CASTAWAY!

Otago Daily Times, Issue 23529, 18 June 1938, Page 25

CASTAWAY!

WRECK OF THE DUNDONALD AN EPIC OF THE SEA DUNEDIN SURVIVOR’S GRIM TALE LIFE ON DISAPPOINTMENT ISLAND The arrival in Otago waters this week of the deep-sea sailing ship Penang recalled to one watcher on the wajterfront vivid memories of the illfated voyage of another barque—the Dundonald—which was following the same course from Australia to England as was the present visitor to the port. The old “salt" on the quay was Mr Karl Knudsen, one of the few survivors of the Dundonald, which was wrecked on the forbidding cliffs of Disappointment Island on March 6, 1907. Now working on the Dunedin waterfront, Mr Knudsen, who was third officer on board the barque, recounts a vivid story, of the terrible wreck and the subsequent adventures of the 16 survivors who miraculously reached the shore and lived for seven months on the barren, volcanic island with only sea birds, seals, and weeds for food. Memories of those arduous days and of the six-mile voyage to Auckland Island and a Government food depot in a frail boat macle of veronica wood and canvas came back to the watcher as the disabled Penang swung slowly to her berth at the George street wharf. But while the events of 31 years ago are indelible in Mr Knudsen’s memory, they have never taken away his love of the sea, and this is borne out by the remarkable fact that, six days after the Hinemoa brought the survivors back to Bluff, he had signed on for another voyage in a sailing ship. Such was the spirit of the sailor of a bygone age.

The blood of the Vikings runs warm In the veins of this son of the sea. for Mr Knudsen, who was born in Norway, joined his first ship 43 years ago at the age of 14. A sailor, like ahorse, ‘Mr Knudsen told a Daily Times reporter in a quiet chat at his fireside, had to be broken in young to be any good, and so boys signed on at an early age as deck hands. He steadily rose through the stages of deck boy, ordinary seaman, and able seaman, and then obtained his third officer’s papers. It was as third officer that he joined the Dundonald in Cardiff, and he had not been in that berth very long when she set out from Sydney with a cargo of wheat for the United Kingdom.

An Unlucky Day

The voyage began on a Sunday, which a sailor regards as unlucky a day as a Friday, and it certainly looked from the commencement that there was some truth in the superstitition Head winds were encountered from the outset, and with the helmsman steering “ by the wind,” the ship daily got more and more off her course. The weather, after a temporary improvement, became worse, with gales, rain, sleet, and mist. Then the compass went wrong, and soon the ship was lost in the South Pacific, still making headway against the unfavourable winds.

There was steady rain in the early part of Wednesday, March 6. and conditions gradually became worse. It was blowing a gale, and raining in torrents, and to crown all, a thick mist came up with the wind. Sails were taken in, and everything made secure. Onward sped the barque, until suddenly there was the alarming cry, “ Land ahead! ” There, straight ahead of the ship, loomed up terrifying, rugged headlands, and the Dundonald seemed to be heading for a line of forbidding cliffs. Everything possible was done to stay the ship’s progress, but nearer and nearer to the cliffs she crept until there was a sickening crash as the ship struck • submerged reef.

Gradually the vessel settled down, buffeted by the breakers, and with the seas breaking across her doomed decks. The boats were wrecked, and all the sailors could do was to crouch in their lifebelts in any available shelter. Then a huge sea swept the ship and for a moment it seemed that none could survive. Clinging desperately to the rigging of the masts, the 17 survivors took stock of y ieir , c J? n l gerous position. Four men found that the jigger mast was touching the cliff, and miraculously three of them climbed to safety. The fourth man lost his hold, and was dashed to death on the rocks 300 feet below. Eleven others climbed the topmast, and after throwing a rope to one of the three men already on shore, hauled themselves to safety. Two others managed to reach a rocky ledge by the mizzen mast, and were later rescued by those above. Difficulties Just Commencing Thus, there were 16 survivors of the crew of 28, but far from being safe their difficulties became even greater. At first they thought they were on Auckland Island, and even in the mist and rain they had hopes of reaching in quick time Government food depot placed on that island for castaways. Miserably they crouched together, most of them scantily clad and manv without boots. The decision was made to move on up the rocky hill in search of the depot, and the 16 marooned men set off on their hopeless quest.

