The story of SS Carnarvon Castle from the Australian Women’s Weekly 14 March 1973 

"THE CARNARVON CASTLE, of 1644 tons, caught fire in the Indian Ocean, near Amsterdam Island, on January 31, 1907, en route from Liverpool to Melbourne. The crew, in two lifeboats, lingered near the burning ship for two days, hoping to be picked up by a passing vessel.

On the third day, Captain Jones ordered the boats to be turned north-east, heading for Australia. Gales and mountainous seas overtook them, and on the seventh day, the boats lost sight of one another. The captain's boat drifted north, the sun becoming hotter, food and water supplies dwindling.

Sharks began to follow, flashing up when anyone leaned over to reach for water to rinse their mouths. Despite warnings, some of the men drank the salt water. Days passed, and the men sat silent, seeming to lose hope. Two boys died, and were buried at sea. The water ran out on February 22. The men were suffering from thirst, exposure, hunger, and exhaustion.

Then, land was sighted; at night, the flashes of Cape Naturaliste, W.A., lighthouse. The apprentice boy lay dying, so they couldn't risk landing in darkness. Next morning, the boat struck reefs 100yds. from shore, and the occupants were pitched overboard.

Roberts, and one other sailor who had abstained from drinking seawater, were the only ones strong enough to carry the sick apprentice ashore. The rest struggled after them."

(As told by the lighthouse-keeper’s daughter) SUNDAY. February 24. 1907 was a glorious, sunny morning. It was 9.30 and my mother had gone to bed after night duty at the lighthouse. I heard a noise, and went outside to investigate. There was a wild eyed, untidy man clawing at our rainwater tank. The tap was locked.

I rushed inside, and brought Mother to have a look at him. She couldn't understand a word he was trying to say, and we learned later he was a Russian Finn. Mother called my father and as he understood some Russian, we learned there were more sick men washed up on the rocks.

Father sent my brother to the nearest farm, three miles away, for help, and with another lightkeeper, set off to find the other survivors. The Russian couldn't say where he came from, as he was confused and frightened. He thought there were wild Aborigines about.

After the men were found, the problem was to get them up the cliffs. Father was lightest, so he was lowered over the edge, and what a sight met his eyes. One boy was unconscious, another appeared half crazed, and the others were too weak to stand.

They mobbed Father, clutching at him, wanting to know ‘Were they safe?’ Father reassured them, and proceeded to organise the journey up the cliffs.

First the unconscious boy was strapped to Father's back, and the hard, dangerous climb began. Two men on top of the rocks pulled them up, with the weight of the boy swinging them backwards and forwards. When they finally reached the top they strapped the boy to a bush stretcher. lt was my job to keep the flies off him, and to shade his face with my big straw hat. I felt frightened, as I'd never seen anyone like this before.

Father went down the cliff again and again, until all 14 survivors were brought up. Later, the farmer went back and salvaged the boat which he repaired to use for fishing. The captain had his cash box, but the other men had only a few personal things in their pockets.

The party made its way to our house, a mile away. Progress was slow, as the men's legs were swollen and covered with sea boils. Mother was shocked at their condition. She had blankets, hot drinks, and food ready, and had telephoned Busselton, 25 miles away, for a doctor and extra food.

The doctor gave instructions for the treatment of the men, and as she was the only woman. I had to help. The farmer's sister came over later to be of assistance.

The hungry, sick men were hard to control, and father tried to make them realise that food had to be taken slowly. They were unable to keep food down, and it was very worrying to cope with them all retching. After hot baths, they were bedded down with cushions and rugs on the lounge and kitchen floor, as we only had two bedrooms.  The unconscious boy had been placed in bed, and we waited anxiously tor the doctor. When he came he was followed by cartloads of bread, groceries, vegetables, and meal and plenty of warm clothing, sent out from Busselton.

Then the hard work really began for mother and father. The doctor only stayed overnight, and the boy. Harry Blamire, died the next day. It was painful to see the older men trying to talk to him, reassuring him they were all safe. Captain Jones didn't leave his bedside all night. More follows. [Source]