xenith: (Three ships with a seal)
Img_5579

Remains of Otago and Westralian in Otago Bay.

The nearby plaque says

"Joseph CONRAD (Józelf Teodor Konrad KORZENIOWSKI, 1857-1924) was a polish-born writer and Mariner who became one of the greatest novelists in the English Language. Among his best known were "LORD JIM", "NOSTROMO" and "THE SHADOW LINE", actually written around the barque "OTAGO" which he commanded in 1888."

"The 367 tonne, 44.8m long "OTAGO" was built in Glasgow in 1869 and after sailing the high seas under various commands, including Conrad, was cut down and brought from Sydeny to Hobart about 1900 where she became a coal hulk on the Derwent for more than 20 years.

"In 1931 she was sold at auction at a Mr. H. Dodge and taken to this sit where she was later broke up, some sections being sold as scrap iron to Japan."
xenith: (Default)
It made me go "Ooh!". It will probably make everyone go "Who cares?" :)

Navy films bridge disaster ghost ship

The wreck of the ship which brought down Hobart's Tasman Bridge is being explored as part of a major navy training exercise.

Never before seen vision of the Lake Illawarra has been obtained more than 30 years after it slammed into the bridge.
More

I guess I should not the significance of the wreck isn't in the event itself so much as what happened afterwards.
xenith: (Frigate)
You might recall my bit from last year on the wreck of the George III.

Tonight, I came across this song in Farewell to Old England, by Hugh Anderson, 1964, a collection of broadsides with accompanying background material. I haven't seen it elsewhere and a web search didn't turn anything up. The only reference given for it is: 4to. N.P. N.D. [c. 1835] Copies: University of Cambridge Library (quarto, no place, no date). Helpful, indeed.

Melancholy News of the Convict Ship
George the Third


Farewell, dear friends and comrades all,
On England's fertile soil,
No more I'll view your cheering smiles,
In slavery's hardest toil.
Farewell, my mother, dearest friend,
For ever fare you well,
May you enjoy all happiness
While on earth you dwell.

If they advice I had listen'd to,
I ne'er would have gone astray,
To work in chains in a foreign land,
'Neath the sun's burning rays.
A dreadful wreck we did sustain,
Near Derwent river's mouth;
On a reef of rock we did there strike--
The wind being then due south.

The dreadful sufferings to relate
Would take a scholar's skill,
To see us in the hold secured--
The water rushing in;
A guard was round the hatchway plac'd,
To shoot us if he mov'd,
When death was making rapid strides,
'Mong some of those we lov'd.

One hundred and thirty-four were lost--
Oh! Dreadful was the woe,
To see them clinging to the wreck,
Which caused and their children young,
Clasp'd in love's embrace,
When sinking underneath the waves,
Ne'er more to see each face.

O, mother, to see us struggling with
Th' impetuous bursting surge,
Would caus'd your tender heart to break,
When some were overboard,
Crying, "Oh, Lord! forgive my sins,
For many have they been";
Then clasp'd their hands--sunk in rest,
And never more seen.

George III

Dec. 28th, 2007 07:55 pm
xenith: (Three ships with a seal)
The ship slipped on quietly into the night. In the hospital the surgeon could hear the monotonous droning voice of the leadsman in the chains.

Then suddenly this monotonous droning became louder, with a note of warning. The sea had swiftly shoaled, with no apparent cause.

"Heave quick!" called the captain.

"A quarter less four," came the leadsman's ill omened answer. The water was shoaling fast. Yet the land was two miles away on the nearer side.

"Hard aport! Hard aport!" was the captain's next command.

"Hard a--", the helmsman began to answer as he feverishly leapt to swing around the spokes. He never completed that answer, for before he had time to do so the ship, with a horrid, tearing sound of timbers torn into protesting pieces was on the rocks.

"My God!" shrieked Captain Moxey. But no one heard him save the sea fowl and the convicts.

There had been nothing to mark that rock--no broken water, no greasy swirling of the sea, nothing at all.


(A. J. Villiers, Vanished Fleets, 1931)

The rest of the story )

Neva

Aug. 2nd, 2007 10:14 pm
xenith: (Three ships with a seal)
Another tale of a wrecked ship, also on King Island.

In 1835, the Neva, bound for Sydney from Cork, hit a reef off King Island. There were 241 people on board, including 150 female prisoners with 33 children, 9 free women with 22 children, and 26 officers and crew.

