The Need of Backing

Making ready to land at Tahiti; showing the crew of the Monique repairing her broken boom and torn sail. The passenger seated in the foreground is in the act of shaving — he says: "It's a ticklish job here." THE NEED OF "BACKING" A Story of the Islands' Swiftest Vessel By O. B. Peterson It was originally called the American, as it was built in the States, though owned and managed by a local island concern. But it went on the reef at Anaa, and, thinking it was entirely ruined, the owners were eager to sell it. A trader, Nicholas, by name, bought the ship and after repairing it and putting it into shape, changed its name to Monique. It was known as the swifest sailing vessel throughout the islands. The Monique had just arrived at Hikueru; her first boat was a-shore at 1 1 o'clock a. m. She had left the island of Tauere at seven o'clock that same morning, and had made the distance of more than forty miles in four hours. This, even, was not her record; she had beaten that at times by almost five miles. A fair gale was blowing, and she was racing up and down before the reef, as proud and grace- ful as a swan. She was built low and wide, scarcely more than four feet out of the water; the shapely curves of her prow and stern sug- gesting power in cutting and fighting the waves, while her two masts were exceptionally long, to accommodate the use of a top-gallant sail for additional speed. The ship's row boat came over the reef the second time, and the

THE NEED OF BACKING 1165 captain and owner stepped a-shore. I asked him where he was bound, and he said he was on his way to Tahiti and would take an almost direct route. This was pleasing information, to be sure, as my work was completed on that island, and I was ready to go; in fact, I had already waited several days for a ship. I eagerly arranged for passage for my companion and me. I considered this a rare opportunity to ride on the "fastest sailing vessel;" not so much because of the ship itself, but I was eager to get there as quickly as possible. The natives said, "You'll be in Tahiti in two days." The ship was to leave the next afternoon, so we hurriedly packed our boxes and got everything ready. Our luggage was taken aboard the following morning, but as the captain was ashore in some busi- ness deal and would not likely be through for some time, we were persuaded to wait until he came, before going out. The wind in- creased somewhat, and it started to rain. The day passed rapidly and eventide approached, with no sign of preparation for departure. The captain had been seen a few times on the street, but apparently was busy at something, and the other work of the ship was not yet finished. Everybody began to say, "You'll not leave till morning." We began to hope that such would be the case, as the thought of lying out on deck in that rain and wind all night was anything but inviting and encouraging. However, we had to hold ourselves in readiness until the official word came that we could go back to the house for another night's comfortable rest. "Come on," someone shouted, "they're ready to leave, but they're going down to the other landing." We gathered up our things and hurried down. It was now dark, and the boat was making its last trip to the ship it was said to bring a secret load of liquor ashore. This job was finally finished, but the captain had not yet arrived. "Oh, if he'd only wait until morning," we thought. Quite a gale was blowing, with a cold, drizzling rain; and to go over that reef at night was truly dangerous, and more dangerous still to board that swiftly moving vessel in the dark. The captain came. "Aren't we going to wait till morning?" I eagerly inquired. "Why, no," came the reply, "with this wind blowing, we'll be a hundred miles from here by morning." The thought of so quickly reaching our destina- tion, at least, was encouraging, so we buckled to the task with un- daunted faith. The row boat could be brought no closer than to where the waves break at the edge of the reef, and we had to walk out about a hundred yards in water above our knees, carefully avoiding the holes and cracks in the coral, in order to reach it. When we were safely seated in the stern of the boat, the captain, holding the steering oar, gave his orders. Two sailors were out of the boat to push it off the reef, while one sailor remained in the boat to help the captain keep it upright. "There's one, yo, ho!" shouted the captain. We

1166 IMPROVEMENT ERA moved a little. The next wave helped us a little more; then a big one came. "Look out, there!" he warned. The water dashed up over the edge of the boat as the wave broke, a little strenuous effort on the part of the sailors and captain, and we were clear of the reef. We started for the ship — but where was it? It was so dark that we couldn't see ten feet before us, and we had no light what- ever, by which the crew on the ship might know our whereabouts. The captain and sailors called repeatedly, and finally received an answer; and, at the same time, the swiftly moving vessel crossed our bow, missing us by scarcely more than fifty feet. "Ah pshaw!" shouted the captain in disgust. The ship turned and came back; this time they could see us. The main sail was loosened and the ship drifted our way. The small boat was ruthlessly dashed up and down against the side of the ship. "Be careful, now, and be sure of your footing," came the warning. As the boat was lifted up by the waves, we threw our belongings to the sailors on the ship, and as she came up again we jumped, grabbed the side of the ship and swung safely aboard. It was a hazardous and exciting half hour, and we felt greatly relieved when the thing was accomplished. The boat was hoisted over the edge of the ship, and everything appeared ready for a speedy departure. "Where are the shipping papers?" asked the captain. No one seemed to know, but upon investigation, it was found that the French Gendarme had failed to sign the government papers permitting the departure of the vessel, and they were still in his office. This made a perplexing situation; to send the boat ashore again in that wind and rain with no light meant a probable mishap and the death of some of the sailors. The only thing to be done was to wait patiently until daylight. I began to look around for a place to spend the night, and find- ing the back part of the deck filled with sacks of copra, decided to make my bed there. I was too seasick to go below. As I lay on that copra in the wind and rain throughout the night, I thought often of the comfortable bed I might have had ashore. As it was, besides the extreme misery of the situation, we were unconsciously wasting both time and energy, sailing up and down before Hikueru at a rate of more than ten miles an hour. We welcomed the light of the follow- ing morning, for the missing papers were soon fetched, and we were now ready to commence our "speedy, two-day" journey to Tahiti. And notwithstanding our discomfort and distress, we felt equal almost to anything in view of reaching our destination in so short a time. The sails were shifted and the ship turned around until the points of the compass designated that we were headed in the right direction; and waving a last farewell to the isle of Hikueru, we satis- fied ourselves with the thought that, at last, we were "off." We were sailing along at the same delightful speed as had been main- tained during the preceding night, and for which the ship was so famous, when suddenly, — "Well, what's wrong, we appear to be

