A noted ship of the Shaw-Savill and Albion Fleet was the Auckland, which, however, must not be confused with the ship City of Auckland. There is at present living in Auckland Mr. H. N. Burgess, who was an apprentice on the Auckland, and afterwards was an officer with the company. At my request he has written a very interesting account of some of the "voyages of the Auckland, and particularly of one memorable tempestuous passage she made from London to Auckland, arriving at the latter port on September 15, 1889.

the Auckland was one of the fastest and smartest ships afloat of her day, writes Mr. Burgess. She was built at Robert. Duncan's yard in '74; was still classed 100 Al at Lloyd's till wrecked a few years ago. She was built and equipped with the best of everything procurable, and on lines of perfect symmetry a "thing of beauty and joy" to the heart of any sailorman. During the time I was in her (with one exception) we were never passed by any sailing vessel afloat, and by only one or two steamers. On the other hand, we showed everything we came across, including some of the most noted "cracks" of the day, that we could easily outsail them on any point of sailing, or with any strength of wind. the Auckland made some of the fastest 24-hour runs and weekly runs on record, but never had the "luck" in winds to make any record passages. The time we were passed was during my first voyage. The ship was a "home" that trip; old Captain Mordue was in command of her; he was one of those fine old English "gentlemen of the sea," and he thought more of the comfort of his passengers and crew than making passages. Still we made a very fair passage of 76 days to Melbourne.

The Dreaded Cape Horn.

Homeward bound, we made a fair run to the Horn, and the day (a Sunday) we were off that dreaded spot we nearly took a trip to "Davy Jones." We had been shortening sail in a very light three or four knot breeze all the morning, the hands growling (naturally, as Sunday was always a day of absolute rest and feasting in that ship). However the "Old Man" had been too long at sea not to be able to read the weather; it was a clear sky, no clouds, but a sort of white haze all over. At six bells in the forenoon watch all hands were called to take in the topsails and courses (the cro'jack was stowed), the mainsail clewed up, and the foresail (a brand new heavy wire-roped sail bent leaving Melbourne) was still set, also the mizzen lower topsail, fore and main upper topsails, and foretopmast staysail. At about seven bells we were all about the decks just starting to get down the fore and main upper topsails, when, without any warning, a "white squall" (clear atmosphere, no rain or cloud) hit us like a blast from a gun.

Perilous Plight.

Over she went, and still over, wind right abeam, put up the helm to ease her away, but she was too "flat" to answer it; tried to "luff," but with that good foresail and staysail holding her head off, she would not come up either, but just laid down and "kicked." The second mate let go the lee main lower topsail sheet (chain about ⅝in, and there would have been at least 80ft. to 100ft. of it). In a second or so this had unrove itself right out of the sheave at the yardarm, and was whipping round the deck smashing everything it hit till the sail went to pieces. This eased her a little, but a second blast came down, and the grain cargo being loose in part below, must have shifted a bit. She was absolutely on her beam ends, and the only thing we could do was to try and crawl over the weather side as she "went over," when suddenly there was a thunderous report and away went the foresail, only just in the nick of time; and it is safe to say the ship and all hands were saved by an "O.S.," who, by the way, was a very sleepy sort of chap and everlastingly in his bunk when he should have been on deck. I don't think he broke his rule on this occasion, but the lurch evidently threw him out of his "pew" into the water (his berth was at the fore-end of house) right opposite the foresheet and he did the right thing on the spur of the moment and put his sheath knife through the fore sheet (new 6in manila rope) beforepage 31he came to the surface. The sail went to "tow" absolutely, in a few seconds, and the old packet once more "came up to breathe." She gradually righted enough to feel the helm a bit, but as we brought her up to the wind it hauled aft, keeping sails full and not giving us a chance to right ourselves. However, after a bit we got control of her, and before very long had her head before it with nothing but the fore lower topsail, most of the other rags having gone "aloft." But the clearing up! No one could imagine that such a tangle could happen in such a short space of time. Practically all the "running gear" seemed to be adrift, hopelessly tangled up over the side, through the ports, out of the scuppers, and all mixed up outside. We had to cut quite half of it away, but we got things fairly snug before dark, and

the Auckland Under Full Sail.

in a few days had her back in her old trim except for a "list to starboard," which made her very "tender" always on the port tack. From this we had a good run home.

