Tales from the Quarterdeck

Tag: Moreton Bay

  • The Loss of the Sovereign – 1847.

    The Sovereign Side Paddle Steamer moments before disaster. Courtesy North Stradbroke Island Museum.

       When the 119-ton paddle steamer Sovereign foundered in Moreton Bay, resulting in the loss of 44 lives, it was inevitable that people would want someone to blame. The most convenient shoulders to heap that criticism on were the steamer’s master, Captain Henry Cape. But was it deserved, or was the tragic accident a result of the steamer’s owners using her in the open ocean, a role for which she was never built?

       On 3 March 1847, the Sovereign steamed down the Brisbane River. Captain Cape had intended to cross Moreton Bay and head out to sea before bearing south on her regularly scheduled service to Sydney. She had a crew of 24 and there were also 30 passengers. The Sovereign was also loaded down with 140 bales of wool and other cargo. What did not fit in the hold had been stowed on deck, making her sit low in the water.

       By the time the Sovereign reached Amity Point near the southern passage leading from Moreton Bay out into the open ocean, it was too late in the day to cross the bar. Captain Cape anchored for the night off the pilot station so he could set off when the conditions were safe. However, for the next seven days, the winds blew strongly from the south, and he had to wait for the weather to ease off.    Late on the 10th of March, he thought it was safe enough to make the passage between Moreton and Stradbroke Islands. However, as he approached the bar, he realised it was far too dangerous to try crossing. He returned to his anchorage, hoping the next day might prove calmer.

    Advertisement for the paddle steamer Sovereign. Source: Moreton Bay Courier, 26 Dec 1846.

       By 6 o’clock the next morning, 11 March, the wind had dropped to a light south-westerly breeze, so the captain got underway again. When he got to the bar, the Sovereign encountered a heavy swell rolling in from the ocean. Captain Cape had made it through in much worse conditions and was confident he could safely get out to sea that day.

       And, he almost made it. After riding over most of the rolling swells, he failed to climb one huge wave that broke over the Sovereign, smashing the frames that supported the two paddle wheel shafts. The steamer lost propulsion and was instantly at the mercy of the powerful swells. Captain Cape could only rely on his sails at this stage, and with little wind to fill them, they were close to useless.

       Waves swept across the deck, carrying away the cargo. The lifeboats were lost before anyone had a chance to climb aboard them.

       Captain Cape dropped his anchors as the steamer drifted towards the sand spit extending from the southern end of Moreton Island. While they kept the ship’s head to the sea, they dragged along the seabed. The Sovereign was doomed from that moment on. She was inexorably being driven towards disaster.

       Passengers and crew heaved the remaining wool bales overboard in a desperate attempt to lighten the load. Meanwhile, hatch covers leading below decks were washed away, and the sea poured in, filling the hold. The crew and several desperate passengers furiously worked the pumps to keep control of the water, but to no avail.

       The Sovereign began to sink. From the time the engines stopped to that dreadful moment, about 45 minutes had elapsed. In the next five minutes, the ship was pounded to pieces as she wallowed in the breaking surf. 

       Several people clung to wool bales as they floated free, but they were soon left floundering in the tumultuous seas when the sodden bales sank. As a portion of the paddle box broke away, Captain Cape and several others found refuge on it. They held on for dear life and were swept towards Moreton Island, where the paddle box was smashed to pieces in the surf.

    Map of Moreton Bay and approximate site of where the Sovereign foundered. Courtesy Google Maps

       Several Aborigines who had witnessed the disaster waded into the pounding seas and pulled Cape and several others to safety on the beach. Those acts of bravery would later be justly rewarded. Several passengers found debris from the wreck, which had kept them afloat long enough to be picked up by some fishermen and a pilot boat that had been sent out from Amity Point. They had all risked their own lives to come to the rescue. In all, just ten people from the Sovereign survived. Forty-four others drowned.

       Allegations soon circulated that the steamer was ill-suited for the Brisbane – Sydney run and should never have been used for such a long and arduous ocean voyage. Built in Sydney seven years earlier, the Sovereign had begun regularly steaming between Newcastle and Sydney, then between Sydney and Brisbane. But she was thought by some to be ill-suited for the dangerous bar crossing at the entrance to Moreton Bay.

       In response to the criticism, warranted or otherwise, the Sovereign’s owners, the Hunter River Steam Navigation Company, promptly sacked Captain Cape and released a statement absolving themselves of any blame.

