PASSENGER ACCOUNT - SHARK BAY.

Western Mail, Perth, Saturday 10 April, 1909.

WITH THE KOOMBANA.

ON A SAND-BANK IN SHARKS BAY.

(By a Passenger.)

(See Illustrations, Page 27.)

A heavy haze hung over the bay, 

rendering Dirk Hartog, along which we

steamed a parallel course, vague and in-

distinct. But we pursued our way confidently

resting on the captain's long experience of 

the coast. Round a buoy we swept and 

made south-east. The buoys along this 

channel had a fortnight before been 

altered by the "Penguin" party, and the 

second buoy was mistaken for the first 

buoy by the captain. Shortly after seven 

(Monday, March 15) the engine-room bell 

rings, the engines are reversed, but, with 

a gr-r-r-oot the fine vessel is well up on a 

sandbank in an average of fourteen feet 

of water. "Hard astern" - but she will not 

budge an inch.

The passengers gradually come upon deck

and learn of the mishap, but are slow to

believe she is not at the anchorage, and

that the rumour of the stranding is not

a huge joke for the diversion of the 

officers. Before ten a white sail is seen

glinting through the haze. It slowly enlarges, 

becomes more and more distinct, till at last 

the lighter "Success" (40 tons) is moored 

alongside. They had left Fresh Water Camp 

about the time we went aground, and made 

the anchorage in good time. All eyes strain 

along the horizon to catch first sight of the new

vessel.

"There she is !" cries the water-police officer, 

as he sees a perpendicular streak of yellow, 

fitful in the shifting haze. But no one else can 

make it out. The lighter cruises some miles 

round the buoy. Again the officer picks out 

the long funnel. This time, others back him up.

"But she hasn't shifted her position

must be aground."

"If she's piled up on the bloomin' sand,

I'm darned sorry fer ol' Cap'n Rees, so I

am !" says a broad, stumpy, weather-

beaten pearler, with a round, hearty

face above a sparse circular-cut grey

beard. "Darned sorry !"

Other longer-bearded, kindly faces

echo real regrets. "We'd better go

see if we can give the o' cap'n any help,"

suggests one.

So away they bear in the direction of

the yellow funnel.

As they draw alongside near noon,

good-humoured banter passes from

lighter to steamer, and from steamer to

lighter. A Broome pearler calls down to

the hearty-faced Denham pearler, pointing 

to the spray-damped deck: "Rather dry 

down there?"

"No bloomin' fear," says the pearler

below, stooping and picking up a half

empty whisky bottle; "what d'ye think

o' that?"

"Cold tea," says the pearler above.

There ascends an indignant answer, at

which there is a feu de joie of noisy

laughter along the deck.

Twenty tons of cargo and four or five

passengers are taken aboard the lighter,

and late in the afternoon, in company

with two pearling cutters, a start is

made for the shore.

In the evening, in the exquisitely-fitted

tastefully-furnished music room a concert

is held, and as is usual in the case of

musical evenings organised in the dark,

much pleasing talent is brought to light,

some not quite so pleasing, but all doing

their best to make the time pass merrily

and pleasantly. The first officer's sympathetic 

baritone voice, the second officer's artistic 

handling of the mandolin, and the chief 

engineer's "auld Scotch sangs in the braid 

tongue" were received with special appreciation. 

The best part of the evening was when we 

gathered round the piano and heartily sang the

old-fashioned choruses. 

We expected to get off that night, but awoke 

on Tuesday morning to see the Island and Peron

Peninsula, the one eight, the other thirteen miles 

from us, both clearly in view on either side, and 

below us, through the still water, the bank which 

held us fast. The passengers, and even the officers, 

seemed in good spirits and confident of an early move, 

and so we set ourselves to make enjoyment. Some 

availed themselves of the fine library of fiction in the

music-room, some of the ladies gave themselves to 

fancy needlework, the men were chiefly found in the 

smoking-room at cards or draughts. Many of the rest 

beguiled the hours at the exciting and noisy games of 

rope quoits and deck billiards, while a favoured few 

consoled themselves by the time-honoured and 

strangely-fascinating pastime of flirtation. As a relief 

in the programme of amusements, the sound of the 

bugle calling us to maxillary warfare was a thrice-welcome 

sound, for we developed appetites of which our mothers 

might be proud - but anxious.

Fishing, too, was indulged in, and one

fish-fancier hauled in a six-foot shark. He

was a tiger, and vigorously objected to

leaving his native element. But when a

Winchester sent five leaden ideas into his

dull head, one per medium of his left

eye, one through his nose, and the rest

between his grinning jaws, he seemed

more prepared to submit to fate. Then

a noose was passed over his body, and he

was hauled level with the lower deck,

where a bright youth extracted half a

dozen molars and another hewed off the

tail for bait, after which the hook was

cut free, the noose loosened, and the 

remains committed to the deep.

The chief diversion on Wednesday was

watching the ineffectual attempts of our

oil launch to get to the shore. The wind

had freshened, and everywhere sea-horses

shook their manes angrily, but through

them the launch forced its troubled way,

from time to time burying itself in clouds

of spray, till the milky way that followed 

resolved itself into sea green, and we 

knew that the engine had been swamped. 

The sail was hoisted, and back they came.

Next day, the Captain and a few of the

passengers essayed the journey again,

reaching the settlement after a rocky

time. On shore they were deluged with

queries. The wag of the party was in

form. He was asked how we were get-

ting on for provisions.

