The Steel Sarcophagus:
The Infinite Curse of the Alkimos
by M.P. Pellicer | Noir Notebook
The Alkimos was no ordinary merchant ship. When she settled into her grave off the Western Australian coast in 1963, she joined hundreds of other wrecks, yet she carries a darkness none can match. Men whisper that she was born cursed.
During her hurried construction in a Baltimore shipyard—one of 2,500 vessels rushed for the war effort—death allegedly moved in early. Legend speaks of a welder accidentally riveted alive inside the hull, his muffled screams ignored until he suffocated. Some versions claim several workers vanished into her steel ribs, sealed forever behind the walls. This grisly origin mirrors the Great Eastern of 1858, where wreckers later found two skeletons—a riveter and his boy helper—trapped within the inner shell for thirty years.
Launched on October 11, 1943, as the George M. Shriver, she was rechristened the Viggo Hansteen within a week. Sailors know that changing a ship’s name invites disaster. The vessel spent the war dodging U-boats in the Mediterranean, but her true enemies were internal: constant, inexplicable mechanical failures.
The vessel’s ill fortune peaked in August 1944. While docked in Naples, a Canadian radio operator named Maude Steane was murdered in her cabin by a fellow crewman, who then turned his weapon on himself. To avoid scandal, officials buried the truth, reporting she died “on active service.”
Her killer, likely 2nd Lieutenant Anker Kristiansen, was an inspector with The Naval Maritime Shooting Department for the Merchant Navy and a weapons officer. Coincidentally, he was listed as dying the same day as Maude, and he was buried in the same cemetery. He was a married man, which might account for the secrecy.
Many believe Maude’s restless spirit stayed behind, anchoring a permanent curse to the iron deck.
The ship’s history reads like a ledger of despair:
1952: She ran aground by Katiki Point Lighthouse in New Zealand.
1953: Renamed Alkimos by Greek owners, further tempting fate.
1961: Hit by “heavy weather,” she arrived in port with a terrifying list.
1963: The final voyage. She struck a reef near Beagle Island. Even as Queen Elizabeth II sailed past on the Britannia to photograph the wreck, the ship’s luck grew darker.
Six days after she ran aground, the ship was freed. It sat in 36 feet of water in the middle of a reefed lagoon. The propellers were bent and the keel badly dented; however, the following day, with the help of the tug Yuna, she reached open sea and headed towards Fremantle.
Two months after she was freed from the Beagle Island Reef, the Alkimos, which had been docked at Victoria Quay for 7 weeks, was arrested. She was waiting to sail to Hong Kong for inspection on a slip. A writ was issued out of the Perth Supreme Court in which the ship’s agent claimed £12,500 in costs for necessaries supplied to the ship between March 20 and May 23.
The account was settled, but her departure was delayed when the 16 Chinese crew members aboard the tug Pacific Reserve refused to work. The reason was never explained, and this was the vessel that would aid in taking the Alkimos to Hong Kong.
Eventually, the crew on the tug was convinced, but perhaps they sensed what others didn’t. The ships were caught in very bad weather, producing giant waves. The Alkimos, which was unmanned, came adrift when the line snapped.
By then, newspapers were referring to the ship as “ill-fated”, especially after she ran aground less than 24 hours after leaving from Fremantle.
The ship was savaged by waves as it sat caught on the jagged reefs at Wreck Point, about 25 miles north of Perth.
Though undamaged, it could not be re-floated until February, 1964.
In the meantime, a caretaker was left on board. In 1963, Ray Krakouer of Yanchep was hired for this task. He would be there for weeks at a time. He told a local newspaper, “I particularly remember the eerie sight of seeing something coming towards me like a bright light the size of a man. I picked up a piece of 3-foot by 2-foot timber and stood there waiting. I said something like ‘Come on, you bastard’ but then thought better of it, and dropped the lump of wood and climbed the ladder out of the hold.
“There was also the clatter of the Morse key in the radio room, though it was locked and sealed by the customs people.”
During the time it was grounded, Wayne Morgan, an American exchange student, stayed on board as a caretaker in order to prevent looting. He wrote in his diary, “This is no place for anyone with a weak heart.”
On July 14, 1963, he wrote, “I’ve been down to the engine room, but never again. It’s the eeriest place on this ship. From the time I left my cabin, I could hear footsteps following me. I was scared out of my wits.”
