Contemporary description:
One of the saddest maritime disasters of which the coast of New South Wales has been the scene was that of the New England, a coasting steamer plying between Sydney and Grafton, which struck upon the bar at the entrance to the Clarence River when commencing her return voyage to Port Jackson on the 27th ult., and shortly became a total wreck.
The New England left Grafton at 7 a.m. on the morning of the disaster, with rather a small cargo consisting principally of wool, tin ore, and a small parcel of sugar of about 5 tons. On reaching the Heads, it was a strong ebb tide and nearly low water. The crew expected the ship would remain inside for the night. No signals were flying at the Heads, but the pilot came on board in the usual way, and, it is reported, told the captain, after learning the vessel’s draught, that he could go out, but “might bump a bit.” The vessel drew 10 feet 6 inches, and from the published statement of survivors of the crew it appears she struck in the trough of a sea, where the lead only gave 9 feet. The bar was rather heavy, but nothing uncommon or unusual for vessels of her class to go out in. To the non nautical mind the fact of low tide with a heavy roll certainly should have called for caution and delay in preference to risk.
When she grounded everything seemed to have been done that good seamanship could do under the circumstances. The vessel, however, would not come off, and heavy seas breaking over her filled her engine room, putting out the fires, and filling the after hold. One of her boats was smashed by the seas very quickly, and the other two were then successfully launched; the lady passengers got into one, and both took as many as they could with safety and were beached just outside the breakwater on the north beach, landing all safely, although the lifeboat capsized in the breakers. Fortunately no females were in this boat. Neither of these boats seem to have been used again.
An ordinary boat belonging to a schooner lying inside named the O. Walker went out twice and rescued nine lives. On the second occasion the crew of three was accompanied by the chief engineer, who had been rescued on the previous trip, and it will scarcely be credited that the whole of these four men were foreigners. Their names certainly deserve to be recorded: they are Antonio Costa and Vito Loscocco, Italians, and Peter Jules, a Frenchman. The chief engineer, John Lemaire, is a native of Norway, and, says a correspondent, it reads strangely enough thus to learn that British pluck was at such a low ebb at the Clarence Heads on the day of the 27th December, when four foreigners were left to divide all the glory of that calamitous day.
The pilot has since been dismissed from his position by the Marine Board, and a good round sum collected for the four heroes, who assert that the whole of those on board could have been saved had they been aided by the pilot boat, the crew of which lay on their oars, perfectly useless, while the foreigners passed them on their way to the wreck. The chief engineer, when being brought from the wreck, begged the pilot to go out and save the remaining people on the wreck. The pilot answered, “The boat is half full of water.” The foreigners, when returning again, remonstrated. The chief engineer, Mr. Lemaire, begged the pilot to give life belts, life buoys, and lines; this he did. He was then asked to remain in his position in case the foreigners’ boat capsized in attempting the second rescue. Instead of doing this, the pilot’s crew pulled ashore, while those brave fellows went out to the rescue as stated. They would have returned a third time, but had no time before dark, besides being much exhausted.
Captain Mann and others were clinging to the wreck. They beckoned piteously and continuously to the craven crews, who would only go close enough to tempt the poor wretches on the wreck, who were washed off one by one by the continuous seas and gradual exhaustion. Four men got ashore independent of the boats. Henry Jamieson, chief steward, lashed himself to a lifebuoy. He drifted about for two hours, much exhausted, and was only finally saved with the assistance of the people on the beach. James Johnstone, a passenger, a fine powerful young man, swam two and a half miles without any aid, landing without assistance and unobserved. Chas. Johnson, a young man, also got ashore on a lifebuoy. Thomas Burke, another passenger, who is supposed to have been the last man to leave the wreck alive, swam ashore after being swept off the wreck, aided by the flood tide, and landed near the northern breakwater with assistance. He says that the only people left on the wreck then were a man Gray, the boy Shaw, and Mr. Weston. The latter, he thought, was almost dead. All state that the little boy Shaw behaved most pluckily, and with assistance he came on manfully, and always cheered up when he was told the boats were coming.