       They disputed that any fault lay with the design, build or maintenance of their steamer. Instead, they rejected Captain Cape’s claim that the frames supporting the paddlewheel shafts had failed as he described. Instead, they felt it was Captain Cape’s decision to go to sea under such dangerous conditions or his subsequent handling of the vessel that had resulted in the appalling loss of life.

       Cape was so incensed with his treatment that he challenged his former employer’s report with sworn statements made by the Amity Point pilot and one of the surviving passengers. They swore they had observed the damage to the housings, which ultimately left the paddle steamer dead in the water. Regardless, a marine board inquiry found Captain Cape at fault. To this day, the loss of the Sovereign remains among the worst maritime disasters to occur in Queensland waters.

    © 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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  • No Charts, No Worries

    A schooner of the early 1800s. Courtesy State Library of Queensland.

    When Captain George Browning sailed the small schooner Caledonia from Sydney in December 1831, he intended to follow the coast north as far as the Tropic of Capricorn.   There he was to collect salvage from a ship that had been wrecked in the Bunker Islands and return it to Sydney to be sold.   But on the way, he was to call in at the Moreton Bay Penal Settlement to collect a whaleboat the crew had used to escape the wreck.   That was where things began to go wrong for the young master mariner.

    While anchored in Moreton Bay his ship was seized by a band of convicts who sent the crew ashore and ordered Browning to take them to the tiny South Pacific Island of Rotuma some 1,500 nautical miles or 3,000 kilometres away over open ocean.   See my blog “The Caledonia’s perilous last voyage,” for a more detailed account.

    Among the many challenges he faced, he had no charts covering the South Pacific.  Yet, Browning had to find a way to deliver his unwanted passengers to their destination if he was to have any chance of saving his ship and preserving his own life.   He consulted his “Epitome of Practical Navigation,” a book all master mariners kept close at hand.   The regularly updated volume was considered the standard text on maritime navigation and was packed with charts and tables to help mariners navigate the world’s oceans.   

    Example from The American Practical Navigator, 1837. There were several such books used by master mariners.

    Browning referred to a table of South Pacific Islands with their corresponding geographic coordinates.  With this information, he flipped over one of his coastal charts and drew a grid labelling the key lines of longitudes and latitudes for the waters he would be sailing and marked the various known islands and features identified in the table, albeit with many reefs, shoals and other hazards left unrecorded.   Notwithstanding its limitations, he could now take observations and plot his whereabouts and relate that to his destination – Rotuma – and any other islands in the course of his travels.   

    Using his makeshift chart, Browning navigated from Moreton Bay to New Caledonia where they stopped to collect fresh drinking water.   From there he charted a course to Rotuma and when he was directed to leave that island at a moment’s notice and make for Wallis Island he did that too.  

    Perhaps the chart’s greatest value came as they sailed towards Wallis Island.   A couple of the convicts warned Browning that their leader intended to scuttle the Caledonia and do away with its captain once they had arrived.   He knew Wallis Island lay a short distance over the horizon and they would likely arrive late that afternoon.  

    He shaped the sails to slow the ship’s progress until nightfall.   Then, during the hours of darkness, he picked up speed again and was able to slip by Wallis thereby prolonging his life a little longer.   A couple of days later they pulled in at the Samoan island of Savai’i.   There the Caledonia was scuttled but Browning was befriended by a local chief and escaped the convicts’ clutches.  He eventually returned to Australia to tell his amazing story.

    The full story is told in A Treacherous Coast: Ten Tales of Shipwreck and Survival from Queensland Waters available through Amazon.

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

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  • The Caledonia’s perilous last voyage

    A schooner of the early 1800s. Courtesy State Library of Queensland.

    On a hot December night in 1831, a storm rolled across Moreton Bay as they often do at that time of year. Outside the Amity Point pilot house, nearly a dozen convicts huddled under a sheet of canvas as they bided their time. There was a small schooner anchored a short distance offshore, and the storm would provide the soaking prisoners with a rare opportunity to escape.

       But what the hapless runaways did not know as they seized the Caledonia and sailed her out of Moreton Bay, their self-appointed leader was a dangerous psychopath, and they would be swapping one reign of terror for another far worse. Three of them would soon be murdered. A fourth would be abandoned on an inhospitable island, and the rest would flee for their lives at the earliest opportunity.

       The Caledonia had pulled into Moreton Bay the previous day to collect a whaleboat, which belonged to the sailing ship America. The crew had used it to reach Moreton Bay after their ship was wrecked further north. Two Sydney businessmen had purchased the salvage rights to the wrecked ship and sent Captain George Browning north to retrieve the boat and strip the America of everything of value. Browning had reported to the Amity Point pilot station and explained their unexpected visit. He was now waiting for the boat to be brought down the Brisbane River before he continued on his way to the wreck site.

