Although there were thousands of sailing vessels of all shapes and sizes plying the world’s oceans in the mid-19th century, the oceans were far more dangerous for shipping than they are now. There were some obvious reasons for this: navigation was less accurate as the sexton required good visibility of the sun and stars to determine latitude; weather forecasting was less precise as the barometer was often the only aid available to a ship’s captain; and lastly, sailing vessels were cumbersome to manoeuvre because they were dependent on the wind for propulsion and steerage. When danger presented, it was not always easy to avoid it.
Early sailors were notoriously superstitious. Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s now famous poem ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ embodies the seaman’s superstition (and perhaps Coleridge’s?) that blatant brutality towards an albatross carries a heavy penalty in the life of the perpetrator. Sandra L. Meyer, writes in the literary journal, “Enquiries” (2010, Vol 2 No. 01 | PG. 1/1) that “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is about a man on a voyage by ship, who in one impulsive and heinous act [the killing of an Albatross], changes the course of his life – and death. The Mariner faces an inner struggle over the crime he has committed and must understand his actions and perform his penance”. We are left slightly perplexed: can anything possibly be read into such omens thrown up by the sea?
Various newspaper reports bring to light three possible portents in the life of the Sylph: the discovery of Heaton and Gogley’s capsized cutter (September, 1863) in which the crewman, John Robert Heaton had been drowned; the discovery of the drowned seaman, John Wishart, crewman from the steamship, Kembla, by Percy Johnson (probably ‘Perry’ Johnson) on the Sylph’s maiden voyage under Island ownership (February, 1868); and the discovery of the floating deckhouse of the Douglas, a ship wrecked on Elizabeth Reef in May, 1869. (The deckhouse being near Lord Howe was reported by crew of the Sylph and appeared in the Sydney Morning Herald on the 3rd April,1871.) Of course, this list does not include the trauma preciptated on the entire Island community when the Sylph failed to bring Alice Stephens’ long awaited letter in February, 1869, thus instigating Lord Howe’s first-ever homicide.
However, somewhat bizarrely, whilst researching the story of the Lord Howe Sylph through various newspaper reports in the 1850s, 60s and 70s, I was somewhat (superstitiously?) struck by the proportionately high number of Sylphs that sailed into deeply troubled waters in those decades. One could even be forgiven for saying that Sylph, was a singularly inauspicious name. Some examples taken from Australian newspapers will illustrate… see what do you think?:
A Fijian cutter called “Sylph” (perhaps the one cited by Max Nichols) had to rescue European traders from a local population apparently intent on eating them. Two white traders – Mr John Brownhill Macomber and America Shuttuck – were kidnapped at Manouka by Fijian men from “adjacent islands” who, it seems, had in mind a trifecta of misdeeds – pirating their stores, cannibalising them, then stealing their vessel!
The “Shipping Gazette and Sydney General Trade List” (May 18th, 1850) provides the details under the heading “Treachery of the Feejee Islanders”: “Mr Macomber sent for the [Fijian] chief and reasoned with him, telling him, that it would be foolish to kill them as when Mr Allen Doolittle arrived with the cutter Sylph, he would pay them well for preserving their lives…” However, “Mr Macomber heard the Feejee men plotting to take the cutter Sylph.…and the natives of ‘Soulli Ra’ were to take her as their share….. Mr Macomber wrote to Mr Doolittle, master of the Sylph, cautioning him to use no rash measures, but to send a present to the chief and obtain their release as soon as possible….”
Fortunately, another chief intervened and persuaded the hostage-takers to release the two men and spare the vessel in return for immunity from reprisals. In this instance, the cutter Sylph came to the rescue of Macomber and Shuttuck, but was nearly pirated herself. However, on August 8th, 1864, the Sydney Morning Herald described a less fortunate outcome when a steamer collided with a New Zealand-based schooner, also called the Sylph: “The schooner Sylph, Captain G.S.Norris, sailed from Russell for Auckland on Wednesday evening last, experienced thick squally weather from the northward and westward, accompanied by heavy rain. On Thursday night, at 10.15p.m, whilst off Rangitoto, the wind at the time being about E.S.E., a steamer was seen rapidly approaching them. She was sighted a full half-hour before any collision took place, and Captain Norris ordered the helm to be put hard-a-port, which was instantly done. Captain Norris then went into the fore-rigging and hailed the steamer, telling him to port his helm, but she appeared to take no notice whatever of the signal.
