Peril in the Night

THE mysterious loss of the Tahiti schooner Tereora, recalled in PIM March issue, arouses timely comment on the well established Islands-schooner custom of “saving the kerosene.”

Back in 1938, the writer was Radio Officer in a smart new British cargo vessel, sliding along at 12 knots on the run from Panama to Auckland.

The custom was, on nearing the end of the last radio-watch of the day, to whistle up to the Third Officer to switch on the coffee pot, then go up to join him at supper on the wing of

the bridge.

Late that afternoon we had passed close to Rapa Is. The night was over* cast and particularly dark, with a moderate breeze. No dangers to navigation now were expected nearer than the New Zealand coast.

We had a good look-out posted in the crow’s-nest on the foremast— and we were leaning over the bridge watching the white of the bow-wave.

Suddenly the look-out rang the bell for danger right ahead. At about the same moment, before any possible action could be taken—and before it was even realised what was happening—there was a terrific thundering of flapping canvas as we took the wind out of the sails of a small sailing vessel, whose boom scraped the length of our ship as we swept by.

The incident was all over in less than a minute—and just how narrowly that schooner escaped de struction, out there on the open ocean far from land, the owners will never know. There wasn’t a flicker of light aboard.

Several years later, inquiries were made of seafaring men in Papeete, to see if anyone could recall the incident—as the schooner was no doubt out of that port and bound possibly to Rapa from Tubuai or one of the Australs—but no one had heard of it.

The practice of extinguishing the side-lights and mast-head light (where used) to save kerosene or battery power, is just about universal in the Islands—the idea being that the look out on the schooner will always see the lights of a large ship long before it approaches them, giving ample time to light up—so why waste kerosene!

The only weakness in the theory is that there never is a look-out on a schooner—only a look-out-man, and he’s always asleep.—lPS.