On the main deck, lots were drawn from most of the passengers and the crew who had not been south before. After much discussion and laughter, ten unlucky souls faced the wrath of the dreaded old man of the sea. With all passengers and crew assembled, their first sorry mission was to run a gauntlet around the deck between passengers and crew alike. Out of breath and not a little sore from the slaps and kicks, they were fetched up short in front of a fearsome sight, old Father Neptune himself.
“Alright now, is any of ye sorry for what you have done?” No one spoke, all being too scared by far.
“Bring out the swill then.” Two days of kitchen scraps joined old cooking oil, old salt pork and the slops from the animal feed bin. It rained down on the hapless bunch.
“Is any one of you sorry yet?”
“Yes, yes - - we are very sorry,” they cried, in unison.
Father Neptune mumbled utterly wicked, meaningless incantations for a while, before each victim was roughly and theatrically scraped clean with a piece of hoop iron, and then dunked head first into a cask of salt water. They suffered their sins for all on board, taking their punishment in good heart and everyone laughed about it for days afterwards.
Jessica had been keenly looking forward to the event, only to be overtaken with stomach cramp just as the festivities were under way. Holding her stomach, she was forced to retire to her cabin. If it had not been so painful, it would have been funny when a fierce Father Neptune, scowling and grimacing, suddenly appeared at the cabin door and enquired after her health. She had to just laugh and send him away, presumably to gather more souls for Davy Jones’s locker, or whatever he was doing!
A few days after the Crossing the Line ceremony, Matthew saw the off-watch crew making up an effigy of a horse, in straw and hessian cloth, complete with long ears and a flowing tail. None of the men could really explain it well, so Matthew sought out Mr Olsen, who was watching from the forecastle.
“Mr Olsen, sir, when I asked the men about the strange horse they were making, they just laughed and told me I would understand one day. Can you explain it, sir?”
The Mate smiled. They were on the early evening watch, the boat was sailing ‘full and bye’, and there was time for gossip. He tamped a wad of tobacco into a penny clay pipe, lit it, and, once the steady glow had settled, gave forth on shipboard folklore.
“The ‘dead horse’ ceremony is a ritual practised by deep sea sailors. In these days, it is common for a sailor to be paid a month’s wages, in advance, when he signs on. Usually the money would be spent on sea-going clothes, paying off debts, liquor and women. Therefore they would have to work a month at sea without pay. This is a period that has come to be known as the ‘dead horse.’
As they watched, the crew began to parade the horse around the deck, inviting the passengers to bid for it (the proceeds were going to the crew’s grog fund). The parade was led by a band of musicians with a bevy of instruments, a flute, an accordion, a tin whistle and drum. A sailor in a sheep skin and carrying a whip led the horse, stopping at the mainmast, where they said a funeral service.
The dirge was mournful, part pathos, part intriguing tradition. Certainly the awful sound, created with much solemnity, brought a lot of curious people to the deck and few had the knowledge of Mate to understand the proceedings.
The horse was hoisted from the yard arm and dropped into the sea, the body committed to the sharks and the soul to the devil. There was now merriment amongst passengers and crew, for these traditions provided a welcome respite from the tedium of the long weeks at sea.
Chapter Nine
The Story of Mate Olsen
As the days went by, Jessica continued to ask Matthew casually what he knew about Mr Olsen. As Jessica's questions persisted, Matthew finally mustered up the courage to ask Mate his story.
Apparently he was the son of a doctor from a well-to-do suburb in Oslo and after a good education, had planned to be a doctor, like his father. He was tall, with craggy yet unremarkable features, excelled at boxing and cross country skiing and of an easy going if somewhat lazy nature. He had completed four years of study as a medical student, when a one night affair with the principal’s daughter created a pregnancy. The night the baby was born, he was dragged out of his bed at the university dormitory, and severely beaten by four masked men. With 100 kroner stuffed in his pocket, he was warned never to see the light of day again in Oslo, or to communicate with the girl. He staggered semi-conscious to his family home, banging on the door till his father came out. Mate’s father stitched him up and they talked in the study for three hours. Just before dawn Mate left the house, looking repeatedly back over his shoulder, as he walked away through the frozen Oslo morning, for perhaps the last time that he would ever see his home.
