Tales from the Quarterdeck

Category: #Maritime History

  • S.S. Maheno (1905 – 1935)

    The SS Maheno wrecked on K’Gari in 1935. Photo C.J. Ison..

       As anyone who has ventured across to K’Gari (Fraser Island) knows, the rusting wreck of the old luxury passenger liner SS Maheno makes an imposing presence on the long sandy beach, which serves as the island’s main highway. She had been swept ashore during a cyclone 90 years ago while on her way to be broken up in a Japanese scrapyard. It was an inglorious end for a steamer that was once one of the fastest luxury liners on the trans-Tasman run.

       The SS Maheno was built at William Denny and Brothers shipyards on the Clyde River in 1905 for the New Zealand-owned Union Steam Ship Company. She measured 122m in length and had a gross tonnage of 5,300 tons. The vessel was equipped with powerful steam turbine engines, which were revolutionary for the time. They could push her along at an impressive top speed of nearly 20 knots (36km/h).

    S.S. Maheno postcard. Courtesy State Library of Queensland.

       For much of her career, she carried cargo and passengers between Sydney, Melbourne, and Hobart in Australia, and Wellington, Auckland, and Dunedin in New Zealand. On one occasion, the Maheno made the dash from Sydney to Wellington in just under three days, a record that would remain unbeaten for 25 years. She also occasionally was called upon to carry passengers across the Pacific to San Francisco.

       The Maheno was not only fast, but she was also luxurious. She could accommodate 120 passengers in her sumptuous first-class cabins, 120 in second-class and 60 more passengers in third-class. The saloons, dining rooms and other public areas were beautifully appointed, harking back to a bygone era. She was a magnificent example of early 20th-century shipbuilding at its finest.

    SS Maheno, Saloon was luxuriously fitted out. Phot Courtesy State Library of Queensland.

       During the First World War, she served as a hospital ship for Australian and New Zealand forces. She ferried casualties from Anzac Cove to Malta for medical treatment during the Gallipoli Campaign. After the failure of Gallipoli she transported wounded New Zealanders back home before returning to Europe where the war raged on. Between 1915 and 1918, she made several trips back to New Zealand, returning wounded Kiwi soldiers home to their loved ones. She also carried thousands more sick and wounded men from the Western Front across the English Channel so they could receive attention in England.

       After the war, she returned to her regular duties crossing the waters between New Zealand and Australia. As she aged, newer ships took over her routes. However, she remained on the Melbourne – New Zealand run until the beginning of 1935 when she was finally retired. Throughout her 30 years of service, she was never involved in a serious accident, a testament to the ship and the captains who commanded her. But on her final voyage, that was about to change.   

    In July 1935, the Maheno left Sydney under tow by the steamer Oonah, another aging vessel destined for demolition in Japan. “Like a minnow towing a whale, the little Oonah set out to tow the Maheno, which towered above her like a giant,” is how the Daily Telegraph described the scene as the two tethered ships made their way down Sydney Harbour to begin their long voyage north.

    SS Maheno shortly after she ran aground. Photo Courtesy State Library of Queensland.

       The first few days were relatively uneventful as the Oonah towed the Maheno up the New South Wales coast.  But by the time they reached Queensland waters, the weather had turned nasty. The two ships were caught in a raging storm. Huge swells swept around them, howling gale-force winds ripped at the rigging, and the decks and superstructures were lashed by heavy rain. Despite the thick weather, the ships might have survived, but that was not to be.

       The Oonah reported via wireless that she was having problems with her steering. However, the message was garbled, and the call for help went unanswered. Then the captain of the Oonah sent another message reporting that the tow cable had parted and the Maheno was adrift. He also radioed that the two vessels were about 80 km off K’Gari when the Maheno was lost from sight.

       Efforts to save the two stricken ships swung into gear. The insurance underwriters dispatched a large salvage tug from Brisbane to assist the vessel, and the Oonah would be rescued without further incident. The Maheno, on the other hand, was now at the mercy of the storm without any means of propulsion. There were grave fears for the eight Japanese sailors on board. But they rode out the maelstrom, and eventually, the Maheno gently made landfall.

    The SS Maheno ship wreck on K’Gari. Photo: C.J. Ison.

       A search aircraft sent out from Maryborough spotted the former luxury liner driven broadside onto Fraser Island’s (K’Gari’s) long sandy beach about 30 km south of Indian Head. Her location was then relayed to the Oonah and the salvage tug heading up from Brisbane.

       The Japanese crew got ashore safely and were soon greeted by carloads of tourists, who had driven down from the nearby holiday village of Happy Valley to take a closer look at the beached ship.

