The Strange Journey of Louisa Journeaux
As far as the people of Jersey Island knew, Louisa Journeaux was dead—lost in a tragic boating accident on a calm April evening. But the truth was far stranger. The 22-year-old was alive, adrift, and on an unplanned trans-Atlantic journey that would eventually see her on the shores of Newfoundland.
This is the strange journey of Louisa Journeaux.
A Calm Evening
The evening of April 18, 1886, began like any other spring night in St. Helier. Louisa and her cousin, Julia Wiltcher, had just left church and were walking toward the post office when they encountered two young men, Jules Farnes and Georges Radiguet. The evening was fine, the air crisp, and a soft breeze whispered from the harbour. On a whim, the four friends decided to take an impromptu outing on the water.
The pier was bustling, alive with the chatter of sailors and the creaking of docked vessels. They discovered only small skiffs available, perfect for two people. Louisa and Jules took one boat while Julia and Georges took another. They agreed to row toward the end of Victoria Pier and meet back at the dock in an hour.
When an hour passed, Julia and Georges returned to the shore—but Louisa and Jules were nowhere to be seen. The search for the missing pair began immediately. The sky turned dark, and the harbour grew quiet as worry began to build. It wasn’t long before a figure appeared, clinging desperately to the chains at the base of Victoria Pier. It was Jules Farnes, shivering and drenched.
Louisa was gone.
The Story on Shore
Jules’s story was grim. While rowing, he lost one of his oars. As he tried to retrieve it, the second slipped from his grasp. With no way to manoeuvre the skiff, the tide began to pull the boat toward the open sea.
It was a perilous situation.
Jules gave Louisa his felt hat and jumped into the water to find the oars. But as he searched, the boat drifted farther into the darkness—and then it was gone. He was left alone in the water, with no choice but to try and find shore. He barely made it back to the base of the pier.
The skiff — and Louisa — were carried away by the sea.
The next morning, an oar and an umbrella— quickly identified as Louisa’s —were found floating in the water. Suspicion began to stir. Under closer scrutiny, Jules’s account started to unravel. People in St. Helier whispered that he had scratches on his face when he was found. Some even claimed they’d heard someone shouting “murder” from the port the night Louisa disappeared.
On April 19, the police brought Jules in for questioning. They concluded that the rowboat must have capsized and that Jules had abandoned Louisa to her fate. He was charged with negligence. The police felt sure that his careless actions led to Louisa’s disappearance.
A swift hearing was held, but there was insufficient evidence to keep him in custody. The magistrate released Jules with a warning: he could be re-arrested if new evidence surfaced.
Jules headed France, leaving behind a community still half-convinced he had blood on his hands.
Meanwhile at Sea
Louisa drifted alone in the small boat, the moon briefly casting a pale glow over the restless waves before vanishing behind a bank of cloud. Her cries for help were swallowed by the vastness of the ocean. Rain began to fall, soaking her and filling the skiff. Her small umbrella offered no protection against the relentless downpour.
Desperate, she used Jules’s felt hat to bail out the rising water.
The storm eventually passed, but the morning brought no comfort. Cold, exhausted, and helpless, Louisa found herself surrounded by endless sea.
Then, on the horizon, a steamer appeared—its smoke trailing like a ribbon in the sky. Hope surged within her. She waved and called out, trying to signal the ship.
But it was too far away. The steamer turned and disappeared, leaving her alone once more.
Monday gave way to Tuesday, and Tuesday became Wednesday. Louisa fought to keep the boat afloat, bailing with every ounce of energy she had.
On Thursday and, just as despair threatened to overtake her, a sail appeared on the horizon. With her last reserves of strength, she waved her pocket handkerchief. The brigantine Tombola of St. Malo spotted her signal and altered its course.
As the ship approached, the crew threw a rope toward Louisa, but she was too weak to grasp it. She could only watch in helpless agony as the vessel continued past her. Refusing to give up, the crew quickly launched a small boat and successfully rescued her from the brink of death. Once aboard, Captain Landgren and his men treated Louisa with extraordinary care and compassion.
Reflecting on their kindness, Louisa later said, “Captain Landgren most kindly gave me a separate stateroom, with every privacy, and some dry clothing of his own, which, I am afraid, were more welcome than suitable.”
She continued, “He gave me some good, warm tea, and ministered to my wants in the best and most kindly manner he possibly could, being quite a father to me in every way.”
Louisa’s journey was about to take an unexpected turn. The Tombola wasn’t headed back to Jersey, or even Europe. It was crossing the Atlantic, en route to Port aux Choix, Newfoundland.
A Newfound Hope
For 26 days, Louisa sailed aboard the Tombola as it made its way across the Atlantic. Before heading north, the ship stopped at St. George’s Bay letting Louisa off.
Her story stunned the residents of the community. It seemed almost too incredible to believe — a woman swept out to sea, an ocean away, had made it safely to Newfoundland!
News of her survival soon reached the Colonial Secretary, who immediately sent a telegram to Jersey. It was the first word Louisa’s family and friends had received since her disappearance.
It was as if she had returned from the dead.
Louisa’s miraculous rescue and extraordinary adventure quickly became the talk of the day, spreading far and wide. Even Queen Victoria herself heard of Louisa’s ordeal and sent a message of congratulations to her parents, commending their daughter’s resilience and remarkable survival.
In Newfoundland, Louisa found comfort in the kindness of Rev. C. Jeffery, his wife, and the community that took her in. She stayed with a Miss McKay until she could make her way to St. John’s, where she was given new clothes at Bowring’s store, and shared her story with the local media.
On May 27, a heartfelt note appeared in the local press:
“Sir, allow me to convey my most cordial thanks to the many friends in this far-off land, who since my painful and unexpected arrival among them have expressed their sympathy with me in so many kindly ways. Since it was my said experience to be cast away from my native land, I feel thankful to Almighty God that He so mercifully guided me to this hospitable island. I cannot sufficiently show how grateful I am for the kindness and sympathy I have received here, but for the people of Newfoundland I shall always have the warmest regards.”
Jules
Louisa’s account of her time in the skiff aligned with Jules’ story. The dark suspicions held by the people of St. Helier had been unfounded — if anyone had cried ‘murder’ that night, it had nothing to do with Jules Farne.
It had all been a horrible accident.
Legacy
Louisa’s harrowing story remains a part of Newfoundland’s history and has even left its mark on the landscape. It is said Journois/Journois Brook, in Western Newfoundland, is named in Journeaux’s honour.
On June 12 — nearly two months after her disastrous evening row — Louisa finally made it back to Jersey. Her journey is a reminder that while trouble can strike without warning, so can kindness — even the darkest, most hopeless chapters can have a happy ending.
-
The Jersey Lily, Harbor Grace Standard, June 12, 1886
The Journeaux Incident, Evening Mercury, May 20, 1886
Louisa Journeaux’s Long Boat Ride, Paul O’Neill, The Book of Newfoundland
The Voice of Don, Evening Telegram, August 3, 1962
Journois, Encyclopedia of Newfoundland and Labrador
