[On
the Ship Tararawa, with Apostle David O. McKay]
Mark
V. Coombs, President of the Tongan Mission
Typed
by Clermont A. Oborn and sent to his family [1921
or 1922]
We were set apart for our Missions to Tonga by Presidents Lund and Penrose, Brother Penrose being mouth. Among the blessings pronounced on our heads, the following were impressed indelibly upon my mind.
Speaking
to Sis Coombs, he said, “You may sail, accompany, your husband on his mission
and return in safety, bringing your sheaves with you.”
To
me, he promised, “You shall go in safety on land and on sea.”
These two promises, indeed remarkable, when considered in the light of
consignment events. We left for our
field of labor with two small sons, and by the time we had been here two months,
we were blessed with a fine baby girl. These
fine sheaves, it had been promised, would return to Zion in safety with us.
We
were thoroughly enjoying Apostle McKay’s visit with us and held a very
successful Conference in Tongatabus. Many
of the Saints came from Haapai and distant Vavau Conference that they might
shake by the hand and enjoy the association of an Apostle of the Lord.
In justice to the many saints in these northern Conferences and to give
Brother McKay an opportunity to visit the whole of our mission, we decided that
we visit them during the few days remaining before the arrival of the steamer
away from us. Sister Coombs decided
to accompany us on this trip with the three children, Demont age three, Melborne
Two, and Vernetta not yet weaned. The
Haapai Saints had previously returned to their homes, the Vavau Saints waited to
go north with us.
Elder
May was able to charter a small, two-masted schooner, the “Tararawa”, of
some two hundred tons, on which some ninety of us set sail one afternoon at four
o’clock. The vessel boasted of no passage accommodations at all.
The cargo of flour had been piled against the side of the hold with our
trunks and boxes and some of the women crowded in the space thus provided.
One woman, Naele Wolfgrame, was there with her three-months-old baby.
The rest of us squatted on the dirty, greasy decks as best we could.
The captain had given his berth to Sister Coombs, while the half-cast
mate vacated his for anyone that might care to use it.
Besides these two officers, the crew consisted of four Fijians.
The
sails were all set, and we were looking forward to a pleasant trip, it being the
first in a sailing vessel for Sister Coombs and some of the newer Elders who had
arrived with Brother McKay. At
first, we were all in the best of spirits, having a good wind. Everything went along splendidly until dusk.
We had cleared the dangers as well as the protection afforded by the
surrounding reefs, and were out in the open ocean.
Without any warning, a heavy wind came up, which made the boat behave in
such a fashion that we elders and some of the natives, were reminded that the
rail was a pretty good place to lean in case of an emergency.
Even Brother McKay, experienced sailor that he was, he was glad to avail
himself of the mate’s unoccupied bunk. Sister
Coombs had also gone below, leaving the three little children to the care of the
natives. I was glad to stay near
the rail with the heavy seas washing over me, knowing well how my stomach acts
when upset by heavy sea. Neither of
us were able to look after these helpless babies.
If
we were ever grateful for friends, it was then.
Few of the natives, who were better sailors than the rest, took care of
these children during the three long nights and seemingly endless days that will
never be forgotten. The tiny craft
rocked, leapt, careened, and rolled side to side in a manner that begs all
description, while wave after wave broke on the deck, causing the can of
kerosene to bang and float about, creating a horrid din.
The wind howled in the rigging like a maniac, straining at the bounds
with which he was bound. At regular
intervals, a flash of lightning would make the scene more vivid.
We were wet time after time and again by the heavy seas, which came
thundering over the rails and all the time, we were clinging on for dear life.
For, to have been washed overboard would have been the last.
The captain was drinking heavily, and had it not been for the heroic
vigil of Apostle McKay, he would have completely incapacitated himself.
The helm was lashed down, and the boat was left with no one to guide her,
to drift as best she could for the night. My
consolation and assurance lay in the promises of President Penrose.
He was acting in his official capacity when he pronounced those
blessings, and knew that they would be fulfilled to the very letter.
That
night, the only lifeboat was washed loose and hit with a sickening thud on the
leg of an old woman who has lain in the hospital for eight weeks.
