THE TICHBORNE CLAIMANTS.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 469, 7 May 1890, Page 6

THE TICHBORNE CLAIMANTS.

A Curious Yarn. (From our London Correspondent. ) London, March 7. The claimant whose sudden access of funds was attributed by many to his having at last assented to Sir Henry Tichborne’s proposals and deposited with the baronet a signed and attested confession to be opened and published at his death, has been disillusionising folks on the subjeeb. Lecturing at Hanley the other day, the good old man announced that he was still very much “ Sir Roger.” We learn, too, with some surprise that £150,000 (not a stiver less) has been subscribed by trustful persons unknown, towards enabling the victimised creature to re open his case, and that the new trial will be heard next term. Where the witnesses are to come from, Mr Castro— I beg pardon—Sir Roger doesn’t seem to be able to say. Meanwhile from the States comes a most extraordinary yarn. It is the story of an old sailor named William Edwards, whose words were taken down to the office of the “ World ” a fortnight ago. Why he should have told the story to the “ World,” or, indeed, to any newspaper at all, is nob explained.

Falling in with Sir Roger. “It was in the 'so’s my yarn begins. Afte r a two-year cruise I found a port in th® Southern Seas, where there ain’t no Spring, nor Winter, nor Fall, nothin’ but Summer all the time, an’ cocoanut trees, an’ South Sea Kings. Well, ez I was a-layin’ in port, lookin’ about for a chance to ship, along cums the schooner Bella Ruffin, Cap’en Keith, bound from Tahiti for a cargo of beachly mart*. *Do you want a berth, my man V sez Cap'en Keith. ‘ I do,’ sez I, an’ that night we ran out of the harbour on a fair wind an’ a free sheet. Two days afterward we picked up a lifeboat with six men a-layin’ in the bottom of it ez stiff as pickled herrins. We hadn’t any shot to sink ’em with, an’ five of ’em went to the maneaters that was waitin’ about the boat; but the sixth was livin’ and we soon brought him to. He was a handsome young chap about twenty-two year old, an’ he warn’t no common sailer, but a gentleman. His name was Roger Tichborne, an’ when I heard the story long arterward I knew that he was the real Sir Roger ez wuz lost. By-and-by we cum to a bit of an island with a little cocoanut patch on it an’ lots of beachly marr on the shore; so down goes the anchor an’ we stops. Cap’en Keith sent me an’ a native named Tommy ashore to gather the marr and get things ready for the gang of natives that he was a goin’ back for,” an’ ez Tichborne was too weakly to do much on shipboard he sent him along with us.

His Death. “ We wuz landed an’ the Bella Ruffin went to the west’ard. She never cum back. Whab endin’ befell her I never heerd, an’ nary an’ eye have I clapped on her from that day to this. The first day on the island Tichborne was took with a spell an’ grew worse, so we built a hut of cocoanut leaves and pub him in ib, and took care of him ez fine ez we knew. But we didn’t stay long in the hut. The next night Tommy let off a yell like a fog siren and went on a rovin’ commission with a soldier crab moored to his righb leg. Them crabs weigh nigh on to fourteen pounds, an’ a couple of ’em are a match for any man. But Tommy cum back' an’ we put up a platform o’ cocoanut logs an’ built our hub over again atop of ib. Meanwhile Tichborne got sicker. I wuz veery much intimated with him, an’ a finer gentleman there never wuz. He told me that if he ever could get to China there wuz all the money he wanted waitin’ for him at Jardine and Waddington’s, bankers, in Hongkong. Then he used to talk about his mother, an’ about his people that lived in Hampshire, England, which place he said was luvly. He had had a great many misfortunes, he said, hut some day the storm ’ud blow over ; but he didn’t live to see it, for he died eighteen days arter we landed, leavin’ me a ring an’ a cross with a precious stone in to take it to his people. Tommy an’ me buried him as honourable as we could, an’ he’s a-layin’ in the sand there to-day. At last down comes a Honolulu cutter an’takes us off, and we went without much grievin’ 1 can tell you. An Encounter with the Claimant. “ I lost the jewels, bub I didn’t forget young Tichborne; so, when I wuz in Liverpool five years ago an’ they pointed out a big fat mau an’ told me ha wuz Sir Roger, I told ’em they lied. * Are you Sir Roger Tichborne ?’ sez I, makin’ bold to step up to him. ‘lam, sir,’ sez he ; 1 and who the devil are you ?’ ‘lf you’re Sir Roger,’ bcz I, ‘dash me if I ain’t Lord Beaconsfield 1’ Then he shoved me by an’ went into the hall where he was a-lecturin’, and I ain’t seen him since neither.”