03/03/2024
Festus and the mysterious hermit of Sandwich Harbour
by Ron Swilling
Tales of adventure and lost treasure abound around the desolate coastline of Namibia. These tales include the jewel of a lagoon, Sandwich Harbour, 50km south of Walvis Bay.
Fed by fresh water that trickles through the dunes from the Kuiseb River’s aquifer, the constantly-changing lagoon drew the ancestors of the ≠Aonin or Topnaar people, who wandered the shores, and myriad bird species. Intrepid Portuguese sailors began to explore the oceans in the fifteenth century looking for new trade routes. Diego Cão marked the spot on his map as Port d'Ilheo (Point of the Island) when he sailed into the lagoon in 1486.
Many years later the natural harbour of Port d'Ilheo became known as Sandwich Harbour, the name taken from the HMS Sandwich, which came to grief in the bay in 1792. Sandwich Harbour also attracted entrepreneurs from the 1850s, supporting various industries such as fish-processing and later, beef-canning.
I learned more about the lagoon from the time when it was still accessible by ships from the writings of Lawrence Green and Gunter Von Schumann. The story of the eccentric German hermit is among the intriguing tales of shipwrecks and their flotsam that washed up onto the Namib Desert beaches. The tale began when the hermit arrived at the fishing settlement of Sandwich Harbour in the late 1880s, dressed in French military uniform and travelling with a Cape Town merchant who had picked him up in Walvis Bay. He had a case of medical instruments and was accompanied by Otto, his Fox Terrier. From his various accounts, it was assumed that he had spent time in the French Foreign Legion.
Shy and introverted, he erected a hut, using driftwood and planks salvaged from shipwrecks, a distance from the settlement. Although he was called the ‘silent Mr Doctor’ by local fishermen whom he treated, he could speak German, French and English. He became highly respected and was even said to be knowledgeable about the zodiac and geology. He obtained medicine for his patients from passing ships and treated and assisted the local community with medical matters.
As often occurs with the mysterious, rumours spread not only about his origins but also about his intentions. Some thought he was seeking the fabled treasure of a lost East Indiaman. According to legend, it held the riches of the Great Mogul on board and was wrecked in the thick coastal fog after rounding the Cape of Good Hope. Surviving sailors and passengers were said to have buried the treasure on the beach above the high-water mark.
Although the hermit apparently had no luck finding the treasure, the local fishing community recalled a favourite story which added to the intrigue surrounding him. While on a walk one day along the dunes, the hermit’s dog uncovered an intact skeleton with several British coins dating from before the 1850s. The hermit recovered all the bones and reconstructed the skeleton with wire. He named him Festus and propped him up in the corner of his hut as a bodyguard. He fitted the eye-sockets with pieces of old mirror, placed an antique clay pipe in his mouth, used seal skin on his skull for hair and positioned shells for ears. He also dressed him in boots and a discarded khaki jacket, adorned with coins as if a decorated warrior. He adopted the habit of transferring Festus outside his hut during full moon where his mirror eyes would glitter in the moonshine and his arms would quaver in the breeze, keeping even the brave away.
The hermit lived out the remainder of his days at Sandwich Harbour, walking the beaches and dunes, aiding the local community and receiving supplies in kind from them. His legacy and that of his bodyguard Festus, however, survived long after his demise. Diamond mine workers and policemen en route to Conception Bay used to overnight at his hut, which became known as the ‘übernachtungspontok’. Not brave enough to share the quarters with the skeleton of the drowned mariner, adventurer, pirate or whaler, they would place Festus outside on their monthly visits. After repeated complaints by workers who believed in wandering ghosts, police commander Van Coller eventually issued orders in 1929 for Festus to be removed and properly buried. Two desert camel-patrol constables were assigned the job. The one, on hearing of his undertaker duties, developed a stomach complaint and disappeared for three days, leaving his colleague to lay Festus unceremoniously to rest after thirty hard years of guard duty. He ensured that his spine was broken before he did so to prevent the dead person from visiting in the night. A wooden cross was erected and an empty Boegoeberg brandy bottle and a few shells marked the resting place. The grave disappeared into the desert sands in 1935.
Sandwich Harbour was eventually abandoned to the whistling wind, the birds and the jackals. In 1890, the sand spit protecting the natural bay broke off and the harbour silted up, quickly becoming too shallow for ships to enter and forcing people to make their way overland across miles of desert. Today, it is a protected conservation area, part of the Namib-Naukluft Park. Only a few ruins and ancient shell middens remain, a rich history of entrepreneurship, and tales of adventure, mystery and intrigue.
