The JONGE THOMAS was a ship of 1150 tons, built in 1764 at the Amsterdam Yard for the Amsterdam Chamber of the Dutch East India Company.
The wreck of the JONGE THOMAS was no more remarkable than that of a dozen other ships caught in Table Bay over the years by north-west storms. What lifted it out of the common run and turned it into a legend was the image of a man and a horse riding the waves.

On 20 October 1722 the JONGE THOMAS left Texel on a voyage to Batavia. She arrived in Table Bay on 29 March 1773, reporting 70 deaths and 41 sick, who were sent to hospital.
Two months later, it was Tuesday, 1 June 1773, a north-wester had been blowing for several days with steadily increasing violence, extremely akward for the Governor, since the India-bound fleet was lying in Table Bay where it had no right to be. Ever since 1743 standing instructions to ships of the Dutch East India Company, were to berth in Simon's Bay during the southern winter and not in Table Bay. Though the ships were safe from the north-west storms in Simon's Bay they were akward to handle and provision, since all supplies had to come from Cape Town, 23 miles over a very poor road.

So, on occasion, and for the sake of convenience, the Governor turned a blind eye and the Indiamen would anchor in Table Bay. The Company was about to pay the price of this breach of regulations. The ships lying in Table Bay were the DUYF EN BRUG, ASCHAT, OVERHOUT, JONGE THOMAS and the little hooker the SNELHEID. The ships had been ready to put to sea since Saturday, 29 May, but this had been impossible in the face of the steadily increasing wind.
On Monday night each of the ships dropped additional anchors, for the heavy seas rolling into the bay betokened a stormy night. The wind rose in crescendo bringing the rain. Nor was this the usual gentle Cape winter drizzle, the water fell in sheets, to the accompaniment of deafening thunder and lightning.

At the hight of the storm lightning struck the mainmast of the DUYF EN BRUG, charring it and rendering it useless. One after another the hawsers holding the various anchors snapped, and where they held, the anchors commenced dragging under the combined assault of wind and water. Those ashore were quite unable to tell what was happening in the pitch darkness, but the sound of distress guns booming across the bay confirmed their fears.

Worst placed of all the merchantmen was the JONGE THOMAS, carrying 207 men and captained by Barend de la Maire. By 5 a.m. on 1 June 1773 there was only one anchor left to the ship and that was dragging. The firing of distress guns had brought no help and at any moment the last anchor chain would part. Rather than be caught unprepared and driven ashore at the mercy of the storm, de la Maire decided to beach the vessel whilst he could still choose the spot. Accordingly, the last anchor was cut and with light sails set the ship hurtled at the beach.

The Captain had chosen the level stretch just to the north of the mouth of the Salt River to run ashore. Unfortunately, he was not aware that the Salt River was in spate; with its mouth blocked by a sandbank, the river had burst its banks and was emptying into the sea just north of the point for which the JONGE THOMAS was heading. Even more unfortunately, at the moment of impact the JONGE THOMAS swung broadside on to the beach. Less than two minutes' pounding from the gigantic waves broke the vessel's back and she parted in two at the mainmast which crashed overboard.

This was the sight which met the eyes of the Governor at dawn when he scanned the bay anxiously. The Governor's first reaction, no doubt, was to breathe a prayer of thanks that the 18 chests of mony, which the JONGE THOMAS had carried from Holland, were still ashore in the Castle for safe custody; otherwise a tragedy could have become a disaster for him.
Immediately a detachment of some 30 soldiers was despatched to the scene of the wreck to protect the salvaged goods from robbery. Although Karl Thunberg, an eyewitness, claims that no efforts were made to save the crew, the Company was not completely heartless: apart from the soldiers, the Harbour Master, the boatswain and the wharf-man were sent to do what they could for the poor crew. At least that was the intention; what happened was that everyone made the salving of goods his first aim, after all, there was a well-known adage which said that a sailor cost only nine stuivers.
It took some time to reach the shore opposite the wreck, for not only was the Salt River in flood but Paarden Island was submerged beneath the water. So it was well into the morning before the official party reached the scene, having travelled part of the way by boat and the rest by wagon. Immediately the lieutenant in charge of the party erected a gibbet, and posted men to warn everyone that the first person approaching any goods washed ashore would be hanged immediately. This effectively deterred not only curious sightseers but any would-be rescuers as well.

Then the soldiers proceeded with their appointed task of collecting the goods washed ashore from the rapidly disintegrating wreck. The Harbour Master and his men, after glancing uneasily out to the sea where the waves were breaking over the remains of the JONGE THOMAS, closed their ears to appeals for help which were carried ashore on the wind, and lent a hand with the wreckage.

Though quite a few sailors had been drowned when the ship broke up, there were still many survivors clinging to the vessel, among them the Captain, the junior mate, the gunner and a number of sailors. The shore looked so close that, in the absence of rocks, many of them tried to swimm ashore. A few exceptionally strong swimmers succeeded, but most were caught in the current issuing from the Salt River, and drowned or carried out to sea.

