WRECK OF THE MAORI.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIII, Issue 11, 15 September 1909, Page 8

WRECK OF THE MAORI.

SIJRVIVOBS’ NARRATIVES. DETAILED STORY OF THE DISASTER. PLUCKY RESCUE WORK. Files of the “ Cape Times ” give full particulars of the wreck of the Shaw, Savill steamer Maori, which occurred at Duyker point, near Capetown, on the night of August 4th, and resulted in terrible loss of life. The Maori left Table Bay for New

Zealand in continuation of her voyage from London, shortly after midnight on Wednesday, August 4th. There was a fair sea running at the time, but the night was comparatively dear. Forty minutes after leaving the breakwater, with the engines going at full speed, the vessel struck a huge rock, which seemed to stand well out of tho water. Then came three awful bumpe, and baek the big vessel slid into the water, as the engines were put full speed astern. Almost immediately the sea was breaking over the decks. The skipper shouted to the chief that the vessel was filling, and as there was no time to be lost, ordered every man on deck. His command was repeated below, and the men hastily made their way to the deck. The vessel carried six boats, but only three of these were lowered. While the men took to the boats the skipper remained on the bridge, and was the last to leave the vessel. He was seen to cross the bridge, making his way to one. of the boats on the weather Bide, which he is stated to have boarded. Fearing the rocks* the chief officer drcided to stand well out to sea. The water was heavy, and the men thinly clad, soddened with rain, and shivering with the bitter cold of the night, found it a matter of extreme difficulty to keep the boat’s head to the seas that were rolling in. It was eventually decided to stand in for what proved to be Chapman’s Bay. The chief officer saw ahead what looked to be a stretch of white sand, and the bows of the boat were turned in that direction. Immediately afterwards a heavy breaker struck the craft from behind, and the next minute the lifeboat was smashed upon a rock with terrific force. AU the occupants were flung into the water, and with what little strength remained after the struggles of the night, all succeeded in clutching hold of the gunwale of the boat. By almost superhuman effort the Boat was righted, and though she was taking in water freely, through the hole caused by the collision with the rock, the others managed to make the beach between eight and nine o’clock in the morning. The survivors, numbering nine, after a' rest, made their way through the bush, and eventually reached Slangkop Farm, where the inmates gave them attention. Thereafter information of what had occurred w'as wired to Simon’s Town. Heroism and Tragedy. What was left of the Maori on Friday was found to be lying in a bay somei three miles from Duyker Point. Thei after part was above water, but the huge breakers that came smashing in swept the fore part of the vessel. A cold, cutting wind from the sea also helped to make communication with those on the vessel—or what was left of it—a matter of extreme difficulty. The seas were terrific. That part of the bay in which the poop lay was like some huge cauldron. This was studded with black, jagged rocks, and the water was churned to a foam as the seas broke upon them. The ferocity of the breakers was amazing. It was curious, however, that while at times nothing could* be seen of the fore part of the ship that remained, it was only at odd intervals that a big sea swept over the poop rendering those on board absolutely invisible. The Maori’s poop was just thirty yards from the rocks. It might as well have been half a mile, as things turned out. Within, say, twenty-five yards was a huge rock, over whieh the breakers continually washed —there were another ten yards between that and the next big roek and—safety. There were heroes on the rocks, and they were really heroes who leaned so nonchalantly against the after rail of what was left of the ship. On shore there were deeds of heroism performed by simple, honest fishermen, who, in the face of grave danger, risked their lives to save those of the men who attempted to come ashore. A fisherman named Messina, by superhuman effort, succeeded in reaching a big rock midway between the wreck and the shore, and shouted to those remaining on the doomed vessel that news of the disaster had been wired to town, and that assistance was being sent. First a light line was whirled from the vessel’s poop, and was seized by Messina, and to this a stout hawser was attached, which slowly but surely was drawn taut and ashore, and from the wreek the men cheered and cheered again. i The First Attempt. ; How far it would sag wros not seen until the first attempt was made. There was no discussion on board as to wM

