A 6500-Mile Race.

A thrilling tale of a voyage made by the City of Auckland from Auckland to London in 1877 is told by Captain Albert Duder, who for a long while was Harbourmaster in Auckland, and is now enjoying well-earned leisure over at Devonport. None of the stories that I have heard about the "City" are so absorbingly interesting as that told by Captain Duder, who at the time the voyage in question was made, was a young man before the mast, just beginning his career. Captain Ralls was in command, and Captain Duder has the liveliest admiration for his old skipper. "Captain Ralls was a fine specimen of a British seaman," writes Captain Duder, "perfect in seamanship and in the art of commanding a sailing ship. Well it was that he was all that, and more, or our voyage would not have ended as auspiciously as it did."

"The City," loaded with wool, kauri gum, etc., was a full ship and in good ocean-going trim, when she left Auckland in the beginning of February, 1877. The first three weeks passed pleasantly away. One afternoon at two o'clock, when about 1200 miles west-north-west of Cape Horn the ship ran into a fairly thick fog, and at 2.45 the look-out man reported ice right ahead—a small berg forty to fifty feet high. "Luff, luff!" was the order yelled to the helmsman, and then came "All hands on deck!" Answering her helm immediately the little ship came up into the wind and cleared the weather end of the berg, but still was well into the small or broken ice which clattered along the side. The watch below turned out in good style and were at once ordered to take in royals and all light staysails, outer jib and crossjack, while the watch on deck was hard at it, trimming yards. And the stewards, cooks, and the few men passengers, under the chief steward were put on to provision and water the boats.

Then, "Ice on the lee bow!" reported the lookout, and what seemed like a mountain of it rose up right alongside, the crevices being filled with frozen snow—a beautiful, but awful sight.

"Hard down the helm!" and like a yacht the ship went round on the other tack. Every man, stripped to singlet and trousers, was working for dear life. The captain stood by the man at the wheel, the chief officer with the look-out man on the fo'c'sle-head, and every man keen at his post.

Once more ice was reported, this time on the weather bow. "Hard up the helm!" was the order this time, and then "Square the yards!" and the ship paying off ran away from a small berg fifty to seventy feet high, with broken and small ice all around.

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There was a few minutes breathing space, and then ice was reported on port and starboard bows, but fortunately it was not so close as to prevent the ship getting through. And thus the ship went on; now ice ahead, then to port and then to starboard, and always the yacht-like craft obeyed every order as though she were alive. Captain Ralls, quick in decision, rapped out his orders promptly, always right; and every man of the crew was quick to jump at the word of command, every ounce of strength and seamanship being thrown into the work.

At about 5.30 p.m. the fog lightened and soon the ship ran out of it into clear sky with no ice in sight. The large cluster of bergs and broken ice, together with the warmer water, had caused the fog through which the ship had been passing, and once beyond their influence the atmosphere grew clear. As Captain Duder says, "There must have been three little birds sitting aloft on our trucks that afternoon, looking after 'the City' and the lives of her crew."

"Make all sail!" was soon the order, and after that came "grog-oh," every man polishing off his half-tumbler of good old Jamaica rum. Then there was a word of praise and thanks from the captain to all hands for the way they had worked, followed by "Tea-oh" for all but the officer of the watch, and a couple of A.B.'s to keep the wheel and look-out.

Other ships on the run to Cape Horn that summer saw more ice than the City of Auckland did, and two—a Loch line vessel loaded with wheat from Melbourne, and one of Patrick Henderson's ships from Timaru—were never heard of again, having, it was assumed, collided with ice and foundered. Had it been night time when the City of Auckland got among the ice she would no doubt have joined the ranks of the "missing."

After that battle with the bergs the City of Auckland had an average autumn passage to the Horn, off which she came across the ship Timaru (Captain Taylor) 28 days out from Dunedin. The signal flags were soon speaking and before they parted they arranged a 6500 miles race to London—a notion that was right into Captain Taylor's hands, as his ship had a great reputation and he was a noted hard-driver. Next night at about half past nine the City was due to pass, on the weather bow, a small cluster of rocky islets about fifty miles south-east of Staten Island, and the look-out man was told to keep a good look-out to windward.

At ten o'clock the cook and one of the passengers were having a smoke and a yarn in the lee waist, and the passenger remarked that there was land right ahead. "No," said the cook, "that's a cloud," and went on with his yarn. But on looking again they both agreed it was land and just on the lee bow, and the cook ran aft calling the attention of the mate, who at once ordered the helmsman to luff and shouted for a hand to jump aloft and report. Captain Duder was handy to the forerigging and was soon on the lower topsail yard. Plain enough below was a long line of breakers on a reef running out to windward of the group The yards were braced sharp up, and the smart little ship sailing a couple of points more into the wind cleared the end of the reef and breakers by about two hundred and fifty yards! The ship had been carried in towards the mainland by an unknown ocean current and she was eight or nine miles off her course from noon that day.

When the ship had passed the Falkland Islands and left behind the worst of the stormy latitudes, orders were given to bend extra sails—main middle staysail, mizzen topgallant staysail, a second flying jib (over the lower flying jib), the jib-topsail, and a "Jimmy Green," or "bull-driver," as it was sometimes called—a square sail fitted and rigged to set under the jib-boom and bowsprit. One seldom passed a ship with a "Jimmy Green" set, says Captain Duder, but it was quite a helpful sail in moderate weather, and as we intended to give the Timaru a run for it, we wanted all the sail we could set. Day and night it was a case of trim yards and set sail, swig and set still better, and crack on until the ship was lee-rail under.

