THE WAY OF THE MERCHANT SERVICE.

Auckland Star, Volume LVIII, Issue 155, 4 July 1927, Page 6

THE WAY OF THE MERCHANT SERVICE.

A short paragraph relative to the loss of the steamer East way, of Cardiff, appeared in your paper recently. Tho article merely stressed the point that tho casualty was due to the vessel being overloaded, according to instructions sent by tlio managing owner. This was during tlie coal strike. What I want to impress upon the public is the appalling apathy where deeds of heroism arc concerned in the mercantile marine —the service on which tho. Empire is solely dopendent for its very existence—in peace and war. Why is it not blazoned abroad that the conduct of the crew of the East way equalled, and more than equalled, the loss of the Birkenhead, immortalised in poem, song and story, and these men were troops, disciplined from childhood? Tho Eastway's crew, after battling for hours in a series of winter North Atlantic gales to keep their overloaded and sadly-battered vessel afloat, were defeated by the forces of nature and their inability to do more. One boat was left, the others having been carried away by tho seas which thundered over the doomed steamer. Twelve only was all that this boat would carry, so the married men with depenwents were placed in her, and she was successfully launched. Twenty-two remained at their posts, shouted farewell messages to their shipmates they wished to bo conveyed to their friends and relatives, and a few moments later the ship disappeared, and they were drowned— heroes all—to whom tho world should take off their hats. Truly as Mr. W. H. Coombs states, the men of the mercantile marine arc the keymen of the nation. Now, then, ye societies—merchant service guilds, officers' clubs, seamen's unions—what are you going to do about tho deeds of British seamen ? Why not get together, publish these deeds, place a book containing the epics of tho sea in every boy's hand, iu every school, in every home. Let the earth ring with the echoes of the glory of the sea. And we may again 'become the Empire that we were. During the war I witnessed the arrival oi a 20,000-ton troopship at Southampton. She had come through the worst of all the danger zones, submarine peril, mines, fog, Atlantic gales, loaded with troops, ammunition, bullion. Her master had not been off the bridge for t%velve days, and when the vessel docked ho put on his old blue suit and disappeared quietly into tho crowd— unheralded and unsung—his irftt the tumult and the shouting—and went about the ship's (and the nation's) business. A few weeks later, at the same docks, I saw the arrival of a theatrical star—a buffoon who was in receipt of a salary per week more than the master of the troopship received in a year. The docks were carpeted, the Mayor and hig satellites were there in robes of office to reeeivo him, and all traffic was suspended until the actor's limousine was clear of the dock gates. Which of these twain deserved tho nation's gratitude? Let us realise, at least here in New Zealand, where we have established Flock House—the finest tribute to British seamen, and the most practical form of gratitude in the world—that the deeds of the mercantile marine are second to none for silent and unobtrusive heroism, and that such deeds arc daily being performed for an apathetic, and, in most cases, unappreciative general public, who are dependent solely on these men for their daily bread. CHARLES WEST.