A GERMAN BASE
_Mana_ appeared on August 23rd, a week after the warship left, and not
before we had become a little anxious about her. She had done the
passage to the mainland in eighteen days, establishing a record, but had
had bad luck on her return journey, the voyage having taken forty-one
days. Even after her arrival there was the usual chase to get hold of
her, and we did not receive the mail till late one night. We had had no
letters since we left Talcahuano the preceding February, and read them
eagerly during the small hours; it was the greatest relief to find that
at home all was well. The yacht had to put out again to sea before the
newspapers could be landed, but we later received in them the accounts
of the murder of the Austrian Archduke and Duchess; even then, of
course, Ireland and labour troubles loomed much more largely on the
political horizon. As soon as the return mail was ready, on September
4th, we despatched _Mana_ again, the instructions sent home being that
everything was to be sent to Tahiti, as we expected to get off when she
once more returned the following November.
The _Baquedano_ had brought some additions to the community on the
island: one or two Europeans to work on the estate and a German to plant
tobacco. The fact that the presence of this last coincided with the
declaration of the war, and the subsequent use of the island by his
nation as a naval base, gave rise later to a good deal of comment; it is
certain that but little effort was made to grow tobacco. He left shortly
before we did. A schoolmaster from Chile was also among the new-comers;
he was sent by the Government, and brought an expensive school building.
In this he entertained us all to celebrate the day of Chilean
Independence, September 18th, when the natives gave some masque dances,
a fashion imported from Tahiti. It was interesting to notice that the
women always preferred to wear for best occasions their own distinctive
dress, rather than the smart clothes of the _Baquedano_, or similar
gifts, which were relegated to every-day service; I have seen a really
beautifully embroidered underskirt used for riding astride. The native
garment is of any washing material, preferably white for Sundays. It
falls straight and loosely down from a yoke, and is worn unreasonably
long; the sleeves are made to the wrist, with puffs at the top (fig.
29). This fashion is said to be common throughout the South Seas,
presumably dating from the first introduction of clothes by the
missionaries.[17]
School was duly begun, but after a few days the children ceased to
appear, the master declared he was “not an attendance officer,” and from
then till we left, nearly a year later, no school was held; the last we
saw of the blackboard and counting-frame, they were rotting in a field
some two miles off, where they had been taken by the French marooned
sailors for use in some carnival pony-races. The warship also brought an
epidemic of bad colds: every ship except _Mana_ left some such legacy.
Now that peace was in some measure restored, we set to work to excavate
some of the statues which stood on the slope of the Raraku mountain. The
natives were entirely indifferent whether they worked or not, but by
paying high wages and giving any quantity of mutton, we were able at
this time to get a certain amount of precarious labour for digging and
camp work. The whole lot, including my maid-servant, went in for every
week-end to the village, and it was always a matter of anxiety to know
whether they would ever return. Our Sundays were spent peacefully, doing
housework, taking the ponies to water in the crater, changing their
pitches at due intervals, and similar jobs.
We had just begun the week’s work on Monday, October 12th, when word was
brought that some steamers had appeared. The whole of the native staff,
of course, at once departed to see what could be begged from the ships.
The vessels turned out to be a German squadron, going, they said, “from
the China station to Valparaiso.” Some more turned up later, till there
were twelve in all, four or five of the number being warships, and the
remainder colliers or other smaller vessels. They kept entire silence on
the European situation. We had not, of course, the slightest idea that
war had broken out, still less that our lonely island was the
meeting-place, cleverly arranged by Admiral von Spee, for his ships from
Japan—the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_—with the other German warships
in this region; the _Nürnberg_ and _Leipzig_ had turned up from the west
coast of Mexico, and the _Dresden_ from the other side of South America.
