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The Wairarapa was built in Dumbarton, Scotland in 1882 for the Union Steam Ship Company. Soon after launch she sailed to New Zealand to become one of a small number of luxury steamers plying the route across the Tasman Sea to Australia.
The Wairarapa sailed from Sydney, Australia on 24 October 1894. The ship’s destination was the rapidly-growing New Zealand port city of Auckland, 2,000 miles away. As the Wairarapa rounded the top of the North Island of New Zealand four days later, fog and storms set in. However, Captain John S. McIntosh refused to slow the ship from 13 knots, nearly full speed. Fatally, the ship went off-course, possibly due to a faulty compass bearing. At the subsequent Court of Enquiry into the incident, some even suggested the ship had been steered by dead reckoning rather than using a compass at all. Whatever the cause, the ship skirted to the west of the Poor Knights Islands, not the east. As a consequence she was much closer to the mainland than the ship’s crew believed.
Shortly after midnight, the ship was wrecked near Miners Head on the northern tip of Great Barrier Island, off the coast of Auckland.
The hours after the wreck saw great loss of life. Many passengers could not swim and drowned in the rough seas in trying to make it to shore. One liferaft was seen floating out to sea and was never sighted again. Many men, including a large portion of the crew, took to one of the lifeboats, leaving women and children behind. A number of people took refuge in the ship’s rigging. At about 3 am Captain McIntosh jumped into the sea and was presumed drowned.
A lifeboat eventually succeeded in reaching a local community of Ngati Wai Maori based at Katherine Bay, on the western coast of the island. They were able to rescue and provide care for a number of the survivors.
Although the Wairarapa was expected in Auckland, there was no way of knowing where she may have come to grief. As the only contact with the island at the time was via weekly trips from a steamer, it was three full days until news of the shipwreck reached Auckland.
A Court of Enquiry was held after the Wairarapa disaster, and found Captain McIntosh's actions were the primary cause of the tragedy.
NZ Observer and Free Lance, Saturday, November 10 1894, p2
The Wairarapa Horror.
There is not in the whole history of disasters at sea one occurrence more absolutely indefensible than the wreck of the S.S. Wairarapa on the Great Barrier Island, with the loss of the lives of 140 of her passengers and crew. Neither is there an instance of a wreck in which the conduct of some of those immediately concerned was more open to reproach and censure. There was certainly no reason whatever for the loss of the vessel. At noon on Sunday, when the fog settled down, she was off the North Cape, and the captain knew his course very well. It is probable that an error in his compasses arose in consequence of the fog, but be that as it may, it is incomprehensible that the commander of a vessel freighted with valuable human lives should have driven his vessel on at a speed of 13 knots hour after hour through a dense fog in view of the knowledge that he was in the track of passing vessels and that there was land on either hand. And yet he did so. It was conduct of a grossly reckless character, and simply courted disaster. But was the master wholly to blame or did the fault lie at the door of the System under which he worked? That is one important question for the court of enquiry to decide.
Sufficient has already been disclosed at the official investigation to show that Captain McIntosh was remonstrated with by his officers on the imprudence of his conduct in not slowing down. But he heeded not. He kept the vessel on her course at full speed, until at last he sent her crashing onto the cruel rocks, and hurled the greater portion of the ship’s company into eternity. Oh, terrible sacrifice that it was. But why the haste that brought about this awful calamity? Was the Wairarapa racing? and, if she was, is it right that human life should be trifled with in this way? Surely, safety is of far greater moment that the paltry consideration of breaking a record or of making a faster passage by an hour or two than that accomplished by other steamers in the same trade. This point is brought home to us very forcibly by the Wairarapa disaster. It is not for the Press to attach blame to anyone. That is a responsibility that rests elsewhere. And yet it is impossible to disguise the fact that the story of this calamity is one lamentable record of bungles from beginning to end. It would be well, at the same time, if this were all. But it is not. There were not only errors of judgment and gross absence of discipline and organization, but there were wretched cowardice and inhuman selfishness on the part of many of the crew and male passengers. It would be difficult to recall any story of sudden shipwreck in which less was done for the helpless women and poor little children than on this occasion. The one consuming aim with many of the men seems to have been to save themselves, no matter who else perished.
