Some of the vessels trading to New Zealand in the early days had singularly bad luck in striking foul weather, while others seemed to bear charmed lives as far as weather was concerned. One of the unfortunate ones was the 685 ton barque Ballarat, which was built by Duthie for Duncan Dunbar in 1852, and made several voyages to Australia (including a run home from Melbourne in 1855 in 69 days) before she was chartered by the Shaw, Savill Company for the New Zealand trade.

On every voyage to New Zealand the ship struck bad weather. In 1867, when bound from London to Auckland under the command of Captain Craighead, she encountered such big seas that the saloon was flooded on two occasions and a lot of damage was done on deck, the vessel being so badly strained that the pumps had to be kept going for the rest of the voyage. In 1871, when under Captain Reynolds (formerly chief officer of the Countess of Kintore) the ship struck cyclonic weather that tried her severely. When away down in the South Indian Ocean, about a third of the way between the Cape and Auckland, mountainous seas broke aboard and played havoc with everything on deck. Passengers and crew had to man the pumps and bail out for several days. In 1869 the Ballarat also struck heavy gales.

"Kill or Cure."

Thanks to the kindness of a passenger who made a voyage Home from Wellington in 1865, I am able to give a very vivid account of the difference between travelling 60 years ago and to-day. Captain Allen was in command, and the vessel which left Wellington in February, 1865, arrived in the Thames the following June. My correspondent was then a boy of ten, who had never been on the ocean before. He was a weakly child, was not expected to live another six months, and was a matter of fact put on board the Ballarat on the advice of a doctor, who said the voyage would either kill or cure him.

"There were 25 passengers," says my correspondent, "and the saloon was a small compartment about 20 feet by 10 feet, with twelve two-berth cabins opening out of it. A narrow table with a continuous seat on either side, and the usual swinging trays and oil lamp completed the furnishings. The vessel was deeply loaded, and soon after leaving Wellington Heads we ran into heavy weather, so the decks were awash from stem to stern, with water continually pouring through the saloon and cabins. As we went further south the conditions got worse, if anything, and the cold being intense we felt it bitterly, as there was no means of heating the saloon.

Starvation Fare.

"At the end of 20 days we ran among a lot of icebergs. It was bitterly cold, the ship continued to ship plenty of water, and I don't know how the crew with their wretched quarters in the fo'c'sle were able to keep going, working the ship and pumping. When we started out from Wellington we had 50 sheep, 10 pigs and some poultry on board, but these were all lost during the first week out. The biscuits and flour were full of weevils, and the salt pork and beef, which had been put into barrels three years previously, were quite uneatable. There were no condensers in those days, and the water, which was carried in iron tanks, was the colour of coffee. The only good food on board was the oatmeal and we used to get porridge which was eaten with treacle.

Carried Out to Die.

"We rounded Cape Horn 35 days out from New Zealand, and soon after ran into warmer weather. Up to that time I had never left my berth, and had been living on a little gruel brought to me twice a day by one of the ladies. The agonies of those 35 days, cooped up in a dark cabin, sea-sick, and with salt water wetting everything, were awful, and I became a mere skeleton. One fine day the captain carried me out and laid me on the sunny deck and said: "It will be better for him to die out here than down below." I did not, however, as the sunshine and fresh air soon restored me, and the Wellington doctor's alternative came true—the voyage had cured me."

the Ballarat had a slow voyage after passing the Horn. She was carried by the north-east trade winds to within 60 miles of the North American coast, and the passengers could plainly hear the thunder of heavy guns. That was in the days of the American Civil War, and the people on the Ballarat decided that somepage 203 big battle was in progress, but they afterwards learned that the salvos were being fired by the artillery to celebrate the end of hostilities.

The record of the Ballarat's voyages to New Zealand reads:—