A HEROINE INDEED.
Many as were the recorded instances of heroism displayed during the early hours of that awful Monday morning, many many more will never be known, the chief actors in them being dead. One splendid display, however, has just come to light. Miss McQuaid, one of the stewardesses (whose father was in mistake said to have also been drowned), had served out all the lifebelts she had, reserving one for herself. As she stood, steadying herself by clinging to a rope, a little child, in its night-dress, made its way to her. In its terror the little thing hid her head in Miss McQuaid's dress. Stooping down as well as she could this devoted young woman tried to soothe the wee one, and then taking off her own lifebelt she clasped it around the child. The next heavy wave washed both away. Both were drowned, the little one not being able to take advantage of that which had been, with such magnificent forgetfulness of self, given it. -NZ Herald, 5/11/1894.
Correspondence.
A Dunedin Heroine.
TO THE EDITOR.
Sir, — Many thanks for your article "Only a Woman," where you state that Miss McQuaid was a greater than Grace Darling. Two of my daughters were schoolmates with her, and they have frequently heard her say that she would like to be a Grace Darling. Poor girl! she has indeed proved herself as great, if not greater than Grace Darling, and deserves, as you say, to have her name handed down to future generations. No one could do more than she did, in the giving up her life to save a little child. Well may you say, "For of such is the kingdom of Heaven."
— I am, &c, J.E. -Star, 8/11/1894.
On Wednesday last there appeared in the Star an article on the more than heroism displayed by Miss McQuaid, the Dunedin girl, who lost her life in the Wairarapa calamity. That very day there appeared in the New Zealand Times an article on that particular subject couched in very much the same terms, showing that at least two minds were running in the same channel, and that there is a spirit abroad which will bring about a recognition of the dead girl's self-sacrifice which will be as a heritage to our children. In beautiful language the editor of the Wellington paper speaks of the end which came to the devoted girl, and, for the sake of her who gave her life for others; for the sake of those who perhaps have not yet fully realised the beautiful act of self-resignation, some of the words are, in the most reverent spirit, here reproduced: — "One look of ineffable tenderness down at the shrinking child, and then the belt is put round the little figure. The one remaining solid chance of life is given to the little one, given serenely and cheerfully and promptly. At this sublime moment comes in the cruel sea, and death and darkness are one. The Angel from Heaven has gone back to her home, and she has taken with her her white-robed client, freed from the task of carrying a weight of gratitude too great for human power to bear. Only a stewardess. God help us to keep her memory green in reverent minds by shaping our lives in some colourable imitation of her nobleness. Her story should be carved in deathless marble or eternal brass by an appreciative people. We must record it as an ideal example for all the generations. -Star, 10/11/1894.
THE WRECK OF THE WAIRARAPA.
MISS MACQUAID.
Only a stewardess! Only that and nothing more. But is there anyone to compare with her? She is dead now; gone beyond our ken; gone to receive the reward that is due to all simple, self-sacrificing souls. But she can never be away from us. Her story will live wherever men are congregated together who believe in the greatness of human virtue under the sun. In that way her soul will be with us always, touching our hearts, raising our natures above material things, teaching us the grand lesson of life. Only a stewardess! When the people rushed out of their cabins panicstricken she was busy. The lifebelts had to be served out. A simple matter enough, if that were all. No need in reality to trouble about the serving. Are there not instructions printed and displayed in every cabin? There are the belts in sight, and, what is more, they are accessible to all and sundry who take the trouble to think a little moment for themselves. In these awful moments, however, people never think; they rush, not caring where. Then comes the patient, watchful stewardess. She and others stop the rushing people, take out the lifebelts for the people, tie the lifebelts on to the people. Presently the people are all served. One belt remains; there is no one to claim it. The stewardess takes it for herself. She remembers then, and not till then — think of the nobility of it — that she, after all said and done, has