Tales from the Quarterdeck

Tag: history

  • A Tale of Shipwreck, Murder and Piracy in the South China Sea

    Macao circa early 1800s. By Bjoertvedt – Courtesy://commons.wikimedia.org.

    Edward Luttrell could not have imagined the ordeal he was about to face as he sailed out of Macao Harbour on his return to Sydney, NSW, in November 1805. What followed was a five-month ordeal that started with a shipwreck and included murder, piracy and starvation in one of the world’s most dangerous waterways.

    Luttrell was the son of Edward Luttrell Snr, the assistant colonial surgeon for Sydney and Parramatta. He was also the first mate of the 75-ton schooner Betsey under the command of Captain William Brooks.

    The Betsey departed Macau on 10 November, with a crew of 13, including the captain, Luttrell, and a crew comprising a mix of Portuguese, Filipino and Chinese mariners. But in the dead of night, just 11 days into her voyage, the Betsey struck a reef south of the Spratly Islands in the South China Sea.  

    Captain Brooks immediately sent some of the crew out in the jolly boat to set an anchor aft, hoping he could kedge the schooner back off the reef. However, the schooner would not budge, and eventually the cable snapped under the strain of trying. Huge swells surged over the stricken ship through the night pushing it further onto the reef. Once there was sufficient light to see their surroundings, Captain Brooks found that they were now stranded in two feet of water on a massive coral shelf that extended for miles in every direction.

    Captain Brooks and his men tried everything they could to get the schooner off the reef, but to no avail. After four gruelling days, the crew had been worked to exhaustion, and Brooks had no choice but to give up any hope of getting the schooner into deep water. On 24 November, they abandoned the Betsey in the jolly boat and a makeshift raft.  Brooks intended to make for Balambangan Island, about 200 km to the southeast.  But from the outset, they were hampered by a “brisk gale” blowing from the northwest. On that first day, the raft, with eight of the men, became separated from Brooks, Luttrell and the remaining three sailors in the jolly boat. They were never heard of again.

    For the next four days, it continued to blow hard, but as the sun rose on 29 November, land was sighted, which Brooks is reported to have supposed was “Balabae,” which might have been the northernmost point of Borneo south of their intended destination. By then, their supply of fresh water had been consumed, and they had been reduced to drinking their own urine to quench their burning thirst.

    The jolly boat was then becalmed before they could make landfall, and they spent the day under the burning sun.  That night, the wind came up again, and they were driven southeast again until they finally made landfall the next morning. Their first priority on landing was to find fresh water.  They soon found a stream and drank their fill, and then, while they were stumbling around in the forest looking for something to eat, they were met by a pair of Dayaks. The Dayaks gave them some fruit in exchange for a silver spoon, and the two parties each went their own way. Brooks, Luttrell and the rest of the castaways set up camp on the beach next to their boat, and the next morning, they were visited by more Dayaks. This time, they traded more silverware for fresh produce.

    According to Luttrell, the local men pointed at Balambangan visible in the distance and indicated that the British outpost there had been abandoned. They also promised to return the next day with more food to trade.  Brooks, Luttrell and the others prepared the boat for departure early the next morning, intending to set off as soon as they had obtained more supplies. This was around 4 December.

    True to their word, the Dyaks returned, only this time there were nearly a dozen of them. It seems that when the visitors arrived, the jolly boat was already in the water, under the control of two seamen, while Brooks, Luttrell and the third Portuguese sailor were still waiting on the beach.

    Loondoo Dayak from the northwest coast of Borneo, Illustration from “Borneo and the Indian Archipelago,” by Frank S Marryat, 1848.

    We have only Luttrell’s account of what happened next, but he later claimed they had been conversing with the Dayaks, and all seemed well when they were attacked without warning. Captain Brooks was speared through the torso, while Luttrell and the Portuguese sailor were set upon. Luttrell parried off his attackers with his cutlass, giving him the precious few seconds he needed to wade out to the waiting boat.  The sailor, covered in his own blood, also made it into the jolly boat, but Captain Brooks was not so lucky. He pulled the spear from his body and tried to make a run for it, but he was easily caught and hacked to death.

