The Cutty Sark continued to race on and she was running very well, arriving off Java 69 days out from Swansea. This was a very fast passage. Yet as she approached Anjer, on the tip of Java, there was further misfortune. As she lay becalmed in the lee of the island, the crew observed their rival, the Titania, ghost past to win the race. In reality, this defeat was the least of Wallace’s worries.
Arriving off Anjer he found no orders awaiting his clipper. The Cutty Sark lay there a week, and the gloom that had descended on the ship following the death of Francis now fully enveloped the vessel. It was during this interminable week that Wallace made his fatal move. Smith had been whining to him constantly to let him escape and Wallace finally caved in. Abeam of the Cutty Sark lay the Colorado, a Yankee clipper that was short-handed. Wallace agreed to collude with his mate and allow him to escape. One evening a couple of native boats came alongside offering various trinkets, food and drink to the crew of the Cutty Sark. Wallace gave his men some money and allowed them to trade. As the crew indulged itself in a spot of rowdy bartering, Smith slipped over the opposite rail into a rowing boat and off to the Colorado. When this discovery was noted, the crew was utterly outraged that Smith had escaped justice and assured their captain that there would be a full inquiry when they finally docked. In the meantime, they refused duty.
Presently, orders came to sail for Yokohama, Japan, and the anchor was weighed by the apprentices, carpenter and sailmaker. All the while the crew lounged about in a very ugly mood until Wallace clapped four of them in irons. It was at this point that the suffocating calm descended. With nothing to do, Captain Wallace had plenty of time to stew. He saw now what a fool he had been. By allowing Smith to escape, he had brought the burden of blame squarely upon himself. He visualised the inevitable inquiry in Yokohama with utter dread. He saw himself disgraced and stripped of his ticket. While the ship lay motionless and sweltering in the cloying heat, he cursed his weakness and rash actions. There seemed to be no escape. For four days he fretted until finally all became clear to him. He stepped into the blue and out of this world.
Search for a new skipper
Now the Cutty Sark had no master and no mate. It was also unfortunate that her second mate was almost entirely useless. Ironically, as soon as the crisis point had been reached, a breeze filled in and the clipper finally began to make way across the oily seas. The scared second mate opted to head back to Anjer and safety. Even this was not without drama as the commanderless vessel ended up drifting backwards in a strong current past the treacherous Thwart-the-way Island. So close did she pass that her yards had to be braced up sharp to prevent them touching. All breathed a sigh of relief when the hook was finally dropped. All perhaps with one exception: the Cutty Sark’s owner, Jock Willis.
Jock Willis was a bluff old Scotsman and sailor of some repute. He had retired from the sea and taken to ship owning, but it did not sit well with him. He missed the sea and lived vicariously through his ships. He clung to sail, even though it was plain to all that the race was almost run. He had launched the Cutty Sark in 1869, the year the Suez Canal had rendered her an anachronism. He had dreamed of the Cutty Sark lowering the colours of the legendary Thermopylae, yet so far he had been disappointed. The Cutty Sark, although unquestionably a very fast ship, was no match for some of the more dainty clippers in light airs. In 1872 she had raced home with tea alongside the Thermopylae and had seemed to gain the upper hand over her rival, only to lose her rudder in a storm off the Cape of Good Hope and limp home an honourable second.
The Cutty Sark and Thermopylae racing in 1872. The rivalry between the two endured for many decades.
The Blackadder was also owned by Jock Willis and encountered the Cutty Sark at anchor off Sumatra following Captain Bruce’s debauch.
After the Cutty Sark had her rudder ripped off while racing the Thermopylae in 1872, her captain devised this jury rudder in order to get her home.
After that, a series of indifferent skippers had led to disappointing runs in the China trade. All the while, steamers undercut the clippers. Now here was Willis’ troublesome vessel in difficulty again with neither skipper nor mate. At great expense, he sent her up to Singapore under the command of a pilot. There, irony of ironies, he had arranged for her coal cargo to be shipped aboard the racing tea steamship SS Glencoe.
Meanwhile, a new skipper was sought. As it happened, the clipper Halloween, also owned by Willis, was lying up the coast in Hong Kong. Her captain, Fowler, had on board a very irritating mate named Bruce, whom he strongly disliked. Willis sent Fowler a cable enquiring whether Bruce was suitable as skipper for the Cutty Sark. Fowler gleefully replied in the affirmative.
Bruce was a very different man from Wallace: short, plump and rather full of himself. Nevertheless, everyone was happy to give him a chance and welcomed a fresh start for the beleaguered ship. To the relief of all, old Vanderdecken took leave of the ship and there were no more mutterings about curses and doom. The Cutty Sark was ordered to Calcutta and Captain Bruce strutted the deck with great dignity as she made her departure.
All went well on the passage and Captain Bruce came across as a very righteous man, holding regular prayer meetings and preaching on the evils of drink and excess. However, off Sandheads, the entrance to the Hooghly River (off Calcutta), this mask started to slip. Bruce was a terrible coward, and landfall filled him with terror. All of his bluster and bounce fell from him as the clipper approached land. He clung to the rail, pale with terror as the Cutty Sark jogged along under close-reefed sails. The crew were curious at this transformation, and their curiosity and amusement doubled when the clipper finally picked up a pilot and Bruce promptly regained his pompous swagger.
