Tales from the Quarterdeck

Category: Victoria

  • The 1878 Loch Ard Tragedy

    “The Wreck of the Loch Ard near Sherbrook River.” Source: Illustrated Australian News, 8 July 1878, p. 20.

       In early June 1878, the Scottish merchant ship Loch Ard was expected to arrive in Port Phillip Bay at any time. But that was not to be. News soon reached Melbourne that the ship had been wrecked near the Sherbrook River, some 50 kilometres west of Cape Otway, with a fearsome loss of life.

       The Loch Ard was a 1623-ton fully rigged sailing ship belonging to the Glasgow General Shipping Company. But she proved to be an unlucky vessel. On her maiden voyage, she was twice dismasted. The first time it happened was shortly after she departed Glasgow on a voyage to Melbourne in December 1873. She was struck by a powerful storm and had to return to port to undergo a refit. She then set sail again in January the following year. This time, as she was crossing the Southern Ocean, she lost all three masts and nearly foundered during a ferocious storm. The resourceful captain was able to set jury-rigged masts from spare spars and limp the rest of the way to Melbourne.

       On this most recent voyage, the Loch Ard sailed from London on 27 February 1878 under the command of Captain George Gibbs with around 25 to 30 crew, 17 passengers and over 3,000 tons of cargo. But as she neared the end of her voyage, the weather closed in on that most dangerous stretch of Victoria’s coastline.

    The Loch Ard. By Allan C. Green – State Library of Victoria.

       The weather became squally, and the sky remained overcast for several days, preventing Captain Gibbs from making any observations as his ship ran before the wind under close-reefed topsails. Sailing instructions warned mariners to remain far out to sea until they had passed Cape Otway before making the final approach to the entrance to Port Phillip Bay. Unfortunately, Captain Gibbs was sailing blind and was unaware of how much danger he and his ship were in until it was too late.

       Around 4 a.m. on 1 June, the lookout spotted white-capped waves breaking over a reef half a nautical mile (one kilometre) ahead. Gibbs ordered the ship to be put about, but the wind continued to push them towards danger. He then ordered both anchors to be let go, but they did not hold, and the ship continued towards the jagged fangs of the reef and the towering cliffs beyond.

       When they were just 150 metres from the rocks, Captain Gibbs ordered the anchors to be slipped, and he tried to put on more sail, hoping he might veer the ship back out to sea. But it was far too late. The crew had only managed to set the mainsail when the Loch Ard crashed into the rocks on her starboard quarter. The topmast went over the side, taking two seamen with it. Meanwhile, Gibbs ordered the lifeboats to be readied for the evacuation of the women. But by now, successive waves were crashing onto the deck and sweeping it clean.

    “The rescue of Miss Carmichael” Source: Illustrated Adelaide News, 1 Aug 1878, p. 13.

       Midshipman Thomas Pearce and several other seamen had tried getting one of the lifeboats over the side to begin taking on passengers when it was washed into the swirling seas. Meanwhile, the captain and several sailors were struggling to free another boat from a tangle of fallen rigging. Then, a massive wave lifted the Loch Ard off the reef, and she sank in deep water, spilling everyone into the turbulent seas.

       Pearce managed to cling to his upturned boat, but he never saw any of his shipmates again. By now, it was daylight, and he saw he was drifting towards a small bay. Once in the bay, he left the boat and began swimming towards shore. Then he found an upturned table and climbed onto it. He washed up onto a small sandy beach with all manner of crates, driftwood, and other debris from the wreck. After taking some time to recover his strength, Pearce searched the small bay to see if anyone else had survived. Just then, he heard a cry for help coming from the water. He then spotted a woman clinging to a spar bout 50 metres out in the bay.    He swam out, dragged her ashore, and the pair took shelter in a shallow cave. The young lady was 19-year-old Eva, the eldest daughter of the ship’s surgeon, Dr Carmichael. His wife and three children had accompanied him on the voyage, for they had intended to settle in Victoria.

    Miss Carmichael and Thomas Pearce. Source: The Illustrated Adelaide News, 1 Aug 1878, p. 13.

       After rescuing Eva, Pearce collapsed beside her from sheer exhaustion and slept. He felt somewhat recovered when he woke and turned his mind to scaling the high cliffs surrounding the bay so he could go and find help. He eventually found a route up and then a well-trodden path and began following it. After walking several kilometres, he came upon a shepherd tending to a flock of sheep. Pearce asked him to send for help while he returned to the bay to let Eva know assistance was on the way.

       However, when he returned to the cave, he found Eva was gone. Pearce searched the area but was unable to see her. When help arrived, the search continued. And then, just as night was falling, a faint cry was heard coming from behind a bush. There, they found Eva, barely conscious. She was hauled up the cliff face with the aid of a rope, where a carriage was waiting to whisk her away.

    The cave and wreckage strewn on the beach. Source: Australasian Sketcher, 6 July 1878, p. 11.

       Eva Carmichael and Thomas Pearce were the only survivors from the Loch Ard. The young midshipman had the unenviable task of identifying the remains of several bruised and battered bodies that washed up in the next few days.   

    Among the tons of debris washed ashore was one particularly well-constructed crate that contained a large porcelain peacock. It had been manufactured by Minton and had been sent out on the ship to be displayed at the upcoming 1880 Melbourne International Exhibition. It had survived the wreck without so much as a chip of damage. It and other relics from the Loch Ard are now on display at Warrnambool’s Flagstaff Hill Maritime Museum. The small bay where Thomas Pearce and Eva Carmichael made it ashore is now named Loch Ard Gorge.

    © Copyright C.J. Ison / Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2023.

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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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