That was frustrating and piqued Andrew’s curiosity even more. ‘There must be more facts available than that,’ he thought. But where, and who to ask?
The first person he asked was Mr Conkey, who suggested the internet. Andrew tried that but was disappointed. If there was information no one had yet transferred it to the computer in a usable form. He went back and told Mr Conkey of his lack of success. Mr Conkey suggested writing to the Oxley Library in Brisbane, and also to the State Archives to see if there was a government report. “There is always an official enquiry after any maritime disaster or accident,” he explained. “Or maybe you should rethink which topic to do your assignment on?” he added.
That just stiffened Andrew’s resolve. Now he was determined to find out more. ‘I will ask Gran and see if she can remember anything else,’ he decided.
After school Andrew pedalled home and had afternoon tea. He then telephoned his Gran to see if she was home. She was, and was more than happy for him to visit. As Andrew was getting his bike from under the house Carmen came home.
“Where are you going Little Brother?” she asked.
“To Gran’s. I want to ask her if she knows any more about the wreck of the Merinda,” Andrew replied. He explained his History assignment.
“Do you mind if I come?” Carmen asked.
“No. Let’s go. I want to be home before Mum and Dad,” Andrew replied.
“Suits me. I have to work tonight,” Carmen replied. She had just started part-time work at a supermarket as a ‘checkout chick’. This gave her nine or ten hours work each week on three evenings.
So brother and sister pedalled over to Till Street. Gran had afternoon tea set out ready. Seeing the fresh baked pumpkin scones and cream biscuits made Andrew feel quite guilty. ‘Gran doesn’t mind having visitors,’ he thought. ‘She is lonely and looks forward to them.’ To ease his guilty feelings he resolved to try to visit more often.
After two cups of tea and several scones Gran looked at him and said, “Well? What do you want to know this time?”
“Aw, Gran! I didn’t mean to make it sound like that,” Andrew said. “I just wanted to know more about Grandad and the ship he went looking for. But if it bothers you then don’t worry about it.”
“Of course it bothers me!” Gran replied. “It is the sort of thing you never forget, but life goes on, and at my age you’ve seen it all, so it doesn’t matter if I get a bit weepy. It is good that you want to know about your Grandad.”
“Thanks Gran,” Andrew answered, blushing with embarrassment. He finished another scone, then said, “I have to write a History assignment and I chose to do it on the wreck of the Merinda. But I can’t find any books on it and hoped you might have some information.”
Gran snorted. “Blasted ships! Well, I think there are a few old papers here somewhere but what they are about I am not sure. But if you want to talk to someone who knows a lot more than me then go and have a chat to old Michael McGackey. He worked on her as a cook I think; and he was a cook on a couple of ships that Bert was on as well.”
“Where do I find him Gran?” Andrew asked.
“Oh, the ‘Tropic Seas’ Retirement Home I think. I will ask,” Gran answered. “I will just look for those papers. You children eat some more scones while I do.”
Gran left them for about twenty minutes, then returned with a small pile of papers. One was a faded newspaper. “This talks about the wreck,” she says. “It has an interview with one of the survivors.”
“Survivors?” Andrew asked in surprise. “I didn’t think there were any.”
Gran shook her head. “No, three or four of the crew survived. That was how Bert knew where to go looking.”
Andrew and Carmen bent over the musty, yellowed page and read. It had a smudgy and blurred photo of the Merinda. That gave Andrew his first clear idea of what the ship looked like: superstructure taking up the aft half of the hull with cargo hold and focsle forward. A single black funnel, two lifeboats, two masts and an open bridge above the wheelhouse. ‘Built at Denny’s on the Clyde in 1912,’ read part of the explanation.
Three men had survived: a deckhand, a stoker and a passenger named Hoolihan. The deckhand, Frederick Longton, said that the ship struck a reef during a storm at night and had its bottom ripped out. ‘She sank like a stone,’ he said. ‘We only survived because we were on deck and were able to grab a raft as it floated past.’
There was a photo of the raft. To Andrew it looked like one of the ‘Carly Float’ type he had seen in photos of World War 2 ships- a float with ropes looped around the outside and a netting bottom. ‘The float on the beach at Bowen, held by Mr Rowbotham’, read the caption.
The survivors had drifted for four days in mountainous seas before washing ashore near Abbot Point, a few kilometres north of Bowen. When asked where the ship had gone down all the deckhand could say was: ‘Next morning I got a glimpse of Holbourne Island a few miles to the north.’ When pressed to confirm this he had commented that he was not sure. He had not been on duty for nearly 8 hours. ‘In fact, I was just going up to take over on the wheel at 4am,’ he said. ‘That was why I was awake and dressed. If I’d been asleep I would have gone down with the ship she sank so fast,’ he added.
The deckhand added that when he had been on duty as the quartermaster at the wheel the previous afternoon he had noted the pencil line on the chart indicating the ship’s planned course ran quite close to Holbourne Island. ‘That was normal,’ he explained. ‘The main shipping route goes near it, keeping well clear of Nares Rock (The rock on which the SS Gothenberg was wrecked in 1875 with the loss of 102 lives) and I have seen Holbourne Island a dozen times on previous voyages.’
On reading about the wreck of the Gothenberg Andrew was amazed. “There seem to have been a lot of wrecks in that area,” he commented.
Gran nodded. “I think there have been. A dangerous piece of water. Now, here is the one about the loss of the Deeral.” She handed him a newspaper cutting.
One glance made Andrew’s chest tighten with emotion and anxiety. There were two blurry photos but he had already seen the original of one. It showed two white men and two black men standing on the deck of a small ship in Cairns Inlet. The other was of a small motor vessel.
THREE LOCAL MEN PERISH AT SEA read the headline. TREASURE HUNT TURNS INTO TRAGEDY was the sub-heading. Andrew met Carmen’s eye and bit his lip. The photo was the one in the album at home and showed Bert Collins and Joshua Murchison. The two black men were not named in the caption. However they were named in the first paragraph.
‘The sea has claimed the lives of three local men who had spent their working lives on it. Last Wednesday the 56 foot motor launch Deeral struck a reef off the Whitsunday Islands in bad weather and sank. Mr Joshua Murchison, one of the partners who owned the boat, was the only survivor. The other partner, local salvage expert and diver Mr Bert Collins, went down with the vessel. Also lost at sea in this second maritime tragedy in two weeks were two crewmen, Francis Sailboat and Solomon Tapau.’
Andrew glanced at the photos again, then read on. ‘The men set off in an attempt to locate the wreck of the SS Merinda which sank off Bowen two weeks ago. It was rumoured that they were hoping to find the wreck and salvage a large quantity of gold that was part of the Merinda’s cargo.’
‘According