Today marks 150 years since the flagship of the Royal Navy’s Australian squadron sank off the entrance to the Manukau harbour. It was a beautiful sunny day but there was a hidden danger lurking beneath the waves. At about 1:30pm the Orpheus hit a submerged sand bar. Of the 259 crew only 70 would survive, the rest were claimed by the sea.
![Illustrated London news (Newspaper). Illustrated London news :The wreck of H. M. S. Orpheus on Manukau Bar, New Zealand. [London, 1863]. Ref: PUBL-0033-1863-437. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. http://natlib.govt.nz/records/22912580](https://historygeeknz.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/orpheus.jpg?w=1300)
Illustrated London news (Newspaper). Illustrated London news :The wreck of H. M. S. Orpheus on Manukau Bar, New Zealand. [London, 1863]. Ref: PUBL-0033-1863-437. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. http://natlib.govt.nz/records/22912580
The 150th anniversary is going to be commemorated in a number of ways, starting today. Check out the details here, (along with Caroline Fitzgerald’s fascinating personal link to the wreck).
To mark the anniversary I had a look through some of the old newspapers to see if there was an article that might be worth republishing – then I had a thought. This wasn’t just a New Zealand disaster, sure the ship sank here but it was the flagship of the Australian squadron and surely that makes it an Australian disaster as much as a New Zealand one. So I changed tack and started looking across the Tasman.
While reading through Australian newspaper reports from the time I stumbled across a poem dedicated to the tragedy. It seems a fitting tribute to mark the 150th anniversary.
THE WRECK OF THE ORPHEUS.
The busy marts of Sydney
Look gloomily to-day ;
A cloud seems brooding on the shore
A shadow o’er the bay ;
And ev’ry brow is darken’d
And pale is ev’ry cheek
As shudd’ring hearers catch the words
Of those who dread to speak.
And well may pulses flutter,
And well may cheeks grow pale ; The whisper’d tidings of the hour
Might bid the sternest quail.
They tell of ripen’d manhood,
Of youth in early bloom
Of pious zeal, and valour’s fire
O’erwhelm’d by sudden doom. Of friends whom late we greeted
But ne’er may greet again —
Of twice fourscore true British hearts
All cold beneath the main !
How gaily speeds the good ship !
Along the sunlit sea !
The wave-swept bar of Manukau
Lies broad upon her lee —
Behind it spreads her haven ;
The matter, chart in hand
Thro’ channels mark’d in other years,
Heads inward for the land.
But woe betide the falsa chart
That told its tale amiss,
And made the truth of other days
The meeking lie of this !
And woe betide the false breeze,
That blew so fresh and light,
Yet urged the long green billows on Before its voice of might —
And woe betide the false sea
That smiled but to betray,
And told not where the fatal bank
Lay ambush’d on the way.
One shock — as when the earthquake
Upheaves a groaning land —
Her stern hangs wavering in the surge,
Her bows are deep in sand.
Back — back the lab’ring engines !
The huge steam-giants fail
To move her ‘gainst the mighty swell
That rolls before the gale.
Alas ! the gallant Orpheus !
She lies a prostrate wreck :
The surges climb her lofty side
And thund’ring sweep the deck.
But not a British seaman
In that dread moment quail’d, Nor waver’d ancient discipline,
Nor duty’s impulse fail’d.
Each took his post of danger
As prompt as on parade ;
Each signal, tho’ at cost of life, Was fearlessly obey’d.
The boats were manned in silence ;
No voice from high or low
Repined or question’d at the word
That bade them stay or go.
The launch has fill’d and founder’d
With all her noble crew —
Hurrah ! for those two happier barks
That yet shall save their few. Away they speed for succour ;
Hope gleams, but Fate is nigh ; The few go forth to toil in vain, The many wait — to die.
The weary hours crept onward
The waves broke fierce and fast ;
And fainter waxed the hands, that clung
By slipp’ry shroud or mast. Yet ere the good ship parted
A ringing, pealing cry,
The voice of souls that knew not fear
Went up from sea to sky.
A shout, as when our foemen
Disheartened in the fray
Before the shock of British steel
Recoil and shrink away.
