Memory Of 1891

Strange Sight South of Tonga

By F. S. Whitcombe, Of Levuka

IT was a lovely day in August 1891. The barquentine “Ysabel,” Captain Alex Ross, of Auckland, lay about 70 miles to the north of Sunday Island. We were eight days out from Auckland, having had light variable winds all the way.

Now, we were floating along at about three knots, with every stitch on her, and a light breeze from the SE. The day was wonderful, a clear sky and a calm blue sea.

We had our two whale boats turned over on the main hatch, and had painted them, and put rawhide chafing strips round the rowlocks, two hardwood tog gles in our 18-feet steer-oars, and sewed greenhide around the 3-inch Europe rope strop, that the steer-oar passed through aft. We were getting ready for our surf-loading at Savage Island. Nieua Tapu and Nieua Fo’ou.

Whilst we were on this job, a large pod of hump-back whales came along irom the north, slowly making a passage due south. They took no notice of us, and one huge cow and her calf passed us only about 30 yards off. She was suckling her calf (about 14 feet long) and holding it to her with one large flipper, while she slowly sculled herself along with her immense tail.

The water was so clear that we could see everything. There were 15 cows and most of them had calves; and some bulls, which kept well away from us, seemingly playing “tig” and breaching every now and then.

It was a fine sight. They were slowly travelling south, feeding on the way, and they would spend the spring and sum mer in the Antarctic. Then they would go north again, to the tropics, for the breeding season.

AT 12 noon (8 bells), a swell started up from due south, and at 3 pm. the wind followed up. At 4 bells in the dog watch, the skipper sent us aloft to take in all our light sails, and to put a single reef in the mizzen to ease her steering. As the swell had increased, so also had the wind. We were running at about 10 knots and. with such a follow ing sea, she was liable to yaw, and luff upon the sea.

That night when our watch turned out, it was really blowing solid, but there was not a cloud in the sky. The stars were shining so brightly that they looked only a few yards away. The swell had in creased and the waves were at least 25 to 30 feet high. They were rolling up (a little on our starboard quarter, as we were steering NNE) in long rows that seemed about a quarter of a mile apart.

A swell would overtake the “Ysabel;” she would slowly lift her stern; and then the swell of the sea would send her swooching along on a mad rush, until the wave gradually overtook her. Then the bow would rise and she would sink into the trough and seem to wait until the next swell arrived to start her going again.

Between the swells, we would lose the wind from the foresail, and it would give a flap or two; and then, when she lifted, it would fill out, and strain, till the sheets and tacks were like iron bars.

Although the wind was -so strong, there was no white water about, to speak of.

The sea seemed oily.

During the middle watch, the skipper came on deck and had a look around.

Then took the wheel, and told me to get a hand and go up and make fast the top ga’ntsail, so as to ease her up a

bit. We were doing about 12 knots then —and we were laden down to the Plimsoil mark.

THE lookout and I went aloft and soon had the sail fast. Just as we had finished the ship took a run, and, instead of the usual flood of salt water gushing in through the hawse pipes and cascading over the lee cathead, a mass of pure flaming molten silver came aboard lighting up everything, upper and lower. Top sails beneath us shone out like two marble breasts. The deckhouse and windlass showed up plainly, and, as her bow rose, all the illuminated water ran aft, hit the break of the poop, broke into glistening sheets and went through the scuppers.

Again she dived, and again the decks

were lit up. Looking aft, I could see our wake shining bright, and as straight as an arroV for a half mile or so. We two on the yard could not understand it.

At last the Old Man called out: “What are you mooning about up there for?”

So we got down on deck as fast as we could; and, watching my chance, I nipped aft and went to the wheel. When I got there, the Old Man said quietly: “What were you two thinking about up on that yard, Frank?”

I did not answer. Then he said; “This is a large patch of whale feed we are passing through. It is full of Phos phorus. And, boy, when you see sights like this on such a wonderful night you can remember that God is still in His heaven, and all’s well.”

Then he snapped out: “Nor-nor-east!”

I took the wheel and replied; “Nor nor-east it is, sir.”

I have never forgotten the skipper’s Vords, or that night. It took us 20 min utes to pass through that patch of feed, and the mate said it was the largest he had ever heard of. We were doing at least 12 knots.

Three days afterwards we sighted Eua, slipped in through the Makaha Passage and anchored at Nukualofa. It was an 11 days’ passage from NZ—not bad after our fine weather start.