a life too. No sooner is she equipped than there comes to her a little child. In one respect the scene is familiar enough to her. The little thing is in her little white nightdress. How often has she taken the little people so arrayed, soothed them, said their little prayers with them, taken the place of the mother to them. Then it was a bright light, a snowy cot, a pleasure of beautiful surrounding, herself the central, beneficent, ministering, protecting figure. Only a stewardess! But an angel from Heaven to all those little ones, wan and white, and clustering about her knees. In this awful hour comes one of these little figures. The little white nightdress is the same, all else how changed. Thick darkness for the bright light; the roaring of the wind, the screaming of the cordage, the uproar of the surges and the moving cargo, the noise of the last agony of human souls, the end of all things, with the terror of death over all. Only a stewardess! But the child — what a wonderful instinct have the children! — sees the Angel from Heaven, runs to her in its terrible terror, buries its little face in her dress. Only a stewardess! But she soothes the child, prays with the child, quiets the child, notices that the child is without a lifebelt. You have heard of the generous man who will share his last crust with him who is in want. It is universally recognised that such sharing is above the average of human generosity. This lifebelt is a supremely precious thing. Far beyond all crusts, even the last ones standing before starvation. It is a solid chance of life to one ready to be thankful for a straw to catch at in the gurgling of the hideous, merciless sea. Only a stewardess! A ministering Angel for all that. No thought of sharing; no division. How easy to keep the belt and give the white-robed child a clasping share, with determination to keep hold of the little thing at all hazards. Only a stewardess! But not built that way. One look of ineffable tenderness down at the shrinking figure, and then the belt is put round the little figure. The one remaining solid chance of life is given to the little one, given serenely and cheerfully and promptly. At this sublime moment comes in the cruel sea, and death and darkness are one. The Angel from Heaven has gone back to her home, and she has taken with her her white-robed client, freed from the task of carrying a weight of gratitude too great for human power to bear. Only a stewardess! God help us to keep her memory green in reverent minds by shaping our lives in some colorable imitation of her nobleness. Her story should be carved in deathless marble or eternal brass by an appreciative people. We must record it as an ideal example for all the generations that are to come. — 'New Zealand Times' -Evening Star, 12/11/1894.
Dunedin, November 11. It is suggested by the admirers of the heroic conduct of Miss McQuaid, stewardess of the Wairarapa, that a testimonial forwarded to her parents would be a suitable mode of recognition, and a subscription for that purpose has been started. -Ashburton Guardian, 12/11/1894.
THE STEWARDESS.
(Miss McQuaid on the wreck of the steamer Wairarapa)
"Save me! oh stewardess! what shall I do?
"They're drowned! all drowned and dead! Must I drown too?
"Oh! I'm so frightened, do take care of me."
"Come, darling, come and trust yourself to me.
"Put on this belt and don't cry any more.
"See! this will bear you up. We'll get ashore!"
So she took off her belt, the very last
On board the ship, and fondly made it fast
Around the shivering child, now calm.
And hopeful with a child's pathetic faith
That love must keep it free from harm and scathe.
Ah! short-lived hope. On came the crashing wave
And swept away the innocent, the brave,
Never again to gladden us on earth,
No more to win our love, or raise our mirth.
What thought springs foremost from this touching tale,
Beside which can the soldier's honours pale?
Might not God well have given this noble girl
As guerdon of her sacrifice, that pearl
Of price, the fair young life she sought to save;
And saved her also, from the cruel wave?
May not God's thought have been: She sought to save
This little darling from the 'whelming wave;
She has done more, I'll take them both above
To be with Me, in realms of Light and Love?
Free from the stress and strain, the sin, and strife,
That mar on earth the fairest mortal life.
Father, Thy will be done! we do not ask —
When Thou hast said: These have fulfilled their task —
That they, our loved ones, should come back again
And change pure joy for mingling joy and pain.
Steer us too, Father, to that Better Land
Where are no murderous rocks, no roaring strand. -Nelson Evening Mail,13/11/1894.
