Category: Australian history

  • The Tragic Loss of RMS Quetta

    In 1890 the Quetta sank bow first in just 3 minutes. Courtesy: State Library of Queensland.

    In 1890 Queensland experienced one of its worst maritime disasters when the passenger steamer Quetta sank in Torres Strait in just three minutes with the loss of 133 lives.

    The R.M.S. Quetta was a 3,300-ton coal-powered, iron-clad steamer measuring 116 metres (380 feet) in length and could travel at a top speed of 13 knots (24 kms per hour).   She was built in 1881 and on this voyage from Brisbane to London she carried nearly 300 people – passengers and crew.

    At 9.14 on the evening of 28 February a sharp jolt and a shudder ran through the Quetta as she was being piloted through the Albany Passage.   Initially, the pilot and captain were more perplexed than alarmed.  The pilot was sure they were miles from any known hazards and it didn’t feel like they had hit anything substantial.  None-the-less Captain Sanders followed protocol and ordered the engines stopped, the lifeboats got ready and the carpenter to sound the wells.

    The Quetta Saloon from The Illustrated London News, 1881.

    Moments later the carpenter cried out “she’s sinking.”   Water was pouring into the ship at an unimaginable rate.    What no one realised at the time was they had struck an uncharted rock pinnacle right in the middle of the main shipping channel through Torres Strait.   A gapping hole had been torn in the Quetta’s hull from bow to midship one to two metres wide.  

    The ship was already starting to settle by the bow as Captain Sanders ran aft encouraging passengers to make their way there.    At the time many of the first-class passengers were in the saloon rehearsing for an upcoming concert and were oblivious to what was taking place outside.   The crew were still frantically trying to get the lifeboats out when water began lapping at their feet only a minute or two later.

    Then the stern reared up out of the water and the ship plummeted below the surface of the sea spilling scores of people into the water.   Many others were trapped in the saloon, their cabins or under the ship’s sun awnings and drowned.  

    RMS Quetta showing the sun awnings covering the decks. Photo courtesy SLQ

    The Quetta sank in just 3 minutes.   Most of those who survived were already on the aft deck when the ship sank or were lucky to swim clear as she slid below the surface.  

    All was confusion in the water as people thrashed around in panic trying to find something to keep themselves afloat.  Eventually a measure of order was restored and one of the lifeboats, now floating free, was used to rescue as many people as it would hold.   A second lifeboat, though damaged, was filled with people and they all made their way to land a few kilometres away.

    About one hundred people made it to safety on Little Adolphus Island where they spent an uncomfortable night but they were alive.   Captain Sanders was among them.   The next morning he set off in the lifeboat manned by some of his men and made for Somerset to report the loss of the ship and get help for those still missing.   Apart from the people he had left on the island without food or water, there were many others who had washed up on other islands or were still clinging to pieces of wreckage out in the Strait.

    When the news reached authorities on Thursday Island a government steamer was dispatched to search for survivors.   Fishing boats from Somerset also combed the waters in the days that followed.    In all, about 160 people were saved, many had stories of lucky escapes.

    The full story of the Quetta’s loss is told in A Treacherous Coast: Ten Tales of Shipwreck and Survival from Queensland Waters, available as a kindle eBook or paperback through Amazon.

    © Copyright C.J. Ison, Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2022.

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  • The Norna and the Conman Commodore

    The Norna’s sister ship Cornet.

       In the early 1900s, many hard-working sailing vessels saw out their days plying the waters between Australia and the islands of the South Pacific. Few, however, would have had such a fascinating history as that of the Norna.

       The Norna was built in New York in 1879 as a luxury ocean-going schooner rigged yacht. She was lavishly fitted out and built to be a fleet-footed racer. For the next decade or more, she held her own in many long-distance ocean races.

       Then, in 1895, she was purchased by self-styled “Commander” Nicholas Weaver, who claimed to represent a Boston newspaper empire seeking to establish a presence in New York. He was, in fact, a brazen conman.

