Tales from the Quarterdeck

Tag: Hong Kong

  • The Loss of the Saint Paul and its Horrific Aftermath– 1858

    Stranding of the Saint Paul, on Rossel Island. Auguste Hadamard, Le Tour du Monde, volume 4, 1861.

       In September 1858, the French ship Saint Paul was wrecked off Rossel Island, east of mainland New Guinea, with as many as 370 people on board. Of those, fewer than a dozen escaped with their lives. One of those was Narcisse Pelletier, who made it to Cape York, where he lived with the Uutaalnganu people for the next 17 years. His story is told in the next chapter. All the rest were massacred while they waited to be rescued.

       The Saint Paul was a French merchant ship of 620 tons under the command of Captain Emmanuel Pinard. In July 1858, she set sail from Hong Kong with an estimated 350 Chinese passengers bound for Sydney to try their luck on the New South Wales goldfields.

       The ship made slow progress from the outset due to adverse weather conditions. By the time she was somewhere north of New Guinea, the captain was concerned they would run out of food before reaching port. Rather than stick to the regular shipping route, east of the Solomon Islands, Captain Pinard chose to shorten his voyage and save time by sailing through the risky reef-strewn waters between the Solomons and New Guinea.

       Unfortunately, the gamble did not pay off. They were plagued by more bad weather, and thick mists enveloped the ship, barring Pinard from making any solar observations so he might accurately plot his position. The captain was sailing blind as he tried to thread his way through the treacherous Louisaide Archipelago when disaster finally struck.

    Saint Paul.

       On the night of 10/11 September, the Saint Paul struck a reef off Rossel Island on the eastern edge of the archipelago. The ship was beyond saving, so the next morning, the passengers were ferried ashore with what stores and provisions could be salvaged.

       They set up camp on a small rocky island about two or three kilometres off Rossel Island. A couple of days later, Pinard sent his first mate with half his crew across to Rossel to look for water. Islanders attacked the water party, and several of Pinard’s men were killed. The rest returned empty-handed.

       Pinard would later report that he then took the longboat crewed by most of the surviving seamen and set off for the Australian mainland to find help. He also claimed that he had only done so after consulting with his Chinese passengers and receiving their approval. Leaving behind most of the food, firearms and the second boat, he and his men set off. Years later, the cabin boy Narcisse Pelletier would contradict his captain’s statement, claiming they had fled in the dead of night, leaving the Chinese passengers to their fate.

       Pinard and his crew, including Pelletier, landed near Cape Direction after a nearly two-week passage. There, they received food and water from the local Uutaalnganu people before putting back out to sea in their boat. However, when they left, Pelletier was not with them. For some reason, he had been deliberately left behind.

    The crew of the Saint-Paul attacked by natives of Rossel Island. Auguste Hadamard, Le Tour du Monde, volume 4, 1861.

          Meanwhile, Captain Pinard and the Saint Paul’s crew were found by Captain McKellar of the schooner Prince of Denmark. He agreed to take them to the French settlement on New Caledonia, but he could only do so after he first delivered provisions to a party of beche-de-mer fishermen camped on a remote island. By now, the Chinese had been marooned for over a month, and it would be mid-December before the Prince of Denmark reached Port-de-France (Noumea).

       When Pinard finally reported the loss of his ship, the French immediately dispatched a warship to rescue the stranded passengers. The Styx reached Rossel Island on 5 January 1859, but when Lieutenant Grenoult and his men went ashore, they made a shocking discovery. Of the 350 or so people left on the island, they found only one survivor. Through sign language, he seemed to convey to Grenoult that everyone else had been massacred. Still, the shocking details would only come to light after they arrived in Sydney a few weeks later, and an interpreter could translate his story. What follows is drawn from the survivor’s own words and Lt. Grenoult’s official report.

       For a little while, the Islanders left the Saint Paul survivors alone. Then some of the Chinese ventured across to Rossel Island in the Saint Paul’s boat, and they were never seen again. A few days later, several Islanders paddled over to the castaways’ camp, offering food to anyone who returned to Rossel Island with them. When they also failed to return, the Chinese grew suspicious, and no amount of encouragement would compel them to leave their island despite their growing hunger.

