PITCAIRN ISLAND: Relief

The great brass bell across from the Assembly Hall on Pitcairn Island clanged gladly one sundown last fortnight. Through the dim light a ship had just been sighted, and the 200-odd hybrid descendants of H. M. S. Bounty's, mutineers rushed out on Adamstown's headland to strain eyes for their first visitor in over two months.

War had disrupted merchant shipping between New Zealand and South America, the infrequent calls of supply ships had ceased, essentials were running low. The works of Pitcairn's powerful short-wave radio station, VR6AY, had broken down, and parts were in Panama being fixed (TIME, Nov. 20). A completely outfitted relief expedition had been called off because of lack of funds (TIME, Dec.11). The Christians, McCoys and Youngs were isolated and scared.

They hated their war rations—soggy bread compounded of coconut meat and milk, maize, lablab (wild beans), arrowroot, flower petals; coffee from roasted coconut shreds; dried grass instead of tobacco—and their clothes were getting ragged. They were in dire need of wheat flour, sugar, lard, potatoes, matches and all kinds of processed supplies. Worst of all, they feared disease. So, when the ship indicated it would stop, they eagerly gathered up the leaf baskets, wood carvings, woven hats and bird feathers, which are their dollars, quarters, dimes and nickels, and stood by their longboats in the crescent of Bounty Bay.

The visitor, guided by the island's blinker and its own searchlight, eased in to an anchorage. The natives swarmed aboard. On deck they had a big surprise—the smiling face of Rear Admiral Richard E. Byrd, genuinely happy to be of assistance, only incidentally pleased to find himself hip-deep in news again.

Last week the Admiral wired a report to the U. S. describing how the U. S. M. S. North Star put ashore relief supplies, which she would replenish in New Zealand; her two doctors treated almost a quarter of the population for ailments, ranging from scratches to scurvy; her machinists and radio operators went over the island's radio receiver. Biggest treat of all: a long cinema program in the North Star's saloon. The audience, most of whom had never seen films before, cried out in amazement at shots of Manhattan. Next day, when the North Star's forward donkeys upped anchor and the screws began to turn, the natives stood up in their longboats and with tears in their eyes sang songs of farewell.