129 039
GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
GRAVEYARD
OF THE
ATLANTIC
BY DAVID STICK
Illustrated by Frank Stick
Shipwrecks of the North Carolina Coast
CHAPEL HILL
The University of North Carolina Press
Copyright, 1952, by
THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA PRESS
Manufactured in the United States of America
Van Rees Press New York
CMT
Fourth Printing
To my wife,
PHYLLIS,
'who shared equally in the tiring
'work of research for this book, but
not in the pleasure of 'writing it.
^^
MEN LIKE CAPTAIN HAND,
the only survivor of the loss of the sloop Hemy at Ocracoke in
1819; and Ensign Lucian Young, hero of the wreck of the U.S.
gunboat Huron at Nags Head in 1877; and Dunbar Davis of South-
port, who devoted most of his life to saving mariners wrecked on
the North Carolina coast, deserve the bulk of the credit for this
book. For without the detailed information on disasters recorded
by these and other participants, factual accounts of bygone ship-
wrecks could not now be written.
Even so, it has been necessary to eliminate a major share of the
thousands of shipwreck accounts examined in the compilation of
material for this book, for only those vessels which are definitely
known to have been total wrecks are listed here. Many other ships
were lost before accurate records were kept; hundreds more just
disappeared, with no trace of ship or crew, or have been surrounded
by such confusion and conflict as to dates, places, and circumstances
that they had to be eliminated.
The material included here comes from newspapers, magazines,
books, pamphlets, official records, and personal interviews. Special
thanks are due my father, Frank Stick, for taking time out from his
busy schedule to do the fine pen and ink drawings that enliven the
accounts to follow; and John L. Lochhead and the staff of the
Mariners' Museum at Newport News, Virginia; Mary Brown and
her co-workers in the Norfolk Public Library; the United States
vii
viii FOREWORD
Hydrographic Office, the United States Coast Guard, the United
States Navy, the National Archives, and the Library of Congress;
L. F. Small, Huntington Cairns, John C. Emmerson, Jr.; A. W.
Drinkwater, Aycock Brown, Ben Dixon MacNeill, Levene Midgett,
T. S. Meekins, W. H. Lewark, Marianne C. Small, Joseph Herge-
sheimer, and the friends and members of my family who have
encouraged and assisted during the days when the task seemed
never ending.
Limitations of space have made necessary the abbreviation of
some wreck accounts which, in the opinion of this writer, have
already received more than their proportionate share of publicity
and recognition. In other instances there is no mention at all of
supposed wrecks about which the old-timers speak because exhaus-
tive research has failed to substantiate the stories handed down
from past generations. And finally, except in special cases, losses
in inland waters, and of vessels of less than fifty tons, have been
eliminated.
Even so, more than six hundred wrecked vessels are mentioned
in the pages that follow. All were totally lost in the Graveyard of
the Atlantic.
David Stick
Kill Devil Hills, N.C.
September 12, 1951
CONTENTS
Foreword vii
The Outer Banks 1526-1 8 14 1
Shipwrecks Become News 1815-1838 9
The Steam Packet Pulaski 1838 27
The Toll Mounts 1838-1860 42
Ironclads and Blockade Runners 1861-1865 50
Catching Up on Lost Trade 1866-1877 66
The Huron 1877 73
The Metropolis 1878 86
Each Man a Hero 1878-1893 105
The Long Day of Dunbar Davis 1893 133
Shipwrecks as a Business 1893-1899 144
San Ciriaco 1899 161
From Sail to Steam 1899-1918 170
Unguarded Shores 1918 193
Peacetime Enemy 1919-1941 209
The U-Boats Return 1942-1945 228
The Romance is Gone 1946 240
Vessels Totally Lost on the North Carolina Coast 243
References 259
Index 265
GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
THE OUTER BANKS
1526-1814
IOU CAN STAND on Cape
joint at Hatteras on a stormy day and watch two oceans jipmeto-
^ether in an awesome display of savage fury; for there at the Point
jhe northbound Gulf Stream and the cold currents coining down,
J: p pm the Arctic run head-on into each other, tossing their spumy
jpray a hundred feet or better into the air and dropping sand and
shells and sea life at the point of impact. Thus is formed the dreaded
Diamond Shoals, its fang-like shifting sand bars pushing seaward
to snare the unwary mariner. Seafaring men call it the Graveyard
gf the Atlantic.
Actually, the Graveyard extends along the whole of the North
Carolina coast, northward past Chicamacomico, Bodie Island, and
Nags Head to Currituck Beach, and southward in gently curving
arcs to the points at Cape Lookout and Cape Fear. The bare-
ribbed skeletons of countless ships are buried there; some covered
only by water, with a lone spar or funnel or rusting winch showing
above the surface; others burrowed deep in the sands, their final
resting place known only to the men who went down with them.
From the days of the earliest New World explorations, mariners
have known the Graveyard of the Atlantic, have held it in under-
standable awe, yet have persisted in risking their vessels and their
lives in its treacherous waters. Actually, they had no choice in the
matter, for a combination of currents, winds, geography, and eco-
nomics have conspired to force many of them to sail along the
North Carolina coast if they wanted to sail at all.
A great number of the craft lost in the Graveyard of the Atlantic
2 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
were engaged in coastal trade, transporting cargoes from north to
south or back again in the days before the advent of airlines, high-
ways, and fast railroad service. They were small vessels, mainly, and
a constant stream of them connected the vast productive lands of
the South with the cities on the Chesapeake and the manufacturing
centers of the Central Atlantic States and New England.
For all their numbers and the frequency of their losses, the
vessels of the coastal trade were no more a factor in the over-all
history of Carolina shipwrecks than were the larger craft engaged
in trade with South America, the West Indies, and our own Gulf
Coast. For they, too, were forced to pass the Carolina outer banks
if their cargoes were to be delivered to the northern markets, and
many a shipload of coffee and sugar, of salt and spice, of logwood
and phosphate, has been consigned to the depths off Frying Pan
and Lookout and Diamond Shoals as a result.
More difficult to understand is the reason for the loss here of so
many vessels engaged in transoceanic trade, ships of many nationali-
ties, of almost every shape and size, bound to and from the ports
of Europe, Africa, and even Asia. What reason could there be, for
example, for a seventeenth-century Spanish frigate, en route from
Central America to her home country, purposely sailing a thousand
miles out of her way to pass within sight of dreaded Diamond
Shoals; or for an English brigantine of the eighteenth century travel-
ling by such a circuitous route from the British Isles to New York
as to end up on Ocracoke Bar, pounded to pieces in the surf, a
total wreck?
The Gulf Stream figures in the answer to both questions, for
the Spanish explorers learned, even before our coast was first
settled by Europeans, that they could save considerable time on
their return voyage from the Caribbean to Spain by taking ad-
vantage of the Gulf Stream current, travelling northward along
the coast until they sighted Cape Hatteras, then bearing east for
the shorter trip across the Atlantic. And, by the same token, the
vessels bound to this hemisphere soon devised a system of sailing
southward along the coast of Europe and Africa until they reached
the Canary Islands, then crossing in the Equatorial Current to the
West Indies, and finally moving up the coast with the aid of that
same Gulf Stream.
THE OUTER BANKS 3
In either case the first land jutting out across their path on the
run northward was the section of the Carolina outer banks extend-
ing like a huge net from the South Carolina border to Cape Hatteras,
a long, sweeping series of shoal-infested bights and capes and inlets,
laid out as if by perverted human design to trap the northbound
voyager.
These are the reasons so many vessels have been lost on the
North Carolina coast; yet every bit as important as the reasons are
the changes which have come about as the result of the shipwrecks.
For, the past history and the present day life of the entire coast of
North Carolina are closely integrated with shipwrecks; so closely
integrated, in fact, that much of the outer banks might yet be a
barren, uninhabited sand reef but for the ships that have been
lost there.
A great many of the present residents can trace their ancestry
back to individuals who were shipwrecked there. These were sea-
faring men, mainly, who soon discovered that life on the narrow
sand spit separating sound and sea was the next closest thing to
treading the deck of a sailing vessel; and so they decided to build
homes, marry, and raise families on the banks instead of moving on
to their intended destinations. Others of the early settlers went
there in the first place as the direct result of shipping and ship-
wrecks; some, in tiny sailboats, served as pilots for the larger cargo
vessels attempting to cross the bars and pass through the inlets to
the sounds and inland ports beyond, and others came as customs
inspectors or militia sent down by the Colonial government.
There were pirates, too Blackbeard, Stede Bonnet, Anne Bonny,
and Calico Jack Rackam, to name a few who rendezvoused behind
the isolated islands of the outer banks, sailed out from there to at-
tack merchant vessels, then returned again to celebrate and fight
over their loot and maybe even bury some of it behind the ever-
shifting dunes. Between them, the pirates were as much a menace
for a time as the winds and tides and shoals.
Maintenance of law and order at the scene of shipwrecks was
long a problem for the authorities. As early as 1678 the Lords
Proprietors of Carolina appointed a man named Robert Houlden
to "looke after, receive and recover all wrecks, ambergrice or any
other ejections of the sea," but Houlden and the agents who fol-
4 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
lowed him were never able to exercise any real control over the
disposition of wrecked vessels and cargoes. The situation became
so bad, in fact, that Governor Johnson, receiving reports in 1750
that a Spanish ship driven ashore at Ocracoke had been plundered,
found it necessary to dispatch an armed vessel to recover the prop-
erty from the bankers, whom he referred to as "a people so called
from inhabiting near the banks of the sea shoar."
The Governor later described these same bankers as "a set of
indigent desperate outlaws and vagabonds," and though his choice
of words may have been a bit on the harsh side, there is no question
that the early bankers were both strong-willed and independent-
still are, for that matter. It can be said in their defense, however,
that they frequently risked their own lives in the attempt to rescue
unknown mariners cast adrift on their shores; and later, when the
first lighthouses were built near the beginning of the nineteenth
century and the Lifesaving Service was extended to the Carolina
coast in the iSyo's, the lifesaving records established by the bankers
were enviable.
