Shipwreck On

Pitcairn

AT noon on Wednesday, July 19, the people were busy at their various tasks—one company grinding cane at the sugar mill, some boiling the sweet syrup in the large pans.

Shouting something about a ship, a man dashes off. The ship bell begins to ring, and a stray voice somewhere echoes a lone “Sail-ho!” The people at the mill melt away; others hurry to fetch baskets of oranges.

Someone shouts, “It’s a schooner!” A schooner will not need so many oranges, so some can move more leisurely.

Two boats are soon out to meet the tiny schooner, the crew of which proves to be the captain and his wife, with whom is their five-year-old son.

A strong wind is blowing and the sea is rough. While the lady, with her little son, sleeps ashore, the captain anchors his vessel outside Bounty Bay.

Next day, we learn that the schooner is damaged. Several men have gone out with tools. Two boats go out through the big breakers at the Landing. The schooner is almost swept onto the rocks.

The little boats help to get her clear, but are almost lost themselves.

This night, the “Trondhjem” does not anchor outside Bounty Bay—her anchor chain is broken. So, with some of the islanders for company, the captain keeps well, away from land. There is no sleep.

Constantly they have the pump going, while the ship leaks badly. The captain decides that it is not safe; he cannot go on; he must run the ship ashore!

SO, early Friday morning, under full sail, before a strong wind, the good little “Trondhjem” her last

run to land. In shallow water, quite close to land, she lies on her side, while the waves begin pounding her and the island ers find their way to and fro, saving all they can from the breaking vessel.

The lady cannot believe that her ship— her home —is on the rocks. “No, no, no!” she exclaims, when informed. But the tears, come fast, for a while, when she sees it is actually there. Hastily she runs down the steep path to the Landing, to be with her husband.

All that day they work, getting several of the most valuable articles and parts.

The postmaster sees the big, black, curly-haired dog wearily struggling to clamber onto the rocks. “A dollar for you if you bring that dog to land!” he calls.

Soon two strong men have the pleasure of placing him out of reach of the waves.

Next day, some more things are salvaged, including a lovely Persian cat, which was hiding in a dry part of the ship.

Next morning there is little left of the small vessel that had come all the way from Tahiti. The shore is littered with broken boards and small articles. The men pull to pieces the last of the hull, saving every possible piece of wood, metal or rope. Children gather the chips along the shore.

The breaking waves come in, as ever they have done, dashing onto the solid rocks—the same old rocks that witnessed, 154 yeafs ago, the destruction of the famous ship “Bounty.” Every vestige of the little “Trondhjem” is gone, and those who sailed in her are entertained by the islanders while they await some vessel that will take them on their way once

more.-

F. Percival Ward.

Mr. W. Tailby, who for more than a year has 'been Acting-Commissioner in Rarotonga, Cook Islands, has now been confirmed Resident Commissioner,