    Detail from an 1829 Marine Chart showing Rossel Is. Courtesy NLA.

       Then, after the Chinese had been stranded for about a month and were in a feebly weak state, the Islanders descended on them in large numbers. Some of the castaways put up a fight, but they were easily overpowered. The camp was ransacked, and the Chinese were forced into canoes and taken to Rossel Island. The castaways would soon learn the grisly truth about what had become of those previously missing men.

       The Saint Paul survivors were corralled in a large clearing and carefully watched. Over the next several weeks, a few men at a time were separated from their comrades, beaten to death, butchered, and their flesh cooked over a fire. This horrific spectacle was apparently played out in full view of the dwindling number of survivors.

       By the time the Styx steamed into view, just half a dozen Saint Paul survivors were still alive. On seeing the French warship, the Islanders fled into the mountainous interior, taking with them four Chinese and a European sailor. Only the single man was left behind because he had been too weak to bother with. He had hidden among some rocks until the Styx’s boats landed and the French sailors stepped ashore.   

    Lt Grenoult and his men spent three days on Rossel Island trying to find the others, but without success. The Styx then delivered Captain Pinard, his men, and the young Chinese passenger to Sydney.   

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

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  • Narcisse Pelletier: An Extraordinary Tale of Survival.

    Narcisse Pelletier and the Saint Paul.

       In April 1875, the pearling schooner John Bull’s crew encountered a man of clearly European descent living with a group of Aborigines on Cape York Peninsula. Mistakenly thinking that the man was being held against his will, they took him on board their vessel and delivered him to the nearest Government outpost at Somerset. His name was Narcisse Pelletier.

       Pelletier spent about two weeks at Somerset before being sent to Sydney on the steamer Brisbane. During his time at Somerset, Pelletier had spoken little, but on the voyage south, he was befriended by Lieutenant J.W. Ottley, a British Indian Army officer on leave in Australia. Using his rusty schoolboy French, Ottley coaxed Pelletier to tell him his remarkable story.

       Narcisse Pierre Pelletier was the son of a Saint Gilles shoemaker. At the age of 14, he went to sea as a cabin boy on the Saint Paul under the command of Captain Emmanuel Pinard. The ship sailed from Marseille in August 1857, bound for the Far East. The following year, the Saint Paul left Hong Kong for Sydney with 350 Chinese passengers drawn to New South Wales by the lure of gold. However, the ship was wrecked in the dangerous Louisiade Archipelago off the east coast of New Guinea.

    Stranding on the Saint Paul, on Rossel Island. Auguste Hadamard, Le Tour du Monde, volume 4, 1861.

       When some of the crew, including Pelletier, went in search of water on Rossel Island, they were attacked by the local inhabitants, and the mate and several sailors were killed. Pelletier himself was struck on the head and barely escaped with his life. He claimed that the captain had then decided their best chance of surviving was for the remaining crew to make for New Caledonia, leaving the Chinese passengers to their fate. This was at odds with Captain Pinard’s own account, in which he claimed to have gone in search of help at the behest of the passengers and that he had left them with most of the provisions and firearms. The story of the shipwreck and the gruesome aftermath is told in the preceding chapter.

       Pelletier recalled they suffered greatly in the longboat, surviving on a diet of flour and the raw flesh of a few seabirds that they were able to knock out of the sky when they flew too close to the boat. The sailors’ misery was amplified several days before reaching land when they ran out of drinking water. Pelletier was unsure how long they had been at sea, but they came ashore on the Australian mainland near Cape Direction, the land of the Uutaalnganu people.

       Nine of the Saint Paul’s crew reached land, including Captain Pinard and Pelletier. The first water hole they found was so small, according to Pelletier, that by the time everyone else had drunk their fill, there was none left for him. By now, he was half dead from hunger and thirst. He was suffering from exposure to the elements, and his feet had been lacerated from walking barefoot on coral.

       He told Ottley that Pinard and the rest of the men had reboarded the boat, intent on reaching the French settlement on New Caledonia, but they set out to sea without him. There he was, abandoned on an alien and possibly hostile stretch of coast far from anything familiar.

