30 August 1934

EXPOSED TO THE FURY OF THE SEA FOR SEVEN DAYS 

Seventy-five Year Old Tragedy Recalled

Although there may have been ship-wrecks in Australia involving greater loss of life, there have not been many in which more suffering and suspense was experienced by the survivors than in the wreck of the Admella just over 75 years ago [6 Aug 1859]. When the news of the disaster reached Adelaide so great was the dismay caused by it that business was temporarily suspended and Parliament adjourned for a day.

The Admella was a fine steamer for her day. She was built on the Clyde, having a displacement of about 600 tons. Her engines generated 300 horse-power. Previous to her loss she had been trading regularly between Adelaide and Melbourne. 

On Friday morning August 5, 1859, she left Adelaide with 113 persons on board, including more than 30 women and children. At half-past four next morning, while running at full speed, she struck on Carpenter's Reef, about 20 miles north-west of Cape Northumberland. 

Within half-an-hour of striking the reef, the vessel broke up into three pieces, the mainmast and funnel in their fall smashing the two lifeboats in the waist of the ship before they could be lowered. The tackle of the after boat got fouled, and it was swamped and swept away. Several passengers were washed overboard almost at once. 

The fore part of the ship began to break up, and the fore-mast, crowded with people, fell over the ship's side. About this time an endeavor was made to reach the boat which had been swamped, and which was only about 40 yards from the after part of the wreck. A seaman volunteered to swim to it with a line, but the line given him was too short, so another one was bent to it. He reached the boat safely, but on hauling on the line the bend, not having been securely fastened, gave way. The sailor struggled manfully to bring the boat alongside the wreck, but was swept out to sea. Those on board were thus deprived of their last hope of saving themselves without assistance. The boat was afterwards washed ashore, where it capsized in the breakers, the body of the unfortunate man being later found lying near it. 

About 8 o'clock that morning — only three and a half hours after the Admella struck— the steamer Havilah, bound from Melbourne to Adelaide, passed about two miles off. The crew of the Admella did everything they could think of to attract her attention. They tolled the ship's bell, shouted in unison, hoisted the Union Jack upside down, and waved their garments, but all to no avail. 

The morning was thick and foggy, and they were not observed. The middle portion of the wreck which contained the engines had now sunk, and the other parts were separated by about 50 yards of raging sea. The stem of the poop was pointed towards the shore, the watertight bulk-head being exposed to the sweep of the rollers of the Southern Ocean. 

The cabins on the port side were underwater, but, while those on the starboard side were dry, it was almost a matter of impossibility to get into them on account of the angle at which the ship was lying. The broadside of the fore part of the vessel was exposed to the swell, the sea making a clean sweep of it with every roll. 

The wreck remained in this position until the Monday night (three days), the fore part gradually breaking up. On the Saturday morning members of the crew managed to get a rope from the after part of the wreck to the fore part, by which a few of those there managed to drag themselves to safety. Most of those on the fore part, however, were women and children who could not pluck up the courage to face the surf. These had all perished from cold and exposure before the Wednesday night. 

During the Saturday afternoon the second mate volunteered to swim ashore, taking one of the ship's life buoys to assist him. He never gained the shore, however, perishing in the breakers. Those on the after part of the ship spent the night sitting on the rail of the ship with the seas frequently washing over them. That night the P. & O. liner Bombay, from Suez to Melbourne, passed close to the wreck, her red, green and white lights, and her funnel and hull, being plainly visible to those on board. They could even hear the throb of her engines, but they had no lamps with which to signal to her, so could not attract her attention. All the tools on board had also gone down with the middle part of the wreck, so that it was not possible to build a raft on a large scale. 

On the Sunday afternoon two sea-men volunteered to go ashore on a small raft they had made from the mizzen boom, which they had cut in two with a meat chopper, and part of the main boom. They were given per-mission, and eventually reached the shore about 5 o'clock. All that night they toiled through the bush to the Cape Northumberland lighthouse, where they arrived about 7 o'clock the next morning. One of the lighthouse keepers saddled his horse and rode to Mount Gambier with the news of the disaster, reaching there about 3 o'clock on the Monday afternoon. The news was telegraphed to both Adelaide and Melbourne, and steamers were at once dispatched from both ports to the aid of the shipwrecked passengers and crew. 

The Corio sailed from Adelaide on Tuesday, and reached the scene of the wreck next day. The weather had taken a turn for the worse on the Monday night, however, and all day Tuesday and Wednesday heavy seas were sweeping over the wreck. Twenty persons perished from cold on the Tuesday night. The Corio's lifeboat was launched and got between the wreck and the shore, but could not get alongside the wreck, and eventually the exhausted crew had to run for the shore. Meanwhile the steamer Ladybird had left Melbourne on the Tuesday and put into Portland next day. There her master found a telegram awaiting him instructing him to proceed at once to the wreck. He left Portland at noon on the Wednesday, and steered for Cape Northumberland with a strong gale blowing and a heavy head sea. He reached Cape Northumberland next morning, and steamed as slowly as possible along the coast looking for the wreck, but as the sea was very high he could not find it. 