From "Wrecks in Tasmanian Water" by Harry O'May:

"At 4 pm on 14 May, when Captain Peck considered she was well clear of King Island, the dreaded cry rang out, "Breakers Ahead!". She was bowling along with a good breeze and though the helm was put hard down, it could not save her. The boats were lowered but all capsized and were swept away. The sea took charge and she quickly broke up."

Of the twenty two who survived the wreck and reached shore, seven died before they could be rescued.

That's about as much detail as most accounts of the wreck provide. Although there is often a story added of the some of the women breaking into the storeroom where the grog was kept. If you're going to die, might as well have a good time first?

Villiers, in 'Vanished Fleets' gives a longer version:

"Then the helpless ship was at the mercy of the sea; she was altogether unmanageable and was driven hard up on the rocks. She swung round and heeled heavily over, while the seas which had seemed so gentle while she ran before them, swept over her and broke all round. The mast began to go, and it was evident that the shop would go to pieces quickly. The boats were lowered, but each of them in turn capsized, and every one in them was speedily drowned. In a few moments more the ship broke into four pieces -- an indication of her sea-worthiness; or lack of it -- and, with the exception of twenty two people who clung to fragments of wreckage, every one on board was drowned. The women had been asleep in their prison in the hold when the ship struck, and so little time passed between the striking and her falling to pieces that they were still barricaded behind their bars when they went to their doom.

"The few who survived the tragedy said that they could never forget the horror of those moments, the terrible screams of the helpless women mingled with the crash, and grind of broken timbers, and pervading all, the appalling roar of the thundering breakers. Of the twenty-two who reached the shore, two went mad with sheer horror of the calamity and wandering into the bush, died there. Five others died from exposure, leaving only fifteen survivors from the whole 240. Of these six were prisoners and nine were crew; no child lived. The prisoners who survived came out of their prison when the ship fell to pieces and floated ashore on hatches, broken beans and the like."

The best account I've seen in on King Island Online site

The wreck of the Neva was just a month after the wreck of the George II, on April 10, also a convict transport. On that, there is a lot written so it might be a while before I get around to posting about it.

Cataraqui

Jul. 26th, 2007 02:51 pm
xenith: (Three ships with a seal)
Looking through Blue Gun Clippers and Whale Ships of Tasmania, by Will Lawson & the Shiplovers Society of Tasmania, first published 1949, I found a bit on the wreck of the Cataraqui. It's one of the sadder shipwreck tales.

On 20 April 1845, the Cataraqui left Liverpool carrying 370 emigrants, mostly families. By the 3rd August, they were just a day out of Melbourne, coming through Bass Strait, with "all on board looking eagerly forward to reaching arbour after the storm which had beset them for several days.

"In the early morning, with warning, the ship struck off Boggy Creek [west coast of King Island] when she had all sail set. A prudent shortening of the sail on the previous evening had been so scoffed at by the surgeon, who was at loggerheads with the captain, that Captain Findley decided to carry on. The ship was making at least 10 knots when she crashed on to the rocks, about 100 yards from shore.

"The Cataraqui broke up at once, scattering her human freight into the cauldron of raging waters. The position was hopeless, and of 408 person on board, only nine won to shore. Daylight presented a horrible scene to these lucky survivors. For about two miles the beach was strewn with the dead, mostly females, for the ship was carrying a large number of married women, with their families, and girls to Australia."

Wrecks in Tasmanian Waters, by Harry O'May, has a longer passage including:

"By 5 a.m. all below decks were drowned but daylight revealed about two hundred persons still clinging to the wreck. Every wave took its tool and by 4 p.m. she had parted and many went into the sea. Lines had been stretched along the vessel to supply the survivors with something to grip. Some had endeavoured to make a raft. At 5 p.m. she parted again but still seventy poor souls clung to the forecastle. All night the sea washed over them and at daybreak on the fifth only thirty survived."

The final part comes from Villiers' Vanished Fleets: Strange Tales of the Sea, when some of the survivors realised their only hope was to try to reach shore:

"Mr Guthrie, the first mate, clutching to a spar, plunged into the sea and was carried over the reef to the shore. There he found a passenger who had escaped during the night and one of the crew who had got ashore in the morning. Six other seamen swam, or with piece of planking, floated ashore. Soon afterwards, the remains of the Cataraqui disappeared beneath the sea. These nine men were all who survived; only one migrant reached Australian shores."


Parks & Wildlife Service, Shipwrecks of Tasmania

Grave of 245 bodies from the wreck of the Cataraqui on King's Island

Loss of the Cataraque/Cataraqui: From British Parliamentary Papers 1846
That last page has a list of passengers.

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