    Sydney Herald, 20 Feb 1832, p. 3.

    That night, as lightning streaked across the sky and deafening claps of thunder boomed around them, the convicts got to work. The guard had taken shelter and the raging storm muffled any noise they made. They easily dug down through the sand and tunnelled under the pilothouse wall. A couple of them crawled inside, stole the keys to the boat shed and armed themselves with muskets and pistols while the pilot and a guard slept. Then they jumped into the pilot boat and rowed out to the Caledonia. No guard had been posted on deck, and the crew were easily overwhelmed before they had fully awoken. The Caledonia’s crew were ordered into the pilot boat to make their way back to Amity Point using only one oar. However, the convicts held on to Captain Browning. He was needed to navigate the schooner to the tiny island of Rotuma, 3000 km away. By dawn, the Caledonia was heading out to sea, as the crew drifted back to shore to raise the alarm.

       The leader of the runaways was a former sailor named William Evans. He was unusual, for he had come to New South Wales as part of the crew of a merchant ship. One night while moored in Sydney Harbour, Evans had broken into the captain’s cabin and stolen a purse full of money. He was spotted leaving the ship in a small dinghy and was soon caught. Evans was found guilty and sentenced to seven years’ hard labour at Moreton Bay. Now, in the closing days of 1831, Evans still had three more years of back-breaking toil, poor rations and loathsome living conditions to endure. When he realised there was a chance he could make his escape on the schooner, he pounced, convincing the rest of the prisoners to join him.

    Newspaper illustration of Evans and others throwing convict over the side of the Caledonia. The Argus, circa 1950s

       After they had been at sea for a week, tensions came to a head among the convicts. The common purpose that had seen them work together to seize the ship and escape had been replaced by bitterness and division. After hearing a rumour that a mutiny was looming, Evans struck first. He stood outside the entrance to the crew’s cabin, backed up by two mates, and ordered one of the mutineers to come on deck. As he emerged, Evans shot him point-blank in the head. Evans then ordered two others to come out, and they were killed on the spot. That ended any thought of challenging his leadership.

       About a week later, the schoonerstopped at New Caledonia for water. Evans’ right-hand man, Hugh Hastings, and a couple of others took a boat out to fill the water barrels. But, while they were gone, a party of Islanders came out to the schooner, indicating that they wanted to trade. As the Islanders outnumbered those on the schooner, they were barred from boarding. Only a volley of shots fired over their heads saw them leave. Fearing they might return under the cover of darkness, Evans had the Caledonia taken out to sea. But, when Hastings returned to find the schooner missing, he thought the worst and swore he would kill Evans for his treachery.

       Hastings and the others spent an uncomfortable night in the boat, but in the morning the Caledonia returned to pick them up. When Evans heard that Hastings had threatened him, he gave his mate two choices. Either stay on the island and take his chances with the hostile natives, or be shot. Hastings remained on the island when the Caledonia sailed away.

    Likely route taken by the Caledonia from Moreton Bay to Savai’i Island

       The Caledonia continued back out to sea and headed for the tiny island of Rotuma, still 1000 km away. Evans had heard rumours that whaling ships regularly stopped there for water and fresh supplies. He planned to join the next American whaler to visit Rotuma and work his way to the United States.

       The Caledonia dropped anchor off Rotuma a week or so later, however, their stay was cut short. One of the convicts bragged that they had just escaped from Moreton Bay. When Evans found out, he was furious and vowed to kill the man, but he fled into the bush before the threat could be carried out. Evans felt it was no longer safe to stay on Rotuma, so he ordered Captain Browning to set sail.

       The Caledonia eventually pulled up off Savai’i Island in Samoa. As soon as they dropped anchor, three more of the convicts jumped ship and fled inland, taking with them three women Evans had kidnapped off Rotuma. Of the ten convicts who escaped with Evans, only three were left.

       Evans went ashore and learned that whaling ships regularly called in there for supplies, so he scuttled the Caledonia and awaited the next ship. Browning, whose life had hung in the balance since leaving Moreton Bay, was finally able to escape Evans’s clutches. A local chief had taken a liking to Browning and gave him protection as Evans and his mates kept their distance. When, a fortnight later, the whaler Oldham dropped anchor, Browning raced out to meet the captain. Browning told him that Evans was an escaped convict and had murdered three men since fleeing Moreton Bay. The Oldham’s captain and crew went ashore and brought Evans back to their ship in chains. Evans’ mates, by then, had taken off into the bush. However, Evans would never front court for his crimes. On the way back to Sydney, he jumped over the side of the ship, preferring to drown rather than face the hangman.

