The
Survivors (cont)
John Lewis Walker
The following text is from a New Zealand
newspaper, The Herald, c. 1925, supplemented by family memories provided
by Lloyd Talbot Walker, a grandson of John Walker
"Three lines in the
"News in Brief" column of the Herald Supplement, announcing
the death in England of John Ellis, another of the Captain’s
survivors, led Mr Walker to increase the number with this historic part
of his life. Always he has been a reserved man, slow to tell his stories
of the sea to the casual acquaintance. So retiring is he that the
efforts of public men of the district and even the friendly interest of
the distinguished admiral did not overcome his modesty when a personal
introduction to Earl Jellicoe was arranged.
Mr Walker has stories of
skirmishes in many quarters to which his eleven years’ service in the
Navy took him. As a boy he was fond of the life, but in later years the
knowledge of the opportunities ashore made him dissatisfied. He is one
of many of New Zealand’s finest who gave up their service in an
informal way, and had an anxious time in the first few months of their
new careers. But he feels he "did his bit" in those 11 years.
Bitter as his memories are of the bad, old days of flogging, no one is
prouder of his part in Britain’s campaign against slavery, of which he
saw something when HMS Pearl went to the South Seas when numerous
traders were making attempts at the practice."
(John arrived at the port of Auckland in the early
1870s but we haven't yet been able to find out precisely when or even
the name of the vessel (hope to do more on that soon) but we do know
that he "jumped ship" with a friend, changed his name to John
Lewis and hid among the timber workers among the Kauri forest in the
Waitakere Ranges about 20 km west of the growing town. He chose the name
Lewis because his best friend on HMS Captain was Lewis Werry (who also
figures in the photo of the survivors.)
Apparently either the navy or the police were
frequently closing in on him and one night he and his friend Bates,
stole a dinghy and rowed across the Manukau Harbour to the Awhitu
Peninsula, at that time also a wilderness of kauri forest and tough
loggers. As John Lewis he soon became leader of a logging camp in Tram
Line Gully,
He reverted to Walker when he married 16 yr old Annie
Jane Hayter in the Presbyterian church at Kohekohe on 5 November 1880.
He was 30 according to his marriage certificate. Then followed 13
children!!!!!! My father was number 10 and he was named after the ship's
captain, Hugh Talbot Burgoyne Walker.)
"The Herald paragraph
was the first news for years John Walker had had of John Ellis or indeed
of any of his ship mates of the Captain. But the incidents of the night
are indelibly fixed in his mind."
Those who were saved had the
fortune to be on watch at the time. They had miraculous escapes. "I
was washed overboard by heavy seas from windward," relates Mr
Walker, "and on coming to the surface I was dragged by a seaman
named Freeman into a launch that still had its canvas cover on."
Soon after midnight Mr
Walker went to answer to his name on the roll of the lifeboat crew.
Before that routine duty could be performed a sudden gust struck on the
starboard beam. Captain Burgoyne went to the bridge and shouted orders
as the ship gradually turned over on its leeward side. The lifeboats
were in crutches, but not gripped or lashed, consequently they were
washed overboard by the heavy seas that came from the windward. Those on
the deck at the time followed as the ship’s lean to increased, and few
came to the surface.
"What
I remember most clearly before being pulled on to the covered launch was
that I lashed out at something that had gripped my leg," says Mr
Walker. "I thought it was a shark, but it turned out to be a youth
named Gribble, who was saved, but had a swollen face and a black eye for
a long time
(When the survivors arrived
back in England) there was a relief fund raised, and each of the
survivors was presented by Queen Victoria with a Bible. Mr Walker
confesses that many of the gifts, including his, were afterwards
exchanged for "basins of grog". "They were too unwieldy
anyway," he observed. "We had lots of gifts like that, and it
always reminded me of the music hall song of the time –
`All this sympathy and grief
`Ain’t much good without relief.’"