       Again, Pelletier’s version differs from Pinard’s. The captain claimed that he and all the others had stayed with the Uutaalnganu people for several weeks before they set off and were later picked up by the schooner Prince of Denmark, which eventually took them to New Caledonia. Regardless of the precise circumstances, when his shipmates left, Pelletier remained and was adopted by the Uutaalnganu people.   

    They tended to his injuries and restored him back to good health. Pelletier said that for the first several years, he missed his parents and younger brothers and longed to return home to France. But as time wore on, those feelings faded and were replaced by a strong bond to his Uutaalnganu adopted family. From the ceremonial scars scored on his chest and arms, and the piercing of his earlobe, for which he felt great pride, it is clear he had been initiated into the society. According to a later French biography, Pelletier married an Aboriginal woman and they had several children. He would remain with the Uulaalnganu for 17 years.

    Narcisse Pelletier in 1875. Source: Wikicommons.

       Then, in 1875, his world was turned upside down for a second time. One day, the pearling lugger John Bull happened to anchor near Cape Direction. Several sailors came ashore for water and to trade with the Uutaalnganu. They noticed the white man among the local inhabitants and coaxed him to visit their ship. Pelletier told Ottley that he had only gone with them for fear of what the heavily armed sailors might do if he didn’t, rather than any desire to return to “civilisation.” What’s more, he had not expected to be taken away, never to see his family and friends again. Pelletier also confessed to Ottley that he would have preferred being returned to Cape Direction and “his people,” instead of being taken down to Sydney.

       Narcisse Pelletier never did return to his Uutaalnganu family. He was delivered to the French Consulate in Sydney, where officials organised passage for him back to France. When, in January 1876, he arrived at his parents’ home, the whole town turned out to greet him. He was given a job as a lighthouse keeper near Saint Nazaire and married for a second time a few years later. Narcisse Pelletier passed away on September 28, 1894, at the age of 50.

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

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  • HMS Torch and the rescue of the Ningpo castaways

    HMS Torch rescuing crew and passengers from the wreck of the Ningpo, 1854. Illustration courtesy NLA.

       As Lieutenant William Chimmo was making HMS Torch ready for a return to sea, he was unexpectedly tasked with an urgent mission. Word had just reached Sydney that nearly 20 people had been marooned for two months on a remote island far out in the Coral Sea. By chance, his paddle steamer had just completed repairs and was eminently suited to the task at hand.

       Second Mate William Tough of the 150-ton junk-rigged schooner Ningpo had arrived in Sydney on 2 October 1854. He had staggered in to Moreton Bay with a tale of personal heroism and a plea for help to save his stranded shipmates, but there was no vessel there that could go to the Ningpo’s rescue. Tough was patched up and sent to Sydney on the next ship heading south.

       The Ningpo had departed Hong Kong on 15 April 1854, bound for Melbourne to take up new duties as a lighter in Hobson’s Bay. The voyage south had been a difficult one, plagued by storms, rough seas and a nagging leak which just kept getting worse. To add to Captain Billings’ woes, his chronometer stopped working. Unable to determine his longitude, accurate navigation had been reduced to nothing more than an aspirational stab in the dark. Billings decided they should pull into the French settlement at the Isle of Pines for repairs the Ningpo’s hull. But while still north of New Caledonia, he inexplicably changed his mind, opting to head for Moreton Bay instead.

       This meant sailing dangerously close to the D’Entrecasteaux Reef, a two-thousand-square-kilometre maze of submerged coral reefs, small islets, and sandbars. Its discoverer, French Admiral Antoine Bruni D’Entrecasteaux, called it “the most dangerous reef he ever saw.”

    Map of D’Entrecasteaux Reef

       By 8 p.m. on 28 July, Billings estimated that he was clear of those dangerous waters, but he was wrong. Minutes later, the Ningpo ran onto a submerged coral outcrop and began filling with water.

       Unable to get the Ningpo off, Captain Billings made the decision to abandon ship. He, his crew and two passengers made for a small sand island a few kilometres away. They set up camp using timber spars and canvas sails. They fabricated a still to distil fresh water from the sea. Food proved plentiful, as the waters surrounding the island teemed with fish, and the island itself was a nesting ground for turtles and was also home to thousands of seabirds.