       A few years earlier, Weaver had fallen foul of the law and only escaped gaol by testifying against his partner. He then hustled himself off to the West Coast, where he no doubt perfected his craft.

    Nicholas J Weaver, The Pacific Commercial Advertiser (Honolulu), 17 April 1900, p. 7.

       Now back in New York, he planned to take the Norna on a round-the-world cruise, sending back stories of his adventures which would be syndicated in America’s Sunday newspapers. He found several financial backers willing to cover his expenses in exchange for a share of the syndication fees. They founded a company, and Weaver sailed for the warm climes of the Caribbean.

       There, he made himself a favourite among the members of the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club, representing himself as the “Acting Commodore” of the prestigious Atlantic Yacht Club. The good people of Bermuda were not necessarily any more gullible than anyone else whom Weaver had separated from their money. But when someone sails into harbour aboard a 115-foot luxury yacht with a sailing crew of ten plus a cook and steward, few questions are likely to be raised. It also helped that Weaver himself was handsome, self-assured, and very charismatic.

       Weaver lived life to the full and spared himself no expense. He began hosting poker parties on his yacht, inviting only Bermuda’s most well-heeled residents. Though he proved to be uncannily lucky at cards, the winnings could not have covered his expenses. He funded his lavish lifestyle by chalking up credit with local merchants where possible, passing dud cheques if necessary, or forwarding invoices to his financial backers in New York.

       However, it was only a matter of time before things began to unravel. But before the inevitable day of reckoning, Bermudans awoke one fine morning to find the Norna and its flamboyant owner had cleared out in the dead of night.

    Yacht Norna leaving Honolulu. The Pacific Commercial Advertiser (Honolulu), 17 April 1900, p. 7.

       Weavers’ backers eventually realised they had been scammed and that they would never recoup their money. They wound up the company and stopped sending him money. But that did not deter Weaver from continuing on his round-the-world cruise.

       He visited many ports over the next couple of years, where he dazzled the wealthy with his largesse, while taking them to the cleaners at the poker table. He cruised around the Mediterranean, stopping long enough to run his con but always skipping out before debts became due.

       At the outbreak of the Spanish-American War, in April 1898, he and his American-flagged Norna found themselves in hostile waters. Realising his yacht might be seized, he set sail at his best speed with the Spanish navy in hot pursuit. Despite Weaver’s many character flaws, he was a superb mariner. Thanks to his skill and the luxury yacht’s fast sailing lines, the Norna outpaced the Spaniards, crossing into the safe waters of British-owned Gibraltar. There, he repaid his welcome by passing a fraudulent cheque for $5,000 and was once again on his way.

       During his travels around Europe, Weaver made the acquaintance of a man named Petersen, a fellow grifter. Together, they would prove a formidable team.

       Weaver and Pedersen would arrive in a new city independently, only to be introduced to one another by someone local, or they would fabricate a chance meeting as if they were strangers. Regardless of how they met, the result was always the same. They would get a high-stakes poker game going where one or the other would clean up.

       When Weaver reached Ceylon (present-day Sri Lanka), he was introduced to Petersen, who just happened to have recently arrived by steamer. They quickly got to work separating the wealthy from their wealth before moving on again. The pair repeated the same stunt in Sumatra, in the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia), as well as in Hong Kong and Yokohama, Japan. At each port, they fleeced the local high society and vanished before alarm bells rang.    In Yokohama, Weaver passed himself off as the commodore of the New York Yacht Club and flew its pennant from his vessel. Weaver and Pedersen befriended each other and enjoyed many an evening with others playing poker on the Norna. Then, one morning, the yacht was gone. Pedersen joined the chorus baying for Weaver’s blood, claiming he, too, had been taken for a fortune. He then quietly slipped away on the next steamer leaving port.

    Schooner Norna circa 1911 now sporting a cabin on her aft deck. The Sun, 17 July 1911, p. 1.

