EDDY Family of Cornwall

Birth Index, Jan-Mar 1860, Liskeard, ref 5c-78.

Extracts from the account written by the Rev. W. J. Eddy of his voyage from Cornwall to Australia, entitled "THREE MONTHS AT SEA"

On September 24th, 1883 I (then 23 years of age) bad a sad farewell to Cornwall's hills and dales, her healthy moors and winding vales. Farewell my bonny home at Looe.

Nevertheless, seas however, wide, cannot separate hearts, nor carry a wanderer outside the bounds of Heaven's kind and guardian care.

At 5p.m. on that day, I and my belongings were transported from terra firma to the good ship SOBRAON lying at anchor in Plymouth Sound. Having watched the shipping of other passengers and their luggage of sheep, hay, bread, etc, all of which afforded much interest, I spent the early part of the eveing in arranging my cabin; the 6ft X 4ft which I was to share with another, for the ensuring three months, and retired early «i»to «/i»rest fondly hoping that ere morning we should have bidden farewell to England, and I should have become somewhat accustomed to my new home, which hope was doomed to disappointment.

About 5.30 next morning I was awakened by sounds more or less melodious, to wit:- The voices of the sailors, the rattle of their buckets and brooms in washing the decks. In the chorus blended the crowing of cocks, the cackling of ducks and geese, the bleating of sheep, the lowing of cows! Was I dreaming? Was I in a farmyard? Then I remembered getting a glimpse of livestock last night, and that of provisions for our long voyage, and having satisfied myself on the matter I still enjoyed my bed for two hours the sweetest hours of the night. At 8a.m. I was ready for my first meal on board and porridge and curry were not to be despised!

Going on deck I find we are detained by rough weather; so I have time to look round the ship. The Sobraon is now the property of the New South Wales Government, and is used as a training ship for neglected boys. At the time of which I write she was perhaps the favourite passenger ship from London to Melbourne, and was called a "floating hospital." She is named after a town noted in connection with the Indian Mutiny. Though some sharp punnist insisted the name was given to her because her sailors were "so brawney." She is of a beautiful model, yacht-like in appearance, of 3,500 tons burthen; 300 feet long, 40 feet:breadth, depth of hold 28 feet, height of main mast 189 feet, 29 feet being below the main deck. She carried 7,059 square yards of canvas or about «i»1 ½ «/i»acres. A new mainsail costs about £100 ($200). Her crew consists of 74 officers and men; and she carried also on this trip 80 saloon, and 47 second class passengers - total 201 souls.

At 12.15 the brig is alongside, the order to heave anchor is given, and sailors give us the first specimen of their curious songs or chanties (pronounced shanties). These songs give strength to the muscle and keep the pecker up. At 12.30 just as the dinner bell rings, we are towed off. "Mast, spires and strand receding at the ster The glorious main expanding on the bow." Goodbye ye wooded slopes and ivy-encircled mansions of Cornwall! Goodbye ye busy towns of Plymouth and Devonport. Goodbye old flag-ships of Nelson and Napier, England's wooden walls anchored up stream, and ye steel battle-ships that maintain her position as mistress of the sea, through which we steer - when shall I look on you again?

Dinner: Macaroni Soup, Tinned Australian (?) Beef, commonly known as rope-yarn, potatoes and currant roley-poley, a fair repast. We are near the Rame Head when I come on deck. The tug takes us to the Eddystone Lighthouse, but of that fact I am unaware because of sea-sickness.

On Thursday, I am on deck again; two days at sea, split three sails during the night, travelled only 91 miles, slow progress as if the ship were loth to leave the old land. The next day we are in the Bay of Biscay O!"

Three more days brought us opposite the island of Madeira, the only land we saw till we reached Australian waters. The air was gloriously invigorating. We longed to go ashore and get some grapes, but we signalled "All's Well" to the cablestation, and despatched our letters by small mail-boat. Next day we caught a flying-fish on the deck. These fish make a pretty picture as they "fly" in companies from the crest of one wave to that of another, chased by their enemy, the bonito.

At 9a.m. on Friday, October 5th, I was sitting on the forecastle reading "The Old Curiosity Shop" when I overheard a bosun reprimanding a sailor who had folded a (canvas) water-pipe wrongly. "You should have folded it from this end" he said, "Don't you see, if there was a fire on board you could take hold of it, and toss out the full length of the pipe." "Oh well," the sailor replied, "we aren't goin' to have any fire." Within an hour the direful cry was raised:- "Fire! The ship's on fire! All hands on deck!" I need not attempt to record the thought that coursed through my brain, nor to describe the wild scene my eyes witnessed. Coolly the Captain gave his orders. Pumps were at work; pipes connected; sailors formed in a long line passing buckets of water to be poured down the main hatch, the seat of the fire. Fortunately it was not serious. We were told it was caused by friction between bundles of cork. The carpenter presently appeared from below with his whiskers partly burnt off, and with hands and face badly damaged. He had thrown himself on the burning mass, and aided in beating out the fire.

Stormy petrels now gather round the ship. It is a mistaken notion that they are seen only in stormy weather or that they foretell a storm. We had their company for about six weeks

On October 9«sup»th«/sup» the sensation was the catching of a shark, which, as usual, was the work of the first mate. Though only seven feet long, it was big enough to provide a trophy for the sailors who cut off its tail and nailed it in the forecastle

In the tropics we witnessed some of the glorious sunsets attributed to the eruption of the volcano Krakatoa, which girdled the world with volcanic dust.

November 18«sup»th«/sup» - We passed The Cape of Good Hope in the night - 150 miles off. O for a sight of land!

November 24«sup»th«/sup» - Got a taste of a storm at sea - sufficiently rough to afford a fine sight. Our ship seems to wriggle like an eel, but stood the strain bravely - sail after sail was let down, others reefed, till only four sails were set beside the jibs. The lowering of the sails introduced another of the sailors' chanties.

The rest of the voyage through the "roaring forties" (or prevailing westerly winds) was somewhat monotonous. We were constantly in the trough of waves four hundred feet from crest to crest. Our average daily run was 250 miles.

On December 21«sup»st«/sup» we got our first sight of Australia as we passed Cape Otway. How we revelled in the off-shore breeze laden with the smell of eucalyptus! Soon the Heads were passed and Melbourne reached; and thus ended my "Three Months at Sea" - after an enjoyable and eventful voyage.

Further notes about Rev. W. J. Eddy:

In 1877, at the age of eighteen he passed an examination which qualified him to become an apprentice or student of the Pharmaceutical Society of Great Britan, Bloomsbury Square, London. While serving this apprenticeship one of his duties was to hold the patient while the chemist (or apothecary) extracted his tooth! Some time after this he studied for and entered the Ministry of the Church.