Tales from the Quarterdeck

Tag: Schooner

  • Four Years in Torres Strait: The Extraordinary Tale of Barbara Thompson

    HMS Rattlesnake circa 1848. Courtesy State Library of NSW.

    In 1845, a small cutter quietly slipped out of Moreton Bay, supposedly bound 300 km up the coast to salvage whatever they could from a ship reported to have been wrecked in that vicinity.  The three-ton vessel and her crew were never heard of again, at least not for nearly five years. Then, in late 1849, sailors from HMS Rattlesnake were ashore near the tip of Cape York when they were approached by a white woman seeking their protection.  In halting English, she claimed to be Barbara Thompson, the only survivor from the missing cutter. This is her remarkable story.

    Born in Aberdeen in the late 1820s. Barbara Crawford arrived in New South Wales with her parents as free settlers on the convict transport John Barry. Her father, a tinsmith by trade, had left Scotland to start a new life for himself and his children in Sydney. By 1845, Barbara had left the family home in Pyrmont, married a man named William Thompson and was living in Moreton Bay.

    Around the middle of 1845, it seems William Thompson thought he had found an easy way to make some money. He had learned that a ship filled with whale oil had run aground on Bampton Shoals, over 1,000 km away in the vast expanse of the Coral Sea. Despite having no salvage rights to do so, he decided to search for the ship and take as many barrels of oil as his tiny vessel could carry.

    A year earlier, in June 1844, the American whaler Clarence had run aground at Horseshoe Reef in the Bamptons. Unable to get his off, the captain made the difficult decision to abandon her and make for Moreton Bay in the boats.    Salvage rights to the Clarence and her valuable cargo were sold at auction in Sydney to a man named Cole. He quickly dispatched the schooner Elizabeth, under the command of Captain Riley, to Bampton Shoals to make good on his investment.   Purchasing the salvage rights to any wreck, sight unseen, in such a remote and dangerous part of the world, was always risky. Cole would have to wait to see if his gamble would pay off.

    Background map courtesy National Library of Australia.

    After Captain Riley arrived at the wreck site and carefully examined the damage to the Clarence, he was convinced he could not only retrieve the whale oil, but he could also save the ship and sail it back to Sydney.  So, he loaded the Clarence’s more valuable stores onto his schooner and sailed for home with the good news. He then returned to Bampton Shoals with a couple of shipwrights and the necessary equipment to repair the whaler’s hull and refloat her. However, Riley’s luck took a turn for the worse in January 1845, when a ferocious storm swept the Elizabeth from her moorings and out to sea. Captain Riley and six of his men were now stranded, having taken shelter on the Clarence during the storm. After waiting six weeks for the Elizabeth to return, Riley accepted that his schooner had likely sunk during the storm.  He had the shipwrights prepare their longboat for the hazardous open-ocean voyage to the Australian mainland by raising the freeboard and building a temporary deck. Once work was complete, they set sail for Moreton Bay with just an old hand compass to guide them. The passage would take them 37 gruelling days.

    At Moreton Bay, Captain Riley sold the longboat to William Thompson, who named the three-ton cutter-rigged vessel America. By now, it was mid-1845.   Thompson told people that he intended to salvage the remains of a ship Captain Riley said he had spotted aground on the northern end of Fraser Island (K’Gari).  In reality, Thompson planned to sail to Bampton Shoals and fill his hold with the Clarence’s whale oil before continuing through Torres Strait and on to Port Essington with his spoils.   While Thompson had bought the Elizabeth’s longboat, it’s unlikely he had also bought the salvage rights to the Clarence and her cargo. They would still have belonged to Cole.

    The America set sail from Moreton Bay around August or September 1845.  Joining Thompson were his young wife Barbara and four crew, one of whom was likely a man named Harris who had been on the Elizabeth and said he knew where to find the Clarence.  

    It seems to have been an unhappy vessel.  They were plagued by foul weather, and according to Barbara, there was much “quarrelling on board.”  Two of the crew even drowned during the voyage, though the circumstances remain a mystery.  As it turned out, Harris was unable to find the Clarence or even Bampton Shoals, for that matter. With their provisions almost depleted, Thompson abandoned the search and made for Port Essington via Torres Strait. Somewhere along the way, he put Harris ashore under circumstances that are not entirely clear.  Harris would spend eight months as a castaway somewhere on Cape York before being rescued by a passing ship and taken on to Hong Kong.  