"The Yacht Of The Fleet."

But the next voyage we saw some real sailing and learned what sort of a ship we had under us. Our fine old skipper retired from the sea, and Captain James was given command. He was told at the office that they had given him the "Yacht" of the fleet, and expected him to break all records with her. He certainly did his best, but never had the luck in "winds" to make a real record. He was as fine a sailorman as ever commanded a ship.

When we got down to the "doldrums" we picked up the Aristides, reckoned the "crack" ship of the Aberdeen White Star Fleet. We kept company with her for nearly a fortnight; generally picked her up ahead and always beat her on every point of sailing, and with every weight of wind, when the wind held good for an hour or so. Eventually we lost the run of her, but about two days later picked up the S.E. Trades strong and squally, well south of the Line one afternoon, and before dusk we sighted a sail dead ahead. At one bell in the first watch (11.45) we were abreast of her. We hove the log as usual at that time, and although marked up to 14 knots it ran out well before the sand. The "old girl," we reckoned, was doing little short of 16 "on a bowline."

We struck eight bells (midnight) as we passed her, about a quarter of a mile to windward. All hands, and passengers too, on both ships were on deck (although a lovely squall necessitating the lowering of our "kites" came down just as we passed her) cheering and burning blue lights and "company candles," and we yelled out that we would report them all well when we got to Melbourne. It was a sight not easily forgotten, and we must have been doing two or three knots faster than she was. She was just in sight astern at daybreak from the masthead. When we got up to Melbourne we found our rival in the berth ahead of us. She beat us by about four days in the whole passage; proving that it is not necessarily the fastest ship that makes thepage 32smartest passage. That passage we got in over the "Rip" with a fairly low tide. The wind being ahead, and no tug in sight, we decided to beat her up. It takes doing in a "square-rigger," and the ship that does it is no slouch. We had about an 8-knot breeze, and I can tell you it was exciting sometimes. Some of our "boards" were so short we had not time to haul taut the weather braces or coil down before she had to go round again. But our "Old Man" could handle a ship and we never missed stays once.

A Stormy Voyage.

The next voyage we sailed for Auckland from Sharpness with a cargo of salt. the Auckland was well trimmed and when we got out in the salt water we had the whole disc of the Plimsol mark showing, and about 4 inches below it, making a good 10 inches of freeboard to the good. Very different to the sight we appeared when alongside Firth's new wharf at Auckland, when the old rusty hull looked like a submarine with Plimsol mark out of sight below water. We had sunk almost 2ft below the lovely water-line we had left home with.

As we began to run our easting down the weather came on worse, and the ship getting deeper every day got wetter and wetter, the water getting in to the cargo through a broken skylight. The deeper she got, the faster she seemed to sail. We had a marvellous fortnight's run, doing over 300 miles a day for about eight days out of that fortnight. If we had had as good winds during the first part of the passage as we had afterwards we must have broken all records. We had a continuous N.W. to S.W. gale for six or eight weeks with hardly a "let up" for an hour or so, and a hurricane or so by way of a "diversion." We never knew what it was to have a dry bunk, or dry clothes for nearly two months, and often were without any hot meals.

One night and morning I think none of us can ever forget. We were running very heavy with a breeze on port quarter, black as pitch, the glass very low and jumping about like a cat on hot bricks. Plenty of little "blue devils" ("will o' the wisp") were running up and down the "lifts and stays" and the wind was very "fluky." Every now and again an enormous sea would work up from some quarter different to where the wind was blowing, and when these came aboard they just "walked" right over everything and smashed up things pretty thoroughly. I was going aft with a big bottle of cocoa for the mate and myself, and had just got to the companion on the poop, when I saw what looked like an enormous black island towering above us aft with what looked like an iceberg on top of it, or a break in the sky. I yelled "Look out" and ducked for the companion.