As for wrecked property that drifted ashore, it has been said of
the people of Ocracoke Island, for example, that they would drop
a corpse on the way to a burial if they heard the cry of "Ship
Ashore!" But it was more than idle curiosity that prompted this
kind of interest, for many a stranded cargo has brought wealth to
the finder, and even today the person who first locates cargo drift-
ing on the beach shares in the proceeds at the auction sale or
"vendue" that follows.
There are houses in almost every coastal community in North
Carolina built wholly or in part from lumber salvaged from wrecked
vessels; there are villages today largely populated by descendants
of shipwrecked mariners; and there are countless coastal families
whose main source of income still is a monthly pay check for
service, past or present, in guarding our shores.
Thus shipwrecks have resulted not only in populating the outer
banks, but in providing income for the people living there. And the
rarity of shipwrecks today probably has a lot to do with the fact
that the village of Portsmouth, once a thriving community of
approximately five hundred souls, now numbers less than ten
residents; and that the county of Dare, despite a greatly intensified
THE OUTER BANKS 5
year-around tourist business, is less densely populated now than it
was ten years ago. And for the first time since the earliest residents
settled along North Carolina's outer banks a new generation is
growing up which has never seen a surfboat full of survivors com-
ing through the breakers, or watched a rescue in the breeches buoy,
or listened to the sound of the auctioneer at a vendue of salvaged
cargo on the beach.
This new generation, and the ones to follow, might still succeed
in finding remnants of the earliest known wrecks on this coast,
though there is little to help in locating them. There was, for ex-
ample, the Spanish brigantine of the fleet under command of Lucas
Vasquez de Ayllon which was lost on the treacherous reaches of
Cape Fear in June, 1526, while en route to the Spanish colony of
Chicora on the Cape Fear River; and the Tiger, flagship of Sir
Richard Grenville's fleet, which stranded in Ocracoke Inlet while
attempting to reach Roanoke Island with Sir Walter Raleigh's
colonists in June, 1585; and Sir John Yeamans' fly-boat, sunk on
Frying Pan Shoals in November, 1665; and the vessels of Don Juan
Manuel de Bonilla's Spanish flotilla, which were scattered along the
coast all the way from Currituck to Topsail Inlet by the tempest
of 1750.
Or, if they are really lucky, they might uncover some new evi-
dence that would aid in solving one of the most intriguing ship-
wreck mysteries of the Carolina coasdand the fate of the passengers
and crew of the schooner Patriot, which is generally assumed to
have drifted ashore at Nags Head in January, 1813, with no one
on board. For there are few known facts about the disappearance
of the Patriot, the available information being a mixture of rumor,
legend, and conjecture.
The Patriot, a former New York pilot boat and privateer, left
Georgetown, South Carolina, December 30, 1812, bound for New
York. One of the passengers for that fateful journey was Theodosia
Burr Alston, wife of Governor John Alston of South Carolina and
daughter of former vice-president Aaron Burr. At twenty-nine she
had become, under her father's constant supervision, one of the
mos,t gifted gentlewomen of her day. At the time of her departure
from Georgetown she was in ill health, partly because of the recent
loss of her only child and partly because of the stigma surrounding
6 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
her father as the result of his fatal duel with Alexander Hamilton
and his trial for treason in the alleged plan to take over the govern-
ment of Texas and Mexico.
When, in early 1813, the Patriot failed to arrive in New York,
extensive efforts were made to learn her fate. Investigations were
carried on as far away as Nassau and in most of the ports along the
Atlantic seaboard. It was definitely known that a severe storm had
struck in the vicinity of Cape Hatteras at about the time that the
Patriot was due to pass there, though strangely enough there is no
indication that either the father or husband both men of great in-
fluencecarried their investigations to the wreck-strewn sand bank
of which Hatteras is the hub.
At length all hope of survival was abandoned and Theodosia and
her companions were presumed to have been lost at sea. In subse-
quent years, however, a number of additional facts and purported
facts have been unearthed, shedding considerable light on the fate
of Theodosia Burr Alston. No attempt will be made here to draw
conclusions; rather, the evidence will be presented, chronologically,
so that the reader himself can make his own deductions.
In 1833 an Alabama newspaper, the Mobile Register, reported
that a man "residing in one of the interior counties of this state"
made a deathbed confession that he had participated in the capture
of the Patriot, the murder of all those on board, and the scuttling
of the vessel "for the sake of her plate and effects."
Fifteen years later another confessed pirate told a similar death-
bed story, adding that one of the passengers on board the captured
vessel was a woman named "Odessa Burr Alston," who had, when
given the alternative of sharing a cabin with the pirate captain,
chosen death.
In 1869, a Dr. William G. Pool, of Elizabeth City, spending his
summer vacation at Nags Head, was called to the bedside of an old
banker woman named Mann. On the wall of her cottage was an
oil portrait of a young woman, expertly done and in the doctor's
mind completely out of keeping in the banker shack. When asked
about the picture Mrs. Mann said that it was given to her by her
first husband, a Mr. Tillett, before their marriage. One winter
morning "when we were fighting the British," a boat was discovered
ashore two miles below Nags Head. She stated that all sails were
THE OUTER BANKS 7
set on the vessel, the rudder was lashed, and the craft seemed to be
in good condition, but entirely deserted. In the cabin were several
fancy silk dresses, a vase of beautiful waxed flowers, and the por-
trait.
Dr. Pool is reported to have successfully treated the old woman
but, knowing her financial condition, would accept no payment.
Accordingly Mrs. Mann presented the picture to him.
Soon after this an author named Charles Gayarre published a
novel entitled "Fernando de Lemos," in which he devoted a chapter
to the purported confession of an infamous pirate, Dominique You.
According to the story, You admitted having captured the Patriot
and murdered Theodosia Burr, and since Gayarre represented his
story as being both "truth and fiction" there was considerable specu-
lation that this part of his novel might have been based on fact.
Meanwhile, it was publicly suggested that the portrait in Dr.
Pool's possession might be of Theodosia, and in 1878 this possibility
was mentioned by Colonel J. H. Wheeler, eminent North Carolina
historian, in an address before the North Carolina Historical So-
ciety.
In the years that followed, considerable publicity was given this
theory, and in 1888 editor R. B. Creecy, of the Elizabeth City
Economist, reported that he had interviewed a woman named
Stella E. P. Drake, a descendent of the Burrs, who had come to
Elizabeth City to see the portrait. "We were startled by her close
resemblance to the portrait in question," he said.
The following year Mrs. Drake wrote a letter to the Washington
(D. C.) Post, recounting the details of her visit to the home of Dr.
Pool. Describing her entrance into the Pool home, she said: "As I
turned to go through the door I saw upon the wall above the
mantelpiece a portrait of a young woman in white."
" That is the picture,' I exclaimed. 1 know it is, because it bears
a strong resemblance to my sister.' "
The picture she saw was approximately twelve by eighteen inches
in size and painted on mahogany. It has been reproduced many
times, and is, together with the accounts of the pirate confessions
and the story of Mrs. Mann, the strongest link in the thread of evi-
dence concerning the fate of Theodosia.
There have been other supposed revelations since then, and un-
8 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
doubtedly still more will appear as the years go by. But unless one
is satisfied with the evidence assembled here, the fate of Theodosia
Burr Alston will probably remain a mystery for all time; a mystery
which might never have been, if the former vice-president of the
United States or the Governor of South Carolina had dispatched an
investigator to the coast of North Carolina where, during the
winter "we were fighting the British," a vessel came ashore con-
taining a twelve-by-eighteen-inch portrait of a woman who may
well have been Theodosia Burr Alston.
SHIPWRECKS BECOME NEWS
1815-1838
AVAILABLE ACCOUNTS of
early shipwrecks on the North Carolina coast are fragmentary, for
neither the participants who figured in them, nor the bankers who
witnessed them, seemed to care whether even the names of the lost
vessels were preserved for posterity. Soon after the end of the War
of 1812, however, newspapers began featuring news of ship losses,
and from that time on the record of North Carolina shipwrecks is
both detailed and fascinating.
The following letter, written at Ocracoke Island, December 10,
1819, is an excellent example of the type of information handed
down to us by shipwreck survivors of that period. The letter was
written by the captain of the sloop Henry, of Albany, bound from
New York to Charleston, and is reprinted verbatim from the Nor-
folk Beacon and Portsmouth Advertiser of January 15, 1820.
"I have," the Captain's letter begins, "a melancholy
affair to relate. I am the only one living of the crew and
passengers of the sloop Henry. We left New York on
Monday, 30th November. On Wednesday following ex-
perienced a heavy gale, but received no damage, only
split our jib, which after the gale, was unbent and re-
9
io GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
paired. On Friday afternoon following, took the wind
from the southward, blowing fresh. Saturday morning
made Cape Lookout lighthouse, hove about and stood
off, wind canting in from the southeast, and the gale and
sea increasing so fast that we were obliged to heave to.
"Lay to until 5 o'clock p.m., then began to shoal water
fast, and blowing, instead of a gale, a perfect hurricane.
We set the head of the foresail to try to get offshore, but
to no use, it blowing away in an instant; likewise the jib.
We then lay to under the balance of the mainsail until we
got in io and 9 fathoms water, when the sea began to
break and board us, which knocked us on our beam ends,
carried away our quarter, and swept the deck. She
righted, and in about five minutes capsized again, which
took off our mainsail. We were then left to the mercy of
the wind and waves, which were continually raking us
fore and aft. With much exertion we got her before the
wind and sea, and in a few minutes after run her ashore
on the south beach of Ocracoke Bar, four miles from
land.
