The Best Australian Sea Stories

by Jim Haynes

  The ship was owned by Duncan Dunbar, whose Dunbar Shipping Line was the largest in the world. Launched in 1853 and completed in 1854, the Dunbar was a three-masted clipper ship (technically a ‘Blackwall Frigate’—square-rigged on all three masts) designed to service the Australian route when gold was drawing immigrants in their thousands to the Australian colonies.

  The Crimean War intervened in Dunbar’s plans for the vessel, which was requisitioned as a troopship as soon as she was launched. When the war ended in February 1856, the Dunbar made her first voyage to Sydney.

  Duncan Dunbar had inherited his father’s wholesale beer, wine and spirit business in the 1820s, and started buying ships mainly because his business involved provisioning ships and was situated near the London Docks at Limehouse. He went into partnership with a sea captain he knew to have a small (250-ton) ship built in 1827. Called Belzoni, she sailed regularly from London to Calcutta and Mauritius. Six years later he bought a bigger vessel, the Isabella, and between 1835 and 1841, he bought eight other second-hand ships and ordered three new ones.

  By 1842, Dunbar’s fleet numbered eleven ships with a total tonnage over 5000 tons. From that year onwards the company built at least one new ship a year, and as many as four a year. Over the next 20 years, 42 new ships were ordered, three of which were still being built when Duncan Dunbar died in 1862. The Dunbar Shipping Line fleet reached its peak in 1858, when the company had 43 ships with a total tonnage of 36,800 tons. Many Dunbar ships regularly sailed to Australian Ports; notably, many convicts were transported to Western Australia in ships of the Dunbar line.

  On the final day of May 1857, the Dunbar sailed for Sydney a second time. Departing from Tilbury Docks in London, she made her way uneventfully through the Atlantic, down the coast of Africa, and then across the Southern Indian Ocean with no more drama than some early seasickness among her 45 first class and 22 ‘intermediate’ (steerage) class passengers.

  Confidence in the ship’s seaworthiness was so great that the cargo was not even insured. The Dunbar’s cargo holds were 22 feet deep and she carried beer, wine, spirits, dates, figs, raisins, candles, hardware, haberdashery and confectionery valued at £73,000. Her first class cabins were large and airy with seven-foot ceilings. She was the very best ship of the day, the epitome of maritime luxury and quality; a sleek vessel over 200 feet long, she had extra copper sheeting and copper fittings throughout, and her main-mast weighed over nine tons.

  The only knowledge we have of her second voyage to Sydney was provided by the only man who lived to tell the tale: 23-year-old Irishman James Johnson, a sailor since the age of twelve, who had joined the ship just before she departed.

  Johnson testified that the ship reached Bass Strait in mid-August. Running before a strong westerly wind, they sighted King Island and the Cape Howe Light and started the run up the east coast in misty weather, with Captain Green steering well out to sea and keeping a constant watch, as the wind was known to veer from the northeast at that time of year, which would put the ship on a lee shore.

  Sailing ships were often wrecked when trapped on a lee shore, with the wind blowing towards the shore and the ship unable to tack away out to sea. It seems Captain Green was mindful of this and acted accordingly to prevent this happening as he approached Sydney.

  He did have the ship in sight of land as the Dunbar passed Botany Bay at 6 p.m. on Thursday, 20 August. The passengers crowded on deck to glimpse the famous landmark, then went below to pack and prepare for their arrival in Sydney Harbour, just twelve miles to the north.

  Captain Green stood the Dunbar well out to sea as he headed north into worsening weather and a strong wind, coming now from the northeast, and developing into a gale with torrential rain and huge swells that put his vessel on a lee shore—a lee shore in which he had to find the small opening that would take his ship into the safe haven of Port Jackson, ‘the finest harbour in the world’.

  After 81 days at sea, the Dunbar stood off Sydney Heads in treacherous weather, with heavy rain squalls severely reducing visibility and obscuring the cliffs at the entrance.

