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White Wings Vol I. Fifty Years Of Sail In The New Zealand Trade, 1850 TO 1900

Loss Of Pitcairn Island

page 349

Loss Of Pitcairn Island.

Burned at sea—Sufferings of Survivors—Fortnight in Open Boat.

A thrilling story of the sea is that telling of the rescue of the survivors of the Pitcairn Island away back in 1906. the Pitcairn Island was a British barque of 1359 tons, built in 1888 at Glasgow, and owned by Stuart Bros., of that city. On March 19, 1906, she left Wellington, in command of Captain H. J. Fletcher, via Cape Horn, for London, with a cargo of wool and flax on board. When roughly about 14O0 miles west of the Horn she was found to be on fire aft-flax and wool was always a dangerous cargo in those days, from some cause or other—and the crew had to abandon her. Strangely enough, the Norfolk Island, owned by the same firm, was also burned at sea.

The outbreak on the Pitcairn Island was discovered at 3 o'clock on the morning of May 3, but it must then have been burning unobserved for a long while, because in brief time the ship was nothing less than a furnace. The captain and twelve of the crew in his boat landed at Maullin, on the coast of South America, after a terrible fortnight, but the mate's boat, with eight of the crew on board, was never heard of again.

Describing the disaster, the second mate (Mr. T. Heron) said that all hands were called out when, at 3 a.m., the outbreak was discovered, but all they could do was in vain. Half-naked men worked at the pumps and formed a bucket brigade, but gradually they were driven back. The pitch boiled from the wooden decks. so fierce was the heat in the holds, the entrances to which had been closed down to save the crew from suffociation by the blinding volumes of smoke that issued from the raging inferno below. Eight hours after the fire had been discovered the men had to leave the ship.

A graphic story of the sufferings of the men in the captain's boat was told by a young New Zealander who was one of the survivors.

A Fine Weather Start.

After describing the discovery of the fire, and the strenuous efforts of the crew to master it, the writer goes on: "It was at last a case of 'Leave her, Johnny, leave her,' and at noon on May 3 we hoisted the boats over the side. I was in the skipper's boat, the one that made Maullin, and I believe the mate's boat was never heard of again. It was a beautiful day when we took to the boats, clear and bright, not much wind, but with a big ocean roll on. There were 13 men in our boat—the captain, second mate, steward, seven A.B.'s (one of whom acted as sailmaker), two ordinary seamen, and Willie Kearns, the cabin boy. This little chap 'went under' just before we landed, and was buried at sea.

"We took all the clothes we could—practically put our chests on our backs. as the saying goes, and of course we did not forget our oilers and sea-boots. For provisions we had about three bags of biscuits, some tinned food out of the pantry, and some 13 gallons of water in a couple of breakers. We should have taken more, only, as the fire was raging aft, we could not get into the lazarette where the stores were kept. That spell of fine weather lasted about twelve hours, and we set the lug sail and stood away to the north-east. But at midnight it came on bad and blew a proper gale. We had to put out the sea anchors and heave the boat to. That was on May 3, the day we left her. During May 4 the gale continued, and we lay to the sea anchors. I might say that we lost sight of the mate's boat on the first night, and as we got well away from the Pitcairn Island we saw the flames bursting out of the after deck-house, which was used as a sail locker.

Death of the Boy.

"Fine weather and a fair wind came on the morning of May 5. We set the lug again and made fine speed through the water. Right on from that time we had fairly good weather and a favourable wind. But it was fearfully cold, although we had hardly felt it so when we put off from the ship. I wish I could describe to you the desolateness of that fortnight. We sighted no ships; hardly expected to, in fact. And we hardly ever saw the sun. Overhead it was claudy, grey, and gloomy, and cold, bitterly cold. Everyone in our boat was frost-bitton, more or less.

"It is rather a curious experience, and perhaps you will hardly believe me when I tell you that I did not know I had been bitten until I got a shore at Maullin. The one who suffered most was our littlepage 350 cabin boy. It was his first voyage. He was only 16, and he died through frostbites and exposure just when, as I have said, we were nearing land. I believe he was off his head for the last two or three days, for I used to hear him chattering away to himself. On the night before he died we warmed some soup over an oil-lamp we had and tried to force some down his throat, but his teeth were clenched almost as if had lockjaw, and he could not swallow. That night I heard him gasping, and shortly after he died. I didn't see him buried, poor little chap, for they dropped him overboard whilst I was dozing. He was a Liverpool lad, and we were all mighty sorry to see him go under, almost on our last day in the boat.

"I need not tell you that we did everything possible to make the boat weatherly for her 1500 mile run. A couple of oars were lashed together and placed fore and aft in the boat, and over this we stretched the canvas boat cover, leaving an opening forward to work the lug, and another opening aft to steer her. Practically we decked her over, so that when an extra heavy sea wallowed over the gunwale it shot clear over the other side. This saved us many a bitter drenching, for we huddled up underneath and made ourselves as 'comfy' as was possible. Apart from the cold, the weather, right from May 5 to May 16, when we landed at Maullin, was fairly good. We had the wind on our quarter, and the boat sailed well under her lug sail. We were going to the northward all the time, and on the day we landed it was not at all cold.

The Steward Succumbs.

"There is little more I need tell you. At Maullin we stayed nine days, then we were taken in a small steamer to another port, where we were lodged a day and a night in a rough old sailors' boardinghouse. The steward died at this place after his feet, which were badly frost-bitten, had been amputated at the hospital. Finally we went on to Valparaiso, where we arrived on June 4. Most of the men were then well enough to go to a boardinghouse, but I and another seaman named Waddilove, a son of Captain Waddilove, of Wellington, were sent to the hospital. I was laid up for ten weeks, but luckily have not lost any of my toes, as Waddilove has. We were most kindly treated in the hospital by the English lady visitors, especially by a Mrs. Gibbons, who is well known in Valparaiso to sailormen because of her association with the Missions to Seamen. Well, I came home as a 'D.B.S.' on the Oriana, and arrived at Liverpool last week. I'm still hobbling about, but in a week or so I reckon I'll be fairly all right. As you know, this was my first voyage on a deep-water ship, and it is going to be my last. The coasting trade of New Zealand, when I get out there again, will be quite good enough for me."