A writer in the _Cornhill_ (August 1917) states “there happened to be
upon it [Easter Island] a British scientific expedition, but busied over
the relics of the past, the single-minded men of science did not take
the trouble to cross the island to look at the German ships.” S. was, as
a matter of fact, twice over at Mataveri while they were in Cook’s Bay,
but it is true of this “single-minded” woman, who felt she had something
else to do than to ride for some four hours to gaze at the outside of
German men-of-war. What did interest us was that presumably, after the
usual manner of passing ships, the officers would come over to Raraku,
and being intelligent Germans, would photograph our excavations. We
therefore turned to, and with our own hands covered up our best things.
We seized the opportunity to write letters, which were posted on the
ships, and one of our number went to see the doctor. To the credit of
the enemy be it said, that almost all the letters subsequently arrived,
a sad exception being a butterfly, addressed to Professor Poulton at
Oxford, which, if, as may have been the case, it was retained as
something valuable, presumably went down off the Falkland Islands. Mr.
Edmunds, meanwhile, had not unnaturally rejoiced at having his market
brought to his door, and sold the ships nearly £1,000 worth of meat.
They offered to pay for it in gold, but it seemed common prudence to ask
instead for an order, a decision which was later sadly lamented.
On Thursday some of our staff returned: the Germans were, it seemed,
most unpopular; they did not come on shore and had given no food,
clothes, or soap. Kanaka sentiment at this moment would have been
certainly pro-Ally.
On Friday rumours reached us that there was something mysterious going
on. Why, it was asked, did the Germans say they had no newspapers, so
rarely come on shore, and go out at night without lights? and why did
one officer say that “in two months Germany would be at the top of the
tree”? We discussed the matter and passed it off as “bazaar talk.” On
Sunday, however, news came from Mataveri which we could no longer wholly
discredit. The German tobacco planter had been on board, and the crew
had disobeyed orders and disclosed to their countryman the fact that
there was a great European war; the combatants were correctly stated,
but much detail was added. Two hundred thousand men were, it was said,
waiting at Kiel to invade England; the war had taken our country by
surprise, and the German ships had already made a sudden raid and sunk
eight or nine Dreadnoughts in the Thames; the Emperor was nearly at
Paris, though the French continued to fight on most bravely. It was a
terrible war as neither side would show the white flag. An army had been
sent from England to the assistance of the French, but it had been badly
defeated. The English Labour Party had objected to troops being sent out
of the country, in consequence of which the Asquith ministry had fallen,
the House of Lords came in somehow; anyway, England was now a Republic,
and so were Canada and Australia; India was in flames, and two
troopships had been sunk on the way there from Australia.
We are still inclined to think that the Germans themselves believed all
these things; they had so often been told, by those in authority, that
such would occur on the outbreak of war with England, that wishes had
become facts. As a small mercy we got the news of the loss of the German
colonies, but the _Scharnhorst_, which had just come from the French
possession of Tahiti, said that the natives there having risen and
killed the Germans, the warships had therefore bombarded the town of
Papeete, which was now “no more.” The reason given for keeping us in the
dark so long was, that hearing there were foreigners on the island, they
thought that we might fight amongst ourselves. Von Spee made exact
inquiries as to the number of whites in the place, and told the Kanakas
that when he returned he would hold them responsible for our safety. The
real reason of the silence maintained was most probably to prevent any
question being raised of their use of the island as a naval base. When
the news could no longer be concealed, the officers gave it as their
opinion, that “when Germany had conquered France, peace would be made
with England, in which case Britain would probably gain some territory
as she had such good diplomatists,” a compliment at least for Lord Grey.
The reality of the war was brought home by the concrete fact that the
ships were reliably reported to be in fighting trim, with no woodwork
visible. That Sunday evening one of us saw the squadron going round in
the dusk, the flagship leading. They had said that they would come
again, but they never did. They went on their way to Coronel and the
Falklands.
