A Yacht Called Erewhon (5 page)

Kegs had appeared, and the builders were giving their pride and joy the christening she deserved. An oil drum had been split lengthways in half and mounted on stands, and the scrap wood was now being put to use as a roaring fire. The smell of burning kauri and pohutukawa filled the shed and was joined soon after by the aroma of cooking sausages and steak. The apprentices were sent out to gather mussels from the legs of the slipway and, when they returned, steaming buckets soon added to the feast.

Mercedes tried to organise the launch day with Jack, but gave up as the beer flowed and the party got louder. This was the builders’ day, and they deserved it. Grabbing a glass of beer from beside the keg, she joined the men around one of the buckets of mussels.

The next morning, Mercedes arrived back at the shed to find several of the men lying around in a very sorry state, some still asleep. She checked the comatose ones for vital signs, and it appeared that the only casualty had been young Sam, an apprentice. In his drunken stupor, he had tried to swing from one side of the shed to the other on a tackle block suspended from the apex of the shed for the express purpose of lifting
Erewhon
onto its cradle for launching. His flight across the shed went well until it was time to let go of the block and latch on to the gantry on the rapidly approaching opposite wall. His timing was somewhat impaired by the quantity of alcohol he had ingested, and a clumsy dive saw him land head-first in a pile of wood shavings and sawdust. Although the rubbish pile broke his fall, he still managed to break a leg, and was whisked off to hospital.

As the men came to, Mercedes plied them back into action with tea, brewed strong enough to be used as paint stripper if the need arose. Jack breezed in, took one look at the state of his staff and, without saying too much, stoked up the smouldering fires. ‘If we want any work out of these clowns, we’d better get some food inside them,’ he grunted to Mercedes. Before long, the leftovers were being reheated and the men were being brought back to life.

‘Come on, we’re putting
Erewhon
outside today!’ Jack bellowed.

While the men ate their breakfast and sobered up, Mercedes and Jack sat down to work out the strategy for launch day. With
Erewhon
being the largest pleasure craft ever built in New Zealand, her launch was going to attract plenty of attention. It was scheduled for nine o’clock on Saturday, the highest spring tide for the month and the best opportunity to ensure that she floated off her cradle. With all internal ballast deliberately left out, she should be able to motor across the harbour to
King’s Wharf, where the ballast and giant oregon mast would be fitted.

Saturday seemed to take a month to arrive, but dawn broke with the sun’s rays reaching out across the top of Rangitoto.
Erewhon
was standing at the top of the slipway, her hull bathed in the warm morning sun. A crowd amassed to witness the event. Mercedes had tongues wagging when she arrived in her mother’s traditional Maori costume. Mac, too, cut a dash, with his dark-blue blazer, white longs, club cravat and peaked hat.

The scene was set.

Toby, in his new role as club commodore, was the MC for the event, and the Navy’s brass band had agreed to provide the musical accompaniment. Jack and his team, all dressed in new gleaming white overalls, had everything ready. As the band struck up with ‘God Save the King’, the ceremony was under way.

After speeches from Toby and Mac, a telegram from Irish Tom was read out, then Mercedes stepped forward with a magnum of Dom Perignon. Taking careful aim to hit the plate Jack had made to cover the toe-rail, she took one swing and the broken bottle showered the hull with the golden liquid. Mercedes was liberally sprayed with the foaming champagne, but was lucky enough to avoid the shower of glass and was left standing with the neck of the bottle still wrapped with a gold ribbon in her hand.

On cue, Jack’s men drove out the wedges that restrained the cradle, and with very little sound the giant yacht glided towards the waters lapping at the slipway just a few feet away. The crowd was strangely quiet as the huge yacht eased down the ramp, but erupted as the hull floated free of its cradle. The dream was now a reality as the unballasted hull bobbed majestically in the water.

Jack and his men guided the yacht alongside the wharf to
where a now ecstatic Mercedes and an apparently nonchalant Mac were waiting to step aboard. One of the young apprentices, who had made the stern line fast, offered his hand to assist Mercedes on board. Although she needed no help, she played the role of an elegant lady to the hilt, much to the amusement of her adoring crowd.

