We seem to have been slightly worse off than other ships that at odd times had left their bones there; that is, in the way of getting provisions.
In the entrance to the lagoon the wreck of H.M.S. Megжra is still visible, although she was run ashore there as long since as 1874. Bound from Simon's Bay, West Africa, with a crew, and relief crews, numbering 375, she sprung a leak the first week out. She was only 1400 tons, and heavily rigged for sailing, although she had 350 h.p. engines down below. She sprung a leak under the bunkers, in the sheathing, where a rivet came out, and when the engineers attacked it, with a view to securing a supporting plate, they found that the ship's bottom in places was the thickness of a sixpenny piece, and to attempt to do anything would undoubtedly have been fatal. They were already running before the usual heavy westerly gale, and mountainous seas, and it seemed hopeless to turn about and try the Vanderdecken touch and beat back to the Cape.
There is no sea in the world equal to that which one meets down in those south latitudes, it comes literally swinging round the world, with no land to break or intercept it.
One moment you are riding right up on the back, getting the full force of the gale, and the next you are down in the trough, which only the upper yards on the mast visible to anyone around. Even a twelve thousand ton ship, on the side of one of these seas is like nothing better than a fly on the wall. The saving grace is that they are so big that they seldom break! Woe betide the ship that is running before it, and one of these seas does break! I saw it once, and it was nothing short of a miracle that anyone lived to tell the tale.
The choice the Captain of the Megжra had put before him was a might bitter one. A short beat back to the Cape, or a three thousand mile run to the nearest land, and that land was only the islands of St. Paul's and Amsterdam. He took the wiser course; in fact, the only course, and ran with every stitch of canvas towards St. Paul's. The pumps were continually getting choked with weed and to make matters worse, the straining of the ship caused other rivets to loosen up.
Ultimately, every man jack on board, including officers, was bailing with anything, and everything, to keep her afloat. Stoke-hold fires had been put out very early on, sails were passed under her bottom, and held in place with lashings of rope, but proved to be of very little use. She was making a good eleven knots under sails alone, and of course these patchwork quilts were simply washed away. After many days of intense anxiety, they at last sighted St. Paul's, and finally came to anchor at the mouth of the lagoon.
They got the ship pumped out, and then fires going, divers down, and the holes plugged.
They then went to work and tried to put a supporting plate on the outside, when, with hardly a moment's warning, the whole original plate gave way.
They had just time to slip their anchors, and run her as hard as they could for the beach. She grounded between the shingle spits in sixteen feet of water, and in the process ripped nearly the whole of the bottom out of her; and there her bones still lie to this day.
Fortunately, whilst still afloat, all provisions, sails and stores had been landed, and they had actually on the island food for all hands for one month. But as there was every likelihood of their spending several months there, they had to go on short rations forthwith; just enough to keep them alive; and well it was they took this drastic action, for it was four months before they were eventually taken off.
They were more fortunate than we were in the fact that they possessed their own boats, thoroughly seaworthy, and could work outside the harbour where ample fish could be caught. In fact, as an officer of that ill-fated ship told me, he caught no less than 1,100 pounds of fine Cape salmon within a few hours, with only his boat's crew, and this only just outside the shingle spits.
Several ships came in sight but never near enough to make out their distress signals. Eventually, with one of their lifeboats, an officer was able to board a passing ship, bound for Surabaya, but before anything could be done in the way of rescue, the usual gale sprang up, and she was driven away.
However, they made port with this officer and his boat's crew on board, who got in touch with the naval authorities at Hong Kong, and the P & O s.s. Malacca was despatched at once to take them off. Beyond casualties through scalding when the boilers burst at the time she was run ashore, there were no losses.
Some of the tales that are left written on St. Paul's have not that happy ending; and with the crew of more than one ship, it has been the last survivor who has finally scratched his message on a piece of wood or stone to be read by those who came after. Just a silent record of a few of the risks that have to be taken by those who "go down to the sea in ships."
It is bad enough to be stuck on an island with little hope of rescue, but it is worse when, after many days, a ship heaves in sight and deliberately leaves the castaways. In all the time we had been there not one single ship had been sighted, till the early morning of the day we were taken off. That morning, the first man out of the hut rubbed his eyes to make sure he was really awake, for there, lying becalmed, close in to the island, lay a full rigged ship under all sail. The next second everyone was awake and dashing out of the hut in response to his roar of "Sail-ho!"
We had only one boat that made any pretence at floating, and this, with her crew, was detailed for fishing. The tide served that morning at daybreak, as the best time for catching crayfish, with the result that the boat was right over the other side of the lagoon, and the ship was hidden from the boat by the south cliff. We yelled, and hailed, and only after a long, heartbreaking delay, got the boat from under the cliffs.
As soon as they were in a position to see the ship, they pulled as hard as their strength would let them, out of the harbour, and were actually half way between the island and the ship, when a slight breeze sprang up. It is hard to believe, but down went that ship's helm, she went about, and deliberately stood off from the land.
On shore we had a huge fire burning, sending up columns of smoke, and everyone of us that could stand was waving his shirt. We could even see the men on her deck.
It was a rank impossibility for those on board not to have seen the column of smoke, or our boat, and yet, away she went, and that is the tragedy that so frequently happens in these cases.
One of the most glaring instances was that in which the Volturno on fire in mid-Atlantic, in fine weather, was passed by a big steamship, without her taking the slightest notice. It was fine, clear weather, and the dense column of smoke rising from the burning oil could have been seen twenty-five or thirty miles away, and yet, a ship not five miles off, passes and takes no notice. Again in the case of the Titanic, which I am going to tell about later, we were using every modern method, visible and invisible to call the attention of a ship actually in sight, yet, there she lay, making no attempt at rescue, whilst some fifteeen hundred people patiently waited and were finally drowned with that ship's lights still in sight.
In our case on the island of St. Paul's the boat had no alternative but to return. We did not even get the name of the ship, as there was no name on her stern. If there had been, the Second Mate could easily have read it; and yet, where will you find a ship without her name and port of registry on her stern? Some have said, "Oh, it must have been a phantom ship, the outcome of some delirious imagination. You were starving, you know." They might just as well have put it down to the "morning after the night before," — only unfortunately, we lacked the wherewithal.