The Halloween was also owned by Jock Willis and supplied the Cutty Sark with her new skipper.
Melbourne in the days of sail.
Having left the China trade, the Cutty Sark found herself competing against larger iron clippers such as the Thessalus. These bigger clippers were still quick and could carry a far larger cargo than the dainty tea clippers.
Two clippers, the Salamis and Loch Maree, alongside a wharf at Melbourne.
Tramp of the ocean
Having been taken off the China run, the Cutty Sark was now a tramp of the ocean. No longer a queenly tea clipper, she had to scrabble around for cargoes with the rest of the commoners. She was over four months in Calcutta before a cargo to Sydney was secured. Most of her hands had cleared out and she was compelled to ship a group of unsavoury characters who had been lounging ‘on the beach’ (unemployed) at Calcutta. They were hired on the understanding they could leave in Melbourne.
The trip was a slow one, not for want of wind, but for want of drive from the skipper. The Cutty Sark endured the indignity of being overhauled by the Cingalese, a very slow vessel that had left Calcutta a week later. She came foaming by, with her crew bellowing derisively at their rival. This came about because the Cutty Sark was closing with the coast of Australia and Captain Bruce was once more utterly paralysed with fear, keeping the vessel dodging under low canvas for days on end.
Finally a pilot was procured and the anchor was lowered. While the clipper awaited a berth in Port Philip, Melbourne, Captain Bruce again regained his swagger, promptly ordering the crew to tar down the rigging. Given that this was the end of their passage and the men were about to be discharged, they felt they had fulfilled their duty and were disinclined to undertake such arduous work. That night, they made their feelings clear by heaving the tar barrel over the side.
The next morning, undeterred, the mate found some old pots of tar and watered them down into a horrible mess. The truculent men were then ordered up the rigging to get to work. Cursing, not quite under their breath, the crew hauled themselves aloft and set to work in a very ugly mood. All was not well, and presently a tar pot came tumbling down from the rigging and splattered on the deck, leaving a disgusting mess. Soon there was a regular hail of pots as the men made their feelings eminently clear. The long-suffering
apprentices were still scrubbing this filth off as the ship was hauled alongside the quay.
Port Jackson, the entrance to Sydney Harbour.
The Cutty Sark loading at Circular Quay, Sydney. The Brilliant, a much larger clipper, is moored on the inside of her.
After discharging, the clipper made her way round to Sydney, where more problems arose. There was a shortage of crew to replace the tar-throwing hooligans who had quit the ship. Bruce was compelled to hire hands at twice the going rate and was utterly furious. The Cutty Sark loaded coal for Shanghai in company with a number of other clippers, including the Thermopylae and her iron sister, Salamis. The race was on, but with Bruce in command there was little thrill for the contest aboard the Cutty Sark.
Hazing and hardship
After departing Sydney there was a new and unpleasant development. Bruce and the mate had resented hiring the highly paid Sydney hands and made a pact to run them out of the ship in Shanghai where there was plenty of cheap crew available. To this end, they indulged in a brutal regime of hazing the men as the vessel ran up to China. Very little rest was allowed and the men were constantly being put to work on the most soul-destroying and arduous of tasks. After a miserable run up the China Seas, the vessel was berthed in Shanghai and her coal was discharged. The overpaid crew had endured enough and prepared to clear out.
Yet before they could make their departure, cholera broke out and the entire crew was sent to hospital while the vessel was fumigated. Two men died and it was three weeks before the rest could return to the beleaguered vessel. All of this was deeply frustrating to Bruce, who had thought himself shot of these expensive men. He himself had stayed ashore prior to the cholera outbreak and was in good health. He eyed the returning men with a malevolent glint and immediately set them to work cleaning out the hold, which was still full of coal dust. This was too much for the convalescing men and they promptly refused duty.
Bruce smirked, as he felt he had finally nailed the men on charges of mutiny, and reported them to a judge. Thankfully, sanity prevailed and, following an investigation, Bruce was severely censured for his inhuman behaviour and was very close to losing his precious command. He returned aboard grovelling to the men like the coward he was and, for a time, the hard-used men enjoyed a respite.
The ship was now ordered to Cebu in Manila, where she would load jute for New York. At Cebu another ugly scene ensued when the crew were plied with excessive amounts of alcohol. The mate then turned on the men and a fight broke out between the mate and one of the expensive hands. The result was that the unfortunate seaman was left to rot in a Manila jail on charges of mutiny.
The following day, the Cutty Sark got under way. The anchor was weighed by the men in stony silence. The crew were utterly demoralised and lived in dread of what the captain would dream up next. What Bruce did do next surprised everyone. After departing Manila, the vessel made her way back to Anjer, scene of Captain Wallace’s unfortunate demise many months before. Here she anchored. There was no need for her to anchor, as her orders were to proceed to New York. Nevertheless, Bruce seemed content to tarry awhile and it soon became clear why.
