Shortly after gifting a young mountain cat to the Vancouver hotel proprietor, Karl set sail for Australia. Over six months and ten days had passed since he departed Truro, Nova Scotia. By then, Karl had cycled more than 5,300 miles and walked over 700 miles due to poor road conditions. His adventures so far included having his brand-new suspenders stolen in Chicago, getting lost between Swift Current and Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, and being chased by “vicious-looking ranch cattle” near Fort Macleod, Alberta. But the voyage to Australia would become one of Karl’s greatest challenges yet.
On December 12, 1899, a Montreal newspaper reported Karl had secured passage on a ship called the Ivy.
In a letter later published by the Truro News, Karl wrote:
“The only chance I could get to leave Vancouver was to ship in an old American lumber ship, which leaked like a basket, as an ordinary seaman, at a shilling a month.”
The ship’s skipper made it clear that Karl was expected to work as hard as the other sailors, and he was placed on the second mate’s watch. At the beginning of the voyage, the weather was uncooperative and the lack of wind meant the Ivy could not move. During this lull, Karl was tasked with spinning yarn.
“So the second mate put me at the machine, and during the whole watch, (four hours), I would have to turn that wheel, with the sun just blazing; the other four fellows had easier jobs, jobs I could do easy enough, but he thought I wouldn't earn my shilling a month, so he gave me the hardest work he could get.”
But soon enough, the calm gave way to a heavy storm.
“The Captain got frightened and ordered us to throw all the deck load overboard. We had plenty of storms for the first three weeks until we were opposite Panama. Sometimes, we would take in every inch of canvas except the three lower topsails and the fore topmast stay-sail. Once, a storm came on in a rush, and all hands were ordered to take in sails.”
Karl’s relationship with the second mate was less than friendly:
“The second mate wasn’t a fan of me, and when it was time to take in the sails, he’d shout: ‘Get up there, you Nova Scotiaman, and make that Royal fast!’ I guess he thought I liked going aloft. But when I reached the Royal yard to work on the sail, I couldn’t see where the fun came in—holding on with one hand and both feet, while I made the sail fast with the other hand and my teeth—almost to the top of the main mast, with the wind blowing a hurricane and plenty of rain.”
On Sundays, the seaman had a half day off, which Karl found rather lonely, not having much to do. But upon the ship making it to warmer weather, he went to the wheelhouse and learned to steer.
“As each watch worked every other four hours, half of our time during the night was spent on deck, then all the men had to do, was to take their turn at the wheel, changing every two hours. Then they would lay on deck and sleep, until called to square the yards, and one thing and another, while I was put on the lookout.”
Karl was put on the lookout for five hours one night and three the next, pacing the fo’castle head (the upper deck of a sailing ship) watching for lights, land, etc. He felt he was being imposed upon as he was “a boy”, and this seemed to be accepted as the right of passage for a new seaman.
Then, 77 days after leaving Vancouver, land could be seen. This was Wilson’s Promontory, a peninsula located southeast of Melbourne, Australia. Navigating to the mainland, the Ivy passed through some narrows but after travelling with 1-2 miles to go, a gale sprung up from shore and blew the Ivy back out to sea, nearly all the way to Tasmania.
The gale continued for a day, then came a calm, followed by a fair wind. Then, 9 days later, the Ivy returned to the narrows again, and land was sighted. Karl was off duty but was keen to see what Australia looked like, so he climbed up into the gallant rigging on the foretop. He was halfway down again when the first mate saw him and began to yell,
“and let out some dreadful talk that would not look well on paper, and when I got on deck, he swore and went on. I didn't do any harm or wear out the ship any, but I was “boy”, and it gave the mate and excellent chance to swear. I will never ship in another “wind jammer”.
After 87 days the Ivy docked in Melbourne. Karl had spent three months on the ship, including Christmas Day, New Year's Day and his 22nd Birthday on February 11th.
Captain Haelstad told Karl that he “learned in that trip as much seamanship as an intelligent and active fellow could learn.” However, notwithstanding the positive accolade of Karl’s time at sea, he didn’t earn the customary ￡2 or ￡3 because the Captain was also an owner of the ship and took advantage of our intrepid traveller, paying him only the 3 shillings. Karl writes:
“I lost no time in getting ashore, where I got 3 “bob”, 75 cents. I would like to get even with all those on that ship, but I can’t. I got my discharge as a seaman, so I will take steam after this, when I can, and will never ship on a sailing ship again unless I’m obliged to.”
And after all of that, Karl was officially down under in Australia. Welcome to Oz, dear reader!
Karl’s discharge papers, document his character and ability were “good” and his capacity was of an “Ordinary Seaman” (the lowest rank there is).
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