by Rob Mundle
Some crew had already considered chopping down the mainmast, hoping that it would fall towards the shore and form a bridge, but that idea was abandoned because it had no guarantee of success. If the downed mast missed its mark – which was highly probable – it would then thrash around in the raging surf and accelerate the demise of the already badly damaged ship.
Incredibly, fate would provide the very means of deliverance that the crew had dared not risk. Lutwyche would recall:
. . . about half-past one o’clock [am] the mainmast fell, and the vessel parted in two. The fall was a gradual one, and it descended with all the rigging standing, athwart the breakers, till it touched the boulders above, thus forming the means of communication with the shore, of which the sailors were not slow to avail themselves.
Some of the nimbler passengers followed, but amazingly, there was no effort at all from the crew already standing on the rocks to rescue those who remained aboard the still-heaving ship – in particular the women and children.
However, the ship’s third mate, the aptly named Mr Worthington, did have the courage to remain aboard. He quickly reassured the passengers that the poop (aft section) would hold together till daylight, and he ‘would not leave the vessel till every woman and child had quitted it’.
He kept his word.
With the gale still raging and the ship breaking up further each time a thundering wave smashed into her, Worthington, with the aid of crewman Charles Snow, began assisting passengers brave enough to venture onto the downed, constantly moving mast and make the precarious journey towards the shore. The two men held on to each passenger who committed to the perilous undertaking, at times handing them a piece of rope rigging or a timber spar to hang on to for balance. On more than one occasion, gasps went up, as the rescuers ‘were knocked down several times by heavy seas’. Lutwyche’s account continued:
The passage across occupied a considerable time, for it was necessary to watch for a favourable moment, and it was difficult to induce the women to expose themselves to unknown dangers. But finding about three o’clock in the morning that the water in the saloon was beginning to rise – coming in, in fact, faster than it went out – I warned all who were willing to make the effort to save life that the time was come when they must quit the cuddy.
Lutwyche was certain that if the seas generated by the gale had been any larger on the night, no more than ten of all the people aboard Meridian would have survived.
However, as Rev. Voller would later write, there was still no guarantee of survival once the shore had been achieved:
The moon, which had just made its appearance, gave sufficient light to expose the dangers and terror of the place. Before us the cliffs rose like a perpendicular wall, to the height of at least two hundred feet while at their base, the margin between the rocks and the sea was very narrow, and it was my thought and that of others that, if the weather did not subside, we must soon be washed away.
By dawn, the 105 passengers and crew who had survived the wreck were safely onshore. They had been extremely lucky to escape, but the emerging light of day quickly revealed how inhospitable was the environment that they had now entered.
‘The dawn was just breaking, and oh, what an appalling sight presented itself!’ wrote Lutwyche. ‘Before me lay huge boulders piled up irregularly till they reached an altitude of 40 or 50 feet, where they were hemmed in by a perpendicular wall of black ferruginous rock, rendering a further advance from the sea in that direction impossible. Turning round, and facing the sea, a small portion of the forecastle of the Meridian was still visible above water to the left, while on the right lay the after-part of the vessel, with the mizen still standing, pointing towards the shore. The rest of the vessel was completely broken up, and pieces of the wreck were dashed by every sea on the rocks.’
Many of the children, shivering because they had been wearing only their night attire when the ship thundered onto the rocks, remained either huddled together for warmth or in the arms of their parents until daylight. Fortunately, enough shattered timber from the wreck was then recovered and a fire lit.
Soon afterwards, the survivors made a discovery that would prove to be a remarkable stroke of good fortune. Large bales containing ‘Hundreds of yards of excellent new flannel, perfectly dry, and some hundreds of red and blue serge shirts’ had been extricated from the broken bowels of the ship and washed ashore. ‘But for this providential supply, half the women and children, and probably some of the men, must have perished from wet and cold the very first night’, wrote Lutwyche.
Yet this lucky find was small consolation for the survivors as they began to realise the magnitude of their predicament, and how remote their chances of survival were. Experienced crew members confirmed that Amsterdam Island was well outside the route taken by ships sailing from Europe to Australia, so there was virtually no chance of their being found. The only maritime activity that might occur in the region was whaling, but it was known that in the previous year, only two whalers had worked the waters around the island, and even then, it had only been for a matter of days. The precipitous and craggy nature of the island’s shoreline added to the survivors’ dilemma, as it was near-impossible for any small boat to reach the shore except in the most benign of weathers. The survivors soon became aware that there was no timber available that might allow them to build any type of small vessel capable of reaching the outside world.
No food had washed ashore from Meridian, though several of the crew had salvaged some of the wine and spirits that had been on board, and, wrote Lutwyche, they and some of the passengers ‘gave way to a temptation which they found irresistible’. The survivors’ only hope for sustenance would be shellfish gathered off the rocks; they had no fishing equipment. They did, however, have some guns with them, and ‘a very scanty supply of powder and shot’, which might allow them to shoot seabirds.
