THE VOYAGE.
The hapless vessel can no longer steer.
Free from the floods that burst in dread career
O’er her trembling hull, she dips in each sea,
And then she sinks! fill’d solely from the lee.
_Anon._
The subjoined narrative is given, as nearly as possible, in the words
of Robert Ponting, the sole survivor.
The _S.S. Alert_ left Melbourne at mid-day on Saturday, December
23rd, 1893. Proceeding down Hobson’s Bay we called at Portsea and
Queenscliff, and finally cleared through Port Phillip Heads at 5.30
p. m. We had moderately fine weather along the coast and rounded
Wilson’s Promontory at 4 a. m. on Sunday. Four hours after, we
reached Port Albert, lay there all day, discharged cargo early Monday
morning (Christmas Day), and sailed at 7.30 a. m. for Gippsland
Lakes. Had moderate sea and cloudy weather along the “90 mile
beach” and got to Lakes entrance about 4 p. m. Proceeded up the
lakes, called on the way at Metung and Paynesville, and arrived at
Bairnsdale, our destination, at 8 p. m., in the midst of a heavy
thunderstorm. Next day, Tuesday, being Boxing Day, no cargo was put
out. On Wednesday, 27th, discharged all cargo and shipped a small
quantity of wattlebark, wool and some cases of furniture, the latter
belonging to Mr. Deasy, inspector of police. We sailed same day at
2 p. m. for Melbourne, having three passengers on board, one, Mr.
J. Newton, in the saloon, and two in the fore-cabin, whose names I
did not then know, but I have since ascertained their names were
Stewart and Page. There were several other passengers expected but
they did not turn up. On the way down the lakes, we called at Metung
and shipped a little more wattlebark, making our cargo as I have
since been informed, in all about 44 tons. Just before dark we passed
out through the Lakes entrance. Outside we met with misty weather,
a smooth sea and a light breeze from the south-west. At 2 o’clock
on Thursday morning (28th), I was awakened by the stopping of the
propellor—I slept in the stern sheets immediately over it—I went on
deck to see what was the matter, and was informed that, owing to the
thick weather, the red light on Cliffy Island could not be picked
up. We lay “hove to” for nearly four hours, then, as the wind rose
and lifted the fog we found we were well on our proper course. The
ship was again kept on her way and we rounded Wilson’s Promontory a
little before 7 a. m. Soon after, the wind chopped round from south
west to south-east, enabling us to set the trysail and staysail.
We passed through between the islands all right and then fell in with
a heavy rising S.W. swell and a choppy sea from S.E. This caused
the vessel, being very light, to get very lively and take on board
large quantities of heavy spray. At 8 a. m. the crew came for their
breakfast, but the steward told me that no one in the after part of
the ship wanted any breakfast. I was not surprised at this as I had
often seen the _Alert_ make things so lively that no one on board
required anything to eat for the time being. I went forward to ask
whether the two steerage passengers wanted breakfast, but they would
not have any. About 11 a. m. when off Cape Liptrap, the sea was
very much higher, but we did not give much heed to this as we had
always found it a bit rougher when passing headlands. At noon the
crew came along for their dinner and they brought their beds with
them. They placed these on the engines to dry, grumbling very much as
they did so that the ship was so dirty they could keep nothing dry
either above or below. I told the men they might have their dinner
in the galley, but after looking in they declined, remarking it was
worse than the forecastle. Tea and toast was all they required aft
for their midday meal. By 3 p. m. we were about two miles off Cape
Schanck and the wind having gone round to S.W. again, blowing a
steady gale, there was a heavy sea breaking just off the point. In
order to avoid these breakers, Captain Mathieson altered the ship’s
course and headed out seaward for a while, till the Schanck was given
a wide berth, then the course was shaped for Port Phillip Heads, The
_Alert_ now began to roll very much and take heavy lurches to leeward
at the same time taking lots of water on board. A great many articles
in the galley were thrown down and smashed or washed away. It was
impossible for me to help this, although the steward said there would
be a jolly row when we got into port over losing so many things.
[Illustration: CAPE SCHANCK]
At 4 p. m. the watch came from below but all hands remained on deck
and went up on the poop as it was the driest part of the ship, and,
but for the rain, fairly comfortable. The steward told me not to
attempt to get any tea ready till we got inside, so I went below
with him into the saloon. We had not been there many minutes till
we heard a tremendous sea break on board on the lee side. It made
the ship shiver like a leaf and listed her over to starboard so much
that the two lamps hanging in the saloon were thrown violently up
against the deck overhead and smashed to pieces. We ran up on deck
to see what was the matter and found the lee side of the vessel full
of water, the bulwarks amidships being clean out of sight. Two men
were at the wheel and the Captain was on the bridge evidently trying
to get the ship’s head up to the sea and wind. The next wave came
right up on the lee side of the poop—where I was standing holding
on to a stay—and washed me overboard, but I managed to grasp the
poop railing and held on for bare life. Just as the chief mate, Mr.
Hodges, was coming to my rescue another heavy roller threw me inboard
again and dashed me up against the companion with such force that I
thought for a time my legs were broken. I asked Mr. Hodges whether
he thought the ship was in danger. He replied, “No, I think she
will come up to it,” meaning that when the vessel got her head to
windward she would free herself from the water on deck. Meantime,
Captain Mathieson had taken the wheel himself and sent the two men
to join the others in taking in sail foreward. As soon as the canvas
was taken off the ship another attempt was made to bring her up, but
all efforts were useless. She would “come to” a little bit, then the
sea and wind would sling her off again, like a gate swinging on its
hinges. Each time she went off she seemed to become more helpless
and dipped nearly her whole broadside into the hissing waters. The
steward and I went down into the saloon and found the water about
three feet deep on the starboard, or lee, side of the floor. Every
roll the vessel took dashed the water over Mr. Newton where he lay.
