Incident On Malden

By "Periti"

LYING lonely and almost forgotten, just four degrees south of the equator, in mid-Pacific, little Malden Island has a history of mystery, tragedy, and frustrated hopes. Someday, perhaps! someone will write the interesting story of Malden.

A truly desert island in all respects, Malden is normally uninhabited—that is, unless one counts the tens of thousands of sea-birds which have made the isle their sanctuary. The chief interest of Malden to the outside world, apart from its mysterious ruins of “temples,” that seem to indicate earlier Polynesian in habitants or visitors, has been the work ing of the extensive guano deposits.

This entailed the importation of native labourers who, with European overseers, usually spent a period of one or two years on the isle. Everything necessary for their support had to be imported— food for long periods, fuel, even a water condensing plant—for apart from fish, with which the sea teems in these parts, the isle is totally desert and unproductive.

It was just after World War I that the following incidents were added to Mal den’s chequered history.

A PARTY went up to the island per schooner. They comprised fifty or so natives, two European overseers, and the usual miscellaneous stores and equip ment. Things went along smoothly for a long period, but trouble was ahead.

The relieving schooner was long over due; lack of adequate food undermined the health of everyone; the loneliness became oppressive. It ended with one of the Europeans becoming “queer.” He would walk around muttering to himself, flourishing a rifle and talking wildly about “shooting that B—, the Kaiser.”

Anyone who interfered or remonstrated with him was likely to be threatened as well.

It culminated one stormy night when shouts out in the dark were followed by sounds of shooting. In the morning there was only one European on Malden.

Things settled down again; but, some time later, a second tragedy was nar rowly averted. Becoming seriously ill with dysentery, the remaining European reached a stage of complete exhaustion.

While he was delirious, his native per sonal servant deserted him, leaving him to his own resources; and, at the same time the boy spread the story that the second “papa’a” was “neneva te mimiti,” or queer in the head. Consequently, no native would venture near the European house, and the sick man. being too weak to fend for himself, was faced with prac tically certain death from starvation.

When the position had become really desperate, a strange thing happened.

Awakening one morning to an unusual noise, he found that an inquisitive hen had strayed into the room. There hap pened to be an old. white door-knob lying in one corner of the room, and the little hen was proudly announcing to the world that an egg now rested alongside the door-knob. No doubt a white door-knob made as good a nest-egg as anything else!

That egg looked good to the sick man, and he was later able to crawl across the room to it and dispose of it. The next day, friend hen repeated the perform ance, and a second egg went the way of the first.

According to his later account, this nourishment marked the turning point of his illness, and he was soon afterwards able to reach some food in the house and so, gradually, regain strength.

It was soon afterwards that the re lieving ship appeared and returned the party home. But, carried affectionately in the pocket of one passenger, was a small white door-knob which he maintained was responsible for his return passage from Malden.