One of the more dramatic wrecks of the inter-war era occurred on remote Great Barrier Island on 31 May 1922 when the stately five-master Federal liner Wiltshire piled up on the rocks atremote Rosalie Bay, near the southern tip of the island. Just 10 years old, the Wiltshire was one of the biggest ships trading to the Dominion. The ship had been punching her way through some of the dirtiest weather imaginable. Heavy weather and torrential rain had lashed her for the best part of half a day and visibility had fallen to less than a ship's length by the time she struck the rocks. There was a terrific crash, then four heavy bumps as the steel monster forced herself up and onto the rocks.Captain G. B. Hayward summoned the 102 officers and men topside but quickly gave up any idea of launching the boats. Heavy seas were breaking over the Wiltshire and any attempt to launch a boat would be sheer folly - it would either be dashed against the side of the ship or thrown up onto the rocks at the foot of the towering cliffs in front of the bow. Unable to do anything, the men settled down to a nervous night in the saloon and prayed that the dawn would bring better weather. It did not and the situation worsened at 1130 on the 1st when, with a deafening bang, the Wiltshire snapped in two just abaft the No. 4 hatch. Hayward, who was up on the bridge at the time, leaped down onto the deck, to be followed by his officers, who used a rope to join the rest of the crew in the forecastle. The Wiltshire was now a complete wreck. While the bow section remained firmly embedded on the rocks, the stern part, less firmly held and in deeper water, began to settle. The big question was - would the wreck remain intact long enough to enable the crew to escape? Help was on the way, in the shape of the Union Company coaster Katoa and the coastal passenger vessel Arahura, but there was little that they could do. During the morning, while the Arahura stood by and  provided radio contact with the rest of the world, the Katoa landed rescue parties equipped with storm gear and blankets. They met several groups of islanders who had been standing by impotently since the night before. As the Herald reporter recalled: Heartrending was the experience of watchers on the cliffs above the wreck prior to the line coming ashore. The watchers could hear cries from the ship but could do nothing. Hope was raised when  one of the crew attempted to swim ashore with a line but this died down when the enormous seas running caused the effort to be abandoned, and the exhausted swimmer had to be hauled on board again. "Rescuers had fired many rockets at the ship but the howling gale had carried away all lines. Attempts to float lines out had met with similar failure. Then, at 1345, the Katoa radioed Auckland that the Wiltshire had broken in half, that the stem had disappeared and that the bow was crowded with people. 

Auckland was abuzz with rumor. News had reached there by radio at 2311 on the 31st and it had been all bad; the picture of the trapped crew huddling on the bow was uppermost in everyone's mind. The next day someone had even thought of using a seaplane to get a rope to the men - one of the first instances of the use of air-sea rescue techniques - but the attempt had to be abandoned.6 Then a report came from Coromandel that a tug had arrived bearing the dreadful news that saving the crew was considered impossible. Just an hour later, though, a report from Tryphena indicated that a line was now ashore and that four men had already made the hazardous journey ashore. 'Prospects of rescue now good,' it was decided.7 A couple of hours later the Katoa broke the news that a line had been floated ashore and that the 99 men remaining on the wreck were well sheltered, well fed and waiting for daylight when a party from HMS Philomel planned to set up a breeches buoy to rescue them. With the seas moderating slightly and the forward part of the ship showing no sign of shifting, Hayward decided that it was better to wait for a safer means of getting ashore.  The hero of the hour was a seaman from the Katoa by the name of Kehoe. He scrambled down the dangerous cliff face and grabbed hold of a line attached to a hatch cover that had been floated ashore. He then made the slow and dangerous ascent. After what must have been an agonizing delay, an endless line was fastened to a tree on the cliff and the first man was being hauled ashore metre by metre. Three companions followed before operations were halted for the night. Next day's rain did not dampen the spirits of the Philomel party. With 10 men at a time hauling on the rope, the ship-wrecked sailors came ashore at the rate of two  very six minutes. By 2200 on the 2nd, two full days after the Wiltshire had first struck, all the ship's crew was ashore safe and sound.   Most of the mail bags found their way onto the shore but the vast bulk of the 10/000 tonnes of general cargo disappeared into the drink, along with the ship. The Wiltshire's loss was felt especially keenly because she was one of the small number of ships recently chartered to open up a direct trade between New Zealand ports and Manchester. She was fitted with telescoping masts and funnel to make her suitable for the Manchester Canal. The court of inquiry found Hayward guilty of two errors of navigation: in not exercising caution when unable to pick up Cuvier light when expected and in not acting immediately upon the danger signals given by the sounding taken about 20minutes before the ship struck. He was ordered to pay the costs of the inquiry.

