[Hardie, Jennie, 1981, Nor'-Westers of the Pilbara Breed, Shire of Port Hedland, Western Australia]
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[Chapter 19] S.S. Koombana Goes Down
An incident which occurred in March 1912 thrust the little-known town of Port Hedland well into the Australian news when the pride of the Adelaide Steamship Company’s passenger fleet, the sleek, three-year-old Koombana (3,700 tonnes) steamed out of the harbour into the vortex of a deadly cyclone and disappeared without trace, taking 146 people with her to a watery grave somewhere in the fathomless Indian Ocean off the Port Hedland coast.
For days preceding the disaster the steamy tropical port had been experiencing stifling hot, still days and nights. Not a breath of air stirred and there was an air of languor about the town. Down at the wharves there was a certain excitement which was always generated by the berthing of a ship and on Tuesday 19 March there was the double interest of two ships; the Koombana, bound north, and the Bullarra sailing south, which were both alongside.
Gossip round the town had it that, with the uncommonly hot days, a ‘blow’ was on the way, and this was intensified when it was heard that divers coming in on pearling luggers had been warning their masters of sudden hot and cold water changes below the sea’s glassy surface. Suddenly, on the evening before both ships were due to depart, a strong ‘cock eye’ blew up from the east, followed by moderate winds and then the smell of rain. Soon heavy spots of hail were gouging into loose drifting sand. By the following morning the wind, increasing in strength, had shifted to the south and was blowing in gusts. Layer upon layer of cloud scudded across the darkening sky. People began bolting down the shutters of their houses and pearling luggers made for nearby tidal creeks or the secluded harbour.
With all her passengers aboard, Captain Allen took the Koombana to sea about 11 a.m. Half an hour later, with all the cattle penned on Bullara's deck, Captain Upjohn steamed out in Koombana's wake. While everone else went urgently about the business of preparing for a cyclone, Violet Werry, whose parents ran the Commercial Hotel which looked northwards out to sea, climbed up onto the hotel roof and waved as the Koombana passed close by. The young tomboy had a fascination for ships and the Koombana particularly attracted her. Young Bert Clark, perched high up on the navigation tower, with his binoculars trained on the Koombana, also watched her leave. With only a light load and her ballast tanks empty so she could clear the bar on the neap tide, her propeller flailed the darkening waters of the harbour. He watched her pitching and rolling helplessly. 'Normally, ' recalled Bert, 'a ship is out of sight in 35 minutes, but that day Koombana stayed on the horizon for over two hours.'
Chained, shuttered and bolted, Port Hedland, tense with worry, huddled on the edge of the wild Indian Ocean, miraculously escaped serious damage as the cyclone moved down the coast. But the wind shrieked, thunder roared and the rain clattered down in deafening sheets. ‘Men played billiards all night at our hotel ... so they could get under the billiard table if the roof lifted’, Violet Fidock recalled.
Four days after leaving Port Hedland a battered Bullara limped into Cossack, her passengers shattered by the ordeal of riding out the cyclone at sea. Most of her cargo had been swept off the decks into the sea by the mountainous walls of water. News filtered back to Port Hedland that Bullara was safe, but nothing had been heard of the Koombana. She never reached Broome.
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