As Mac stepped forward, the Rear Admiral, who was one of the invited guests, signalled to two of the band, who, to the delight of the crowd, broke naval protocol to pipe him aboard. Mac, though a little embarrassed at being the centre of attention, acknowledged the tribute and waved to the crowd as he stepped aboard. The onlookers roared again, and a steady procession of well-wishers boarded the yacht to congratulate the pair. Mac had been on board about ten minutes when he started to notice the motion of the yacht. He mentioned to Mercedes that he was feeling a little queasy, within earshot of Jack, who laughed and reassured him
Erewhon
would be a lot less skittery when her ballast was in place.

Mac was happy with Jack’s explanation but decided to step back onto the wharf, as he felt that in view of the occasion it would not be appropriate to revisit his breakfast. When the crowd eventually dispersed, the admiral’s barge came alongside to tow
Erewhon
across the harbour to King’s Wharf.
Erewhon
had her own auxiliary, but, as the men from Gray Marine had said they wanted to do some further testing,
Erewhon
made her first voyage courtesy of the Navy.

Over the next week, the mast was stepped, ballast loaded, engine tested, sail wardrobe installed, and all the last-minute adjustments made before the sea trials could begin. Mercedes had no shortage of volunteers. With Toby’s aid, she selected thirty-five keen young men who were to become the backbone of
Erewhon
’s crew.

Jack took on the role of sailing master, and all was ready
as Mac sauntered along King’s Wharf. As soon as Mac was on board, the crew cast off. To everyone’s surprise, the moment the shore lines were released Mac started to look green, and before long he was prostrate on the counter-stern leaving his breakfast over the stern rail. This brought peals of laughter, but Mac couldn’t find any humour in the situation. The sea trial went ahead, and despite his enthusiasm for the yacht’s performance, Mac’s condition didn’t improve. Much to everyone else’s disappointment, the yacht returned to dock early.

Mercedes, Jack and Toby were ecstatic about
Erewhon’
s power and, once he had his feet back on the dock, Mac shared their excitement. Sea trials and fine-tuning continued for the next few weeks, and any of the running gear that didn’t come up to standard was altered or replaced.

Each time the yacht left its mooring at St Mary’s Bay, Mac would be on board, but only as far as Orakei Wharf, where he would be put ashore. Mercedes, Jack and Toby would carry on with the day’s sailing. Despite trying every remedy known, Mac simply couldn’t find his sea legs. He’d travelled the world on steamers, sailed on the lochs in Scotland as a boy and, since arriving in Auckland, had crossed the harbour on the ferry at least twice a week, but had never felt the slightest bit squeamish. Despite all the pills and potions, nothing could get his stomach to settle when he placed a foot on board his beloved yacht. In desperation, Mac wrote to his old friend, Sir Tom. Tongue in cheek, Tom could only suggest that Mac change his brand of tea. He reminded Mac that the wager was still on, once he had wrested the Auld Mug back off those bloody colonials.

Sir Tom’s letter made Mac even more determined to overcome his problem and, as Christmas was approaching, he decided that Mercedes, Toby and the crew should sail the yacht to the Bay of Islands. He’d meet them there and try his sea legs out in the sheltered waters.

The arrangements were made, and
Erewhon
was entered in the Squadron’s race to Russell. It was
Erewhon’
s first official race, and the yachting fraternity soon had a book running on the time it would take for the yacht to cover the distance and the lead it would have over its nearest rival.

The jaunt to the Bay of Islands, while being a great success for everybody else, did nothing to improve Mac’s comfort level. He even tried cold-turkey and insisted on being on board for the trip back down the coast, but it didn’t work.

Finally, Mac resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t cut out for this sailing lark. He handed the reins over completely to Mercedes. His only problem was the wager with Sir Tom. To keep his end of the bargain, he wrote to suggest that Mercedes be allowed to sail the craft when the time came.

Sir Tom, a little nonplussed about the thought of racing a woman in an event that involved such a large wager, wrote back to call the deal off. When Mac received the note, he promptly replied that a deal was a deal and he would up the ante if Sir Tom was running scared.

Mercedes was visibly upset by Lipton’s effrontery, but decided to sail against another J skipper to prove her ability to the yachting world.