The "island" (of water with a crest on it) just walked clean over us from one end to the other, and I found myself swimming down the cabin. The lamps went out as the skylight stove in. The skipper and his wife and steward came out of their bunks, and with the "deadness" of the ship under that weight of water, we all thought the end had come, but when the water stopped pouring down the hatch we managed to get up on deck and found we were still afloat. The man had been washed away from the wheel. We called some hands aft and got her under control and then hunted around to see what damage was done. We found that the sheep pen and its contents had gone, also the two quarter boats, break of poop and forecabin skylight stove in, about half the top bulwarks, and all the aft end of the house washed away—ropes and gear over and through the ports, etc. By the time we had done our inspections between dodging seas it was breaking dawn, and what a sight as the awful darkness gave place to grey half-light!

Out Of Control.

The wind was veering "all round the compass" and finally it dropped to a calm. That awful boiling sea none of us can ever forget. No wind, yet enormous seas rolling up from all quarters, and just sweeping clean over us. We were absolutely out of control. Somehow we kept afloat, and after what seemed to us some hours, during which time we were mostly in the mizzen shrouds, and the seas breaking up our "upper works," we spotted a sort of break in the sky. Luckily we had only a few "rags" aloft, and nothing on the mizzen, and when the wind came down with a roar it happened to get us on the right side of our sails. As she laid down to it, she once more gathered way and came under control and paid off before it. It is just marvellous what a good ship will stand if properly handled. It was blowing a full hurricane in a few minutes, and we were running away N. and E. into a terrible confused sea, which just swept over us from all quarters. We had come through a cyclone and pretty near the centre, or vortex, of it too. We lost the rest of our boats, two on davits aft, and twopage 33on skids for'ard. Most of the house (except framework) was gone, pig pens, upper bulwarks, some ports and stanchions, etc., also strained our lower bulwarks. And one thing which one could hardly credit, the iron stanchions and railing round the poop, a solid structure, but with nothing you would think the water could get a grip of, was torn from the deck, and mostly went overboard. But how the "old girl" did sail. It was a common occurrence for our log marked to 14 knots to run out well before the sand. However you can't stay in the same place all the time in that weather, and we found ourselves eventually off the Three Kings.

Captain James.

The wind dropped and the sun came out. It was early September. We got all our sodden belongings out and dried them. And what a night we had—dry (to our sodden minds) bunks and dry clothes. What a glorious life the sea was in those days. Our troubles over, and real land close handy, a thing we had not had much hopes of seeing for some time past. Light and variable winds drifted us down the coast and eventually the old Awhina was plucking us round the North Head after a trip of ninety-one days. We lay alongside the new Firth's wharf (and were I believe the first big ship alongside that wharf), and discharged part of our salt.

Later we sailed for Dunedin, and after discharging the balance of our salt we sailed for Lyttelton, where we loaded for London. During this time we got very friendly with the crew of the Marlborough, lying just astern of us, and the 1300-ton barque Kylemore, lying just astern of her. As we were all to sail about the same time, and also the Dunedin from Port Chalmers, the four sporting skippers had, we understood, a £50 sweep on the race to London, and we boys also had our little sweep too. There was great excitement when we towed out, and were dropped by the tug well clear of the land in a light air and fog. That same day, a few hours later, we heard the cheering as the tug dropped the Kylemore quite near us apparently, although in the fog we could not see her. (the Marlborough and Dunedin sailed shortly after, and were never heard of again; it was thought they had met ice, but although we met three large bergs on the outward passage we never saw any signs of ice homeward bound or heard of other ships reporting ice on the homeward run).

The Race Home.

Nor did we see any more signs of the Kylemore till about a week later, when we sighted a vessel one morning dead ahead. As we closed up on her (guessing it was one of our three rivals) we found it was the Kylemore. We both had a good breeze on port quarter. After we had exchanged signals she started to pile on canvas, and rigged up a couple of "jury" stunsails for'ard. But it was no good. We passed her within hailing distance soon after noon and she was nearly out of sight astern at dusk. Again the day we rounded the Horn, we picked up a vessel ahead in the afternoon, moderate gale right aft (our worst sailing point), passed her (the Kylemore of course) at dusk and signalled our names and "best wishes" etc. by Morse lamp. Picked her up again off Falklands, and soon passed her and lost sight of her astern. Lost the run of her then till in the lights and variables. Sighted her several times afterwards, and passed her easily each time. Picked her up again amongst a lot of other vessels between the end of the N.E. trades and western islands, where there was quite a collection of wool clippers from the colonies that had got up into that spot and could not get out of it, as it had been blowing north-east and east for weeks there.