Then spoke the gallant Burnett —
No meaner voice was heard —
” God’s mercy on our parting souls !”
So rang the latest word.
And he who heard and tells it,
In fancy long shall hear
Dim echoes of that proud farewell,
That thrice-repeated cheer.
Then came an awful silence,
A hush as of the grave,
Save one deep tone — the ocean’s moan,
Above the dying brave.
Without one shriek or murmur,
As men who ” fall on sleep,”
They gave their spirits up to God,
Their bodies to the deep.
It is not when our squadrons
In furious onset close,
When man to man and foot to foot
They mingle with their foes,
When rolls the deaf’ning volley
And war-clouds dim the air — It is not then that best is known
What British hearts can dare. For then the lust of combat
That lurks in ev’ry breast,
The tiger-instinct of our kind
Is raging unrepress’d.
And friends are nigh, to cheer us,
And foes to taunt our flight —
He scarce were man, who shrank from Death
Amid the press of fight.
But when the King of Terrors
Comes slowly, stride by stride,
The valiant front the stern advance,
The feeble blench aside.
And they are more than victors
In worse than battle’s strife
Who swerve no step from Duty’s path
Altho’ the bribe be life.
We cannot choose but sorrow,
Tho’ trembling Faith suggest There is a Lord of life and death
And what He wills is best.
We cannot choose but sorrow —
A nation’s tears must flow,
And yearnings deep of kindred love
Outlast the publio woe.
But Time shall bring to anguish
A sure tho’ slow relief,
And mellow into soft regrets
The bitter wine of grief.
Then many a British mourner
With tearful pride shall tell
Of trophies in an unfought field
Of valour proved too well. The heroes of the Orpheus
Shall have their meed of fame, Wherever floats the British flag,
Or sounds the British name.
I, too, would twine a garland
Of simple, fading flowers,
And lay it humbly on the tomb
Of those whose fame is ours :
Who own’d no selfish murmur,
Who drew no coward breath ;
To Honor, Faith, and Duty true,
Tho’ “face to face with Death.”
This was originally published in the Sydney Morning Herald, 24th February 1863. Sourced from ‘Trove’, the Australian National Library.
© Lemuel Lyes
Categories: Maritime
Like true oratory prowess, our skills at commemorative poetry have faltered in modern times. To think someone composed this had it published only 2 or so weeks after the event. Was the poet credited?
Unfortunately the author wasn’t mentioned. It certainly seems like a quick reaction to the event – especially as it would’ve taken some time for the news to reach Sydney.
Yes, very quick. Love the blog Lemuel. Thanks for looking in at mine.
Good point about the trans-Tasman connection. Definitely the most lethal wreck to occur on our shores. Apropos death tolls (if a little off-topic), I got involved a while back in an interesting issue to do with the 1931 HB quake toll, which is officially 256. But there are 258 names on the memorial. As far as I can tell it was a simple arithmetical mistake in the final official report, possibly adding a Mohaka casualty to both the Wairoa and Napier totals, but it’s not really clear how it happened.
Even today, one or two historians have tried to question even that toll. One of the big problems was that not all the bodies were ever found despite an incredible effort that even produced shop window dummies. That was coupled with at least two cases of people trying to escape their debts by leaving the district and changing their identities. They were found – an indication of just how thoroughly officials went through the process. But there were still uncertainties. One of the quake slips was still there, un-moved, 40 years later when I was a kid in Napier. It had never been touched because more than one eyewitness insisted they’d seen a car buried there. Finally, after all those decades, it was cleared. No car.
My take is that the generation who went through that quake had also gone through the First World War. They had endured the horrors of the ‘unknown soldiers’ – of missing men who were never ever found. And they were not going to have that happen in their own back yards. The effort to find and enumerate the toll was simply fantastic, utterly thorough – and unlikely to miss anything. I think the final figure of 258 was very likely to be the one for that reason. But in any event, the difference of a few either way doesn’t reduce the general human impact of the whole disaster, or its historical meaning for New Zealand.
Never thought about how the Napier earthquake would’ve impacted on the veterans of the war, but that makes complete sense. And that is a fascinating story about the slip having gone untouched all that time.