Gallant Captain Boyd.

Captain Banks, who later commanded the ships Rakaia and Euterpe, was second officer on the Piako on this occasion, and referring to the disaster, stated that the passengers numbered 317 and a crew of forty. He said: "When the alarm of fire was given there was great commotion among the passengers, as when we raised the hatch to try and get at the fire the flames leapt out of the hold to a height of 15 to 20 feet. Water was poured down in vain, and we were compelled to batten down the hatch again. When Captain Boyd found the fire could not be subdued, he had all the boats lowered and as many of the passengers put into them as they would hold, the women and children being sent down first. It was at this point that some of the passengers behaved the worst, and it required all the captain's coolness and determination to prevent a panic. Amongst the emigrants were 160 single men, and a lot of them, when they saw the boats being lowered, tried to rush them. Things looked nasty for a few minutes, but with the assistance of the crew and of the married men and the better behaved of the unmarried, they soon put the unruly ones to the right-about. But while the rush lasted it was pitiful topage 272 see the terror of the women, especially the mothers, who would hold out their babies to the captain and the officers, imploring them to save the little ones.

When the position was very serious the barque Loch Doon hove in sight. We immediately bore up for her.

All this time the smoke and stench from the burning stores below, together with the paint and oil, were so bad that the crew had to put their heads over the ship's rails to get a breath of fresh air. At the same time the heat was so great that when the vessel made a lurch in sailing the water seethed from her side.

About three hours after the sighting of the Loch Doon she came close enough to render assistance. We got all the emigrants on board the barque, with the exception of a few single men who volunteered to stand by and help the crew. After the transfer of the passengers was finished, the Loch Doon and the burning ship both made sail for Pernambuco, where they arrived the next day, the Piako four hours before the barque. All this time we had had nothing to eat but raw salt pork and biscuits, and the water was black with smoke.

But with our arrival at Pernambuco our adventures were by no means over. Smallpox turned out to be raging so violently there that we could have no communication with the town. People were dying at the rate of 400 a day. When Captain Boyd discovered this, he hired an island about seven miles up the river, called Cocoanut Island, on account of being thickly covered in the centre with cocoanut trees. The ship's doctor and I were sent in charge of the emigrants, who were carried up to the island in barges. When we landed the thermometer was standing at 92 deg. in the shade, and there were four miles to walk over burning sand to reach the camping ground. The horror of those four miles was something indescribable. Many of the people—especially the poor women—fell down fainting upon the sand.

When we got to the camping ground we had to build huts of bamboo canes and leaves. Here we camped out for nine weeks, food being sent up to us in boats from Pernambuco; and if life was not altogether idyllic, it was pleasant enough at times.

Captain Boyd decided to scuttle the ship in order to put the fire out. She went down under water all but the poop deck, and when the fire was out she was refloated. We then got out all the burnt cargo, which was sold by auction. Nearly all the emigrants' luggage was burnt, and many of the poor people landed with scarcely anything on. There was little damage done to the Piako however, beyond the destruction of the cargo, the galley, and the donkey engine, so when we got fresh stores from England we proceeded on our voyage.

A passenger by the Piako gave the "Lyttelton Times" a graphic account of the affair. "For half an hour or so after it was known that the matter was really serious," wrote this passenger, there was a tremendous rushing about; the men excited and the women whimpering; but seeing the captain display such courage, and hearing him tell us we would be right enough, kept everybody in good spirits. He was simply grand. There he stood right on the railing of the poop, stripped to his shirt and trousers, a loaded revolver in his hand, shouting out his orders.

"It fortunately happened that we had got up a lot of beds and blankets for airing; these were wetted, and every crevice stuffed with them. When a boat was ready and the people made an attempt at a rush to the side, the captain, with revolver in hand, ordered everybody back at once. There was suddenly a cry of "Sail ahead." The captain took a good look, and sang out to the people—and I seem as if I can hear it now—"Well done! You'll all be saved. Don't get excited, don't make a noise; keep yourselves calm." We had a stiff row of about three miles, but eventually every man, woman and child was safe on her deck."