Tin-Can Mail

Story of Niuafoou’s Unique Service

Mr. Ramsay’S 112 Swims

From a Special Correspondent OUR unique mail service, the “Tin- Can Mail”—the only one of its kind in the world—has suffered a sad disruption!

For the information of those who have not seen it or its description, it may be explained that the mail is brought monthly to this island of the Tonga group, by the U.S.S. Co.’s Tofua, on her way from Samoa to Suva. The inward mail is sealed by the ship’s carpenter in 40-lb biscuit tins. The tin, or tins (as the size of the mail may warrant) usually contains a leg of mut ton and some apples, provided by the bounty of the U.S.S. Co. The outward mail is made up ashore into several

parcels and tied to the ends of as many sticks of about 3 feet in length.

Mr. C. S. Ramsay, manager for Messrs. Morris, Hedstrom Ltd., at Niua foou, accompanied by two or three natives, usually swims out, each with a stick topped by its parcel of mail sup ported by poles of Fau wood of 6 to 7 feet in length. These poles are very buoyant and easily carry the weight of a recumbent body.

The parcels are dropped into buckets lowered from the deck of the Tofua, while the tins of mail are then thrown overboard. They are then towed ashore by the waiting “postmen.”

Sharks! Yes, there have always been plenty of them here, but in the history of the island no one had been killed until last month, when tragedy spread her sombre cloak and Death struck from beneath its folds.

The natives have been in the habit of fishing from poles of Fau wood for hours at a time. As the fish were caught they were threaded on a small stick attached to the pole. On April 30, four days before the expected ar rival of the Tofua on her last trip, five natives were fishing quite close in shore, in front of the landing place.

Suddenly one of them was seen to be in difficulties. One of his com panions noticing the water was red with blood, swam to his assistance.

“Get me ashore, I’m badly bitten,” was the gasped appeal. The two were then joined by another of the party and the wounded man was towed ashore. A brave deed that in “civilis ation” would be blazoned in thick black head lines and lauded by all. In Niua foou it was part of the day’s work.

It was a noble effort, partly wasted for the lad was dead before shore was reached. We carried him up the cliff and along to the (usually half-empty) dispensary, but he was beyond human aid. A fearful wound. The flesh was stripped from buttock to back of knee.

One bite only. He had bled to death in 3 minutes.

“Ko hono aho,” the natives said. Yes, it truly was “his day”; and had we not had the warning of his awful fate it would doubtless have proved “the day” of one or two of the “postmen” next mail day.

Mr. Ramsay has made 112 swims to the mail steamer —an aggregate dis tance of over 120 miles. Plenty of opportunities for sharks.

The Tofua came as usual but the mail went out this time in a canoe. The natural query arises, “Why not always take it in a canoe?” Because, for six months of the year it is impossible to launch one from the wave-beaten, rocky coast. We may pluck up courage later on and swim again, but it looks a risky proposition, to say the least of it.

Mr. Ramsay and his two native friends; ready to swim out to receive the “Tin-Can Mail.’’ The big sticks are for support. The outgoing mail can be seen, tied to the short sticks.