now the green vegetation of Cape Otway was only thirteen miles ahead. Ten more miles passed and the Sussex signalised its name to the lighthouse and had it signalised back. The lighthouse would now telegraph Melbourne to notify our ship’s presence. The passengers were excited and overjoyed. They had been advised to anticipate our arrival in Melbourne on New Years Day 1872. At 2 p.m. with Cape Otway just in arrears the passengers congregated in the saloon to celebrate the completion of a most uneventful voyage. To acknowledge gratitude a testimonial was collected. This was presented to Captain Collard in appreciation of his skill and kindness.
Afterwards I went to feed Morris Abrahams for the very last time. The poor wretch was sitting in his cell chained to the lower bunk. Once he saw me he started yelling, “Down, down she goes, down,” and then recommenced his loud lamentations and Hebrew prayers. I tried to console him by telling him that land had been sighted and this was our last night on board. He took some fluids but refused solid food. When he finished drinking he gave me a contemptuous stare and then lay down awkwardly. His head crashed rather heavily onto his pillow. I left him there looking exhausted, a truly pitiful sight, the long heavy chain attached to his dangling left arm rattling continuously.
Sunset heralded in a moonless night, dark and hazy. Preparations for the New Year’s Eve celebrations had already begun. A combined concert and dance was to be held in the saloon but I withdrew from the merrymaking having decided on an early night instead. I don’t hold my liquor well and more than anything I wanted a clear head when we landed in the morning. It was after 9 p.m. but sometime before 10 that a flashing light was noted on the starboard bow. Everyone on deck saw it, ‘on off, on off,’ and the second mate was sent up to the masthead to investigate. He reported additional lights on the port bow. Captain Collard took these second lights to be Queenscliff and ordered the blue lights for the pilot craft to be brought up on deck. Suddenly on the starboard beam a second ship was sighted firing blue lights and a rocket, and then land was seen close by, dead ahead. Captain Collard now mistakenly determined that the flashing light was Cape Schanck Lighthouse well to the east of the heads and that he had run his distance too far. At once he ordered the helm hard a-starboard and the crossjack yard braced. The ship was made to turn sharply and before the mistake was realised it had run aground on a reef and started to take in water.
Crash, crash, crash! The grating sound of the undersurface of the ship’s hull on the rocks startled me from my slumber. Water gushed into my cabin. I jumped down from my top bunk and pulled my trousers up under my night-shirt. The crushing and splintering continued; the undersurface appeared to be cracking up into pieces. The water had now risen up to my neck. I waded through it in darkness, groping for the steps that led to the deck. A young woman was on the steps struggling to save both herself and a young child that she was holding in her arms; both of them weighed down by her drenched garments. I grabbed her hair and pulled her out of a watery grave by dragging her up the stairway. There was no other choice. Despite the pain I had obviously inflicted on her she didn’t utter a whimper and couldn’t thank me enough.
On deck confusion reigned. It would eventually be revealed that Captain Collard had mistaken Point Lonsdale for Point Nepean. Instead of our ship entering Port Phillip Bay it had run aground on rocks just west of Barwon Heads, ten miles short of Queenscliff.
Morris Abrahams had been completely forgotten. It was left for me to remind Captain Collard about him. The captain immediately ordered the third mate to help me, and when we couldn’t find the key to the padlock on Abrahams’ chains, the ship’s carpenter was conscripted as well. The three of us made our way down to the lockup. Once again I plunged through the water finding poor Abrahams, standing up in his cell holding on to the top bunk with his free right hand, the water level up to his nipples. He was whimpering like a terrified animal. The carpenter knocked out the piece of board to which his chain was fastened and then we led him up through the water onto the poop. We released him there, when crazed with grief he made a rush for the side of the ship and attempted to jump into the sea. I grabbed him. “Tie him to the mast,” the captain yelled. And Morris Abrahams was tied to the ship’s mast - thus becoming the terrible centrepiece to an awful scene - that of a demented Jew, shivering in a wet night-shirt, appearing as crucified, with a chain and board attached to his left arm, and watched by close to a hundred agonised spectators.
The ship was still lurching and gave another terrific bump! We all fell to one side. The rolling seas tossed it over the rocks onto a sandbank. More bumps - how many is impossible to recall - and then it finally wedged hard aground. Only the poop, the fo’c’sle, and the saloon remained clear of the water.
Captain Collard ordered the blue lights fired and the rockets launched and this was repeated at intervals, until supplies ran out at midnight. The passengers were directed into the saloon. Sitting on tables they were reassured that they were safe, but warned that they may have to abandon ship soon and their luggage would almost certainly be lost. Many remained unconvinced as to their safety until a fire, lit on the beach six hundred yards away, provided relief by showing them that they were not alone.
A farmer by the name of Angus, who lived close by, had seen the rockets ascending, and ran down to the beach to find out what was wrong. Seeing a fully rigged ship run aground just six hundred yards offshore, he lit a fire on the sand hills to announce his presence. When a neighbour arrived to relieve him Angus got onto his horse and rode hard to Geelong. Within an hour he had reported the news to Mr. Bookey, the Police Superintendent, who, in turn, telegraphed Melbourne and Queenscliff, and requested that several ships be sent post haste to the wreck.
Meanwhile on the Sussex John Collard made his second serious error, a decision that resulted in five brave volunteers losing their lives. Third Officer O’Flaherty and seamen Graham, Churcher, Feast, Milliner, and Labton were launched for Queenscliff in a small boat to raise the alarm. They managed to row clear of the Sussex but after less than an hour their small craft was swamped. Only Labton, a particularly strong swimmer, managed to make it to shore.
By daylight assistance had not arrived. People were visible on the beach but they could not launch a rescue. The seas were too high and the breakers too dangerous. No boat or swimmer could have survived them. Several hours passed. We were hungry, thirsty and tired. It wasn’t till noon that we noticed a thin wisp of smoke in the direction of the heads. Half an hour later a small craft became visible on the horizon. It was the paddle steamer Titan, the first of several ships to arrive at the wreck. It anchored a quarter to half a mile seaward of the Sussex and the work of rescue was begun. By means of small boats dropped over the sides all those aboard the Sussex were transferred to the Titan. Women and children went first. The captain, the first mate, the boatswain, Abrahams and myself were the last five on board. We lowered Abrahams from the Sussex by a rope wound round his waist. I was in the waggling boat below entrusted with the job of catching him. Once more he attempted to jump into the sea and very nearly capsized our lifeboat in the process. “Sit on him Frenchy,” cried out the first mate. I sat tautly on Abrahams’ chest while the first mate caught hold of the remainder of the rope, which had been left dangling on the side of the ship. The captain and I baled out water while the first mate and the boatswain pulled hard at the oars. The lifeboat continued to take water but despite this and Abrahams’ incessant wriggling we managed to make it to the Titan. I leapt onto the deck, and then pulled Abrahams aboard with the rope tied around his body.
The Titan now steamed back to the heads but not before Abrahams provided us with a last diversion. Predictably he made a rush for the railing and tried to throw himself into the sea. We crucified him again up against the funnel of the Titan.
At Queen’s Wharf, Queenscliff, we were transferred to another paddle steamer, the Challenge, to take us on to Melbourne. It had been despatched to the wreck, but arrived too late to partake in the rescue.
So you now know how Maurice Brodzky, devoid of his personal possessions, with just a few coins in pocket, first set foot on Australian soil on New Years Day 1872.
The Challenge departed Queenscliff and sailed due north