The Mermaid Atoll Shipwreck-A mysterious early 19th-century loss MYRA STANBURY with 16 Contributors 307 pp., including 9 appendices, 222 figs mostly colour, 46 tables Australian National Centre of Excellence for Maritime Archaeology and the Australasian I

The partial excavation of an early 19th-century shipwreck in a highly dynamic, shallow-water environment on a coral reef, which yielded only a few small cast-iron guns, three anchors, several ship's fittings, and a tiny collection of heavily abraded and unremarkable artefacts, might not seem to offer much prospect for a substantial archaeological report. Yet this is just what the Department of Maritime Archaeology at the Western Australian Museum—that pioneering hotbed of innovative excellence throughout our discipline's formative years—has achieved in this exemplary volume. Rowley Shoals is an isolated group of three low reefs some 300 km west of Broome, on the edge of the north-western Australian shelf, and Mermaid Reef is the most northerly of them. During exceptionally low tides in 1977, Peter Sartoria, a charter-boat skipper who ran fishing trips to the area, noted what appeared to be wreckage on the western edge of the reef's inner lagoon, and subsequently reported it to the authorities under Western Australia's enlightened historic shipwreck legislation. This triggered a response from the Museum, which, with Sartoria to transport and guide its team of maritime archaeologists, mounted a preliminary expedition to survey and assess the site in 1981. The objects on the reef turned out to be a pair of anchors, and a concentration of wreckage was located nearby in a narrow, twisting gully. This included a third anchor, a try-pot (a cast-iron cauldron for rendering whale-blubber), five iron guns, a rudder gudgeon, and various small items and ship's fittings. The size of the anchors, and general spread of wreckage, suggested that the remains were those of a ship of around 200–250 tons, while the artefact assemblage, especially the try-pot, indicated an early 19th-century date and an association with whaling. The wreck was demonstrably not, as had been considered a possibility, one of the Indonesian long-distance fishing boats known to have visited the reef complex in the pre-colonial era. Its identification, as is so often the case with shipwrecks, involved detective work in the archives. Perusal of early maps yielded what appeared to be conclusive evidence on an Admiralty Chart of 1829 that showed well to the north of the Rowley Shoals a ‘Coral Reef on which the Lively was lost’. But the location indicated is in deep water where no reef exists. It is probably a cartographic error, and the wreck on Mermaid Reef is that of the Lively, but the investigators quite properly emphasize that an element of doubt must remain. However, the name was a good starting point, and the researchers were tenacious. Lloyd's Register produced several late 18th- and early 19th-century ships of that name, but the most promising was a French-built 240-ton Lively belonging to the English whaling tycoon Daniel Bennett, which apparently failed to return to England following departure for the South Seas Fishery in November 1806. Its captain at the time was Joseph Whitehead, who evidently survived the wreck, resuming employment with Bennett in 1809. The incident therefore probably occurred around 1807–1808. This was, and remains, the most likely identification of the Mermaid Reef wreck. Once established, the French connection opened up a further and productive avenue of research that revealed that the ship had been built at Saint-Malo as the Abeille (bee) in 1765 and its initial voyage—presumably related to fishing or whaling—was to Newfoundland, which lasted almost a year. Abeille was rated at 200 tons, and carried 10 guns. In due course it became an armed transport in the service of France's fledgling Republic, and, in 1795, was taken as a prize by the British frigate Hebe. Three years later, Daniel Bennett acquired the ship for his whaling fleet and re-named it Lively. Though absolute proof of the wreck's identity remains elusive, the archaeological evidence strongly supports a French origin and an association with whaling. Three square-sectioned lead scupper-liners, which almost certainly would have been fitted when the ship was built (or, if replaced, would have been shaped to fit the original square holes), were of a distinctively French configuration. Contemporary English scuppers were round in section. The presence of iron knees, several parts of which were recovered, is less conclusive though still compatible with a French build. A total of four try-pots and a blubber-knife indicate whale processing on an industrial scale. The guns are of English pattern, and were probably obtained under Bennett's ownership when the vessel was fitting out for its long voyage to potentially contested