The vessel went on her side, and the flour, luggage and boxes came down
as an avalanche on those poor women in the old.
Fortunately, no one was hurt. Our
three children were in there. Two
of the brethren ran, Elder Clermont A. Oborn and F. L. Clark, and they were
almost washed over board. And had
it not been for being tangled in the rigging, would not have been with us at the
end of the voyage. At regular
intervals, little Vernetta was taken to her mother to be fed, and in so doing,
both she and the native who carried her, ran chances of being washed overboard.
For, we could not move about, but had to hold fast to avoid just such an
accident. One girl, Seine, found
protection for her and Melbourne in the cook’s galley, a small shanty situated
on the forward deck, from which position not even the expostulations from the
Fijian cook could move her.
As
the wind continued to increase in force, the captain came on deck to see if he
could do something to mitigate our danger of being swamped.
All sails were taken in, but the main sail, and it was made as small as
possible by reafing, for the rudder had been split, and too much strain might
render it entirely useless. The
wind was now so strong that the captain was afraid to change the course of the
boat, lest when the sail be changed, the boat be capsized, or the mast be
snapped off by the course of the wind. One
of the good saints, Lui Wolfgramne, then took the helm and stayed with it all
day and piloted through the intricate passages of the Haapi reefs. That
“nothing” we saw in the distance, a small boat, the Malclo, with all sails
down, drifting helplessly. We
learned afterward that her crew had given up hope and had thrown two anchors
before going below the deck in hopes that one or the other might catch on
something and thus save the little craft from floating onto the treacherous
reef. It was, indeed, a relief to
land at Haapi that night after twenty-eight hours of such experiences.
The
next day, at two pm, not daunted in the least by the experiences still fresh in
mind, and not daunted in the least by the seasickness, we again boarded the
Tararawa, her rudder having been repaired, and we set out for Vavau again.
At dusk, the wind increased with renewed violence.
Last night, it howled through the rigging.
Tonight it fairly shrieked through the shrouds as it wrestled with them.
The captain, afterwards, informed me that it was the roughest voyage he
had undertaken for three years, and we were some ninety in number on that small
craft. We had expected to sight
Vavau that evening. But due to the
heavy mists, and because the captain was unacquainted with the passages, we kept
too far to the west in his efforts to miss Vavau altogether, so we were lost.
Again, another night of aimless drifting about on angry seas, as helpless
as a row-boat.
In
spite of the loyal protection rendered those tiny babies by those loyal native
saints, Melbourne and Demonte were drenched by the huge seas, which bombarded
our little craft all night. We were
unable to find our trunks and baggage, so they had to stay in their wet clothes,
wrapped in native gatu and blankets; they didn’t even catch a cold.
The captain was again under the influence of liquor, so that by the time
morning dawned, we were way over by the island of Late, fifty miles out of our
course. After a great amount of
tacking and zigzagging, we were able to make the harbor with thankful hearts and
dragged ourselves ashore at 3 pm on Sunday.
We had been three days and three nights on the sea, in the worst passage
the captain had seen in three years continuous sailing on the South Seas.
Even the residents of the islands, when they heard we had weathered that
passage all safe, were heard to sigh in relief.
Truly,
President Penrose must have been prompted by Almighty Power when he pronounced
that blessing on Sister Coombs and myself.
Then, Bro. McKay, aboard that vessel as a Special [embassy] to the
nations of the earth, in the interests of the Church.
Verily, Yes, the Lord will protect his servants in the performance of
duty.
Mark
V. Coombs
President
of the Tongan Mission
Typed
by C. A. Oborn
Paaga
Lifuka Haapai, Tonga
Note on the bottom of the page: Clermont A. Oborn completed his mission in Haapai, Tonga, became the District President and made a trip through all the area. Having no pills for water, finally had a drink of water, contacted Typhoid Fever, giving his life there in Tonga. Died 11 May 1922.
Notes:
1.
Spelling and grammar edited slightly
for clarity.
2.
A similar experience with Apostle McKay
on board the ship Tararawa, appears in Clermont Oborn’s missionary journal on
June 30 and July 1, 1921.