Unable to see the other crew on deck in the intense darkness, Third Mate Musgrove fought to regain his feet and made for the bridge. The very thing he had been dreading for the last two hours had happened - the ship had run aground. Faint light from portholes on the lower decks revealed their immediate surroundings. There were rocks close in all around them while immediately in front of the vessel high rocky cliffs rose sheer out of a raging sea. The TSS Wiltshire had run straight into the largest island in the Hauraki Gulf, Great Barrier Island. It was a few minutes after 11 pm on Wednesday 51 May 1922. On board were a crew of 103 and a stowaway, discovered three days out from Liverpool, too late to put him ashore. For the first time in a long while, the ship carried no passengers. The vessel now trapped on the rocks had been one of the world's largest passenger/cargo refrigerated ships when it was built in 1911-12, and a rare example of a five-masted steamer. It was specially adapted with a hinged funnel and masts to pass through the great Manchester ship canal. Although it had been hired by the Ministry ofTransport to bring home New Zealand servicemen after the First World War, and had traded regularly to Australia, this was its first commercial voyage to New Zealand for the Federal Steam Navigation Company. The Wiltshire took on goods at Avonmouth, Glasgow and Liverpool. In New Zealand, it would load refrigerated cargo for the return trip. The ship left Liverpool on 22 April 1922, sailed through the Panama Canal, then south to Bilboa to replenish its fresh water, and across the Pacific. According to Second Officer Mayo Harris' log, the voyage was uneventful - winds varying from force 3 to force 6, mostly from the east to south-east, with an average sailing speed of just over 12 knots.3 They were 20 days out from Bilboa and approaching the Hauraki Gulf when the weather deteriorated: on Monday 29 May, the winds were south south-east force 3. By late the next day, Wednesday 31 May - one day jumped because of crossing the dateline - they had escalated to force 7. Musgrove remembered they sailed into a cloudy dawn "but at 8 o'clock the sun appeared and we were able to get our sextant sights for longitude. The 'then' position was ascertained, using a calculated latitude which would normally be verified by observing the sun at noon. These later sights were never taken, however, for by mid-morning, with a sharply falling barometer, cloud had begun to cover the sky and we saw no more of the sun."4 (The ship's master, Captain Bertram Hayward, remembered differently. He believed a midday sighting had been made, according to his evidence to the official inquiry into the wrecking.) With a rising sea and swell, the ship prepared for filthy weather - closing hatches

 and battening down round the decks. By 6 o'clock there was a full gale blowing "but with the wind and sea behind us the ship was ambling comfortably along". They were now less than 12 hours from their destination and Captain Hayward telegraphed ahead to alert the port agents that their estimated time of arrival would be Sam the next day. Hayward knew that once preparations for discharging the cargo were made there were costs and penalties if they had to be changed. Every effort was made to arrive on time. Musgrove came on duty for the first watch at 8pm. Hayward had left one "special" instruction: to call him when the Cuvier Island Light was sighted, or at 10 o'clock if it had not been seen. Cuvier Island lies south-east of Great Barrier, and the island and the beam from its lighthouse are ships' first sightings of Auckland and the entrance to the harbour up Colville Channel. The storm was growing worse. The night was "so thick that the mast light was invisible from the bridge"5 and the gale was causing an additional problem: "For several hours the following wind had been causing a constantdownpour of clinker ash on to the bridge from the funnel as the smoke drove rapidly forward, but a more serious factor had now arisen. The wind had changed a point or two to the starboard quarter and the smoke was now tending to obscure our visibility over the port bow where we were expecting to see the Cuvier Light."6 At 9.15pm, Musgrove called down the speaking tube to the captain. He told him heavy rain was still falling and the visibility was much worse. Musgrove suggested turning the ship about and keeping out to sea until morning. Hayward said no. However he did order a slight change of course to improve visibility by bringing the smoke broader on the bow. This was a risky decision: they were sailing by dead reckoning and their exact position was uncertain.    Next Musgrove suggested they cut their speed. Hayward rejected the idea. At 9.45pm, Musgrove took a depth sounding although the commander thought it unnecessary. The third mate was not working under ideal conditions - the ship's gear was slow and inaccurate and they were travelling at speed. Nevertheless, he got an ominous reading of 85 fathoms. The seabed shelves steeply off this part of the coast and the 100 fathom line is only about three kilometres from shore.

