Susannah’s Angel

KIM PEART December 2007

The winged cherub is an ancient symbol seen in Christian art and popular culture, of a childlike face with wings representing the second order of angels, the Cherubim and can occasionally be seen on old gravestones in Tasmania. It was during a search for this stone art and other forms of the winged effigy that I came upon a fallen angel in St Matthew’s Church yard in Rokeby. The main slab had fallen many decades past and the cherub, carved on a separate piece of stone, was sitting on the ground looking most glum with its lot. Often winged cherubs can be found on the gravestones for babies and I wondered if this could be one.

After too many decades on its back the face of the slab had weathered much of the lettering, with moss growing in the gaps. About a third of the inscription could be read, revealing a tragedy that happened on the 8th of April 1855, when fifteen year-old Susannah Musk of South Arm drowned in a boating accident returning from a funeral. Those few words sketched an intriguing tale and spoke of a tragedy that must have had a deep impact on this early rural community. I now became interested in knowing more about this story…
Susannah’s Angel

THE winged cherub is an ancient symbol seen in Christian art and popular culture, of a childlike face with wings representing the second order of angels, the Cherubim and can occasionally be seen on old gravestones in Tasmania. It was during a search for this stone art and other forms of the winged effigy that I came upon a fallen angel in St Matthew’s Church yard in Rokeby. The main slab had fallen many decades past and the cherub, carved on a separate piece of stone, was sitting on the ground looking most glum with its lot. Often winged cherubs can be found on the gravestones for babies and I wondered if this could be one.

After too many decades on its back the face of the slab had weathered much of the lettering, with moss growing in the gaps. About a third of the inscription could be read, revealing a tragedy that happened on the 8th of April 1855, when fifteen year-old Susannah Musk of South Arm drowned in a boating accident returning from a funeral. Those few words sketched an intriguing tale and spoke of a tragedy that must have had a deep impact on this early rural community. I now became interested in knowing more about this story and also wondered if the grave should be restored, as it is a unique example of colonial carving left sitting on the ground to the ravages of the elements and potentially, tomb raiders with a view to a distant antique shop.

A lengthy and tedious search through the papers of the day, now preserved on microfiche, revealed a number of articles concerning the event and with the help of another history buff, Robin Barker, the story began to emerge of this tragedy. The search was tedious, as at times the microfiche is hard to read, with some of the newspaper text failing to copy and the way local news was reported then was most often in a longer column without headings, with one report going straight onto the next without warning. Folk at the Tasmanian family history society and St Matthew’s Bible study group helped to reveal the full inscription on the stone as a verse from The Book of Job, 1:21 and the first verse of a hymn by Charles Wesley, ‘Jesus, Lover of My Soul’. The hymn must have been a most fitting choice at the time, with its mention of waters rolling, the tempest and a storm, which was probably sung at the service with great depth of feeling by all attending to give Susannah a moving fare-well on her journey beyond.

Rokeby was struck by another tragedy in 1967, when hot winds blew south from central Australia and drove firestorms across the island. Clarence Plains, the rural valley in which Rokeby is located, with its hedgerows and old homesteads, was one of the places hit particularly hard, taking some lives and the loss of ninety per cent of the heritage. Of the two churches in Rokeby, one wooden chapel was destroyed, but St Matthew’s survived. Being build of sandstone may have helped, preserving the burial records that tell us all six who drowned on that fateful day where buried in St Matthew’s yard, but of the six, Susannah’s is the only memorial stone that can be found there.

The accident occurred just off-shore from Rokeby in Ralphs Bay, which is subject to unusual and quite regular gale-force winds, where the air pressure is driven between the hills on either side and races through a gap from the west and across Lauderdale, once called Muddy Plains, where the local garage attendant will tell you it blows the milk out of his coffee.

The northern headland was obviously a good location for a windmill to grind locally produced grain and is still called Mill Point, where the Tasmanian Police Academy is now located. There are no longer working farms in this district. Some retired farmers stay on the remnants of their old properties, now hemmed in by five-acre lots with horses and the spreading suburbs of greater Hobart. Sail-boarders take advantage of the powerful winds that blow past Mill Point, racing across so fast it is quite amazing to watch. My family once lived in this area, further south at Clifton Beach, working on one of the Calvert farms until moving to South Port in 1942 and stories from that time still echo through the years. Further on a lookout gives a view over to Betsy Island, where many came to watch the plight of one of Bob Clifford’s ocean-going catamarans grounded on a reef some years back, remaining stuck their for a few days and attracting a flood of speculation as to how it had happened.