It will be pleasant news for many to know that the head mistress of the Sydenham School has acted upon the suggestion thrown out by the Star that the beautiful act of self-denial of the stewardess, Miss McQuaid, at the wreck of the Wairarapa, should be made a special lesson in the schools of the colony. The example set in the Sydenham school could, with advantage, be followed in every other school in the colony. The mistress, so the writer is informed, first of all desired her pupils to subscribe their pence in aid of the relief fund, and now from day to day, brings prominently before them by the aid of diagrams and some tender words of loving appreciation, the crowning act of her who gave her life for a little child. -Star, 13/11/1894.
Another Heroine.
TO THE EDITOR.
Sir, — Since the wreck of the Wairarapa I have often wondered why, of the two stewardesses who so nobly lost their lives in helping to save the lives of others, one only (Miss McQuaid) gets all the glory! From what I read in the Star, it appears to me that the behaviour of Mrs McDonald, the other stewardess, was the more unselfish and brave of the two. Surely, Sir, a mother with a little family of fatherless children totally dependent on her for bread, had far more need to think of saving her own life than a single woman had. And, according to the accounts, Mrs McDonald did not even reserve a life-belt for her own use, but placed all the belts she could obtain upon other persons. I cannot help but think, Sir, that it seems a great injustice to the memory of the noble and brave woman that her deeds should be passed over. Let us hope something handsome will be done for the children.
— I am, &c. JUSTICE. -Star, 15/11/1894.
IN MEMORY OF MISS McQUAID
Stewardess of the Wairarapa.
The Hon. Major Steward, formerly Speaker of the House of Eepresentatives, has written the following beautiful lines on the recent disaster at the Great Barrier.
John xv, 13.
Seek ye the pearl of honour? Seek ye the purest gem?
Will ye find it glittering proudly in the monarch’s diadem?
Is it won on the field of battle? Is it worn on the soldier’s breast,
The guerdon of dauntless valour by the knightly brave possest?
Does it shine in the bishop's mitre, in the courtier’s orders beam?
Or is’t on the neck of beauty that its radiant glories gleam?
Nay, nay, for the precious jewel is a soul that’s true and brave,
That’s ready to follow the Master, ready to die to save.
And that precious and priceless jewel shone bright in the midnight gloom,
Where the fated ship upon Miners' Head, with her hundreds, met her doom.
Death rode on the angry billows, and snatched at his helpless prey,
And, one after another, his victims in the darkness bore away;
While a brave and a noble woman feared not for the hungry wave,
But with patient care was striving the weak and the young to save.
And the precious life-belts fastened round many a tender form
That, perchance, might be borne in safety out of the raging storm;
And at last, her task accomplished, the work of an angel o’er,
She buckled the last about her that it might waft her too ashore,
When, running for aid towards her, with a wail of dire distress,
A little one hid in terror her face in her flowing dress.
And then, with a wondrous pity, she lay down her life for this,
And fastened the belt about the child, and comforted with a kiss;
And the great waves overwhelming swept both out into the night,
And the great All-Father took them away to His Home of Light;
And there, where 'tis sunny ever, where there is no more sea,
By the side of the crystal river, the saved and the Saviour be,
And the crown of the new-made angel is bright with a peerless gem,
'Tis the pearl of self-abnegation in a martyr’s diadem.
Nov, 13. -Pelorous Guardian and Miners' Advocate, 23/11/1894.
THE McQUAID MEMORIAL.
There is at present on exhibition in Mr. Kohn's window in Lambton-quay a memorial of Miss McQuaid, the gallant stewardess who lost her life in the wreck of the Wairarapa, which was paid for by subscriptions limited to 1s, raised by the people of Auckland. It takes the form of a very large morocco-bound album, massively mounted in silver, with appropriate designs of life-saving lines surrounding a lifebuoy and shield. The design is in massive silver, procured from the Great Barrier lodes. Around the lifebuoy are the words, "Wairarapa, Dunedin." On the shield within are the words, "In loving memory of Annie McQuaid, aetat 29;" and above and below the buoy is the sentence, on two scrolls, "Honour the brave." Within the album, on massive cardboard leaves, richly illuminated, is a photograph of Miss McQuaid and appropriate designs. The names of the subscribers and articles upon Miss McQuaid from various papers oomplete what is a remarkably rich, appropriate, and artistic memorial. The album was manufactured by Mr. H. Kohn, illuminated by Mr. W. Gulliver, and designed by Mr. E. S. V. Mowbray. -Evening Post, 20/4/1895.
