The Vanished Gold of Gippsland

Martin Weiberg, 1880

Every now and then during my wanderings through the historical weeds, I come across a story where I think, “What a movie this would make!”  The following tale of devious thefts, daring escapes, and hidden treasure is a prime example.

In 1877, the Australian ship “Avoca” had among its cargo 5,000 gold sovereigns.  The ship’s carpenter, a Norwegian named Martin Weiberg, learned of the enticing proximity of this small fortune, and began to dream a dream.  His plan was ridiculously simple:  he had a duplicate key made for the chest where the gold was kept, and when nobody was watching, he opened the box and replaced the loot with metal bolts.  He then resealed the chest so expertly that it appeared untouched.  

Of course, once the chest arrived at its destination in Ceylon, it became instantly obvious that someone had been up to no good.  The police, naturally, centered their investigations around the crew of the “Avoca,” but were unable to find anything that would lead them to the culprit.  Weiberg continued quietly performing his duties aboard the ship as if he was as innocent as a babe in the cradle.  Fortunately for him, it was right at this time that the legendary Aussie bad guy Ned Kelly shot dead three policemen.  The hunt for the desperado naturally distracted authorities from the relatively minor crime of missing gold.  Five months after the theft, Weiberg--who had by now married--left his ship to settle on the Tarwin River, South Gippsland, for what he hoped would be a long and gold-filled future.

Weiberg must have been a bit too careless about how he spent his ill-gotten wealth, because some unknown person evidently suggested to the police that they pay the Norwegian a visit.  When detectives headed for Weiberg’s home, they bumped into their quarry on a nearby road.  When he was searched, a number of gold sovereigns were found in his pockets, thus causing Weiberg one of life’s embarrassing moments.  After throwing the carpenter in jail, officers conducted a search of his home.  They eventually found over 1300 coins, all cleverly hidden in various places.

While Weiberg was in custody, he was interrogated about his accomplices.  It was assumed that one man could not have carried off such a large stash of gold.  He eventually named the first officer of the “Avoca” as his confederate, but an investigation managed to clear the man.  Weiberg then volunteered to show police where he had buried a container full of gold, but while leading them to the alleged spot, he managed to escape.  Weiberg hid out in the bush for five months, after which he acquired an accomplice to help him move enough gold to Melbourne to buy a boat, which he hoped to use to flee Australia for good.  However, before this plan could come to fruition, he was recaptured in May 1879, and sentenced to five years hard labor.  Meanwhile, the police had no success in finding the remaining sovereigns.  Only one man knew where the gold was hidden, and he wasn’t talking.

After Weiberg was released from prison, he and his brother bought a yacht, which he moored in Gippsland’s Waratah Bay.  While there, he went ashore in a skiff to visit his family, who lived in the area.  More importantly, it was assumed that he went to get his hands on some of his hidden gold.  While returning to his yacht, Weiberg was caught in a sudden squall which capsized his little boat.  

Although it was presumed that Weiberg had drowned, his body was never recovered, which led to some highly entertaining speculation about what might have really happened to our elusive carpenter.  Did he fake his own death in order to get the authorities off his back once and for all?  Mysterious lights were seen on the normally uninhabited Glennie Group islands, causing locals to speculate that Weiberg was hiding out there.  Some reports claimed that he had been spotted in various European cities.  Or was he the proprietor of a hotel in Sweden?  Did he, against all odds, manage to get away with a fortune in gold?

Sometime around 1890, a skeleton was found at Waratah Bay, with part of the skull missing.  Was this the missing Weiberg?  Did he let the world think he had drowned, only to be murdered by some accomplice?  Nobody knows.

Twenty years after this unidentified skeleton turned up, a stash of 75 gold coins was found in an old tree.  All in all, despite the diligent efforts of treasure-hunters, to date, only about 1800 of the stolen sovereigns have been recovered.  Most people believe the rest are still concealed somewhere in the Gippsland area, just waiting to be uncovered by some lucky person with a metal detector.

Or--if you want to take the more romantic view--did Martin Weiberg’s crime pay big for him, in the end?