The Vincennes
By John Morcombe, Manly Daily, 13 March 1996, p10.
Scan 20.10.2004. The Vincennes aground, 1906, photographer not known. MML
On the night of 24th May 1906, the steel barque, Vincennes was making her way
slowly down the peninsula coast 66 days after leaving Yokohama carrying nothing but
ballast. The previous day the ship’s captain had mistaken The Skillion at Terrigal for
Sydney Heads and only a timely warning from local fishermen saved the ship from
mishap. Now, with the Vincennes sailing into heavy seas and driving rain, it was Manly’s
turn to be mistaken in the darkness for Sydney.
One crewman said that, thinking he was off the Heads, the captain burnt blue lights to
alert the pilot boat of his need to be led into port, but could not understand why his
signals drew no response, and was consequently blown ashore. But another crewman
told the press a red light high on the port bow was mistaken for the entrance to the
harbour, but locals denied there was any light which could have befuddled the French.
As the stormy seas drove the Vincennes towards shore, distress flares were fired,
and when the helm would not answer and the sound of the surf was heard, the anchor
was dropped, but too late. The ship came ashore stern first between Pine and Carlton
streets, then swung around parallel to the beach, where the pounding of the waves
worked the ship even deeper into the soft sand.
A few wet and bedraggled sailors made to ashore and, despite language problems,
declared the crew were in good health and spirits and felt in no danger, then returned to
their ship.
When the locals realised the drama was minimal, the scene took on a carnival
atmosphere. Members of the Manly town band had been drinking in a local hotel and,
1
despite the rain, gave the Frenchmen a sodden, if not sozzled, rendition of the French
national anthem.
But the night was not without drama – small boats were smashed and many heads
dunked during the night as the authorities tried to maintain communications with the
ship. The pilot boat had already decided that the seas were too rough to attempt a
rescue.
Postcard dated May 26 1906, printed by J R Trenerry of the Corso, Manly. ‘They are only just printed… great
excitement…band plays on Manly beach every evening and crowds from Sydney’. MML scan 28.10.2004.
So the carnival went on – the weather improved, the word got around, and the
entrepreneurs got down to business as tens of thousands of Sydneysiders travelled to
Manly to view the stranded ship. Deckchairs were set up in rows and hired out, while
pony rides were available for the children. Photographers raced in for their shots, sped
back to the darkroom to print them by hundreds, then had them back on the beach in a
wink for sale as souvenirs – dozens of which still exist.
Aggressive advertisers pasted posters on the side of the ship, to be photographed for
their business cards, before the crew removed them.
But it wasn’t all commercial – a fete in aid of Manly Hospital was held on the beach,
with nurses and friends serving afternoon tea to the sightseers. So large were the
numbers coming from the city that extra ferries had to be employed, but after nine short
days the spectacle was gone. At high tide in the early hours of June 2, tugs eventually
pulled the Vincennes free and towed her to Sydney for inspection.
Damage to the Vincennes was only slight, and she eventually sailed on her merry
way, never to be seen near Manly again.
The events were also described to comic effect by Arthur Lowe in his unpublished
autobiography, Swimming, Surfing, and Surf-Shooting Pioneers in Manly:
“THE LUCK OF THE FRENCH SAILING SHIP, ViNCENNES
It was some time after the S.S. Manly incident, and the usual group of pioneer
surfers and one or two other footballer-surfers were standing on the opposite corner to
the Steyne Hotel, at the northern end of the Corso. It was about 8 p.m. Walter (Wally)
Dendy, who afterwards became Manager of the Port Jackson Steamship Co. where he
was employed, was also with us at the time, (and I might add, as usual), when I had my
attention attracted by some strange lights appearing in the surf, and opposite my home,
which was situated about the centre of the whole Ocean Beach Road.
“It’s strange for them to be there in such a place,” I muttered to myself.
2
“What’s that you say?” said Wally Dendy.
“I can see the port binnacle light of some vessel,” I said.
“Where, where?” the crowd exclaimed.
“In the surf,” I answered.
“Oh, it’s some fisherman doing a night’s haul,” exclaimed Dendy.
“They are strange fishermen, then, for I can now see other outlines. And she is
a large ship in full sail.”
Dendy laughed in a scoffing way, and said, “Well, I can’t see anything.” And the
others were straining their eyes, and could see nothing. But they said nothing, as they
knew me too well, and that my powerful vision was to be trusted. The night was very
misty, with spasms of drizzling rain.
“She’s aground fellas, and might need our help. Come, let us go.”
We raced to the water’s edge. She was rolling a little from a moderate surf, but
was well aground. And the creaking of her mast and the noise of her sails being taken in
came to our ears.
“I can make out her flag,” I said, “which appears to be two dark colours and a
light one.”