(References: Von Schumann, Gunter E: ‘Sandwich Harbour’s hermit and his strange skeletal guard known as ‘Festus’, 1990; Green, Lawrence: ‘The coast of treasure’, Howard Timmins, Cape Town, 1932)
and the mysterious hermit of Sandwich Harbour
by Ron Swilling
Tales of adventure and lost treasure abound around the desolate coastline of Namibia. These tales include the jewel of a lagoon, Sandwich Harbour, 50km south of Walvis Bay.
Fed by fresh water that trickles through the dunes from the Kuiseb River’s aquifer, the constantly-changing lagoon drew the ancestors of the ≠Aonin or Topnaar people, who wandered the shores, and myriad bird species. Intrepid Portuguese sailors began to explore the oceans in the fifteenth century looking for new trade routes. Diego Cão marked the spot on his map as Port d'Ilheo (Point of the Island) when he sailed into the lagoon in 1486.
Many years later the natural harbour of Port d'Ilheo became known as Sandwich Harbour, the name taken from the HMS Sandwich, which came to grief in the bay in 1792. Sandwich Harbour also attracted entrepreneurs from the 1850s, supporting various industries such as fish-processing and later, beef-canning.
I learned more about the lagoon from the time when it was still accessible by ships from the writings of Lawrence Green and Gunter Von Schumann. The story of the eccentric German hermit is among the intriguing tales of shipwrecks and their flotsam that washed up onto the Namib Desert beaches. The tale began when the hermit arrived at the fishing settlement of Sandwich Harbour in the late 1880s, dressed in French military uniform and travelling with a Cape Town merchant who had picked him up in Walvis Bay. He had a case of medical instruments and was accompanied by Otto, his Fox Terrier. From his various accounts, it was assumed that he had spent time in the French Foreign Legion.
Shy and introverted, he erected a hut, using driftwood and planks salvaged from shipwrecks, a distance from the settlement. Although he was called the ‘silent Mr Doctor’ by local fishermen whom he treated, he could speak German, French and English. He became highly respected and was even said to be knowledgeable about the zodiac and geology. He obtained medicine for his patients from passing ships and treated and assisted the local community with medical matters.
As often occurs with the mysterious, rumours spread not only about his origins but also about his intentions. Some thought he was seeking the fabled treasure of a lost East Indiaman. According to legend, it held the riches of the Great Mogul on board and was wrecked in the thick coastal fog after rounding the Cape of Good Hope. Surviving sailors and passengers were said to have buried the treasure on the beach above the high-water mark.
Although the hermit apparently had no luck finding the treasure, the local fishing community recalled a favourite story which added to the intrigue surrounding him. While on a walk one day along the dunes, the hermit’s dog uncovered an intact skeleton with several British coins dating from before the 1850s. The hermit recovered all the bones and reconstructed the skeleton with wire. He named him Festus and propped him up in the corner of his hut as a bodyguard. He fitted the eye-sockets with pieces of old mirror, placed an antique clay pipe in his mouth, used seal skin on his skull for hair and positioned shells for ears. He also dressed him in boots and a discarded khaki jacket, adorned with coins as if a decorated warrior. He adopted the habit of transferring Festus outside his hut during full moon where his mirror eyes would glitter in the moonshine and his arms would quaver in the breeze, keeping even the brave away.
The hermit lived out the remainder of his days at Sandwich Harbour, walking the beaches and dunes, aiding the local community and receiving supplies in kind from them. His legacy and that of his bodyguard Festus, however, survived long after his demise. Diamond mine workers and policemen en route to Conception Bay used to overnight at his hut, which became known as the ‘übernachtungspontok’. Not brave enough to share the quarters with the skeleton of the drowned mariner, adventurer, pirate or whaler, they would place Festus outside on their monthly visits. After repeated complaints by workers who believed in wandering ghosts, police commander Van Coller eventually issued orders in 1929 for Festus to be removed and properly buried. Two desert camel-patrol constables were assigned the job. The one, on hearing of his undertaker duties, developed a stomach complaint and disappeared for three days, leaving his colleague to lay Festus unceremoniously to rest after thirty hard years of guard duty. He ensured that his spine was broken before he did so to prevent the dead person from visiting in the night. A wooden cross was erected and an empty Boegoeberg brandy bottle and a few shells marked the resting place. The grave disappeared into the desert sands in 1935.
Sandwich Harbour was eventually abandoned to the whistling wind, the birds and the jackals. In 1890, the sand spit protecting the natural bay broke off and the harbour silted up, quickly becoming too shallow for ships to enter and forcing people to make their way overland across miles of desert. Today, it is a protected conservation area, part of the Namib-Naukluft Park. Only a few ruins and ancient shell middens remain, a rich history of entrepreneurship, and tales of adventure, mystery and intrigue.
(References: Von Schumann, Gunter E: ‘Sandwich Harbour’s hermit and his strange skeletal guard known as ‘Festus’, 1990; Green, Lawrence: ‘The coast of treasure’, Howard Timmins, Cape Town, 1938