Hayward refused to believe they could be in waters shallow enough for a sounding to be taken, but at 10.20pm he agreed to slow to half-speed. At 10.30pm, when they still had not seen the Cuvier Light, Musgrove took another sounding. It read 95 fathoms tallow on the lead "had a deep impression which could only have come from a rock bottom".7 The captain gave him the impression he did not think the line had actually touched the bottom. Musgrove asked once more whether they should turn around. Hayward said they risked damage on the decks if they turned in such a very heavy sea. But Musgrove's sense of urgency was having an effect -the captain instructed him to put the engines to slow speed. The mate warned the engine room and went back to stern to ta^ ^^h61" sounding. It was immediately after this that Crew  oppeared from everywhere. Much later, when a newspaper reporter asked if there had been any panic, one of them replied,out there was an urgent and widespread spirit of inquiry!"8 they were ordered to their lifeboat positions but even a cursory look at the violence of the sea around them showed no boat could survive the mountainous rollers. At 11.11pm, wireless stations received the first SOS message: "S.S. Wiltshire, bound Panama to Auckland, ashore Barrier Reef. Heavy list to starboard. Sixteen feet [4-6 metres] °f ^er in No. 1 hold. Danger imminent. Serious. She is listing more and more." For the next hour, the ship's wireless officers tapped out the deteriorating situation in morse: "11.35pm - Send assistance at once. In great danger.  12.10am - Wiltshire advises captain says he is not sure, too dark to know, but thinks he is on the south end of Barrier Island.  12.26am - Nos. 1 and 2 holds are full of water. Ship very exposed to gale. 1.38am - Steamer badly on shore. Vessel rocking about heavily. Immediate assistance required to save life. Very thick weather. Ship on  southern end of Great Barrier. Several steamers coming, but too far off."9  The telegraph messages were picked up not just in Auckland but also by a number of  vessels at sea. The closest was the SS Katoa, a Union Steam Ship Company collier, bound from Auckland to Whangarei and about 4.8 kilometres south of Little Barrier Island when they picked up the first SOS. Captain J. Plowman ordered full speed for the bigger island but in the gale and heavy seas the lightly laden ship made slow progress, pitching and rolling. Much further off, the steam erArahura, on its way from Auckland to Gisborne with 100 passengers, also turned and headed towards the Wiltshire. And at 5am on Thursday, the Auckland Harbour Board tug 7e Awhina left Queen's Wharf carrying representatives of  Lloyd's and Customs, two policemen and two members of the press. The comparatively new medium of radio - called wireless then - had vastly improved communications. When the Wiltshire was wrecked, radio telegraph was used, ship to shore and ship to ship. At 5.30am, the Katoa was directly opposite the Cuvier Light. "I sent up rockets and asked the 'WILTSHIRE' if he could see them," Captain Plowman wrote in his report to the Union Steam Ship Company. "He replied that he could not. I then asked him to send up some so that I could locate his position but, of course, we could not see them as we discovered afterwards he was too far round the Cape for them to be visible from our position.... The sea was then so heavy that at times I hardly had sufficient way on to steer."10 The Wiltshire was across a reef in remote Rosalie Bay at the south-eastern end of Great Barrier. If it had hit the sheer cliff instead of the reef it would have slid back and sunk, and it is unlikely anyone would have survived. Great Barrier was another shipping "black spot" on the New Zealand coast. Wrecks and incidents of stranding dotted its shore line. One of the island's few settlers, Darby Ryan, described the vicinity of Rosalie Bay as particularly difficult and dangerous. The coast "consisted of high precipitous cliffs ranging from 200ft to 500ft in height [61 metres to 152 metres]. There was about 20 fathoms [36 metres] of water at the base, with practically no landing places. [It] was fully exposed to the violence of the easterly, north-easterly and south-easterly gales. There was always a heavy easterly sweep coming in, there being a strong ground swell even in calm weather. The situation was made worse by the strong currents racing round the end of the island."" On the stranded ship, it quickly became impossible to use the rear decks. Great seas swept over the stern and up the main deck. Everyone knew the ship could not survive. The only question was how long would it last. All hands not needed amidships spent the night in the forward saloon lounge where the quartermaster on the piano and a steward on his mandolin played every tune they knew until the steward fell asleep and everyone else tried to do the same, while the ship shook and groaned with the force of the sea.

