Under Full Sail Page 13
Ever confident, Bully Forbes held no concern about departing so many days after his rival. His determination to once again make a mark on maritime history saw him hoping that somewhere in the southern seas he would encounter Red Jacket and sail past her, before reaching Melbourne in a record time of just sixty days.
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Because of the circumstances of the Tayleur tragedy, which had occurred so soon after her departure, there was considerable anxiety among many of Red Jacket’s passengers about the early stages of the voyage. To calm these fears, the White Star Line had promised that Red Jacket would be towed west until she was in safe waters off Holyhead – the most north-westerly point of Wales.
That point was reached at midnight on 4 May, but before the tow lines from the two tugs were released, a small steamer that had travelled in convoy from Liverpool went alongside and took on board company representatives and guests so they could be returned to shore. It so happened that there was one additional and unexpected guest on board the steamer: a woman passenger who could not overcome her fear that the ship would meet an awful fate, so much so she insisted that she be returned to shore.
Comfortable conditions during the crossing of the often gale-ravaged Bay of Biscay eased the anxiety of many passengers. There was a steady westerly breeze blowing, so every possible sail was set – from the skysail down to the maincourse, from the flying jib and the main royal staysail through to the spanker, and even four stunsails. In these conditions, the starboard braces were eased, so that, with the yardarms angled forward of abeam, all sails were billowing superbly. Red Jacket was in her element, loping her way across gentle seas and heading south at a pleasant 10 knots.
The passage was further brightened by the birth of a baby boy to an Irish family, an event that provided the opportunity for several female passengers to set about making baby clothes for the newborn. The parents had no trouble selecting a name for their son: Red Jacket!
Breakfast each day was at nine o’clock, dinner at two and tea at six. In daylight hours, passengers either relaxed in their accommodation or spent time on deck, chatting with others and enjoying the shipboard atmosphere. Some stood at the bulwarks looking out for any form of marine life – whales, dolphins, sharks or birds. Occasionally, those on deck were entertained by non-paying passengers: giant albatrosses, which to this day superstitious seafarers believe are the souls of lost sailors. It is therefore considered bad luck to kill one. These magnificent birds – which are capable of covering more than 500 nautical miles in a day when gliding across the wave tops – have been known to land on a ship’s deck simply to take a rest.
On 11 May, passengers were treated to the unexpected. Whether due to the influence of alcohol, a dare, boredom or youthful exuberance, a young Irishman took it upon himself to climb the ratlines on the mizzenmast and scamper monkey-like through the rigging. He was brought down to the deck by two crewmen, who then lashed him to the rigging and threatened not to release him until he paid a penalty: two bottles of brandy.
By 15 May, the weather was getting warmer, so each evening after tea, weather permitting, the ship’s band – comprising musically talented crew members – would assemble on deck and play, and the passengers would dance well into the night.
The day when Lightning departed Liverpool, Red Jacket was already south of the Canary Islands, nearly 2000 nautical miles from Holyhead, and making good speed towards the Equator. By now almost all passengers were experiencing temperatures higher than they had ever known, so many took their mattresses on deck at night with the hope that the evening breeze, as gentle as it was, would help them sleep. Then, by day, with conditions stifling below, they would search for whatever shady area they could find within their allotted area on deck – which was defined by the class of fare they had paid – in a bid to stay cool.
Inevitably, on-board gossip – fact or fiction – would help while away the hours. Much of the detail relating to the Red Jacket voyage has been transcribed from a journal written by a passenger, Frederick Hoare, who was travelling as part of a group to the goldfields in Victoria. He included as much detail as possible about what he saw and what he heard – including all the tittle-tattle.
At this time, everyone was talking about the fact that the second officer had broken a shipboard rule: he was found being ‘too intimate’ with some of the young female passengers below deck. Hoare’s diary went on to tell another tale that would have consequences when the ship reached Melbourne:
This evening while some of the Cabin Passengers were at cards they disagreed and the officers interfered, which made a general disturbance in the cabin, so much so that the pistols came out and the Captain placed a guard with cutlasses, etc, all night.