       From Yokohama, the Norna made its way to Honolulu, where Weaver and Petersen briefly reunited. But when Weaver left Hawaii, Petersen remained. It seems as though the partnership had come to an end. The Norna stopped at Samoa long enough for Weaver to fleece the locals, then sailed on to New Zealand. At Auckland, Weaver began his now well-honed con, though this time without the able assistance of Petersen.

       Weaver racked up considerable debts, but before he could make his departure, the Norna was seized as surety. Realising the game was up, Weaver caught the next steamer bound for Sydney, vowing he would return to Auckland with the necessary funds to have his beloved yacht released. Not surprisingly, he vanished, and the yacht was put up for sale. It was purchased by a Sydney merchant and brought across the Tasman in June 1900.

       The Norna was stripped of her luxurious fittings, and the cabins were removed to make way for a spacious hold more fitting for her new working life. The Norna passed through several hands over the next 13 years. She served as a pearling lugger in Torres Strait and a trading vessel among the Pacific Islands. One owner even used her to salvage copper and other valuables from old shipwrecks far out in the Coral Sea. But, in June 1913, she, herself, was wrecked on Masthead Reef 50 km northeast of Gladstone Harbour. So ended the Norna’s fascinating and colourful career.

    © Copyright Tales from the Quarterdeck / C.J. Ison, 2022.

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  • Elegant and Fast: The Huia schooner

    Huia topsail schooner

    The New Zealand topsail schooner Huia has long been heralded as the best-looking vessel of her type and one of the fastest sailing.  

    Launched at Kaipara Harbour New Zealand in 1894, the Huia was built using Kauri planks over a puriri timber frame.   Measuring 35 metres (115 ft) in length and registered at 196 tons, she was purpose built for the timber trade.   For the first few years of her long career she shipped lumber to Sydney and brought coal back from Newcastle.

    The Huia soon earned a reputation as a very fast sailer on the notoriously dangerous Trans-Tasman route.   In 1895 Captain McKenzie reportedly made the run from Newcastle to Kaipara Harbour heads in four days and six hours.   For most of the passage she was pushed along by gale force winds while the seas continuously swept over her deck.   

    Topsail schooner HUIA

    On another voyage she was said to have logged 510 nautical miles (944 kms) in the first 48 hours after clearing Newcastle.   With every square inch of canvas out she clipped along at 14 to 16 knots.    That is a staggering 26-30 kilometres per hour.

    Her fast Tasman Sea crossings, however, did not come without risk.   After one “tempestuous passage” the Newcastle Herald reported, “the gales met by the little vessel were from south-west and south, and they were accompanied by heavy seas throughout, the decks being kept in a chronic state of flood.   Whilst diving bows into the seas on Tuesday last Huia lost her jibboom, and a day or two previous her fore shroud was carried away.”(1)

    In 1897 the little ship was fitted with an auxiliary engine and continued making record breaking passages between New Zealand ports and across the Tasman.   In 1912 she was sold to the Nobel Explosives Company.   And, through the first few decades of the 20th Century her classic lines made her a favourite vessel in many Australian ports from Cairns to Hobart, and from Melbourne to Fremantle.

    By the 1930s the age of sail had past. The beautiful “white-hulled” sailing vessel was one of only two top-sail schooners working out of Melbourne.

    Huia schooner. Photo courtesy State Library of Victoria.

    In 1950 the ship began carrying cargo and passengers between islands in the South Pacific.   Her time came to an end in 1951 when she was wrecked on a coral reef in New Caledonia.  

    © Copyright Tales from the Quarterdeck / C.J. Ison

    (1) Newcastle Herald, 8 June 1895, p. 4.

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  • Diving for the Gothenburg Gold

    Wood engraving published in The illustrated Australian news for home readers. Photo courtesy SLV.

    On 24 February 1875 the steamer Gothenburg ran aground on the Great Barrier Reef and sank during a ferocious storm with the loss of over 100 lives.   A fortune in gold also went to the bottom.

