 Ostracism was originally an oyster. A famous hymn plays an important part in the rescue of nine persons. A man lives for years in a palace without being discovered. Can you imagine that? Yes, you're right, ladies and gentlemen. This is Lindsay McCary back again with you to present with the help of my friends here another session of this series in which we give you a batch of interesting strange facts and historical incidents. We'll be with you to offer the first one in just a minute and a half. Sorry for this session. You've all heard the old mother goose rhyme of the old woman who lived in a shoe. It seems that she had so many children she didn't know what to do, you remember? Well, here's a little story about a king who had so much room he didn't know what to do. It seems that in the year 1880 an attempt was made on the life of Tsar Alexander II of Russia in his huge St. Petersburg winter palace. Guards immediately rushed about the gigantic structure to find the person who had thrown the bomb. Through the more than thousand rooms they scurried, hunting frantically for the playful lad who had decided the Tsar's time was up, but did they find him? They did not. Instead, in one of the many unused rooms on an upper floor, they found a bewildered, frightened out of his wit's peasant who admitted that he had taken over the room some years before and had been living there unnoticed, not with his wife and family, but with his cow. Can you imagine that? Now for another of those very interesting word origins that we've dug up for you. The class will please come to attention for a little lesson on the word ostracize, meaning to cast out from society. According to some advertisements, any number of things may ostracize us today, but in ancient times it had a much more serious meaning. So let's go back to ancient Greece in the city of Athens where a meeting is taking place for the purpose of deciding a serious matter. Listen. I let him speak. Citizen of Athens. This day we are to decide upon the banishment of alcobites from Athens. I say that he is a menace to our political good. So let him be banished. I see you are of two minds, those who would banish alcobites and those who would keep him in Athens. Very well. Bring the Austrians. Bring the Austrians. That was the cry. And it meant bring the shells. For Austrians were oyster shells and upon them the voting citizenry inscribed the name of the person they wished banished from the city. If the shells were left blank it was a vote against banishment. Today our word ostracism or ostracize has come from the Greek word ostrion, the shell upon which the natives of Athens placed their ballots and thus did antiquity add another word to our vocabulary. Can you imagine that? Almost everyone, of course, knows the thrillingly tragic story of the matter in which the ships banned gave final solace to those brave men and women who went down in the Titanic on that cold Monday morning of April 15, 1912 by playing the grand old hymn, Nearer My God to Thee. I've found several other stories of sea disasters in which church hymns have been potent factors on soothing the troubled spirits of the victims. One of the most poignant of these is the story of the Chrissie of Castle. And here it is, dramatized directly from the official court report graciously provided to us by the mercantile marine department of the British Board of Trade. Under command of Captain Robert Thomas, the Chrissie of Castle, a three-masted British sailing ship built of iron in 1887, had unloaded a cargo of wheat at Calau on the coast of Peru and reloaded a cargo of guano at Ballistus Island destined for Antwerp. While this cargo was being taken on early in June in 1912, the captain went to Pisco to obtain the loading certificate, leaving orders with first mate William A. Gale to clean all the bilges of excess lube which he knew was there. Finally, on June 5th, the ship was ready to sail with a crew of 22 and two passengers, the captain's wife and his four-year-old son. About seven days out, the first officer came to Captain Thomas. Yes, Mr. Gale? I should have told you this before, sir, but I forgot all about it. What? Well, back at Calau, I wasn't able to get all the wheat cleared away from the bilges before loading the guano, sir. What? Well, sir, they were ready to load and we were short of men. That's right. That's no excuse, Mr. Gale. My orders were to clear those bilges, set some men to work at once and have those bilges cleared. I say at once. And be sure the sections around the pump well are cleared by all means. Yes, sir. Able-bodied seamen William Summers was dispatched to clean the bilge near the pump well, and after bailing from a tin cup and to a bucket for two hours, came above. What's the matter there, Summers? I can't stand it any longer, sir. It stinks down there. Why, man, why, your nose and eyes are bleeding. It's terrible, Mr. Gale. I can't stand it. Very