Hoare then noted, ‘other particulars unknown’, but it does appear that there was an outcome, for the following day he wrote: ‘Three of the cabin passengers, we read, are still in irons.’
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Well astern of Red Jacket, Bully Forbes was planning a course quite different from that of Captain Reid. Using the well-established theories of Matthew Maury, he was busy plotting routes that would allow Lightning to gain maximum benefit from known current and wind patterns.
This would see her sail extremely close to the coast of South America. Meanwhile, Reid had his ship sailing a more direct route south. Only time would tell which course was the faster.
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Hoare wrote of a melancholy moment soon after Red Jacket had crossed the Equator:
The boatswain died on Friday 9 June. The sailmaker made a canvas coffin from an old sail and a collection was taken up among the passengers for his wife. His mortal remains were consigned to the deep at 5am the next day, and in the afternoon, as was the custom, his effects were auctioned to other members of the crew while the passengers looked on . . . they realised more than their value.
As Red Jacket approached the latitude of Cape Town, the ship was prepared for what might be a testing passage across the southern seas. Already, strong squalls had taken a toll on some of the sails, but in general captain and crew were most satisfied with the way the new ship was handling the conditions.
On Sunday, 18 June, rough weather prevented the usual church service from being held on deck, but the highlight of the day for everyone was a heated argument that erupted among the members of one family. Hoare wrote:
There is a great row below deck – a courtship has sprung up during the passage between a Protestant man and a Catholic woman and the woman’s family are not at all agreeable for her to have a Protestant – this caused the row.
The following day he told of the consequences:
The Protestant man, mentioned yesterday, to protect his lady-love, was married to her today in the Cabin, by the Captain, who feasted them for the day. The man was drunk tonight which is not a good beginning.
But passengers would soon have little inclination for such hijinks upon deck. As Red Jacket sailed deeper into the southern seas, her average speed increased dramatically: to anything between 288 and 312 nautical miles a day. The extreme cold kept all but the hardiest souls below deck; icicles were hanging from the rigging and rails, and snow showers regularly swept across the ship.
Red Jacket’s course was now taking her to the highest southern latitude she would achieve on the voyage: 52.03 degrees, a position approximately 100 nautical miles south of the barren and uninviting Kerguelen Islands. From that point, Captain Reid would begin plotting a course to take the ship directly to Bass Strait and the entrance to Port Phillip Bay, 3200 nautical miles away to the east-north-east.
The anticipation among passengers as to when they would sight land to some degree lessened the monotony that accompanied this challenging, sometimes dangerous and extremely uncomfortable part of the voyage.
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Unfortunately for Bully Forbes, the chances that Lightning would eclipse the performance of Red Jacket and beat her into Melbourne were rapidly slipping away. His decision to sail her on the longer course towards the coast of
South America had not delivered the anticipated dividend, and since then, the winds had generally not blown in his favour. There was, however, plenty of drama ahead.
In what could be seen as a desire to take a shortcut, Lightning went within an ace of coming to grief. Forbes had decided to pass close to the Kerguelen Islands, instead of taking the usual course deeper into the southern seas, where the winds were generally stronger. At the time, the wind was blowing solidly from the west and the ship was making 15 knots under greatly reduced sail.
At 10pm on 16 July, after lights-out for the passengers, Forbes was pressing on in the belief that the rocky, barren and uninhabited Kerguelen archipelago, which comprises more than 300 islands, was 60 nautical miles – some four hours’ sailing – to the east. However, about an hour later, a lookout peering into the murky blackness ahead thought he saw something. After focusing on it a moment longer, he bellowed: ‘Land ahead!’
That was all that was needed for Forbes to call for all hands on deck. Every set of eyes peering ahead confirmed the crew’s greatest fears: Lightning was charging directly towards a lee shore, and it appeared that there was no escape. It was the Kerguelens.