  Captain Green was a veteran of eight previous visits to Sydney, and had been captain on the Dunbar on its 1856 voyage. He knew the approach to Sydney Heads, he knew the Macquarie Lighthouse beam rotated every ninety seconds from a position high on the cliffs south of the Heads, and he knew the only other light was the one in Middle Harbour, at Sow and Pigs Reef.

  Designed by Francis Greenway, the Macquarie Lighthouse had stood since 1818. It was a useful signal to ships out at sea, and the standard maritime directories advised that the opening to the harbour was visible to the north of the light. But very little was visible on the night of 20 August 1857.

  What happened next is a matter for conjecture; we have only one account of the events of that night, and crewman James Johnson himself could only tell what he knew and add what he assumed. For reasons that will become obvious, Johnson’s evidence was confused in some ways, but he was certain about one thing: the night was so black he could not see the man working beside him on deck.

  We know Captain Green stood the ship out to sea for a time, perhaps thinking he’d wait until first light to enter the harbour. The storm worsened in intensity and perhaps this made him try for safe haven in the dark. At 11.30 p.m. he posted three lookouts, called all hands on deck and turned the Dunbar so she ran before the wind towards the Heads.

  It seems the Macquarie light was visible only at intervals due to the torrential rain and pitch black, but it did appear to port as they approached the coast. When next it appeared it was directly above the masts, and the Dunbar was about to hit the reef at South Head. The lookout had just cried out ‘Breakers ahead!’ when the light was seen again. Then the ship turned to starboard, hit the reef side-on and was smashed to pieces within minutes. The masts came down, the lifeboats were all lost, and all the crew and passengers were either drowned or smashed to death on the rocks and cliffs by the massive seas.

  All, that is, except one.

  One theory is that Captain Green, believing he was overshooting the harbour entrance to the north and thinking that the breakers indicated North Head, tried to make a quick turn into what he believed was the harbour. Another theory is that someone, either Green or the officers on watch, mistook The Gap for the entrance to the harbour.

  The Gap is an indentation in the massive cliffs just south of Sydney Heads, which has become infamous as a ‘jumping off’ place for suicides. The Macquarie Lighthouse is much closer to The Gap than it is to Sydney Heads.

  In either case, the error would have been glaringly apparent as soon as the light from the Macquarie Lighthouse broke through the squall directly above the ship.

  The sole survivor of the tragedy, James Johnson, was miraculously thrown onto a small ledge of rock while clinging to some planking. When the huge wave that deposited him there receded, he used the interval between waves to haul himself up onto a relatively safer and larger ledge some 30 feet above the waves, where he remained unseen for over 36 hours as the wreckage and cargo of the Dunbar washed around him, along with the shattered bodies of the other 121 people who had been on board.

  The official death toll from the Dunbar has always been 121. However, there is good reason to believe there were a few more lost than that. When the official passenger and crew list was found and released three months later in London, it did not contain the name of James Johnson, and Johnson said he knew of two others on board whose names did not appear either.

  It seems sadly academic now to debate exactly what mistake led to the tragedy, but it was the subject of heated debate at the inquest and in the colonial parliament and newspapers at the time. Either The Gap was mistaken for the Heads, or Captain Green thought he was at North Head. To further cloud the issue, James Johnson either gave conflicting accounts of the last few minutes of the Dunbar, or his accounts were misconstrued in the telling and retelling.

  A man named Palmer who had crawled out on a ledge to get a bette
r view finally spotted Johnson late on Saturday morning. Ropes were brought from the city and a derrick erected on the cliff. A young Norwegian, Antonie Wollier, who gave his age as just eighteen, volunteered to be lowered to save him. The wind made the first attempt treacherous and Wollier called to be hauled back. A bag of stones was then tied to the rope. The second attempt was successful and Johnson was finally hauled up to safety. When Wollier was hauled back up, Sydney’s Lord Mayor, George Thornton, called for three cheers and took up a collection for the young man, which amounted to £13, a tidy sum in 1857.

  Another young man, Francis Osbourne, then volunteered to go down and collect as many body parts as he could. The bodies were dreadfully mutilated by sharks and by being dashed on the rocks for 36 hours. The gruesome haul produced only a collection of limbs, heads and torsos.