"She struck about io o'clock at night, bilged in a few
minutes, and got on her beam ends, every sea making a
fair breach over her. At 12 o'clock her deck blew up and
washed away altogether, and broke in two near the
hatchway. The bow part turned bottom up, the stern
part righted. Mr. Kinley (passenger) and Wm. Bartlett
(seaman) washed off. The remainder of us got on the
taffil rail, and that all under water. About 2 o'clock a.m.,
Mr. Campbell (the other passenger) and Wm. Shoe-
maker (cook) expired and dropped from the wreck.
About 4 o'clock, Jesse Hand (seaman) became so chilled
that he washed off. At daylight, Mr. Hawley (mate)
died, and fell from along side of me into his watery grave,
which I expected every moment would be my own lot.
But thro' the tender mercy of God, I survived on the
wreck 24 hours alone.
"On Monday morning, about 2 o'clock, the stern
broke away and I went with it. At sunrise I was taken
SHIPWRECKS BECOME NEWS 11
off, so much mangled and bruised that few persons
thought I could survive. I, however, am gaining, hav-
ing received the kindest treatment, and every possible
care from the inhabitants. My chest has been picked up,
but it had been opened, and all my clothes of value taken
out. I am here almost naked and shall try to get home as
soon as I am able.
"The vessel and cargo are a total loss. The fragments
have drifted into Albemarle Sound. I have heard of some
barrels being picked up some distance from the sound,
but the heads all out. I have noted a protest, and shall
have it extended according to law. I wish this published.
It is the first of my being able to write. There is no way
of conveying letters from this place except by water.
"The bodies of Wm. Bartlett and Jesse Hand have
been picked up and decently buried."
Signed: Captain Hand
ENTERPRIZE
There are several recorded instances in which dogs played valiant
parts in effecting the rescue of shipwrecked mariners, but so far
as can be determined the horse which was led aboard the schooner
Enterprize at Bristol, Rhode Island, in early October, 1822, was
the first and only one of that species who guided his shipmates to
safety when stranded on the Carolina coast.
The Enterprize was bound for Charleston with a cargo of rum,
lime, crockery ware, and lumber, and carried fifteen passengers in
addition to her crew.
She was favored with a fair wind after leaving Bristol and made
excellent time on the voyage south until, shortly before dawn the
morning of October 27, she struck without warning and bilged.
Captain Ephriam Eldridge knew that he was somewhere to the
north of Cape Hatteras, but he had no more idea than did the horse
as to which of the sandy coastal islands he had struck, or how far
the vessel was from shore.
In this state, the passengers, roused from their berths, immedi-
ately took to the rigging, and the crewmen soon followed their
example as the waves began breaking over the stranded craft. But
iz GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
when it was determined that she was not breaking up, and that so
far she did not seem completely filled with water, the men came
down from the rigging and attempted to pump her out. Their
efforts were fruitless, however, and in the process the lime some-
how caught on fire. Thus they were threatened, at one and the
same time, with the prospect of being drowned or burned to death.
"The general exclamation was we must all perish," wrote William
Gardiner, a passenger. "I told them not to despair, that the Lord
was a prayer hearing and prayer answering God, and that I still
cherished the hope we should escape." Accordingly, the majority
set about praying, an activity no doubt alien to many of them in
the past.
The result of this sudden turn to religion was not exactly in the
best church tradition; for the upshot was that the horse was led to
the side and pushed overboard, with the thought that if he could
reach land, then no doubt the rest of them could also.
The horse did reach land; in fact, the vessel was so close that
he almost waded ashore, followed soon after by a long procession
of passengers and crewmen. In this way all were saved, and as the
sky lightened and the tide fell an effort was made to land some of
the cargo. Meanwhile, some of the passengers had discovered the
marks of a cart's wheels in the sand on the beach. "It was like the
soft beams of the moon which kindly illumines the path of the
benighted traveller, and guides into a place of shelter," Gardiner
wrote. They then followed the cart tracks and soon met three
men on horseback who informed them that they were on Chica-
macomico Banks, some thirty miles north of Cape Hatteras Light-
house.
There were about twenty-four families living on the island, and
when the survivors of the Enterprise reached the village of Chica-
macomico (now Rodanthe), they made arrangements with Captain
Edward Scarborough of Kinnakeet (now Avon) to hire his
schooner the Thomas A. Blount for the passage across the sound to
Ocracoke.
Apparently the valiant horse was left there on Chicamacomico
Banks its descendents may still be there among the banker ponies
for all that's known for when the Thomas A. Blount left Chica-
SHIPWRECKS BECOME NEWS 13
macomico the next day with the survivors of the Enterprise, the
horse was not on board. Neither, by nightfall, was Captain Edward
Scarborough, for in mid-afternoon the Blount ran into bad weather
and the Captain was washed overboard. His body never again
was seen.
Thus the wreck of the Enterprize, in addition to occasioning the
complete loss of the vessel, resulted also in the death of one of the
prominent residents of the outer banks, and the addition of one
more horse to the number already residing on the sandy islands oif
the Carolina coast.
HARVEST
Lieutenant Grimke of Norfolk boarded the schooner Harvest
in that city November 17, 1825, accompanied by his wife, their
only child, and the child's nurse. In addition there were five other
passengers and a crew of six on the schooner, which was bound to
Charleston with a mixed cargo. Soon after passing Cape Henry that
afternoon, however, the Harvest ran into a strong northwest gale,
and at two o'clock the next morning she stranded. Both anchors
were immediately let go and her stern swung around toward the
distant beach, though not until her hatches had washed oif and
water had begun to pour into her hold. In the darkness the pas-
sengers were herded onto the quarter deck, where the women and
child were wrapped in the mainsail to protect them from the wind
and the waves which were by then sweeping all the way across the
vessel.
At dawn the ship's boat was launched, and the captain, mate,
two crewmen and several passengers succeeded in reaching shore;
later some residents of the area presumably Nags Head attempted
to row out to the wreck in a fishing dory, but they were overturned
in the surf. Not until the sea had subsided in mid-afternoon were
they able to get through to the stranded vessel. By then, however,
Lieutenant Grimke was stretched out on the deck, suffering from
the effect of injuries and exhaustion. He was immediately lowered
into the dory and was followed by the remaining survivors, but
the Lieutenant died before the small craft reached the breakers.
There was little chance he would have lived much longer, in any
i 4 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
event, for the dory was swamped in the surf and four more persons
Lieutenant Grimke's child, the child's nurse, and the cabin boy
and cook of the Harvest were all drowned.
Mrs. Grimke reached shore safely, suffering from severe shock;
and a second passenger, an unnamed German, was so moved by the
experience that he was reported in a deranged condition. While
Airs. Grimke and the German were being escorted to Norfolk by
a physician, the captain of the Harvest superintended the removal
of the cargo and managed to save approximately two thirds of the
material aboard the vessel, including 348 barrels of flour, 5 pipes of
brandy, 38 kegs of butter, 16 quart casks of wine, and 103 barrels
of whiskey, all of which was sold at a vendue on the beach two
days later. The bodies of Lieutenant Grimke, the child, and the
nurse were not recovered.
CAPE HATTERAS LIGHTSHIP
From the very first, the lightships anchored off Cape Hatteras
at the tip of Diamond Shoals to warn passing vessels away from the
Graveyard of the Atlantic have had a stormy time of it.
Lightships as a rule are comparatively small vessels, pointed at
both ends like a cigar, and ungainly and top-heavy in appearance;
they are floating tubs, really, with thick hulls and a top speed not
much greater than that of a sick caterpillar walking backwards.
Beauty, speed, and comfort, qualities usually sought in a ship, are
purposely forgotten when designers get around to lightships, for
they are built for the sole purpose of remaining at anchor in the
most turbulent seas, at the very danger spots which other ships
instinctively try to by-pass.
A lighthouse had been in operation on the point at Cape Hatteras
for almost twenty years when the first lightship took up her posi-
tion fourteen miles away, on the outer Diamond Shoals, June 15,
1824. Constructed in New York, she was a vessel of upwards of
320 tons, with two lights, one 60 feet high and the other 45 feet
high, and was under the command of Captain Jesse D. Elliott of
the Navy. During the first six months of her active career the vessel
ably fulfilled her mission, but in January, 1825, she broke her moor-
ings, drifted a considerable distance up the coast, and was finally
SHIPWRECKS BECOME NEWS 15
picked up off Currituck and towed into Hampton Roads by steam-
boat.
When next heard from she was heading back to her station again
just before Christmas of 1825, and though Christmas on a lightship
is considered by many the very essence of loneliness, those aboard
the Cape Hatteras Lightship that Christmas probably had as merry
a time as if they had remained ashore.
There had been changes on board the vessel. Captain Elliott had
been transferred to another assignment, and his place taken by
Captain Life Holden, a teacher of navigation and maker of nautical
instruments, who had previously been captain of the steamboats
Powhatan and Albemarle. Captain Holden, a married man with
three daughters, had made other changes; in fact, he had turned the
lightship into a home, taking all four of his womenfolk along with
him.
For two years the Holden family and crew lived aboard the
vessel anchored out there in the most feared spot on our coast.
There were storms and calms; they fished and talked and read, and
partied too, on occasion; and through it all the lights continued to
shine, constantly warning mariners away from danger. Then, in
late August of 1827 a hurricane moved up from the Windward
Islands to strike the Hatteras coast, and the lights went out.
At the height of the storm a tremendous wave struck the vessel,
throwing her into what was described as "a perpendicular position,"
but she weathered that one and returned to an even keel again. Then
a terrific cross sea hit her broadside, she rolled deep in the trough
of the wave, then bounced back to the surface like an apple tossed
into a bobbing-bucket. "The concussion," Captain Holden said,
"was equal to the report of a cannon." The cable parted under the
strain, and the vessel drifted toward the dangerous shoals. The
mainsail was hurriedly hoisted in an attempt to keep her off, but
she passed into the shoals nonetheless, the breakers making a clean
breach over her.
That first Hatteras light vessel was a stout ship; she must have
been, for she passed through those breakers, drifted to the south
of the shoals and along the coast toward Ocracoke. The companion
slide and doors had been swept away, and now canvas was nailed
over the openings to keep out the seas, still breaking over her.