 The next radio message was sent out at 4am and spoke optimistically of a chance to save the cargo "if the weather moderates". An hour later the mood changed: "Fear ship will now be total wreck. Terrific sea. Our only hope of saving life is all to remain on board until the weather moderates, as no lifeboat could live. Will wire later." By nine on Thursday morning, the Katoa had confirmed the impossibility of a sea rescue when it radioed Auckland that it had left the larger vessel Arahura standing off about one and a half kilometres from the wreck and was moored at Tryphena out of the wind. Captain Plowman had sent a rescue party headed by his chief officer to make their way overland to the cliffs above the wreck. They took with them all the new rope on board the Katoa and a lot of stores. A number of settlers joined them. The party had an eight-kilometre hike to Rosalie Bay. At 10.15am, wireless operators picked up a brief message from the Wiltshire: "Position worse and desperate." It was to be the last. 

The stern section of the ship was now completely awash. An endless procession of waves broke over it and reared up from an army of rocks between ship and shore. "It was clear neither boat, raft nor human being could live in such a turmoil until the storm abated."'2 And the situation on the vessel was about to become much more perilous:  "We suddenly heard, somewhere beneath us, an ominous crescendo of sound, then someone shouted, 'She's breaking up!' In seconds the more agile of us had tumbled or jumped down three ladders to the foredeck to await the Commander who, coming close behind, half fell among us from the bottom steps just as the terrible noise of rivets popping, steel plating tearing and woodwork splintering deafened us. We weren't a moment too soon for, as we scrambled to our feet and hurried forward to safety, we looked back to see the whole bridge structure, boat deck and funnel tearing itself free from the listing and waterlogged hull it had belonged to, rearing up, then swinging upright and tipping backwards. The first class dining saloon, now roofless, presented a sorry scene with all its chairs and equipment standing exposed. As we gained the forecastle we could see that the stern [section] of the ship with its fifth mast had broken from the mid section part we'd just left, and had disappeared into deep water. The waves, now battering the exposed end of the midship structure, began to telescope it into the forward section... accompanied by a continuing loud grinding noise..." All food and water sank with the stern. While each of the crew was served a single biscuit, the sea around them rapidly filled with wreckage and spilled cargo – package cases of all sizes and their contents, mail bags from Panama, tins of cigarettes and cases of whisky. Two men volunteered to swim ashore but it was considered impossible - the water was far too rough. The Arahura was still standing by "tossed in the huge seas... rolling so heavily that her bilge keel was visible".'3 They had watched the ship's back break with horror, theshouts of its crew heard above the storm. With the engine rooms flooded and the masts carried away, the Wiltshire's wireless was now gone. The stranded crew sent messages by semaphore flags that were then transmitted on the Arahura's wireless. In this way, Auckland received news that the crew were still alive. When the tug 7e Awhina steamed into the bay, the Arahura and its 100 passengers continued on their voyage to Gisborne.   Those on the tug now studied the broken ship. "Several men clustered on theforecastle head, look-out bridge, and more were below.... Two lifeboats were visible in the davits on the starboard side, and a third had been smashed against the sides when lowered.... The tug was severely 'dusted' while lying in close, and the men on her had to hold on with both hands firmly to prevent them from being thrown about.... A waterfall on the cliff was being blown up like a geyser by the force of the gale.... Mountainous seas were setting in, and there was no possibility of giving assistance."14 The tug left and moored alongside Katoa in Tryphena at 2pm; and at 5.30pm the Moeraki arrived in the bay with more reporters and a naval rescue party sent out by the USS Company. The first rescue party from the Katoa had reached Rosalie Bay just after 3.30pm at the end of a hellish and exhausting tramp: "Incessant rain had swollen the creeks and flooded the roads. The rescuers waded the rushing torrents waist deep and climbed hundreds of feet of hills, slipping on the clay roads.... They followed the gully, splashing