On Monday morning we met our photographer by arrangement on the road to
Mataveri, in order to take some of the half-way terraces; he had brought
two newspapers, which had at last been got hold of, and we sat down
beneath a wall to read them. They were German ones, of September 15th
and 17th, published in Chile, and contained little news; but we read
between the lines that things were going better in France, for the
Germans had made “a strategic retreat according to plan,” and then the
curtain fell on the great drama. The ground rocked for us, as it did at
home in those first August days; it was just one week since we had
covered up our diggings and it seemed centuries. How much to believe we
did not know, but some of it sounded plausible, and when later we found
that England was facing the struggle as a united whole, and that there
was still a British Empire, we felt that the greatest nightmare of the
war had passed.
From the personal point of view our thoughts turned, of course, to the
yacht; she would no doubt remain in safety at Talcahuano, that was a
comfort. At any other time it would have been a matter of anxiety that
the crew should continue indefinitely without employment, and that there
was no pecuniary arrangement there for so long a detention; as it was,
we were so absolutely helpless that the futility of worrying was
obvious. As regards ourselves, we could only cut down our use of such
things as flour and tea, and wait; our experience of war rations thus
came early. The most serious threatened shortage was that of paper. It
was intensely strange to go back to digging out statues, when morning,
noon, and night our hearts were over the seas; but that was “our job,”
there was at least no daily and hourly waiting for news, and in the
peace of a plain duty and the absolute silence of the sea around us
there was a certain kind of rest.
For the next few weeks life went on quietly, sheep-shearing absorbed the
energies of the community, and the village was laid low by an attack of
dysentery, from which in a short time there were eight deaths: the
disease was either a legacy from the Germans, or the result of the
distribution of some more _Baquedano_ clothes which had been left with
the schoolmaster. It seemed as if we might spend the rest of our lives
on the island, when suddenly, as things always happened in mid-Pacific,
on December 1st, six weeks after the departure of the German squadron, a
little ship turned up. She was flying the Chilean flag, but had an
English captain, and was to take back word to Valparaiso how things were
going on the island. She brought good news on the whole, but also the
regretted tidings of the sinking of the _Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_ on
November 1st. Mr. Gillam wrote that the yacht was, as we had expected,
detained at Talcahuano till the passage was considered safe. The point
which immediately concerned us was the offer of passages in this vessel
to Chile should we desire them; but she could only by her charter stay
some five days, during which time it would have been quite impossible,
even had our work been finished, to transport our goods from Raraku.
There was no room for hesitation: S. must go and look after _Mana_, and
insure her against war risks. Mr. Ritchie and the Fernandez boy had
already sailed on the _Baquedano_, and as the photographer’s work on the
island was nearly done for the present, it seemed best he should
accompany my husband and resume his post on the yacht. Bailey and I were
therefore left to represent the Expedition on the island.
When the good-byes had been said, it was better not to have time to
think, so we at once set to work, packed up such things as were
necessary from our country house, and transferred the camp back to
Mataveri. There I took up life once more in my tent by the grave of the
murdered manager. Mr. Edmunds would, I knew, kindly give me assistance
in case of necessity, and it was desirable to be near the village, for I
proposed to spend the time till S. returned in interviews with such of
the old people as could remember traditions and customs, prior to the
coming of Christianity. This work was, however, not destined to continue
undisturbed.
On Wednesday morning, December 23rd, another German ship came into
Cook’s Bay—the armed cruiser _Prinz Eitel Friedrich_. The Manager went
on board, and returned with the information that the Captain had said he
“would require thirty or forty beasts, but that as the crew would be
busy next day they would not take them till after Christmas.” They would
give no account of themselves, nor any news of the war. It was a relief
to realize that S. would not yet have had time to leave Chile, and that
he and the yacht were presumably safe in harbour. That very afternoon,
however, my writing was interrupted by a cry of congratulation from the
native girls at work in Mr. Edmunds’ kitchen, “_Mana_ is coming.” A
woman, who had been up on the high ground, had reported that she had
seen the little vessel off the south coast and that she was now sailing
round Rano Kao, hence making direct for Cook’s Bay. It might, of course,
be a mistake, but it was, on the other hand, just possible that Mr.
