TRAGEDIES OF THE SEA.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17171, 15 October 1923, Page 8

TRAGEDIES OF THE SEA.

FIRE AND SHIPWRECK. THE COSPATRICK HORROR. (Melbourne “Argus.”) Over forty years ago the late Mr W. J. Doran began to collect photographs of famous sailing ships. It was a labour of love for him for lie came of seaiaring ancestors, and his father was captain of the Holm-dale. At the time of his death lie had a truly wonderful collection, for there i s hardly missing any well-known ship especially if it traded to Australia—in the two massive albums, which contain over a thousand photographs. This collection

was acquired by a well-known shipping man, who recognised that if it was valuable now it would become almost priceless from a historical point of view as the years went on, for the old records—photographs, paintings, lithographs, wood and steel engravings—are gradually disappearing, so that even to-day it would be impossible to duplicate the collection.

At the time of Mr Moran’s decease be had only commenced classifying liis treasures, so the difficult task of'completing the classification had to be left to someone else. It was undertaken by Mr .1. Merriman, another old seaman with a natural taste for shipping history, and one whose memory is stored with a remarkable fund of information about an era which has almost complete!}* passed away. A FAMOUS CLIPPER. Mr Merriman himself lias sailed in more ships than he can call to mind off-hand, but his favourite craft was the famous Loch Marec. the fastest of her line—and one of the unluckiest. her first voyage to Melbourne, in 1873, she was dismasted off the Canaries. and had to put back to Gibraltar under jury rig. But what a sailer she was, or even in her woefully crippled condition she overhauled and passed a 600-ton barque under royals. In her brief career, indeed, sli e seemed to have had the heels of everything she met. An apprentice, in recounting some of her victories to the well-known writer Basil Lubbock, relates how she, with all her kites flying, once came up with a big barquentine-rigged steamer which likewise was under full sail. This hybrid craft did not fancy being beaten by a wind-jammer pure and simple, and presently “volumes of smoke belched in sooty clouds from her two black funnels, as if she was entering a protest against such a seeming indignity: But in vain ; she. too, fell away in our wake.’,’

The end of tho beautiful, stately Loch Maree i s mysterious. On October 29, 1881, she leit Geelong, Ilomewarvl bound. A -day afterwards she was spoken by the Gerfalcon off Kent’s Group. And that was the last beard of her. The North American, another large vessel, disappeared at the same time, and just as mysteriously.

BURNING OF THE COSPATRICK. But of all the tragedies of the sea Mr Merriman thinks that none is more poignant than that of the Cospatrick. On September 11, 1878, she sailed from London for Auckland (New Zealand). She carried 429 passenegrs and a crew forty-four men. Captain Elmslie was in command. Off the Cape Henrv Macdonald, second mate, and one of the three survivors, told afterwards how he was aroused from sleep that night by the cry of “ Fire! ” Rushing on deck, he found dense clouds of smoke were issuing from the fore peak. The bosun’s locker, full of oakum, rope, varnish, and paint, was ablaze. The fire engine was rigged, and soon the forepart of the ship was deluged with water. They had already got her head before the wind, hup presently, by some extraordinary mischance, and one that was never explained, she came head to wind; and then the smoke was driven aft in suffocating clouds. Flames burst out tween decks, and in an hour and a-half the Cospatrick was doomed. Dreadful scenes followed, for a panic broke out among the emigrants. One boat was launched, but was immediately swamped by the crowd of demented men and women that jumped into it. The long boat caught fire; and in the end only two boats got away safely—the port and the starboard lifeboats. They stood off, and, helpless to assist, watched the tragedy to the bitter end. The main and mizzen masts fell, and many of those -who had crowded aft were crushed to death. Then the stern was blown out. That was the end, and the shrieks of the survivors were silenced suddenly in the roaring flames. The captain was seen to seize his wife and throw her overboard. Then he sprang after her himself. But there is a tradition that he shot "her first, and clasping her in his arms leapt overboard. Neither was ever seen again. TERRIBLE SUFFERING. The condition of those who had escaped in the boats was well night desperate. Had they known what was in store for them doubtless most of them would have preferred a more merciful death on the burning ship. The}- had neither water, food, masts, nor sails; ami in the starboard lifeboat, which was commanded by Macdonald, they had but one oar. “ The two boats kept company on the 20th and 21st November,” said Macdonald at the inquiry; " then it commenced to blow, and we got separated. I whistled and shouted when daylight came, but could see nothing of the other boat. Thirst began to tell severely on all of us. Bentlev, who was steering, fell overboard and was drowned. Three men became mad that day, and died. We threw’ the bodies overboard. “On the 2-Ith four men died. Wo vere so hungry and thirsty that we (but what they did i s best left, untold). On the 2oth wo nore reduced to eight, and three of them were out of their minds. Early on the morning of the 26th a boat passed close to us. She was not more than 50 yards away. She w as a foreigner. \\ e hailed but got no answer. 1. think she must have heard us. One more died that day (and he then again relates the dreadful expedients that they were compelled to resort to in order to quench their agonising thirst). On the 27th it was squally all round, but we never caught a drop of water, though we tried to. Two more died that day. Me threw' one overboard but we were two weak to lift the other. There were then five of us left—two able seamen, one ordinary, and one passenger, and myself. The passenger was out of his mind. All had drank s ea water. We were dozing when the madman bit my loot. I woke up. We then saw- a ship bearing down upon us. ]t proved to be the British Sceptie, from Calcutta to Dundee. We were taken on board and treated very kindly. 1 got very bad on board of her. 1 was every nigh at death’s door. We had not recovered when we got to tSt. Helena.” So ends this terrible story. The passenger and the ordinary seaman died in a day or two after they had been rescued, so that out of 473 souls on board the Cospa trick only throe were saved -the mate and two able seamen. WRECK OF THE DUNBAR. A w reck which made a profound sen-