Many come this way to swim and surf, for boating and fishing, or just to enjoy the country and beaches. The area still has a rural feel, though the forested hills now include many houses scattered among the trees. Over to the west is the township of South Arm, with a quaint country store, a war memorial and new jetty in hope that a ferry service will return. In the early days the sea was the main way for passengers and cargo to travel around the coasts of Tasmania, but better roads and horseless carriages create new ways. Just north of the township is a small country church and graveyard, but this was built some decades after the time of our story. A little further on a private residence can be found that once served as the local school, located on the corner of the road to the lands that the Musk’s once farmed on the southern shore of Ralphs Bay in the area called South Arm. Here I met one of the descendents, Ted Bezzant, who still lives on part of the original property that he keeps going as a hobby farm and kindly shared some insights into the family history and this tragedy that still lives on in local memory. Ted recalls the original Musk homestead, now gone, like the family name, which fell from the tree with no males in the line to pass it along.

This definitely has the feel of sheep country, with a lamb among Ted’s small flock, though orchards once abounded in the district. The road to the landing place by Ralphs Bay is still open for the inquisitive, where the produce and livestock would have been shipped out to the markets in Hobart. A fence-line cuts across the beach, showing how it would have been in that earlier time, when life was hard but simpler.

There had probably been Sunday school in the schoolhouse for the children of the area on the morning of April 1st 1855, where William and Mary Sneade had recently taken on the role of the local teachers. It would have been walking distance for the Musk children and young Jane Brown, whose parents farmed the property just north of the Musk land. There may even have been a family picnic down on the beach by the landing when the children returned and being April 1st, Susan’s father, Edward, might have played an April Fool’s trick on them by telling that an elephant was down by the shore, later promising to take them all to see the one on show at the Phoenix Hotel in Hobart being advertised in the papers at the time. As he surveyed this patch of paradise, with the children playing, the sheep in the field, the sun dancing on the waters of the bay, life may not have seemed better for one who had lost so much. A wife and five children left behind in England, sentenced to seven years in Van Diemen’s Land for stealing wheat, the endless sea sickness in the chains and putrid stench of a convict ship’s hull, like cattle, like slaves, like animals. Here it was good, with the old name of Van Diemen’s Land now passing in favour of Tasmania as the name of the colony and southern outpost of the British Empire. There was a sense of being part of something great and some were even serving in the Crimean War and Edward Musk may have been among the many Tasmanians who had rallied to the call to contribute to the Patriotic Fund for the widows and children of those fallen in that distant field.

His lot could easily have been a close shave the previous year, when with a party from the district they tried their luck in the Victorian gold fields. He had the funds now from the diggings and would be purchasing the farm from old Gellibrand next year, providing security for Mary and the children. Edward could have been near the events of the Eurika rebellion and their party may have made a hasty decision to flee. How different that day could have been if the horsemen from California had not gone to the wrong location to ambush the British troops. Treason was in the air and there had been trials.

Florence Nightingale had arrived in the Crimea the previous November and if stories had reached the island, she may have been an inspiration for the young girls as they played by the water. The events to come would indicate that Susannah may have been fond of Jane, five years her junior, who may have been in her care at times while Edward and Eliza Brown were in the fields working. Jane may have been a mischievous and imaginative child and the girls might have wondered about a hand-held stone axe fallen from the Aboriginal midden by the landing. The Blacks had long gone, but the colonists were keeping the midden going with their own household and farmyard discards. Any child might imagine what it would have been like when the natives were living here. It was the full moon that night and Jane may have wanted Susan to bring her down to the water to watch the great yellow orb rising above the hills across the bay and reflecting in the waters. It was also only a week to Easter Sunday, when it would be time again to hunt for those chocolate eggs in their coloured wrappers that would be scattered around the farmhouses.

Susannah was at an age when many girls would marry and she may have looked up to see George Kain, ten years her senior and a labourer about the farms, speaking with her father. Edward Musk had been a farm labourer once and if George had been with the “Party” that went to Victoria, he may have had funds to offer marriage and start a family.