       At first, there were some thoughts of refloating the Maheno, but they were swiftly abandoned, for she was firmly stuck in the sand. She remains there to this day, perhaps the most prominent and accessible shipwreck on the Australian coast.

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

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  • The Dunbar Tragedy – 1857

    The Dunbar shipwreck, by Samuel Thomas Gill, courtesy the State Library of New South Wales.

    The loss of the Dunbar in August 1857 was one of the more tragic and distressing shipwrecks to occur in Australian waters.   On the morning of Friday 21 August people living in Sydney’s East awoke to find wreckage and mutilated bodies dotted along the rugged coast and inside the harbour mouth.   A large ship had come to grief, but its identity would remain a mystery for much of that day.

    The weather on the night of 20 August was thick with heavy rain, strong winds and a powerful swell creating mountainous waves.    The Dunbar had sailed from London 81 days earlier and was making its way up the New South Wales coast nearing the end of its voyage.  

    She passed Botany Bay around 8.30 in the evening.  Then Captain James Green headed out to sea on a starboard tack under closely reefed sails.    They then changed course again heading towards the entrance to Sydney Harbour.   The captain sent the Second Mate to the forecastle and asked him to keep a good lookout for the North Head.  

    By Day and Son; Thomas Goldsworth Dutton; William Foster – http://collections.rmg.co.uk/collections/objects/140576, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=63202217

    Suddenly the Mate called out “breakers ahead,” as churning white water at the base of the cliffs materialised out of the inky gloom.   It was now a little after midnight.  Captain Green ordered the ship round but the surging seas drove her broadside onto the rocks before she could respond.  

    Passengers were jolted awake by the violent impact and streamed on deck in panic, most still dressed in their night attire.    But before any thought could be given to getting them into the lifeboats another wave smashed the Dunbar into the cliffs and she immediately started breaking up. 

    Passengers and crew alike were swept into the surging sea and dashed against the rocks.  Others were crushed between heavy timbers and splintering wood.  

    There were 122 people on the Dunbar as she neared Sydney Harbour.   She had a crew of 59 and was carrying 63 passengers.   Most of the passengers, including families with young children, were residents of Sydney returning home after spending time in England.  

    Incredibly, one of the crew managed to survive.    As the ship broke apart John Johnson grabbed hold of a plank with three other men to keep themselves afloat as they were tossed around in the turbulent white water.   Two of their number soon lost their hold but Johnson and the ship’s Boatswain were dumped high on the rocks by a large wave.    Johnson scrambled higher but before the other man could do likewise, he was caught by another wave and sucked back out to sea.    Johnson continued climbing until he reached a narrow ledge and could go no further.   

    The Sailor Rescued. Courtesy the National Library of Australia 211620415-22

    The next day he heard people on the clifftop above him and saw several ships pass by but failed to attract anyone’s attention.   He remained a second night on the ledge before a young lad spotted him from near Jacob’s Ladder.  The boy, Antonio Wollier, volunteered to be lowered down to the ledge by a rope to rescue the survivor.  

    Meanwhile, the grim work of recovering bodies began.    Some brave souls were lowered over the cliff at the Gap where as many as 20 bodies had collected among the rocks.   They had been so badly battered that none were ever identified.    Other bodies were found inside Sydney Harbour where they had been swept by the current.   Most were buried in a mass grave in the Newtown Cemetery.

    Sydney Harbour. Courtesy Google Maps.

    An inquiry concluded that Captain Green, hampered by the foul weather, had either thought he was approaching the North Head or mistook the Gap for the entrance to Sydney Harbour.   As a result of this catastrophe and another similar shipwreck nine weeks later a lighthouse marking South Head was built.       

    John Johnson was later employed as a lighthouse keeper in Newcastle and in 1866 he rescued the only survivor of the steamer Cawarra when it sank trying to enter that harbour.

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

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  • The Mystery of the Zuydorp

    Illustration of the Dutch ship Zuytdorp, 1712. Western Australian Shipwreck Museum.

    In August 1711 the Zuydorp sailed from the Netherlands bound for Batavia (Jakarta) in the Dutch East Indies (Indonesia).   However, after rounding the Cape of Good Hope, the ship vanished without a trace.    For more than 200 years the fate of the ship and all those on board her remained a mystery. 

    The Zuydorp was a large merchant ship around 30 to 50 metres long carrying 200 or more people and cargo including a large quantity of freshly minted silver coins.   Unlike other ships to come to grief on New Holland’s dangerous coast, no survivors made it to Batavia to tell what happened.

    It was not until 1927 when the head stockman at Tamala Station, Tom Pepper and his family discovered relics from the long-lost ship about 60kms north of Kalbarri on the Murchison River.   Some of the artefacts were silver coins minted in 1711 which helped identify the wreck.   By 1954 the site where the survivors had landed was examined in more detail, and a decade later divers finally found the wreck site and its trove of silver coins.

