25 March 1937

MYSTERIOUS BURNING OF BARQUE AFTER GROUNDING AT KANGAROO IS.

Crew Refused To Take Captain And His Daughter On Board Before The Fire

The burning of the Fannie M., a wooden barque, only six or seven years old, after she had run aground near Kingscote, Kangaroo Island, might be used by a novelist as the background for an exciting story. The burning was never explained, al though a Marine Board enquiry was subsequently held in Adelaide.

The vessel, which had a displacement of 678 tons, left Newcastle on May 6, 1885, for Wallaroo, carrying a cargo of coal. She was a comparatively new vessel, and the captain was her principal owner. 

On June 13, when nearing Kangaroo Island, the barque ran into a north east gale and had to beat back to Kangaroo Island for shelter. On the next day, a Sunday, there was a north-west wind, and the weather was thick. They made the Althorpes, but had to tack again as they could not get round, and hours later were back at the same spot again. The wind was still blowing a gale, so the captain ran to the shelter of the island, and on the Monday at 8 a.m. made Point Morrison. Soon afterwards the boat was aground. 

The captain, who had not been in these waters before, had been particularly careful, and hove the lead regularly. Two minutes before the vessel went aground the lead had showed that there were six fathoms below him. There was a particularly high tide at Kingscote on that day, and it had covered the sand spit completely. The vessel was travelling at only four knots, and it was hardly perceptible to those on board that she had run aground. 

The man at the wheel at the time, William Garratt, a seaman, maintained that if the anchor had been dropped immediately the captain ordered it the ship would not have grounded as it did. As it was, there was 20 minutes delay. He did not say why the delay occurred, who was responsible for it, or offer any explanation. The captain did not mention it in his evidence. There is no question about the anchors not having been ready to be dropped at once. 

The captain had from 50 to 60 tons of coal thrown overboard to lighten the vessel, and although the tide rose for several hours after the vessel went aground, nothing could be done. The crew was a fairly good one, Captain Stockton said at the enquiry, though they were new hands except the steward and the carpenter. There were 12 hands in all. 

Next day there was another incident which indicated a lack of co-operation on the part of the crew. At 9 o'clock in the morning, the captain left for the shore in a lighter, accompanied by his daughter. He instructed the chief officer to send a boat for him at 1 o'clock, but at that hour the captain and his daughter waited in vain for a boat to take them on board. He sent a message to the ship.

'No boat on board,' was the reply first, and then, 'Cannot send a boat.' 'Why?' was the captain's question. 'Crew sick,' was the excuse. The captain then gave it up, and stayed on shore for the night. None of the crew was sick when he had left the boat, he said in evidence. 

The chief officer, Edward Kavanagh, in his evidence, told how he had tried to get a boat manned, but only two men and the carpenter were willing to go. Three men could not man one of the ship's boats, so one could not be sent. The men told him that they were sick with exposure and hard work. Continuous tacking for the previous three nights and occasional work at the pumps had been too much for them. 

At 2 a.m. the following morning, the Dolphin, which had gone to Glenelg at 2.30 the previous afternoon, arrived at the Fannie M. in search of salvage. The captain, Captain Medland, went on board, but finding no captain there, returned to his own vessel, intending to wait until the morning before seeing whether the vessel could be got off the spit. 

Only a couple of hours after that the ship's carpenter, Alexander Doig, was passing the captain's cabin when he noticed flames leaping through the skylight. 'Fire! Fire!' he called to the crew. 

The chief officer, Edward Kavanagh, leaped from his bunk and frantically ordered the crew to man the force pump. While they were doing this the door of the cabin was opened, and the rush of air caused the flames to spread devastatingly. Driven back from the force pump, the members of the crew had to content themselves with saving what they could of their own possessions and movable objects on the Fannie M. 

The carpenter rang the ship's bell and this attracted the attention of the Dolphin's crew to its plight. They lost no time in getting on board, and although working precariously, with a blaze below them, they saved many of the sails. The fire continued raging, and at 9.30 in the morning the mainmast went overboard with a crash. An immense spray of water came over the side, but it had no effect on the wooden inferno, packed with coal. An hour later the forehatch caught alight and salvaging was cut short. 

What had caused the fire? The marine enquiry committee was puzzled. There were many theories. Was it spontaneous combustion? The steward, Baker, stated that when he opened the door of the captain's cabin the lantern went out. He also tried to save the captain's private papers, but was beaten back a second time. He rushed to his own cabin and that, too, was full of flames. His first impression was that pitch burning on the surface was boiling up out of the floor. 

Then the fire might have been started wilfully. As has been mentioned, there were 'incidents' while the vessel was stranded, but at the enquiry, the officers spoke in praise of the crew, and the members of the crew told how the captain had treated them well, and that they had no complaints. Then men who had access to the captain's cabin were the chief officer, steward, and carpenter, and strangely enough, these were the principal sufferers. 

Captain Stockton told the enquiry that he had his cabin on the main deck, and an after-cabin for his own use. A partition divided them. There was no fire or stove in either cabin, and all oil, rope, paint, sails and tar were kept in the storeroom. There had not been a fire before. It was suggested that a kerosene light in the binnacle exploded — as one had done in the forecastle some time before. 

Or was the lamp broken in a drunken orgy? Some people like to think that these excesses happen when a ship is wrecked, and at the time it was suggested as a likely cause. The captain, however, strenuously denied the suggestion. When he left the vessel there were no spirits on board. A customs document showed that, and there was not the slightest evidence to show that there was any drink at all on the boat. 

All these theories were considered by the committee, which freed the captain from all blame. 