The girls could have gone down to the shore to laugh at the Moon that night, where Jane may have slipped by the bay and fallen into the water, walking home in wet clothes and catching a cold, which would help to explain why she was not at school the next day. For whatever reason, young Jane was left alone in the house while her parents were out in the field working. She may have had chores, such as keeping wood on the fire and while playing with the log, sparks showered her dress and the unthinkable happened, her clothes catching fire and in a panic Jane ran outside screaming. The parents would have quickly responded and run to put out the flaming clothes, but the burns were terrible. Susan may have been with Jane during the long night helping her parents nurse the child, but nothing could be done and Jane Brown’s spirit left her body on the Tuesday morning of April 3rd.

The sadness and grief that would have filled the hearts of the community was made the worse when the coroner did not come for three days, when Jane’s body was in such a state that her remains had to be taken into the open air for the inquest on Friday afternoon, now Good Friday. The previous days had been fine for sailing, but even though the winds had begun, Edward Brown did not want to take his child’s body along the 16-mile goat-track of a road to Rokeby. That would attract flies and rattle the poor little child’s remains to pieces. The trip by sea would be swift and smooth, with the wind in their favour.

In South Port my family became friends with a fisherman, Tom Martin, who would stay at our home in Howrah, where we moved in 1952 when I was but a babe in arms. The memory of voyages on his boat, the Athena, which putted along on its diesel motor or could be sailed, live on in my heart with the strange mix of the smell of salt air and the wood-fired oven below deck, sailing past the opening to Ralphs Bay along the coast, past the Stack of Bricks and into South Port. It was a comfortable vessel to live and work on and Tom was very attuned to his boat, waking instantly at the slightest change, such as pulling the anchor and touching sand. I remember Tom’s squeeze-box, an accordion and the songs he would play and sing and how the family would join in, before television changed the world of old-style kitchen culture.

I was only five when told the news, too young to grieve, that Tom had gone missing. He had left our home in Howrah to sail the Athena down the River Derwent from Bellerive and that is the last anyone saw of Tom. The boat pulled in at a maintenance dock across the River at Battery Point, unmanned. He could have had a stroke, or slipped and fallen. He wore leather-soled shoes, a common thing in the 1950s. His body was never found, but he lives on in the memory, repairing his string fishing nets in our back yard, when Howrah was still rural with working farmlands that extended through the hills and around the bays to South Arm.

Jane’s last journey may have begun around noon, waiting for a good breeze to take them over the bay on Easter Saturday. Her parents, Edward and Eliza Brown, would have following the coffin from their home to the landing and gently placed the child’s remains on the boat, a pine vessel with loose stones for ballast in the bottom. Many may have been there to farewell a young member of their community and for the children, their friend. Also in the boat were Edward Musk and his daughter, Susannah, the teachers William and Mary Sneade, Constable Wilson and his wife, George Kain, George Sandwell, Christopher Calvert, Thomas Hall, John Cole, Patrick Guillian and the boat’s owner and skipper, James Williams.

Once away from the shore the gathering breeze filled the sails and Williams set a sure course for Rokeby in the fresh salt air. With the wooded hills and farms passing by, George Kain may have passed a glance toward Susannah and wondered if they might find their dreams and life together. As Droughty Point passed on their left, the village of Rokeby with its church tower could be seen ahead and the windmill on the point, their destination. There the boat would be pulled up on the beach, which must have often happened when grain was brought in across the bay to make flower for use and sale. The Rev. Mr Wilson may have been there to welcome the mourners on the shore and walk with Jane’s coffin, the family and their friends to the church, where the ceremony proceeded and young Jane Brown was buried with due dignity.

The afternoon was drawing on when the party returned to the boat and the wind that filled the sails of the mill spelled a bad return across the bay for the travellers, as the waters were rough and a gale from the west had set in that would make the trip slow and perhaps unsafe. Arrangements were made around the village to spend the night and attempt the return journey on Easter Sunday morning.