Fifty men and Five Women.
True, it is easy for one who did not experience the horrors of that awful night to sit quietly in his comfortable room and condemn the behaviour of others in these moments of deadly peril. And yet there are few men in the country who can read that cruel list of women and little children who perished in contradistinction to the long list of strong men who were saved without a thrill of bitter indignation and an uncontrollable conviction that there was much to explain somewhere. Take, for instance, the two boats that were lowered safely and that rowed off to a bay ten miles distant. They contained 55 souls, of whom 28 were officers and crew and 27 passengers. But worst of all, there were in the two boats only five women. Think of it, ye apologists for the fifty men. Everywhere around them when they launched those two boats were drowning women and children. Not a child out of all those on board was saved, with the exception of one boy, and yet the only two boats by which the rescue of these helpless ones was possible were taken away by fifty men.
Do not suppose there was no heroism. On the contrary, there were many instances of men and women going down to their death nobly and fearlessly. Not a single mother whose little ones were with her was saved. They were left on the decks to perish, while able-bodied and powerful men rushed the boats, and made their escape. But the influence of a mothers love was dominant over the terrors of a boiling sea and certain death. One after another, the bodies of noble women have been found with children clasped to their bosoms. Scenes of this kind have been witnessed by the rescue party that made strong men weep like little children, and well they might. The pity of it; the shame of it. All those fifty strong men were saved in the only two boats, and the lives of little children and weak women were sacrificed everywhere. And yet we boast of the heroism of the British race. True, a brighter side to this picture is furnished by the self-denying heroism of many of the stewardesses and stewards, who stayed at their posts until life-belts had been fastened on the passengers, though some of them absolutely lost their lives through doing so. Then, again, there is the noble conduct of Dunlop, the second engineer, of young Roberts, and of others. But, after all, they were instances of individual bravery whose effect is but to throw into darker relief the base conduct of many others. I do not purpose to criticise the conduct of the officers. It is for he court now sitting to justify or condemn them. And yet it does seem as if the exercise of strict discipline under a resolute command might have done much to lessen the horrors of that awful night. I do not know what is expected from a chief or second officer on occasion of shipwreck, but I do know that there are few landsmen who have read of the chief officer ensconced snugly in the cross-trees, with women in the rigging below him, without a grim smile of derision.
But, alas, it was not only on the wreck that the behaviour of the men was selfish and unmanly. It seems almost incredible, and yet it is absolutely a fact, that some of the female survivors were allowed to remain in a state of almost complete nudity during the wretched hours of that terrible Monday, although certain çf the male passengers were completely dressed and might easily have spared at least one of their almost superfluous garments. Those men who would have given freely for the comfort of the shivering women were without clothes themselves. It is related that one sailor took off his flannel undershirt in order to give it to a naked girl, while, at the same time, a passenger was wearing two overcoats and had to be requested to give up one of these before he parted with it. Facts like these are sufficient to make one’s blood boil, and yet it seems that many such things happened. Was the Union Company to Blame?
There has been much comment concerning the action or inaction of the Union Company’s local representatives in connection with this calamity. The local office has been condemned for not taking steps immediately on receipt of the news of the wreck to send a steamer to the scene of the occurrence, and Mr Spencer, son of one of the drowned passengers, gave evidence at the inquest for the sole purpose of placing upon record the fact that this was not done. Since then, Mr Henderson, local manager of the Company, has been interviewed, and has explained that the Company did all in its power; that a steamer could not have been despatched to the Barrier before ten o’clock in the morning, and that she could not possibly have arrived there till after dark.