We assisted him up on deck and then tried to discover where the water
was coming in. We found that the pantry window—which looked out on
the starboard side of the main-deck—had been burst in by the pressure
of water from the outside. We blocked the aperture up as well as we
could and then went up on the poop. The Captain was still at the
wheel and the men were foreward securing things about the deck in
the best way they could. Captain Mathieson beckoned me and asked if
there were any water below in the saloon. I told him there was and
it was still rising. His countenance changed, but he made no reply.
By the beating of the engines I could hear they were commencing to
work more slowly, and the ship seemed as though she were becoming
entirely unmanageable. The chief engineer, Mr. Thompson, called out
to Mr. Kilpatrick, the second engineer, who was on duty below, “Give
it to her, Jack,”—meaning for him to keep the engines working as fast
as he could. In answer to the steward’s question, “Is there no show
to get the vessel head on?” Mr. Hodges said, “I am afraid she won’t
come to. She is too light foreward and we have no sail aft to help
her round. Everything is against her at present as it happens. There
is that upper deck and the foreward boat, all on the starboard side.
What with the big funnel and bridge, the life-boat on the engine-room
skylights, the awning of wood instead of canvas and too little cargo,
she’s all top and no bottom.” The ship now began to lie down almost
steadily on her beam ends, the big seas dashing over her as if she
were a half tide rock, and pouring down into the engine-room and
stoke-hole. The second engineer, Mr. Kilpatrick, and W. Thompson,
the fireman, came up and stated that there was too much water below
for them to stay any longer. The Captain sang out from the bridge,
where he had been standing exposed from early morning, “Call all
hands aft, passengers and everybody.” As soon as we were mustered
together he gave orders, “Now boys, get out the life-belts and put
them on.” Matters now began to wear a serious aspect, and although
there was no panic, everybody felt that a great change was at hand.
The steward and I started throwing the life-belts from the racks
underneath the awning and in a few minutes everybody had one on. Poor
Mr. Newton, who seemed downhearted, asked “How do you put this on?”
By way of reply the steward fastened it properly round him at once,
and also on the two steerage passengers. The next order given by the
Captain, was, “Now then my lads, bear-a-hand and get the life-boat
out.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the ship took
a fearfully sudden lurch to starboard and away went the life-boat,
chocks and all, clean over the ship’s side. Two lines that were fast
to the boat kept it from washing away. The crew soon made the boat
fast properly, and though she was half full of water, Mr. Hodges
jumped into her and called out for all the spare life-belts to be
thrown to him so that he might fasten them on to the boat’s thwarts
while some of the sailors were keeping her clear of the ship’s side.
He had got about six of them tied on when we saw a heavy sea coming
and sang out to him, “Look out.” He leaped back to the ship just in
time as in less than a minute the boat was either smashed to pieces
or swamped; for we saw no more of her. Orders were then given to get
the foreward boat ready but as the waves were breaking clean over
it, nothing could be done. The ship now lay over so much that we
could not stand on the deck. The Captain got over the bridge railing
and stood on the end of the bridge, while the rest of us got on the
outside of the weather (port) bulwarks. Though we were all crowded
close together very little was said, each one kept looking at the big
breakers, knowing that the time had come when each man would have
to enter on a desperate struggle for life. Almost the only remark
made was by one of the sailors, who said, “We can see the Schanck
lighthouse, quite plain, and no doubt the people there see us and
will send help of some kind.” Prior to putting on the life-belt I
took off all superfluous clothing, leaving nothing on but my white
cap, shirt, trousers and socks. The steward followed my example but
kept his boots on. All the others were fully dressed and a few of
them had even their oilskins on beneath the life-belts. The seas now
rolled relentlessly over us, each one holding on as best he could.
The wooden awning was wrenched off its stanchions and swept away to
leeward. Some one suggested that there would be more safety further
foreword both from the sea and the propellor, as the latter was still
slowly revolving, and a number of our crowd crept as far foreword as
the bridge. I decided to keep aft as I was afraid the boiler would
burst and blow us all into the air. Whilst standing alone, holding
on to the rail opposite the saloon companion, a tremendous sea broke
over the ship’s quarter and swept me fathoms away from the vessel.
I swam some distance clear and then turned to see how my mates were
getting on. They were all still clinging on to the weather bulwarks
and from the way their faces were turned, I saw they were watching
me. The ship for a little while looked as if she were going to
uprighten then she began to sink slowly, stern first. I saw Captain
Mathieson still holding on to the railing at the port end of the
bridge. I think he must have told the men to jump into the sea, for
I saw one after the other spring clear of the vessel, then, last of
all, he jumped himself. The _Alert’s_ bow then rose in the air till
I could see many feet of her keel clear of the water. She hung in
that position for a minute or two as if she hesitated to sink. It
flashed across my mind that as there was no water in the forehold,
perhaps she was going to keep afloat after all. The hope raised by
the thought, however, soon left me as the ship gave a sort of plunge
and then gradually disappeared. Fire and steam burst up through the
funnel just before the waters closed over it!
[Illustration: Sea creature]
[Illustration: Decoration]