Gillam had seized an opportunity to slip across to the island without
waiting for a reply to his letter. The immediate question, supposing
that it was indeed _Mana_, was how she could be stopped walking straight
into the jaws of the enemy. Bailey saddled in haste, and rode up to the
top of the headland to try to warn her not to proceed. I armed myself
with a towel and coat to make a two-flag signal, which denotes urgency,
and fled down to the rocks on the coast below, selecting a point from
which it was possible to command the furthest view, without being
noticed from the cruiser. It was a very forlorn hope, that it might be
possible to attract the yacht’s attention before she was seen by the
enemy, but it was obviously out of the question to continue, under a
tree, copying notes while _Mana_ might be at the moment meeting with a
watery grave.
My thoughts, while I sat there with eyes glued to the horizon, went back
to academic discussions with Admiral Fremantle on board a P. & O. liner
only a few years before, on the right in war-time to capture private
property at sea, and how little it had then occurred to me that the
matter would ever become so vitally personal. I waited for two and a
half hours, not daring to leave, but with hope growing momentarily
stronger that there was an error somewhere. Meanwhile, Bailey had seen
the vessel from the mountain and was confident that it was the returning
yacht, but had been unable to get into touch with her. He had come down
and consulted with Mr. Edmunds, who had then most kindly ridden over to
the south coast to see what could be done from there; the nearer view
had made clear that the alarm was a false one, the vessel was not _Mana_
but some other passing schooner, and we breathed once more.
Everyone, however, seemed to take particular pleasure in talking to the
Germans about the yacht and her movements, in a way which to me was more
amusing than reassuring. As a scientific ship, she theoretically shared
with Red Cross vessels immunity under the Hague Convention, but even in
those days, as will have been seen, that did not bring complete
confidence. One of the German officers had, I was told, given it as his
opinion that his Captain would not touch her, but “it was,” he remarked,
“a matter for individual judgment, and other commanders might act
differently.” The same officer expressed his surprise that the Manager
had ventured on the cruiser, as he “might have been made a prisoner, as
a German had been on a French ship”; whereupon Mr. Edmunds naturally
resolved not to accept an informal invitation to attend theatricals to
be held on board on Christmas Eve.
The reason for the occupation of the crew soon became obvious. The
warship went out on the following morning and returned with a French
barque, the _Jean_, which she had captured some time before, and which,
being laden with coal, she had towed most of the way to the island. She
laid the barque alongside her in Cook’s Bay and proceeded to hoist out
the cargo (fig. 24), finally shooting away the masts and spars in order
that the French ship might not capsize as she gradually lost her
ballast.
The cruiser, it transpired, had also on board it the crew of an English
sailing ship, the _Kildalton_, which she had captured and sunk near the
Horn; but when an attempt was made to speak to the men, they were
ordered below. The German officers and crew then landed daily, rode over
the island, came up to the Manager’s house, and generally behaved as if
the whole place belonged to them. The officers were courteous and always
saluted when we met, an attention with which one would have preferred to
dispense; one of the crew penetrated to our kitchen, which he was at
once requested to leave, in spite of Bailey’s evident fear that he and I
would immediately be ordered out for execution; the man hesitated,
looked astonished, but obeyed. It must be remembered that there was no
reason to suppose that it was otherwise than civilised warfare, the idea
that anyone could or would injure non-combatants on neutral soil never
seriously occurred to me: the story of Belgium was unknown.