Shortly after this, the steamer struck the Sylph with great force on the starboard bow, cutting her down to two planks below the copper, smashing her bow, and tearing up her deck for several feet…” Finding the vessel filling rapidly with water, Captain Norris requested that the steamer tow him into shallow waters where he could ground the vessel to save her from sinking:
“The Sylph was then taken in tow, all the crew and passengers pumping and bailing to keep her afloat”. The vessel ended up in Judge’s Bay, yet sank despite being in shallower waters. The schooner’s payload included 11 passengers, 20 head of cattle, 11 sheep, half a ton of oil, 4 tons kauri gum, and a quantity of fruit. Sadly, 14 cattle died and the valuable cargo was “washed overboard and floated away with the tide”. The captain and the passengers, however, were safely landed though they, too, lost their baggage and personal possessions. After this accident, the New Zealand Sylph appeared to have been salvaged as we find, two years later (Empire, November 8th 1866), that she met a final, tragic end at Ahipara at the north end of New Zealand’s North Island. The writer of this article concluded “there can be very little doubt that an accident of a serious nature has occurred to the schooner Sylph…on her passage from the Kaipara.
The Sylph has been daily expected for the past fortnight, and fears were entertained for her safety in consequence of the protracted passage. These facts were confirmed yesterday by the receipt of information to the effect that twelve boxes of kauri gum marked BC… and portions of a boat belonging to the schooner, had been picked up by the natives at Ahipara. The wreck was found washed ashore on the 13th and 14th [October] instant, and information was at once conveyed by the natives to Mongonui, for transmission to Auckland”.
More Sylphen disasters
Vessels with the name of Sylph did not fare any better in the northern hemisphere. On March 23rd, 1867, the Melbourne Leader reported under “Disasters at Sea” the “Wreck of the Horta and the Sylph with a Fearful Loss of Life”: “The storms which commenced in the early part of December appear to have swept across the Atlantic and caused as much disaster on the American seaboard as they did on the English and Irish coasts. By the arrival of the City of Baltimore we have received accounts of the loss of two vessels and their crews, with the exception of two men.”
The Melbourne Leader went on to say that one vessel, the Horta, was anchored off Nashawina Island (the second largest of the Dukes Islands off Massachusetts) when her anchor dragged in heavy, squally weather and “she went ashore on Nashawina Island and became a total wreck” Then, “About the same time the barque Sylph, bound from, Baltimore to Boston, went ashore on the same island… Of the whole ships’ company of the Sylph not a soul on board was saved”.
On the other side of the Atlantic, we find another Sylph literally ‘in the wars’. In November 1870, six colliers flying the British flag, one of which was named Sylph, were deliberately scuttled by Prussians (north Germans) who had invaded France and were blockading the French port of Rouen. The Gympie Times and Mary River Mining Gazette reported the event on March 25th, 1871 under the dramatic headline “Seizure of English Vessels”: “The Sylph was at Rouen, in the river, when a detachment of about thirty or forty Prussian soldiers, headed by an officer, boarded her from a steam tug. The Sylph had discharged her cargo of coals, and was taking in ballast…[when]… the Prussian officer addressed Captain Ramsdale, the owner of the vessel, and the mate, in a mixture of French and English. Striking his hand on the companion ladder he said ‘Me must have your ship.’
Captain Ramsdale, pointing up at the flag said ‘You shall not have my ship; it is an English ship!’ The Prussian officer…. roared out ‘Me don’t care if she is English or French or Dutch or Norwegian; me want…to couler her in the river’ (‘couler’, it turned out, was the French word ‘to sink’!). During this tense altercation the utmost confusion reigned on board, with the soldiers proceeding to knock holes in the bottom of the vessel. T. The captain cried out to the officer, ‘If you want my ship give me the £2,000 she’s worth’”. Surprisingly, the German officer seemed to agree and directed Captain Ramsdale to fill out a form that “seemed to be an order on the Prussian government”. The officer then departed by his steam tug leaving his soldiers in charge of their ‘prize’.
After lowering the British flag, then stomping on it, the Prussians “floated her [the Sylph] down the river, but did not sink her immediately.” Next morning, the soldiers became “drunk on the ship’s stores, and partially set the vessel on fire”. The captain and crew were bundled off to see the British Consul at Rouen, who arranged emergency transport for them to the port of Dieppe. Travelling by “omnibus” the crew were again accosted by Prussian troops who “took not only the men’s tobacco, but part of their clothing and even their money…Thus they lost not only their employment but all their wages and clothes.” Another Sylphen calamity!
However, possibly the most heart-rending of all the newspaper reports comes from the Hobart Mercury on March 2nd, 1867 and is the shortest of all: “The following memorandum was found in a square gin bottle on the beach at Governor’s Bay [South Island, New Zealand] on Tuesday, Jan. 29, 1867.” The note inside the bottle read: “Nov. 20, 1866. The Sylph, barque, from Amsterdam, sinking fast, 6 feet of water in the hold, no one can find the leak; men all dead at the pumps. Hans Tromp, master. God save our souls. Whoever finds this epistle please send it to my family”.
Any volunteers for a voyage in a vessel named Sylph?
This article appeared in The Lord Howe Island Signal, 31 December 2022.