    Looking north from the mouth of the Murchison River towards the rugged coast where the Zuydorp was wrecked. Photo CJ Ison.

    At the time the Zuydorp was on her way to Batavia, ships were using the “Roaring Forties” to push them across the southern Indian Ocean before bearing north following the coast of New Holland to reach the East Indies.    It seems the captain misjudged his position and the Zuydorp struck the reef at the base of cliffs that now bear the ship’s name.

    The accident probably happened at night, the captain unaware of how close he was to land.   The archaeological evidence suggests that an unknown number of people survived the wreck and managed to get ashore.   The remains of what may have been signaling fires have been found on top of the cliffs but apart from a scattering of other artefact nothing remains to hint at what befell the survivors.    The place is devoid of fresh water for much of the year and no one could have lived long without the help of the local Nhanta people who inhabit that stretch of coast.    

    Interestingly in 1834, an Aboriginal man told settlers in Perth that there had been a ship wrecked far to the north of Perth.   From his description, it was thought to be somewhere in the vicinity of Shark Bay, a bit further north than where the Zuydorp was ultimately discovered, but they also thought the wreck he was referring to was recent.   A search party was dispatched to investigate but no wreck or survivors were found.   It is quite likely he was drawing on oral history passed down the generations which had recorded the loss of the Dutch ship.

    Courtesy Google Maps.

    It has also been speculated that a drawing of a ship at Walga Rock, inland from the wreck site, was possibly made by a Zuydorp survivor or an Aborigine who had seen the wreck.   But that has largely been dismissed and the drawing is probably that of the 19th Century steamer Xanthos.

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

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  • The CSS Shenandoah: Victoria’s link to the American Civil War.

    CSS Shenandoah in Hobson’s Bay, Courtesy State Library of Victoria.

       On 25 January 1865, a large foreign warship unexpectedly sailed into Port Phillip Bay and dropped anchor off Melbourne. The arrival caused considerable consternation in Victoria’s Legislature, which long feared the colony was inadequately defended. The ship proved to be the 1160-ton, eight-gun auxiliary steamer CSS Shenandoah of the Confederate States of America. Her captain, James Wadell, reported to the port authorities that he had been forced to pull in to make urgent repairs.

       Five years earlier, America’s Southern states had seceded from the Union over the question of slavery, and the country had been embroiled in a brutal civil war ever since. The Shenandoah had been particularly busy in the three months before arriving in Australian waters. She had captured or sunk no less than 11 merchant ships belonging to the United States and was holding some of the sailors prisoner.

       Britain and, by extension, the colonies in Australia had declared neutrality in the hostilities between the North and the South. The arrival of an armed warship posed a delicate diplomatic problem for Victoria’s Governor, Sir Charles Darling.

    Some of the 12,000 visitors on the Shenandoah. Courtesy State Library of Victoria.

         Captain Waddell sent an officer ashore seeking permission to remain in port until they could make repairs to the Shenandoah’s propeller, which had been damaged during a recent storm. He also hoped to replenish his depleted bunkers with coal, purchase fresh supplies, and land his prisoners.

       One thing he neglected to ask permission for was recruiting replacement sailors, although he intended to do so anyway.

       Governor Darling allowed Waddell to repair the Shenandoah’s propeller and take on supplies, thinking the ship would be on its way again in a couple of days’ time. However, after engineers examined the propeller and shaft more carefully, they discovered the damage was far worse than they had first thought. The ship would have to be slipped so the repairs could be carried out, and that would take time.

       Conscious of their obligations of neutrality, the colonial government decided to allow the ship to be dry-docked, but “no other work should be performed on the vessel than absolutely and necessarily required,” to enable the Shenandoah to safely return to sea.   

    While the government was careful to abide by the requirements of Britain’s proclaimed neutrality, the wider public was far less concerned. The arrival of the Confederate warship caused a sensation. During the first weekend the Shenandoah was in port, more than 12000 people went to take a close look at her. That amounted to 10 per cent of Melbourne’s total population. The visiting Americans were made as welcome as anyone possibly could be. A gala ball was held in their honour in the nearby goldfield town of Ballarat. And, Captain Waddell and his officers were also wined and dined by many of Melbourne’s leading citizens.

    Ballarat Ball for the officers of the Shenandoah. Courtesy State Library of Victoria.

       Meanwhile, as the bunkers were being filled with coal, supplies were loaded onboard, and repairs progressing, Waddell’s officers began surreptitiously recruiting seamen from Melbourne’s docks. It was rumoured that the captain was offering anyone willing to join his ship an £8 sign-on bonus, plus a share of any prize money, on top of a £6 per month salary.