whaling waters on the far side of the globe. No documentary source has been found to indicate the fate of the crew, although as noted above the captain, Joseph Whitehead, survived to take up later commands. However, archaeological evidence suggests that at least some of his men escaped, too. Among the relatively few small items recovered is a substantial quantity of navigational equipment, including a sounding lead and parts of at least three pairs of brass dividers—a fourth pair of graduated wing dividers was probably used for carpentry purposes. The lack of evidence for more elaborate instruments, particularly those to determine latitude and longitude, suggests that these may have been removed from the wreck. ‘Survivor salvage’ is a recognized aspect of site-formation processes, and it is quite possible that these items were taken by the survivors to navigate their passage to safety, no doubt using one or more of the catching boats that whalers carried. Following the 1982 assessment, two one-month excavation seasons, in 1983 and 1986, were conducted. The first involved Museum staff and local volunteers, while the second was supervised by Museum staff with funding and volunteers from Earthwatch. Logistically the site is not easy to work. Mermaid Atoll is entirely covered at high tide (there is a c.5 m tidal range). A base camp was set up 30 km away at Beswell Island beside the adjacent Clerke Reef, a sand cay rising 2.4 m above high water but without vegetation or fresh water. The volume describes in impressive detail the expeditionary logistics, fieldwork, historical research, and analytical studies of the finds, setting the results into wider contexts of British imperial, Australian colonial, and global history. This does not make for easy reading since the disciplines involved do not necessarily speak in similar languages, and the mental cross-referencing required to follow the often complex arguments is at times overwhelming. But helpful summaries are frequent, and it is worth reading these first, even when they come at the end of a section. Although maritime archaeology lies at its core, this is not just another wreck report. It is a major study focused on, but radiating in many directions from, a modest and apparently insignificant little wreck almost entirely destroyed by the extreme environment in which it lies. In Australian terms it is prehistoric archaeology pure and simple, covering activities along the continent's north-western coastlands two decades before formal European settlement began there. From a British perspective it relates to the long-range maritime entrepreneurship of commercial interests seeking to exploit resources in an expanding global empire. The French connection links it to the Revolutionary period and Napoleonic wars. It also sheds light on diagnostic technical differences between French and English shipbuilding associated with small quasi-vernacular vessels that, even in this comparatively late period, are less well understood than many documentarily focused historians would have us believe. And it says a great deal about formation processes and their archaeological significance in shallow high-energy zones. The principal author is Myra Stanbury, who wrote almost every chapter in conjunction with one or more of the 16 named collaborators. The exception is Ch. 12 on whaling-related artefacts, written by Jennifer Rodrigues, and some specialist aspects of the nine appendices. Illustrations are excellent and apposite, with superb photography by Patrick Baker. Many of the contributors have undertaken original research in their specialist fields, notably Ian MacLeod and his colleagues from the Museum's conservation department whose studies into historic metallurgy and conservation techniques enjoy a world-wide reputation. Academically this is a seminal volume, important not only for the original and integrated research it contains but as an exemplar of how such things should be done. It demonstrates that apparently obscure, insignificant, and unexciting shipwrecks can be as revealing and culturally valuable as a Vasa or a Mary Rose if studied by archaeologists and historians who ask the right questions and are prepared to think outside the box. More than that, it shows how an enlightened legislature, a state museum that recognizes the importance of the shipwreck heritage and how to stimulate public interest in it, and a wide community of stakeholders eager to be constructively involved can cooperate to mutual advantage. This is the framework within which Peter Sartoria was able to kick-start the whole process back in 1981, and continue supporting it without thought of monetary reward. It is good to report in conclusion that on the Museum's recommendation he received an unasked-for payment from the State at the highest level allowed.

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