    Luttrell and the others got clear of land, but the injured Portuguese sailor died of his wounds about 15 minutes later. This left just the mate and two seamen from the Betsey’s 13-man crew.  When Luttrell tallied their provisions, he found they had 10 cobs of corn, three pumpkins, and two bottles of fresh water. That would have to last them until they reached the Malacca Strait, over 1500 km away.

    They made steady progress on a southwesterly course under sail for the next ten days. While their food quickly ran out, they were fortunately kept well supplied with drinking water from frequent squalls that passed over them. However, by 14 December, they were starving and exhausted from the constant vigilance needed to avoid another attack in those dangerous waters.

    On 15 December, they were passing through a small group of islands in the Malacca Strait around 3N 100W. If their intended destination was actually the European settlement at Malacca, they had overshot it by some 200 km. Otherwise, it is not clear where Luttrell intended to stop.

    Anyway, it was here that three Malayan praus intercepted them. They tried to flee, but as soon as the praus came within range, they unleashed a volley of spears, killing one of the Portuguese sailors and wounding the other. Luttrell had a lucky escape when a spear passed through the brim of his hat, narrowly missing him. Unable to outrun the attackers and too weak to resist, Luttrell surrendered. The pirates boarded the jolly boat and stripped it of everything of value. A few remaining pieces of silver plate taken off the Betsey, the ship’s logbook, the sextant and even the clothes they had been wearing were all taken. Luttrell could not have held out much hope that he would survive much longer. But survive he did.

    He and the wounded Portuguese sailor spent three days on one of the praus, exposed to the blistering tropical sun and kept alive on a meagre diet of sago. They were then landed at an island, Luttrell named Sube, but which today offers no real clue to where they had been taken.  Luttrell wrote that they remained there “in a state of slavery, entirely naked, and subsisting on sago,” for nearly four months.

    Illustration of a prau from “Borneo and the Indian Archipelago,” by Frank S Marryat, 1848.

    Then, in late April 1806, they were put aboard a prau and taken away. After 25 days at sea, they landed in the Riau Islands. Luttrell and his companion were nearly starved to death. But their fortunes were finally about to change for the better. Luttrell wrote that a Mr Kock of Malacca took them in. The circumstances of their coming under his protection are not recorded. However, when Mr Kock returned to Malacca on the Kaudree, Luttrell and the Portuguese sailor were with him.   Luttrell seemed to recover from his ordeal and, in time, returned to Sydney.

    The incident was first reported in the Prince of Wales Island Gazette, and later republished in the Sydney Gazette on 1 March 1807.

    © Copyright C.J. Ison / Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2025.

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  • The 1909 Loss of the Norwegian barque Errol

    The remains of the Errol on Middleton Reef. Courtesy: Norsk Maritim Museum.

    On 12 July 1909, the mail steamer Tofua was passing Middleton Reef in the Coral Sea bound for Sydney.    Captain George Holford gave the order to steam close by as was his want every time he passed.   This time, he noticed a new ship’s carcass had been added to the dangerous reef since he had seen it last.     Since the Britannia Godspeed ran aground on Middleton Reef in 1806, it and neighbouring Elizabeth Reef have claimed over 30 ships and countless lives over the years.

    Captain Holford steamed as close as he dared, then had a boat lowered to go across and investigate.   As the steamer neared the reef, he also noticed that some rags were flying from the mast of another ship, the Annasona, which had been wrecked two years earlier.  

    The boat soon returned with five survivors from the Norwegian barque Errol, which had run aground a month earlier with 22 souls onboard.  They had a tragic tale to tell.

    Middleton Reef. Source: The Australian zoologist, 1934.

    The Errol had left the port of Chimote in Peru on 15 April, with a crew of 17 men and five passengers, comprising the Captain’s wife and four children.   The barque was headed to Newcastle to take on a cargo of coal.   However, disaster struck around midnight on 18 June when, without warning, the barque slammed into Middleton Reef.  