in the mud and water to the knees, and penetrated dense bush... laden with ropes, gear and stores, falling on banks, slipping on boulders in the creeks.... The last river was 10 yards wide and waist deep. By this time it was difficult to stand. All overcoats were useless and gum boots stuck in quagmires. The last stage was an hour's forging ahead in dense virgin scrub." They found some of the island's residents already on the cliff helplessly watching the figures on the rocking bow 200 metres from shore, listening to their shouts as huge seas broke over it and flying spindrift reduced visibility to less than a kilometre. Some way had to be found to make a connection between ship and shore. While the Katoa radioed Auckland that the naval party with their rescue gear would not reach the bay until Friday morning, and the possibility of sending a plane was considered and rejected because of the weather, the men on the Wiltshire began trying to get a line ashore. Time after time, lines fired from the ship or floated out tied to timber failed to come anywhere near. The five men from the Katoa climbed more than 30 metres down the almost vertical cliff face and scrambled out over the rocks to try to reach them, grabbing at any piece of wood that drifted close in case there was a line attached. They lay flat on the rocks, clinging on with their hands and feet as the waves tried to drag them off. At last, a line tied to a hatch cover floated near and was caught by the rocks. One of the Katoa's sailors, Wilfred Kehoe, plunged into the surf, cut the rope and then, grasping it tightly, jumped back, with a wall of water towering over him, and clung to a boulder as it crashed over him. A great cheer of triumph went up from those trapped on the wreck. The lifeline was taken back up the cliff and a much heavier cable was pulled across and tied to a pohutukawa tree close to the cliff edge. With a great deal of difficulty, they rigged up an endless pulley and then attached a boatswain's chair - "an affair like a child's swing, which would carry two people seated upon it, facing in opposite directions."15 Four men were hauled ashore before dark, but it was hard work. There was no suitable pulley on the wreck and the rope sagged into the sea. Those straining on the land end of the rope had to watch their feet - they were on a muddy ledge sloping down to a precipice with only a tree branch as a barrier. Both groups spent a miserable night. Musgrove remembered, "It was nearing mid-winter, and this second night on the ship found us very cold and very wet." Above them the rescue party huddled together in pouring rain, chilled to the bone. "Three residents, one an old and sick man, came across the island late in the  afternoon, and arrived in the darkness. They kept walking most of the night to keep warm:"6 In Auckland "people stood in the streets waiting Twelve more seamen from the wreck had been pulled to shore next morning before the naval party from the Moeraki arrived and brought  fresh muscle to the task. With 10 men pulling on the "endless rope"  they could bring across two men in 15 minutes. The navy team had also brought more supplies, and biscuits and cigarettes were sent over to the ravenous crew. They asked repeatedly for something to drink,  but every time a billy of creek water was sent off, the jerking of the rope  By midday, a naval pulley had been attached to the rig, landing  times were speeded up and the sling of the boatswain's chair stayed clear of the waves. Once the crew reached shore, they were taken in groups back to Tryphena. For many, this final leg of the rescue was almost too much. They fell repeatedly on the greasy roads and while  fording swollen rivers, ate even the crumbs of biscuits and "when they  reached pools of muddy water in the fields... fell on their faces and  lapped up the water".'7 They were met at the beach by one of the  locals, Mrs Blackwell, who with the help of two little girls fed them an  endless supply of hot tea and home-made scones with plum jam. On the Katoa, Captain Plowman was ready for the exhausted men: "..each batch were provided with a hot meal, had their clothes dried, and were sent down No.3 hatch (which was cleaned up and new canvas covers laid on the floor) to make room for others when they arrived. Back on the Wiltshire, the effort of the rescue was wearing down the dwindling number of men left. Musgrove was one of them: "We kept at it throughout the day, but the work slowed appreciably as the cable stretched; it took a long time to take up the slack, tired and weak as we all were. By