It will require a great deal of sophistry upon Mr Henderson’s part to induce humane and thoughtful people to accept such an explanation. There was gross and scandalous disregard of duty on the part of the Union Company in this matter. Indirectly, the Company was responsible for this disaster, because the loss of the vessel was the natural consequence of reckless conduct upon the part of one of its servants. So much is admitted. Therefore, it was the duty of the Union Company, even if there was not the slightest chance of saving a single life, to have sent a steamer away to the Barrier immediately after the receipt of the first tidings of the calamity. The simplest feelings of humanity would have prompted such a course, apart altogether from any consideration of what was due to the friends of those who had been drowned. But was there no chance of saving life? Let this extract from the sworn evidence at the enquiry furnish its own ominous and terrible answer:-
Mr Palmer (to the chief officer) : You say you saw the people disappearing round the Needles and clinging to a piece of wreckage? - Witness : Yes.
When you reached the Union Company’s office did you report that you had seen this wreckage with these 20 people drifting round the Needles?—Yes. I told them we saw wreckage all round the place, and bodies.
Did you tell them you saw this piece of wreckage? - I do not suppose I mentioned this one particularly I want you to be careful! - I am as careful as I can possibly be.
You did not mention to the Union Company that you saw wreckage with people alive on it? - I do not think that I mentioned it. I did to the people on the steamboat, and we looked.
You did not think it your duty to report that to the Union Company? - That would be the next day.
When you arrived did you not think it your duty to report it? - I reported everything I knew. I told about the people having drifted round there.
You did? - Yes, to Mr Henderson at his home the morning we arrived.
How about the four life rafts. Do you know if they have all turned up? - Only two have as far as I know.
Then for all you know to the contrary there may be people drifting about on those two missing rafts? - There might. No; they could not on one of them.
On one they might be drifting about yet? - Yes.
What time did you arrive in Auckland? - About three am. A steamer was sent down to the wreck in the evening.
So the Argyle arrived in Auckland about three o’clock on Thursday morning, three days after the wreck, and the Chief Officer says he reported to Mr Henderson, at his house, that a raft with people clinging to it drifted out to sea, and yet no steamer was sent away until that night. It is incredible! It is monstrous. And yet Mr Henderson claims that the Union Company did everything in its power. But what of those wretched survivors who drifted out to sea to a fate far worse than drowning? Very probably, not one of them was alive when the Chief Officer mentioned the fact to Mr Henderson - that is, if he did mention it. But there was at least a possibility that some one was alive, and that terrible possibility ought in itself to have been sufficient to have prompted the despatch of the Argyle back to the wreck at once. It is maddening to think that she lay at the Queen Street wharf from three o’clock in the morning until nine o’clock that night, and that while those valuable hours were being wasted there was a chance of saving a single life or even of relieving one pang of human agony.
It is idle to say that the Argyle could not have reached the wreck until after dusk. She was lying all day at the wharf with steam up ready to start. Even if she had not left till eight or nine o’clock in the morning, she could have been down to the Barrier early in the afternoon, with hours of daylight still before her. But what was to have prevented her from leaving at five or six o’clock in the morning, and reaching the Barrier at noon? Nothing whatever. In any case, the remarkable inaction of the Union Company calls for some explanation. It is in striking contrast to the concern and anxiety shown in the matter by Mr Ranson, the Manager of the Northern Steamship Company, who kept his steamer lying in readiness all day, and who would, I verily believe, have had his whole fleet of steamers at the Barrier if such a thing had happened to one of his ships.
But probably the duties and responsibilities of the Union Company in this connection are a mere matter of opinion. To my mind, though, it was not only the duty of the Union Company to have taken further prompt steps to ascertain if there was any chance of saving life, but it also devolved upon them to see that the dead bodies were decently interred. As a matter of fact, the arrangements in this respect were shameful. There was no sheeting sent down in which to wrap the bodies, the timber for the shells was of an inferior quality and unsuitable, and the other arrangements were equally bad, and though the police did their best, they were heavily handicapped until authority came from the Government - thanks to Mr Palmer’s exertions - to spend what was necessary to bury the bodies decently. Even assuming that there was no chance whatever of saving additional lives, these other arrangements might have been more satisfactorily carried out.