The night took an unexpected turn and understandably, some in the party were drowning their sorrows of recent days in a Rokeby tavern. Perhaps singing ensued of well-known tunes. Perhaps a song of the Eureka rebellion was sung, which would have caught the ear of a passing constable, who may have been keeping an eye on those recently returned from the goldfields, with talk of treason in the air and trials and the war effort in the Crimea on-going. The charge of the Light Brigade had burned its way into history the previous October and an argument could have ensued concerning loyalty to Queen Victoria and Empire, even a fight that attracted the attention of the law, as some of the party spent the night in the Rokeby watchhouse for drunkenness.

On Easter Sunday morning the 8th of April at about eleven o’clock the party were keen to depart the embarrassment of their night in Rokeby and may not have wished to face any of the locals and their judgement may have been affected by some hangovers. The gale had not eased and conditions were no better than on the previous day. Williams could have refused to sail, as an argument ensued and he attempted to convince the party to walk along the beach to Luckman’s, where there was a jetty and the bay was calmer beneath the hills of Droughty Point and he would bring the boat along safely to them. Judgements were flayed and Williams plan and better judgement were cast aside, with the party setting out into the bay in an open boat in the most treacherous section, where the winds begin to funnel into the gap.

Having set out, Williams headed south toward Dixon’s Point, with George Sandwell holding the rope to the jib sheet. Williams then successfully put about to make for Luckman’s, intending to drop the anchor in the calmer waters under the hills until the wind eased and the passage was safe. Less than half a mile from the shore a sudden gust caught them and Williams yelled at Sandwell to let go of the jib sheet as he let loose the mainsail and foresail. It could have been a hangover or some other distraction, but not being a sailer, Sandwell froze in the moment of action and the jib carried the boat over, which immediately filled on the starboard side and sank in thirteen feet of water, leaving part of the mast protruding.

Swimming was not a standard practice among the English colonists of 1855 and even sailers could not always cope in the water. The Danish adventurer Jorgen Jorgenson, who had sailed the oceans of the World, saved a ship from hitting a rock off the coast of Iceland with his expert skills in 1809 and later helped to save the entire company of a ship that had caught fire, when exploring in the highlands of Tasmania as a convict in the employ of the Van Diemen’s Land Company in 1827 nearly drowned in a river. Their Tasmanian Aboriginal guide, who could swim, saved his life. On a later occasion exploring with the VDL Company in the northwest, one of the party drowned when crossing the Duck River on their way back to Stanley. This was not the first incident in Ralphs Bay, with a boat overturning in the same location a few years before with the loss of several lives.

Terror gripped the unfortunate passengers and panic ensued as they found themselves all of a sudden floundering in the wind-driven waters. Williams kept his head and stayed with the mast and some others remained at this desperate refuge. Some however drifted away, blown by the wind of the gale. They would have tried to make the mast, but lack of swimming-skills, the clothing styles of the day, especially for women and the cold water began to take its toll. The teachers, William and Mary Sneade, were seen to go down in each other’s arms, determined to remain together to the end. The moment then became electric when Susannah was seen to be drifting away to be lost. George Kain may have glanced toward her father to see if he would attempt to save his daughter, but having lost one family in England and concern for his present family in South Arm may have held him back. Whether out of love, heroism, or purely compassion, George broke away in a desperate attempt to save Susan, but in vane and both were lost beneath the autumn waves.

Daniel Stanfield the miller, his wife and daughter had heard all that ensued in the argument on the beach and watched with concern as William’s boat set out with his party of fourteen and saw him successfully put about and head for Luckman’s, when they saw the accident. Stanfield immediately set out alone in his boat, but when a row-hook broke he was unable to reach the site of the tragedy and was forced to limp back to shore, where he and others would have run along Rokeby Beach to be near the site of the accident and stand helpless to watch the tragedy unfold. A fisherman who lived near-by, Stephen Knight, may have wondered why a sailing boat would risk that gale, saw the over-turning and immediately set out to help. It was later believed that all lives could have been saved if the party had not been frightened. Knight instinctively made for the women first, one of whom was holding up her hands for help and crying most piteously for help, but when Knight was only a few yards away, she went down. Mrs Wilson, the constable’s wife, went down a third time, but her luck held and Knight was able to reach down into the icy waters and pull her out, saving her life.