  The Lord Mayor interviewed Johnson not long after his rescue. He later told anyone who would listen that Johnson remembered the Captain ordering the ship to port just before she struck—which would have made sense if Captain Green assumed they were at North Head. At the inquest Johnson testified that the captain asked the lookout, ‘Do you see anything of the North Head?’, before the cry of ‘Breakers ahead!’ came from one of the men on watch. However, Johnson was adamant that when the ship turned, it turned to starboard.

  Johnson testified that Captain Green did order the ship a point to port after he asked the question about North Head, so it is quite possible that he wrongly assumed the harbour entrance was to his left as he approached from the east, and at first assumed that the ‘breakers ahead’ indicated North Head. Perhaps he then quickly realised his mistake and attempted to rectify the situation by turning the ship north. Without enough sail set to bring the ship around in time, however, his efforts proved useless. The Dunbar needed very little canvas to run with the wind, but required a lot of sail in order to turn away quickly from a lee shore.

  It has been suggested that Johnson was in shock or even delirious after his ordeal, and jumbled the facts and contradicted himself. In his defence, however, it seems more probable to me that the Lord Mayor misunderstood Johnson’s statement that the Captain cried, ‘Port your helm!’

  ‘Port your helm’ is an order to the man at the wheel to turn the wheel left, which turns a sailing ship to the right, or starboard. Johnson was adamant at the inquest that this was what happened, and the Dunbar struck the rocks side-on, facing north. This supports the theory that The Gap had been mistaken for the harbour entrance and Captain Green, albeit too late, realised he was south of the Heads.

  It was also reported in the press that Johnson remembered a boat being launched with people aboard after the Dunbar struck. At the inquest Johnson denied having said anything of the kind, and pointed out there was nowhere to launch any boats, as the ship’s port side was on rocks, and massive waves were pounding her starboard side. The boats were lost on impact anyway, and it is almost certain that no boats were launched.

  South Head was a long way from the city in 1857. Sydney was unaware of the tragedy until reports of wreckage in and around the harbour began filtering in on Friday. The first knowledge of the disaster had apparently appeared in the shape of supernatural premonition. Stories of great tragic events often have supernatural elements attached, and there is a dream story—or more correctly, a nightmare story—involved in the loss of the Dunbar.

  At South Head was a signal station, manned by a married signal officer and an assistant. Their tasks involved watching for ships, and alerting the pilots at the Watsons Bay pilot station and the harbour master when necessary.

  The Signal Master, Mr Graham, was woken by his wife around the time the Dunbar struck. With the storm raging outside, she cried out that a great ship was sinking near the Heads and a man was on the rocks below South Head.

  Mr Graham calmed his wife and assured her it was a nightmare, and that no ship could possibly be near the harbour in such foul conditions. She went back to sleep, only to wake again within minutes and beg her husband to go and look over the cliffs. She even ran down the hall and woke the assistant, Henry Packer, begging him to go and look, and then attempted to leave the station herself in the raging storm.

  Finally Graham and his assistant gave the hysterical Mrs Graham a sedative and got her to sleep.

  Mr Graham and Packer were up early and forced their way against the howling easterly to the cliff-top. It was then they saw the wreckage of the Dunbar far below and realised Mrs Graham’s nightmare had come true.

  Mrs Graham was present at 1 p.m. on the Saturday, along with a crowd estimated at up to 10,000 but probably half that number, when James Johnson was winched to safety. When he was untied and turned to face the crowd, Mrs Graham reportedly said, ‘That’s the man I saw in my dream, but no-one will believe me.’

  One of the signalmen who lived near the station, Mr Siddens, later reported that the storm that night was so bad, the wind so strong and the sea so huge, that he feared for the safety of the buildings. Around midnight his dog became extremely agitated and started running up and down, facing the cliff, barking, whimpering and howling. The dog could not be silenced for about an hour or so.

  Apart from a dream and a dog’s sixth sense, there was no knowledge of disaster until after sunrise on Friday. It was one of the Watsons Bay pilots, Mr Hyde, who first discovered the wreck, about half-past seven on the morning after the event. He immediately called two other pilots, Robson and Jenkins, and together they searched along the coast to the southward until they saw the wreck, halfway between The Gap and Macquarie Lighthouse.