In a frantic bid to slow the ship, many crew were ordered to climb aloft and directed to furl or lower sails as quickly as possible. But the situation became even more serious when it was realised that giant waves could be seen breaking on land on both sides of the bow.
There was no way that Lightning could turn back; the only hope was that somehow, miraculously, they might be able to con their ship through a gap between the islands – if that existed. Otherwise, there was little doubt that, once the ship’s bow smashed into the rocky fortress that appeared to be directly in their path, all 550 souls on board would perish within minutes.
In an effort to maintain some level of composure, Forbes ordered that the bosun would be the only person advising him of what lay ahead. Within minutes of taking up his post, the bosun was shouting to Forbes that he could see a black gap not far away, only identifiable because there was white water on either side of it. This was their one chance of escape. It was then do or die: Forbes was forced to steer Lightning directly towards the black hole, while praying that, if it was indeed a gap, there would be sufficient depth for his ship to surf through.
Incredibly, in what some passengers no doubt believed was a miracle heaven-sent, it proved to be a safe passage between two islands; Lightning sailed on.
This was the second time during the voyage when Lightning had come to the brink of disaster. Earlier, on 9 June, when in the region of the doldrums and with all sails aloft, she was hammered by a tropical rain squall concealing gale-force gusts of wind. Before the crew could react and reduce sail, a powerful squall struck and the giant ship was knocked down onto her beam ends – so far down, in fact, that the outer end of her main yard was in the water.
She was close to capsizing. At that moment, not even the weight of hundreds of tons of rock and shingle ballast in her bilge, and many tons of cargo in the holds, was enough to bring her upright: the pressure of the wind in her sails was far too great.
Another shipboard diarist, passenger John Fenwick, told of how Forbes rushed on deck and, in a bid to save the ship, called on the crew to ‘let go the jibs’ – release the ropes controlling them. But before that could be achieved, the heavy timber jib boom attached to the bowsprit broke in two and became tangled around the bow.
Without hesitation, Forbes ran forward, planning either to salvage what he could of the boom or to cut it free. Fenwick added, in the uncomplimentary terms typical of his diary, that Forbes was aided by one of his crew, the ‘fat Austrian bully, Peter’. Fenwick went on: ‘what a roaring of wind, thundering of flapping sails, dashing of spray, shrieking of orders there were before we were any way snug again’.
The fact that Forbes played such a defining role in the resolution of this incident reflected the strength of his determination to win the race against Red Jacket. Indeed, crewmen are said to have gone ashore on reaching Port Phillip with the story that when they tried to reason with their captain and have some sails lowered or reefed during a treacherous storm, he stood on the poop deck and levelled a brace of pistols at them.
Forbes’s overwhelming resolve to carry as much sail as possible at all times seems to have matched that of the other ‘bully’ of the high seas, American Bully Waterman. History suggests that at times, both captains padlocked the sheets attached to the sails so petrified crew could not overrule their captain’s authority and take it upon themselves to reduce sail.
Forbes was also known for not stepping away from a challenge: on a number of occasions during Lightning’s voyage, he allegedly clambered out to the end of the jib-boom, or a stunsail boom, so he could best admire his ship as she charged across the ocean at a remarkable rate of knots. It was quite possible that, if the attached sail had flogged, or the boom had moved suddenly, Forbes would have plunged into the ocean – his last ever sight being the view of Lightning as she bowled away towards the horizon while he floundered in her wake.
According to Fenwick, the captain was forever pushing Lightning to the very edge of what he believed to be her design limitations. This led Fenwick to write of his concern about the ship’s structural integrity: ‘the ship seems to twist like an old basket and her trembling when struck by a sea is anything but pleasant . . . however quick the Lightning may be, she is certainly not a strong ship’. Yet this was something he need not have worried about, given the sturdy nature of the vessel.