18 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
efforts were made to back the vessel off the shoal, but when she did
move at last it was discovered that the rudder was out of com-
mission, and she soon grounded again.
At daylight some people were seen on shore, and one of the small
boats was dispatched to find out where they were and what ac-
commodations could be secured on the beach for the comfort of
the passengers. The report that came back was that they were in
New Inlet, at the north end of Chicamacomico Banks, and that
there were two small deserted houses less than a mile away. Four
miles distant, it was reported, stood "Mr. John Midyett's residence,
containing a boun iful supply of provisions."
The two ship's boats were immediately pressed into shuttle
service, transporting passengers ashore six and eight at the trip; but
by the time 1 16 had been removed the wind and tide had risen to
such an extent that the remaining passengers refused to budge from
the deck of the stranded vessel.
Thus, that afternoon, more than a hundred men, women and
children without a crewman among them were crowded into the
two small houses ashore, with only a very limited supply of water,
and with the bountiful provisions of Squire Midyett still several
miles away; while on the William Gibbons, the remainder of the
passengers and the entire crew were in equally bad straits.
For three days that situation continued, a strong northeaster and
high tides marooning those who were on the vessel and at the same
time confining the other 116 to the two small houses on Chica-
macomico Banks. By Tuesday morning the second day aground
in the inlet Captain Halsey noticed that some of the crewmen had
been partaking of hard liquor and were no longer obeying his com-
mands with alacrity, so he ordered the bartender to destroy all of
the liquor, an act which was promptly accomplished. But some of
the crewmen the firemen especially had already stolen enough
gin to keep them in the desired state for a considerable time, and
Andrews had joined them below decks in their inebriety. Whereas
the passengers on shore had not enough to drink, the crew of the
Gibbons had too much, and before it was over practically every
bag and trunk on the vessel had been broken open and the more
valuable contents stolen, the mail which the steamboat carried was
pilfered by the firemen, and poor old Captain Halsey found himself
SHIPWRECKS BECOME NEWS 19
even less in command of the vessel than when his sole duty had
been to preside over the dinner table.
The wreck of the William Gibbons must certainly be classed as
major, for few vessels lost on our coast have carried so many human
beings aboard; yet, for all the confusion, danger, lack of discipline,
and privation the wreck of the William Gibbons ended without
the loss of a single life.
When the storm finally let up Captain Halsey went ashore in one
of the boats and assisted in making arrangements to transport the
passengers and crew back to Norfolk.
Mate Andrews and his buddies among the firemen had mean-
time commandeered the other boat and set out for Elizabeth City,
where they were reported two days later to have tried to sell the
miscellaneous trinkets, items of clothing, and jewelry which they
had stolen. Yet, the first mention of the loss of the Gibbons in the
newspapers of the day included a card, signed by a number of the
passengers, censuring old Captain Halsey for his negligence; a
charge which he vehemently refuted, and of which he was proved
innocent some time later when Andrews and four of the firemen
were arrested and clapped into jail in New York.
The five were later tried at Raleigh. The firemen got off free,
and Andrews received only a token fine, which he immediately paid
from the proceeds of the very crime with which he was charged.
As for Captain Halsey, it can be assumed that he once more retired;
this time for good.
CARROLL
The brig Carroll, Captain Mitchell commanding, set sail from
New Orleans on Wednesday, January 25, 1837, bound for Balti-
more. She was loaded with a mixed cargo of cotton, pork, hides,
lard, castor oil, and madder, and in addition to her crew carried
two passengers and a mascot, a dog named Pillow.
Leaving New Orleans the brig picked up the Gulf Stream cur-
rents, rounded Key West, moved north along the Florida, Georgia,
and South Carolina coasts, and on the night of February 8 ap-
proached Cape Lookout after two weeks at sea.
Throughout that period it is reasonable to assume that the pas-
20 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
sengers had entertained themselves by watching flying fish in the
Gulf Stream and by talking long hours of New England the
Carroll was a Maine craft, from Bangor and of the imminent
prospect of war in Mexico, a country which one of the passengers, a
Mr. S. Bangs, had just visited. In all, it had been a lazy and unevent-
ful voyage, and no doubt the laziest of all those on board had been
the dog Pillow, who probably just lay in the sun, or on a bunk
below, and slept.
The beam of the lighthouse on Cape Lookout was obscured by
fog that February night in 1837, and the first indication Captain
Mitchell had of the proximity of Lookout Shoals was when, at 10
P.M., the Carroll suddenly struck a submerged sand bar, ground to
a stop, and careened over on her side. Sailors standing on deck were
knocked down at the moment of impact, and no doubt Pillow was
fully awakened for the first time on the entire voyage.
Almost as quickly as the brig struck, she now drifted over the
bar and into deep water again. A quick investigation showed that
she was shipping relatively little water and to outward appearances
was not badly damaged, but when the helmsman attempted to carry
out a command he found that the wheel had lost contact with the
rudder; even worse, it was soon obvious that the rudder had been
completely torn loose from the ship, leaving her practically un-
manageable.
They might have anchored there, put all hands at the pumps, and
attempted to ride out the night, but the wind, from the southeast,
was rapidly increasing in intensity, and Captain Mitchell decided
to make every effort to get his vessel ashore before she foundered
at sea with the imminent prospect of death for all of them.
"Finally," Mr. Bangs reported later, "the light of Cape Look Out
came in sight, distance about one mile. We endeavored by shifting
the position of the sails to gain the light, but it was impossible to
do so as the wind headed too much, and we struck the shore one
mile to the south of the Cape. We remained beating on the shore
all night, with a tremendous sea breaking over us every minute,
looking forward with the greatest anxiety for daybreak, to see and
get ashore if possible.
u The looked-for hour arrived," Bangs continued. "Orders were
given to clear the boat and all hands get in. The boat, however, no
SHIPWRECKS BECOME NEWS 21
sooner touched the water than was filled, capsized, and dashed to
pieces in the surf. It was fortunate for us all it so happened, for it
was impossible a boat of any kind could live on such a sea, much
less gain the shore with the wind ahead and the tide making out."
Throughout this period of great anxiety there is no mention
whatsoever of poor Pillow, though it is safe to assume he did little
sleeping, if any at all.
As the morning wore on Captain Mitchell, his crew, and pas-
sengers made every sort of attempt to get a line to the beach some
forty or fifty yards away, but without success; and when people
arrived on shore opposite the wreck they were as powerless to
get a line out to the Carroll as Mitchell and his cohorts were to get
one in to them. To make matters worse the sky had clouded up, and
shortly after dawn rain had begun to fall. This had turned to sleet,
then to hail, and finally to snow, and by noon, according to Mr.
Bangs, "we had been exposed for 14 hours and almost chilled to
death."
There was, at that time, no prospect of a let up in the force of
the huge breakers crashing down on the doomed vessel. The snow
continued to fall, interspersed with hail, and the tide, having reached
the ebb, was now starting in again.
It was at this seemingly helpless stage of affairs, when the pros-
pect of high tide threatened to engulf them all, that someone
thought of Pillow. No one had attempted to swim to shore for fear
of the terrific surf, but in a way that humans have, a consultation
was held among Captain, crew, and passengers, and it was unani-
mously decided to try to swim ashore with a line. It was further
decided that the one to do the swimming should be their inarticulate
companion, Pillow!
Quickly a line was made fast around the dog's neck, the would-be
rescuers on shore were pointed out to him, and he was carried to
the extreme forward part of the vessel and tossed overboard.
Picture the irony and pathos of the scene there at Cape Lookout
that cold and stormy Thursday afternoon in February, 1837. Strong
and able men, experienced in the ways of the sea, clinging help-
lessly to the violently pitching hull of the wrecked brig; other men,
no less able and experienced in their way, standing equally as help-
lessly on the snow-covered shore; while between the two, more
22 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
frequently covered over by the seething waters than above them,
the dog, Pillow, half choked by the rope around his neck, swam
with all of his fast ebbing strength toward the low lying beach.
Did Pillow make it? Of course he did, for how else would the
details of the wreck now be known? He made it, the line still tight
around his neck, and soon afterwards his former shipmates, nearly
dead from the cold and exposure, were safely drawn ashore. All
of them saved, because a dog accomplished what they were afraid
even to try.
AURORA
In June, 1837, at Ocracoke, the schooner Aurora of New York
stranded on the bar and was lost. To the people of the section
there seemed nothing out of the ordinary about the wreck, for the
Aurora was a small vessel, she had come ashore in moderate weather,
and her crew had been saved through their own efforts and with
little difficulty.
The real story behind the loss of the Aurora finally came to light
in January of the following year, when the New York Courier
published the following brief news item: "On Thursday last, Mr.
Waddell, the United States Marshal, arrested Richard Sheridan,
late master of the schooner Aurora^ of New York, John Crocker,
mate, and James Norton, seaman, on a charge of the most serious
nature, and which, if proved, will place the lives of the offenders
in jeopardy. The prisoners are charged with wilfully wrecking,
and losing on Ocracoke Bar, the schooner Aurora, bound from
Havana to New York, in June last, and they are also charged with
stealing from the vessel after she was wrecked $4000 in doubloons,
which had been sent on board in Havana, consigned to Don Francis
Stoughton, Spanish Consul in New York."
The Marshal specifically charged that Captain Sheridan had en-
listed the aid of the two crewmen, and together they had carefully
planned the shipwreck and stolen the 264 doubloons, which had
then been entrusted to the Captain by his henchmen for transfer to
the north where they could be converted into American money.
But at about the time this charge was being made public it must
have become obvious to Mate Crocker and Seaman Norton that they
SHIPWRECKS BECOME NEWS 23
had joined forces with the wrong man, for on meeting the Captain
in New York he told them that he had been robbed of the dou-
bloons and consequently there was no loot to divide.
