Some things you can’t make up. This is the improbable story of how a young man impersonating an Austrian aristocrat came to cruise up the Queensland coast on a resurrected vessel named Hamlet’s Ghost.
In May 1868, a dashing young man stepped ashore in Sydney claiming to be Count Ignaz Von Attems, a blood relative of Archduke Albert of Austria. The Von Attems family traced its aristocratic lineage back to the 12th Century. To Australia’s class-conscious and pretentious squattocracy, the young count gracing their presence was a man to be feted.
Von Attems knew how the game was played, for he was a master far beyond his 25 years might suggest. He dressed extravagantly, splashed money around with abandon, hinted at a lavish monthly stipend and generally loved to court attention. He was a man to be seen and, more importantly, to many in colonial society, a man to be seen with. No social gathering of the day would be complete without the aristocratic Count attending. He would often dress in the full uniform of an Austrian cavalry officer, complete with sword, even when wandering about town.
But, after spending just four weeks in Sydney being wined and dined by the city’s social elite, he up and left for Brisbane, promising he would return after doing a spot of hunting in the recently separated colony to the north.
Count Ignaz’s reception in Brisbane was no less exuberant than it had been in Sydney. The Premier of Queensland, Robert Mackenzie, hosted a champagne lunch in Von Attems’s honour, attended by the colony’s leading citizens, for no other reason than he had deigned to visit their humble domain.
As in Sydney, he borrowed heavily on lines of credit with the colonial banks and convinced local merchants and new acquaintances alike to temporarily cover his expenses. His usual excuse, and one rarely questioned, was that he was waiting for his monthly allowance to catch up with him.
By now, Count Von Attems, or Curt Oswald Schmulz as he was better known to his family back in Austria, had perfected his – far from petty – grift. Schmulz was charismatic, urbane, and exceedingly generous with “his” money. He was everything one would expect from a well-bred Austrian gentleman. Born into a middle-class family in Saxony, the young Schmulz attended a Commercial Academy and worked in a counting house (an accounting firm) while completing his studies. He also began mixing with friends from wealthier families who enjoyed a far more lavish lifestyle than he could afford. That did not deter the young man from living life to the full. Unfortunately, by the time young Curt Schmulz celebrated his 20th birthday, he had amassed debts neither he nor his father could repay.
He quietly boarded an American-bound ship, leaving Europe and his financial troubles behind. However, the United States was embroiled in its own problems. The Civil War was raging, and Schmulz joined the Union Army, where he apparently served with some distinction. By the time he was mustered out at the end of hostilities, he had risen to the rank of Captain.
For the next two years or so, he travelled through South America, Africa, and the Middle East before returning to Europe. He supported himself by using forged letters of introduction and drawing on fictitious lines of credit with banks far from where he happened to be at the time. No doubt his earlier employment at the counting house stood him in good stead, for he would have known how the financial system worked and how he could exploit it in those early days. He never stayed anywhere for long and assumed the personas of many different people, real and imagined. He also became adept at assuming the airs of a European aristocrat.
When he left Sydney, he had no intention of ever returning. To do so would have courted disaster, for it would only be a matter of time before the trail of crumbs he had left behind him caught up. When it was time for him to leave Brisbane, he intended to keep heading north and make for Batavia in the Dutch East Indies (present-day Indonesia) to start anew.
And, one day, he found the ideal vessel to take him there. He purchased a luxurious pleasure craft enigmatically named Hamlet’s Ghost. It had a story just as interesting as the bogus Counts. A clue to its origin, for students of Shakespeare, can be found in the yacht’s name. Hamlet’s Ghost had been born from the carcass of the whaling schooner, Prince of Denmark.
The Prince of Denmark had run aground on one of the Chesterfield Islands far out in the Coral Sea during a heavy storm in 1863. The prospect that they might be rescued by a passing ship was extremely remote. So, the captain got his men to work on building a new boat from the remains of his wrecked ship. Captain Bennett and his crew of Solomon Islanders then sailed her to Moreton Bay, where he sold the vessel. He and his men then boarded the next ship bound for Sydney.
Hamlet’s Ghost first saw service as a lighter in Moreton Bay, transferring cargo from ships to shore. Then, three years later, a well-heeled merchant named George Harris purchased the craft. He had seen her hidden potential. After the shipwrights had finished with her, Hamelt’s Ghost had been transformed from a utilitarian workboat into a fine pleasure yacht. She was now a schooner-rigged vessel of about 8-10 tons with an elliptical stern and an overhanging bow. The hull had been sheathed in cedar and copper-plated to ward off seaworms. She had been fitted with a spacious cabin amidships, featuring a large central skylight that protruded above the deck, providing full headroom and an abundance of light. “The vessel’s cabin is splendidly fitted up,” wrote one reporter. “The panelling is of grained maple mounted with gold mouldings, and a large pier glass fills up one end of the cabin.”
She was also armed with three brass swivel guns to ward off any threats when cruising in remote or dangerous waters. But for the most part, Harris was content to sail her down the Brisbane River and around Moreton Bay.
When the bogus count saw Hamlet’s Ghost, he knew it was the perfect vessel for what he had in mind. Von Attems told everyone that he intended to explore the warm waters along the Queensland coast, perhaps as far as Cleveland Bay (present-day Townsville), before returning to Brisbane. Harris was too canny a businessman to relinquish his vessel without first receiving full payment, no matter how esteemed the purchaser was. So, the count purchased the yacht with borrowed money to the sum of £500. Von Attems crewed it with a captain, chief officer, three seamen, a cook/steward and, of course, a manservant.
Three weeks after his sensational arrival, Count Ignaz Von Attems bid Brisbane “Auf Wiedersehen,” leaving another mountain of debt in his wake. He even had the audacity to direct creditors to the Prussian Consulate for payment shortly before he set sail.
Curt Schmulz did not leave Brisbane too soon, for a month later, a warrant for his arrest issued in Sydney had reached the stunned city. By then, the bogus count was rounding Cape York Peninsula, but it had been anything but fair sailing up the Queensland coast.
Hamlet’s Ghost had pulled in at Maryborough, Rockhampton and Cleveland Bay, where the leaving citizens, thrilled to be in such august company, entertained the dashing and gracious young man. But, for the crew, Count Von Attems had proved to be a particularly obnoxious creature to work for. By the time Hamlet’s Ghost had reached the government outpost of Somerset near the top of Cape York, the captain had had enough of the arrogant Count. Their latest argument escalated to the point where both men brandished their pistols, threatening to shoot each other. Cooler heads stepped in before either was hurt, and order was restored. However, the captain and the steward left the yacht at Somerset. Von Attems was only able to convince the rest of the crew to stay by promising them more money. They then left Queensland behind, passed through Torres Strait and on towards the Dutch East Indies.
Count Von Attems, AKA Curt Schmulz, finally ran out of luck at Surabaya. There, he was arrested after passing several fraudulent bank bills. While waiting his day in court, Von Attems escaped the prison hospital and almost managed to flee the East Indies before being recaptured.
He was finally tried, found guilty and served 10 years in Batavia’s notorious Glodok Prison. Hamlet’s Ghost was never returned to Queensland. The Dutch colonial government reportedly sold her off for £100, and her final years are unknown.
(C) Copyright Tales from the quarterdeck / C.J. Ison 2021.
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