THE DISCOVERY AND RESUSCITATION OF ROBERT PONTING.
“How lovely shines the liquid pearl,
Which, trickling from the eye,
Pours in a suffering brother’s wound
The tear of sympathy.”
“’Tis thine to aid the sinking frame,
To raise the feeble hand.
To bind the heart by anguish torn,
With sweet affection’s band.”—_Anon._
On Thursday, the 28th December, 1893, a large number of visitors
were, as is usual at holiday times, down at Sorrento. All day a heavy
gale of wind and rain had been blowing along the Victorian coast, and
visitors were, of course, thereby prevented from enjoying themselves
on the ocean beach. Next day, however, the weather was considerably
finer, and the sun shone out, although a pretty stiff cool breeze
was still coming in from the south, or seaward. Taking advantage of
the gleams of sunshine and the receding tide, four young ladies,
namely—Miss L. Armstrong, of 397 Station-street, North Carlton;
Miss E. Duggin, of St. Belades, Kasouka-road, Camberwell; Miss K.
E. Davis, of 97 Webb-street, Fitzroy; and Miss M. Moorman, of 349
Smith-street, Fitzroy, were down strolling on the only bit of sandy
beach there is below the cliffs, when suddenly they came across the
body of a partially dressed man lying half-buried in the drifting
sand. Although frightened at first, instead of running away screaming
at the unwonted sight, as many of their sex at their age would have
done, these brave girls, with a promptitude which reflects credit on
their heads, as well as their hearts, quickly determined on their
line of conduct, and added another proof of the truth of Scott’s
opinion:—
Oh Woman in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;
When pain and sickness wring the brow.
A ministering angel, thou!
The following account was given to the present writer by Miss Davis,
one of the foregoing young ladies:—“We left ‘Lonsdale House’ directly
after breakfast on Friday morning for Jubilee Point. We got down the
cliff about half-past ten, intending to look for shells and seaweed.
We had just reached the end of the railing, and were looking at some
‘natural aquariums,’ as they are called, when our attention was drawn
to a man stretched on the sand to all appearance dead. Miss Moorman
said, ‘I believe it’s a drunken man,’ but on looking closer we saw
that he had a life-belt around him. We went near to him and noticed
that his eyes were moving. Finding that he was not dead, I knelt
down and asked, ‘Are you ship wrecked, Mr.?’ After a minute or two he
replied in a faint whisper, ‘Yes,’ and shortly afterwards he gasped
out ‘Refreshments,’ then immediately swooned away. We then arranged
that two of us should stay by the man, dead or alive, and the other
two go at once to obtain help of some kind. We saw that the man’s
life-belt was clogged with sand, and also his eyes, nose and ears.
With some difficulty we undid the belt, and dipping our handkerchiefs
in water we wiped the sand from his face. He then came to a little,
and said he felt better, but all the time till assistance came, and
even after, he kept swooning away, and each time he went off we
thought he was dead. We put our cloaks over him, and sheltered him
from the cold wind as much as we could with our parasols, till Messrs
Ramsay and Stanton came and applied the treatment usual in cases of
the apparently drowned. In our small way we gave all the aid in our
power. The scene was one which none of us will fail to remember, and
although we do not wish to be in such another incident, still we feel
it did us good to be there, for we got an object lesson, and any
of us know now how to treat a person rescued from the water.” The
two young ladies who ran back for assistance luckily had not gone
far when they met Mr. J. Douglas Ramsay, the well-known dentist, of
Elsternwick. By a strange coincidence Mr. Ramsay had been in former
years a medical officer on board several ships belonging to the
“Loch” line, and hence he was just the very man required for the
emergency. What took place afterwards cannot be better told than in
the graphic language of Mr. Ramsay himself, as given at the official
enquiry, held a few hours after the discovery already related. In
giving evidence Mr. Ramsay stated, “I, with my wife and her sister,
Mrs. Whitelaw, went to the Ocean Beach by trap at about 10 a. m. this
day (Friday, 29th December) and then walked on towards St. Paul’s,
one of the highest points around. When we were within a few hundred
yards of it I saw two ladies hurrying up. They came towards us and
one said, ‘There is a shipwrecked sailor down there. Can you tell
us where to get some stimulant?’ I replied ‘Thank God! we have some
here in a flask.’ I ran down in the direction pointed out and found
a man lying on the sand about seven yards from the water’s edge. He
appeared to be dead. He was clad in black trousers and white shirt,
stockings were on his feet, but no boots. I immediately tried if I
could discover any signs of life, but could find no pulse, everything
he had on was covered with sand, and his body was stiff and cold. I
prized open his teeth, and poured some brandy down his throat and
then commenced to work his arms to restore animation if possible.
After 10 minutes I saw a few signs of life and then, assisted by my
wife and the other ladies, I dragged him behind a rock for shelter
from the cold wind which was blowing strong. I continued working at
him for about half-an-hour and the whole of the ladies assisted me
materially by rubbing, in turns, the man’s hands and arms. As soon
as I saw it was likely that the man would be saved, I sent Mrs.