Somewhere along the line Captain Sheridan made a serious mis-
take. It may have been in picking the time and place for the ship-
wreck, for Ocracoke was far off his course and there was little
excuse for losing a vessel under sailing conditions as they then
existed; or it may have been the fact that the doubloons were not
found on the vessel after she was wrecked; or maybe Crocker and
Norton turned him in to the authorities.
In any event, when the Captain was brought to trial in New
York in February he was found guilty the doubloons had been
discovered in the hands of yet another accomplice and he was
ordered to pay costs and to repay the Spanish Consul, in all an
amount of $4,919. In addition, Captain Sheridan was kept in jail
for an undetermined period as further punishment.
HOME
In late September, 1837, a particularly violent hurricane known
as "Racer's Storm" blew up south of Jamaica, crossed Yucatan,
struck the Gulf coast of Texas, and then curved back to the east,
moving over Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and South
Carolina, and arriving off the North Carolina coast on October 9.
Before Racer's Storm passed on into the expanses of the Atlantic
it was credited with taking something like ninety lives in one of the
worst marine disasters in North Carolina's history the wreck of
the proud new steamboat Home.
This was only the third voyage for the Home, yet already she
was a record breaker. She was a 550-ton craft hailing from New
York, an "elegantly constructed vessel" built at a cost of $i 15,000,
with a 198-foot keel, a zzo-foot overall length, and a 22-foot beam.
Sleek and trim, designed for the river trade, she had been con-
verted to the coastwise run was even being considered for trans-
atlantic crossings and had been referred to generally as the finest
packet afloat.
On her first passage to Charleston the Home proceeded cau-
tiously, but on the second trip, encountering clear weather, she
*4 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
rounded Cape Hatteras in thirty-six hours after leaving New York
and reached Charleston in a total elapsed time of sixty-four hours.
As reported in the press as late as October 6, this was "a quicker
passage than was ever before performed by any steam packet or
other ship . . . and she has thereby established an enviable reputation
as a packet."
This reputation accounts in part, for the large list of passengers
approximately ninety on board the Home when she sailed from
New York for the third time on October 7. So great was the in-
terest, so high the hopes for further record-breaking voyages, that
several passengers boarded her at the last minute, too late even to
turn in their names to the shipping agent or notify relatives of their
departure.
The Home was dogged by ill luck from the very start of that
third trip. She grounded for three hours at the entrance to New
York harbor, and by the time she reached the Carolina coast the
next night had experienced so much rough weather that water al-
ready stood ankle deep in her hold.
On the morning of October 9 the Home was off Cape Hatteras,
bucking the tremendous hurricane seas of Racer's Storm and ship-
ping water at an alarming rate. The pumps could not keep ahead
of the flow of water, so Captain Carleton White ordered the cabin
floor scuttled and called on the passengers to aid in bailing. Ketdes,
buckets, pans, and pails were pressed into service, and even the
women joined in the frantic effort to lighten her, but still the water
gained. Shortly after noon, figuring he had passed Cape Hatteras,
Captain White changed the Home's course, heading westward with
the intent of beaching the vessel at the first opportunity. By this
time the packet was pitching so violently that the paddle wheels
were more often than not churning air, and on each wave the bow
fell, independently of the stern, as much as five feet. In mid-after-
noon, the water had reached the fires, the engines had stopped
completely, and the Home, now under short sail, continued toward
shore, finally striking the beach at 10 P.M. at a point approximately
six miles northeast of Ocracoke village.
There were published statements, later, that Captain White had
been drunk throughout the voyage, though members of the crew
testified that he was cold sober and that "the intoxicated captain"
SHIPWRECKS BECOME NEWS 25
was a passenger who had been mistaken for White by many of the
people on board. In any event, the actions of all involved seemed
to have been level-headed throughout the harrowing experience
and until the actual moment of striking; then, with full realization
that the vessel could not long hold together, crewmen and pas-
sengers alike were overcome by panic.
Most of the women and children had been herded together on the
high forecastle, the nearest point to the land, some one hundred
yards distant. One of the boats had been crushed at sea, and as soon
as the Home struck an attempt was made to launch another, but
this too was dashed to pieces before it ever reached the water. The
third and last boat was then lowered, with fifteen to twenty people
in it, but the small craft had hardly cleared the ship when it over-
turned, spilling the occupants into the surf.
There were only two life preservers on the entire vessel; two
life preservers and three frail lifeboats for something like 130 men,
women, and children. And even as the helpless women and children
clung together on the forecastle the life preservers were com-
mandeered by two men able-bodied, strong men both of whom
were subsequently washed overboard and reached shore alive.
Suddenly the forecastle broke loose and washed into the surf,
carrying with it the assembled women and children, most of whom
almost immediately disappeared beneath the frothing, teeming sea,
never to be seen again. One woman, Mrs. Schroeder of Charleston,
had tied herself to one of the braces, and now found herself in the
water, held under most of the time by the weight of the brace, yet
unable to untie the lines with which she was held. Miraculously she
reached the beach, crawled beyond the water mark dragging the
brace with her, and then collapsed.
An aged and portly woman, Mrs. Lacoste, was tied to a settee,
and she drifted ashore also, though the settee was too much for her
to handle, and time after heart-breaking time she was washed back
into the surf, until finally some of the residents of the island, who
had gathered on the beach opposite the wreck, managed to pull
her to safety.
Until the very moment when the vessel finally disintegrated,
breaking into three different sections, Andrew A. Lovegreen of
Charleston had remained on the upper deck, tolling the ship's bell
26 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
in an attempt to signal shore for assistance. When the deck parted
he fell into the sea and after a lengthy struggle managed to swim
to shore.
Phillip S. Cohen and Isaac S. Cohen, brothers of Columbia, South
Carolina, had been passengers on the ill-fated steam packet William
Gibbons, when that vessel stranded at New Inlet and was lost the
year previous. Once again Isaac survived, but this time his brother
was drowned in attempting to gain the safety of the beach.
A final count showed that only forty persons were saved
Captain White, nineteen crewmen, and twenty passengers. Some
ninety others were lost, including most of the women and children
and a large percentage of the male passengers. Among the prominent
people lost were former Senator Oliver H. Prince of Georgia, and
Mrs. Prince; James B. Allaire, nephew of the owner of the Home;
Professor Nott and Mrs. Nott of Columbia, South Carolina; William
H, Tileston of New York, who had on his person upwards of
$100,000 in notes to be collected in Charleston; Mrs. Boudo and
Mrs. Riviere, both well-known Storekeepers in Charleston, and the
Reverend and Mrs. George Cobles of Danvers, Massachusetts.
The survivors were cared for by the people of Ocracoke; Captain
Pike and Mr. Howard opened their homes for this purpose. The
day following the disaster bodies and wreckage were scattered along
the Ocracoke beach for miles, while only her boilers remained
above water to mark the spot where the finest steam packet afloat
had ended her third and last voyage.
As a direct result of the disaster, Congress passed legislation re-
quiring all seagoing vessels to carry a life preserver for each person
on board. For every one of the ninety people lost on the Home, if
you care to look at it that way, scores of others have been saved
in later years as the result of this requirement.
THE STEAM PACKET PULASKI
1838
HOLIDAY MOOD prevailed
aboard the steam packet Pulaski as she made her way out of Charles-
ton Harbor and headed up the coast. For one thing, summer had
arrived at last, and with it the prospect of sunny days and warm
nights. For another, accommodations aboard the Pulaski were of the
finest elegant, was the word some used to describe her fittings
and the food was both expertly prepared and handsomely served.
And to round it off, there was a congenial group aboard, evenly
enough divided as to age and sex so that anyone who had a mind to,
man, woman, child, or servant, could make new and interesting
acquaintances before the vessel reached Baltimore.
It was June 14, 1838, a Thursday. The 68o-ton Pulaski, a sleek
2o6-foot side-wheeler with a narrow 25-foot beam, had been in
service for less than eight months. She had been built at Baltimore
by Messrs. Ross along the lines of the older coastwise packets,
South Carolina and Georgia. She was equipped with three cabins
with berths for 1 16 passengers, and four staterooms for family use.
Her steam cylinders were capable of developing close to two
hundred horsepower, and steam-navigation men considered her one
of the finest such vessels afloat.
The Pulaski had left Savannah on June 1 3 with ninety passengers
aboard and had steamed into Charleston Harbor just short of dusk
that evening. Some sixty-five additional passengers boarded the
Pulaski there, and now, fully loaded, she was beginning the long
run up the Carolina coast.
Young Mr. Ridge of New Orleans, who was somewhat reticent
28 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
by nature, had remained by himself on deck after boarding the
vessel, not mixing with the other passengers. But shortly before the
departure from Charleston his attention had been drawn to one
of the young ladies who boarded the vessel there, and he now en-
tertained hopes of arranging an introduction before the voyage
was over.
Major Heath of Baltimore was no doubt pleased with the ar-
rangements aboard the Puhski, for he had been assigned a berth
in the section aft, beyond the large cabin, where he had consider-
ably more privacy than he would have had up forward.
First Mate Hibbert of the Pulaski, long since accustomed to the
routine of departure, remained in the wheelhouse with Captain
Dubois as they cleared the harbor, then went below. He was due
to take over the watch that night, and he figured to catch up on
some sleep beforehand.
Captain Dubois held his vessel within sight of shore until Cape
Romain was passed, then changed to a more easterly course and
turned the command over to Mr. Pearson, his second captain.
Dubois would be available if needed throughout the voyage, but
the Captain's job was as much that of genial host to the passengers
as it was master of the vessel.
Cape Romain disappeared astern, and throughout the day no
other land was sighted. The wind soon came up from the east,
throwing up fans of spray each time the vessel's bow plowed into
a wave. Despite the turbulent sea the passengers assembled on the
lower deck remained comfortable, for the Pulaski was equipped
with interchangeable windows for use when the weather was rough.
Just to be on the safe side, Second Captain Pearson kept well to sea
as he passed Cape Fear and the dangerous Frying Pan Shoals.