    The ship was swung broadside to the reef before there was even a chance to try and save her. The hull was torn out, and she rapidly settled with a heavy list to starboard.   Powerful waves swept over her, ripping apart the houses and washing away much of their stores along with the ship’s lifeboats.  She quickly succumbed to the pummelling and broke into four separate parts.    

    The First Mate was swept away and drowned as he and one of the crew tried vainly to clear one of the lifeboats.   Two more seamen also died that first night or on the second, the survivors could not recall.   Captain Andreason and the Second Mate were lost a couple of days later.   They had been on the reef, not far from the ship, building a raft comprised of spars and other timbers when they were caught by the rising tide.   Though they tried to swim back to the Errol, the current was too strong and they were washed away.  The Captain’s wife and children could only look on in horror. 

    The survivors were in dire straits.   The only food they had been able to salvage was a dozen loaves of bread, a few pounds of butter and a couple of tins of milk. What’s more, they had precious little fresh water.  A shelter of sorts was constructed on the exposed hull for the Captain’s wife and her children while the sailors made do with a canvas sail for protection from the elements. 

    Location of Middleton Reef. Courtesy Google Maps.

    Meanwhile, they continued to work on the raft.  After a few days, it was completed, and five of the crew set off for the Annasona, about 8 miles, 15 kilometres away, hoping they might find food and water.

    The raft barely held together long enough to reach the long-abandoned ship.  Fortunately, they found some fresh water, but the only sustenance available was shellfish clinging to the side of the wreck and the reef it stood on.  They spent 12 days on the Annasona building a more substantial craft to get them back to the Errol and their shipmates.  But before leaving, they hoisted a couple of shirts up the mast.   They had seen one ship pass by during their time there, but it had failed to see them or their signal of distress.   One of their number perished on the expedition across to the Annasona; however, a far greater tragedy had played out among those waiting on the Errol.

    When they climbed back aboard the Errol, they found only one man alive, Able Seaman Jack Lawrence, and he was barely clinging to life.   They had survived on a small amount of rain collected in the sails, but it proved almost as salt-laden as seawater.   Lawrence described how the others, including the Captain’s wife and children, had passed away one by one from thirst, starvation and exposure.  As each person died, their body was pushed over the side to splash in the sea. At least some of those corpses had been savaged by sharks, leaving the grisly spectacle of bones or body parts deposited on the reef at low tide.

    Photo of the Errol survivors. Daily Telegraph, 15 Jul 1909.

    All five men would likely have died on Middleton Reef had Captain Holford not made his customary search for castaways.   They were returned to his ship and cared for until they arrived in Sydney.   At a time before any sort of public safety net, the Tofua’s passengers generously donated over £100 to assist the shipwreck survivors get back on their feet.

    An inquiry into the tragedy heard that the Errol had experienced several days of overcast weather, where no astrological sightings could be made.   They were essentially sailing blind when they struck the reef.   One of the survivors also claimed that Captain Andreason had not taken the precaution of sending a lookout aloft to warn of any hazards in their path.

    For his act of humanity in rescuing the Errol survivors, Captain George Holford of the Tofua was later presented with an engraved silver coffee service by a grateful Norwegian Government.

    © Copyright C.J. Ison / Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2025.

    Sun sets over Flinders and Stanley Islands in Bathurst Bay with a fishing boat in the forground at Cape Melville on Cape York Peninsular, Far North Queensland. Photo Chris Ison / Wildshot Images.

  • Sydney’s First Convict Escape by Sea – 1790

    One of the first concerted efforts to escape from Sydney that did not involve trying to stow away on a homeward-bound ship took place in the latter part of 1790. Convicts, John Turwood, George Lee, George Connaway, John Watson, and John Strutton stole a boat and headed out to sea.

       Turwood and his mates had endured unimaginable hardships since leaving England, for they had come out on the infamous Second Fleet. Unsanitary living conditions and malnutrition had taken their toll on the voyage out. One-quarter of the 1006 convicts who left England died before ever reaching New South Wales. Of those who were put ashore, nearly 500 were immediately hospitalised. Of those, 124 would soon be dead. By September 1790, Turwood and his mates had been in the penal settlement for just eight weeks, but they had no desire to remain any longer to see if their fortunes might improve.