Though his adventures then took him around the world, he continued to write to his parents. She had been his first girlfriend and that was the first, and only time he had experienced intimate love. Somewhat a lost soul, he drifted to the sea, accepting a position of Fourth Mate on a prison ship from England to Australia.
He arrived in Port Jackson (later Sydney) bruised, bloody and quickly aged beyond his years, feeling utterly drained in body and mind. Nearly all of the convicts were petty thieves, whereas the crew themselves were closer to being labelled hardened criminals. Mate was morally affronted by the liberties taken with the female prisoners, most of whom were decent women. Fights between crew and passengers, passengers and passengers, and crew and crew were an every-day occurrence. Despite fair warnings given by the Captain, a decent man who leaned on the side of leniency, there were three floggings by the time the ship reached Australia.
Despite his weariness, Mate could hardly contain his excitement about this new country; Australia was at first sight exciting and so different to his land of ice and snow. Glaring sun burned the roofs and whitewashed walls of timber houses. Strange large white parrots called cockatoos screech overhead, while gorgeous coloured Parakeets and pink galahs flocked in the sky, filling the trees at night with noisy chatter. His fair skin had turned brown on the trip out, while his blond hair had bleached nearly white by the sun. That he had matured into a handsome man was of no doubt and cheap women called to him from many doors. Without much thought he avoided the women and the temptations, his restraint stemming not from any sense of moral prudery, just they held no interest to him and perhaps his heart was still in Norway.
However he was appalled by the actions of the British Army Garrison that imposed its callous, uncaring presence on all the luckless citizens of the town. Prisoners, many of whom hadn’t walked twenty steps in a day for years, were force-marched in leg chains in the blazing heat for five miles across the town from the transport ship to the prison.
He watched sadistic treatment, from so-called disciplined soldiers, so like the crew on the ship he wanted to vomit. One day, shortly after he had arrived, he found himself in the streets as part of a crowd of watchers. Two young soldiers were being treated ‘the army way’. Little more than boys, they had committed a small theft to try to get out of the army. They were sentenced to seven years hard labour, but before being sent to Norfolk Island for their sentence they were paraded through the streets, dressed in yellow cloth (for cowardice).
Fitted with iron collars and leg shackles, they were chained together for a humiliating walk through the streets and then drummed out of the army. He was appalled at the sound of them crying and begging for mercy from the neck collars shackles, burning hot in the fierce Australian sun, even more so when he learned that both had died three days later of the burns. For many years thereafter he harboured a mistrust of everyone associated with the British military. Life was very hard at the best of times, even without their brutal presence and he did not wonder that some in desperation took up bush-ranging.
Dissatisfied and restless, he signed up for another boat as Third Mate, to take wool back to England, and then another voyage across to the new world of the Americas. There he became really interested in th
e very efficient flat-bottomed scows on the east coast of America and spent four months fishing on one of these boats. Their load carrying ability, with a good turn of speed, appealed to him and he spent a lot of his time studying their designs.
The wanderlust still had him, and he signed as Second Mate on a whaler out of Nantucket. This proved to be a lucrative, though exacting and difficult experience. In 1837 he sailed below New Zealand, chasing whales as far as the ice of Antarctica. Matthew listened with bated breath, as he told tales about the Roaring Forties, the Screaming Fifties and the Shrieking Sixties and the thrill of chasing massive whales in the lonely southern ocean. Matthew later retold the story with the breathless enthusiasm that only the young can generate.
“My, the young man has been busy. How long did he go whaling, may I ask?” ventured Jessica.
“Two years, Miss Jessica. But the life was cruelly hard and so he then signed on for this voyage as First Mate.”
“And is he going to be a Captain, I wonder?”