THE NEED OF BACKING 1167 slowing down?" "Yes," came the reply, "it looks like the end of our wind, and the beginning of a calm." "A calm?" I asked, "but that won't last very long, will it?" "Oh, the calms through here last about eight days," answered the captain. Eight days! Heaven forbid; we were to reach Tahiti in two days. But there we were, and nothing we could say or think or do could change the situation. We tried to be cheerful. "There is sure to be a wind now in a few minutes or hours," we opined. But "calm" was the correct word. Even the ocean itself became a placid lake of glass, without a ripple or a wave, other than large swells over which we floated; and not a sign of a breeze; while the glittering rays of old Sol beat down unmercifully hot. Thus it was throughout the day, throughout the night, throughout the following day, and the next six days as well. Often did we wish that we were able to steer our course directly to the port we sought — 'but we hadn't the "backing." We could do nothing but drift with the tide and ocean currents, and try some of the "feats" of Joshua, Moses and Paul on the elements, which we were never able to work successfully. On the morning of the seventh day, we floated up to the island of Anaa; but as we neared it, the sails flapped to the side, filled out from end to end, and the ship pushed forth with the celerity of a race horse. There was our wind. We were soon going at our old ten-mile rate; and what a relief from the tediousness of the calm; another day like that would end it all, and we should be enjoying ourselves in Tahiti. But the ship had some copra to take on at Anaa, and we were compelled to speed up and down before the island, while the small boat made several trips ashore. Owing to the strong wind and the long distance to the landing, the work progressed very slowly, and by the time the last load was aboard, the day was gone, and the sun was sinking to its rest. The prow of the ship was now pointed toward Tahiti, and we sped forth — but not for long. Within half an hour there was no wind again, and we began gliding along as before. Oh! this wa:> awful. It was like the "slow train through Arkansas." Here we were on the swiftest vessel of the islands; and we couldn't have been going much slower, if the thing had been tied down with chains. "This helps to prove the fact," I remarked to my companion, "that it isn't altogether the build, the shape, the character of the vessel that gives it speed and takes it to its destination; it must have some ^backing' — without wind, it doesn't go. And likewise in the life of man, it isn't alone the physique, the brain power and the various tal- ents and characteristics of the individual that move him forward in accomplishment. Like the sailing vessel, he needs the co-operation and backing of a greater power than his own — without the inspira- tion and guidance of the Spirit of God, he encounters many a calm, and there is much drifting with the tides and currents."

1168 IMPROVEMENT ERA The recent strong wind had made the ocean very turbulent, and our ship was tossed, turned and twisted until finally the iron coupling on the main boom snapped off, releasing it from the mast, and tear- ing the main sail. This necessitated putting the large sail down, and for the next few days we traveled with only the fore and jib sails. We were favored with an occasional breeze for an hour or so at the time, and on the morning of the eleventh day we came alongside of Tahiti. As we were nearing the pass, it occurred to the captain that it would be a shame to pull into port with a broken boom and torn sail; so we put out to sea again and wasted another three or four hours doing what should have been done two days before, when the sailors had nothing else to do, and thereby have hastened our arrival with the driving power of this big sail. But "where there is no vision, the people perish." At about ten o'clock that morning we stepped safely ashore at Papeete, Tahiti — after a long and tedious "two-day" (?) voyage. The Monique made another trip to the Tuamotu Islands and re- turned safely; but on her second trip she encountered some difficulty while in the vicinity of Anaa, and in a squall, or sudden gust of wind, turned entirely over. The crew and their one passenger got away safely on the ship's row boat, and finally returned to Tahiti. The ship, however, with its entire cargo, was lost. Orovini, Papeete, Tahiti, Society Islands Ye Olde Towne On the moon dial of memory lies ye Olde Towne, Mud gray, roof drab, and white; Like a phantom that the vagrant mind cherishes, Trailing through the far spent night. There are faces from the past, in ye Olde Towne, Tear-stained, merry-eyed, and grim; There are forms that move in silent phalanxes, Purposeful and strong of brain and limb. All the mist from long ago vanishes, But the harmonies and great hopes remain, And come trooping along down the highway, Spreading o'er the wide brown main. The gayest rendezvous of youth was ye Olde Towne, Sheltered by its purple-tinted hills; With its tawny streets, and staid trees, and green lanes And its peace, where the homing heart thrills. Oh. long the shadows linger 'round ye Olde Towne, Mud gray, roof drab, and white; Oh, strong were the builders that builded it, On the path of the westward sun's flight. EZRA J. POULSEN, Author, Songs for the Toilers.