What the committee did not consider, however, was the presence of the captain's daughter. Had she a part in the mysterious fire? Had she planned to run away with a young sailor when the turmoil was at its height? In propounding such theories, the novelist would be at his best. Who knows whether she might not have been involved in a romantically sinister plot?— H.  [Captain's daughter? Reminiscent of a Gilbert and Sullivan plot. - Ed.]

Whinham College Memories 

The ranks of those who attended Whinham College, North Adelaide, are how thinning, but doubtless many will remember the following incidents: — 

'Fatty' was the glutton of the class; I never saw a boy with an appetite to equal his. I was ordered to stand out in front of the class for some misdemeanor on one occasion. The master was writing on the blackboard, and my feelings can be imagined when I saw Fatty reach into my schoolbag, take out my lunch parcel and calmly eat every scrap of my dinner. 

The unwritten code of the school prevented me from reporting it to the master, but I never forgot it. It was out of the question for me to try to even the score with my fists after school hours, for Fatty, for all his size and sleepy - appearance, was too good a scrapper for me to have a hope of beating him. 

But fifty years later I was in a Port Adelaide store, making a purchase, and in walked Fatty. He greeted me by name, talked of old times, then enquired what was in the tin I was carrying. 'Honey,' I said. 'My elder son is a beekeeper.'

'Honey!' he exclaimed. 'I love that stuff.' 'Then sample this,' I replied, lifting off the lid and breaking a piece of clean wood off the lid of a case. He dipped it into the tin, wound a generous amount on it, then popped it into his mouth. A few seconds later he was in the street, spluttering and spitting, I followed him, listened to his comments, then put in a word. 

'Crude castor oil is nasty stuff,' I agreed. 'And you took a mighty big dose of it, too. But do you remember the day when you ate my lunch in school and I was forced to look on? Well, we'll now call it quits.' I regret to state, however, that his reply was unprintable. 

My great chum at the school was Tom. We always walked home together from school. One day we passed a girls' boarding school, stopped to talk to some of the lasses, and ended by climbing the fence and pushing them to and fro on the swings. When the fun was at its height the headmistress came on the scene, recognised us, ordered us off the property, and promised to report us to the headmaster! That promise was fulfilled, and next morning Whinham hauled us out in front of the class and administered the worst flogging we ever received. 

That afternoon we walked sadly homeward and passed the same girls' school on the way; all the girls appeared to be having their tea, for nobody could be seen, but in the front garden a hose was playing on a flower bed. 

Moved by the same impulse, we leaped the fence, poked the hose through an open window, and fled. We later learned that the front portion of the school was flooded out before the hose was discovered. Then we felt that we had evened the score against that headmistress with a vengeance! 

Now I have retired from active work and a week ago I reached the allotted span of three-score years and ten. Yesterday Tom and I walked around North Adelaide once more, talking over our schooldays and pondering on the fact that it is the happiest time of most lives, though we never realise it until we have approached the end of life's journey. When we parted we shook hands, then I realised another thing. There is no bond between men so strong as the fact that you both went to the same school and were boyhood chums. — G.S.L. 

A Cousinly Visit 

'A good horse-tailer and tracker, but he needs watching,' were the words spoken by a fellow drover when he lent me Boko, one of his black boys. Being short-handed at the time, any thing that could ride a horse would have been acceptable, so I appreciated the loan of a good black boy. 

For upwards of a month Boko, as horse-tailer, could not have been bettered. He had the horses at the camp at daylight and was first rate at assisting the cook to pack up, not an easy job by any means, as I had fifteen packs in the plant and the horses carrying them were not of the ladies' hack type. 

One morning Boko, on bringing up the horses, said that two were missing, so I told him to get his breakfast and find them. I said that I would help the cook to pack up and would go along with the plant to the next camp in case Boko was delayed. 

Just before sundown Boko arrived with the two missing horses, they and his own in a lather of sweat. On enquiry, Boko said that he had tracked them for miles. 'They been breakum hobbles,' he explained. 

Next morning two more horses were away, but as we intended to have a day's spell, there was no need to worry about anyone helping the cook to pack up. My suspicions were aroused, and the words of my drover friend came to mind when I heard which horses were reported missing. One, an old pack mare, would never be far away from her mate, and as the latter was in the mob I decided to do a little private detective work. I meant to keep out of sight and follow Boko. 

After giving him a start I set out after the horse hunter, and as the country was sandy it was easy to follow his tracks. After riding for about a mile I saw evidence of where two horses had been tied up to a bush, which was growing in a hollow between two sandhills. The plot thickened and my conclusion was that Boko would be found fast asleep beneath a shady tree with his own horse and the other two short-hobbled near by. 

But my deductions were not quite correct. I reckoned without a blacks' camp on the river. It was an easy matter to follow the tracks made by the horses, and after an hour's ride I heard the barking of dogs. As nothing would be gained by sneaking on the camp, I touched my horse and cantered on. 

Soon I topped a rise and saw the camp. There, short-hobbled along the river bank, were the three horses, Boko's being unsaddled. Greeted by yells from a score of blacks and the barking of mobs of mongrel dogs, I called out for Boko. With a surprised look on his face he crawled from a wurlie and dodged the whip I cracked near him. 

Without waiting for the order, Boko raced away and saddled up, and in a few minutes we were riding back to the camp. At first Boko denied having been at the blacks' camp the day previously, but when I told him that I had seen the tracks of Jo Jo, one of the horses missing the day before, Boko admitted his guilt. 'Them fella cousin belonga me,' pleaded Boko. 'Me been no see him long time.' 

I let it go at that, but warned Boko that he would feel the whip about him if any more horses were missing. The warning sufficed, and although we passed close to several more blacks' camps in after days, Boko was not tempted. He became once again the reliable horse-tailer. — 'Drover.'