  It was Signal Master Graham who wrote a letter reporting the wreckage. The letter was then carried into the city to the Port Master, Captain Robert Pockley, by a man on horseback.

  Meanwhile Captain Wiseman, of the paddle-steamer Grafton, reported huge amounts of wreckage and cargo as he entered the harbour from the north coast. He’d had to stop and clear debris from his ship’s paddles several times. The massive swell ahead of a wind, which had turned more southerly, was washing everything from the wreck through the Heads and into the harbour.

  With the wreckage came the bodies—or what was left of them.

  By the time Port Master Robert Pockley arrived at the South Head Signal Station mid-afternoon, the news was spreading that a great ship, possibly the Dunbar, was wrecked at the Heads. Sydney was about to be plunged into a frenzy of disbelief, rumour, horror and mourning as her famous safe harbour was filled with debris and bodies.

  Items soon began washing up around the harbour, especially Middle Harbour and the harbour beaches nearer the Heads. Two boatmen who worked at the pilot station actually made it down a ravine onto the rocks near the site of the wreck and returned with parts of a cask and two cricket bats. But there was still no clear evidence that it was the Dunbar that had foundered, until 7 p.m., when Captain Pockley was able to confirm reports received that casks labelled ‘Dunbar’ were found on the North Shore, along with twelve bodies.

  The crowd on the cliffs had watched many bodies and parts of bodies being washed back and forth in the heavy seas, but by now many bodies had made their way into the harbour. The body of a small boy was one of the first found, at Middle Harbour; then three adult bodies washed ashore at Edwards Beach near the Spit, along with a large part of the ship’s keel; bodies started washing onto Manly’s harbour-side beach also. Philip Cohen, proprietor of the Pier Hotel at Manly, salvaged several bodies from the water, and had one body taken from his grasp by a large shark as he stood waist-deep attempting to get the body ashore.

  Captain Pockley chartered the paddle-steamer Black Swan on the Saturday morning and the vessel made a sad voyage around the harbour beaches, collecting bodies. When the storm had abated somewhat on Saturday afternoon, Captain Pockley took the Black Swan out of the harbour and steamed south along the coast in the hope of finding survivors. He did not know that the sole survivor had already been found and rescued.

  One of the pilot boats from Watsons Bay found the Dunbar’s Britis
h Lion figurehead floating inside the Heads on Saturday morning. By afternoon, it was widely known that it was indeed the Dunbar that was lost, and that there was but one survivor.

  Considering how long it took for the truth of the tragedy to become known, it is remarkable how quickly the inquest, parliamentary debate and funeral followed the event.

  By Sunday afternoon a jury—oddly of thirteen people—had been empanelled and sworn in for the inquest, and the bodies and parts of bodies were displayed at the George Street Deadhouse, as the morgue near the Quay was then called. The coroner allowed friends and relatives of those known to be on the Dunbar to inspect the bodies and the jury also did so as part of their duties.

  One juror fainted and several others had to be taken outside. Only seven of the 24 bodies were identified. The inquest was then adjourned to the following day, when a funeral for the victims was held.

  It is hard to imagine how the Dunbar tragedy hysteria gripped the city of Sydney over those few days. The newspapers talked of nothing else, parliament debated little else, and all business came to a halt on the Monday afternoon to watch the funeral precession proceed from the morgue at the bottom of George Street to the cemetery at Camperdown.

  The funeral was late in starting due to the tremendous number of vehicles involved. Seven hearses carried seventeen coffins, and almost a hundred carriages followed with official dignitaries and mourners.

  One hearse carried a coffin containing the body of British naval officer Captain Steane covered with a Union Jack. The other hearses contained multiple coffins whose contents were officially listed in such pathetic terms as: ‘portions of human bodies’, ‘a female unknown’, ‘a boy supposed to be Master Healy’, ‘trunk of a female unknown’, ‘parts of human bodies picked up at The Heads’, and so on.