Once, he witnessed a heavy metal door between the captain’s cabin and the bridge slam shut with incredible force, as if deliberately thrown in anger. He also described seeing a misty figure walking the deck.
When he left, he ended up a patient at a psychiatric hospital.
Like others before him, and those who followed, footsteps could be heard, loud clanking, and the barking of a dog deep within the hull. This coincided with the ghost of a little dog seen in the engine room during the ship’s service. There was the sensation of being watched or touched by unseen hands, and the strange noise of a rolling billycan.
During the summer of 1963, the shade of a seaman dubbed “Henry” was spotted onboard.
First to see him was Garry Hugill, 15, son of Bob Hugill, a cray fisherman, one of a 2-man partnership that owned the ship. The apparition was described as “tall and sturdily built, with sandy hair.” His clothing varied. He usually wore gray trousers and a matching seaman’s jacket, and even hot days he wore a full set of oilskins.
Garry was relieving the Filipino watchmen when he saw the ghost in the forward section of the ship. “I looked into a cabin during my rounds of inspection, and there he was… lying on his back staring at the deck head. Suddenly, I realized there could be nobody else aboard, and all I wanted to do was get off that ship.” However, his relief would not arrive until the next day.
A search of the ship confirmed what they already knew, which was that there was nobody else on board.
A week later, Garry saw the ghost again as it disappeared into the engine room, where it closed the bulkhead door behind him.
Then the regular Filipino watchmen, Ramos, Flora, and Benny, returned. They had also reported seeing the gray figure moving about the ship as well.
Then in September, 1963, Mrs. Marion Kemp was living on the ship with her husband and 4-year-old daughter. She went into premature labor, and her husband acted as midwife until an ambulance was sent out from Perth. Supposedly the birth was brought on by a fall she took during stormy weather.
The baby died a short time before the ambulance arrived. The drivers had to strip to their underclothes and wade through waist-deep water to reach a ladder, and then the gangway. They tied her into a canvas carrier to lower her over the side. It took three men to carry her out, through water that was already up to their armpits. They set her down while the ambulance was backing up and one of the drivers had to kill a venomous dugite snake which was only 50 feet from the woman. She was taken to King Edward Memorial Maternity Hospital.
In May, 1964, on a calm night without any power on board, or human agency the freighter broke anchor at Eglington Rocks and ran aground. The problem then arose when the tug Pacific Star, which had come from Manila in February and helped to re-float the ship, was arrested on a claim over £60,000 for an outstanding mortgage, and could not respond to help it from where it was beached.
Eventually, it would be found that she could not be salvaged due to the damage to her.
In March 1969, Herbert Voigt, 24, a West German long-distance swimmer, disappeared during an 11-mile swim between Cottesloe Beach and Rottnest Island. All he had as protection against sharks was an 8-inch knife strapped to his left leg. Sadly, the wager for this dangerous venture was two kegs of beer.
A month after he disappeared in the shark-infested waters, a skull was found on a beach close to the Alkinos’ wreck. This was unusual since his route was nowhere near the ship’s location.
In August 1969, four months after the discovery of the skull, confirmation was received that it belonged to the unfortunate Mr. Voigt.
In October 1969, 2 days shy of its 26th anniversary, leaving the Baltimore harbor in 1943, three demolition workers were lifted by an RAAF helicopter from the blazing hulk of the Alkimos. A fourth man jumped into the water and swam 300 yards to the shore. There was fear of an explosion since 15 canisters of acetylene gas were left on board. It was thought that the fire started when timbers crashed through the decking into cabins during the demolition work.
A light-aircraft pilot was the one who saw smoke coming from the ship’s funnel and saw that the men were trapped at the rear of the ship. He then notified the RAAF, which staged the rescue.
This would not be the first or last time salvage workers would be driven off the wreck by fires that would mysteriously start every time they returned to start work again.
Throughout the years, there have been numerous reports of Henry walking on the deck, many originating from cray fishermen in the area. Some thought it could be a squatter, but no one was ever found. Sightseers also claimed to see the mysterious figure on the deck.
In 1970, an ABC documentary titled Alkimos: The Ship That Changed Its Name was aired. It detailed the series of misfortunes that wrecked the freighter seven years before.
In 1973, steam was seen billowing from the tunnels of the wreck. Two newspaper reporters went on the wreck to find that the smoke came from drums of tar that had somehow caught fire.
