Michael Veitch - Hell Ship

Sick and bewildered, not understanding why help from Melbourne had failed to arrive, Dr Sanger that evening dictated a midnight letter to James Veitch (which, 131 years later, I would find in the Public Record Office in Kew). He intended it to be read by the highest authorities in the colony, but not knowing exactly who they were, he addressed it somewhat generally to ‘the Colonial Secretary’, who at that time was also Port Phillip’s first police magistrate, William Lonsdale.

Sir,

I have the honour to announce the arrival of the Ship Ticonderoga from Liverpool with a large number of government immigrants on board under my superintendence.

I deeply regret to have to inform you of the serious amount of formidable sickness prevalent during the whole Voyage, especially toward the latter part, and of the long list of Fatal cases resulting therefrom, in the greater numbers from Scarlatina and other Febrile diseases, nearly the whole of which have assumed a Typhoid character… which appears rather on the increase than otherwise and I fear will continue to do so as long as the emigrants are in the vessel. The Deaths have been 100 in number and Births 19. No. of souls dispatched from Liverpool 795. There are at present at least 250 patients requiring treatment, and both my coadjutor Mr Veitch and myself are almost wearied out by the constant demand for our services, especially as it is impossible to get proper nurses for the sick in sufficient numbers. [1] Letter from Dr Sanger, Victorian Public Records, VPRS 1189/112/52/8252

He then requests

sufficient supplies of medicines including, Porter and Ale, Wine and Brandy sufficient for the Emergency; also a quantity of beds and bedding as those belonging to the majority of the patients seriously ill are completely spoiled. As the state of the Emigrants demands steps to be taken instantly for their relief, the Captain and myself have made arrangements for the removal of a portion of them on Shore, a covering of a temporary nature being in the course of erection. From the statement of the Pilot who directed us to proceed to the Quarantine ground, and informed us that the Emigrants might go on shore, we expected to have been visited by the health officer to-day, but as no less than seven persons have died within the last 24 hours, and many more are in a very precarious state, we have deemed it indispensably necessary to apply for the articles annexed without delay. [2] Letter from Dr Sanger, Victorian Public Records, VPRS 1189/112/52/8252

When, a few days later, Lonsdale put the letter in front of Lieutenant-Governor La Trobe, the worst of his earlier fears for the Ticonderoga were confirmed.

The morning following Sanger’s late-night missive, Captain Ferguson, along with the new sanitary station superintendent Joseph Taylor, finally arrived aboard the fully laden Empire . Having sailed through the night, he pulled up in the Empire and stood off from the much larger ship lying quietly at anchor in the little cove called Abraham’s Bosom. ‘What ship is that?’ Ferguson called. At first there was no response to the prescribed maritime ritual. He hailed her again. ‘What ship is that?’ If the captain was not on deck, the officer of the watch would normally be the one designated to make the response. But the great black clipper was as quiet as the grave. Eventually, a weary voice hailed back in the dawn light across the glassy still water, ‘ Ticonderoga ’.

Taking a risk that pilot Henry Draper refused to even consider, Ferguson went straight aboard, accompanied by Dr Taylor, to meet with Boyle, Sanger and Veitch. As they listened to what these three exhausted men told them of the voyage, as well as what they could see for themselves, Ferguson realised things were even worse than he had thought. Boyle appeared spent, a man utterly at the end of his tether, Veitch not much better and Sanger still ill.

The deaths on board had now well exceeded 100, Boyle continued, with more people dying every day. More than 200 were still sick. More than a dozen bodies were lying here on the deck—some had been there for days—and their immediate burial was of critical concern. Looking around at this scene of horror, a suddenly very pale Joseph Taylor began to glean what he had so hastily signed up for. One of the most recent deaths, Boyle then said, was his very own brother, the Ticonderoga ’s third mate, William Boyle, who had succumbed to the fever just hours earlier. The visiting men offered their sincerest sympathies, and from that moment, Harbour Master Ferguson took charge of the situation.

In his report penned to Governor La Trobe a few days later, which has survived, Ferguson recounts a whirlwind of activity that he instigated in the days following his arrival. His first and most urgent task was to bury the dead. Then he needed to transfer the large amount of stores from the Empire to the shore , working the two ships’ crews hard in the November sunshine. He soon realised that the little Empire ’s holds were not nearly generous enough for this emergency. The Lysander , he knew, was being prepared for sail and should arrive soon, but even with what she held, more would be needed. Leaving an increasingly alarmed Dr Taylor to gather a thorough understanding of the state of illness on board, as well as to sort out the stores, Ferguson and Veitch ventured ashore to inspect the makeshift hospital under canvas and ti-tree branches, as well as the patients it contained. Here, Veitch explained, they—as had he—spent their first night off the ship, accompanied where possible by members of their families and some of the remaining nurses, such as Annie Morrison and the indefatigable Fannings; however, more properly trained medical and nursing staff were sorely needed. Ferguson wrote, ‘I landed and found about forty of the sick people in temporary tents near the lime-kiln and houses occupied by Mr Patrick Sullivan.’ [3] Welch, 1969, p. 23

Sullivan would not occupy them for long. In his hand, Ferguson brandished an order for the eviction of all tenants within the proposed quarantine area, the boundaries of which would now be outlined. They would, he added, be generously compensated for the breaking of their leases, as well as the requisitioning of their dwellings. He trusted that there would be no trouble. Enlisting some of the burlier members of the crews of the Empire and the Ticonderoga , he made his authority clear to the assembled families and delivered the news. It was all here in black and white, he said, signed personally by the Lieutenant-Governor himself, that he, Charles Ferguson, Harbourmaster

holds an authority from me… to take such steps as may be found desirable in withdrawing from licensed occupation such portion of land as may be required for the purpose of the immediate formation of a quarantine station at the Heads… [4] Welch, 1969, p. 22

Then, heading off into the bush with a small pot of whitewash, Ferguson paced out what he considered to be the reasonably accurate boundary of the station. It was not by any standards a fastidious measurement, and would not have met with the approval of his colleague the Surveyor-General, Robert Hoddle, but this was far from a normal situation.

Sullivan had built a series of wattle and daub cottages, including a reasonably substantial one of three rooms and a small dairy cellar, albeit in disrepair, which lay in the middle of the proposed station. This, explained Ferguson, would now be requisitioned and occupied by the sick, for which Sullivan would be compensated £200: ‘I also arranged with Mr William Cannon who holds a lime-burner’s licence within the limits of the proposed quarantine ground to remove to the Westward of the boundary line.’ [5] Welch, 1969, p. 23