beating like that we’ll make it. Let’s hope the wind doesn’t pick up, though, ’cos the ’eavier the wind, the rougher the seas. Then beating can be real uncomfortable.”
Joe’s speech was riddled with nautical terms, the Californian twang creeping in, mixed with the soft burr and rolled r’s of his home country. Daniel was too awed by the sights before him to worry about what Joe was saying. After the weather they’d endured, nothing could be as bad. At least land was in sight.
“Ooooh. Look, there. Dolphins,” came the cry. Someone pointed to a pod of a dozen or so dolphins playing on the bow wave.
“And up there. Look.” A pair of gannets soared effortlessly in the small bands of thermal lift generated from the ocean swells. They were a sight for sore eyes and an entertainment that kept everyone pointing and watching for hours to come.
Over the next few days, despite the heavy waters, Daniel, Joe and many of the others spent most of their time on deck studying the land as they sailed past. Even from a distance of some five miles, they could make out a few details. In the early morning, the colours were multihued. Purples and golds spread across the land as the sun rose, deepest black in the shadows of the gullies, bright green as the light caught the tops of ferns covering the hillsides. The land came to life as they turned closer to shore. With a borrowed telescope they could see the textures of soft, small-leaved bushes juxtaposed with spiky trees. Sometimes the ocean spray crashed against rock or cliff; at other times the sea ebbed and flowed smoothly into the land. Fish were abundant in the dark blue waters. Birds filled the sky. The beauty of this land was breathtaking.
The spirits of the people began to lift more and more as they sailed closer to Auckland. They had come to the land of plenty. The sun shone and everything looked like a picture postcard to those used to grey, damp industrial England.
Joe pointed out the various headlands and islands as the ship beat down the coast past Bream Head, the Poor Knights Islands and Great Barrier, on through the many islands in the gulf, into the sheltered waters of the Waitemata Harbour, to tie up at the Queen Street Wharf in Auckland.