    Meanwhile, Thompson, his wife and one remaining member of the crew cleared the tip of Cape York, but the America struck a reef off the eastern end of Prince of Wales Island (Muralag) during bad weather.  Thompson and the seaman drowned when they tried to swim ashore through the surging seas.   Barbara was left trapped on the cutter until she was rescued by Islanders returning from a turtle hunt after the weather had moderated.

    One of her rescuers, a man named Boroto, claimed Barbara as his wife, something she had no say in. Despite this, she also later claimed she had been well-treated by the Kaurareg. Her place in the community was assured after an elder declared that Barbara was the reincarnated form of his deceased daughter, Giaom. Barbara was renamed Giaom in her honour.

    Giaom, as she was now called, lived with the Kaurareg for the next four years. She learned their language, customs, and way of life. She shared their good times and bad and seems to have been well-liked. That is not to say her life was easy. Life with the Kaurareg would have been challenging for any white person of that era to adapt to. But adapt she did.  

    The only restriction placed on her was that she was barred from communicating with any of the scores of ships that passed through Torres Strait each year. It is quite likely that she always harboured a dream to return to her former life, and a few years later, she got her chance.

    In October 1849, a friend told her that a ship had stopped near the tip of Cape York.  She enlisted the help of several female friends, and they made the crossing to the mainland. She had assured them that she only wanted to meet the white men and shake their hands. Actually, she had already decided to leave the Kaurareg and hoped to do so on that ship. She figured this might be the only chance she had to make it back to Sydney to see her family again. When her husband, Boroto, was told what she was up to, he and several of his mates set off in pursuit.

    HMS Rattlesnake at anchor circa 1850. By Capt. Owen Stanley.

    On 16 October, Barbara Thompson and her friends stumbled on a party of seamen from the British survey ship HMS Rattlesnake.  Barbara was not immediately recognised as a white woman. For though naked but for a fringe of leaves strung around her waist, her skin was so deeply tanned and blistered by long exposure to the tropical sun as to make her indistinguishable from the other Aboriginal women. Barbara was reportedly “wretched in appearance,” and blind in one eye, and it was only when she spoke a few halting words that they realised she was a British subject. “I am a white woman. Why do you leave me?” she pleaded, wanting to be taken back to their ship. She was clearly awkward about her nudity in the company of white men, so the sailors gave her two shirts to cover herself and then took her back to the Rattlesnake.

    It was not long before Boroto was alongside in a canoe demanding that she be returned to him.   Meanwhile, Captain Owen Stanley had listened to her story and told her that the choice to stay or go was hers alone to make.  She chose to remain on the Rattlesnake. Captain Stanely remained at Cape York for several more days, and during that time, many of Barbara’s friends came out to visit her. Even Boroto was allowed on board to speak with his wife. At first, he tried using soft talk and promises to convince her to change her mind and come back home. When that didn’t work, he grew furious and threatened to kill her if she did not do as she was told. Boroto finally stormed off the ship empty-handed.

    While on the Rattlesnake, Barbara AKA Giaom was befriended by the Rattlesnake’s naturalist, John MacGillivray. Barbara proved to be a godsend when it came to understanding the ways of the local peoples. She added several hundred Kaurareg words and their English translations to his dictionary, and she also helped him to understand how Kaurareg grammar worked. She also freely shared her knowledge of the manners, customs, and daily life of her adopted people, giving MacGillivray insights he could never have gained on his own.   MacGillivray’s account of the Rattlesnake’s expedition, Narrative of the Voyage of HMS Rattlesnake, published in 1852, is dotted with references to Giaom’s contributions on the Kaurareg people of Torres Strait.

    Barbara Thompson’s health improved with medical attention and a return to a Western diet. The Rattlesnake arrived back in Sydney in February 1850, where Barbara was reunited with her parents.

    © Copyright C.J. Ison / Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2026.

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  • 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 Loss of the Sydney Cove – 1797

    A barque caught in heavy weather. Source: Tales of Shipwrecks and Adventures at Sea, 1856.

       In May 1797, a fishing party returned to Sydney with more than their daily catch. They had found three shipwreck survivors south of Botany Bay who told them that the merchant ship Sydney Cove had been wrecked somewhere far to the south. The survivors had trekked over 600 km along New South Wales’s rugged southern coast seeking help for their captain and shipmates who were still stranded with the ship.

