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Chapter VI
The first land we sighted after leaving Sydney was the Three Kings, New Zealand. We had run before a fair wind up to this time, and had come into what was regarded as a good whaling ground. Now every eye was scanning the horizon, since a bottle of grog was promised to the man who should first sight a whale. I had been on the port watch since I came on board under Mr Hawkins, the chief mate, and one evening, just as our watch below was ending, I went aloft to see the sun set. Against the broad, red horizon I saw some dark objects spouting and tumbling. In an instant I had shouted “Whales ho!” to claim the bottle of grog. “Where away?” was the skipper's question. “On the lee bow, sir.” For an instant he scanned the spot with his glass, an anxious moment for me lest I should have mistaken a shoal of porpoises for a school of whales, and not only lose my prize but expose myself to the ridicule of my fellow sailors. “Right you are, it's whales, sure enough; you have won your grog, lad.”
We had no time to lose; the night would soon be on us, and our chance would be lost. Down went the boat with Ned Farne, our harpooner, in the bows ready to launch his weapons when opportunity offered. On came the school, tumbling and blowing, throwing jets of water ten or fifteen feet into the air, causing a very grand yet terrible scene. At length they got almost within range; the boys were pulling like mad to keep up with the pace the whales were swimming at. We saw Ned rise up in the bows, poise his arm back for an instant, then launch the harpoon straight for the huge back of the fish that was nearest to him. The aim was true, the missile was buried over the barb in the soft blubber beneath the outer skin, and away went the whale dragging the harpoon rope after it so rapidly that they had to pour water upon the side of the boat to prevent it from igniting, through the violent friction. Again the huge creature rose to breathe, and another harpoon was driven into it, causing it once more to rush away through the water at lightning speed. Darkness fell over the scene before they had killed it, and the boat remained by the carcase all night to prevent it sinking. When morning came it was a busy scene on board, preparing to cut it in and try it out. At length the task was completed, and five large sacks of oil were secured; not a large yield certainly, but the foretaste of better things, we hoped. We cruised over the same ground for several days, but saw no more whales, accordingly we stretched across to Curtis' Island, about 500 miles to the north-east, where in about a month we got five or six more, some of them giving very fair yields of oil. After this we ran down upon Norfolk Island, where we fell in with the Mercury, schooner, Captain Barnet, also on a whaling cruise from Tasmania. From her we shipped two additional hands, and then made for Moreton Bay, on the coast of Queensland. Here not a solitary fish was to be seen, therefore we ran back for our old ground off Curtis' Island. Scarcely had we arrived when we fell in with a heavy gale from the north-east, raging for twenty days, in which we had to heave to, not being able to show a rag of sail. On the 21st day, when the wind began to lull, we found ourselves off the Three Kings, a drift of more than 500 miles. We had shipped such heavy seas, and the force of the storm had been so great, that our tryworks had been carried away, and three of our boats stove in. Therefore we bore up for the Bay of Islands, where we arrived on the 10th of April, 1811, anchoring as before off Te Puna. We were the only vessel in the bay at the time, though others entered during our stay.
The same day that we reached our anchorage a chief named Taua Makia came aboard to take care of us and watch over our interests, lest we should be swindled in trade or otherwise maltreated. This considerate proceeding was not disinterested, but the ‘consideration’ expected was not large. The Skipper ordered a boat to go ashore and bring a load of gravel to serve as shot for our guns since this had been omitted in the ship's supplies, and the natives were not to be trusted, even though we had a protector. The news had spread like wild-fire that a ship was at anchor in the bay, and already scores of canoes were being launched to pay a visit to the pakeha, but we loaded our guns, and pointing them astern, ordered all the visitors to keep back, which, after a little demur and grumbling they did. Nevertheless, all throughout our stay, they never desisted in the attempt to get on board, considering it a gross breach of hospitality on our part to deny them the privilege. As our example was imitated by Captain Walker, of the Endeavour brig, that came in a few days after us, having on board two missionaries for Tahiti - Messrs Davidson and Williams - the natives concluded that in us they had got a very bad and uncivil customer to deal with.
