Halcyon: Lady of the Night — British Columbia Chronicles

More than one seagoing lady of the night has called Victoria, B.C., home port over the years. Ladies of ill repute who’d ghost into harbour unannounced, rest and restore then, as the city slept, quietly weigh anchor for destinations unknown.

To the curious, their masters and crew had little to say beyond a terse, “Bering Sea,” or equally vague “North Pacific.” Asked as to cargo, they’d grunt a muffled reference to “ballast,” and push on by.

The fleet schooner *Halcyon* was no lady. —*BC Archives*

**So it was with the men of the schooner Halcyon. Unlike her namesake of Greek mythology, the noble kingfisher which calmed winter seas, this beautiful two-master created a storm wherever she sailed.**

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Theirs was a select company these, secretive schooners. Off they’d sail, to return months later in taciturn silence, when Victorians would hear tantalizing rumours of another raid on northern seal rookeries, or of strange cargo having been passed from ship to ship in a secluded California cove, or of midnight visits to an uninhabited Gulf Island.

The few mariners who plied these silent trades boasted such romantic titles as ‘Sea Wolf’ and ‘Flying Dutchman, their fleet ladies bearing honest, down-to-earth names that belied their occupations: Mary Ellen, Adele, Casco.

Another, more sinister, member of this midnight fleet was the schooner Halcyon. “In her old, out-of-the way nook in the upper harbour, close to Point Ellice bridge," the Victoria Colonist reported 135 years ago, “the now celebrated yacht Halcyon is once more lying at anchor, guarded and manned only by a solitary watchman and his dog. As she swings slowly around with each ebbing or flowing tide, she looks the most innocent craft afloat, and an uninitiated landsman would laugh merrily at the very idea of her performing half the daring runs that are laid to her credit".

But there were those, evil of mind, as the newspaper slyly pointed out, who wouldn’t have been surprised in the least to hear that Halcyon was something less than “the most innocent craft afloat”.

If few would have given more than a wink, local Collector of Customs A.R. Milne, on the other hand, was quite outspoken. She was a smuggler, pure and simple, he declared. She’d outwitted him too many times but his turn was coming, he'd swear—with a touch of prophecy, as it turned out.

Built for California millionaire Harry Tevis in 1886 for the then astronomical cost of $25,000, Halcyon had known glory if ever so briefly. Celebrated as the fastest schooner on the West Coast, the low-swept 74-footer drew admiring glances and made headlines from San Francisco to Hong Kong.

But, only four years later, newspapers were headlining her name over stories of an entirely different content; stories concerning moonless rendezvous’ off lonely shores, and secret voyages to the Orient.

At least one such cruise excited comment in the Pacific Northwest when a Port Townsend correspondent, derided as “the champion liar of all America” by the Colonist, telegraphed Puget Sound newspapers that the American Consul in Victoria had alerted the U.S. Treasury Department that Halcyon was expected from China with a full cargo of opium which was to be smuggled into the country.

“There is not one atom of truth in it whatever,” refuted the Consul. “I have no information in regards to the Halcyon and sent no dispatch. I know nothing of the schooner, her business, her cargo, or her movements.”

It would be the last time a government official disclaimed interest in the dark lady's activities!

Nine months later, Halcyon was back in Victoria, moored at her usual midstream anchorage. Among those waiting to greet her were reporters from Puget Sound and the Colonist, pencils at the ready to jot down details of her latest voyage which had involved shipwreck and seizure.

Today’s upper Inner Harbour looks innocuous on a May Sunday afternoon. Long gone is the day when the schooner *Halcyon* came and went on her sinister business. —*Author’s Collection*

I say reporters were among the expectant who kept watch along the waterfront that day, for, although it's not recorded, we can rest assured that Customs Collector Milne headed the official greeting party. Alas, she had fooled him again.

Doubtless, he didn’t appreciate reporters’ glowing impressions of the shady miss: “...The little craft is every inch a sailor. She is not very large, only about 75 tons, and she looks much smaller than she really is, owing to her deep draught, but she is always in racing condition. There was not one foot of space on deck, or one foot of rigging aloft, that can be spared.