Within three quarters of an hour the nine survivors had been ferried to shore and given comfort by those gathered on the beach. The fisherman, Stephen Knight, immediately set out again to recover the bodies of the drowned floating on top of the water before they were washed away and lost, now assisted by William Free and William Joseph, a grim task that went on into the night. Edward Brown must have suffered the greatest loss, so soon after the loss of Jane, with his wife Eliza being one of those who drowned. When Knight brought her body to shore he gave the fisherman a gold watch that was still attached to her clothes.

In the eerie lantern light and hushed gathering only five bodies lay on the beach. Edward Musk may have sat on the sand in the shadows by the body of Susannah, hunched in shock and despair, in a daze. The Stanfield’s could have brewed a large kettle of tea and brought it along the beach to give some comfort. The body of Samuel Sandwell, who had been holding the rope to the jib sail, could not be found that night. He was discovered the next day by Knight and Williams, entangled in a warp belonging to the boat, with his clothes gone and his flesh eaten away by the creatures of the deep.

The inquests were held in Rokeby by the coroner A. B. Jones, Esq., followed by the funerals at St Matthew’s Church of all those who perished. The services for Eliza Brown and Susan Musk were held on Tuesday 10th, followed by the services for the others on Wednesday 11th. Those who drowned in Ralphs Bay on that fateful day and are listed in the burials in the Parish of Clarence in the County of Buckingham include Eliza Brown, age 31, Susan Musk, age 15, William Buckley Sneade, age 34, Mary Ann Sneade, age 27, George Kain, age 25 and Samuel Sandwell, age 26. Hauntingly, at the top of the list is the name of Jane Brown, age 10, buried only three days before.

Steven Knight’s selfless efforts in rescuing as many as he could were widely praised by the inhabitants of the district, who raised a small subscription to show their appreciation for his efforts.

A careful reading of an anonymous report by a local in the district in The Hobarton Mercury of 16th April reveals the skipping of a day, including the events of Easter Saturday night, when some of the party ended up in the Rokeby watchhouse. The writer could have been seeking to save reputations in the wake of a tragedy that would have hit the small community of South Arm quite hard and ends on a fateful quote from Leviticus, “this thing that is, is that which shall be, and that which is done, is that which shall be done, and there is no new thing under the sun.”

Further investigation would reveal more of Susannah’s story and the surrounding events, bringing to life that distant time. This tale from old Van Diemen’s Land is a gothic tragedy that could make a good novel, even a movie, keeping a story alive and well worth sharing, one that might otherwise have become lost to the ravages of time as those few words etched on Susannah’s gravestone weathered and disappeared. There must be many great stories out there in the graveyards waiting to be told and kept alive. When we know the story, our heritage has greater meaning, grows in value and becomes more worthwhile preserving for the future, even when the heritage in question is a humble gravestone. Anyone who reads this account may wish to find Susannah’s angel and experience some of the feeling of the story. It’s not hard to find. Go to the northeast end of St Matthew’s Church and locate the large memorial for the Rev. Robert Knopwood, the first chaplain of Van Diemen’s Land, then walk a few paces to the east and there you will find Susannah’s memorial, hopefully with a little angel flying on top of the stone.

Kim Peart

~0400 856 523~
kimpeart@iinet.net.au

Historical notes:

A search of calendars for 1855 shows that there was a full moon on April 1st that year and Good Friday falls after that. The tradition of an April Fools joke is very old and though the practice of giving chocolate Easter Eggs is younger, the tradition was in place among English speaking people by 1855. It is possible that Susannah was the youngest in the boat, but only the ages of those who perished is given, so this remains unknown. The number of people in the boat differs, but the article in The Hobarton Mercury of April 16th is probably the most reliable account, apart from the clear attempt to lose Easter Saturday. The burial list is no longer at St Matthew’s Church, but can be seen on microfiche at the Tasmanian Archives. An examination of the Police records failed to reveal any evidence of who was held in the Rokeby Watchhouse and it is always possible that no entry was made, but it is quite clear that something went on that night that some people preferred hushed up, for whatever reason. The location of the tragedy would appear to be half a mile off Rokeby Beach, but exactly how far along the beach is impossible to say. Finally, should anyone own a very old gold watch, or come across one in an antique shop, it is always possible that it was once the property of Eliza Brown, given by her husband to the fisherman, Steven Knight, on the beach at Rokeby during the dramatic events of Easter Sunday 1855.