It was great to see the way we would "claw" up on some vessel on one tackpage 34and cross astern of her when she went about, and on the next tack (we all seemed to make two or four hour tacks) cross her bows well ahead, and leave her astern and pick up another. We passed several of the noted Australian wool clippers that time, and eventually worked right through the whole "fleet," and picking up a lovely westerly got all the "rags" on we could spread. We held this wind and did not waste an ounce of it till about 300-400 miles off the Lizard, when we picked up a tug, but the weather turned very bad, and finally we got an ultimatum from the tug either to anchor somewhere for her to coal or she had to go on half steam to last out.

Our "Old Man" thought if we once got anchored she might leave us

the Auckland Loading Wool At Wellington.

too long, and one of our rivals pass us, so we kept on, and on rounding the "Nore" sighted a big vessel towing up astern. In a short time the William Joliffe, a big, powerful Liverpool tug, passed close to us with that infernal pest of a Kylemore in tow, and although our old tug skipper did his best she beat us by half a tide. She got into the basin and we missed the tide. You may bet we had a real "wake" when we got alongside, and met our rivals.

Running our easting down one time we passed one of the Shipping Company's steamers (I think it was the Ruahine). Strong breeze on our quarter, everything set that would draw, and moderate sea—we must have been doing about a knot faster than she was. Another time running down to the Horn at daybreak we saw a steamer astern; gale of wind nearly dead aft. The steamer turned out to be the Rimutaka or Aorangi, or one of those boats, steaming well, and all sail set that would draw. Those ships used to carry a good press of canvas in those days. Anyhow, she did not pass us till late in the afternoon, and had the wind been a little more "out" I believe we would have lost her. We also passed one of the old "Ducal" liners that trip, and they used to carry a fair amount of sail too, although only square rigged on fore and main. We had a good breeze on quarter, and must have been doing at least two knots faster than she was. I also remember giving one of the big Australian fourmast painted port ships a good licking off the River Plate, homeward bound. I forget her name, but I believe it was either the Loch Torridorn or the Hahnimann (both of which I remember passing some time). This was on a wind with yards just "checked" in a bit, and a moderate breeze.

Mr. W. J. Penn, editor of the Taranaki "Herald," has sent me the following amusing incident which occurred when he was a passenger by the ship Auckland from London to Wellington. Mr. Penn writes: It was early in November, 1881, we sighted another full-rigged ship, and when we werepage 35close enough for identification it was found to be the Dunedin, whose captain was commodore of the Shaw-Savill fleet. He signalled to our captain, MacDougall, who died a few years ago in Christchurch, to close up within hailing distance. Our course was slightly altered, but it was soon evident that we were too fast for the Dunedin, so our "old man" shortened sail a little and ordered his steward (one Ball) to bring him a cup of coffee on to the poop deck, where he sat and smoked a cigar, apparently enjoying immensely the fact that he had to shorten sail to enable the commodore to come near him. Eventually he had the main mizzen sail laid "flat-a-back"—put a brake on, in fact—and soon the Dunedin was alongside, close enough almost for a biscuit to be thrown across. After a brief conversation we put on all sail again, and next morning there was no sign of the Dunedin.

In 1893 the Auckland sailed from Dunedin to Wellington, there to load for London. On 4th March she was lying at the Railway Wharf, and had just about completed her loading of wool and flax, when dense smoke was observed pouring out of the port hole. The ship's crew fought the flames for half an hour, but the fire had now a firm hold and the fire brigade was summoned. After stubborn work the fire was subdued, but not before a considerable portion of her cargo had been saturated with water. The ship suffered very little damage, but a large portion of the cargo was damaged and discharged.

Captain Charles James was for 31 years in the employ of the Shaw, Savill and Albion Company, and was in command of their ships for over 25 years. He sailed the Auckland for twelve years, the Helen Denny for five years, the Westland for the last two voyages to the Dominion, and other ships.

The ship Auckland was wrecked during a gale, and became a total loss, on the 6th March, 1909, off Possession Island, South-West Africa. All hands were lost.

Here follow the records of the outward passages of the Auckland:—

the Auckland sailed from Glasgow on twelve occasions, eight from London, and three from Sharpness.