The place where the New England was wrecked has long been regarded as a dangerous passage. The entrance to the river is not only very narrow, but there is a long sandy spit half blocking up the channel, and just outside there is a bar right in the fairway, while there are strong currents running at the rate of three, four, and five miles an hour. Efforts have been made to have a lifeboat crew stationed at the entrance, but the Government have declined to sanction the expenditure. Some time ago Mr. Pegus, the Customs officer stationed at Clarence Heads, had a boat’s crew which was always available in times of danger, but the Government disbanded the crew. Wrecks have previously occurred at the same place, but fortunately none were attended with the same disastrous results as this one. Messrs. Nipper and See’s steamer Wanganui was lost there some years ago, and the C. and B. R. S. N. Co. also lost their steamer Urara near the same place. Singular to say, Mr. Merritt, the chief officer of the New England on this trip, was the captain of the Urara when she was wrecked.
The steamer New England was built at Glasgow in 1869 for the Clarence and New England Company. Her tonnage was 360 gross, 223 net, and she was of 70 horsepower. She came into the possession of the Clarence and Richmond River Company in July 1879, after the collapse of the Clarence and New England Company. She was insured at the time of her loss for £9000, two thirds of which was in English offices, and the insurance for the remaining £3000 was effected in Sydney through the South British office. Two thirds of that amount, we understand, was reinsured in other offices. The vessel had very little cargo on board beyond some wool, tin ore, and tin ingots, as the river was cleared of cargo by the City of Grafton on the previous Saturday.
This is not the first time Captain Mann and his staunch steamer, the New England, realised the treachery of the Clarence bar. On the 6th of March, 1878, a member of the staff of a Sydney morning paper, who was on his way to report the 12th show of the Clarence Agricultural Association and perform other special work, shared with the captain and others the disagreeable adventure which is plainly related in the following report extracted from a weekly contemporary of March 16, 1878:
“On past the Macleay Heads, and the many picturesque headlands which grace this part of the coast, through the Solitaries, where some pretty sketches might be made, she forged her way still against the stiff north easter until at 5 p.m. the heads of the Clarence were visible to those on board. She neared the entrance, and on the south head could be seen the signal staff bearing the ebb tide sign. Captain Mann was on the bridge, three men were at the helm, and the New England had her head turned to the bar. With full power she swept along, and safely crossed the dangerous part, then rounded the black buoy, and made along the channel that lies at the back of a low reef which runs out from the south head. Here, where accidents were least expected, she struck a sandbank, one which it was evident had recently formed, and helplessly lay broadside on to receive the breakers which came over the reef with crushing power. The first seas washed clean over her decks and even reached the bridge. She rolled from side to side and thumped the bottom with such force that the masts were expected to be carried away. The captain was remarkably cool, as were the crew and passengers. The engines were reversed and turned astern full speed, and by some means the head of the steamer was slewed round across the channel, leaving the stern still stuck fast. The Customs boat, with Mr. Pegus at the steering oar and two men pulling, was soon near at hand, but dared not come alongside in the breakers. The pilot boat, with a full crew, which had been waiting the steamer’s entrance, was also near what promised to be an ill fated steamer. The pilot was not in his boat; but his son, who acted as a substitute, sounded around the treacherous spot for about 20 minutes, and then pulled away inshore, as we thought, for the pilot. Darkness was threatening, and our position became every moment more unenviable. Still no pilot came. It was past 7 and quite dark, when the captain made up his mind to save his ship if possible by driving her on to the sandspit, which lies west of the bar. The trysail was set, and the engines turned ahead at full speed. The tide commenced to flow, and suddenly with a jerk she left the unfriendly reef. By the merest chance the fresh, which had caused the presence of the bank which had so long kept the ship fixed, had also opened what is known as ‘the old channel,’ and into this, by a stroke of good fortune, the steamer glided, and succeeded in reaching the course usually followed by vessels sailing up the river. The New England was saved, and by the merest chance, after being one hour and twenty minutes in a most perilous position.”