    That the Gothenburg had sunk with 3,000 ounces (93 kgs) of gold belonging to the English, Scottish and Australian Chartered Bank did not go unnoticed when the ship was reported lost.   Brisbane salvage diver James Putwain partnered with the owner of the small coastal steamer and the two started steaming towards Bowen as quickly as they could.  

    There, Putwain hired a small fishing boat and some local men to help with his air pump.   By noon on 7 March, they were at the wreck site, only six days after hearing of the disaster.  The steamer continued north, leaving Putwain and his team to bring up the gold. 

    Putwain first tried diving from the fishing boat but a strong current prevented him from reaching the wreck.   He then built a platform attached to the wreck’s mainmast and set up his diving apparatus on that.   Donning his heavy diving suit and helmet, he climbed down the rigging to the sunken ship’s deck and soon made entry into the captain’s cabin.   On this first attempt his air hose became entangled in the wreckage.   Putwain had some anxious moments until he cleared it and returned to the surface to give more explicit instructions to his new and inexperienced assistants.  

    S.S. Gothenburg docked at a wharf. Photo Courtesy SLQ

    His third descent met with success.   Putwain found the safe containing the gold in the remains of the  cabin and had it hoisted to the surface.   Before leaving the wreck he tried descending further into the ship but only got a little way before running out of hose.   But there, he saw the haunting vision of two women suspended in the water seemingly embracing.   Unable to get close enough to identify the bodies, he returned to the surface with the macabre image burned into his memory. 

    With the gold secured he returned to Bowen to report his find to the Harbourmaster and deposit the precious metal in the local bank.

    Then the enterprise got mired in legal wrangling.   The English, Scottish and Australian Chartered Bank offered James Putwain and his partner £1,000 for retrieving the £9,000 worth of gold.   Putwain and his partner felt £4,000 was more appropriate compensation.   The case went to the Vice Admiralty Court in Brisbane, where Putwain claimed he had spent nearly £500 in the salvage operation, that it had been a risky endeavour and that the box was found in a precarious position where it could have easily plummeted into deeper, inaccessible, water to be lost for ever. 

    The bank argued that the amount demanded by the salvors was excessive and Putwain’s account of the salvage operation was exaggerated.     Nonetheless, the judge found in favour of the salvors, awarding them approximately one third the value of the gold, £3,000.   

    Not happy with the verdict, the bank appealed the decision before the Privy Council in London.    Almost two years after the Gothenburg sank the Privy Council found in favour of the salvors and upheld the original judgement, ordering the bank to pay Putwain and his partner.

    A second salvage operation was mounted in the weeks after the Gothenburg was lost.     The diver Samuel Dunwoodie arrived on the wreck on 14 March, a week after Putwain, unaware that the gold had already been retrieved.    Nonetheless, Dunwoodie recovered much of the cabin luggage and many of the personal effects belonging to the passengers.   His team also removed the ship’s two steam winches before the weather turned foul, forcing them to abandon the wreck.

    The tragic story of the Gothenburg shipwreck is told in A Treacherous Coast: Ten Tales of Shipwreck and Survival from Queensland Waters, available as an eBook or paperback through Amazon.

    © Copyright C.J. Ison, Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2022.

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  • The Countess of Minto’s brush with Disaster

    .

       In 1851, two men accomplished a sailing feat that few thought was possible. They had been the only hands on board the barque Countess of Minto when she was driven from her anchorage during a violent storm. The captain and the rest of the crew were left stranded on a remote desert island. Everyone thought the ship had foundered in the storm, but four weeks later, she sailed into Sydney Harbour. To everyone’s astonishment, the two men had survived and sailed their ship over 1000 kilometres to safety.

       On 25 August 1851, the 300-ton Countess of Minto was anchored off Lady Elliot Island on the Great Barrier Reef to collect guano, a valuable commodity at the time. John Johnson and Joseph Pass had just returned to the ship after taking the captain and the rest of the men ashore to dig for guano. Soon after the pair returned to the ship, the weather began to deteriorate.

       By midday, the wind was howling through the rigging, the seas boiled around the ship, and the deck was being lashed by torrential rain. It was now far too dangerous to take the jolly boat ashore to join their shipmates on the island. Johnson and Pass had no choice but to ride out the storm where they were.