While the role of captain was an around-the-clock responsibility, in mid-June Forbes had time to turn his attention to an unexpected family event. On board ship was his unmarried twenty-six year old half-sister, Isabella Nicol, who planned to embark on an exciting new life in Melbourne. However, during the voyage she had met Blakiston Robinson, an Englishman of a similar age who was travelling in saloon class. The ensuing romance was soon considered to be true love – so much so that the pair were betrothed then married before Lightning reached Melbourne.
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Meanwhile, Red Jacket continued her charge across the southern seas. On 5 July those on board experienced the strongest wind conditions of the entire voyage. With the 2300-ton ship rolling dramatically from gunwale to gunwale, men went aloft to reef and furl sails, while others at the mast and gunwales aided them by controlling sheets, lines and halyards. When Captain Reid decided his ship was snug, she was carrying only three double-reefed sails: the mizzen topsail, the main topsail and the fore topsail. Still, this was enough sail area for her to cover a respectable 288 nautical miles over the next twenty-four hours.
This achievement paled into insignificance, however, over the following twenty-four hour period, when Red Jacket topped 400 nautical miles: an average speed of nearly 17 knots. The ship’s run through the Roaring Forties in midwinter, between the latitudes of 48 and 52 degrees south, saw her average 14½ knots for five consecutive days. The top speed recorded on the log, when she was bow-down as a result of the weight of the thick cover of frozen spray on deck all the way back to the mainmast, was 18 knots.
One week later, King Island, at the western edge of Bass Strait, was in sight, and by two o’clock that afternoon, Red Jacket was safely at anchor inside Port Phillip Bay. She had reached her destination in sixty-seven days. The captain was pleased to note that few sails had blown out, no seas had been shipped on deck and nothing had broken – though one thing Red Jacket did break was Marco Polo’s record of seventy-seven days for the passage from Liverpool to Melbourne, set in 1852.
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It was 21 July – one week after Red Jacket’s arrival – when Lightning registered her best twenty-four hour run of the voyage: 432 nautical miles. John Fenwick wrote that every time it appeared that mountainous following seas were threatening to overwhelm the vessel, she responded beautifully: ‘away flies the good ship on the Billow as lightly and as gracefully as a Seabird’. He also noted that there was so much snow on deck that passengers were
enjoying snowball fights. However, there was more excitement to come, as he went on to explain:
Top gallant sails not taken in although the blocks 18 inches above the lee rail are frequently under water – the deck is on an angle of 45° to 50°. The second mate, whose watch it is says ‘Now this is what I call carrying on!’
Once in Bass Strait, almost every passenger aboard Lightning was on deck so they could enjoy the first views of Port Phillip Bay as the ship navigated the Rip at its entrance. But the greatest impression came from the climate: as Fenwick noted, all were surprised that midwinter in Melbourne was ‘as warm as summer at home’.
Eighteen days after Red Jacket had sailed into Port Phillip Bay, Lightning loomed large at the bay’s entrance, and Fenwick was in awe of what he was observing:
No account of this Bay that I have seen is exaggerated – it is magnificent, both as to its scenery and its capability – a fine fleet of large ships – the Elite of all nations were lying in it.
A few hours later, he had the opportunity to appreciate the full 40-mile length of the bay’s eastern side as the ship sailed north to her anchorage at Hobson’s Bay.
Within two days of coming to anchor, Lightning’s passengers were ashore and heading into Melbourne. The new Sandridge-to-Melbourne railway line was still under construction, so, like thousands of travellers before them, they had to travel upriver by boat.
Somewhat ironically, George Train, the American entrepreneur who was the driving force behind the company building the railway line, had suffered the same fate when he, with wife Wilhelmina, arrived in Melbourne about one year earlier. He wrote of the experience that each passenger ‘steps with a light heart and a quick movement on board the dirty little thirty horse power side wheel steamer, paying five shillings for the privilege, and groans when he learns that the captain and supercargo get off with one [shilling]’. Strangely, Train – who, in 1872, ran for President of the United States as an independent candidate – added that passing convict hulks anchored nearby was one of the visual highlights for all on board.