Tabbies to Tristan

The 157 residents of Tristan da Cunha, "world's loneliest island," in the South Atlantic midway between South Africa and South America, possess no cinema, no radio, no automobiles, no police, no liquor, live in rigidly moral communism on potatoes and fish, have practically perfect teeth and general health. Of mixed English-Scotch-Irish-American-Dutch-Italian-African descent, most of their ancestors got to the bleak volcanic island by way of shipwreck. Also from a wrecked ship, in 1882, arrived rats which multiplied faster than mariners.

En route from Mother Britain to this outpost of Empire last week was a sailing vessel, the Royal Mail Cap Pilar, with a cargo desperately desired by its inhabitants. The rats, reported the master of a British freighter which put in at lonely Tristan da Cunha last August, had got completely out of control of the island's single mongoose, were devouring all crops, even beginning to eat the Bibles of which Tristanites own five to a family. Last week the Cap Pilar was gallantly sailing to the rescue with twelve alley cats.

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