"Nearly run out," he said. "Fact is,

ma'am, we're eating the poultry 

consigned to Cossack and other places."

"But," protested the lady, "surely the

captain has not the right to kill other

people's fowls?*'

"What are we to do?" he rejoined; "he

can't see us starve. Anyway, we've nearly 

run out of the fowls, but there's a donkey 

aboard, and there is talk of starting on him 

next."

All Friday morning we watched for

signs of the "Winfield," which we heard

was on its way from Geraldton to help

us off. And when about noon we saw

her smoke low down on the horizon near

the north end of the island we felt that

the end of our sojourn had come. After

lunch, she was opposite us, near the 

channel, lightly touching a sandbank. 

Back she went again some miles, and 

then straight in along the track we had 

come, till at half-past two she drew alongside

amid the excited gratitude of the passengers. 

The second-class had no reserve, but warmly 

cheered Capt. Hayman as the bridge passed 

them. As she was mooring, some of us saw a 

snake in the water. We judged it six feet long. 

A lady or two feared it might get up the side.

"Is it dangerous?" inquired one.

"Dangerous?" answered a gentleman at

her side; "they say that if you fell over-

board it would swallow you whole."

"No," sail the young lady incredulously, 

"it isn't wide enough."

"But," said he, "you forget that snakes

stretch tremendously. I knew a lady who

killed a two-foot snake, and before she

got home it was six feet."

Each night when we hung out a great

arc light on the lee side, water snakes

and pike and all manner of fish swam

about in full view, but declined to be

drawn. One morning, a party of 

passengers took a dinghy and sailed ten 

miles to a little island, near which they 

drew in about sixty schnapper, besides 

killing three sharks.

The "Winfield" set to work to lighten us, 

and removed a deal of our cargo from 

the mid hatch. Twice next morning attempts 

were made to get us off, both screws going 

astern at full speed, but though our boat 

became much agitated (the excitement, 

probably) not an inch would she move. 

On Sunday our rescuer stood off from 

our stern, almost at right angles, and, 

getting her anchors out, pulled on them, 

while the screws of both steamers spun 

round but, again, not an inch. That day we

had church services conducted by a 

Congregational minister. We passed the day

more quietly than other days, and some

showed signs of being depressed. We

commenced to lose faith in the ability

of the "Winfield" to get us off unaided.

And when the rumour went round that

our rescuer was herself on a bank, our

spirits went down below zero. But it

was not for long. On Monday and 

Tuesday, we were still quiet, hoping for 

something to turn up, efforts being again

made without success. The crew worked

long hours transferring the cargo from

the fore hatch into the "Winfield," the

lighter "Success" helping, as it was

feared the large steamer was pushing the

"Koombana" more firmly into the sand.

On Wednesday morning, the Captain

went ashore again in the oil launch, 

leaving his instructions with the mate. 

While he was away the tide rose to the full

and a strong effort was made to pull the 

"Koombana's" nose round. We all watched 

anxiously, taking points on the mainland ahead. 

Excitement spread through all the ship when 

our landmarks slowly moved past, and the 

steamer slewed round, but not without such 

a list to the deck that many an anxious question 

was asked as to whether there was danger of

capsizing. We had come round four points of the 

compass. But the stern had turned a little on a 

pivot of sand, and next tide must be waited for to 

complete the work. Meanwhile, the lighter took 

out an anchor from the nose, and dropped it to 

starboard a few hundred yards from us to 

prevent any slipping back here. Then we waited 

the return of the captain. We were all sorry the 

attempt had not been fully successful, chiefly 

because we had been planning to greet the 

captain with three-times-three. For to a man 

the passengers are with Captain Rees, and 

freely express sympathy with him in this mishap.

During Thursday morning, the "Winfield" moved 

into position out from our stern, got the steel-wire 

hawser fixed, and by lunch time everything was in 

readiness. At a little after two o'clock, the winches 

drew on the anchor chains, the screws began to revolve, 

the hawser became taut, the wire rope on our fore

anchor strained, and round we swung into deep water, 

and forged astern till the two steamers were opposite. 

We were at last out of danger, after ten days seven hours 

on the sandbank, and after ten attempts of the "Winfield" 

to get us off. Every face brightened, men slapped each 

other on the back, some bold spirits broke the ship's 

rules and stormed the bridge, where the captain was 

pacing with brisker step. And as his hand was warmly 

wrung, much of the worn anxious expression left his face.

"This has taken twenty years off my life," he said, sadly. 

"If those buoys had not been altered, this would never

have happened."

Up with the anchor and right about

turn ! And with a graceful curve round

the stern of the "Winfield" we steam

some three or four miles and drop anchor

in seven fathoms of water. The "Winfield" 

comes alongside as night falls, and

begins the long task of re-loading.

Everyone has warm congratulations and

thanks for Capt. Hayman when he comes

aboard, and he takes it all with a smile

and a joke. We feel in the humour to

shake the hand of everybody we meet who

has had any part in getting us off. On

everybody's lips there is the same glad

words! "We'll be in Carnarvon by Sunday night."

Behind that, there looms up the vision

of homes, and the deferred re-unions 

become more tender and earnest by the

delay.

What a delightful and detailed account ! 10 days on the sandbank was nothing short of a disaster. I guess we will never know if the donkey survived the duration. From the description it seems the hull of the Koombana was subjected to considerable forces, including those of being dragged by the Winfield. Latent or patent damage incurred, which would play a part in the disaster to come ??

This is my estimation of the position of the Koombana, 14 miles from Denham and 1.7 miles offshore.