THE New Zealand Herald AND DAILY SOUTHERN CROSS SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 1930. THE LOSS OF THE TAHITI.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20650, 23 August 1930, Page 10

THE New Zealand Herald AND DAILY SOUTHERN CROSS SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 1930. THE LOSS OF THE TAHITI.

The story of the loss of the Tahiti, as it is being told in greater detail than was possible at first, gains in impressiveness. It takes rank with the most dramatic episodes of ocean travel. Happily, there was no loss of life. The rescue of the passengers and crew was achieved without the harrowing poignancy of many a remembered wreck. To outward seeming, they suffered little beyond loss of some personal property. But it is now evident that their escape was one with the narrowest of margins, and that the prolonging of their plight by a few hours at most would have exposed them to so perilous an ordeal that the mishap would have become in all respects a major disaster. They were extremely fortunate in the comparative calm of the sea. But for that, the vessel would have foundered quickly, and they would have been compelled to seek a precarious refuge in the boats, with little prospect of making land as a ship's company. As it was, they were faced with the dire risk of having to take flight from her to they knew not what at a moment's notice. i They passed through all the mental experience of those suddenly wrecked, an expedience not to be measured by external happenings alone. Only those who have been so swiftly overtaken by peril can fully enter into the experience. None of the passengers, it appears, was I aware at once of the breaking of a propeller shaft and the inrush of water through the injury thus wrought. That happened in an early morning hour, when few of them were about. Yet, when they knew, the knowledge came with a swiftness equal to that of a sudden catastrophe, and their state of mind was that of all imperilled without warning. By that time, the doom of the ship was apparent. No longer was she on an even keel, and the steadily increasing list told even minds unschooled in things nautical that worse must befall ere long. And what of the officers and crew? They were all aware immediately of the dread nature of the mishap and the impending sequel. A little thought about these things imparts vividness to the narrative now chronicled, and heightens the sense of satisfaction that worse has not to be recorded.

Against this knowledge of tfie ] grave nature of the peril there can now be put in impressive contrast! the general calm that characterised the demeanour of all concerned. The danger was realised : it was not allowed to produce panic. A truly British attitudo was taken, not as a pose —such conditions as obtained made that impossible—but as the naturally right response to the need. There have been put on quiet record, without any extravagance of phrase, tributes from passengers to the steadfast and calm orderliness with which the situation was handled by the captain, his officers, and everyone engaged in the work of the ship. " Direction seemed unnecessary" is one eloquently simple description of how the unusual task was done in every case. No finer tribute could be paid. It tells of courage in the face of imminent danger, the sort of courage that does not make light of peril but takes it as " all in the day's work" and refuses to allow fear to dictate action. As the story has taken shape, this calm is seen everywhere in it, and counts for more than the happenings that wrought havoc with the vessel. Tho sudden snapping of the propeller shaft, the tearing of the shaft tunnel, the inrush of water, the yielding of the bulkheads, the flooding of engineroom and holds, the rising of this threat to within a few feet of the main deck, the accentuation of the list,—these but serve to emphasise the coolness with which the increase of danger was met. In the messages sent out by the ship's wireless operator there was no flutter of panic, though it was made clear that help was sorely needed; and this early evidence of courage has been confirmed abundantly by the details since related. From the disaster, of which the only material tokens remaining arc bits of flotsam tossing somewhere on the ocean, this moral triumph emerges and will persist. Along with this will be long remembered the rescuing service rendered by other vessels. Thanks to wireless—could anything have more impressively demonstrated the new

safety imparted by applied science to "those who go down to the sea in ships" I—that aid was forthcoming, and the knowledge that calls in distress were bringing it had a heartening effect on those facing peril. Yet the-need of it was so pressing that the race against time was all but lost. How well the humane code .of the sea was kept! To the men of the little Penybryn there is due a debt of very grateful remembrance, and the speeding of the Ventura adds a strikingly epic touch to the story.„ In the equal readiness of the Tofua is instanced the honour in which that code is held. Never was more evident the splendid way in which ship flies to ship when disaster is afloat and how concern »ashoro exerts itself to give help. Behind these things lie centuries of magnificent habit, and it is good to think that it has not been lost with the days of sail. The whole story, although relieved by its climax of timely rescue, merits honourable inclusion in the annals of the sea. Some will envisage the peril more adequately than others, but all must gladly agree that, in the midst of it, fear was not allowed to prevail. A national tradition has been upheld and there has been felt again the touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. The Tahiti has gone. She seemed marked for disaster, as her record suggests. But the human side of this story of her untoward end is left, and it makes good reading for all who judge events by tests wherein the bearing of the soul counts for more than shipping tonnage and underwriters' resources.