       Strutton had tried to escape once already. He had been smuggled aboard the Neptune and hidden among the firewood shortly before she was to sail back to England. However, sentries found his hiding place, and he was taken off the ship. He was flogged for trying to abscond, but the punishment only made him more determined to try again.

    Map of Sydney Cove Port Jackson, April 1788. Published by R. Cribb, London, 1789 original attributed to Fowkes, Francis – National Library of Australia, http://nla.gov.au/nla.map-nk276

    Soon after sunset on the night of 26 September, the five convicts stole a small flat-bottomed punt at Rose Hill and rowed down the Parramatta River into Sydney Harbour. Crammed in the small boat with them was one week’s supply of food, some cooking pots and other utensils, a few spare clothes and some bedding. At Watson’s Bay, just inside Sydney Heads, they put ashore and found another, much larger boat. Though it did not look particularly sturdy, it did have a mast and sail. Despite its shortcomings, the runaways thought they would have a better chance of surviving the open ocean in the larger boat. They transferred their belongings and headed out through Sydney Heads. By the time the bolters were reported missing and the two boats stolen, they were well on their way.

       Turwood had told friends before he had set off that they were going to sail to Tahiti, a place elevated in his mind to a tropical paradise where they could live freely among the Islanders. Tales from sailors who had visited Tahiti and other Pacific Islands had returned to England with fanciful stories about their time spent there. However, just how he intended to accomplish the 6,000-kilometre voyage without a sextant, charts, a compass, or any other navigation aids is a mystery.

       John Turwood was serving a life sentence for highway robbery. George Lee and George Connaway had stolen a pair of bullocks valued at £20. They had been sentenced to death, but that was later commuted to transportation for life. Watson and Strutton were each serving seven-year terms for stealing. Though nothing in their convict records suggests any of them had a nautical background, at least one of them knew how to handle a small vessel under sail.

        After leaving Sydney Harbour, they set a course north, always remaining close to the coastline. When the sheltered waters of Port Stephens beckoned, they pulled in, and that’s where they stayed. After sailing 150 km, that was as close as they got to Tahiti. The local Aboriginal people, the Worimi, made them welcome and adopted them into their community. Over time, Turwood and the others learned to speak their language and were given Worimi names. They also seem to have undertaken formal initiation rituals, and at least a couple of the men took wives and began raising their own families. However, life was a constant struggle for the men, who were unaccustomed to the diet and customs of the Worimi people, especially in the beginning. Strutton died, although the circumstances and date of death were never recorded. Nonetheless, the other four lived there for five years and would have remained longer had a British warship not shown up.

       HMS Providence pulled into Port Stephens in mid-August 1795. She had just crossed the Pacific Ocean but had been unable to enter the Heads because of a strong westerly wind blowing off the land. Captain Broughton thought he would wait a few days in these sheltered waters before trying again. While there, he discovered Turwood and the other three white men living with the Aborigines. Broughton described them in his log as “miserable, half-starved objects, depending on the hospitality of the natives for their subsistence …” He offered to return them to Sydney, assuring them that they would likely not face punishment. Lee, Connaway and Watson immediately accepted the offer; however, Turwood was initially reluctant, but Broughton was eventually able to convince him to return as well. The arrival back in Sydney after a five-year absence was met with considerable surprise and of the runaway convicts in Sydney caused some consternation among the authorities, for they had long been given up for dead. But, true to Broughton’s word, they appear to have escaped punishment. Perhaps the Governor thought five years in the wilderness had been punishment enough.

    Families camped in the Port Stephens area, New South Wales, 1826 by Augustus Earle. Courtesy National Library of Australia.

       John Turwood and George Lee would flee from Sydney again in September 1797. They joined 13 other runaways who seized the small colonial cutter Cumberland near the mouth of the Hawkesbury River. After putting the captain and crew ashore, they headed out to sea. Neither the Cumberland nor the runaway convicts were ever seen again.