       On 10 November 1796, the 250-ton Sydney Cove had sailed from Calcutta with her hold full of Indian goods and produce the owners hoped to sell in Sydney. The crew, numbering close to fifty men, was a mix of Indian and European seamen under the command of Captain Guy Hamilton. About a month out, as she cleaved her way south through the Indian Ocean, the Sydney Cove was caught in a terrible storm and began taking on water. Initially, the leak was easily managed with the pumps, so Hamilton continued on his course to round Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania) before heading north again and on up the New South Wales coast to Sydney.

       By January, as they sailed into the latitudes south of Tasmania, the ship was caught in the grip of another powerful storm. The leak began to worsen, and soon the pumps had to operate continuously to prevent the ship from sinking.

       As they headed up Tasmania’s east coast, they encountered yet more wild weather and heavy seas. By now, water was pouring into the hold faster than the men at the pumps could clear it. The barque was slowly filling with water. Captain Hamilton ordered all non-essential gear to be jettisoned to lighten the load, but that only put off the inevitable.   

    By 9 February, the water in the hold was lapping at the lower-deck hatches. Captain Hamilton realised he had no choice but to beach his ship to save her from foundering in deep water. If that were to happen, he would not only lose his ship and its precious cargo but also much of his crew, for they would not all fit on the Sydney Cove’s two boats. He found a sandy beach on what is today called Preservation Island in the Furneaux group and ran her ashore. Although Hamilton had saved the ship from sinking, his troubles were far from over.

    No illustration of the Sydney Cove exists but it likely looked similar to this example. Source: Nautical Dictionary by Arthur Young, published in 1863.

       Exhausted from constant bailing and battling through rough seas, Hamilton got the crew unloading much of the ship’s stores and cargo onto Preservation Island. But then the weary men discovered the casks of rum stacked among the cargo. Hamilton had to have the liquor taken to a neighbouring island to prevent his men from pillaging it. Captain Hamilton then organised his crew for a prolonged stay, for they had come ashore at a very remote part of the world. The crew erected shelters using sails and spars to give them refuge from the elements. Hamilton rationed everyone to one cup of rice per day, and though they sank a well and found water, it proved so brackish it was barely drinkable. However, their immediate needs were met. Then he turned his mind to their rescue.

       If they were ever to leave Preservation Island, they would have to send for help. It was agreed that the First Mate, Hugh Thomson, with 17 men, would sail north, keeping close to the New South Wales coast until they reached Sydney. Captain Hamilton and the remaining crew, numbering about 30, would remain with the ship.

       Several days after setting off, the longboat was driven ashore on Ninety-Mile Beach and smashed to pieces. Thomson and his men escaped with their lives, but they had little else. With no way to return to the Sydney Cove, their only chance of survival lay in continuing to Sydney, 600 km away, on foot.

       Thomson hugged the coast, knowing that as long as they kept the sea on their right, they would eventually arrive at the young settlement. However, that meant crossing many wide river mouths and scrambling over numerous rocky promontories along the way. The journey was gruelling and took a heavy toll on the men. Encounters with the indigenous peoples varied in nature. Some provided the castaways with food and water, while others were less sympathetic but allowed them to pass unhindered. Yet others set upon the interlopers on their land. Their numbers dwindled as some drowned crossing rivers or otherwise fell victim to the harsh and unforgiving terrain.

    The Sydney Cove party as depicted by Smiths’ Weekly in 1939. Smith’s Weekly 30 Sep 1939 p. 8.

       By late April, there were only three men left. However, they had managed to reach within 20 km of Botany Bay when fishermen finally discovered them. The fishermen took the survivors the rest of the way to Sydney in their boat. On learning of the loss of the Sydney Cove, Governor Hunter ordered vessels to be sent to rescue the remaining sailors and salvage the ship’s cargo.

       After being marooned for some four months, Captain Hamilton and the rest of the crew were in dire straits. Winter was fast approaching. Successive storms had mercilessly battered their shelters, and now they had gaping tears, offering the men little protection from the bitter weather. While they had been able to supplement their rice ration with seabirds nesting on the island, their diet still barely sustained life. To add to their sense of abandonment, they had seen several ships pass in the distance but had been unable to alert any of them to their presence.

       Then, on 10 June 1798, salvation arrived when the sloop Eliza sailed into view and dropped anchor a short distance off the beach. It was later joined by the schooner Francis, under the command of Lt Matthew Flinders. Both ships had left Sydney 10 days earlier under Governor Hunter’s orders. The crews loaded as much of the salvaged cargo as they dared, leaving five volunteers behind to watch over the remaining goods until it could be collected at a later date. Captain Hamilton and his men boarded the Francis and Eliza, and they headed for Sydney.   