Ramsay and her sister back to get more assistance and they both
cheerfully started on the journey. Meanwhile Mr. Austin Stanton, of
Collins-street, Melbourne, in company with Miss Hill, came on the
scene, and he at once took off his great coat, and spread it over the
man’s body, while Miss Hill took off her jacket and wrapped it round
his feet, which were very much bruised. Mr. Stanton had his large
St. Bernard dog, “Victor Hugo,” with him, and as warmth was now the
great thing necessary, Stanton got the docile animal to lie down and
nestle up close to the man’s body. It was indeed a strange sight,
and one which called up feelings which I will not readily forget,
to see a huge dog, in faithful obedience to his master’s orders,
lying close to an apparently dead man! One could almost imagine that
the intelligent animal knew the effect its conduct would produce;
be this as it may, the increased warmth soon became apparent. The
man opened his eyes and drew a long breath. I at once gave him some
more brandy, and a better color began to appear in his face. A few
moments after, he suddenly exclaimed: ‘Where is my life-belt?’ I
told him it was all right, having been taken off previously. He then
said: ‘Could some one go round the beach? Some of my mates might be
washed up.’ In answer to questions he said his name was Bob Ponting,
that he had been cook on board the steamer _Alert_, and that she had
foundered the previous day when about three miles off the coast. From
the weak state our patient was in we dared not question him further,
but some of us went along the beach, without, however, finding or
seeing any traces of his mates. About two hours from the time Ponting
was found additional assistance came. Constable Nolan, of Sorrento,
brought a party of men in a buggy. They also brought a stretcher, on
which we placed the poor man, and between us we carried him up the
cliffs and across to the buggy. It was no easy task, even with half
a dozen willing hands, as the cliffs at this point are very steep,
and after getting to the top the scrub is very thick and hard to walk
through. We got Ponting into the buggy and brought him to Clark’s
Mornington Hotel, Sorrento, where we arrived about 1.30 p. m. He is
now receiving all care and attention. I fancy he will pull through
with good nursing. Had he not been such a powerful man, he could not
have stood the terrible exposure. It is a miracle that he is alive at
all. He is a fine-looking man of about 30 years of age. He was only
married three months ago, and was very anxious that a telegram should
be sent to his wife. Of course we complied with his request as soon
as possible.”
On arrival at the hotel Ponting was immediately attended to by Dr.
Browning, the Government medical officer of the Quarantine Station,
Point Nepean, and also by Drs. Mullen, Hutchinson and Cox, but in
spite of all their skill the poor fellow showed unmistakable signs
of collapsing. The life color, which had been coming back to his
skin, now gradually disappeared, his body got cold and rigid and he
relapsed into a complete state of coma, so much so that the medical
gentlemen despaired of his case as utterly hopeless. However, after
rubbing two bottles of brandy through his skin, applying hot bricks
to his feet, and rolling him in warm blankets, the doctors saw that
their patient was likely to recover. As the wounds on Ponting’s
body—caused by the nails in the raft on which he had floated—showed
signs of engendering blood-poisoning, blisters were applied to the
various places with good effect. Nearly all the forepart of Friday
night he lay tossing in a delirious condition and talked wildly of
the terrible experience of the preceding twenty-four hours. His
wife was sent for, and aided by her careful nursing the doctors
knew that their combined efforts were being crowned with success.
Meantime search parties had been scouring the rocky coast and they
succeeded in finding seven of the ill-fated ship’s company, but they
were battered and bruised almost beyond recognition. The bodies were
removed from the beach and laid in a row side by side in a shed at
the rear of the Mornington Hotel, and on the following day (Saturday)
Ponting, having recovered consciousness and improved considerably,
was carried there for the purpose of identifying his dead comrades.
It was an affecting scene, and a trying ordeal for Ponting in his
weak state as one by one the bodies were uncovered to his gaze. No.
1 was J. Williamson, one of the sailors; No. 2 was Page, a steerage
passenger; No. 3, D. McIvor, a fireman; No, 4, W. Thompson, also a
fireman; No. 5, W. Stewart, the other steerage passenger; No. 6, J,
Thompson, the chief engineer, and the seventh was Captain Mathieson,
the commander of the _Alert_.
“Strange that the ocean should come and go
With its daily and nightly ebb and flow.
Should bear on its placid bosom at morn
The bark that ere night will be tempest torn;
Or cherish it all the way it must roam,
To leave it a wreck within sight of home;
To smile as the mariners’ toils are o’er,
Then wash the dead to the cottage door,
And gently ripple along the strand,
To watch the widow behold him land.
Strange that the wind should be left so free
To play with a flower, or tear a tree;
To range or ramble where’er it will,
And as it lists, to be fierce or still;
Above and around to breathe of life,
Or to mingle the sea and sky in strife;
Gently to whisper, with morning light,
Yet to growl, like a fetter’d fiend, ere night;
Or to love, and cherish, and bless, to-day
What to-morrow it ruthlessly rends away.
But stranger than all, that man should die
When his plans are formed and his hopes are high.
He walks forth a lord of the earth to-day,
And the morrow beholds him part of its clay.
He is born in sorrow, and cradled in pain,
And from youth to age it is labour in vain;
All that the length of his years can show
Is that wealth is trouble, and wisdom woe;
That he travels a path of care and strife
Who drinks of the poisoned cup of life!
Alas! if we murmur at things like these
That reflection tells us are wise decrees;
That the wind is not ever a gentle breath;
That existence is only the step towards death;
That the ocean wave is not always still;
And that life is chequered with good and ill.
If we know ’tis well that such change should be,
What do we learn from the things we see?—
That an erring and sinning child of dust
Should not wonder nor murmur, but hope and trust.”—_Hall._
[Illustration: S.S. ALERT.
From a Photo by the late J. DODD, lost with the S.S. ALERT.]
[Illustration: Decoration]