       The two seamen let out the anchors as far as they would go, hoping they would remain firmly dug into the seabed. The ship surged and the chains strained with each powerful swell, and for a time they held.

       Then, around 11.30 that night, a very thick squall struck. The force of the wind and the seas was too great, and the anchors started dragging along the sea floor. The barque was swept out into the deep water of the Coral Sea, somehow missing the island and the nearby reefs. Johnson and Pass had no control over the ship as it bucked and tossed in the tumultuous seas. They could only pray that the vessel would not founder and they might survive the night.

       Johnson was the ship’s carpenter, and Pass was the steward. Neither was part of the regular sailing crew, but it is evident that one or perhaps both men possessed a wealth of sailing experience. And, at least one of them knew how to navigate using a sextant and a chronometer.

       The pair survived the wild night, and by the next morning, the wind had eased and the men could take stock of their situation. Lady Elliot Island was nowhere to be seen. In fact, no land at all interrupted the horizon in all 360 degrees. They checked for damage to the sailing gear and hull and were relieved to find the Countess of Minto had survived the storm with only superficial injury. The hull, masts, and sails were intact, but they were now drifting aimlessly under bare poles at the mercy of the wind and current.

       Both anchors were still dangling at the ends of 45 fathoms (90 metres) of chain. The deck was littered with ropes and other gear that had broken loose but had not been washed overboard. The longboat had been swept off the forward hatch and was now full of water and being dragged along behind the ship. The jolly boat, likewise, was trailing behind.

       They released the anchors after being unable to haul them up on their own. They set up a boom with a block and tackle and retrieved the two boats. Then they tidied up the deck. At midnight, they pumped eight inches of water out of the bilge and continued working through til dawn.

       They finally hoisted some canvas from the main mast and bore towards the south-east. For the first time since being swept from their anchorage nearly 36 hours ago, they had control of the ship.

    Sydney Morning Herald, 25 Sept 1851, p. 2.

       On Wednesday evening, 27 August, the winds picked up again after a day of blowing a gentle breeze. They now tried to set a north-westerly course so they could return to Lady Elliot Island and rescue their shipmates. But in the face of contrary winds and hampered by a lack of manpower, they struggled to get back.

       For the next eight days, the pair battled the wind and the seas, trying to make it back to Lady Elliot Island. However, despite their efforts, the ship continued to be pushed southward and away from the coast. The winds were blowing from the north, and each time they tried to beat to windward, they would be pushed further south. By Friday, 5 September, Johnson and Pass were utterly exhausted and were now further away from their shipmates than ever.   

    They finally decided to go with the wind and make for Sydney so they could get help. Now with the wind behind them ,they made good time. The Countess of Minto was off Port Macquarie four days later and only had another 300 km to go before reaching Sydney. There, they fell in with another ship, and its captain came over to see what assistance they needed. Stunned to discover there were only two men on board, he offered to crew the ship and take it the rest of the way to Sydney as long as they officially handed control to him. Johnson and Pass refused, knowing full well that the captain would then be entitled to claim salvage rights. Despite their exhaustion, they figured that they could make it the rest of the way by themselves. The captain left and later returned with a few of his men, offering their help with no strings attached. This time, Johnson and Pass accepted.

    Approximate course of the Countess of Minto.

       On 20 September, the Countess of Minto sailed into Sydney Harbour to be greeted by their captain, who had just arrived and reported his ship lost. Johnson and Pass were commended for their “meritorious conduct,” and the insurance underwriters rewarded each of them with £10.

    As fate would have it, the Countess of Minto would be lost a couple of months later after striking ground off Macquarie Island as the captain sought to finish filling his hold with guano.

    The Countess of Minto’s incredible story is told in A Treacherous Coast: Ten Tales of Shipwreck and Survival from Queensland Waters, available as an eBook or paperback through Amazon.

    © Copyright C.J. Ison, Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2022.

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