THE WRECK OF THE KAPUNDA.

Lyttelton Times, Volume LXVII, Issue 8147, 19 April 1887, Page 5

THE WRECK OF THE KAPUNDA.

THE FIRST MATE’S STATEMENT. (Per s.s. Te Anau, at the Bluff.) [By Telegraph.] [from our own correspondent.] INVERCARGILL, April 18. Cotter ill, the first mate of the Kapunda, says;—About 25 minutes past three on the 20bh January, a barque, which we afterwards knew to be the Ada Melmore, of Belfast, suddenly appeared in sight. Porseeing a collision I sprang forward to prevent a panic amongst the emigrants, and had just got to the forward deck-house when the Ada Melmore struck us with great force just before the fore-rigging, cutting us through to the keel. Her bowsprit and jibboom was lying right across our decks. By this time there were 50 or 60 people on deck. I saw some of them killed by the falling spars immediately after striking. As the barque fell along the side, I heard our captain shout, “What ship is that?” But did not hear any reply. Seeing the fore-part of our ship break away, I passed through the crowd of emigrants on the lee side to the fore-hatch, and ran alongside of the main deck to tell the captain there was no hope. The captain was then standing on the poop. Just as 1 fetched the poop the vessel heeled over to starboard, about two minutes after lie collision. The last thing I heard as 1 tried to haul myself up to windward at the poop rail was the deafening uproar caused by the crashing of our masts as they fell, and the bursting of the hatches and decks, combined with the shrieks of the passengers, when the latter rushed on my head, and I was drawn down to a great depth by the suction caused by the sinking of the ship. As I rose I became entangled in the mizzen rigging, but managed to extricate myself.. I again became encumbered by the wreckage, and was struck several times as I rose to the surface, until I became very exhausted. I could hear the most heartrending cries all round, there being about two dozen men floating near me. After a few seconds I struck out for something to support myself with, and soon found a cask, which proved of little use, as I could only grasp it by the bung-hole, which was small, and only permitted of my putting my finger into it. The cask rolled about, very nearly wrenching my fingers off, so I was obliged to let go, and swam about for something else. I then found one of the stanchions from under the hoat skids, and at the same moment a little boy floated close to me. I took hold of him, and said, “ Hang to me, my boy.” He answered quite pluckily, " All right, sir.” I told him to strike out for the ship, and he again replied, “All right, sir.” We swam together for some distance, and I told him to hold closely to me whilst I took my boots off. Directly afterwards I heard a piercing cry, and the poor little child was gone, and I am almost certain that he was devoured by a shark, as he seemed courageous and self-possessed enough to keep afloat for some time longer. From conversations I have had with other survivors, I have reason to think that the lad was the son of an emigrant named Whittle, of London. I also think that there is not much doubt that many of the victims of the disaster were seized by sharks. Having taken off my coat with great difficulty, I missed my stanchion, but recovered it a few minutes later. I struck out for the barque, which could be seen to leeward of me, lying aback with all sail set, and shouted several times without hearing any answer, though I discovered afterwards that my shouts were heard and answered. Finding that the barque was drifting away from me as fast as I could swim, I gave up swimming, and simply kept myself afloat. By this time the cries of the people in the water had been reduced to one or two moans, which gradually grew fainter until they were stifled altogether by the waters. At brief intervals I shouted “ Barque ahoy!” in the hope of attracting the attention of the Ada Melmore. It was now with the greatest difficulty that I held the stanchion, for my injuries were telling more and more. Help came sooner than I expected, however. I do not mean the help of man. It was a simple woollen muffler that saved me. It was in this way. I took the muffler with me when I went on deck on the previous night, and strange to say it had been clinging to me ever since, though I only wore it loosely. I was first reminded of the thing by feeling it against my face. I quickly tore it from my neck and lashed myself to the stanchion with it, and after that I gave up all idea of swimming. My hopes were further brightened by hearing the voice of Mounter, one of my crew. I heard him say, or rather bawl”out, “ Pull, lads ; it’s our first mate.” I have just a faint recollection of being hauled into a small boat, and must have lost consciousness immediately afterwards. The next thing I remember is being in the cabin of the Ada Melmore. She was, as you have no doubt heard, bound from Coquimbo to the United Kingdom with manganese ore. Her master. Captain Miliken, informed me that I was the only person he had been able to pick up. He said that after I had been got into the small boat, his second mate pulled about for a while, but could find no one else. The captain was in dread of his vessel sinking at any moment. He was naturally very much distressed and worried, but he found time to tell me that nine of the Kapunda people, namely Fordes, the carpenter, Markes, the baker. Mounter, an ordinary seaman, and the emigrants Broadhurst, Wiggins, W. K. Russell, Barnes, Daly, and O’Callaghan had jumped aboard the Ada Melmore immediately after the collision, and that two of his own men, who, in their terror, imagined that their vessel was in a worse condition than ours, jumped on board the Kapunda, sank with her, and were drowned. I found that I had been in the water about an hour, but though I was very much knocked about, none of my bones were broken. After Captain Milliken had given me some clothes and some cordial, I was able to crawl on deck. The Ada Melmore was lying back, all hands being busy trimming off the bulkhead. At daylight we found that the vessel was in a terrible plight. The bows had gone entirely, the plates on the starboard side within a foot of the bulkhead were broken, as were also the stem and forefoot; in fact, it was wonderful that the vessel kept afloat at all.