      © Copyright C.J. Ison / Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2025.

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  • The Frederick: Stealing the Ship That Never Was

    Example of a merchant Brig of the era. (Water colours by Frederic Roux 1827-1828)

    By December 1833, the penal settlement at Macquarie Harbour in southwest Tasmania was all but deserted.   Only a dozen convicts remained to complete the 120-ton brig Frederick.   She would be the last of nearly 100 vessels to be built there.   Once launched, they were supposed to sail her around to the newly established station at Port Arthur.   However, ten of the convicts had a much more distant destination in mind.

    But, to seize the ship involved overpowering the soldiers and officers left behind to watch over them.   Tackling armed men with just bare hands was daunting, but they had a plan.   One of the convicts, John Barker, happened to be a master blacksmith.   He manufactured two flintlock pistols using discarded scraps of metal and a musket barrel found in the blacksmith shop.   He also forged a pair of tomahawks to add to their small arsenal.  

    The Frederick was finished on 10 January 1834, and at 10 am the next day they set sail.   Captain Taw sailed down the length of Macquarie Harbour but dropped anchor inside the heads.   He judged the weather too foul to safely pass through the narrow passage of Hells Gate and out to sea.    So they waited.   Then, on Monday, 13 January, the wind eased, signalling their imminent departure.    

    For the ten convicts, the time to strike had arrived.    If they did not seize the ship now, they likely never would.    However, they were up against nine men, seven of whom were armed. 

    Then, good fortune smiled upon them, and the odds shifted in their favour.   Two of the soldiers went fishing and took a boat out with a convict at the oars.     He was one of two prisoners not in on the plan.   So, with them gone, nine had been reduced to six.     

    Boat building Yard on Sarah Island, Macquarie Harbour by William Gould, 1833, Courtesy State Library of NSW.

    Around 6 o’clock in the evening, a prisoner beckoned a sentry to join him by the forecastle hatchway.   When the unsuspecting soldier obliged, he was jabbed in the chest with one of Barker’s pistols and ordered down the ladder into the crew’s cabin.   Meanwhile, two other convicts armed with hatchets pounce on the only other two men on deck.  They subdued the remaining soldier and the terrified mate, bundling them too into the forecastle cabin.   A convict stood guard, and a heavy kedge anchor was dragged across the hatchway cover in case they tried to escape.   The convicts now had control of the deck.   Three men were confined in the forecastle, and another three were out fishing, oblivious to what was unfolding on the Frederick.    This just left Captain Taw, David Hoy the shipyard supervisor, and the convict steward William Nicholls.   All were in the captain’s cabin

    The convicts, now armed with the soldiers’ muskets, were ready to confront the last men standing between them and liberty.   Three men stormed down the ladder and attacked Captain Taw and the others, hoping to quickly get the best of them.   However, Taw and Hoy fought back.   Hoy wrestled a pistol from one of the convicts, and the attackers retreated back up the ladder, leaving Taw, Hoy and Nicholls trapped in the cabin, bloodied and bruised from the brief but violent encounter.

    Taw and Hoy were trapped in the cabin.   The convicts would pay dearly if they attacked again, but the captain knew he could not retake the ship.   They were at a stalemate.   But Captain Taw had one small bargaining chip.   He had possession of the Frederick’s navigation instruments, items the convicts would need to escape.  The impasse lasted about ninety minutes, with occasional shots fired through the cabin’s skylight and each side calling for the other to surrender.  

    The Globe (London), 9 Jul 1834, p. 4.

    Around 7.30 in the evening, someone called for the pitch pot to be brought over and threatened to empty its boiling contents into the cabin if the trio did not immediately surrender.    Hoy and Taw agreed there was nothing to be gained by holding out any longer and gave themselves up.  

    Meanwhile, the fishing party had returned to the brig after hearing gunfire, only to find the prisoners already in charge.   The rest of Frederick’s men joined them in the boat, and they were sent ashore with half the ship’s provisions.