The story of the disaster is a heartrending and sickening record of reckless folly, want of discipline, miserable cowardice, wretched selfishness, and finally grossly blameable masterly inactivity. It is as sad and distressing a story as one could possibly listen to. The pity of it is that there are so few redeeming features in it. And yet the whole affair might so easily have been avoided had it not been for the accursed haste with which the vessel was driven through the dense fog towards her destruction. The calamity, however, conveys some forcible lessons that ought not to be lost upon us.
NZ Observer and Free Lance, Saturday, November 10 1894, p11
The True Story OF THE WAIRARAPA CALAMITY.
WRITTEN FOR THE OBSERVER BY ONE WHO WAS THERE.
THE agonizing story of the loss of the fine steamship Wairarapa and the sacrifice of the lives of 140 of the passengers and crew is almost without a parallel in the history of marine disasters on the coast of New Zealand. It is a heart-rending story. The ship was scarcely fifty miles from her journey’s end. She was crowded fore and aft with passengers bound to New Zealand, some of whom were intent upon a pleasure tour of this colony; others were returning from a trip abroad, and were looking for ward with eager impatience to the moment when they would be restored to the arms of their loved ones at home; while others, again, were approaching New Zealand for the first time, intent upon making a home and seeking a fortune in this distant land, or of joining relatives already here. The vessel was crowded with such passengers. There were nearly 200 of them. And in the darkest hours of the night, in the midst of a dense fog, and with an angry sea on either hand, the Wairarapa Crashed at full speed on to the north- western point of the Great Barrier Island. She was on rocks of iron. There was a precipitous cliff immediately ahead, and a boiling sea surging around and breaking over the already doomed vessel, and cruelly swallowing up its victims in scores. Oh, it was awful. And, from all accounts, there were lack of organization, want of discipline, and absence of command that intensified the horrors of tile disaster and hastened the work of death and destruction.
A Tale of Agony.
The story of the calamity is intensely sorrowful as well as full of appalling anguish. Leaving Sydney on Wednesday evening, the Wairarapa had a pleasant passage across, and on Sunday at noon she was abreast of the North Cape. There, a dense fog settled down. Nautical men believe that this fog exercised a disturbing influence on the compasses, as certain fogs are apt to do, and probably they are right, for this reason: the captain of the Wairarapa thought he was on his right course when in reality there must have been an error of more than three-quarters of a point in his compass from the Cape. When ten o’clock at night came, the officers knew that they had run their distance to Mokohinau, where there is a lighthouse, but they could see nothing of the light. As a matter of fact, they were on the eastern or outer side of Mokohinau instead of on the western or inner side of it. The light they were looking for on the port side of the ship was really on the starboard side, though the fog made it invisible. There was much uneasiness on board. Many of the passengers seem to have had a presentiment that
Something Awful Was About
to happen and some of them would not undress or go to bed. Then, again, the anxious looks on the faces of the officers, and their frequent references to the log, strengthened the feeling of uneasiness amongst them. And the officers were anxious. Unquestionably, they believed Captain McIntosh was imprudent in maintaining a speed of 13 knots in view of the fact that there was land on either hand and that the exact position of the ship was problematical. There is evidence that such a feeling existed amongst them, because they talked the matter over amongst themselves, with the result that Mr Johnson, the third officer, whose watch it was, spoke to the Captain at eleven o’clock and asked him to slow down. It required some courage and firmness to make such a request, but Mr Johnston has shewn since the wreck that he possesses these qualities in a marked degree. Captain McIntosh declined to slow down. The ship was all right, he said, and going on her usual course. It was a mad, a fatuous policy. The night was pitchy dark, so dark, indeed, that lights were extinguished on deck to afford the captain a better chance to distinguish his surroundings, and yet the steamer was kept tearing on at full speed, everyone on board unconscious of the terrible fact that they were driving
Straight on to an Iron-bound Coast.