The search began to find suitable opposition, but the nearest J was a yacht called
Jabberwocky
, which sailed on Sydney Harbour.
Jabberwocky
was, in fact, a sister ship of Lipton’s
Shamrock IV
, which had been fitted with a new Bermuda rig so that it could be raced in J-class events on the East Coast of America. Her owner, Buffalo Smith, a self-made millionaire, had made his fortune in the gold-fields of South Australia. He’d always fancied himself as a yachtsman, and didn’t mind spending a large part of his earnings on having a crack at the toffee-nosed boys who sailed out of Rhode Island.

Buffalo wasn’t a complete novice at the helm and, before
purchasing
Jabberwocky
, had stamped his mark in smaller yachts. His campaign, like
Erewhon’
s, was hindered by the lack of competition, as he too left all comers way behind on Sydney Harbour. When the news of
Erewhon
’s launch filtered through to Australia, Buffalo quickly dispatched a letter to Mac, challenging him to a series of races over an America’s Cup-type course at a location of his choice. Mercedes was ecstatic—at last, a decent race for
Erewhon
—and, under extreme pressure from his daughter, Mac replied with tentative arrangements.

Buffalo Smith had made arrangements for
Jabberwocky
to be shipped to the East Coast of America, and was booked to sail from Sydney to Auckland and then on to Fort Lauderdale via Panama. He kept the booking for the Auckland–Panama leg, but opted to leave early to sail
Jabberwocky
across the Tasman for the match with
Erewhon.
As was the norm in that era,
Jabberwocky
was fitted with a special set of heavy-weather sails and a shortened rig for the ocean sortie, and her appearance in the Waitemata Harbour was less than flattering. The crossing had taken its toll, but Buffalo and his crew set about re-rigging the yacht back to her best. The original mast, which had been shipped ahead, was reinstalled, the sail wardrobe was refitted and, after a few days of sea trials, the two yachts were introduced.

While the refit had been going on, Buffalo took time out to introduce himself to Mac and the sheila he was supposed to be sailing against. On meeting Mercedes, he made it known that he’d crossed the Tasman for a proper race. Judging by his comment, she knew he didn’t consider her a serious threat. Politely, she informed the obnoxious Australian that she would stand aside in Toby’s favour if she didn’t win the first race. Mercedes’ dander was up and, so far as she was concerned, hell would freeze over before she’d let that buffoon beat her to the finish line.

Mac added fuel to the fire by suggesting a wager on the
outcome of the three-race series. To simulate America’s Cup races, Mac and Buffalo agreed to a windward-leeward course, similar to the Long Island event, to be held in the Hauraki Gulf. Then, to mirror the original Round the Isle of Wight course, a race around Great Barrier Island, starting and finishing at Orakei Wharf, would complete the event.

The wager was put in place, too, with the loser to present a gold cup to the winner. Both men shook hands.

The two yachts stood proudly alongside each other at King’s Wharf, the iron gate flung wide open to the enthusiastic crowd, permitting them to look close-up at the sleek racing machines.

The crews pushed their way down the wharf and climbed on board to make ready. Mercedes and Toby arrived in the blue Bugatti, and the crowd parted as they walked hand-in-hand to
Erewhon.
As Mercedes boarded, three cheers went up, and her heart pounded even harder. Buffalo arrived with his tactician, and the crowd courteously made a path for them, though he had to endure their partisan jibes.

Jabberwocky
’s pristine white hull was reflected in the inkblue water, and she looked every bit a racing thoroughbred, with varnished decks and polished brass fittings gleaming in the morning sun.

Buffalo took the beating badly as
Erewhon
swept the series three–nil, but consoled himself with the fact that
Erewhon
was longer and carried more sail. A man of his word, he kept his part of the wager by presenting Mercedes with a gold cup, inscribed
The Mercedes McAlister Challenge Cup
, at a function in the new clubhouse. Mercedes was absolutely delighted with the result. She accepted the trophy and re-presented it to the
club as the prize for challenge races between Australian and New Zealand J-class yachts.

As the evening went on, Buffalo handed Mac an envelope. ‘I would like you to consider this,’ he said. Without another word, he turned on his heels and joined the rest of his crew at the bar.

Mac, somewhat bemused by these strange antics, found a quiet corner and opened the envelope. Inside, he found a signed blank cheque and a note requesting first option on
Erewhon
, should she ever come up for sale. He returned the cheque to the envelope and, in his usual business-like manner, quietly walked over to Buffalo and slipped the package into his top pocket.