“Oh, no, Miss Jessica, he wants to be a doctor and settle down on a farm in beautiful New Zealand. He said the green is so green the colour doesn’t seem real, the skies are blue and clear, there are fish in the sea and any man who is prepared to work can make a good life for himself out there. He also says that they are giving away land to settlers and that is why he is so keen to get back there.”
Chapter Ten
Life at Sea on a Migrant Ship
Harry and Matthew were on different watches and so they each had turns to ring the bell, which is the ship’s time-piece and sited next to the man on the wheel. Though the ship had one of the new chronometers which measured time very accurately, the hour sand glass still dictated the crew watch changes. The four-hour watches are marked by an extra stroke of the bell every half hour, so at the stroke of eight bells, the end of a four hour watch, both watches would muster on deck. Also there was one bell stroke for something seen to starboard, two strokes for something to port and three strokes for something ahead.
When all hands were on deck, Mr Olsen would call, “Relieve the wheel and lookout,” and the watches would change.
In quite a short time, passengers and crew learned to live by the bell, regulating their habits by its cadence. Mr Olsen appeared to be a born teacher. Though at the age of twenty- seven he was younger than a lot of the crew, he had great knowledge and generously shared it with any who showed interest. Yet he was a very private person. So it was with some surprise that Matthew and Mate gravitated towards each other and an unlikely bonding began. Mate began to loosen his reserve and was often seen to smile readily when listening to the small boy’s talk, while in return Matthew began to learn the ways of a deep sea ship.
They were standing at the foc’sle one day, the sun on their backs and Mate asked,
“You see this piece of wood? It’s very elementary, just a wooden cradle that is lowered in the water and is allowed to drift astern. We tie a knot every 48 feet and the log is streamed for 29 seconds, as measured by an egg timer. The number of knots determines the boat speed. It is surprisingly accurate, and simple.”
Matthew was in raptures, listening to the tales of the sea, of whaling, of having to leave home and of the Mate’s hopes for the future. His eyes shone with the possibility that even he could have similar adventures. Mr Olsen opened up when they talked of ships and he knew a lot about their present boat.
“The ‘Nell Gwynn’ was launched in 1832 and the sail type makes her a barque. She has a keel length of 147 ft and a beam of 27.6 ft. The depth of her cargo hold is 14.9 ft. She’s a fast vessel, with fifteen crew members. She once completed a record run from London to Auckland in 88 days with a full cargo hold, and Passengers. We have 200 people on board: 15 crew, 50 married couples, 30 single men, 27 single ladies and 26 children - 28,counting you two stowaways,” he added with a smile.
Mr Olsen was keen on knots. He and Matthew often ended up doing rope work together. Mate showed Matthew how to tie sheep shanks, clove-hitches, hangman’s noose, reef-knots, turks-heads and many more.
“But the most useful is the bowline. It is easy to do, easy to undo, won’t knot itself hard and never slips.”
Matthew practised it for the rest of the day, and then proudly showed the others at school time.
They had some flying fish aboard and one day hoots of laughter rang around the boat. Mr Jock Purcell, a pompous first class passenger, was hit in the belly by a flying fish, sending him backwards and sprawling on to the deck. His obnoxious yellow waistcoat was forever ruined by spar blacking from the deck, which only added to the tale. The fish, of course, kept growing bigger with each telling and the man’s predicament kept getting worse.
Why does the weather always get worse at night – or does it just seem so? One day, conditions were very delightful all the daylight hours, but really started blowing as the sun went down. Taking in the inner jib was the first job and with the bowsprit dipping under the waves the crew had to hold on very carefully. They all knew that if you fell overboard, day-time or night, there would be no possibility of going back and being rescued. Very few sailors, if any of them, could swim anyway. It took half an hour to get the jib in. By 9 pm, all available hands except the boys, were up the mast to take in the mainsail and main upper topsails. It is no easy task to go aloft on a cold dark night. There was a well-received tot of rum for all hands when the job was done, by going to the forecastle where Mate Olsen had a bottle and a glass and a good word. Matthew and Harry kept the fire going in the galley and coffee was greatly appreciated.