“Just now, after completing a year's sea voyage rough enough to send many a ship of far heavier timber to the bottom, she looks as handsome and trim as the yacht should be that bears the honour of being the fleetest bird of the Pacific and the staunchest sailor of her size afloat.

“To the busy news-gatherer who eyes the floating beauty, the first thought that presents itself is, ‘If she could only tell all she knows.’ But she can't; and so the American labourers with pencil and paper, who have come from across the Sound to write up the Halcyon, have gone home again, forced to depend upon guess-work to fill space, for every man on the Halcyon becomes an oyster when her business is mentioned.”

Despite her crew’s reticence, however, newsmen had been able to quite accurately guess at some of the more pertinent details of her daring cruise; not the least of which was the fact Japanese authorities had seized her $60,000 cargo of opium. This, despite San Francisco owner Capt. William A. Whaley’s firm assurance that she’d sailed “in ballast.”

As to the more mundane details, such as that of shipwreck, Capt. Whaley—a former U.S. Customs officer, no less—was more garrulous.

Looking more like a successful tea plantation owner, former Customs officer William Whaley, owner of the Halcyon, made a fortune smuggling opium into the U.S. but died in poverty. —imagesofoldhawaii.com

With her handpicked crew of six, she'd clear the previous autumn “on business all her own” for Hong Kong. Buffeted by gales, she'd been forced into a Japanese port for repairs before continuing on to Hong Kong where she again entered refit, receiving fresh paint and the “slight improvements found necessary to improve her speed”.

While in port, she’d proven a major attraction, drawing large crowds daily to admire the Pacific speed champion’s sleek lines. In glaring contrast to her inhospitable ways in Victoria, all visitors had been welcomed aboard and shown around the ship.

She’d cleared Hong Kong before a warm wind, speedily beating her way towards home. Days later, a heavy gale blew up, driving Halcyon before it under light canvas at the amazing rate of more than 13 knots for 21 hours. A short calm was followed by nothing less than a typhoon. Straining mightily under double reef mainsail and reef staysail, daring Halcyon forged onward through the East China sea.

But, in the ragged chain of Japanese islands, unable to tack in the maelstrom of wind wave, the battered schooner was caught in a current and hurled bodily onto the rocks.

Instantly, the pounding surf flooded her little cabin and hold, carrying away her fittings and papers. At the crash, one crewman had leaped into the breakers and miraculously struggled ashore. Aboard the groaning schooner, Halcyon's master and crew vowed to “stand by the ship until the last plank parted".

But Halcyon’s amazing career wasn't ended. All that wild night she ground against the shore, her crew in the rigging. By amazing good fortune, the smuggler had come to rest upon a sandy beach that saved her stout hull from further damage and, with morning, wind and tide abated, leaving her high and dry.

Owner Whaley in the meantime reached San Francisco by steamer where he heard of his ship’s predicament. Firing off word to the American minister in Japan, he requested that worthy to visit the scene and assume charge of salvage operations if such were feasible.

The problems facing salvors were grim. High on the beach, Halcyon couldn't possibly be launched through the reefs surrounding her resting place; she'd have to be hauled two miles along the shore to a suitable launching site.

Accordingly, the contractors built a strong under-carriage in which to cradle Halcyon’s bottom for the remarkable journey they’d charted. But they then faced a delicate problem in the way of labour: although Japanese coolies were available by the 100s, the schooner had crashed ashore on the border between two districts. Hence, deciding the overland route required diplomacy—and a good measure of luck.

During preparations, the local population had turned out by the 1000s to watch operations and marvel at the first Whites they’d seen, staring “in open-mouthed wonder at the strange creatures from over the water”. And, like all good sightseers, the villagers were dedicated souvenir hunters, stealing everything not firmly secured.

In desperation, overseer Swift placed the stranded schooner under Japanese government protection, and four special officers were assigned to guard her day and night.