    Taw and Hoy assessed their situation.    There was plenty of food, so they would not be going hungry any time soon.    However, how long would it be before a ship was sent to investigate the whereabouts of the Frederick?     Taw had no intention of waiting to find out.   They set off on foot for the nearest settlement, 150 kilometres away.  It would take Taw over two weeks to eventually reach Hobart to report the incident.

    In those two weeks, the mutineers did not waste any time making good their escape. James Porter, one of the convicts, wrote the only record of what happened to the Frederick next.  

    Porter was not a typical convict transported to Australia.    For a start, he was born into a respectable middle-class family.  When he was 12, he dropped out of school and, by his own account, began mixing with the wrong kind of people.   Porter soon got himself in trouble with the law, but his father pulled some strings, and the charges were dropped.   However, to prevent Porter from getting into any more trouble, he was sent to sea to serve an apprenticeship and found himself bound for Rio de Janeiro.   

    So began his career as a seaman.   After changing ships several times, Porter claimed he had spent 12 months on the armed schooner Liberta helping the Chileans win their independence from Spanish rule.   However, by late 1821, he had had enough of life in South America and returned to England. 

    A year later, Porter was caught breaking into a house and was transported to Van Diemen’s Land for life.   He landed in Hobart in January 1824 but was soon caught stealing and sent to Macquarie Harbour.   

    When he was chosen to remain behind to finish work on the Frederick, a plan started to take shape in his mind, and South America once again beckoned.   His companions comprised a mix of experienced seamen like himself, shipwrights and the blacksmith John   Barker who had been schooled in celestial navigation, though he proved to be no seafarer.

    The Frederick was sailed from Macquarie Harbour to South America where it was left to sink. Courtesy Google Maps.

    The Frederick no sooner made it out to sea when the wind freshened to a heavy gale.      It blew hard with mountainous seas for the next nine days as they bore south, then east under much-reduced canvas.   The burden of sailing fell heavily on the shoulders of the seasoned sailors.   The rest of the men, unused to such sea conditions, rarely left their bunks, suffering severely from sea sickness.    Barker was particularly prone to the malady, only coming on deck periodically to make observations and plot their course.  

    After being at sea for about three weeks with few opportunities to take observations, Barker found they had strayed too far south into the dangerous icy waters of the “Furious Fifties”.   He set a northeasterly course for the helmsmen and then retired to his quarters again.   Shortly after this, their voyage nearly came to an end when the Frederick was heeled over on her side by a powerful wind gust.  

    Fortunately, the ship righted herself once the canvas had been brought in.      Then, about six weeks out, they spotted land for the first time since leaving Tasmania.  They had sailed nearly 5,400 nautical miles (10,000 km) and arrived off the coast of South America.  

    On 27 February, they boarded the longboat and left the Frederick to sink as, by now, she was taking on a lot of water.    The next morning, they made landfall near the mouth of the Rio Bueno in Chile.       A week later, they arrived at the provincial capital of Valdivia, where they were promptly thrown in gaol for entering the country in a “clandestine manner.” 

    It was obvious to the Chilean officials that the men claiming to be shipwrecked sailors were not what they claimed to be.   Now that they were behind bars and facing an uncertain future, Porter and his comrades decided to admit to being runaway convicts and beg the Governor for asylum.  

    Illustration of a brig. Source: Nautical Dictionary by Arthur Young, published in 1863.

    They found a sympathetic ear in Governor Sanchez, and he agreed to petition the President of Chile in Santiago on their behalf.    They were released from gaol after promising not to leave town.   All ten men found work at the local shipbuilding yard, where their skills were much in demand.   As time passed, they settled into their new lives and felt their troubles had been put behind them.  

    But the British Consul in Santiago had learned of their presence in Valdivia unbeknownst to Porter and his colleagues.   He, in turn, had called on the Royal Navy to dispatch a ship to apprehend the runaways.   