    The weather was no less kind as the two small ships battled their way home. It took 15 days of hard sailing through storms and high seas for the Francis to reach Port Jackson. The Eliza never made it back to Sydney and was presumed to have sunk in the terrible weather with the loss of her own crew, plus eight shipwreck survivors. In total, about half of the crew of the Sydney Cove lost their lives.

       The shipwreck is historically significant for the trek undertaken by Thomson and the others. They were the first Europeans to note an outcrop of coal in the Illawarra, which has defined the region to this day. Also, Captain Hamilton recorded strong south-westerly currents during his time on Preservation Island, suggesting there was a large body of water separating Van Diemen’s Land and the Australian mainland. The existence of the strait would later be confirmed by Matthew Flinders and George Bass and named after the latter.

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

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  • The Life and Loss of HMSC MERMAID

    HMSC Mermaid off Cape Banks, Dec. 4, 1820, by Conrad Martens. Image Courtesy National Library of Australia.

       Between 1818 and 1820, the small survey cutter HMSC Mermaid played an important role in charting Australia’s vast coastline. So, it is perhaps ironic that her last voyage should have been cut short on an uncharted reef off the north Queensland coast.

       The Mermaid was an 84-ton cutter launched in Calcutta in 1816. She arrived in New South Wales the following year and was soon purchased by the Government to undertake survey work requested by the British Admiralty.

       Lieutenant Phillip Parker King was dispatched to Australia to carry out a detailed survey of the Australian coastline, particularly those areas bypassed by Matthew Flinders. The son of former NSW Governor Phillip Gidley King, he had been born on Norfolk Island in 1791. On the family’s return to England and completion of his schooling, the young King joined the Royal Navy. He was given command of the Mermaid and got to work.

    Lt Phillip Parker King. Unknown artist. Courtesy State Library of NSW,

       HMSC Mermaid made three extensive voyages under King. They sailed from Sydney on 22 Dec 1817, bound for Australia’s northern and northwest coasts via Bass Strait and Cape Leeuwin. The crew included two sailing masters, 12 seamen and two boys. On board were also the botanist Allan Cunningham and Bungaree, a Kuring-gai man from Broken Bay who had also circumnavigated the continent with Matthew Flinders on the Investigator.

       At Northwest Cape, King surveyed and named Exmouth Gulf before continuing north along the coast until they reached Van Diemen’s Gulf and Cobourg Peninsula. From there, they sailed to Kupang on Timor Island to resupply, where they remained for two weeks. King then set sail for Sydney, returning down the West Australian coast. The return trip was marred by rough weather and a shortage of manpower. Several of the crew had become seriously ill shortly after leaving Timor, and one of them subsequently died. Despite the hardships, the Mermaid arrived back in Sydney on 29 July 1818 after an absence of seven months and seven days.

       Between December 1818 and January 1819, King sailed to Van Diemen’s Land and undertook a survey of Macquarie Harbour, which would soon become the site of one of the convict era’s most brutal places of punishment. Their work done there, the Mermaid was back in Sydney in late February, and in May she was off again.

    Lt King’s survey cutter ‘Mermaid’ Photo courtesy State Library of Queensland.

       The third voyage, and King’s last in the Mermaid, saw them sail up the east coast of Australia on a circumnavigation of the continent. On 20 July, while sheltering in a bay he named Port Bowen at latitude 22.5 S (not to be confused with the present-day township of Bowen), the Mermaid ran aground and became stuck. It was only after considerable effort that the crew were able to warp the vessel into deep water, but she sustained serious hull damage in the process. The full extent of the injury would only become apparent months later.

       The Mermaid continued north, passed through Torres Strait and King again started making a detailed survey of the north-west coast. However, the cutter had been taking on water ever since its beaching at Port Bowen. By September, she was leaking so badly that King was compelled to careen the vessel and attend to the leaking hull. With repairs completed as best they could, he then cut short his survey and ran down the west coast, across the Great Australian Bight, returning to Sydney in December. However, the Mermaid was very nearly wrecked within sight of her home port.

       As they passed Jervis Bay, the wind was blowing strongly from the east-south-east and visibility was much reduced by heavy rain. Lt King steered a course that he thought would find them off Sydney Heads the following morning. But at 2 o’clock in the morning, King, thinking they were still 30 km from land, was surprised when a bolt of lightning revealed they were sailing directly towards Botany Bay’s south head. The Mermaid only just cleared that hazard but lodged on a rock off the north head before being lifted off by a large wave. She ploughed through breakers within metres of the rocky promontory with the sea surging and foaming around them. It was a very close call, but they were soon safely inside Sydney Harbour without further incident.