Meantime we had commenced work upon the repairs of the vessel. Nearly all our spars had been carried away, together with our jibboom and some of the bulwarks; we had lost every boat but one, and small leaks were demanding attention, We bad two sawyers on board, and as Captain Walker had three whom he lent us for the time, our skipper thought it best to put the ship thoroughly to rights here, in place of putting back to Sydney. Accordingly, the sawyers went ashore, rigged up the pits, and commenced work vigorously. But the Maoris did not exactly see the force of this. They imagined that we were concocting some diabolic scheme of destruction against them in making such extensive preparations, which they considered as in some way identified with our worship. They pulled down the works and threatened to kill the sawyers if they attempted to resume operations. But a volley from the vessels soon scattered them, and a strong guard being picked from the crews of both ships, they were hereafter permitted to labour uninterruptedly. During this time, I had considerable liberty granted to me to go ashore, or to go fishing with Taua Makia. The first time I availed myself of the former privilege, I received as great a scare as ever I had in my life. Three of us had been wandering about in a bit of bush near the Keri-Keri River, trying to find our way back to the saw-pits, when suddenly we issued upon a cleared space, in which were a few houses and patches of cultivation. Before the entrance to one of the whares stood a band of females crowned with chaplets of green leaves, and wringing their hands. One of these, an elderly woman, who seemed to act as chief mourner upon the occasion, and had a chaplet of dog's hair round her temples, different from the others, advanced in front and began to throw her arms about, raising her head and eyes to heaven. Whilst doing this, in a very plaintive quavering tone, she commenced a wailing song, in which she was joined by her companions. I was afterwards initiated into this, and now give a specimen of a funeral lament: -
Taku hei he piripiri (my fragrant bundle the piripiri) Taku hei moki-moki (my fragrant bundle the mokimoki) Taku hei tawiri (my fragrant bundle the tawiri) Taku kati taramea (my sweet juice of the taraniea) Te hei o te pounamu (the companion of the greenstone) I haramai ai - e (is gone - alas, upon) I runga te angai-ia-ana (the angai-e-).
It was the tangi, or wail for the dead. But at this period I knew nothing of Maori customs or ceremonies, and my very hair began to rise with horror as I thought perhaps they might be celebrating some human sacrifices. Our fear kept us quiet. In the thick bush we lay watching the scene, overshadowed by the gloom of a gigantic kauri-tree, and wishing ourselves anywhere but in our present predicament. When the sorrowful song was ended, and the females had entered the whare, we noiselessly strove to retrace our steps, and chance favouring us, we came out a mile or two from where the sawyers were at work. As I afterwards discovered, no duty is so sacred or so obligatory as the interment of the dead, no trouble being considered too great, no expense too excessive, no lamentation too extreme to testify to the respect in which the deceased was held on earth, and to raise him in the estimation of the mysterious spirits to whom he had gone. Taua Makia sometimes went with us fishing to induce the prey to come upon hooks by the constant chanting of Karakias or incantations, supposed to have a very potent influence over the finny tribe. I cannot say we were ever very successful when he was with us, since the noise he made and the fishing gear he would insist upon employing were neither conducive to lure the fish to our bait, nor to hold them when they were hooked. But this, of course, may have been merely an ignorant pakeha's prejudice, since many a lusty kahawai or schnapper, have I caught with a hook made from a dead man's bone. Don't wince, reader; better, is it not, to be put to some use after death, than to feed a legion of hungry worms.
We began to mix a little with the natives when ashore, and I grew more familiarised with their ways. We attended their baptisms, He Tohi, and gave presents to the infant, that it never enjoyed; we consulted the Niu, or divining sticks, whether we should reach home in safety; we were present at their marriage tauas, when the bride was carried off by main force sometimes minus her clothing, finally we were guests at their hakaris, or feasts, and could vouch for the excellence of Maori culinary skill. But we shall have enough of these in the course of the narrative, the reader shall eat and drink to his heart's content but at present we must keep to the thread of our story.
