It wasn't a lot to go on — just a keg and straw bed floating in the surf — but, sitting there in his small boat, George Harvey knew what it meant.

There had been a shipwreck.

Saturday, July 12, 1828

The stretch of coast in southeast Newfoundland, where George Harvey made his home, could be perilous. There were rough seas, dense fogs and few navigation aids. Time and time again, ships wrecked and sailors were lost — sometimes forever. Other times, when the wind and tide were right, their bodies washed up on shore and were discovered by locals, who dutifully collected and buried them. In time the area came to be known as Dead Islands or Isle aux Morts.

In the fading evening light, George surveyed the area around him.

He didn’t see any bodies or, indeed, any other sign of a shipwreck — just a floating keg and bed. There was nothing to be done, he decided, not tonight. In the morning he’d fetch Ann, his seventeen year-old daughter and fishing partner.

Together, they’d go explore.

Sunday, July 13, 1828

It wasn’t light yet but Ann sat drinking tea at the kitchen table with her father.

She could hear the rain pelting against the window. It sounded like it was shaping up to be another day of rain, drizzle and fog. It was miserable but Ann was almost used to it. Since she’d started fishing with her father she’d been on the sea in all sorts of awful weather.

But this Sunday morning wasn’t about fish. It was about something bigger, something more exciting and scary. It was about finding a shipwreck.

Out there somewhere, according to her father, was a mysterious boat.

Ann didn’t know what to think. As soon as she’d imagined one scenario, it was chased out by another. Was it going to be a big ship, she wondered, with lots of interesting cargo? And what about the crew; would she meet them? Or would they have drowned, and what might that look like?

Before she had a chance to fully chew over any thought, her father stood up from the kitchen table — he was ready to leave.

Not knowing whether they were embarking on a rescue mission or a salvage operation, George decided he had to be prepared for either and that called for extra hands.

To that end, he enlisted Tom, his 12 year-old son. He rounded out his team with Hairyman — the Newfoundland dog he kept to help him retrieve nets, floats and gear.

The crew boarded their small boat and set out in search of the wreck.

The Despatch

The early 1800s were a time of heavy migration from Europe to North America. Thousands of people left poverty in Europe in hopes of finding fortune across the ocean.

On May 29th, 1828 the brig Despatch sailed out of Londonderry on just such a voyage. It was carrying about 200 hundred passengers — many of them families — bound for Quebec.

They had a long trip ahead of them — crossing the Atlantic by sail took time. After nearly three weeks of travel the Despatch had made it as far as the Grand Banks of Newfoundland where it was lost in the fog.

After ten days on the Banks, the fog cleared just long enough for the captain to get a bering and closed in again.

Thursday, July 10th, 1828

With the newly taken bering the Despatch continued its journey despite the poor visibility.

On July 10th, the ship had made it almost to Cape Ray, at the southwest corner of Newfoundland. The captain ordered the crew to alter its course to the north, so they could make the turn toward the Cabot Strait, between Newfoundland and continental North America.

In the fog, the captain had gotten his position wrong — the Despatch hadn’t yet cleared Cape Ray and was now on a direct course for the coast of Newfoundland.

By the time he realized it, it was too late. The Despatch ran aground on breakers about quarter of a mile from shore and three miles from Isle aux Morts.

The ship began to fill with water. The crew tried to launch the Despatch’s jolly boat in hopes of ferrying passengers to safety but the seas were too rough. The jolly boat was ripped from the Despatch and destroyed — killing three crew members, including the captain.

Desperate, the passengers climbed across the Despatch’s broken mast to a nearby rocky island where they clung, wet and cold.

Entire families huddled on the rocks, trying to stay together but not all of them managed to withstand the relentless waves.Children were dying and families were being ripped apart, and there was little hope of it getting better.

The Despatch and its crew were alone. For more than two days, they waited with little hope. After all, nobody even knew they were lost —

except for George Harvey who, unbeknownst to them, had spotted a keg in the surf.

July 13, 1828: A Rescue Mission

Aboard their 12ft punt Ann and George took turns with oars.