    Eight months later, in February 1835, HMS Blonde dropped anchor at the mouth of the Valdivia River to collect the runaway convicts.   However, Governor Sanchez refused to hand them over, and the British warship left empty-handed.   While Porter and the others had avoided arrest this time, it was clear to them that the British knew where they were.  

    Life settled back into its regular routines until a few months later, when Governor Sanchez was replaced by a man far less sympathetic to the runaway convicts.    Within a month, three of the convicts departed on a merchant ship bound for North America.   Then Barker and two others left in the dead of night in a whaleboat they had been building for the new governor.    The governor was furious and gaoled Porter and the other three until they could be handed over to the Royal Navy.

    They were put on board the next British warship that stopped at Valdivia and returned to England.   As they had escaped from Van Diemen’s Land, it was decided to return them there to stand trial for piracy.   They arrived back in Hobart on 29 Mar 1837 after an absence of more than three years.  

    In a novel legal argument, Porter contended that because the Frederick had never been officially registered, it could not be considered a ship.  Instead, it was just a collection of timber, ropes, canvas and such like, which just happened to resemble a brig.    Consequently, he argued, they could not be found guilty of piracy.    The jury was unconvinced, and after 30 minutes of deliberation, they returned a guilty verdict, and the four men were banished to Norfolk Island for life.    

    © Copyright C.J. Ison / Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2025.

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  • Queensland’s Ten Worst Maritime Disasters

    The wreck of the Steamer Gothenburg. Source: Australasian Sketcher, 20 Mar 1875, p. 13.

    TEN: SOVEREIGN, 1847.

    The Sovereign. Image courtesy Stradbroke Island Heritage Museum.

    The paddle steamer Sovereign, with 54 persons on board, sailed from Moreton Bay via the southern channel on 11 March 1847.   As she ploughed through the large swells funnelled into the passage between Moreton and Stradbroke Islands, her engines failed at a critical moment.      The force of the breaking waves quickly drove her onto a sand spit projecting from the southern point of Moreton Island, where she broke up.    Forty-four people lost their lives.   The owners of the vessel would later claim the engines had been working fine and blamed the captain for the loss.     

    NINE: MERSEY, 1804.

    On 24 May 1804, the 350-ton merchant ship Mersey sailed from Sydney bound for Bengal, India, via Torres Strait.     In mid-June she was wrecked while trying to negotiate the dangerous waters of Torres Strait.   Neither the location or the circumstances of the tragedy are known, other than the captain and either 12 or 17 of the crew took to the longboat and made it safely to Timor Island to report the loss.   She reportedly sailed with 73 hands which means 56 or 61 people lost their lives.

    EIGHT: PERI, 1871.

    HMS Basilisk and the Peri. Image Courtesy the British National Maritime Museum, Greenwich.

    In early February 1871 HMS Basilisk discovered a schooner, later identified as the Peri, adrift and seemingly abandoned a short distance off the Queensland near Cardwell.   When a boat was sent across to investigate, they discovered 14 emaciated Solomon Islanders, three corpses, no food or fresh water and five feet of putrid seawater in the hold. The Peri had last been seen about six weeks earlier in Fiji carrying around 80 or 90 blackbirded Islanders bound for Fijian cotton plantations.   It seems that the Islanders had overpowered their kidnappers and taken control of the schooner.   They then sailed or drifted west across almost 3,000 km of open ocean, withstood at least one severe tropical storm, and passed through a gap in the Great Barrier Reef before being found.      As many as 75 people likely died during the ordeal.

    Map showing 10 worst maritime disasters off Queensland. Courtesy Google Maps

    SEVEN: SYBIL, 1902.

    The labour schooner Sybil disappeared sometime after leaving the Solomon Islands on 19 April 1902 bound for Townsville with a fresh batch of South Seas labourers.    By August, grave fears were held for the Sybil, for the voyage should not have taken more than two or three weeks.    Searches were made of the islands along the outer Great Barrier Reef and in the Coral Sea but no trace of the vessel or any of those on board were found.   She had a crew of 12 and on the previous two voyages, she had carried 90 and 98 labour recruits, so it is thought no less than 100 lives were lost.

