The following account is adapted from Pioneer Shipping by L. Norman, published in 1938. It
provides a wonderful glimpse into the courage, seamanship and community spirit that
characterised the early maritime history of Tasmania.
In 1867, a weary and bedraggled little party of sailors might have been seen making their
way back to the old port of Stanley, nestling beneath the shadow of that unique volcanic
formation, The Nut.
A small coastal schooner, vessels like this traded the exposed coasts of Tasmania and New Zealand during the nineteenth century. Illustrative image – not the Moyne or Pat the Rover.
They had travelled overland from the then little-known Pieman River on Tasmania’s remote Wild West Coast, a journey almost as challenging as the sea voyage that had brought them there. Their vessel, the 90-ton schooner Moyne, had been wrecked on that wild and unforgiving coast, leaving the men with no choice but to abandon the ship and undertake the difficult journey overland to safety.
The good people of Stanley gathered around to hear the news and were aghast to learn that one of the men, too footsore and exhausted to continue the journey, had been left behind aboard the stranded vessel.
The sea was in the blood of the people of Stanley. They understood the dangers faced by those who made their living upon the water, and they knew that no sailor should be left alone on that wild and unforgiving coast.
It was not long before they had made up their minds. Whatever the expense, a relief vessel must brave what was perhaps one of the roughest coastlines in the world and bring their fellow sailor back to the warm fireside of his family.
The sea-minded little community joined together and chartered the saucy little schooner Pat the Rover. Captain Planar was placed in command, but who was to pilot the tiny relief vessel?
There could be only one answer – Captain John Jacobs.
By this time, Jacobs was known throughout the north-west coast as “Commodore” Jacobs. Had he not become something of a northern Captain Kelly, navigating those same dangerous waters and venturing along the coast in a humble whale boat when others would have hesitated?
The expedition soon set out. The Pat the Rover proceeded along the still largely uninhabited western coast of the island, but the weather turned against them, and they were driven back by a storm.
Undeterred, another attempt was made. Rounding Cape Grim, with a howling gale behind them, the little schooner faced one of the most dangerous situations imaginable. Ahead, in the pitch-black night, was a line of breakers. There was but one opening – a narrow passage between two reefs, one of the “Hell’s Gates” of Tasmania.
Everything depended upon Jacobs.
With bated breath, the captain and crew watched as “Commodore” Jacobs swung his steering wheel first one way and then the other, threading his way through the opening. No physician attending a critical patient was watched more closely than Jacobs was at that moment.
At last, praise be, they were safely through.
The captain and crew sighed with relief, but perhaps the most thankful of all was Jacobs himself – the pilot upon whose skill and judgement the lives of all aboard had briefly depended.
For a short time, the lives of that little community upon the sea had rested in his hands. Yet Jacobs accepted the thanks and congratulations of his fellow sailors with characteristic modesty.
Such is the brief outline of the Moyne and the Pat the Rover – a story that captures not only the dangers of pioneer shipping along Tasmania’s wild western coast, but also the courage, loyalty and community spirit that bound the early maritime settlers of Stanley together.
The history of Tasmania abounds in such stories – tales of courage, endurance and quiet heroism belonging to the men and women who lived by the sea.
Note: Pat the Rover was herself lost at Greymouth, New Zealand in 1868, one of a number of vessels claimed by the notorious Grey River bar.