He therefore decided to return to Portland for more accurate information, and to get the Government life-boat there, as well as extra hands. After taking on board provisions, extra fuel, two doctors, and the crew of the lifeboat, the Ladybird left with a whaleboat on board and the lifeboat in tow. On the Friday morning she was again off Cape Northumberland, where she spoke a boat from Guichen Bay with two men aboard. 

They had bravely gone to the assistance of those on the wreck, but had been compelled to run for safety towards Cape Northumberland. From them those on board the Ladybird learned that the wreck was about 10 miles to the north-west. On nearing it the lifeboat was manned and, together with the whaleboat, proceeded to the rescue. The whaleboat anchored outside the line of breakers, the lifeboat going on with a safety line from it in case of accident. The surf was so great that the life-boat filled three times, the sea carrying away eight of the oars and washing one man overboard. The boat was then within a length of the wreck but in consequence of this disaster could not reach it. Communication was tried by means of rockets, but the lines fouled. The members of the lifeboat's crew being much exhausted as a result of their battle with the waves and their frequent immersions, the whaleboat took it in tow and returned to the Ladybird. 

The survivors on the wreck, who now numbered fewer than 30, nearly gave up hope on seeing this attempt fail. In the afternoon the whaleboat made an-other attempt, but without success. Those on board the Admella were therefore compelled to spend another night —their seventh — on the wreck, in a protracted anguish of soul and body, within sight of the shore, with help close at hand, but unable to reach them because of the fury of the sea, which constantly swept over them. Four of them died that night. The Ladybird stood off the shore all night, burning blue lights and firing rockets to encourage those on the wreck to keep up their spirits. 

At daylight she stood in for the wreck once more, and the lifeboat was again manned. This time it succeeded in getting alongside in safety, the weather having moderated a little, and 19 survivors, including one woman, threw themselves into the boat and were caught in the arms of the crew. The Corio's lifeboat and the boat from the Admella which had been washed ashore, arrived from the shore about the same time and rescued four men. One of the boats was swamped in the breakers in returning to the shore, one of the rescued men being drowned. 

There were thus 22 saved in all. They had been more than seven days on the wreck, during five of which they had neither food, water, nor shelter of any description. On their arrival on board the Ladybird every attention was paid to the sufferers. They were provided with clothing, the saloon was fitted up as a hospital, and, thanks to the attention of the doctors, they were all landed safely at Portland. 

See also Wikipedia article on the Admella

Found Wanting When Tested 

Dad was always loud in his boastings of what he would do if burglars came to the house. When the time came, however, to prove his words, the result was somewhat different from what everyone had been led to expect. 

Late one night the family, returning home from a party noticed that a broom had fallen against the door, and at one decided that the worst had happened. A burglar must be somewhere in the house. Grasping a lantern in one hand and a heavy, knobby walking stick in the other, dad rose to the occasion. 

He went to the first room, and, knocking loudly on the door, shouted through the keyhole, "If ye be in there, coom oot!" There was no response, a tour of all the house proving equally unsuccessful. 

Therefore dad decided that the wood-shed must be the invader's hiding place. So he went outside, and once more shouted his war cry, "If ye be in side, coom oot!" 

It so happened that one of his sons was there, and hearing his father's challenge he opened the door. The old man waited for no more. He dropped both lantern and stick and fled back to the house. — Wynnis J. Hughes. 

The German's Lament 

Many years ago, when the Broken Hill mines were in full swing, some of the miners working at North Broken Hill were living in a big shack, owned by a German resident of Broken Hill. 

One evening they went into Broken Hill, forgetting before they left to extinguish the candle, which was in a 'spider' attached to the wall of the shack. In an hour or so the candle burnt down, the guttering flames setting alight to the bag walls of the shack. A great blaze resulted, which quickly brought the fire brigade to the scene, closely followed by a reporter, only to find a pile of ashes to mark the spot where the shack had been. 

When asked by the reporter how the fire originated, the owner of the property was so upset that he could hardly speak. Despite his wrath, however, he managed to exclaim very forcefully, 'Fool man did leave da candle burning, and it vos burning yet! 'Ven a man has got noddings, he loses every-ting. already so soon.' — 'Cuckoo,' West Coast. 

A Wily Dingo 

An uncle of mine hunting for stray cattle came to Sellick Cave, where he found five small dingo pups. He put them in his shirt, thinking to take them home and tame them. 

He had walked about half a mile when he saw the mother dingo on a sandhill. It seemed as if the pups smelt their mother, for they began to whine. She came at the man, sprang up and clawed him. He beat her off several times, but she kept on attacking him. He threw a pup at her head and ran. She smelt it, then made after him again. He threw another at her, but she was not satisfied, and still gave chase. He threw all but one away, hoping to be able to retain it. 

But when the dingo's mate came on the scene he thought discretion the better part of valor and threw that one away also, and ran, glad to get off with only torn clothes. — S.M.J.