well, come on up. Will anyone else try down there? I will, Mr. Gale. All right, Lord, get down with you. But the third mate, Fred Lord, immediately affected by the stench of the rotting wheat and guano came up at once. The ship's master was informed of the impossibility of any man remaining in the bilge, and so he consequently tried the pumps. It was discovered that only a small quantity of water came up, and that was black and mixed with particles of wheat. Upon sounding the depth of the well, Captain Thomas discovered about six inches of water, but in view of the fine weather encountered along the coast of Chile, it was not considered to be a dangerous condition. Then, just as the Chrissie of Castle was proceeding under full sail about the latitude of Valparaiso, a boisterous wind arose, lashing the southern Pacific Ocean into heavy rolling swells. Southward, the ship sailed, tossed about like a toy boat in a bathtub. Then went on toward Cape Horn, hoping that calmer seas would be found in the Atlantic. On the 14th of July, after the ship had rounded the southernmost tip of South America, a terrific gale arose, whipping the sea into a greater fury, and about two o'clock in the morning, the first mate knocked on the door of the captain's cabin. Captain Thomas! Captain Thomas, sir! Who is it? It's me, Captain Thomas, sir, Gail. Just a minute. What's up, Mr. Gail? The rudder's broke, sir. The HBC under the port quarter struck the rudder, sir, and broke the stock under the stern plighting. She's banging up against the rudder stops. She's opening up the shell plates around the stern post. It won't be long now, for she springs the leak there, sir. Very well. Rouse the crew below and give orders to jets in the cargo in that quarter. I'll get on some clothes. I'll be with you presently. Aye, aye, sir! Right away! The cargo was tossed overboard during the next four hours with virtually no noticeable change in the ship's precarious condition. The pumps were useless, and the water in the hold went higher and higher until at about 2 p.m. on the 15th of July, the master explained the situation to the crew and gave orders to abandon ship a serious decision for a man in whose charge had been placed a costly ship and valuable cargo. Ordering a first major take charge of the longboat with a crew of six men, Captain Thomas loaded his wife and son and 14 other members of the crew into the lifeboat and cast off from the ill-fated Christyth Castle. As the day wore on, both ships shipped quantities of water, and it was necessary to bail continuously. At 4 p.m., the ship was lost sight of, and by 5 o'clock, a fresh gale blew up, widening the distance between the two smaller boats. At daybreak Tuesday, the longboat with their precious cargo of seven human souls had disappeared, never to be seen again. Later that day, a four-masted bark passed at a short distance, but failed to notice the floundering lifeboat and to hear the frantic cries of those aboard her. On Tuesday evening, the wind debated slightly, but a new crisis arose when it was discovered that all stimulants had been used, and food was running low. Later that night, there occurred the first death aboard the lifeboat. First? Yes, because in awesome succession, six members of the crew were claimed by death and were gently dropped over the side, buried at sea. Days, days, days, and long, fearful nights dragged on. Those of us sitting within the comfort of our own homes may find it difficult to imagine the horrors suffered by that pitiable little group. We may be able to picture the torment within the souls of those terrified victims, but we may be able to feel the vicarious thrill of renewed hope that they felt when out through the night arose the clear voice of one of the members of the crew. One by one, the others picked up the strange of the old seamen's hymn, Pull for the Shore Sailor, with renewed strength, the crew pulled harder toward their destination, the British-owned Falkland Islands. With the spiritual uplift provided by the words of the hymn, they seemed to gain new inspiration to attain their precious goal, land. Then, on Monday, July 22, 1912, nine worn and haggard men and the captain's wife and little son landed near Pembroke Lighthouse, Port Stanley, where two more members of the crew of the Christyth Castle died of exposure. What torturous memories those nine survivors must have carried with them? How they must have lived and relived those seven miserable, horror-filled days. But doubtless, the one wonderful recollection that remained with them was the moment when the inspired sailor sang out the grand old hymn, Pull for the Shore Sailor, Pull for the Shore. But the sailor day is at hand. See, oh, army wins, though not... It's another session of Can You Imagine That? We'll return to the same station soon again, and we all hope you'll be listening for us. Until then, this is Lindsay McCarrie saying goodbye now.