what are their expected tenures, and what power the Government possesses of removal, now or at the expiration of lease, whenever that may be.[4]
On 27 October, Surveyor-General Hoddle replied that with one month’s notice, and a balance on the remaining leases—roughly £12—being refunded to each individual leaseholder, such lands as His Excellency might require may indeed be secured without too much fuss. He suggested that the Harbour Master, Charles Ferguson, might be granted sufficient legal and administrative powers to execute such an arrangement. La Trobe thought it an excellent idea. In this fashion, the bureaucratic wheels slowly revolved, and the plan for a new quarantine station to protect the people of Melbourne began to take shape—at least on paper.
A few days later, on the morning of 3 November, Ferguson sat in his office in Williamstown when the wild-eyed figure of Captain Wylie burst in. The two men knew one another, but Ferguson had never seen his old friend like this. He had sailed at haste all through the night, he said, and was wrung out and exhausted. He stammered:
A… ship has come. A large one. From Liverpool. A hundred… yes, a hundred!… dead on board, many more sick. You must inform the Governor… and send help.[5]
The leisurely progress of the planned, but entirely prospective quarantine station had been overtaken by a very real emergency.
Meanwhile, the passengers on board the Ticonderoga were close to despair. Three days earlier, believing their arrival into Melbourne would lead to better care, or at the very least the chance to get off this wretched ship, the passengers had felt that the worst was over. Those well enough and not numb with grief could finally allow themselves the luxury of contemplating some kind of future. When instead they dropped anchor off a lonely bluff with little signs of habitation, bar a couple of cottages, some tents and a signal station, then the pilot ordered them to remain there for an entire day, then another, followed by a third, they once again began to lose hope. Finally, though, the pilot boarded once more and as the sound of the anchor being raised reverberated through the ship, hopes rose again. But these too would be dashed when, instead of heading north to Melbourne, the pilot took them just a short way across the bay to an even more desolate-looking location, and left them there.
At this small and seemingly deserted little cove, where all that could be seen was scrub, sand dunes and empty beaches, rumours began to fly that they were to remain here for the foreseeable future, in quarantine.[6] When this was confirmed by the sight of the pilot once more departing, many began to curse their decision to leave their beloved homeland to travel on this death ship to the far side of the Earth, only to be left alone and forgotten by the rest of the world. Nothing, however, could have been further from the truth.
23
A colonial crisis
After hearing Captain Wylie’s account of the Ticonderoga, and relaying what the pilot, Henry Draper, had seen of her horrific state, Harbour Master Captain Charles Ferguson started a chain of events that would electrify the upper echelons of Victoria’s young colonial government. An urgent note was dispatched immediately to Governor La Trobe, but Ferguson had no intention of waiting for his answer before deciding to act.
A short distance from Ferguson’s office in the small port of Williamstown, just a few miles from Melbourne, HMS Empire sat tied up and ready. This fast little ship served as an emergency vessel of sorts, scooting around the coast of Victoria and beyond, pulling stranded ships off reefs, rescuing survivors from shipwrecks and intercepting incoming emigrant ships to ensure that their captains were in compliance with the Passengers Act (one such master would later be fined almost £500 for supplying inadequate provisions to his passengers).
Ferguson planned to sail the Empire as soon as possible to Point Nepean to deal with this new emergency and to take along with him one of the most important medical men in the colony, his colleague and Port Health Officer, Dr Thomas Hunt, whose new quarantine station, Ferguson had told him, might be happening considerably sooner than planned. In the meantime, he arranged for the ship to be packed with as many fresh stores as she could carry: eleven live sheep, 276 pounds of fresh beef, 53 loaves of freshly baked bread, 24 bags of fresh potatoes, four cases of porter, one case of wine, 9 pounds of arrowroot, and six iron pots. The list was a long one, but whatever had to be done to see it filled, Ferguson saw that it was done.
The rest of that day, orders and requisitions raced out of the Harbour Master’s office to suppliers across Williamstown and Melbourne. Their response came swiftly in the form of wagons arriving at the dock heavily laden with provisions. The most important acquisition of the day was the full medical chest to replenish the exhausted supplies of Drs Sanger and Veitch, but what Ferguson desperately needed was another doctor to travel with it. This same person would be then required to relieve the ailing and exhausted ship’s surgeons, distribute supplies, then stay on to organise the quarantine station, which at this moment existed only on paper. Such a person would not be easy to come by—particularly at short notice—but these were desperate times. Hurrying down the corridor to Thomas Hunt’s nearby office, the two men struggled to think of a suitable candidate.
Ferguson then fetched the list of ships currently in port and, running his finger down the column, stopped at the Ottillia, another large emigrant vessel that had recently arrived from Liverpool, currently undergoing repairs for lightning damage, and whose surgeon was listed as a Dr Joseph Taylor. The two men looked at each other. Perfect, they agreed, before hurrying out the door. A short time later, they stood beside the handsome Ottillia as she was tied up at the wharf, inquiring of her officers whether the surgeon superintendent might be available for a brief word. As it happened, Dr Taylor was in his cabin, and more than a little surprised to have his presence requested by no lesser figures than the Chief Harbour Master and Port Health Officer, who greeted him in the warmest of terms despite neither having met him before in their lives.
After extolling his well-known reputation as an exemplary practitioner of medicine, Ferguson and Hunt came quickly to the point. A brand new government quarantine station was being set up a little way from Melbourne and Dr Taylor was just the man to run it. A handsome salary of not less than £300 was on offer, as well as accommodation and excellent rations for himself and his family. Did he by chance, Dr Hunt inquired, happen to have any experience with fever? Absolutely, replied Dr Taylor, a veteran of several long voyages who in fact had treated many such cases. ‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Ferguson. Lieutenant-Governor La Trobe, he added quietly, is most pleased that you might consider the position favourably. When Taylor’s head had stopped spinning, he wondered whether he might be allowed a little time to consider the Lieutenant-Governor’s most generous offer. Unfortunately, insisted the two gentlemen, time was such that the Lieutenant-Governor was most anxious to see the position filled without delay, and so an answer was required, well, immediately. As soon as a stunned Taylor nodded his assent, he felt his hand pumped vigorously and was told to pack his bags to be ready to sail to Point Nepean in precisely… at this point Ferguson checked his fob watch… two hours’ time. Oh, Dr Hunt added, you would be advised to bring with you all the medicine and drugs you might have in your possession, as well as all those you can get your hands on at short notice. Then, thanking him profusely and wishing him a good day, Ferguson and Hunt were gone.