       With their immediate necessities well catered for, thoughts turned to how they might escape. Their only means of leaving the island was a four-metre (13 ft) dinghy, the only lifeboat the Ningpo carried. Billings wanted to try to make the Isle of Pines about 600 km away, but his crew refused, fearing they would be killed by the inhabitants of New Caledonia long before they reached their destination. They wanted to send a small party to Moreton Bay, despite it being twice as far away. The captain and his crew were at an impasse.

       Even after they had been stranded for more than a month, they sill could not agree where they should go to seek help. Frustrated with the inaction, Tough and two others set off in the dinghy to make the perilous voyage to Moreton Bay without first seeking the captain’s permission. Billings was furious when he discovered that his boat, compass, and nautical chart were all missing. He was convinced that they would fail, and in so doing, Tough’s recklessness had condemned the rest of them to an endless stay on the island. However, most of the crew held on to the belief that they would soon be found by a passing ship. Billings was not so optimistic, for he knew he had taken his ship far from regular shipping routes and that no sailing ship would intentionally venture into these treacherous waters.

       But, despite Billings’ doubts, Tough and his companions reached Wide Bay on the Australian mainland 14 days later. As they beached their dinghy, a party of Aborigines attacked them, stole the boat and left them for dead. Ten days after that, however, the seriously injured Tough staggered into Brisbane, assisted by a couple of more hospitable Aborigines. Unfortunately, his companions were not so lucky, having died along the way. With no vessel available in Moreton Bay that could go to the rescue, Tough was sent to Sydney with a letter addressed to the Colonial Secretary, seeking assistance. After being stranded for more than 10 weeks, there was no guarantee that the Ningpo castaways would be found alive, but the authorities believed they were duty-bound to try.

    HMS Torch at anchor, (probably in Sydney Harbour), by Conrad Martens. Courtesy State Library of NSW.

       Lt. Chimmo was ordered to steam out of port as soon as possible. Fortunately, his preparations to return to Fijian waters to continue his survey work were well advanced, so he was able to clear Sydney Heads the following night. He stopped in Newcastle only long enough to fill his coal bunkers before continuing north.

       Chimmo only knew that the Ningpo had run aground near a small island in the vicinity of latitude 18° 36’ South, the coordinate supplied by Tough and presumably recorded by Billings. The only charts available in Sydney that covered that stretch of ocean showed that the Ningpo was probably stranded somewhere near the Huon Islands. But the scale of the map offered little detail. HMS Torch would have to carefully pick its way through the reefs and shoals to find the castaways.

       The Torch battled unseasonal north-westerly winds for the first 11 days. Then the south-easterly trades finally resumed, and they made much faster progress. By mid-October, they had arrived at the search area, but then another delay beset them. Storm clouds began gathering, and Chimmo had no choice but to make for deeper waters until the weather cleared or risk the destruction of his ship.

       Meanwhile, Billings had finally convinced his men that they should wait no longer for help to arrive. After three months, it was clear that if they were ever to get off the island, it would be by their own means. He proposed building a boat from the remains of the Ningpo, and had already manufactured some rudimentary shipwright’s tools from cutlasses, knives and other metal objects they had salvaged from the schooner. Finally, his men realised they had a chance of success and embraced the idea. Unfortunately, the same storm that chased the Torch away also lashed their island, and Billings was forced to put their plans on hold for the time being.   

    When the storm finally cleared, Chimmo began his search of the Huon Islands. He sent search parties out in small boats to inspect each sandbar and islet they came across, but none showed any sign of recent habitation. Frequent rain squalls and strong winds hampered the search, and on one occasion, a boat capsized in the choppy seas, but no lives were lost. Then on the morning of 26 October, he spotted two islands in the distance.  

    The Ningpo wreck site. Map courtesy NLA.

       After the storm had passed, Billings and his men began preparing to go out to the Ningpo in a dugout canoe found in the bushy interior of the island. How it got there was a mystery, but it had been a godsend to the stranded sailors. But before they headed off to the wreck, a lookout spotted a ship in the distance, the first such sighting since they had landed. Signal fires were lit, and everyone lined the beach in anticipation of being rescued.