Finally came the day Swift and company had been working for—and dreading: the day to announce which direction Halcyon was to be towed to deep water. Swarming onto the beach by the 1000s, each faction on its own side of the boundary anxiously awaited the decision. “If she went one way,” an officer explained, “the coolies of the one district could not work in her; if she went the other way, the natives in the other district were in the same fix.”

Fearfully, Mr. Swift gave the verdict to the interpreter, who conveyed the good and bad news to the respective parties. Gathered about the schooner and expecting the worst, his men waited for the riot. But, to their surprise and immense relief, the disappointed villagers, after grumbling bitterly, drifted away, as the jubilant winners of the contract celebrated with shouts of satisfaction.

It took no less than three months to sort everything out and for the struggling coolies to haul Halcyon, protesting inch by inch, along the beach, her crew following with their tent. Finally, the scarred lady reached her designated launching site and was re-floated without having strained a timber and, outfitted once more, she completed an easy run to Victoria after a brief stop in Barkley Sound for food, water and minor repairs.

“But what about the cargo?” blurted the impatient reporter. “That's what the talk has all been about."

Without changing expression, Capt. Whaley calmly replied, “We have no papers [supposedly carried away while Halcyon wallowed in the breakers]. We cleared in ballast and we arrived in ballast, that's all.”

And with that Mr. Whaley declared the interview to be at an end.

So it would have been, had not the devious news hawk sought out one of her discharged seamen, to learn that the schooner, before entering Barkley Sound, had made a quick run south. Off the California coast she “touched sides” with the Bay City schooner Fearnought and transferred 300 ginger jars to the American before sailing home.

Sixteen months later, Customs Collector Milne’s long awaited turn finally came. For three years, Victoria Customs officers had desperately tried to catch Halcyon in the act of delivering contraband; always, she’d been one step ahead of them.

This time, under command of a Capt. Collins and a Japanese crew, she’d turned her hand to smuggling Chinese into the United States. Authorities first got wind of her latest activities a week before when she was spotted “hovering around" local waters, particularly off Hill Island, where she was observed to have “communicated with shore”.

Next, she streaked up to Barkley Sound, to follow the same mystifying procedure, Capt. Collins omitting to inform Customs agents of his manoeuvres.

A mere oversight, he blandly replied when interrogated. Asked why he had to put in to shore, he said he’d been forced to by stress of weather. To the suggestion he could have sought shelter in Victoria, Collins answered that he lacked the necessary charts. He was then asked his destination:

“The north seas.”

For what purpose, inquired an officer.

“Hunting.”

“Hunting for what?”

“For duck,” returned the incredible Collins!

When Customs officers decided to learn what his crew knew of the schooner’s activities, they found the seamen unavailable for comment.

But this time Collector Milne had had enough of Halcyon’s dark doings and, we should think, sarcasm; the “facts were so clearly established that the master of the schooner did not attempt to bring any refuting evidence”.

With the greatest satisfaction, long overdue, Milne fined his old tormentor $800, payable within 30 days or Halcyon would be confiscated.

**Apparently Captain Collins was forthcoming with the money as, only six weeks later, Halcyon was up for sale.**

Not by the Customs office, but because business apparently had fallen off–Chinese desiring to emigrate below the line without invitation had changed routes, crossing on the Mainland after becoming alarmed when the schooner Lottie, laden with human cargo, went down with all hands.

Then...it was official; although negotiations with a New Brunswick blackcod fishing syndicate had fallen through, Halcyon was at last to become respectable again. Bought by E.B. Marvin & Co. for $5200, she was set to work at sealing, her name, in keeping with her new role, being changed to Vera. Over following years, she hunted the elusive herds through northern sea, ice, fog and storm.

Now, unlike in former days, she sailed boldly into port, her logbook and manifest open to inspection.

Typically, reporters now took little interest in the begrimed workhorse, asking only about her catch before hurrying on in search of more newsworthy game. She was later sold with several other sisters, never again to steal from Victoria’s upper harbour at midnight, to skulk about a deserted Gulf Island, or to streak, canvas flying, before a Chinese typhoon.