“ The foe was terrible,” Mr Knudsen said “It was not like the mists you get here. They are nothing. On Disappointment Island you could not see the man sitting next to you. And it was In a mist like this that we started up the hill, not knowing what was before us. but only hoping to find the depot and the food and clothing it offered. But we were doomed to disappointment, for next day, when the mist cleared a little, there was Auckland Island six miles away. Out island was only three miles long and two wide. Rightly it had been named Disappointment Island, for this was the only one of the group that did not have a food depot. I believe there has been one ever since we were found, he added. “We had no boat, not even a spar, and it was impossible to make a raft, as there was no wood on the island that would float. We just had to resign ourselves to making the best or things” '

Diet of Mollyhawks Fortunately, there was food of a sort on the island. It consisted chiefly of mollyhawks, which were so tame that they could be caught before they thought of escaping. But even to the most hardened palate, mollyhawk is a difficult food to digest. To begin with, the men had no fire and they had to eat the flesh raw, a handful of grass or weed helping in its digestion. Moreover, they could not find any fresh water, and the half-salt pools that they found drove them nearly off their heads. They had no shelter, no coverings of any sort, and many of them had very little clothing. And around them the gale raged and the rain fell in torrents. Something had to be done, and done quickly. “We lay there discussing what we could do,” Mr Knudsen continued. “Then someone suggested going back to the wreck and seeing if we could rescue any spars and sails. Wearily w re struggled pack to those forbidding cliffs, and then the strongest of us climbed once more on to those trembling masts. Without the aid of marlinspikes or any tools, we worked away at those sails, and at last managed to get two ashore. We built a sod wall and stretched the canvas over it so that we had a lean-to 'shelter. It was some comfort, and we huddled closely together to keep warm. Then with a shout of delight, one of the party, Mr Charles Eyre, discovered some matches, and a little while later we had a fire going to warm us. And how that blaze cheered us! ” Death of First Mate The first mate. Mr Peters, who was 62 years of age, was seriously affected by the privations of the life on the island, and 12 days after the wreck he passed away. His comrades had done everything they could for him, but it was in vain. Later his body was taken to Port Ross, where a cross marks the spot to-day. This cross was made by one of the crew from a piece of tin punched out laboriously with nails. “ We had been 50 days on the island when we decided that if we were to live through the winter we would have to build some kind of huts,” Mr Knudsen continued. "We had no material of any kind, and it seemed a hopeless task. Then one of ua hit on the idea of making dug-outs, and another difficult task for all of us began. We had to dig holes about four feet deep, six feet wide, and six feet long, and we had nothing to dig with but our hands and sharpened sticks. We decided we would build seven huts, as they would be easier to roof than one big one. “So there we were working away in pairs like rabbits. It was a painfully slow job, but at last the holes were finished, and then we set about roofing them. This was done by putting pieces of forked wood in gable shape and thatching the framework of small pieces of wood with grass and tussocks. The inside walls were lined, and a foot of tussock was placed on the floor to keep the damp out and for beds. It was a remarkable thing, but the earth went down for six feet, and never did it crumble. In New Zealand, clay would be encountered two feet below the surface, and if we had struck this on Disappointment Island we would never have been able to build our huts. “No doubt those huts are there today," he continued. “ They were wonderful things for us. We would work at our little jobs all day and then crawl into our huts at dusk and sleep till morning. They were cosy during those awful days of winter, when the wind and rain swept the exposed island. We continued to live on mollyhawks, but we were now able to cook them on our precious fires. Each hut had its own fire in a sheltered gully, and we guarded It with the greatest care, banking it in every night and fanning the ashes to a blaze first thing every morning. Then one eventful day we saw seals in a cove, and one of our party, a Russian named Pul, climbed down the cliff and killed a small pup. How wonderful that meat tasted.”