       As Lt Chimmo drew near to one of the islands, he saw two columns of smoke. Then, he spotted the stranded ship further off in the distance. Finally, he could make out people clustered on the beach. He fired a cannon to let them know they had been seen and gingerly made his way through the reef-strewn lagoon.

       Fearing the weather could deteriorate at any moment, boats were sent across the last couple of kilometres to collect the castaways. One of the first to step ashore was the Ningpo’s second mate, William Tough, who had volunteered to accompany the rescue. He had brought help, as promised, to the utter amazement of Captain Billings.   

    The whole boarding operation was completed that day. The Torch then sailed for Sydney, arriving on 10 December 1854, having completed a round trip of more than 4000 km.

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

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  • Mutiny on the Ariel

    Hong Kong circa 1840s

    In 1845 the trading schooner Ariel was seized off the coast of China while carrying a valuable cargo worth millions of dollars in today’s money.   This act of piracy was unusual because it was not carried out by a band of desperate cutthroats but by two of the ship’s own officers.

    The schooner Ariel was owned by the powerful trading company Jardine Matheson and was a fast-sailing coastal merchant vessel, probably around the 100-ton class.   She was also well-armed with cannons to ward off marauders in those dangerous waters.   The Ariel was crewed by British officers comprising the captain, first mate, and gunner.   The only other Englishman on board being a young apprentice.   The sailing crew were all Filipino, or “Manila men” as they were called at the time.  A young Chinese woman was also on board who was likely the captain’s mistress although she was variously described as his cook or cabin steward.

    Amoy from the outer anchorage, circa 1845.

    The Ariel regularly cruised between Chinese ports carrying all manner of goods.   This time she was sailing from Xiamen (then called Amoy) bound for Hong Kong with a very valuable cargo.   One account had the ship carrying $100,000 in Spanish silver Reales, the currency of trade at the time.     Another had her carrying a shipment of opium plus a quantity of gold and silver coin.  Either way, the value of the cargo was substantial, probably equivalent to many millions of dollars today, and it proved a temptation too irresistible to the mate and gunner.

    The evening they sailed from Xiamen, Wilkinson, the first mate, called Captain Macfarlane to come up from his cabin.   They were now off Nan’ao Island 160kms south of Xiamen and about one-third of the way through their passage to Hong Kong.   When Macfarlane came on deck he was confronted by Wilkinson and the gunner both armed with cutlass and pistols.   Wilkinson told Macfarlane they had seized the ship and they would be making for Singapore.    The pair offered to make Macfarlane an equal partner in their crime, for there were more than enough riches to go around.   But the captain refused to have any part in it and tried to persuade the men to give up their brazen heist.   

    Map of China showing coast between Amoy and Hong Kong, circa 1850s.

    Meanwhile, the crew was gathered on the forecastle and though they appeared not to be participating in the mutiny, Wilkinson said they were on his side.   The threat was obvious.   Captain Macfarlane was on his own.   Macfarlane was locked in his cabin with the assurance he would be released unharmed as long as he did nothing to disrupt their plans.   

    The next morning the captain asked to be let go in the longboat but the mate refused, telling him they were too close to Hong Kong and he would not risk capture should the captain raise the alarm before they were well out to sea.   A little later the Chinese girl went forward and spoke with the Filipino crew and learned they wanted nothing to do with the mutiny.   They armed themselves with knives and the cannon’s ramrods on the captain’s command and attacked the mate and gunner.   Meanwhile, several men smashed open the cabin skylight to rescue the captain.

    Hong Kong circa 1840s

    By the time Macfarlane was hauled out through the skylight, the mate was lying bashed, stabbed, and bleeding to death on the deck while the gunner had taken refuge in the cabin just vacated by the captain.

    Captain Macfarlane, now back in command of his ship, found a fowling piece (shotgun) belonging to the gunner and ordered him to surrender.   When the gunner opened the hatch leading to the ship’s gunpowder magazine and threatened to blow everything up, Macfarlane shot him in the leg.   He was then quickly overpowered and taken to Hong Kong to stand trial.   Wilkinson died from his wounds before they reached port.   The gunner, whose name is not recorded, was found guilty of piracy and sentenced to transportation for life.

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

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