“She could be French, then.” said Sidney Stevens, our English mate. “What
about a hail to her, and ask them can we help them, I’ll count one, two, three, and all yell
together, Ship ahoy!”
This we did several times. And at last a yell came back which sounded like “Kell
Plasser,” in a foreign tongue.
Sid Stevens ejaculated, “That sounded like French.”
I answered “Yes! It would stand for the French, ‘Quel Placer’, meaning, ‘What
place?’ Come on, let’s yell back, Manly, after one, two, three.”
We did this several times. And then they lowered a ship’s boat, and an officer
and eight men came to the beach. They pulled the boat up on the beach a small way
and approached us, the officer extending his hand. I and several of the others shook
hands with him.
“Spik little Anglais!” he said apologetically. Then asked of our French knowledge
by saying inquiringly, “Vous, M’sieu! Parler vous Francais?”
I looked to Sid Stevens to answer as I had heard him quoting in French. And
though I had had French lessons at school, and my father had tried to interest me in
same, I never took it very seriously until I went to France in the First World War. But he
was also trying to dodge out of it. I saw there was nothing else but to try and struggle
through. And remembering a tip of my father’s, to commence speaking it slowly and ask
the one you are conversing with to do the same, I replied, “Je parler Francais tres
lentement. Vouloir vous aussi!” (“I speak French very slowly. Will you also?)
“Oui, oui M’sieu,” he exclaimed gladly. And we got along quite well then. I drew
a coastline map on the sand, taking in Manly beach, which nautically, is Cabbage Tree
Bay to Cronulla. And pointed out where the Dunbar was wrecked on the terrible Gap
face. He gave a shudder, and said “Nous faire mauvais erreur. Mais avoir bonheur.”
(“We made a bad mistake, but were lucky!”) He gave an expressive shrug of his
shoulders and wave of his hands, and stopped, and we all looked to the promenade,
along which several policemen were hurrying towards us. It turned out that our calling
the ship had aroused the neighbourhood, who had then called the police.
As soon as they arrived, and found out they were French, one of them was sent
off to the nearby private school run by a Mr. Brodie. He brought most of the excited
young pupils back with him, to inflict upon the unfortunate Frenchmen their school
French, who could only expostulate and cry out, “Non comprez, Garcons, non comprez.”
(“We don’t understand, boys.”) The sergeant at last turned to his senior limb of the law.
3
“I see, Constable, we’re getting nowhere. But we’ll have to bed these fellows down for
the night, so ye and the other constables form thim up, and we’ll march thim arrooned to
the jairl.”
At the mention of the word “gaol,” the Frenchmen were suddenly galvanized into
life. “Oh, no gaol,” they cried out, as if with one voice. “Go back sheepe,” and suiting
the action to the word they took to their heels. And no living sprinter could have beaten
those lightly clothed and bootless seamen as they raced to their boat, pushed it off and
frantically rowed it to their ship. However, thanks to the pioneer surfers they knew their
position, also that we had the tugs to pull them off at the first flood tide in a week’s time.
My mother was very curious to know when the flood tide was due. And I asked her why,
but she was very reticent, and I suspected that she had some scheme involving physical
work for herself, and knew that I would oppose it. And so it turned out.
Having got in touch with her Benevolent Headquarters in Sydney, and mustered
her Manly helpers, a large marquee was erected near the steps, almost opposite the
house. Many small tables and chairs were installed and our cook was instructed to keep
boiling coppers of water continuously going all day. I contented myself with merely
shaking my head in disapproval, as in spite of her paralysis disability she rushed around
to get everything in full working order. That very first day, after the stranding during the
night, advertisements for both Manly wharf-ends had to be got out, and in newspapers,
newspaper notices, and directional signs. And by mid-day streams of people were
pouring into Manly from all Sydney and suburbs.
The notices read, “The Huge French Sailing Ship, Vincennes, is Ashore at Manly!
Ample refreshments are on hand to revive you while watching the coming work of
rescue. All proceeds to go to the Benevolent Fund.” What some of the early rushers to
Manly must have thought when they arrived to see the ship merely rolling over in a
placid surf is not known. But they sportingly partook of the refreshments, just the same
as the later comers. Newspaper reporters and photographers were continually visiting
the scene. For them it seemed to have a particular fascination. One journalist stated
that he had mortgaged his week’s pay buying refreshments. But besides elderly ladies
there were quite a number of beautiful young ones, too.
One write-up of mother described her as ‘The Live Wire of Manly”, another as
“The Capitaliser on Accommodating Wrecks a la Temporary.” Some of the cartoons of
her were very fair. But one wasn’t too nice. However, she merely smiled happily, as it
had turned out a very necessary financial success.”
4