Indignation was, however, roused by the fact that the Germans were
remaining far beyond the twenty-four hours to which they were entitled
in a neutral port, and obviously again using the island as a base. It
grew to fever-heat when news came that a signal-station had been erected
on Rano Aroi, the high central point, with an officer and men in charge,
from which notice might be given to the cruiser below if an “enemy” ship
was sighted. I took Juan, the headman of the village who was our usual
escort, rode up to the point in question, and thus verified the fact of
the station and men on watch. I remained at a short distance, but Juan
went on and spoke to the Germans; he came back to me saying
impressively, “They do not like to see you here,” to which sentiment the
reply naturally was “I dislike still more to see them.” Never would the
white ensign have been more welcome! To relieve my feelings, although
with a sense of futility, I wrote a formal protest, under the
grandiloquent title of “Acting Head of the British Scientific
Expedition,” pointing out for the benefit of the Chilean Government
these abuses of neutrality. The schoolmaster had been, since his
arrival, the formal representative of his country, and I went down to
the village to give it to him; its presentation was delayed by his
having gone on board the cruiser, for the Christmas theatricals, where
he remained over the next day, but it was finally handed to him.
On New Year’s Eve I was coming in from a business ride about 1 o’clock,
and, having breakfasted at 6, was feeling not a little hungry, when the
German ship was seen steaming from her anchorage, looking as she did so
like a great blot on the radiant sea. The first impression was that she
was leaving the island, but on observing more closely, her errand was
apparent; she was not alone, but had the graceful little barque with
her, towing her side by side in a last Judas embrace. Naturally, one
could go no farther, and for two and a half hours a little company,
including the crew of the doomed ship, who had just been landed, sat
spell-bound on the cliff watching the tragedy. When the cruiser had gone
a short distance, but well within the three-mile limit, she cast the
French vessel adrift, the small craft rolled helplessly, high out of the
water, without ballast or cargo, and with only a mizzen-mast remaining.
The warship then swooped round in great circles like an evil bird of
prey, and every time that she came broadside on she fired at her victim.
The first shot missed; the second went through the upper part of the
barque into the sea the other side. The third shot obviously told, but
the executioner fired once again and then ceased, satisfied with her
work, for the little ship could be seen gradually regaining her
water-line, though with an ominous list, and a ballast never designed by
the builder. As she sank she drifted slowly southward, at the mercy of
wind and current. The cruiser moved with her, keeping at an even
distance and steadily watching her victim till suddenly the end came,
and where there had been two vessels on the blue sea only one remained.
Another gallant ship had joined the company of ghosts in the ocean Hades
below.
When she had thus accomplished her work, the _Eitel Friedrich_ departed,
having taken on board stores, which would, she stated, with those
already in hand, last her till the following April. She kept her
prisoners on board till almost the last, in order to serve, it was said,
as hostages should a British warship appear, and then deposited them all
on shore. Our feelings on thus finding our island invaded, resembled, in
some measure, the classical ones of Robinson Crusoe on a somewhat
similar occasion; the new-comers consisted of the captains and crews of
both the English and French ships, forty-eight persons in all. They had
been well treated on the cruiser, and were given on landing the
remaining stores out of the sunken barque. A camp was made for them in
the wool-shed, near the landing-place at Hanga Piko, and formed a great
attraction to the natives who flocked there hourly to see what could be
picked up. A room was found for the captain of the English ship in the
Manager’s house, where he made a pleasant addition to the party. The
charms of Easter Island did not appeal to him, and he was naturally
concerned for the anxiety which would be felt at home when his ship was
reported “missing.” His great occupation was to walk, many times a day,
to the top of the knoll behind my tent, to try to catch sight of a sail,
a hope which those of us who were better acquainted with the island felt
to be somewhat forlorn.