But the awful awakening soon came. At midnight, the watch was changed. Five minutes afterwards, the look-out man saw a blackness looming, up ahead, and at once gave tile alarm. The engines were reversed, but it was too late. With a terrible crash the Wairarapa hurled herself upon the rocks, and then there followed a crunching sound or sensation just as if she were making a bed for herself in a mass of shingle. It is not for us to narrate the agonizing scenes that followed. But they were heart - breaking. The passengers were awakened by a crash, and they crowded on to the deck. As they went they were supplied by the stewards and stewardesses with life-belts. The stewardesses, especially, were most courageous, remaining below for a considerable time, and with exemplary calmness reassuring the lady passengers and fastening the lifebelts on their bodies. On deck, the scene was one to strike dismay into the stoutest heart. There was no panic, and yet affecting scenes were witnessed on every hand. Scantily-clad women and children were crying, men and woman were kneeling on the deck praying, while men rushed hither and thither in the effort to launch the boats. There were
Few if Any Orders Given
beyond the one to get the boats out. The officers seemed paralysed, and though the men were prepared to obey orders, there seemed an absence of command. Necessarily, there was much confusion, and yet there was much individual effort. Organization and combination were lamentably lacking. From the moment the ship struck, seas were breaking over the port side, but as the vessel settled down and listed over these seas gradually became heavier, until at last one higher than the others washed a number of passengers overboard. Then, the scene became truly awful. Every wave carried off some at least of the human beings that were clinging to the sides of the vessel or to ropes or anything else they could get hold of. What must have been the feelings of those who remained. So great was the list of the ship to seaward that they expected every moment she would turn over altogether. Even as they held on for dear life, their friends and relatives were being washed away one by one and
The Piercing Screams They Uttered
as they disappeared in the darkness of the night will live for ever in the recollection of those who heard them. Most pathetic scenes were witnessed. Women with little babes clasped to their breasts appealed to the men to save them and their children. An even while they spoke they were washed away with the look of anguish on their faces. A father and mother and two daughters were washed overboard together. The resignation with which some people met their fate was marked. Husbands and wives, mothers and daughters, met their death together with wonderful fortitude and bravery. While this was happening, many people took refuge on the rigging and others on the bridge. Three of the boats were got into the water, but though the third and fourth officers were heard to ask the men to give way to the women and children the boats were chiefly filled by men, and the greater proportion of these belonged to the crew. The other boats were rendered useless by the heavy seas, but the rafts were cut loose and saved many lives. Some thirty horses, secured in the waist of the ship, were cut loose by the man in charge of them and added to the horrors of the situation, trampling amongst the mass of huddled humanity and injuring and killing some who might otherwise have escaped. The Captain remained upon the bridge until a quarter to three o’clock in the morning, but why he stayed there when there was so much to be done in the way of saving life has not been explained. It is thought that he was thoroughly dazed by the calamity. At a quarter to three, when the bridge was swaying to and fro and it was expected every moment to give way, Captain McIntosh was observed to jump over- board head first, and was not seen again. At three o’clock, the bridge was carried away, and sixty of those who had taken refuge Upon it were hurled into the sea. At this time, the water was filled with struggling, drowning and drowned humanity, while all around them were masses of wreckage and terror-stricken horses swimming hither and thither. The distance to the rocks was only a few yards, but the sea was literally a boiling one, and the people were tossed to and fro by the rise and fall of the waves as if they had been mere straws. Some there were who reached a ledge of rocks, but by far the greater proportion of those washed overboard perished. Mean- while, the boats were rowing about on the seaward side of the wreck picking up those that could be reached. As may be imagined, those who were rescued in this way were men.
Scene at Daybreak.