A memorial is to be erected by the stewardesses in the Union Steam Ship Company's service to the brave stewardesses who lost their lives by the wreck of the s.s. Wairarapa, and the Dunedin City Council Reserves Committee have agreed to grant a site in the Northern Cemetery. Designs for a memorial have been received, the cost being estimated at L50. -Fielding Star, 22/11/1895.
The monument in memory of the stewardesses who, whilst unselfishly performing their duties, lost their lives on the night of the wreck of the ill-fated steamer Wairarapa, is now in position in the Northern Cemetery, Dunedin, and, occupying the corner angle on the left-hand side of the entrance, is the first to meet the eye of the visitor. The monument is of white marble, and stands on a granite base. It bears the following inscription “In memory of Charlotte McDonald, Annie Macquaid, and Lizzie Grinrod, stewardesses, who were drowned in the wreck of s.s. Wairarapa, Great Barrier Island, 29th October 1894. Erected by the stewardesses in the U.S.S. Company’s service.” At the foot of the granite an anchor-shaped wreath of roses and forget-me-nots has been laid. -South Canterbury Times, 22/1/1896.
P.S.
A REVIEW OF "THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE WAIRARAPA."
[By R. E. D.]
A Poem, by Arthur Pittar. (Copyright.— Observer, Print.) Published at 1s. Copies of the Author.
The "Wairarapa" was wrecked at eight minutes past 12 a.m. on Monday, 29th January, 1894; being 30 miles out of her course from Sydney to Auckland. One hundred and five persons are known to have been lost.
The author makes his bow with a dedication to his wife —
"Then let me this, the first effort of my pen, Inscribe to thee — to me the dearest of women.
In token that I appreciate the worth of one who has made my home a Heaven on earth."
Seemingly, had the author's slippers been less carefully warmed at the domestic hearth, the feet of the "Poem" might have halted less.
Canto 1. is devoted to "The Start." It begins with an invovation to "Sydney — proud city of a hundred years, Nestling among a thousand bays and piers."
Sydney was lying low, those times, and was to be found under the wharf. It goes on to describe the equipment of the vessel —
"The boats, the gear, the Captain, and the men/ Were all well known, and of good acumen;
The Wairarapa — for such was her name — Traded to New Zealand and back-again."
Admire the well-known gear, the acumen of the boats, and the masterly simplicity with which the vessel's regular run is placed before us.
"In Windsor Castle there is scarce a room That e'en in beauty rivals her saloon."
Her freight:
"Many cases of oranges there are
Carri'd on deck, and horses from afar
To compete at the New Zealand races
At Auckland, and also Southern places."
Her passengers: "A motley lot — some merry are, some gay —
Saloon and steerage, crew and stowaway:
Some two hundred and fifty souls or more,
Salvationists, Catholics, men of law."
Canto ll. — "At Sea." Then a few thoughtful things about the ladies (discounted later on by using them to ring in a rhyme) —
"While the smooth sea doth promise that the trip
Will be to passengers enjoyable,
Specially to ladies, who, if well,
Appreciate the wonders of the deep
Best, when those wonders are all rapt in sleep.
Their pastimes "So pass'd the days, the ev'nings were not long; Some preferr'd music, others lik'd a song."
Note the nice distinction above. But now the trouble begins:
"The Kings are pass'd, and now a heavy swell
From the north-east, would to a sailor tell
That from thence, a gale was lately blowing!