A Glorious Night.

With the exception of a pampero (so called from the pampas of Argentine, over which it blows) that compelled the ship to heave-to for 24 hours when off the River Plate, she met with moderate and favourable weather that carried her into the south-east trade winds, which, however, were light, and not so steady as they usually are in those latitudes. "On the northern edge of the trade wind," writes Captain Duder, describing a wonderful experience the ship had, "we passed through a belt of the ocean about 50 miles wide that was like molten silver. Every star in the sky was shining bright and clear, the sea was densely full of every kind of tropical sea animalculae, which caused the water to sparkle like myriads of brilliants. The scene was wonderful and beautiful, butpage 23 withal so weird that it created a most uncanny feeling. Even our steel-nerved captain felt the influence, and he ordered all light sails to be taken and furled.

"While I and two other seamen were out stowing the jib-topsail and two flying jibs we saw, greatly to our astonishment, three pretty little heads bobbing up and down in the silver sea under the jib-boom. One grizzled old 'matlow' (a sailor's name for an old salt, from the French 'matelot') declared they were mermaids, and he recalled how on a similar night near the same region, he had many years before seen the same sort of thing. After all the light sails had been stowed and the watch, with their pipes lit, had made themselves comfortable on deck, the conversation turned to the wonderful and beautiful night with the added marvel of the three mermaids (so-called) under the bow. Opinions varied of course. The younger hands were very sceptical, but the old ones had no doubt whatever that the heads we had seen were the real thing.

"Seamen following their trade all over the world, in every latitude, in gale and calm, in varied climes, see many beautiful and magnificent sights, but that entrancing night of forty-five years ago was easily the most rare, the most beautiful and awe-inspiring I have ever experienced, or ever hope to experience."

When the ship picked up the north-east trade wind she found it very strong, at times amounting to a moderate or a fresh gale, which lasted to the 30th north latitude. All plain sail was set and hung on to, a number of them being blown away, but always replaced by others, night or day. At times the ship drove bows under, and one afternoon one heavy sea rolled so high that the belly of the maintopmast staysail was torn right out of the sail, and the decks were swept clean of everything movable from fo'c'sle head to poop. Light, variable and squally weather was experienced in the run from the trades to the mouth of the English Chanel, a converging point for hundreds of ships from all over the world, and one of great interest to the homeward bound seamen as old friends among the craft would be recognised and furnish material for much talk about other crews and other voyages full of stirring incidents.

After passing the Western Islands the ship got favourable fresh winds for some days which carried her up to sight the Lizard Light. That night the wind came down Channel from the eastward and freshened to a very hard gale. During this time about twenty-five large ships and barques with smaller craft had got bunched, all hove-to, and down to a few of the smallest and the strongest sails. On the afternoon of the third day the wind eased, and the order came on the City of Auckland to reef and set the upper topsails.

When the men were up on the yard they saw another ship about five miles off doing exactly the same as the City of Auckland. Apparently none of the other skippers thought it prudent to make sail at that state of the weather, and these two ships soon forged away from the rest of them. Twenty-four hours later the City of Auckland was in Torbay on the port tack, the wind north-east, and the ship laying well up the Channel; everybody elated, homeward bound, Old England right alongside, and London (and pay-day) close ahead of them.

A Dead Heat.

"At about four p.m. that afternoon a large ship under full sail came standing into the bay on the starboard tack," continues Captain Duder. "We also were under full sail, slipping along close-hauled and doing about ten knots. No other vessels of any considerable size were in sight. All eyes were turned on the stranger. She was a perfect picture, with her painted ports, every sail setting faultlessly, and the ship beautifully sailed. One of our A.B.'s declared it was our friend and rival the Timaru, but the idea was hailed with derision. 'the Timaru is in London, and paid off by this time,' said the mate.

"The ships were drawing close together, and we being on the port tack had to give way to the other vessel. But our skipper was not giving way if he could help it, although he did not intend to take any unseamanlike risks, so 'Stand by the spanker and after braces!' came the order. Then soon, 'Hard up the helm!' followed by 'Brail the spanker in!' 'Square the crossjack!' 'After yards!' the City of Auckland fell away before the wind, a hundred and fifty feet to leeward of the Timaru! 'Steady the helm!' 'Set the spanker!' 'Brace up the after yards!' came the orders, and so we regained our course and stood up Channel.

"So it was the Timaru after all! Up to that moment our long 6500-mile race was a dead heat. We had taken 61 days from the Horn, and here in the Channel we were within a hundred and fifty feet of one another.

"Next morning the ships lay becalmed off Portland Bill, about apage 24 thousand feet apart. Soon the smoke of two tugs appeared, and they came straight for us, the larger one picking the bigger vessel (and the most money), and the other coming to us. Two days later both vessels hauled in to the South West Indian Dock, in London, the jibboom of The Citly over the poop of the Timaru. Thus ended our race from the Horn, and the honours were certainly with our vessel, she being much the smaller of the two.

"A comparison of the courses steered and the positions on the chart showed that the two ships were only just out of sight of each other on three occasions, and practically the same weather was experienced. We also found that they were less than two hundred and fifty miles apart during the whole of the race.

"The City's voyage from Auckland occupied ninety-five days, the Timaru's from Dunedin was eighty-nine, and she not only had the shorter distance, but she also had a more favourable run of winds."