The scene at daybreak was dreadful. Dead bodies were floating everywhere. On the fore and after rigging, many people had taken refuge, and amongst these were the first and second officers. There is no record in all the narratives of survivors that have been published of any active part taken by these officers in saving life. Was it that they were not conspicuous and were overlooked? Or, on the other hand, were they also paralysed by the calamity and unable to do anything more than save themselves? That will be for the official enquiry’ to ascertain. We have heard one lady passenger speak with some warmth of the fact that the chief officer was perched securely near the top of the foremost, while below him, down even to the water’s edge, were women. Indeed, one woman was awash where she stood, and there were officers and men on the rigging above her all the way to the top of the mast. This fact may be capable of explanation, but say what we will, there is no gainsaying the fact that there was
Miserable Cowardice
shown by some of the men during the wretched hours of that dreadful night and morning as well as noble heroism and self- sacrifice by others But the greatest courage of’ all was shown by the women. Soon after dawn, it was decided to get a life-line to the rocks, which were only thirty or forty feet off, Second Officer Clark claims in an interview reported in the Herald that he undid the jib and signal halliards. The credit of this is due, however, to Fred Leighton, an Auckland boy, who climbed to the mast-head and released the line. Mr Dunlop, the second engineer, as brave a man as ever stepped in shoe- leather, essayed to swim ashore with the line, but failed, though he reached the rocks safely. Then Steward Kendall made the attempt and succeeded. Miss Williams and Miss Flavell were the first to try the line, but they both lost their lives in the effort to reach the shore. Miss Dickenson was the next, and she reached the rock safely. After this, the remainder of those on the rigging were rescued by means of the life-line. The boats had meanwhile gone to Catherine Bay, where they landed 55 people, being 97 passengers all told and 28 able.bodied men of the crew. No little children were saved; only five women were in the two boats; but there were fifty men.
Oh, the Shame of it!
Was it a case of every man for himself? All day long, the survivors on the narrow ledge of rock watched and waited for help. The only food they had was oranges, hundreds of which were floating about amongst the wreckage. . Everywhere around them wore corpses floating on the water, buoyed up by the life-belts attached to their bodies, so that the surroundings were gruesome in the extreme. One miraculous rescue happened. Those on the rock were watching what appeared to be a dead body when it raised a hand and waved for succour. Several men were appealed to to attempt the rescue but they declined, and Mr Ferguson, Secretary of the Wellington Harbour Board, also offered £25 to anyone who would go. Suddenly, Mr Tom. Roberts, an Auckland boy, volunteered and swimming out courageously with a line fastened it to what proved to be Miss Jane Williams, and swam ashore with her. She had been
Twelve Hours in the Water,
supported by life-buoys, and though benumbed with cold, was still strong and full of vitality. Roberts could not regain the ledge of rock, after the girl had been drawn up, but eventually a piece of whip cord was lowered which he wound around his fingers. Then he was hauled up, but the cord nearly severed one of his fingers from the hand and caused him excruciating pain. On the rooks, as on the wreck, there I was much inhumanity and selfishness shown by some of the men, while others proved themselves to be thorough heroes. The women who were rescued were all in a state of almost complete nudity, while some of the men were completely dressed and did not offer to part with a garment. It is related that when Miss Williams was brought ashore she had scarcely a stitch covering her. One would have thought that some man would have offered a coat or a shirt, but it was left to Miss Dickenson to divest herself of the only garment she had excepting her chemise, and place it upon the almost naked body of the rescued girl. One seaman, a man with a heart, then came forward and taking off his flannel shirt, gave it to Miss Dickenson. There has also been much indignation aroused by the fact that a clerical gentleman was comfortably wrapped in two overcoats, while women were shivering in the cold with scarcely a rag upon them. He was asked to give up one of his coats and did so when requested, but the shame of it was that it should have been necessary to prefer such a request. Surely any man with a spark of humanity in his breast would have denied himself for the sake of suffering women. But while there were some
Instances of Gross Selfishness
there were others of heroic self-sacrifice and courage. The rest of the sad tale is soon told. Maori boats from Catherine Bay rescued the survivors from the rocks at four o’clock on Monday afternoon, and the steamer Argyle brought them to town early on Thursday morning. Intense excitement was caused by the circulation of the news of the calamity, and the public sympathy with the survivors and sorrow for those who had perished were profound. Relief movements were at once set on foot, and steps taken to identify and inter the dead. A police party was sent to the Barrier for this purpose, and, as may be imagined, its duties have been of a most painful character. The police have, however, worked splendidly. Some of the corpses have been claimed by friends, and the others recovered have been interred side by side in rough shells, numbered, so that they may he exhumed subsequently if so desired without any difficulty or confusion. All the valuables found on the bodies have been preserved and banded to the police for restoration to the friends of the deceased.
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