nightfall, eight of us still remained aboard - but  despite the difficulties of working in darkness we decided to carry on. Captain Hayward, although showing signs of complete exhaustion, wanted to be the last off his ship but his officers insisted he leave ahead of them as he would need help getting into the chair. They got the rotund man into the sling and tied him in; Fourth Officer J.G. Raven sat beside him. But while they were making the crossing, the captain collapsed, let go the rope, "slipped from the lashing and sank back, head downwards from the seat". Sixty metres below was the rocky beach. As they swung perilously about, Raven grabbed Hayward's coat and managed to sit across his legs, holding him until they were pulled to safety. Musgrove and the chief engineer followed with some of theship's papers in a canvas bag, the second-to-last pair off. With neither side able to seein the dark, and everyone tired by now, their journey took almost an hour: "It was a most unpleasant example of two feet forward and one foot back all the time, as the nearly all-in party on the cliff struggled with their herculean task. We rocked and spun with an unending succession of jerks.... For perhaps 15 minutes of this nightmare we were being washed around as the chair descended towards the boiling masses of  water. Only by holding our breath and nearly bursting our lungs as each breaking wave temporarily submerged us, and gasping for dear life during the few moments before we were being swilled around again, did we survive this added ordeal by water. When the first and second officers were landed safely with the ship's log book about 10pm on 2 June, a full two days after hitting the island, the only living creature left on the Wiltshire was the ship's cat - the crew had thought it too risky to bring it over. A hundred men had been rescued from the wreck that day. The last 30 men off spent another cold, wet night in heavy rain, only partially warmed by a fire. At daybreak theyfaced the long walk back to Tryphena and the Katoa which would take them to Auckland.Musgrove recalled it as a nightmare journey: "... we stumbled our way through miles of undergrowth, through swamps and streams, always in the rain. We began to move like men in a dream. I remember taking turns with the others in helping our commander, a thick set and heavy man, Ellerslie and free seats at the opera that night. Wilfred Kehoe was hailed as the hero of the rescue in risking his life to retrieve the line floated from the Wiltshire. The Union Steam Ship Company presented him with a silver tankard in thanks and he and the chief officer from the  Katoa, who led the collier's rescue party, received £50 "in tangible recognition of the services  rendered".22 An extremely modest man, Kehoe said later, when he could be persuaded to talk about it, "The reason why I made a dash for [the line] was simply that I happened to be the nearest to it at the time. All the others would have done exactly the same if they had been nearest.... If [the wave] had got me on the first rock, I would have been gone, for the breakers were smashing timber to matchwood. I got to the second in time, however, and the wave had broken before it knocked me over. I seemed to go down between two rocks and then was lifted up again. That was all that happened" In fact his clothes were so badly torn that he had to do some rough and ready tailoring with bulrush the next day; and he was hospitalised on his return to Auckland for exposure, bruising, chest pain and pneumonia. He went on to become a well-known and much-liked ship's master. At the nautical inquiry into the wrecking of the Wiltshire, Captain Bertram Hayward, commodore of the fleet of the New Zealand Shipping Company and the Federal Steam Navigation Company and master of the Wiltshire for a number of voyages prior to the wrecking, was found guilty of two errors of judgement: for continuing at full speed for nearly an hour after the Cuvier Island Light was not picked up at 10pm; and for failing to act on the result of a sounding an hour later. However, the court paid tribute to the conduct of the captain and his officers after the vessel struck. Hayward's master's certificate was  returned to him but he was ordered to pay the costs of the inquiry. The ship was a total  loss, as was over 10,000 tonnes of general cargo, although a few mail bags were recovered. Some of the cargo washed up on beaches along the coast from the wreck. For years after, those who went looking could find items from the Wiltshire in the sand.

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