Welcome to our series You're Not Alone, in which Allen Sonter, for many years a missionary educator in the islands of the South Pacific, tell stories that help us to know that God is always watching over us wherever we are.
This episode is entitled Who Woke the Captain? Back in the 1950s, I worked as a school principal in an isolated part of the Pacific now known as the Republic of Kiribas. The 7th Day Adventist mission I worked with operated a 65 foot ship called the Fetuao, and you can feel very much alone when you're out of sight of land on such a small craft.
The coral atholes of the islands of Girbis are only a couple of meters above sea level, and they disappear from sight when you are on a ship only twelve to 15 km away from them. One evening we left the island of Tarowa, where the colony headquarters were situated to travel to Ocean Island, then a thriving phosphate mining island. The trip took about 36 hours, and we normally took star sightings at dawn and dusk for navigation purposes.
On board were the captain, Alec Thompson, several Kittypus crew and I, who went along to learn navigation. We travelled all the first night and the next day, but because of the overcast skies, we were unable to get any star sightings either in the morning or evening. Alec, a veteran of the ocean and a man who knew his God as a close friend, used to say that there was no need to worry if we couldn't see the stars, because God knew that we didn't need them.
The ship surged through the warm tropical waters on the last night of the trip. We expected to see Ocean Island about 730 the next morning. The night wore away, and we seemed to be so very much alone out there all by ourselves, surrounded by the vast Pacific Ocean.
With no star sightings for well over 30 hours, we could have been way off course. An ocean island was a very small target to find. In an ocean known for its unpredictable current changes.
A ship could spend a long time searching for Ocean Island in the days before radio and satellite navigation. It came 05:00 in the morning. The cabin was pitch black.
Alec and I were asleep in our bunks, and most of the crew were asleep in their quarters in the bow of the ship. The man on Watts kept an eye out ahead while the helmsman peered drowsily at the compass and tried to keep the ship on course as the swells nudged the bow from time to time. Suddenly Alec was wide awake.
Someone had touched him. He strained to see who was there, but could see nothing and could hear nothing in the darkness. Like any good captain, he decided that because he was awake, he had better check that all was well with the ship.
So he made his way out of the cabin and up into the wheelhouse. Something prompted him to take the binoculars and scan the horizon. As he moved the binoculars to starboard, he suddenly stopped.
What was that light? Very faint. Just a mere glow on the horizon caught his eye. Was it really a light? No ships had reported their position in the area on the radio schedule the previous evening.
It couldn't be Ocean Island, as that must still be many nautical miles away. Yet there it was, that strange glow about 30 degrees to starboard. That's the right hand side of the ship.
Perhaps he was only imagining it. He would get a second opinion. Feeling his way through the darkness of the cabin, he tapped me on the shoulder.
Alan, come up on top and have a look. Within a few moments we were standing on top of the wheelhouse, and as I steadied myself against the ventilator, he handed me the binoculars. See if you can make out anything interesting, remarked Alec as I lifted the glasses and focused them on the faint line of the horizon ahead.
At first, as I looked ahead, I could make out nothing. But as I moved the glasses around to the starboard side, a faint glow caught my attention. Say, there's a light over there.
I exclaimed. So you can see it too. He nodded.
There must really be something there. Briefly, he told me how he had seen the light, but doubted his own eyes. There's only one thing it can be.
It must be Ocean Island. We must have traveled faster than we thought. But what puzzles me is that it is at least 30 degrees to starboard of our course.
But we had no starsights last evening. We could be that much off course, I responded. After discussing the problem for a few moments, we decided that we should alter course toward the light.
I stayed on top with the glasses while Alec went below and took the wheel. Slowly the bow began to swing over as I kept the glasses glued to that faint glow. That's it.
I called as the mast came in line with the light and the ship steadied on the new course. Then, as if someone had thrown a switch, the light went out. As Alec joined me, I handed him the glasses, saying, It's gone.
It was there until we set course by it, but then it disappeared. He stood looking intently ahead for a long time before he lowered the glasses and shook his head. I can't understand it, but it was there.
Slowly and thoughtfully, we climbed down into the wheelhouse. Let's go and have a look at the chart, he suggested. The cabin seemed oppressive after the cool breeze on top of the ship.
Spreading the chart out on the table, alec took the dividers and stepped off the distance between our estimated position and Ocean Island. We could not be less than 35 miles away, he mused, and in any case, the only lights at this time of the morning are at the phosphate workings on the opposite side of the island and are hidden from us by the shape of the land. From our position so close to the water, we knew we would not see the low hump of the island until we were within eleven or 12 miles of it.
And with our speed of six or seven knots it would be 2 hours before we could expect to sight land. The clock showed 530 and we sat looking at the chart in puzzled silence. What had made that light? We'd both seen it.
It could not have been a ship, as it was not sharp enough for that and there were no ships about. Finally I broke the silence. Something made that light.
So I think we should stay on our new course for a couple of hours and see what turns up. Alec agreed, so we climbed back into our bunks and tried to get a few minutes more sleep. Soon the first light of dawn began to chase away the darkness in the east to the south, where we would have been had we not changed course.
A tropical storm poured down, rain in torrents completely blotting out the sea. An agile Kiriba sailor clung precariously to the top of the mast, hopefully searching the horizon ahead for the first glimpse of land. The feeling of excitement could be felt.
When would we see land? A little later, as I stood on the wheelhouse roof thinking over the happenings of the early morning, alec joined me. I'm certainly glad we aren't over there, he remarked, pointing to the south. We wouldn't be able to see land a quarter of a mile away.
About 07:30. From the man up the mast came the age old cry of the mariner lando. Yes, there was Ocean Island dead ahead.
Had we not altered heading, we would have been in the middle of that squall and would have sailed right past Ocean Island without seeing it. Who knows how long we would have been looking for it. But what about the mystery light? After plotting our course on the chart, we estimated the path of the storm, then passing to the south.
The rain squall would have passed over Ocean Island about five that morning, and what we had seen, we believe, was the reflection from the underside of the clouds of the floodlights around the phosphate workings. As the cloud moved on, the reflection had disappeared for just a few minutes around 05:00. The light was there to guide us.
We were not alone out there that night. Someone was with us, someone who cared enough to wake the captain just at the right time. Well, who woke the captain? I believe God sent his angel to tap the captain on the shoulder, and God impressed him to take the monoculous and scan the horizon.
No, we were not alone that night out there on the ocean. The God who made us and loves us was there? Friend, if you feel all alone today, if you feel that no one cares for you, just take a moment now and ask the God of Heaven to come and care for you. He loves you too much to ignore a cry for help.
You've been listening to our series You're Not Alone stories told by Allen Sonter that help us to know that God is always watching over us, wherever we are. If you have any comments or questions, send an email to
[email protected] or give us a call within Australia on zero two four nine seven, three three four five.
Six. May God bless you and remember you are not alone. You have been listening to a production of Three ABN Australia australia Radio.