Unfortunately, the epidemic of dysentery which had prevailed in the
island since the previous October, laid low some of the sailors. This
was a serious anxiety, as there was no doctor of any kind, and the only
medical stores and books were those of the Expedition, which had to be
routed out from our camp at the other end of the island. One young
Englishman, named Campbell, to our great regret, succumbed to the
disease; he was “the only son of his mother, and she was a widow”; a
little white cross in the Easter Island burial-ground makes yet another
memorial of the Great War. Captain Sharp’s persistent look-out was
rewarded sooner than might have been expected; false hopes were raised
by a vessel which went on without waiting, but when the marooned men had
been with us some two months, a Swedish steamer appeared. She had come
out of her way attracted by the fame of the antiquities, and it was a
pleasure to show one or two of the officers what little could be seen of
those statues near Cook’s Bay. She kindly took on board the English crew
and the greater part of the Frenchmen, but a few of the latter preferred
to remain, on the ground that they had “sent word to the French Consul
at Valparaiso, and must await his directions.” It was said that, prior
to leaving the _Eitel Friedrich_, they had signed an undertaking never
to bear arms against Germany, and they were consequently not anxious to
find themselves again in France, where their position might be
invidious. One of them, who hailed from the French West Indies,
subsequently married his hostess, a lady in the village. The wedding was
celebrated in the church and largely attended; during a great part of
the service the couple sat on a low form before the altar, with the arm
of the bridegroom round the waist of the bride; the ceremony was
followed by a sumptuous and decorous repast.
Such an excitement as the German visit had of course upset my grown-up
children, but we gradually resumed our talks. The ways, means, and
result of those conversations will come more appropriately under the
heading of the scientific work. It took, as a rule, about the same
number of hours to copy out the rough notes of an interview as to get
the substance; if, therefore, the morning had been given to talk, the
afternoon was spent in writing. It soon became obvious that it was going
to be a race against time to get all the information available before
_Mana_ returned, especially as the interviews involved a certain amount
of strain, and it was better, in the interests of all, to diversify them
with topographical and other work. In this sense every day was prized
which the yacht delayed her return, and there was little opportunity for
feeling lonely, at any rate during working hours. The time, however,
began to grow long. January changed into February, and February turned
into March, and there was still no news of her; everyone began to
inquire if I were “not becoming very anxious,” in a manner which was
truly reassuring. And now, in approved fashion, we will turn and see
what was happening to the other part of the Expedition.
After leaving the Raraku camp S. had ridden in to Cook’s Bay, and there
had difficulties about getting on board, for the Kanakas had made one
bargain for the use of their boat, and then wanted double; during the
delay rain came on, and he was obliged to shelter himself and his goods
in the native boathouse by the landing. He at length, however, reached
the ship, where the captain gave him his own cabin under the bridge. At
tea-time the first officer, who was of German nationality, came out of
his cabin and conversed in such a way that it was obvious that he was
not altogether sober; the captain soon came along, rated him for
drinking, told him the curse of the sea was alcohol, and he was to go at
once on deck. Upon which the mate ascended to the bridge, groaning
deeply. Now the said captain had, unfortunately, on board sixteen cases
of whisky, which he had brought to trade at Easter, but which Mr.
Edmunds had not allowed him to land. He himself shortly began to drink
steadily, and went on till delirium tremens supervened, and he became
obsessed with the idea that there was an affray going on between the
sailors and stewards. By the arrangement of the vessel, the crew were
berthed for’ard and the stewards aft, while the waist of the ship was
filled by a stack of coal, which had been left on deck, to save the
trouble of stowing it in the bunkers, and in the pious hope that no bad
weather would supervene. On the top of this coal the captain now took
his stand, declared that he would have no fighting on his ship, and
hurled pieces of coal first at an imaginary crew for’ard and then at
supposititious stewards aft; though all hands were in reality carefully
lying low to keep out of his way.
