Revised Jun 1 2021
TWO years had passed away after the crew of the Acadia found a haven on Pitcairn Island, when one night, the 23d of August, 1883, as the islanders were about to retire to rest, they were startled by shouts and the blowing of a fog horn from over the waters. That another shipwreck had occurred somewhere near was evident, and the men, hastily mustering, went forth with lanterns into the night, and were soon at the landing place. Having launched a boat, a few minutes’ rapid pulling brought them to the object of their search. It proved to be a boat which had belonged to the bark Oregon, now a wreck on the reefs of Oeno. She had been about a month out from Oregon on her way to Chile when she struck on the reefs that surrounded the low-lying island of Oeno. All the crew, and three passengers, a widowed lady and her two infant boys, landed safely on Oeno Island. The position of the ship after she struck was such as to enable the crew to remove everything they wanted, so that they were comfortably settled during their enforced stay.
When all had been made as comfortable as circumstances permitted, the captain, Hardy by name, and his mate, Mr. Walker, after consulting together, decided that the captain should take their small boat and seek a passage through the heavy surf that broke continuously on the reef surrounding the lagoon, and should he succeed in accomplishing it safely, the rest were to follow in the two other boats, with as much of the goods as they could prudently carry. Captain Hardy, accompanied by one of the sailors and the cook, left the shore. Just when the boat had passed beyond the smooth waters of the lagoon out into the breakers, it capsized, and the poor captain was drowned. The mate’s boat, following almost directly, passed safely through the rolling surf, and in passing, the two men who were clinging to the upturned boat, were rescued. With this addition to his crew, the mate, not returning to tell those behind of the captain’s fate, at once steered in the direction of Pitcairn Island. The weather being fair and the wind favorable, they reached their destined place on the second night out.
Most of the men in the mate’s boat were Chileans, and were scarcely able to speak any word in the English language. All were received and sheltered, a disused little building having been fitted up for their accommodation, and after a rest of two nights and a day Mr. Walker, leaving his own men behind, took a crew of the islanders and returned to Oeno, in search of the remainder of the ship’s company. But these had not waited his return, for, having been left without a word as to what had occurred after the captain’s futile attempt to effect a passage, they had launched their big boat, and, placing therein the trunks belonging to the lady, Mrs. Collyer, who, with her children, accompanied them, they too followed the way that the rest had taken. A big Irish sailor took command of the boat and found some difficulty in managing the rest of the men who were with him, and who certainly showed no disposition to willingly obey his orders. Though he possessed very limited knowledge in the art of navigation, yet, under the guidance of a merciful Providence, their boat came in all right, and the day after the mate had gone, the crew of tired men, who had rowed almost the whole distance, beheld, with a feeling of true thankfulness, the sight of land and the prospect of rest. The poor woman, too, was worn out with anxiety, and the care and attention bestowed on her when she arrived in the midst of friends were most gratifying.
Hers had been a sad experience. Her husband, the Rev. J. W. Collyer, whose field of labor had been in Chile, was going, for the benefit of his health, on a visit to his mother in the United States, and had engaged a passage for himself and family on the bark Oregon, for the State of the same name. Only a few days out from the South American Coast his sickness took a sudden turn for the worse, and unexpectedly and with but a few minutes’ warning he died, leaving not one word to comfort and cheer his almost broken-hearted wife. She had to endure the further pain of having him buried at sea, and in her widowed state, among strangers, she made the voyage to Oregon. She was now returning to her father’s house in Lola, Chile, when the unlooked-for disaster happened, depriving her of the hope of soon seeing her family and friends. But their stay on the island was of short duration, for, ere the return of Mr. Walker from Oeno, all had been again received on board the British ship Leicester Castle, in command of Captain Boag, on his way to San Francisco.
Artiving at Oeno Mr. Walker's first care was to secure the lady’s box of jewelry, which he guarded with jealous care, but reached Pitcairn just an hour too late to deliver the box into the lady’s own hands, as the Leicester Castle was about to make sail when the mate’s boat appeared, the islanders having supplied whatever they could spare from their own slender stock of provisions to help the heavy demands made upon the stores of the Leicester Castle by the addition of a whole crew of shipwrecked men. After a long and tedious passage Captain Boag at length arrived in port, where the crew of the late Oregon were speedily discharged. Mrs. Collyer also left almost immediately for home, where she arrived safely in due time, and where her box of treasures reached her after a few months’ delay. On his arrival in England Captain Boag suffered some inconvenience on account of his having taken so many of the shipwrecked men on board his ship, and drawing so heavily on his own limited resources to supply their wants.
on the 6th of November the last survivor of the generation immediately succeeding the mutineers passed away. Elizabeth Young, nee Mills, and whose first husband was a son of Quintall the mutineer, died at the ripe age of ninety-three. Her struggles with the last enemy were protracted, as if life was so hard to yield up. While speech lasted, she seemed to live over again the days when, as a child, she was instructed by John Adams, and while tossing about on her bed, and during her calmer moments, she never ceased repeating the prayer that John Adams taught his youthful flock to repeat before retiring to rest: “I will lay me down in peace and take my rest, for Thou, Lord, only makest me to dwell in safety. Into Thy hands I commend my body, soul, and spirit. Thou has redeemed me, O Lord, Thou God of truth.” The second year following the death of old Elizabeth Young—called by everybody “ma-ma”—saw more deaths than had happened in any previous year since the island was reinhabited, four deaths occurring among the community during the year 1885.