Though the top of the island might prove fertile, a safe ascent seemed nigh on impossible. Lutwyche took it upon himself to try to find a path up the escarpment so that everyone could reach the plateau above. He said he ‘crawled along the rocks, painfully and slowly, for half a mile to the westward, in the hope of finding some path by which we could ascend the face of the cliff, but as far as the eye could reach, I could discern nothing but a beetling precipice, which not even a goat or a monkey could have scaled’.
When he returned to the wreck site, there was a modicum of good news: some crew had managed to reboard the ship and recover some of the stores, while other foodstuffs had been washed up on the shore. The ration for that first day was a biscuit for every adult and half a biscuit for each child, but as there was no water to be found, ‘half a glass of port wine per head was served out among the women and children’. A sail and some timber were also recovered and used to create a shelter for the women and children that second night. Still, it was a miserable existence, so much so that four year old Charles Henderson was heard to remark to his mother: ‘Mamma, is this place Sydney? Because if it is, I don’t like Sydney.’
The following day there was positive news on two fronts: a supply of water was discovered about one and a half miles along the rocky shoreline from the site of the wreck, but better still, a path to the top of the 200-foot-high cliff was found, and there was fresh water near its summit. Their food supply was also improving: a sow had swum ashore from the ship and been captured, and the floating carcass of ‘an old boar pig’ had been recovered from the water. Lutwyche wrote: ‘this addition to our stock we looked upon as a veritable godsend. It enabled me to issue on the Monday and Tuesday a ration of half a pound of pork, over and above what otherwise would have been each day’s allowance, viz., a small handful of raisins, half a mouldy biscuit, a little tea, and some brandy.’
On Saturday, 27 August, the decision was made to quit the wreck site and establish a camp at the clifftop. It was a difficult ascent: the women and children had to be hauled to the top by rope over the final 15 feet. The sow was also dragged up the cliff by
rope.
With a camp established by converting whatever material was available into makeshift tents, all survivors were reconciled to an unknown fate, but feeling it was more than likely that they would perish in this harsh and hostile environment. While an ample water supply had been found, their food supply was extremely limited and there was little prospect that any other sustenance would be forthcoming in such a desolate location. The winter cold, exacerbated by strong winds, was another life-threatening difficulty that had to be overcome.
Incredibly, though, just twenty-four hours later, a far-from-expected air of excitement swept through the camp. Some of the survivors who had ventured off to a nearby clifftop rushed back with the news that they had sighted a ship close to the island!
Their frantic waving of two red serge shirts and some white flannel had been seen by the ship’s crew, who had twice lowered the ship’s ensign in response. The castaways had also set fire to some nearby grass to confirm their presence on the island. Lutwyche explained, ‘Very soon after the heart-stirring intelligence had reached me, I saw the vessel myself. She was a whaler apparently of about 300 tons, and still kept her ensign flying.’
But unimaginable frustration and fear soon followed. On two occasions the captain tacked his ship and tried to lay a course towards the island, but both times the strong offshore breeze prevented this. Instead, the whaler was driven away from the shore until she disappeared into the misty distance, ‘and we saw her no more’.
The survivors were hopeful that when the weather turned in the ship’s favour she would return, and that was what happened only forty-eight hours later. Just as the castaways were preparing to send a search party to find a landing place for a vessel, one of Meridian’s crew came running towards the camp shouting with great excitement: ‘A boat, a boat!’
With that, everyone rushed towards the clifftop to see for themselves. Lutwyche wrote:
I distinctly saw a whale-boat rowing near the shore, at a safe distance from the surf. The steersman waved a flag in his hand, and pointed it two or three times towards the quarter from which the boat had come; a loud shout from the top of the cliff, and a pointing of hands in the same direction, showed those below that the signal was understood; and then the boat, turning its head round, pursued its way back again. All was now hope, joy and activity.
Time would reveal that the ship they had seen was the American whaler Monmouth. This small whaleboat had come from her, but had only been able to land on the other side of the island. The exploring party set off in that direction, followed by the rest of the survivors, including women and children. Little did they know at this point what an arduous and perilous journey it would be.
Meanwhile, on the side of the island where the ship had first been sighted, a gale had swept in, and the whaleboat had barely managed to rejoin the mother ship before she was driven downwind some 80 miles from the island. ‘Happily for us we were spared the knowledge of this misfortune’, wrote Lutwyche. ‘I doubt that otherwise many would have laid down on the road to die.’
Unbeknown to the survivors, the whaleboat had already put ashore William Smith, a member of Monmouth’s crew, so he could make contact with the castaways. Surprisingly, the captain of the whaler, Isaac Ludlow of New York State, had taken command of the whaleboat so he could coordinate the rescue.
Two days into their slow and precarious trek along the cliffs at the island’s edge, Smith managed to find the half starving survivors. He led them to the island’s north-eastern side where the boat had left him, and where a patch of wild cabbages had been planted by shipwrecked sailors. Raw cabbages would be the survivors’ only food until the ship could return.
Eight days after Meridian smashed into the island, and two days after William Smith reached them, Lutwyche noted that the survivors were on the verge of giving up all hope of being rescued: ‘Unless God should send us immediate aid, it was clear that two or three days would put an end to the sufferings of many amongst us.’