    SIX: GOTHENBURG, 1875

    Gothenburg. Photo Courtesy SLQ

    The steamer Gothenburg sailed from Darwin on 17 February 1875 bound for Adelaide via Australia’s east coast.   On 24 February the Gothenburg was steaming down the coast in the vicinity of Cape Bowling Green.   Bad weather meant they could not see the regular landmarks to aid their navigation. The captain was unaware strong currents were pushing the ship towards the Great Barrier Reef until it was too late. The Gothenburg ran aground on Old Reef.   The ship and all aboard her would likely have been saved but for a powerful cyclone bearing down on them.   As the storm worsened, the captain ordered the evacuation of the passengers, but as the women and children were being loaded into the lifeboats a succession of huge waves swept over the ship.    Only 22 people survived.  As many as 112 passengers and crew lost their lives.  

    FIVE: YONGALA, 1911

    S.S. Yongala. Photo Courtesy SLQ.

    The Yongala sank during a tropical cyclone near Cape Bowling Green on 11 March 1911 with the loss of all 122 people on board.    When the ship failed to arrive in Townsville as scheduled, concerns were raised.   Then, wreckage began washing ashore along the coast as far away as Hinchinbrook Island.   However, there was no sign of the ship or any hint as to where she might have sunk.   Nearly half a century would pass before the final resting place of the Yongala was conclusively located. 

    FOUR: QUETTA, 1890

    RMS Quetta. Photo courtesy SLQ

    While the Mail Steamer Quetta was steaming through Torres Strait on the night of 28 February 1890, it struck an uncharted rock pinnacle as it passed Adolphus Island.   The Quetta had departed from Brisbane bound for London carrying nearly 300 people comprising the passengers and crew when disaster struck.   The collision tore a gaping hole in the hull from bow to amidship, and the ship sank in just three minutes.    One hundred people made it safely to Little Adolphus Island where they were later rescued.   Dozens more were pulled from the water the following day.    133 people lost their lives in the tragedy.

    THREE: AHS CENTAUR, 1943

    AHS Centaur. Photo Courtesy State Library of Queensland

    At 4 am on 14 May 1943, the Australian Hospital Ship (AHS) Centaur was torpedoed and sunk by a Japanese submarine.    The Centaur was about 35km off Moreton Island having departed Sydney with medical staff from the Army’s 2/12 Field Ambulance bound for Port Moresby.   In all, there were 332 people on board.   268 lost their lives.   64 survived by clinging to debris and two damaged lifeboats until they were rescued 36 hours later.

    TWO: CYCLONE MAHINA, 1899

    Cyclone tracks for Cyclone Mahina.

    On the night of 4/5 March 1899, a powerful cyclone crossed the coast at Bathurst Bay on Cape York Peninsula. Lying directly in its path was the North Queensland pearling fleet which had sought shelter there.     Nearly 60 vessels – from large schooners to pearling luggers – were sunk or driven ashore with horrendous loss of life.    Between 300-400 people died in what is no doubt Queensland’s worst natural disaster.    The loss was most keenly felt on Thursday Island where the pearling fleet was based.

    ONE: GRIMENEZA, 1854

    Artists impression of the Grimeneza . Image Courtesy SLQ

    The worst shipwreck off the Queensland coast occurred on 3 July 1854.   The Peruvian ship Grimeneza was sailing from China with some 600 Chinese labourers bound for the Callao guano mines in Peru.   When they struck a reef at Bampton Shoals in the Coral Sea, the captain and six others immediately abandoned the ship leaving the rest of the crew and the passengers to their fate.  The rest of the crew tried to back the ship off, but when that failed, they too took to the lifeboats and were picked up 12 days later.   Miraculously, the Grimeneza floated off with the next high tide.   The labourers sailed the damaged ship west towards the Queensland coast with the pumps being worked around the clock.   But after three days of exhausting work, she foundered.   Six men were found clinging to a piece of wreckage 300 km off the coast a few days later.   The rest had all drowned or been taken by sharks.

    © Copyright, C.J. Ison / Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2024.

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