Rowing was hard work at the best of times but, in the wind and rain, it was especially miserable. They couldn’t know for sure where the wreck was but life on that coast had taught them that the most likely place was near the submerged rocks about 3 miles from where they lived. The closer they got, the more debris they saw until, after nearly two hours of rowing, they saw it — the Despatch, or what was left of it.

Ann couldn’t believe her eyes. The Despatch, she realized, was no cargo ship — it had been full of passengers! Dozens of people, some of them children, were huddled on the rocks. There had to be more than a hundred, cold, wet people.

Ann never felt so small or so frightened in her life.

There was so much need, so many people to rescue, and only one 12ft boat to answer the call. It seemed impossible - she didn’t know how they were going to do it, but she knew they had to try.

The heavy seas made it impossible to get too close passengers.

A hundred yards from the rock, Ann steadied the punt. George threw a piece of wood as close to the survivors as he could. He could count on the waves to carry it ashore to them. When they got it, they tied a rope to it and threw it back, toward Ann and the punt.

This time, they couldn’t rely on the surf to help— it was fighting against them. Instead, George enlisted Hairyman, his dog.

On command, Hairyman jumped from the boat and began swimming toward the rope. He knew just what to do, for years he’d been retrieving for George. He seized the wood in his mouth, turned around and paddled back to the punt.

There was now a connection between the Harveys and the stranded passengers.

They were ready to start their rescue operation.

On the rock, a woman removed stripped her outer garments. She knew the journey to the punt, though short, was going to be difficult and it would be much more difficult weighed down by heavy, wet clothing.

Grasping the rope she waded into the water. It was frigid. The waves pummelled her, knocking the rope from her hands. Fighting against the waves would have been difficult had she had been in peak physical condition, and she certainly wasn’t. If the long journey on the Despatch hadn’t worn her down, being cold and hungry in the days following the wreck, definitely had.

She was hardly unique, in fact the Harveys soon realized few of the passengers could get themselves to the punt. They’re going to have to be pulled aboard, one-by-one.

Ann steadied the punt, as George pulled.

It was back-breaking work, she had to row the boat as close to the passengers as possible, fighting against the waves that were trying to throw the punt on to the rocks.

Ann felt the muscles burning in her back but, when she felt as though she couldn’t continue, she looked to the families on the rock, and knew she had to find the strength.

Again and again, over three days, Ann and George rowed to the wreck, pulled passengers aboard, then rowed them the three miles to their home.

It was brutal, exhausting work.

Tuesday, July 15, 1828

Finally, on Tuesday morning they ferried the last load of passengers back to Isle aux Morts. They hadn’t managed to save everyone but, together, they rescued 153 people.

They couldn’t stop their efforts yet, though.

While Ann and George were rowing to and from the wreck Jane, Ann’s mother, had the task of caring for the survivors. With the rowing done, Ann and George turned their attention to looking after the sick and injured.

Many had little clothing, and there wasn’t enough shelter to house everyone. The Harveys took as many as they could into their home then, with the help of the able-bodied survivors, they began constructing temporary lean-tos to keep people out of the elements.

For a week the Harveys did their best to care for their guests. Jane and George shared what they had, using their entire season’s food supply in just a few days. By the time the rescue vessel HMS Tyne arrived, there wasn’t even any tea left.

The HMS Tyne, sympathetic to the Harveys’ plight, replenished their food stores. Then collected the survivors and carried them out of the Harveys’ lives.

The heroic Harveys

Rescuing the passengers of the Despatch had truly been a family effort but, when word spread, the credit often went to George — a ‘heroic fisherman’.

Sir Thomas Cochrane, who was Governor of Newfoundland at the time, heard the story and awarded George a gold medal. He was also given £100 for his efforts — an impressive sum at the time.

For years Ann was unjustly cut out of the tale. She had been instrumental in the rescue but the reports rarely mentioned her and, if they did, she was virtually nameless referred to only as George’s eldest daughter.

George never shied away from crediting Ann in the rescue and, eventually, her story spread.

Nearly 200 years later, Ann is well-remembered. She has been commemorated in fiction, music and —quite appropriately —a Canadian Coast Guard Vessel bears her name.

She has become a cultural icon. She’s proof that, when skill collides with daring and determination, sometimes the impossible becomes real.