By dusk the holiday mood had disappeared for the most. The
wind had slackened somewhat, but was still strong enough to re-
tard the Pulaskfs progress and keep her in a constant state of pitch-
ing and wallowing. Many of the fifty-seven women and fourteen
children aboard had to make frequent and hurried trips to the rail
and some of the men, too, for that matter. Expert preparation and
handsome serving had not been able to make the evening meal
palatable to most of the passengers.
At 10: 30 that night First Mate Hibbert, an old steam hand, took
THE STEAM PACKET PULASKI 29
over the watch and began pacing back and forth across the fore-
castle. Captain Dubois was asleep in the wheelhouse, curled up on
a mattress he kept there for that purpose. Most of the lights on the
vessel were dimmed, and the passengers dozing.
Young Mr. Ridge was lounging in a deck chair, thinking no
doubt of the young lady who had come aboard at Charleston, and
apparently not in the least bothered by the rough weather.
Major Heath, en route to his berth, passed by the starboard boiler
and noticed that the gauge showed almost thirty inches of steam
pressure. He stopped to ask the second engineer about this and was
informed that the boilers could safely bear forty inches. He then
walked aft, holding to the railings as he went along, moved gingerly
through the aft cabin so as not to disturb the passengers who were
stretched out there on the settees, and reaching his own berth,
began making preparations for bed.
Half an hour later First Mate Hibbert heard the second engineer
turn the water cock on the starboard boiler, and from the shrill
whistle which ensued, he was quite certain that the water in the
boiler was too low. He was on the verge of warning the second
engineer not to add fresh water until the temperature could go
down, when the boiler suddenly blew up, knocking Hibbert to
the main deck below.
On hearing the noise of the explosion, Major Heath jumped from
his berth and ran for the aft cabin, only to be met there by a spray
of deadly steam. He fell back and got underneath the steps where
he was soon joined by Mr. Lovejoy, of Georgia, and there the two
remained, safely shielded, until the steam subsided. Again Major
Heath made his way gingerly through the aft cabin, but this time
it was not for fear of disturbing the passengers who had been doz-
ing on the settees, but to keep from stepping on those same pas-
sengers, now dead, sprawled in grotesque positions about the floor
where they had crouched in a futile attempt to escape the scalding
steam which gushed through the cabin. There was not, the Major
reported later, a single living person in the aft cabin.
Meanwhile, Mate Hibbert found himself lying between the mast
and the side of the vessel, in a dazed condition. When his faculties
returned to him, Hibbert made a quick appraisal of the damage.
He discovered that the boat amidships was blown entirely to pieces;
3 o GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
that the head of the starboard boiler was gone and the top torn
open, that the timbers and planks on the starboard side were forced
asunder, and that the boat took in great quantities of water when-
ever she rolled in that direction. In short, the Pulaski was done for.
Mate Hibbert was aware immediately of the horrors of the situa-
tion and the danger of letting the passengers know that the ship
was sinking before lowering the four lifeboats which she carried.
He therefore proceeded to the side with haste, loosened the lines
holding the starboard yawl, and lowered it into the water, climbing
in himself and taking in two other men at the same time.
Perceiving the mate in the lifeboat, a group of excited passengers
assembled at the rail above and demanded to know his object, to
which he replied that he intended to pass around the stern of the
steamer to determine the amount of damage. Before doing this,
however, he ordered the other boats lowered, and Elias N. Barney,
a crewman, with the assistance of several passengers, shortly had
the larboard yawl in the water also; and others threw over one of
the small boats on deck, but it soon filled with water and sank.
During this time other passengers and crewmen were being
dragged from the water into the two yawls, until Barney announced
that his boat was filled and proposed to Mate Hibbert that they
strike out for shore. This the Mate declined to do, saying that he
intended to stay by the wreck until daybreak and pick up as many
people as he could.
Major Heath, meanwhile, had reached the main deck and found
that all was dark and surprisingly quiet. He called for the Captain
but received no answer, and perceiving that the vessel was sinking,
he attempted to move forward to the mast. But before he could
secure himself the sea burst over the bow and carried him over-
board, fortunately dragging him against a loose line with which he
was able to gain the deck again.
Just then the mast fell, crushing a Frenchman named Auze who
was clinging to it. With a great splintering noise the vessel broke
completely in two, and the forward section, almost submerged,
began drifting away.
Young Mr. Ridge, immediately following the explosion of the
boiler, had assisted Mate Hibbert in launching the yawl, and then
observing the young lady who had previously attracted his atten-
THE STEAM PACKET PULASKI 31
tion, he attempted to help her into the boat. But in the confusion
they were separated, and while he was searching for her the mast
fell, the vessel parted, and he was thrown overboard.
In short order he succeeded in lashing together a couple of settees,
some pieces of torn sail and a large cask, thus forming a raft capable
of sustaining his weight. But no sooner had he accomplished this
purpose than he discovered someone struggling in the water a short
distance away, and without hesitation he plunged into the sea,
swam twice his length through the darkness, and returned with the
other survivor to his raft.
It was then that he realized the person he had saved was a woman,
a young woman. Her name, she said, was Onslow. And on hearing
the soft sound of her voice he realized that she was the same young
woman he had noticed earlier and had attempted to assist into the
yawl. Fate had arranged the introduction he sought.
Meanwhile, a majority of the other passengers, including the
Reverend Dr. J. L. Woart, his wife, and child were now huddled
on the promenade deck, fervently praying. And as they prayed
the after part of the vessel, on which the promenade was located,
slipped more and more to the larboard side, until, with a dreadful
crash, it turned over completely, drowning most of the passengers
assembled there. Less than thirty, including the Reverend Dr.
Woart and family, were able to regain that small portion of the
promenade which remained afloat.
Forty-five minutes had passed since the starboard boiler exploded,
and already almost half of those aboard the Pulaski were dead:
drowned, scalded to death, or crushed by falling masts and spars.
Of those remaining, nine people, including First Mate Hibbert,
were in the starboard yawl; eleven others were in Elias Barney's
larboard yawl; approximately twenty were on the small bow sec-
tion with Major Heath; some twenty-five others were on a piece
of the promenade deck with the Woarts; and young Mr. Ridge,
Miss Onslow, and between thirty and forty of the remainder were
clinging to furniture and scattered fragments of the wrecked vessel.
Again the occupants of the two boats urged First Mate Hibbert
to direct their course to shore, a distance of some thirty miles, but
as before he insisted on remaining in the vicinity until daylight.
3* GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
Accordingly, when the first rays of dawn showed through the
eastern sky, the two small boats began the slow trek toward the
low-lying sand banks along the North Carolina coast, while behind
them they could still hear the waitings of the hopeless beings who
remained alive.
With daylight Hibbert took stock. His two yawls were equipped
with oars, there were ample able-bodied men to row, and despite a
strong wind from the south the small boats were shipping com-
paratively little water.
In his own craft were Boatswain Gideon West, a New Bedford-
man; a Negro steward named Brown, from Norfolk; Mr. Bird of
Bryan County, Georgia; an elderly man, Judge Rochester, from
Buffalo; a German named Zeuchtenberg; Charles B. Tappan, of
New York; W. G N. Smith of New Bedford, and a Mr. Swift. Nine
men, all except Judge Rochester, fully able to take their turns at the
oars and share in other manual tasks.
The other boat was in worse condition, for its occupants were
mainly women and children. In addition to Barney there was an-
other seaman, named Soloman; Mr. J. H. Cooper, of Glynn,
Georgia; Mrs. Nightengale, of Cumberland Island, and her seven-
month-old child; Mrs. Eraser, of St. Simeons, and her small child;
Senator R. W. Pooler, of Savannah, and his son R. W. Pooler, Jr.;
and two Negro women, Priscilla, a Pulaski stewardess, and Jenny,
a servant.
Mr. Cooper took the steering oar of the larboard boat, and the
Mate that of the starboard boat. With two men rowing in each
they headed for the distant coast, travelling in a northwest direction
to take full advantage of the wind and current. Throughout the
day there were frequent changes, the men alternating at the oars
of the two boats, which remained close together at all times.
In the late afternoon, after thirteen grueling hours of rowing,
they approached close enough to shore to get a fairly good idea of
the geographical arrangement of the coastline. They were opposite
a wide sandy beach, with no inlets immediately in evidence, and
Hibbert suggested that they should travel further along the coast
in search of an opening through which they could pass to the sound
waters beyond. Because of the approach of darkness, however, and
the constant exposure of those in the two boats, especially of the
THE STEAM PACKET PULASKI 33
women, the majority decided against this course, preferring not to
remain a second night on the open sea.
The Mate finally agreed to attempt a landing, though he was not
at all certain it could be effected successfully because of the huge
breakers pounding down on the shore. Before he started, the two
Negro women were transferred to his boat, and it was agreed with
Mr. Cooper that upon landing Hibbert should walk along the beach
until he saw a good spot for the other boat to come in and wait there
with the remainder of the survivors from his boat to help the women
and children ashore.
The two Negro women might just as well have remained in the
Cooper boat, and certainly Judge Rochester, Mr. Bird, and Steward
Brown would have done better to have sided with the Mate when he
voted against attempting a landing; for no sooner had Hibbert
steered his craft into the breakers than it capsized, and though six
men reached shore, the five mentioned above were drowned.
Because of the disastrous results of his own landing attempt Mate
Hibbert was more skeptical than ever over the chances of the
second boat coming through the surf with its cargo of women and
children, but after repeated signals from Cooper he finally located
a spot where the surf seemed not so heavy, gathered the five other
survivors about him, and gave the pre-arranged sign for Cooper
to make the attempt.
Cooper had already supervised the lashing of the Nightengale
infant to its mother. He now began sculling with the stern oar, at
the same time motioning for Barney and the other crewman to put
their weight on the oars. The boat rose without difficulty upon
the crest of the first breaker, and for a brief moment those on shore
thought she might come through safely. Then the second one, com-
ing on with great violence, struck the oar from the hands of one
of the rowers, the boat turned sideways in the trough of the sea,
and the next breaker hit the craft with full force and flipped it
upside down.
