Pitcairn

One Night On

letters, written by Pitcairn Island officials to Seventh ’Day Adventist headquarters, Sydney (and kindly made available to the “PIM”), describe graphic ally a minor tragedy in that isolated community. They throw some light upon the dangers experienced by Pitcairn and similar Central Pacific islands in main taining communication with ships.

By Roy P. Clark (Postmaster)

A CERTAIN Monday in June was a day of wind and rain, cold and mud. I worked in the fields all day, and we were preparing to retire early when suddenly, out of the still night air, there came faintly the long-drawn call of “Sail-oh!” and almost instantly the ringing of the community bell.

A team of horses could not keep an islander back from the landing-place when the bell peals forth ship call. It does not matter where one is—in church, in a law court, a sitting of the Govern ment Council, or a public meeting— everything is secondary to this call.

There is no time to lose.

There was an important bag of mail to go, so I lost no time in donning my ship clothes and making a bee-line for the Post Office. The rain had ceased, but the pathways were slippery, espe cially the one leading off the Edge to the Landing.

I was just in time to catch the last boat leaving. As it was, I had to wade more than knee-deep to climb over the stern.

It was pitch dark. The steamer was in quite close, the light appearing to be not more than half a mile from shore, so we were soon alongside. A heavy swell was running, and it was with great dif ficulty that the boats were kept along side the ship. In attempting to catch hold of one of the three “Jacob’s lad ders”, one of the boat’s crew fell into the water. It was providential that he was seen by the stem oarsman, who grabbed him as he was passing astern and into darkness, most certainly to be drowned; for this individual could not swim. mHE ship’s crew were very X and our trading and bartering were exceptionally good. After spending a happy and profitable time aboard, we heard the whistle blow, as a warning for all hands to get into their boats.

As the painters were cast off and the long boats drifted astern, we sang a hvmn. waved and called final good-byes.

The lights on the steamer went out, leaving only a black smudge on the water.

The wind was fair for the harbour, so all three boats hoisted sail, and we made ourselves comfortable for the short sail home. The beach was dimly lit with lanterns and torches brought by those who had come from the village to see the boats in. The canoe and long-boat houses, trees and landing point, were all silhouetted before us.

The first boat had gone in through the most dangerous part of the nassage; our boat was the second to make the har bour; and the third was just behind us.

Someone in our boat shouted, “They’re on the rocks!” And then another, “They have capsized!”

Forms hurried to the other side of the harbour, among the rocks. Lights flit ted here and there in every direction.

All was confusion. A cold rain was falling. Some anxious fathers in our

boat knew their sons were in the cap sized boat.

ALL this time we were drifting dan gerously near the breakers. Our captain called, “Back out! Full starboard; back port!” We were almost sideways in the passage.

The boat’s crew behind us were fran tic with anxiety to be ashore to lend aid. There was no time to wait for an opportune moment, when the swells were least heavy. We took a blind chance and pulled right along.

In the passage a large sea caught us up on its crest. We shot forward like a sped arrow, and for a minute I thought we, too, were going to be piled up on the rocks. Fortunately, our rudder “took” just in time, and swerved our boat straight for the sandy beach.

WE heard exclamations of distress from friends and relatives, who had not yet discovered who were injured. As I jumped out of the boat a group of people were carrying a wounded man, who was crying out with pain. Just behind was another company, bearing an unconscious man.

In the largest boat-house the men were laid down. One, Curtis Christian, was in agony, with a leg broken in two places, and a piece of bone protruding through the flesh. The other man had cuts on his face and head, but his case proved not to be serious.

Some of the men were busy cutting splints and binding up Curtis’s leg. He was shaking with cold. In the mean time, someone had run up to the village for a camp chair. On this we placed the youth, and five or six of us took our groaning burden up to his home.

I hurried back to the landing. Two

of the boats had by now been hauled to their respective houses. The third was still overturned in the harbour, and being battered by the waves on the rocks.

Plans were made to secure the boat and save at least some of the planks, thwarts, etc. Those in authority gathered the men around the boat. Ropes were tied on the thwarts towards the sea, passed over the boat and then ashore. The men, women and youths lent a hand, yet even so r it was a hard task to right the boat. This was accomplished at last.

Some of the crew rushed into the water to secure sail, mast, oars and other loose gear. Strewn along the rocks and sandy beach were tins of jam, broken wooden curios, matches, cloth, and other stuff obtained aboard the ship. Almost every thing was lost.

It took two hours’ hard and dangerous work to get the boat into the harbour and on to the skids to haul it up. All the time it was raining hard, and the men were complaining of the cold. I was chilled to the bone. Unable to hold a rope in my hand, I had to give up and seek shelter. In the wee hours of the morning we came home, sad and utterly exhausted.

Later I learned that Herbert's condi tion was not as bad as we thought.

There is no doubt he was saved from drowning, for from the time the boat capsized to the time the other two men were brought to safety, Herbert was not missed. Then someone shouted, “Where’s Herbert?”

At this very moment two of the crew were trying to extricate him from the ropes of the boat sail, still under the boat. One was holding Herbert’s arms, while the other cut the ropes entangling him. Finally they managed to get him free—unconscious and almost drowned.

He suffered no other harm than a slightly injured hip, but the loss of his spec tacles leaves him almost blind.

Edward Grant, though shaken up con siderably, sustained only minor injuries.

He swallowed a lot of the Pacific in his narrow escape from drowning, and bemoans the fact that he lost his upper set of teeth. rE schoolmaster, Mr. F. P. Ward, added a later note: — There were several men who had nar row escapes that night. The Chief Magistrate, Fred. Christian, was in the boat that overturned, but he was thrown clear. The boat was badly broken, but the men are trying to repair it. •Remarkable as it may seem, Edward Grant’s teeth were found the other day; and, the day following, Herbert’s glasses were fished out of the bay!

Curtis Christian, only 19, whose leg was badly smashed, suffered much pain before he died nearly six days later. Had he been able to have proper medical attention, he might have lived. Amputa tion was probably necessary.

A radio message was sent to the High Commissioner, in Suva, who was endeav ouring to arrange medical aid; but, in these days, when ships are so scarce and doctors perhaps more so, this was a difficult matter. The boat must have fallen on the leg on top of a rock, crush ing it badly.

About two weeks before he died, Curtis helped to carry his sister Myrtle to her gfave. It is only six months since their mother died.

Mr. J. H. Spivey, formerly LMS mis sionary in the Gilbert Islands, is now in Australia, doing deputation work.