S., meanwhile, was unfortunately confined to his cabin, having gone
down, about the second day out, with a very severe attack of dysentery;
the epidemic on the island had never reached our camp; he had presumably
contracted it during the delay in starting. His position was anything
but enviable: there was no steward, only a cabin-boy, well-meaning, but
languid and very dirty. He could get no food which he could take, and
lay there helpless with the rats eating his clothes; if it had not been
for the kindness of the chief engineer, who looked in occasionally, it
seems doubtful if he would have lived to reach Chile. To this pleasing
state was now added the apprehension that the captain, who was wandering
about by day and night, might at any moment attack him for being in the
cabin, in anticipation of which event S. kept a loaded revolver under
his pillow. At last things got to such a state that the chief engineer
came and asked his advice on the desirability of screwing up the
skipper, Oxford fashion, and passing his food through the port. Before,
however, this step could be taken, the offender had reached the stage of
mental collapse, melted into tears and spent his time in protracted
prayers, beseeching the engineer to put the accursed stuff overboard. S.
naturally advised taking him at his word, when it was found that he had
been drinking at the rate of nearly three bottles a day.
All this time the German mate had been obliged, to his great annoyance,
to keep sober for the sake of his own safety, but as they approached
Juan Fernandez there was much anxiety on board, for no one was very sure
where it was, and they wanted to see it without hitting it; by good luck
it was fortunately sighted during the hours of daylight. They managed,
somehow, to reach Valparaiso, and S. was at once taken to the same
English hospital to which Mr. Corry had been removed. Here he lay for
weeks, delighted to be well nursed and comfortable, and when
convalescent, was most hospitably entertained by our friend Mr.
Hope-Simpson, till he was equal to going down to Talcahuano to see after
the yacht.
On February 20th, 1915, _Mana_, now duly insured, sallied forth once
more, having lain at Talcahuano for nearly five months. Von Spee’s
squadron had been annihilated off the Falkland Islands on December 8th,
and though the exact whereabouts of his sole remaining ship, the
_Dresden_, were still unknown, the coast was thought to be clear. As a
matter of fact, the cruiser had crept out of her hiding-place in the
Patagonian Channels sixteen days earlier, and was at this time not far
from the entrance to the bay, where she was no doubt apprised by
wireless from the shore of the movements of all shipping. Luckily the
yacht’s departure was delayed at the last by some parting arrangements,
and she left port some hours later than had been intended; in the
interval, according to information subsequently received, another ship
went by, the cruiser captured her and went off. Thus did _Mana_ pass by
in safety, and before she reached Easter Island the _Dresden_ had met
with her doom at Juan Fernandez.
March 15th was a joyful day, when the yacht at length turned up all safe
and sound. We rapidly decided that the best thing we could do would be
to let the British Representative in Chile know at once of the call of
the _Eitel Friedrich_, and of the use made of the island by the Germans,
more particularly as there were recent reports from more than one
quarter that a vessel with two funnels had been seen off the island. A
despatch was therefore written for our Minister at Santiago, and Mr.
Gillam was instructed to hand it with a covering letter to the British
Consul at Valparaiso. The enemy might turn up any day, and, in view of
the gossip there had been about the yacht when they were here before, it
was obviously desirable to maintain secrecy as to her whereabouts. No
one save the Sailing-master, therefore, was informed of her destination;
she lay for two nights off Hanga Roa, and on the third morning she was
gone. On her arrival at Valparaiso the Consul requested Mr. Gillam to
take the despatch himself to Santiago in order to answer any questions
in his power; this he did, and had a long interview with the British
Minister. We have subsequently received kind acknowledgment from the
Admiralty of our efforts to be useful. The yacht then returned to the
island,[18] where we had been doing last things, including finishing off
our excavations, in which we were very kindly assisted by some of the
remaining members of the French crew; they worked for us at a rate of
pay refused by the natives. The packing-up of specimens alone was no
light business. There had turned out to be much more work to be done on
the island than we had anticipated, and though our residence had been
prolonged far beyond the time originally contemplated, we had, from the
scientific point of view, been largely single-handed and had also been
hindered by circumstances. So far as research was concerned we would
gladly have remained for another six months, to write up results and
make good omissions; but England was at war, the three years our crew
had signed on for would shortly expire, our wonderful time was over, and
we must go.