One of the sailors who had succeeded in swimming to safety staggered ashore practically naked. To his delight, on the beach he found his own sea-chest, which he had thrown overboard in the hope it would be washed ashore. Removing the key from the chain carried round his neck, he was in the act of opening the chest when he felt a stinging pain across his shoulders, and looking up, saw the Lieutenant actively wielding his cane. "Consider yourself lucky that you are not strung up on that gibbet," shouted that worthy, "now get away from the Company's property".

"But this is my own chest, Sir," complained the sailor. "See, here is the key." "Everything cast up on the beach belongs to the Company," reported the Lieutenant, waving his cane threateningly. "It is my duty to keep it safe. Now get away."
So the sailor was forced to spend the day crouching on the beach, shivering, until the soldiers left for the town as the light faded. At last he was allowed to approach his chest, but found it had been broken open and the contents stolen. He watched the soldiers marching off, the barrels of their guns overflowing with gold lace stolen on the beach, before following them towards the town.

Fortunately, however, not all were as heartless. During the coarse of the morning a horseman cantered up and dismounted next to one of the soldiers, Corporal Christian Ludwig Woltemade. The rider was his father, who had brought the Corporal a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread.

On that day in 1773 Wolraad Woltemade was no youngster. Christian was his younger son and as far back as 1752 Woltemath, as he was originally called, had been a Corporal stationed at the Company post at Muizenberg. By 1770 Wolraad Woltemade had risen in rank and commanded the Muizenberg post. He must have retired after that, though there is some confusion as to his occupation in 1773. Thunberg says he was the keeper of the animals in the menagerie (at the top of the Governments Gardens) whilst the Daghregister refers to him as a dairyman.

Filled with pity of the luckless sailors aboard the wreck, Wolraad Woltemade mounted his horse and urged the animal into the sea, determined to save some of those in peril. Whether there was no rope available on the beach or whether Woltemade did not think of it in the excitement of the moment, the fact is that Woltemade rode the horse into the sea without carrying a line. The horse was a fine swimmer and fought his way gamely through the surf. As they approached the wreck Woltemade turned the horse and called for two men to jump into the sea and grasp the horse's tail. After a moment's hesitation two men threw themselves into the water and did so, whereupon Woltemade urged the horse forward and dregged them to shore.

Not satisfied with this feat Woltemade returned immediately and rescued another two men. He repeated this again and again until he had drawn 14 men to safety. By this time instead of hesitation, there was competition amongst the sailors for the next place; as for the horse, it was staggering with exhaustion.
Woltemade dismounted to rest the poor animal, whereupon a great cry of despair went uo from the wreck. Despite the entreaties of his son, Woltemade mounted the horse again and rode back into the water. Realizing this was probably the last trip, men lost all restraint. As the laboring animal neared the ship, half a dozen jumped into the water and grasped the horse; one stupid fool caught it by the bridle, dragging the horse's head under. It was all over in a moment, horse, rider and sailors disappeared beneath the waves.

No further attempt was made to rescue those aboard the hulk. As night fell they watched the beach empty, as the soldiers and burghers returned to their warm firesides. Though the night they clung to the wreck in sodden misery; gradually the weather cleared.

On the morning of 2 June the sea was still rough, but Jan Jacobs the junior mate and 24 survivors waded ashore from the wreck. In all, 67 men had survived the wreck, of whom 14 owed their lives to Woltemade. That day the shore was littered with bodies; amongst them were found the Captain and Wolraad Woltemade. The Captain was given an official funeral, but there was nothing so grand for Woltemade.
The general opinion at the Castle seems to have been that he was an officious fool who had lost his life unnecessarily. In the first report to Holland his name was not even mentioned, though considerable space was devoted to the 18 boxes of money that had been providentially saved. But Karl Thunberg did not forget Woltemade; nor did the former's countryman, Anders Sparrman, when he wrote his famous book in 1775, and the story of the incredible rescue spread.

The Council of Seventeen learnt about it when the Daghregister of 1773 reached Amsterdam, and they were able to piece together the odd references to 'the man Woltemade'. Immediately, they sent an order out to the Cape that any son of Woltemade was to be given advancement in the Company's service, or rewarded in other ways. Thunberg says that Christian Woltemade had already left the Cape to visit his elder brother in Batavia, and never received any benefit from the order.
In addition, the Company named one of its newest ships HELD WOLTEMADE and the story of the brave deed was painted on the ships stern by Hendrik van Velzen. It was the same ship on which Le Vaillant sailed for the Cape on 19 December 1780.

Bibliography and Sources:

Bruijn, J.R., Gaastra, F.S., Schöffer, I. Dutch-Asiatic Shipping In The 17th and 18th Centuries (3 Vols). The Hague, 1979, 1987

Turner, Malcom. Shipwrecks & Salvage in South Africa, 1505 to the present. Cape Town, 1988

Thunberg, C.P. Travels in Europe, Africa and Asia (4 Vols). London, 1975

Burman, Jose. Great Shipwrecks of the Coast of Southern Africa. Cape Town, 1967