But within hours, at daybreak on Monday, 5 September, ‘our deliverers were at hand. A long and tremendous shout of “ship, ship,” from the stentorian lungs of Smith, aroused the whole encampment, and fervent thanks were offered up to Almighty God for this renewed proof of His mercy.’
With Monmouth holding station close to the island on the lee side, four of her whaleboats were launched to carry out a rescue. Women and children went first, and by midday everyone who had reached shore from Meridian was treading the decks of Monmouth, except for two men and a child who had not yet reached the rescue site and who were taken off the island the following morning.
‘With three hearty cheers for Captain Ludlow and his brave men,’ Lutwyche wrote, ‘we now left Amsterdam and made all sail for the Mauritius.’ Ludlow’s crew had risked their lives and their livelihoods to deliver the castaways to safety.
It took Monmouth seventeen days to cover the 1500 nautical miles north-west to Mauritius. While the survivors spent two weeks there recuperating, local authorities arranged for the charter of the 500-ton ship Emma Colvin, so the passengers could complete their passage to Melbourne’s Port Phillip, then on to Sydney.
Finally, after a voyage from Mauritius of seven weeks, much to everyone’s relief, the towering, honey-coloured sandstone cliffs dominating the entrance to Sydney Harbour came into view on 30 December 1853. It had been seven months since the survivors had set sail from London aboard Meridian, and for much of that time Sydney had been a sight they thought they might never see.
Lutwyche’s dramatic account of the shipwreck on Amsterdam Island was published in Mauritius (in French), then in Sydney and London. Once he had settled into his new environment, he decided his health was such that he could happily enter the legal and political arena in New South Wales. In a very short time he was making an impact on both fronts. In 1855 he married widow Mary Ann Jane Morris; she and her deceased husband George had also survived the sinking of Meridian.
His rise continued, until in 1859, at the age of forty-nine, he was named the first Supreme Court Judge for Moreton Bay (Brisbane). The appointment came just prior to 10 December, the day when Queensland was declared a self-governing colony.
Soon after arriving in Brisbane, Lutwyche bought a tract of land four miles north of the town centre and donated it to the Church of England so a place of worship could be built there. The area around that church is now the suburb of Lutwyche.
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Not even the stories of death, destruction and unimaginable privation at sea could stop the steady march of the clippers across the world. But there was one threat these mighty ships could do nothing to counter – and it was one that had been with them from the very start.
CHAPTER 8
‘Screw v. Sail’
The threat of the steamships
Even in the early 1850s, as the clipper era was just beginning, steam-powered commercial vessels were ringing the death knell for sailing ships on some routes across the world’s oceans. But they were having little impact on the longer voyages, such as the American east coast–west coast route, and the run from England to Australia and New Zealand.
Steam power had been pioneered on the seas as far back as the late eighteenth century, but until the mid-nineteenth century, vessels designated as steamships were actually auxiliary steamships: they relied on sail and steam for propulsion at different times.
One debate that has lasted for well over a century relates to the rightful claimant of the honour of being the first true steamship to complete a crossing of the Atlantic. It appears the first vessel to be fully reliant on steam power for a crossing of the Atlantic was Sirius, a 703-ton paddle wheeler that sailed from London to New York via Cork, Ireland, in 1838 with forty passengers on board. However, the voyage was certainly not without its dramas. Sirius was going well until her coal supply ran out when New York was just beyond the horizon. Undeterred, and determined not to use the sails, the captain ordered his men to chop up the wooden spars and feed the timber into the furnace
so a full head of steam could be maintained. Sirius then continued on to New York without a stitch of sail having seen the light of day.
Unreliability, inefficiency and an inability to carry the desired tonnage of coal to keep the boilers burning, while still having the capacity to carry a commercial cargo, were the major problems that steamships of the clipper era still had to overcome. And on long trips they were particularly ineffective, not just because of the distance but also because of the lack of ports where coal could be obtained.
It was on these long routes, where the clipper ships could harness the forces of nature – particularly in the tropical trade-wind belt and in the Roaring Forties – that the clippers came into their own. By 1852, clippers were generally completing the passage from New York to San Francisco in 90 to 120 days, while the steamers were taking around 150. Such was the speed of the clippers that they remained superior on long voyages to the steam-driven paddle wheelers, and then the single-screw ships, until well into the 1860s. When conditions suited them, they were charging past the emerging threat and disappearing over the horizon in a matter of hours.
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Not even the introduction of the world’s largest commercial steamship, Great Britain, to the Australian run in 1853 had much influence on the transport preferences of travellers to the Antipodes. Interestingly, even though she was steam-powered, many would refer to her in years to come as a clipper ship because of the shape of her hull and the fact that she carried sail on six masts. Only her second mast aft from the bow – the mainmast – was square-rigged, with a single yard. All her other masts were schooner-rigged: they carried large fore and aft sails set from gaffs, a concept that would allow the ship to gain benefit from the sails over the widest possible wind angle, from forward of abeam to well aft. This reduced Great Britain’s reliance on her steam engine for propulsion, which in turn minimised her consumption of coal.