Minutes!

Five Crowded

One Black Night on a Top-Sail Schooner, 50 Years Ago

By F. S. Whitcombe

IN the 1890’s on a morning in June, the top sail schooner “Marmion,” 120 tons, lay at anchor, off Queens Street Wharf, Auckland.

The previous evening, we had finished loading a full cargo of everything, from needles to bricks and anchors, for Nukua lofa, Haapai, Vavau, Niuafo’ou and Niue; and now we were just waiting for the ebb tide to heave up, set sail and get under way.

At grey dawn, our mate knocked on the scuttle and called all hands (four of us) on deck. While the “doctor” got the coffee going, we hove in the slack of the cable, all ready to lift the anchor when the tide started to ebb.

It was a miserable morning, greasy and

wet, with a misty, damp drizzle and, although the wind was north, it was bitterly cold.

Just outside of us lay the beautiful “Crusader,” a full-rigged, isky-sail-yard ship (New Zealand Shipping Co. —Captain Scotland). She was a picture. She was in ballast, waiting for a cargo, and she had just been painted up and tarred down, from truck to water line; and, with all her yards aloft, and squared to an inch, with her freshly painted ports glistening in the mist, she looked lovely.

At the wharf lay another beautiful full-rigged 2,000 tonner, the “Lady Joce lyn,” large, for those days. She had just arrived from London, after a fine-weather passage of 112 days, in which they did not have to clew up their top-gallant sails.

Down the harbour was anchored the lovely American Barque “Alice,” 800 tons (Arnold Cheney & Co.). She had just arrived from New York with a full load of case oil and kerosene. She also looked beautiful, with her black hull and yellow riband. She had powerful clipper bows, with a long bow-sprit and gibboom sticking out, Yank fashion. All her sails were beautifully furled on the yards, with out a crease in them and, as they were cotton duck and pure white, they showed sharp against the black hull and grey sky.

At the Railway Wharf were the two barquentines, “Silver Cloud” and “Wai temata,” built in the Colony.

AFTER coffee, the tide turned and we catted our anchor and got under way. The “Marmion,” although a topsail schooner, carried a top-gallant sail above her two topsails, a fore-and-aft fore-sail and main sail, gaff topsail, main top-mast-stay-sail, fore staysail and two jibs—ten sails —quite a few for a crew of four men (two in a watch) to handle.

With the skipper, mate and cook we were seven all told.

After getting under way, we lay down the harbour till we rounded North Head, and then we beat down the channel, short

and long tacks, until we got into Hauraki Gulf.

During my trick at the wheel that afternoon the northerly wind slackened up and I heard the Old Man (Captain Alex Ross) tell the mate that it was coming out of the South soon . At 8 bells we single-reefed the main-sail and fore sail, made fast the gaff-top-sail and top mast stay-sail. As it was a fair wind, we ran before it with the main boom guyed out to starboard.

At 8 bells in the grave yard watch, my mate and I came on deck—l to the wheel and he to the look-out. At 2 bells the wind was increasing, and we, being heavily laden were making heavy weather of it.

The skipper ordered us to clew up and make fast the top-gallant sail and take up a couple of spare gaskets, to make a job of it.

By this time it was really blowing, and as black as the inside of a cow. We got some spare gaskets and went aloft and started our job. Owing to the swell caused by the late northerly not having been laid out yet by the southerly, We were bucking into it and, as we were running at about 10 knots, it was pretty lively up aloft.

I had just finished my starboard yard arm and was making fast the bunt gasket, when my mate yelled out. ‘Trank, what the hell is that right ahead?”

At first I could see nothing. Then I made out white water and a huge black mass, and heard gulls screaming.

We both yelled out: “Land right ahead!

Keep her off! Keep her away!”

We heard the skipper, who was at the wheel, call all hands—cook and all. I felt the ship pay off; and, as the main boom was over to starboard, I knew that the skipper would gibe her.

We heard the mate let go the main boom guy and, in the light from the binnacle, I saw him and the cook try and get in the main sheet. But they were not quick enpugh, and the mainsail came over to port with such a bang that we nearly fell off the yard. If the sail had not had a reef in it I am sure the mast would have gone.

Up aloft, the rock loomed closer and closer. At one time as she rolled, I am sure we could have thrown a biscuit on it.

Though our job up there was finished, we hung on to that yard like limpets, scared stiff. At last, the topsail under us started to shiver; and, as we could see that we would go to windward of the rock, we cried out: “All clear!”

Then things started. The mate wanted to know what the blank-blank we were loafing up there for; and he told us what would happen if we did not “shake a leg,” etc. So we slid down the stay to the deck.

And there was a mess —halyards, sheets and braces all over the deck, tangled up in the water that she shipped every time she rolled.

However, in twenty minutes we had every thing ship-shape again, and the Old Man gibed her again—quietly this time —and put her back on her course.

I went aft and finished my trick at the wheel.

Next day, the sun was shining, and a fair wind blowing, so we got out our wet gear and dried it and, sailor fashion, for got what a narrow escape we had had.

The mate told us afterwards, that we had nearly run down the Sail or Ship Rock, and there was 15 to 20 fathoms of water right alongside it. If we had hit it we would have gone down like a stone.

Later in life, I can still raise a creepy sensation at the roots of my hair by thinking of that night.