In a fortnight the sawyers had finished their work ashore, a week more completed the repairs aboard, and whatever little trade we had carried on completed, the skipper thought of standing out to sea again. In some mysterious way or other, I had offended the old bosun of our ship, and he had persecuted me with most relentless malice. Nothing I could do was right, the rope's end was my daily sauce, and complaints about my laziness were continually being carried to the captain. At length one day, irritated by their constant occurrence, he said when another of my misdeeds was laid before him, “String him up then, and give him a dozen.” This was just what the bosun wanted; and in a trice he strung me up to the mast, and a good round dozen I received, being only released when nearly fainting with pain and shame. He had got the best of it just now; my day of retribution came again. Now, this method of instructing me in navigation was by no means to my taste, and as two of our men had absconded the day previous, concealed, as was thought, in the bush, I imagined I could emulate their example, perhaps, to join them. At least, I should first go to the Endeavour, as she lay nearer the shore, if not, the bush it must be. Therefore, waiting my opportunity, about 3 o'clock one morning I slipped overboard and swam noiselessly to the companion ship. As I came alongside puffing and blowing, thoroughly exhausted with the long swim, and almost inclined to give up the business, the carpenter, who was acting as bosuns mate in the Endeavour for the time, saw me, and flung me a rope, by which I climbed on deck. I told him my story, and as he was a decent sort of a fellow, he was slipping me quietly along the deck to the foc'sle, when the second mate saw us and demanded to know what I wanted there. With my usual readiness, I invented a tale of a morning swim and exhaustion, but the story would not hold water, and the captain was informed of my arrival. As soon as morning broke he sent over to the Harwich, telling Captain Simmons that I was on board his vessel, and about nine our skipper came over with two men to take me back. Reluctantly enough I went, as I knew a flogging was in store for me, but to my surprise the captain only took me into his cabin and rated me soundly for my foolhardiness in risking my life thus, telling me I escaped a flogging by his having discovered many of the bosuns stories to be untrue. My condition was now better on board, as I was taken aft, and kept under the captain's own eye. My enemy, the bosun, was speechless with rage, yet he was powerless now to do me harm.
About a week after this the Endeavour sailed, Captain Walker having come on board the Harwich and taken a very friendly farewell of our skipper, and a fortnight afterwards we followed suit, going back to our old cruising ground at the Three Kings. The weather was very uncertain and squally, so that we did not see any whales; therefore we stretched over to Norfolk Island, and speedily were busy at work.
The first day we arrived we secured three whales, which we cut in and tried out, the third day two more, and the fifth day another. Then our luck seemed to change, and not a solitary fish could we see for an entire month. We tried all our former grounds, Curtis' Island, Moreton Bay, Three Kings, to no purpose, only when off the East Cape did we catch sight of a small whale, which we secured but only got one barrel of oil from it. The weather now began to be very stormy; winter was at its depth, and the air was piercingly cold. Therefore Captain Simmons concluded to break the cruise, to run for Sydney, discharge his cargo of oil, and commence anew. Another consideration, also, was that several of the men were very ill with scurvy and dysentry - in fact, the crew was only at half at its usual complement, therefore the cry was “about ship,” and “Sydney ho!”
It was whilst running home before a fine fresh breeze, that one night we were knocked up by Mr Hawkins singing out, “Ship on fire on the weather bow.” The shock was electrical. Everyone bundled out of their hammocks and rushed on deck. There on the horizon was a grand and terrible spectacle. A large ship was burning from stem to stern, lighting up the gloom of the winter's night for miles around, throwing a deep lucid glare over the inky ocean. The flames were bursting up the hatches, were licking the masts and spars, were peeping out in little forked tongues through the portholes. The captain ordered lights to be burned at the masthead, blank charges to be fired from the guns every minute, and the jolly-boat to be manned and to go in search of survivors. In an hour our efforts were rewarded by three boat-loads of fear-stricken men boarding us and asking reception. They informed us that the burning ship was the “Lady Lucy” from Sydney to London, that she had caught fire when a week out, from a burning candle falling into an oil cask, and that over 50 lives had already been lost through the capsizing of two of their boats. Captain Simmons made them welcome, and a few days after we reached Sydney, where they were taken in hand by the Government and forwarded home by the next vessel. Thus ended my voyage in the Harwich, perhaps the most pleasant of all my trips.

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