       Lt King made his fourth and final survey in the Bathurst while the Mermaid underwent much-needed repairs.   But that was not the end of the little cutter’s adventures.   She was decommissioned from the Royal Navy and taken over by the NSW colonial government, where she continued to serve with distinction.

    Mermaid being repaired during King’s voyage. Engraving by John Murray 1825. Image courtesy National Library of Australia.

       In 1828, the Mermaid received a major overhaul, including re-planking, new copper sheathing, and, most importantly, being re-rigged as a two-masted schooner. Then, in early 1829, she was tasked with helping dismantle the failed settlement at Raffles Bay on the Cobourg Peninsula. Once done there, they were to make for the remote settlement of King George Sound (present-day Albany) to deliver stores and dispatches. Under the command of Captain Nolbrow, the Mermaid departed Sydney on 16 May and headed north, keeping to the inner passage inside the Great Barrier Reef.

       Tragedy struck at 6 o’clock in the morning on 13 June when, about 35 km south of present-day Cairns, the Mermaid ran grounded on a reef not recorded on King’s recently published naval chart. At 8 p.m., Captain Nolbrow and his crew, 13 men in all, took to the lifeboat with the hold bilged and water already over the cabin deck.

       Twelve days later, as they continued north towards Torres Strait, the castaways were picked up by the Admiral Gifford. The Admiral Gifford was a 34-ton schooner on a speculative voyage through Australia’s northern waters and was ill-equipped to carry so many additional passengers. On 3 July, Nolbrow and his crew were transferred to the much larger Swiftsure, possibly in the vicinity of Pipon Island. Unfortunately, the Swiftsure was wrecked two days later near Cape Sidmouth and her crew, along with the Mermaid’s, were rescued by the Brig Resource.

       Captain Nolbrow and his men eventually made it back to Sydney via the Swan River settlement (present-day Perth) in November 1829. The remains of the Mermaid were discovered on Flora Reef in 2009.

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

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  • Elegant and Fast: The Huia schooner

    Huia topsail schooner

    The New Zealand topsail schooner Huia has long been heralded as the best-looking vessel of her type and one of the fastest sailing.  

    Launched at Kaipara Harbour New Zealand in 1894, the Huia was built using Kauri planks over a puriri timber frame.   Measuring 35 metres (115 ft) in length and registered at 196 tons, she was purpose built for the timber trade.   For the first few years of her long career she shipped lumber to Sydney and brought coal back from Newcastle.

    The Huia soon earned a reputation as a very fast sailer on the notoriously dangerous Trans-Tasman route.   In 1895 Captain McKenzie reportedly made the run from Newcastle to Kaipara Harbour heads in four days and six hours.   For most of the passage she was pushed along by gale force winds while the seas continuously swept over her deck.   

    Topsail schooner HUIA

    On another voyage she was said to have logged 510 nautical miles (944 kms) in the first 48 hours after clearing Newcastle.   With every square inch of canvas out she clipped along at 14 to 16 knots.    That is a staggering 26-30 kilometres per hour.

    Her fast Tasman Sea crossings, however, did not come without risk.   After one “tempestuous passage” the Newcastle Herald reported, “the gales met by the little vessel were from south-west and south, and they were accompanied by heavy seas throughout, the decks being kept in a chronic state of flood.   Whilst diving bows into the seas on Tuesday last Huia lost her jibboom, and a day or two previous her fore shroud was carried away.”(1)

    In 1897 the little ship was fitted with an auxiliary engine and continued making record breaking passages between New Zealand ports and across the Tasman.   In 1912 she was sold to the Nobel Explosives Company.   And, through the first few decades of the 20th Century her classic lines made her a favourite vessel in many Australian ports from Cairns to Hobart, and from Melbourne to Fremantle.

    By the 1930s the age of sail had past. The beautiful “white-hulled” sailing vessel was one of only two top-sail schooners working out of Melbourne.

    Huia schooner. Photo courtesy State Library of Victoria.

    In 1950 the ship began carrying cargo and passengers between islands in the South Pacific.   Her time came to an end in 1951 when she was wrecked on a coral reef in New Caledonia.  

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

    (1) Newcastle Herald, 8 June 1895, p. 4.

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