Drunk in command
Shortly after arrival, a native boat had come alongside the clipper and sold the mate a quantity of the local ‘fire water’. The mate invited Bruce to share this, and the pair rapidly became helplessly drunk while the crew watched, mouths agape, at their undignified capers. Once the pair had become thoroughly inebriated, the bold captain issued orders to raise the anchor. This caused utter dismay aboard, for the wind and tide had turned against them and any fool could see that it would have been prudent to wait. Yet Bruce was drunk beyond reason. Tack and tack about they went, slowly being pushed back towards Java and the labyrinth of rocks and islands within the Sunda Strait.
The mate had retired to his cabin, where he was snoring volubly, while Bruce still strutted the deck in a befuddled state. The crew begged the second mate to take over and anchor the ship in a safe spot. This he refused to do while the captain still stood. A council of war was then surreptitiously held and it was agreed that the second mate must ply Bruce with more booze until he finally collapsed. Thus, as the Cutty Sark stole through the China Seas, captain and second mate indulged in the most strained carousal on the poop; the junior officer, armed with a convivial grin and a wealth of spirits, plied his hated master, who continued to strut around like some kind of demented turkey.
A barque at anchor.
Meanwhile, the crew awaited on the main deck, listening with bated breath to the unfolding drama, as their safety depended on the success of the scheme. Gradually, Bruce’s blathering became incomprehensible and was replaced with rhythmic breathing, punctuated by the odd hiccup. The coast was clear. Bruce was dumped unceremoniously in his cabin and the boat was ransacked in a desperate search for any more ‘fire water’. Any found was rapidly thrown overboard. Next, a snug anchorage was located off Sumatra and the hook went down with a rattle and a roar. All hands turned in for some well-earned sleep.
Two days later, the Blackadder, another clipper of the Willis line, was running towards the Sunda Strait, also bound for New York. She was making fine time, and her captain, Frederick Moore, was surveying his ship with pride, when his gaze was arrested by the sight of a fine-looking clipper anchored off the Sumatra coast. It was an out-of-the-way sort of a place to anchor and he promptly grabbed his telescope to get a closer look. ‘Who is she, sir?’ the mate asked, for he had also been intrigued. ‘Why, it’s the Cutty Sark!’ Moore replied with surprise. ‘But what in the name of hell is she doing there?’
He was not the only one to ask that question. Captain Bruce had finally awoken and was utterly bewildered to find his command at anchor. His last memory had been of departing Anjer for the open ocean. Now, nursing the mother of all hangovers, he tried to piece together what had happened, but continually drew a blank. He quizzed his mate… nothing; second mate… silence; crew… a few muffled guffaws, but nothing else. What the hell had happened? The Cutty Sark got under way and followed the Blackadder rather sheepishly out of the Sunda Strait and into the open ocean.
Bruce knew he was in a great deal of trouble if he couldn’t find out what had happened. He would have an entire crew plus the second mate as witnesses to his incompetence and he needed to know what had happened to fabricate some lie to cover his back. Throughout the passage to New York, he sought to inveigle himself with the crew in order to find out. Yet it was all to no avail: the crew hated him like poison and no one would lift a finger to help him. The big question was whether they would finally turn against him and expose him for the incompetent, bungling hypocrite he unquestionably was.
The Cutty Sark under way.
The Cutty Sark unloading goods.
In the Australian trade, the Cutty Sark was once again pitted against her old antagonist, the Thermopylae. Here she is pictured to the right, awaiting the season’s wool clip. The other clipper is another Aberdeen ship, the Brilliant.
As the clipper ran up the Atlantic, something happened that settled the matter: the ship ran out of supplies. The first sign of things to come arrived off St Helena, where the crew were put on half rations. Bruce had left Manila hopelessly short of supplies for no other reason than to save a small amount of money. By the time the equator had been crossed, rations were down to a quarter and the men were getting desperate. Again they pleaded with the second mate to take over, but he refused and told them to make the best of things. Eventually they were forced to beg supplies from HMS Thalia, which crossed their path near Bermuda. It must have been tough for Bruce to explain why a ship famous for her speed was short of supplies, but the captain contrived something and the hunger pangs of the crew were finally sated.
On arrival in New York, the harassed second mate asked for his discharge and Bruce, somewhat rashly, refused. With that, the sorely tried man complained to the consul and the subsequent investigation, unsurprisingly, found in favour of the crew. Both Bruce and his siniste
r mate had their tickets suspended.
Wool clipper
The language that Jock Willis used on discovering that, for the second time in a little over a year, his vessel was without skipper or mate must have been positively sulphurous. Yet Willis’ fortunes with the little clipper were about to change and his patience and belief in her started to pay off. At this point he switched her into the wool trade, running from London to Sydney and back every year. Here she was pitted against much larger iron clippers designed to stand up to the rigours of running before the Roaring Forties, out past New Zealand and around the Horn to home.
Cutty Sark hove to off Sydney, waiting for a pilot.
The four-masted barque Port Jackson raced for many years on the wool run and was a fine example of the kind of large windjammers which were replacing clippers like the Cutty Sark and Thermopylae. A ship like this could carry double the cargo of the Cutty Sark.
Clipper Ships and the Golden Age of Sail Page 13