A current, too, with the ship was going,
As an accustom'd eye might plainly see,
By the rippling lines waving o'er the lea;
'Twas but the fog — which here was very thick —
That bother'd them to navigate the ship."
(Our author is evidently a man of some reading.)
"All now retire, of tiffin to partake,
An easy mind good appetite doth make."
(Could Pope or Shakspearoimprove on this?)
"Great A una, whom three realms obey.
Doth sometimes tiffin take, and sometimes tea."
The trouble thickens, and everybody gets, anxious,
"And generally seem greatly perplex'd,
Except the skipper, who alone unvex'd
Smokes his cigar, and paces up and down,
As undisturb'd as in the streets of town;
Until the second officer comes up,
And asks him if he thinks he should not stop,
Or any way slow down, as otherwise,
If he may be permitted to advise,
He greatly fears, he knows not where they are."
How skilfully our author indicates the hesitancy of the officer who "don't know where 'e are" in addressing a skipper of whom we were informed earlier —
"John Mcintosh, the master, was a man
Well-known as a disciplinarian."
But, "Sir Absolute"
"Look well to port, the lighthouse is not far!"
The captain cries, with anger in his tone: "I'm skipper in this ship, and I alone
Am the best judge whether to stop or no;
But just because they funk it, let her go.
By this decision, therefore, I'll abide;
And tho' the night is dark, I'll let her slide:
I'm well to seaward, and will catch the tide
By getting early to the Auckland wharf."
Thus spake the master, as he turned aside, "with a short cough " — dragged in by hair and hide, to make a rhyme with "wharf."
" And now it is night, and dark as Hades:
So to the cabin therefore go the ladies." — Ahem!
Canto III. — "The Wreck,"
"Driven with a fair and following sea,
And engine force, at fourteen knots an hour —
An awful speed — a terrible power —
The noble ship against the cliff is dashed.
Her bow is broken, her bottom is smashed."
Her "bottom " reads better with accent or second syllable. The self-sacrifice of the stewardesses (Annie McQuaid, Charlotte McDonald and others) is next described; but unfortunately the movement of the ship has got hold of the metre in such lines as —
"She took the belt and gave it to the child,
Caressing it with words soothing and mild."
Caressing what? So, too, the heroism of Sinclair, the engineer, who
"With his mate Dunlop remains to stay
The dread explosion, that might then occur
If he did not attend to the boiler,"
merits better handling. Some of the incielents of the wreck are then described:
"Just as the stricken beast doth shriek with fear,
Who sees the condor of the Andes near;
So do these poor affrighted people cry,
Who feel approaching dissolution nigh.
The horses, too, were hurl'd amid them all,
While orange cases kill'd some in their fall."
And the skipper's end —
"If sav'd, how could he now his owners greet?
How his many victims' relations meet?
No hope for him from man, that he could see,
Better than trust in God and His mercy.
Believing thus, and hoping in the Lord,
He brcath'd a prayer, and then sprang overboard."
Note how skilfully the perturbation in the master's mind is indicated in the metre which calms as the skipper's mind settles down to suicide and security from censure. In some fine lines in another poem the converse of this movement is marked —
"His bridle reins were golden chains, And with a martial clank,
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel smiting his stallion's flank."
Here the movement increases perceptibly.
Canto IV. — "The Rescue."
The splendid actions of Dunlop and Kendal, who got a line to shore; of Miss Dickenson, who pluckily tried it first; and of a Mr. Roberts, who at the instigation oi Mr. Ferguson brought ashore Miss Williams (who had been over twelve hours in the sea), finds its contrast in the next few lines —
"Now all the living gather'd on the shore, Some were nearly naked, but few had more
Than a shirt apiece, or of a pants a pair — Mere than one garment each was very rare.
But while many ladies were dress'd so ill,
Fenwiok, the purser, was rigg'd fit to kill;
He grudged to lend a thing on this sad morn
To many people who were quite forlorn."