A Useful Discovery This discovery meant a big thing in the men’s lives, for not only did it greatly improve their diet, but it gave them the valuable seal-skins for coverings and shoes. They had already made coverings out of the skins of the mollyhawks—unusual eiderdowns to s§y the least of it—and _ eagerly they set about drying the skins. Mr Knudsen described how Pul made seal-skin shoes for the men. He cut pieces of skin five inches wide across the toes and six inches across the heel. A hole was made at inch intervals around the edge and a string threaded through. When the foot was placed over the piece of skin and the string pulled tight a rough, but serviceable, shoe was the result. The fur was turned to the outside, but even with this the shoes on the hard, craggy rock lasted only 10 ord 12 days. The tasks of the men during the day sounded like passages from “Robinson Crusoe,” as Mr Knudsen graphically described them. After the tents had been dismantled each man was given a piece of canvas, and many made clothes for themselves. Of course, there were no needles, and so these had to be made. Necessity is the mother of invention, and it was not | long before needles were in existence. They were made from the wing bones of night .birds. These strong little bones were carefully sharpened and an eye made with pieces of wire. Then the thread was unravelled from the canvas, and the art of needlework thrived. "Yes, I am fairly handy with a needle,” Mr Knudsen admitted in reply to the reporter’s question. “ Have you ever seen a sailmaker’s needle and palm? ” he asked, and a moment later he was demonstarting the sailmaker’s j art to an interested spectator. | Mr Knudsen told how they discovered a plant with leaves like a turnip and a root that proved quite edible. They did not have a bucket or tin of any sort, and the root had to be cooked in the open fire, the outer hard skin being peeled off and the inside eaten. He told how they discovered fresh water after living for days and days on salty water. And he told how every man looked longingly across the tantalising strip of water that separated them from Auckland Island and the chance of rescue. A Notable Inspiration One day an inspiration came to" one of the men. Why could not they make a boat out of the veronica wood on the island and the canvas? Eagerlv everyone seized on the idea, and everyone went out in search of suitable wood. At last the required wood was found, and three groups set about making different boats. The keel had to be made in two pieces, as no wood could be found long enough for the job. Then pieces of wood bent at right angles were required for ribs —three on each side. Over this flimsy framework canvas was stretched, many of the men having to give up some of their canvas clothes for the task. It was a great day for the castaways when, after 10 davs’ hard work, the first boat was built. It was a flimsy thing to sail across the six miles of . sea, but the three men—Pul, Santiago, and Ellis —were undaunted as the craft was taken down to the sea on the first calm day. Alas, the gallant attempt was a failure. The men reached the island, but there was no food to be had there—not even the mollymawks—and they had to return without finding the depot, which was 25 miles round the coast. “ Sail-Ho! ” One day while the castaways waited for calm weather to make another attempt to cross to Auckland Island, a | sailing ship was suddenly espied far j out at sea. The men nearly went mad : with excitement. They lit a large fire and tried every possible means to attract the ship’s attention, but it sailed away leaving 15 despondent men dreaming of home and cursing their luck. i But this mood d'd not last long, and ’ again the men were determined to make the trip across those six miles of sea in search of the depot. Food : was beginning to run low, but the seas ; would not abate enough to allow the trip to be made. At last, towards the end of September, the two boats were launched, but once again dissaster met the venture, one of the boats being swamped. But on October 7, it was decided to make another attempt.

An Unforgettable Voyage “Walters, Gratten. Eyre and 1 stepped into that frail boat determined to cross that strip of water and find that depot,” Mr Knudsen continued. “We , took fire in a special container of stones I and turf as we felt we had to have fire on that trip. I shall never forget , that voyage across. But at last we made the shore. The boat swamped as we were landing and the fire was lost. This meant that we had to exist on raw seal again as we made our way across the island in search of the depot. After days and days of tion, just at dusk one night we found a signpost, and three hours later we were in the depot. It was an unfor* gettable moment. “The rest takes little telling We found a boat at the depot and m it we brought across the other survivors. Then for two months we waited on the island for a boat to come and rescue us While we waited we built a jetty and a mast, and no doubt they are there to this day. Then halfway through November, we sighted the steamer Hinemoa. and on November 29 we j sailed for New Zealand, arriving at Bluff the following day. It was a won- I derful experience to be back again in j civilisation. “What was the first thing 1 did ! when I got to Bluff? ” Mr Knudsen ; said in reply to the reporter’s query j “What do you think? I had tne biggest celebration of my life,” he said with a chuckle. Six days after returning to Bluff,

after all the inquiries were over, Mr Knudsen once more signed on as third officer on a sailing ship. Even the wreck and the nine months’ privation could not take away his love for the sea. A Scant Reward The reward for such hardihood and courage in the face of dangers was scanty. The castaways received their pay for the voyage up to the time the ship struck. Mr Knudsen received his discharge paper with very good for conduct and very good for ability. He also received the following unimaginative, stolid reference from the second officer, Mr D. McLaughlin, who later was pilot on the Clyde during the war and is now captain of a transatlantic steamer: —“ This Is to certify that K Knudsen served as third mate on board the four-masted barque Dundonald from July 19, 1906. until she was wrecked in the Auckland Islands on March 6. 1907, and during such time I have found him sober and always attentive to his duties.” Mr Knudsen is proud of these papers, however, and he takes a delight in telling of his adventures. He is proud, too. that he and Mr A. Roberts, of the Wellington Harbour Board staff, are the only survivors of the Dundonald in New Zealand. In all these years he has not lost his love for sailing ships, and when the Penang leaves Otago Harbour there will be one watcher at least who feels the call of the sea and the lure of adventure.