       Several months after the Caledonia sailed out of Moreton Bay, Captain Browning arrived back in Sydney, long after he had been given up for dead.

    The full story is told in A Treacherous Coast: Ten Tales of Shipwreck and Survival from Queensland Waters available through Amazon.

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

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  • Thomas Pamphlett and the Remarkable Castaways of Moreton Bay

    Source: ‘The Finding of Pamphlet’, Picturesque Atlas of Australasia, vol. II, 1886, nla.cat-vn1654251.

    Most Queensland school children are taught that the first non-Aboriginal people to settle in their state were convicts and their gaolers who arrived in September 1824.   But actually the first white-skinned people to live in what would become Queensland were three castaway ex-convicts who came ashore 18 months earlier.

    In 1823 Governor Brisbane sent the NSW Surveyor General, John Oxley, to determine if Moreton Bay, 800 kilometres north of Sydney, would make a suitable penal settlement to house the colony’s worst and most incorrigible convicts.

    On 29 November the small government cutter Mermaid, carrying Oxley and his party, dropped anchor in Pumicestone Passage separating Bribie Island from the mainland.   To their astonishment, among the Aborigines they could see on shore stood a taller, lighter-skinned man excitedly haling them.    His name was Thomas Pamphlett and he and two mates had been living with the local Aboriginal peoples for the past seven months.

    This is their story.     On 21 March 1823 four ticket-of-leave men, Thomas Pamphlett, John Finnegan, Richard Parsons and John Thompson, sailed from Sydney in a 10-metre-long open boat bound south to the Illawarra to gather cedar logs for sale in Sydney.

    However, they were caught in a ferocious storm which battered the craft mercilessly for five days.   They were driven far from the coast under a bare mast and when the storm finally cleared five days later they had no idea where they were.     They thought they had been blown south towards Van Diemen’s Land but in fact they had been taken north.    So, when they could finally hoist a sail they bore north in search of Sydney.  

    Their water had run out days earlier and they only had rum to quench their thirst.    All four were in a bad way but John Thompson became delirious and died from thirst.   They kept him in the boat for several days until the smell drove them to bury him at sea.  

    They finally sighted land about three weeks after setting off from Sydney.   This turned out to be Moreton Island though that was not known to them at the time.   They could see a freshwater stream flowing across the beach so Pamphlett swam ashore with the water keg in tow.   He drank his fill but was too weak to swim back to the boat.    The others, crazed with thirst, brought the boat closer to shore but it got caught in the surf and was smashed to pieces.

    The three men were alive but stranded.   They salvaged some flour, a bucket, an axe, a pair of scissors, the water keg but little else.    They soon came across an Aboriginal camp in the sand dunes and were befriended by the people.    The three castaways lived with their hosts for a couple of months then they decided to set off north thinking they would eventually reach Sydney.

    First they went south to cross over to Stradbroke Island then onto the mainland where they ventured north around Moreton Bay   All the time they were accompanied by different bands of Yuggera.   Pamphlett and Finnegan decided to stop at Bribie Island on the northern edge of the bay and lived with the Joondoobarrie people until they were found by Oxley and his party.     Parsons, still determined to return to Sydney kept heading north and may have gone as far as Harvey Bay before it was made clear to him his presence among the Butchella people was not welcomed.  

    The cutter Mermaid. Photo State Library of Queensland

    He returned to Bribie Island many months later only to find his comrades had been taken away on the Mermaid.   However, the party of explorers left a message in a bottle for Parson should he ever pass that way again.   Unfortunately, he was illiterate and could not read the message that had been left for him, but he remained in that area in the hope that another ship might pass that way.    He was in luck.   The brig Amity sailed into Moreton Bay in September the following year with 30 convicts and their guards to establish the first settlement at Redcliffe.   When they came ashore Parsons was standing on the beach waiting for them.  

    Richard Parsons was returned to Sydney and found work as a bullock driver. John Finnegan later returned to Moreton Bay and took up a post piloting ships in and out of the bay. Thomas Pamphlett also returned to Moreton Bay, but it was not of his own choosing. He stole two bags of flour in 1826 and was sentenced to spend seven years toiling at Moreton Bay penal settlement.

    For more interesting stories from Australia’s maritime past check out  A Treacherous Coast: Ten Tales of Shipwreck and Survival from Queensland Waters, available now as a Kindle eBook or paperback through Amazon.

    (c) C. J. Ison / Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2021.

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