Upon regaining the surface Cooper took hold of the side of the
boat, and drawing himself up as best he could, discovered that all
of the others in the party, with the exception of Mrs. Nightengale,
were making good headway for shore. He was still searching the
near-by waters for some sign of Mrs. Nightengale and her child
34 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
when he felt something drag against his leg. Diving down, he dis-
covered it was the woman's clothing. He came to the surface just
long enough for a gasp of fresh air, then dove again, grasped her
hair, and pulled her clear of the water. The men on shore came
out through the surf to meet him, and together they were able to
reach the sandy beach, all of them completely exhausted.
Fortunately, all nine of those in the Cooper boat, including the
two children, had come through alive; so that of the twenty persons
who had left the scene of the disaster in the yawls, fifteen had now
made their way to shore. However, with darkness it turned very
cool, and the women and children, especially, were suffering from
the effects of the exposure. It was decided that several of the men
should go in search of some habitation, while the others sought out
a protected spot behind one of the dunes. Here the ladies lay down,
and the men covered them and their children with sand to protect
them from further exposure.
It was not long before the searchers returned with information
that they had landed near the east end of Stump Sound, in Onslow
County, North Carolina, and that they had safely reached the house
of a Mr. Siglee Redd, who had kindly consented to take them all
in. And so, at 10:30 that night, just twenty-four hours after the
starboard boiler of the Pulaski exploded, fifteen of the survivors
were safely sheltered ashore and provided with food, drink, and
dry clothing.
Major Heath was not so fortunate.
The forward section of the Pulaski, he discovered at dawn the
morning following the explosion, was fast breaking up. The mast,
which had killed the Frenchman when it fell, now lay along the
forward section, its weight keeping the deck almost a foot under
water.
Among the twenty-one persons who shared this submerged raft
with Major Heath was Second Captain Pearson, who had been
blown out into the sea by the force of the initial blast. He had
caught hold of a plank and succeeded in reaching the forward sec-
tion sometime during the night. He now proposed that they attempt
to lash the timbers together so that they would not all be cast into
the open sea, and this the survivors promptly did with the aid of
ropes attached to the mast. By dropping the end of a piece of rope
THE STEAM PACKET PULASKI 35
overboard and letting it drift underneath the raft they were able
to secure it on the other side. Thus, in time, they managed to form
a sort of net over and around the raft, and before it was over they
had even salvaged a couple of large boxes floating by and lashed
these down as seats.
All that day, Friday, they drifted before the wind, twenty-two
of them sitting there in knee-deep water, without food or drink.
The heat of the sun was oppressive, its rays pouring down on their
bare heads and blistering their faces. Some did not even have shirts
for protection, and none had more than thin summer wear.
Their thirst now became intense, and Heath and Pearson had
difficulty keeping some of the others from drinking the salt water.
A Major Twiggs had saved his child, a boy of about twelve, and now
kept him in his arms at all times, for the boy was delirious. When
he would call on his mother, who was safe at home, and beg for
water, his father would seek in vain to comfort him by words of
kindness and by clasping him closer in his arms.
And so it went throughout that first day and the second night,
and not until dawn Saturday was there any perceptible change in
their circumstances. But as the morning light filled the sky they
could make out a dim, purplish line on the horizon which Second
Captain Pearson said was land.
At about the same time a floating object was spotted in the dis-
tance, and throughout the morning it drew closer until human
beings were easily discernible upon it. This, it developed, was a
small section of the wreck with the first engineer a man called
Chicken and three others upon it.
At first Major Heath and his companions on the forward section
were cheered by this discovery, thinking that there might be food
or water on the other raft, or at least room to transfer some of the
twenty-two from the overcrowded forward section. But when at
last it came alongside they realized that those clinging to it were in
worse straits than they themselves, and so four more people joined
the twenty-two aboard the submerged bow.
By this time they had approached within less than a mile of
shore, and many were anxious to make an attempt to land. But
Major Heath, observing the huge breakers which were visible even
from that distance, urged that they make every attempt to keep off
36 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
from shore until a better landing place could be found, or help
should arrive from the sea. A Mr. Greenwood, of Georgia, came
forward then with an offer to attempt to swim to shore for aid, say-
ing that he was one of the best swimmers in his home community.
"No," replied Major Heath. "You'd certainly lose your life."
And even as they argued, the decision was taken from them, for the
wind shifted, and a slight shore breeze was now carrying them out
to sea again.
This was almost beyond endurance for some, to have come so
close to safety, only to have fate step in and deprive them of it.
They had been almost forty-eight hours on the open sea without
sustenance, and in despair one member of the party suggested that
if relief did not come soon it would be necessary to cast lots.
Again it was Major Heath who raised vehement objections. "We
are Christians," he said, "and we cannot imbue our hands in the
blood of a fellow creature. We have still life left; let us not give
up all manliness, and sink to the brute. I will risk my life now
for the safety of any of you; but I will never stand by and see an-
other's sacrificed, that we may eat his flesh."
And so, for the second time that day, the Major's firmness put
an end to a proposal which could have proved only disastrous.
Another speck was sighted on the horizon that afternoon, prob-
ably the makeshift raft on which young Mr. Ridge and Miss Onslow
were attempting to reach land, but it soon disappeared from view.
Rain came early Sunday morning, but with the rain came also a
stiff breeze from the northeast, which soon increased to gale pro-
portions. Every effort was made to catch some of the water in a
piece of canvas which the survivors had taken from the mast and
now held between them, but the sea ran so high that the little they
did catch was nearly as salt as the water in the ocean. Still, each of
the twenty-six persons aboard the raft was able to catch enough
of the rain on his tongue to ease a burning throat.
When darkness settled Sunday evening Major Heath made a de-
termined effort to sleep, but for the third successive night he was
unable to do so except for a few moments at a time. The following
morning, since the rain had stopped and the high winds had some-
what abated, he and his companions were once again subjected to
THE STEAM PACKET PULASKI 37
the torture inflicted by the burning sun; and several among them
began to exhibit the peculiar signs of madness attendant on starva-
tion.
Four vessels were sighted during the day, and though a flag was
attached to a pole and hoisted on high each time, none of the four
came to their rescue, and the castaways watched with sinking
hearts as each in turn passed from sight. One of these was the steam
packet New York, which docked at Norfolk two days later and
reported that the raft had been sighted from a distance but that
there was no sign of life on board. The plain facts were that
Captain Allen of the New York, intent on maintaining his schedule,
had not bothered to alter his course for a closer examination of the
wreckage.
It was Monday night. The survivors had spent four days and
nights on the raft. Again Major Heath tried to sleep, but with his
own pain and torment, the continued necessity of holding on at all
times to keep from being washed overboard, and his constant ef-
forts to succor and encourage the others, he passed another sleep-
less night.
The first light of morning always held promise, and was eagerly
awaited by those on the raft. Tuesday morning revealed to them
another section of wreckage in the distance, but hardly had their
eyes focused on this than a ship was seen on the horizon. This, like
the others sighted the day previous, was so far off that it was doubt-
ful its occupants could see the tiny flag or the submerged raft with
its cargo of dying human beings. But it continued on in their direc-
tion, and as it came closer the pole and flag were waved with in-
creased vigor, and some, even, raised their voices in feeble shouts.
Then suddenly she tacked and turned away again.
"She's gone," cried a crewman who was suffering from dreadful
burns and scalding, and with this he lay down on one of the boxes,
his last hope gone.
But Second Captain Pearson had not taken his eyes from the
vessel, and now he too shouted, but his, unlike the scalded sea-
man's, was a shout of joy. "She sees us! She's coming toward us!"
And so she was, with all sails set before the wind.
The vessel was the schooner Henry Camerdon, bound from
3 8 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
Philadelphia to Wilmington, North Carolina, Captain Davis com-
manding. She hove to near the raft and lowered her boat. Strong
and eager hands lifted the twenty-six survivors aboard. Those who
were able to walk, stumbled toward the water casks, the others
dragging behind them. But Captain Davis was firm in ordering
them away, and he instructed his crew to guard the casks as he sank
to his knees to give thanks that his prayers had been answered; for
Captain Davis had spotted wreckage the day before and had been
on a constant search for survivors ever since.
Captain Davis then doled out to each of the occupants of the
raft a half pint of water, sweetened with molasses, repeating the
dosage at short intervals; while for those in need of stimulants he
provided heated vinegar, for there was no strong drink aboard
Captain Davis' vessel.
Later, when the schooner's Captain was told of the other raft
which had been sighted that morning, he resumed the search, and
shortly afterwards the remains of the promenade deck came into
view, but there were only four persons clinging to it.
The four survivors told a harrowing story. Twenty-three of
them had been crowded together on the promenade deck the morn-
ing following the explosion, including the Reverend Dr. Woart
and family and Mr. G. B. Lamar, of Savannah, and his children, en
route to England for the coronation of Queen Victoria.
On the surface these people were more fortunate than those who
had drifted away on the bow, for though the remaining part of the
promenade was almost submerged and the survivors were without
food or water, still the remaining deck boat was lashed to the
wreckage, not visibly damaged. For two days the twenty-three
remained on the piece of wreckage, and then it was decided that
six of the most able-bodied should attempt to make shore in the
boat and summon help.
Mr. Lamar took charge of the boat, assisted by the second mate
of the Pulaski, and with four others they took their departure
Saturday. From that time on, the seventeen remaining on the
promenade suffered acutely. Sunday morning, when the rain and
heavy winds struck, the raft was tossed about so violently that the
survivors had difficulty holding on. Throughout this time of peril
the Reverend Dr. Woart and his wife held their child close to them
THE STEAM PACKET PULASKI 39
and prayed fervently, until a great wave washed them overboard
and they sank from sight, still clasping their child between them.