       When the authorities learned what was going on, they were compelled to put a stop to it. A warrant was issued to search the ship, and the police had orders to remove any British subjects they found illegally on board. By now, the repairs had been completed, but the Shenandoah was still high and dry on the slip.

       A standoff ensued with Captain Waddell refusing to allow the police to board his ship, and port authorities prevented the Shenandoah from being launched. Waddell wrote to the Governor denying that any British subjects had joined his ship. However, four men were later arrested by the police after they were seen leaving the vessel. Waddell feigned ignorance of their presence, claiming they must have been stowaways.

       The Shenandoah was allowed to leave on 19 February, and a diplomatic crisis was averted. Or so Governor Darling thought. Then, in a parting shot, Waddell wrote that he felt that he and the Confederate States of America had been ill-treated at the hands of Victorian officials and that he would be informing his government at his earliest opportunity. However, that was likely just bluster, for it seems that when the Shenandoah sailed out of Port Phillip Bay, there were 40 newly recruited sailors, despite Captain Waddell’s assurances to the contrary.

    Captain Waddell. Courtesy State Library of Victoria.

       In the final months of the American Civil War, the Shenandoah ravaged the United States’ North Pacific whaling fleet. The predation only ceased after the surrender of the South.

       After the war, the United States Government proved that Britain had given assistance to Southern warships despite proclaiming neutrality. Britain would later pay millions of dollars (billions in today’s money) in compensation for losses to Union shipping caused by three Southern raiders, one of them being the Shenandoah.

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

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  • The Plague Ship Ticonderoga

    Example of an American Clipper similar to the Ticonderoga.

    In November 1852 a migrant ship dropped anchor in Port Phillip Bay with some 700 passengers, many of them gravely ill.   The 1,200-ton American Clipper Ticonderoga had been chartered to bring immigrants out to start a new life in Australia, but the three-month journey to their new home proved a nightmare for many of the mostly Scottish passengers.  

    Victoria was experiencing a labour shortage and had started offering assisted passage for workers to come and settle in the colony.   Most of the passengers comprised of farmhands and their young families.  But, not surprisingly, there was an incentive to get the most people out at the lowest cost to the Government.

    When the Ticonderoga left Liverpool she was overcrowded, even by the standards of Victorian England.    Not long into the voyage passengers, many of them young children, started developing a red rash, high fever and sore throat.   At the time the disease was sometimes called scarlet fever or Scarlatina, but it is generally thought today that it was Typhus that wreaked so much havoc on the passengers.    Easily treated with antibiotics today, it had a devastating effect on those trapped onboard the ship.

    The Embarkation, Waterloo Docks. Illustrated London News, 6 July 1850.

    It was impossible to separate the sick from the healthy passengers in the overcrowded, poorly ventilated and unsanitary passenger accommodation spread across two decks.    Consequently, the disease spread unchecked.  

    Passengers died in such numbers that as many as ten would be bundled together into a sheet of canvas for burial at sea.   By the time they reached the port city of Melbourne more than 100 people had lost their lives.   Another 150 were sick and in desperate need of medical attention, for they had long run out of medical comforts and the ship’s surgeon had been felled by the disease while attending to his patients. Many of those, 82 to be precise, died in the days and weeks that followed.

    Port Phillip Bay. Source: Google Maps.

    The passengers and crew were quarantined at Point Nepean just inside the Port Phillip Bay heads for the newly formed Victorian Government had already earmarked a parcel of land there to build a quarantine station.   Tents were hastily erected using spars and ship’s sails and two nearby houses owned by lime burners were used as makeshift hospitals and staffed with medical men brought out from Melbourne.   A ship was also dispatched to the Quarantine Station to serve as a hospital for the more serious cases.   

    The quick response contained the highly infectious disease and kept it from spreading to the general population.   By January 1853 the epidemic had run its course.   The surviving passengers were taken to Melbourne and the Ticonderoga was released to go on its way but not before being thoroughly fumigated. 

    Empire, 15 Nov 1852 Page 2.

    The Emigration Commissioners who had chartered the ship in the first place were roundly condemned for allowing so many migrants, especially families with young children, to be sent out in such unhealthy conditions.    The Ticonderoga was just the last and worst of several recent migrant ships coming to Australia to suffer such an appalling loss of life.    

    Between the Bourneuf, the Wanota, Marco Polo, and Ticonderoga, 279 passengers had died at sea as a result of infectious diseases on the passage out to Melbourne.    The lesson was learned and future migrant ships were reduced to carrying no more than 350 passengers.

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

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