Our author does not spare the lash where he thinks it merited; for after telling how the unfortuinate people made themselves shoe out of the cork in the life belts, and how tley had to live on two oranges apiece,
-"Still ot the passengers they were but few
In proportion, to those saved of the crew;
While of the women and the children, too,
Who liv'd the horrors of that night to tell,
The number is so few that p'rhaps 'tis well
For the officers that the captain died,
So that all blame can on his back be tied."
So, too, in CANTO V.— "The Arrival."
Our author, after telling how the third mate, Johnson, took a boat-load of unfortunates to Whangapoa, where they were kindly tended by "Settler Eglington" (which, by the way, should read Edlington), and how others were succoured by the Maoris of Catherine Bay, he tells us —
"They managed very well them all to feed,
But how to clothe them is a job indeed.
Among the passengers when in the boats
There was a parson who had on two coats.
But . . . he refused to others any help,
And kept his double clothing to himself."
Well-merited praise is bestowed on the people of Auckland and elsewhere who contributed clothes, food, and money for the relief of the sufferers, and on
"Messrs. Moor, Stark, Addison, and Flinn,
Who live on the isle, and assisted in
Feeding the living, burying the dead,
Too much in praise of them cannot be said.
The Maoris also did their very best,
As did settler Eglington and the rest."
Canto Vl. — "A Review," tells us—
"The stewardesses, as we know, were brave;
But others, too, tried others lives to save.
Thus, French and Jolly sav'd the young boy West,
Who nine years old, was plucky as the best.
But still Kendall, Baldwin, and Middlebrook
All great and heroic deeds undertook;
Thomson, Baker, Davis, Fraser, and Grey,
All gave no chance of saving life away;
While Leighton, Corrie, Pounds, Pipe, and Campbell,
With others on the rocks did just as well.
Chamberlain, too, must, not be forgotten,
Nor Chadwick, Varley, Harris, and Madden.
Another name that should be on the roll
Is that of Mr French, who sav'd Miss Cole.
A steerage stewardess there was, whose name,
A sincere grateful world should ascertain.
But though it may not be recorded here,
In God's great Book ot Life it will appear.
Of others we are told — As it is unpleasant to review
Both cowardliness and selfishness, too,
'Tis better not to here recount their names,
The same great Book of Life black marks contains."
Elsewhere in the "Poem" the loss of life is given thus —
"The number of dead will never be known,
Tho' one hundred and five are clearly shown
To have lost their lives, or to missing be,
In this most terrible catastrophe."
So sad a subject had better have been treated in prose by an author who can control his Pegasus no better than John Gilpin did the callender's horse. To warn off other browsers in the paddocks of Parnassus, and to show how close this scheme has been carried to absurdity, it may be well for once to step just over the line, still keeping close enough to the original to shake hands with it.
A SUMMARY.
I. O Barrier bold of Auckland's shore,
O land of gold and copper ore,
Of gum and oysters in good store,
Of fish, and flies, and fleas galore.
II. O land of leisure, cream, and bees,
Pohutukawa and ships' knees;
Loquat, guava, citron trees,
O land where water ne'er doth freeze.
III O island little known to fame
Till to your shores a steamer came:
The "Wairarapa" was her name,
And "running records" was her game.
IV. Her skipper, mad, as we suppose,
On Miner's Head must pile her nose!
From ocean's bed she never rose
How sad for the Insurance Co.'s!
V. Then on the sea she flung the freight;
The fruit, the steeds, the maid, the mate;
And skulls were fractured — dreadful fate —
By horses' hoof and orange crate.
VI. O parson, chief of chokered churls,
Who in two coats himself enswirls,
While on the shore squat shivering girls
With little on but clamming curls.
VII. O crazy skipper, frantic horse,
Sea-swollen orange, bloated corse;
O cleric clad, O night-robed ladies
O verses mad; in short, O Hades!
The writer presents his compliments to "the Author," and is sorry he has not skill enough to make the metre of his verses bump like the "Wairarapa" on the rocks.
ADAM HASBEEN. -Taranaki Daily News, 22/6/1901.
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