sation in Australia was that of tlieDunbar, a fine Blaekwall frigate, literally smashed to pieces in the Gap, which is a short distance from Sydney Heads. This was on a black night in August 1857. Captain Green, who was in command,, evidently mistook the Gap for the Heads. The Dunbar had been picked up by the Signalman, Packer, at South Head just before dark, and lie signalled her to the. post office. Then he signalled the ship as i’bllows:—“What ship i s that? Where do you come from? How many days are you out?” For the fifty years that lie lived he would always declare that lie got answers to all three questions. However, it seems doubtful whether lie did. before some hours after the wreck was discovered it was supposed to be either the Duncan Dunbar (another Blackw aller), the Vocalist or the Zemander. In spite of the pitchy darkness oi the night, Captain Green decided to enter the Heads, thinking to shelter in Watson’s Bay. The only survivor, the late Air James Johnstone, at the inquiry said that for some reason the South Head light was kept on the starboard instead of on the port bow. and that in consequence the ship was steered straight for the dent in the cliffs known as The Gap. Tt was the second mate who discoveied tho fatal mistake. “ Breakers ahead !” lie shouted, and an attempt was made to go about. But it was too late. A minute or two later the Dunbar was dashed against the rocks. The passengers, who had nearly all retired to their berths, alarmed at the shock, made an attempt to get on deck, only to he forced back by the tremendous surf which was now sweeping over the stricken hull. THE SOLE SURVIVOR. Johnstone, dazed with the buffeting, could give but a hazy account of the end. He thinks that the Dunbar broke up in about an hour after she had struck. He remembers that he, the bosun, and another seaman were the last left alive on the wreck. But presently they were swept off. What became of the third man he could not say; but he remembered that ho and the bosun were hurled by the breakers on to a rocky ledge. The bosun, and old man, was too weak to hold ou, and presently Johnstone was left alone. He got some shelter on this ledge, because the Dunbar acted as a breakwater. Bub when she broke up he had to seek a higher ledge. “ I managed to scramble from one ledge to another,” lie said,

“until I reached one about 20ft higher. It was midnight on a Thursday when I first caught the rock, and I remained there until noon the following Saturday. On the Saturday the sea went down, and I dropped from one ledge of rock to another until 1 could see the top of the cliffs overhead. I saw one man there in the morning, but before I could attract his

attention I was forced to return to my retreat, for three big seas were following each other, and they looked as though they might wash me away.”

The next morning, when a very heavy sea was still runing, and when the spray was blqwing over the top of the lighthouse, which was 7oft high. Graham, the signalman, and a mate of his looked over tho edge of the cliff, expecting to see a ship hove to. But there was no ship there ; only something like a bale of wool tossing about in tho raging Surf. This proved to be the bodies of two passengers—Mrs Egan and her daughter. Mother and daughter were locked, in each other s arms. Then they saw what remained of the ship. MUTILATED BODIES. A signal was sent to Sydney. Before long crowds of anxious people had assembled on the cliff where it overlooked The Gap. As tho great waves thundered against the rocks below wreckage could be seen, and now and then the terribly mutilated bodies of tiie drowned: Mr Daniel Egan, the Postmaster-General, wrote the following account to the Sydney “Morning Herald”: —‘At The Gap a brave fellow volunteered to go down and send up some of the mangled bodies. . . . One figure—a. female, nude, tightly clasping an infant to her breast —wa.i ec.cn for h moment. Then legs would lea] 1 from the foaming cataract, with . feet seen upwards. . . . We provided it. rope, and in this manner some mutilated remains were hauled up to tho top of the chff, unti 1 a. huge sea came, nearly smothering those on the cliff.” It was still thought that tho wrecked ship was the Duncan Dunbar ; but- at length a gangway panel, vuth a lion rampant carved upon it. was discovered jammed in the rocks. It tv:is' the Dunbar. not the Duncan Dqiibar. The Postmaster-General fell insensible. His wife and child liad been on board !

A GALLANT RESCUE. Not until Saturday was Johnstone discovered. He was then lying exhausted on the rocks. Whether he was alive or dead was not known at tin. time. In any case, the task of rescuing him was it most perilous one It was a young Icelander (a watchmaker’s apprentice!) who volunteered. They offered (him money, but lie refused it. They let him to alfnost certain death by means of a derrick. Then the welcome signal tame from below to haul up. The load was heavv —much heavier than the youth they had lowered. Presently a head appeared over the cliff and then a powerful bodv. It was Henry Johnstone, the sole survivor of the 122 that had embarked on the Dunbar. B.v a strange coincidence Jolmstone rears afterwards took part in the rescue of the sole survivor of the Gawarra, an A.S.X. paddle steamer that was wrecked off Newcastle, NSW. This was Hedges, a foremast hand He had been washed up on to a buoy, and from this lie was rescued by the quartermaster’s boat. Johnst-one was the coxwain. For many years Johnstone was chief lighthouse-keeper at Newcastle. He died in 1915. “ The funeral.” savs Basil Lubbock in his “Blaekwall Frigates,” “was long remembered in Sydney. A line of hearses, headed by a band playing the ‘Dead March.’ and followed by every kind of vehicle, from private carriage to omnibus, wound its way along George Street. Every ship half-masted her ensign, minute guns were fired, bells, tolled, and all Sydney mourned.”