was to go. I* was simply • case of firing the risk. O’Brien, an intelligent young trimmer, said he would. He put his leg into the bight of the improvised life-saving apparatus, and there was a cheer raised as he slid down the rope. He got to the centre of the rope, and there he stuck. It sagged dreadfully, and just as he got to that point a huge breaker came smashing in. For a moment there was nothing to be seen but this mass of churned milky-white water. Then, just as everyone expected that O’Brien had died the death of many others, he made a reappearance. It was a slow business. Those on shore and those on board could not do anything. It lay with the man who was on the rope. And what puny efforts he could make! Imagine a stripling, almost, for he is very slight of build, standing the eold of two nights—anxious nights they were, too, from his story—■without food since the vessel struck, putting what puny efforts he eould against the fierce breakers coming in! But he managed it. He went forward by inches only. It was a fierce struggle with the waves, but with safety so near he exerted every effort. Slowly and surely he made his way along that strand of manila, and when near shore he was grasped by ready hands and taken to a place of safety. Both sides cheered. By means of the wire the loop was hauled back to the ship, and Middleton, the third engineer, stepped forward to make the journey. The breakers seemed to come in with redoubled fury, and he came in contact with the rocks on his way to shore. But they hauled him in, grasped his hands, and the men on the vessel cheered and cheered again. The Man on the Foremast. It was at this moment that a tragic incident happened. Gladman, who had been hanging on to the cross-trees of the foremast since the vessel struck, made a movement as if to come down the rigging. The sea beneath him was terrific, and everyone realised that it was hopeless for him to attempt to reach the poop. “Good God, took!” shouted a fisherman. “He’s going to swim. Stop him! Stop him!” Everybody looked. Sure enough Gladman had one foot on the first rung of the ladder. O’Brien and Middleton were at the time talking about their experiences. The last-named was lying on the ground staring at the vessel, half-con-scious at times of what was going on around him. Suddenly he jumped up. He reeled as he eame to his feet, with one hand across his face. Everybody was relieved when Gladman turned round, and was seen to be making his way back to the perch where he had remained for so many hours. Re gaining his position, he made no further movement. Middleton seemed to breathe a sigh of thankfulness, sank to the ground, and continued to talk. But he was on his feet a moment later. He stood with one hand pointing to the ship, and on his face there was utter despair. Everyone seemed rooted to the spot when they saw what was happening. Gladman was going to try again. Most of those on shore became frantic in their shouted appeals to the man to refrain from going to what was certain death. "It’s madness,” declared an old fisherman. “My God!” ejaculated Middleton, with a gesture of despair, for Gladman was actually leaving the rigging and taking to the mast, with the evident intention of sliding into the water and making a desperate struggle to reach his comrades. The scene cannot be described. Everybody simply stood still, unable to say a word. With horror-stricken faces they watched. Middleton, exhausted, sank back on the ground open mouthed, glaring at the scene. “If He’d Only Waited. Gladman left the cross-trees. He slipped down the mast. The silence was intense'. He reached the water; a tremendous breaker broke over him, and he was lost to sight. A second passed—then his head appeared above the water. The two arms followed. In the turmoil of water the exhausted man was powerless. Absolutely nothing could be done to save him. The onlookers had simply to watch a grim struggle with death. Another great roller broke shout the foremast, and again he disappeared. One minute passed; two minutes —"My God, he’s gijne!” said a bronzed old fisherman, and turned away. O’Brien and Middleton sank back despairingly. It was only too true. The fireman was seen no more, though something black that floated on the water was thought to be

him. The scene on shore was remarkable. The tragedy seemed to strike at the heart of everybody who had watched that battle, and not a few eyes were filled with tears. It was some minutes, however, before the majority seemed quite to realise what had happened, “if he’d only waited!” moaned Middleton. To Work Again. Then they set to work with redoubled energy. In addition, by common consent, everybody sent a cheering message to the men on board, encouraging them to stand by the ship. There were now thirty men on the hawser. * At considerable risk Mr. Marais and Mr. Molteno managed to get on to the razor-like rock and release the big rope, which had caught the pinnacle furthest out. They were successful, and other helpers*on shore pulled it in. When all was ready, they shouted across to the men on the ship, and soon a greaser named Attridge was noticed to be placing one leg through another loop. But in the centre of the rope there was a big knot, and about this everybody was dubious. At any rate, Attridge slid down the rope. He went down at a pretty good rate until he came to the knot. What would he do? Middleton and O’Brien, the former now clad ip a big overcoat, which a soldier had lent him, were down on the rocks. Just below Attridge was a rock which was every minute covered by the seas. As he was seemingly making an attempt to overcome the obstacle a tremendous breaker dashed in. Those on shore held on to the rope, but when everybody thought they had seen the last of the man, he suddenly reappeared and waved his hand. Then he wae seen to be struggling with the loop in which he had thrust his leg. Scarcely ten yards could have separated Attridge from safety, but just how those ten yards were to be negotiated was the difficulty. It was decided to throw a line, but for what purpose was not apparent. A fisherman came forward and threw. The light rope whizzed through the air, but it fell a few inches from the man’s fingers. In the line came again. At length, at the fifth attempt, Attridge clutched the light line. He was standing on the half-submerged rock at this time, glancing back at the oncoming breakers. Then in a moment he slipped his leg out of the loop, stood on the roek just a second for the purpose of getting a firmer grasp of the line, and plunged boldly into the surf. The water was comparatively calm for a moment, and those on the fringe of the roek cheered, so certain were they that a rescue would be effected. Bqt this did not happen. When he was within two yards of safety, a cry of horror broke from the spectators as a huge breaker burst into the space between the rocks. It was a fearful moment. Attridge could not be seen, and those on the . rock pulled at their line so as to get in the slack. Attridge seemed to go under the rock then—the end of the line fell on the rock. Everybody rushed to the rock at this time, and were gazing into the water, expecting the man to rise. Another big breaker followed, scattering the spray far inshore. Then Attridge reappeared, just round the corner of a big roek, in what looked like comparative safety. In a triee someone was dowm to help the bleeding and semi-conscious man. Attridge managed to put forward a. hand, and a man leaned over riskily to grasp it. Lost—lsy a Foot. There was a foot between them. But the backwash, followed by a big wave, filled up what looked to be the calm cove, and the unfortunate man was swept away into the waters of the bay. This second tragedy, so near to safety, came with startling suddenness. The pity of it was stamped on the faces of the two men who had been rescued, and who had rushed down to lend what aid they could. Operations ceased. It was seen that it would be useless to try anything of the sort again, and all that efluld be done was to shout words of cheer to the waiting men on the steamer’s poop. Another (party of soldiers appeared with the rocket apparatus, after a fearful journey to the spot. But the unfortunate part of the business was that the life-line, an essential part of the apparatus, had not arrived. It came along, however, and just about 6 o’clock the apparatus was fixed up ready for use. By this time darkness was just setting in. The ten that were left were still standing on the poop with impassive faces. The rescue of the remaining ten was effected in the early hours of Saturday.