On many a day, the off-watch would be just back in their hammocks, when Harry would be sent to call all hands back on deck, to take in another sail. There was nothing for it, but to get back into their soaking wet clothing, and do battle once more with the heavy canvas. By then there was barely time to drop off to sleep before the next watch, and, though cold and physically exhausted, the work had to be done.
The men were always hungry. It was very hard, after getting up and doing four hours’ work, then only getting a cup of coffee and a biscuit. The Third Mate Pig Murphy was in charge of the rations and out of sheer perverse meanness; he had been cutting the food ration down to the minimum. When the men found out the morning watch were supposed to have porridge, there was a near riot, one of the men spending twenty-four hours in the brig as a consequence.
One night a fight between Cookie and a crewman over a pint of water caused a diversion, if a rather poor one, for after all, no one in their right mind would argue with the Cook or the Captain. The crewman got a bloody nose for his efforts, as well as a thumping big egg on the back of his head from a heavy frypan.
Throughout the trip, all the passengers suffered filthy black cockroaches that swarmed over the ship. At first the weather made bugs and rodents seem but an irritant by comparison, but now the heat and better weather brought them out in hordes, and no one was immune. Steerage passengers complained, saying they even ate the edges off razors. So brazen were the pests that they ate at people’s toenails, steerage and cabin passengers alike, as they lay in bed. Rats were everywhere and few passengers would survive the trip without at least one rat bite. They polluted the food and water, chewed through the casks and ate the food, consuming more of the animals’ fodder than did the hens, ducks, pigs, horses and cows put together, there were so many. Every day, Mate Olsen patched up passengers and crew from rat bites.
One night, a barque called the ‘Homeward Bound’ passed close by. It was travelling from Callao to Hamburg with guano (bird poo) which emitted a smell that was indeed ‘interesting’ even across the water.
Another large ship then kept them company for two days. When it finally overhauled them, the two captains conversed by code signal flags. She was the ‘Partridge’ out of Liverpool. They sailed side by side all day, about a quarter of a mile away from one another. Just before dark, there was a sight seldom seen at sea. The wind increased and the ‘Partridge’, which had been very gradually creeping past
on the windward side, suddenly altered course. Their captain believed that they were slowly bearing down on the ‘Nell Gwynn’. The bigger ship came tearing across behind, passing barely fifty yards astern. It was about the most impressive sight even the Captain of the ‘Nell Gwynn’ had ever seen. They were dangerously close and both boats were doing 12 knots with all sails set. Then, just as the ‘Partridge’ was passing, the flying jib sheet gave way, the sail making a racket of flailing canvas and flashing fire from the blocks. Twenty men scrambled out on the bowsprit to haul the sail in board and the passengers on the ‘Nell Gwynn’ could hear the shouted orders quite plainly.
Chapter Eleven
On board the ‘Nell Gwynn’
One morning, Jessica met Mate on the deck. His face was drawn, and wrinkled with fatigue.
“Mrs Milner, your neighbour, died during the night,” he said tiredly. “She fell down the ladder into the hold, suffering serious internal injuries. I tried my best, but I could not save her. I have decided that I must either give up wanting to be a doctor, or do more studies, I can’t be only a part time doctor.”
“What would you really like to do?” asked Jessica gently. Mate looked clearly exhausted, and he still had to get through his watch.
“I am too tired even to contemplate my future at this moment, but I do still feel a calling to be a doctor. But life is very interesting, so who knows, madam?” he said with a wan smile, before being called away.
Jessica looked after the receding figure with compassion, before turning away and gazing contemplatively out to sea. The energy and motion of the water regularly soothed and satisfied her. At times she could even imagine herself as an albatross, soaring over the waves, effortless and free. In reality, she could feel over her shoulder, the pressures of the shipboard life. The grime, the smells, the rats and vermin and the anguish of an incompatible group of exhausted humans locked away in this watery prison. Gazing out at sea, her mind could ever so briefly roam free, and small mercies were infinitely better than no mercy at all.
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