While stranded, the vessel was bought and sold at least 12 times, and a pattern developed of bankruptcy and life-threatening illnesses for the new owners of the ship. Once the ship was sold, they would be freed from the bad luck that had been visited upon them. Crewmen would be injured while they worked on board the vessel, and tugs would catch fire or be damaged.
Footsteps were heard on the ladders and in the kitchen gallery, along with cooking odors. The activity inside the galley would stop when someone investigated, but once the door was shut, it would start up again. The salvage personnel who were on board 24/7 described their tools being moved. They avoided leaving their cabins after nightfall, and when they did, they would hear footsteps following them.
Jack Wong Sue (1925-2009), an experienced diver from the area, said in 1998 that it was a cursed ship. After a visit during the 1960s, he experienced respiratory problems. He had agreed to spend a night on the Alkimos with a film crew. One of the staff felt an invisible figure brush past him. He heard someone moaning and then rolling over in the opposite bunk, even though it was empty.
In 1988, he vowed to have nothing more to do with the ship, then in March 1998, he walked down the stretch of beach opposite the Alkimos and shortly afterwards suffered a severe stroke.
A Queensland clairvoyant said a sailor had been butchered and thrown out of a porthole.
At one stage, a priest was brought in to exorcise the ship and lift the curse. He felt someone had met a violent death near the foremast. However, practicality won out over fear, and he decided to fish from the deck. He was shocked when the lead sink was hurled back at him with so much force that he had to be taken in for medical care. He did not return to perform the exorcism.
Some said that just passing the Alkimos could bring bad luck.
The coastline where the Alkinos finally grounded has claimed hundreds of ships that have run aground on the jagged coral reefs. The most famous are four Dutch East Indiamen merchant vessels carrying bullion and treasure that wrecked between 1629 and 1727. The remains of the Batavia (1629), Vergulde Draeck (Gilt Dragon, 1656), Zuytdorp (1712), and Zeewyk (1727) were all found. Some of the treasures and artifacts were taken to the Western Australian Museum; others were pillaged by divers through the years.
In 1957, six years before the Alkimos wrecked on the beach, Ellis Robinson found what was left of the Gilt Dragon off Ledge Point, 50 miles north of Perth. The ship was owned by the Dutch East India Company and was believed to be carrying about 40,000 Spanish pieces of eight when it sank.
When he returned to the spot, he couldn’t find the wreck. In 1963, Graeme Henderson,15, found the wreck of the galleon while spearfishing and was officially credited with the discovery. Robinson believed he was being denied recognition for his discovery, and for years afterward, he fought legislation that controlled historic shipwrecks.
Robinson would go on to recover coins estimated to be worth 40,000 and $300,000.
In 1969, he discovered the Tryal, which was lost in 1622. The ship was a British merchantman that sank in 1622 en route to Java. It carried gold spangles for the King of Siam and a quantity of coins estimated to be worth $5,000 each.
Later life was not kind to Robinson. In 1978, his 17-year-old son Geoffrey died.
Three years later, the court sheriff seized the coins he scavenged during the 1960s, after a solicitor obtained an order for payment of $18,000 in legal fees against him.
In 1982, he faced trial for conspiring with Patricia Lesley Green to murder his one-time common-law wife, Linette Lillian Hunter.
Robinson was 58 years old, and Green was 23, and four months pregnant with his child. She lived with him after his 23-year relationship with Hunter ended.
It was alleged they planned to use gelignite to blow up Green, shoot her, run her over, or throw a beakerful of acid on the unfortunate woman.
According to Hunter, Robinson’s threats increased after she refused to resume their relationship.
Robinson was found hanging in his prison cell on November 2, 1983, the day a verdict was expected. The jury, which was not told of his death, was deadlocked. Chances are, he would have been acquitted. The charges against Green were dismissed.
What was it about these wrecks that wrecked a person’s life?
The City of Wanneroo acquired the last known surviving lifeboat from the SS Alkimos in 2025 for display in a future museum exhibition
Today, the Indian Ocean slowly consumes what remains of the Alkimos. Yet, the legends persist. Local dogs whimper when the wreck comes into view, and horses refuse to gallop down the stretch of beach where she sits. Beneath the waves, the “ill-fated” ship keeps her secrets, and perhaps, Henry still keeps his vigil.