Each day and night the number was lessened, and Monday morn-
ing only five remained aboard the wreckage: Mr. and Mrs. Noah
Smith, of Augusta, Mr. Robert Hutchison, Miss Rebecca Lamar,
and Master Charles Lamar. It was then that Major Heath's raft was
sighted, at about the same time apparently that those with the
Major saw the wreckage of the promenade deck. But there was a
decided difference in the reaction aboard the two rafts, for whereas
Second Captain Pearson and Major Heath recognized the prome-
nade for what it was, Mr. Smith and Mr. Hutchison took the
Major's raft to be a sail. They waited for a time, in hope that it
would near them, but at length Mr. Smith announced that the only
hope was to swim to it for aid. He quickly stripped off his tattered
clothes, embraced his wife, and plunged into the water. For a brief
time it looked as if he might make it, for he pushed onward with
powerful strokes; but suddenly those on the wreckage saw him stop
swimming, and in a moment's time he sank beneath the waves. It
was supposed later, that he had gone close enough to see that the
Major's raft was not a rescue craft, and with all incentive gone, had
given up hope. Had he waited but an hour more he would have been
saved with his wife and the other three.
As for the six men who took to the deck boat, they rowed and
paddled and sculled and bailed and prayed throughout Saturday
night, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and finally on Wednesday morn-
ing, they safely reached shore at New River Inlet, North Carolina,
near where the two yawls had landed five days earlier.
Thus of the nearly two hundred persons aboard the Pulaski when
her boiler exploded Thursday night, fifty-one had so far been
saved: fifteen reached shore in the two yawls; thirty were picked
up on the two rafts by the schooner; and six others landed safely
in the tiny deck boat.
Still unaccounted for were thirty or forty people last seen cling-
ing to wreckage at the scene of the explosion, including young
Mr. Ridge, of New Orleans, and Miss Onslow.
That young lady had been rescued from the waters and found
herself safely aboard the small raft which her rescuer had put to-
gether. She recovered sufficiently to realize that it was large enough
40 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
for one, but too small for two. She thanked him for saving her life,
showing great emotion as she did so. "But," she added, "you will
have to let me go to save yourself."
According to a statement published shortly after the Pulaski
disaster, Ridge would have none of it. "We live or die together,"
he said, and so Miss Onslow remained.
In a short time they discovered a larger piece of wreckage, on
top of which they managed to haul their settees and cask and can-
vas, the young lady sharing equally in the task. When this was
accomplished one of the yawls came near, and though it was already
overcrowded, Ridge begged that the occupants take the young lady
with them.
Again Miss Onslow expressed her feelings with certainty and
conviction, saying that he had saved her life, and she could not
leave him there alone. And so the two remained on their improvised
raft, floating day after day before the wind. They almost reached
land once but were borne seaward again by the same shifting wind
which had saved Major Heath's raft from the breakers.
Among all of the survivors of the Pulaski six others reached
shore on fragments of the wreckagethese two young people were
the last to be saved. But though they had gone without food or
drink, they had, between them, an added incentive to live; for there
on their raft on the stormy seas they pledged themselves, each to
the other, in sickness and health, in life and in death.
A fairy-tale ending, that, to a disaster from which only fifty-nine
of nearly two hundred persons survived. But that was not the end-
ing, for though they lived and were saved, the pledge was not im-
mediately fulfilled.
When they were fully recovered from the effects of their ex-
perience, and had once again returned to the safety of land, the
gallant Ridge made a confession to his betrothed. He told her that
he had lost everything in the disaster; that he was penniless. "In
poverty to my very lips" was the way he phrased it. And he offered
to release her from her verbal bond if she so chose.
The young lady is reported to have burst into tears, to have
proclaimed that poverty could never drive them to a more desperate
extremity than that which they had suffered together, and to have,
once again, repeated her expression of complete love for him.
THE STEAM PACKET PULASKI 41
So, it ended in fairy-tale style after all; their engagement became
official, and shortly afterwards they were married. And only then,
it might be added, did Ridge learn that his bride was heiress to an
estate valued at two hundred thousand dollars.
THE TOLL MOUNTS
1838-1860
FROM THE TIME of the loss
of the Pulaski in 1839 until the beginning of the Civil War in 1861
the North Carolina coast was the scene of so many shipwrecks that
the majority rated no more space in the newspapers of the day than
do routine automobile accidents in the contemporary press. A total
of eighty-five vessels are listed as having been totally lost during this
period, but there were many more hundreds, probably about
which there is only such sketchy information that they cannot be
listed here. The following accounts are of a few of the more in-
teresting and unusual shipwrecks about which factual information
is available for this period.
NORTH CAROLINA
It did not take long for the railroads to cut in on the new steam-
boat business; witness the Wilmington and Roanoke Railroad Com-
pany, which was maintaining its own steamboat schedules between
Wilmington and Charleston by the summer of 1840.
Using two fast steamboats, die North Carolina and the Governor
Dudley, the company was able to provide overnight passenger
service between the two ports. And in July of that year, business
was booming.
Late in the evening of July 24 the Governor Dudley, loaded with
passengers and carrying a considerable quantity of government
mail, left Charleston for the northward run. A short time afterwards
THE TOLL MOUNTS 43
the North Carolina, also carrying passengers and mail, pulled away
from the company's wharf at Wilmington and headed down the
Cape Fear River.
It was, to all outward appearances, an ideal night for an ocean
voyage. The sky overhead, emblazoned with stars, cast a pleasant
glow over the calm surface of the sea. A soft breeze occasionally
stirred ripples in the water just enough to keep down the July
heat.
By midnight, when Captain Smith of the Governor Dudley
turned the watch over to his first mate, most of the passengers were
in their berths, asleep. The shoal water outside Charleston had long
since been passed, but as was his custom Captain Smith lay down
in the wheelhouse, fully clothed, instead of retiring to his cabin
for the night. On board the North Carolina, at that moment some
twenty-five miles to the northward of the Dudley, a similar change
of watch had taken place, and there, too, most of the passengers had
long since sought their berths.
At i A.M. the next morning the mate of the North Carolina
sighted a moving light to the south, almost dead ahead, and about
two miles away. It was the Governor Dudley.
The two vessels continued onward, moving at a steady rate of
between twelve and fourteen miles per hour, each headed slightly
to the right of the other, as was custom. On they came, throwing
up starlit froth as their bows cut through the still water, each leav-
ing behind a wake of churning white foam. They had passed at sea
many times before, but never when conditions were more perfect
or the night more beautiful.
Closer and closer they moved, two slim sidewheelers, the latest
and trimmest marvels of man, carrying their human freight in ex-
cursion fashion between two of the South's leading ports. There
was no blowing of whistles, for each was aware of the other's
presence. A mile separated them, then a half mile, a quarter mile.
Still they came on, a thousand feet, five hundred, passing close and
to the right. Then, suddenly, the Dudley changed her course, swung
over to the left; the mate, confused at the moment of passing, had
thrown his wheel hard over, to pass to the left of the other vessel.
It was too late, then, for the mate of the North Carolina, to avert
44 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
disaster. He released steam, tried to halt his ship, but not in time;
for the Governor Dudley drove on, straight at her sistership, and
struck her amidships between the ladies' and gentlemen's cabins, a
crunching, sickening, splintering blow that tore four feet from the
Dudley's bow and cut the Carolina almost in two.
Quick work saved lives after that, for within ten minutes the
North Carolina had settled to her decks and soon after disappeared.
But in that ten minutes every person on board the Carolina, many
of them without clothes or belongings of any description, were
transferred to the Dudley. Tarpaulins and blankets were stretched
across the hole in the Dudley's bow, and for the remainder of the
night she remained near by, searching the silvery surface of the
sea for mail and baggage. Two trunks, only, were picked up;
thousands of dollars in cash $15,000 belonging to just one pas-
sengerwas lost; but the important thing was that the crippled
Dudley, double-loaded with the crew and passengers from her
sistership, reached Wilmington safely the following day.
THE GREAT STORMS OF 1842
bottle washed ashore at Shelby Bay, Bermuda, October 27,
1842, with the following note inside: "Schooner Lexington, off
Cape Hatteras, July 15, 1842. This morning at half past two o'clock
A.M., it commenced blowing a strong North Wester, which in-
creased to such a degree that it was certain my vessel could not
stand it. At 5 I tried the pumps and found that she made eleven
inches. She being an old vessel, worked in her joints. At half past
eleven, I determined to leave her with my crew (three men and
myself) in our launch; but before leaving sounded the pumps, and
found she had increased the water in her hold three feet. I write
this and enclose it in a bottle, so that if we should not be saved and
the bottle be found, it may be known what became of the vessel
and us. At i P.M. got into the boat with provisions and water suffi-
cient for six days, having beforehand offered up our prayers to
God to protect and save us. Signed Wm. H. Morgan, Captain;
John Rider, Mate."
Newspapers of the day made no more mention of the Lexington
or her crew, but the storm which Captain Morgan referred to was
THE TOLL MOUNTS 45
one of the most destructive ever recorded^,on our coast. Its center
seemed to strike Ocracoke and Portsmouth Islands, but great losses
were reported all the way from the Virginia line to Cape Lookout.
Captain Etheridge of Chicamacomico said that he saw large
numbers of dead horses and cattle drifting down the sound. Two
unknown vessels were capsized and beaten to pieces in the breakers
on Diamond Shoals, their entire crews lost, and seven men who
went out later to try to salvage some of the wrecked goods were
also drowned.
Fourteen vessels were reported ashore between New Inlet and
Ocracoke, including a large English schooner, with the owner and
one of his daughters on board, both of whom lost all of their per-
sonal belongings when the vessel was destroyed. Fourteen more
ships were reported aground on the sound side of Ocracolce Island,
and another sixjwere swept out to sea from Ocracoke Inlet and
presumed lost. A store owned by William Howard, at Ocracoke,
"was blown down and floated away"; another store at the same
place owned by Tilman Ferrar was also destroyed; while at Ports-
mouth, according to a man who left there the day after the storm,
there was only one house left standing.
Unfortunately, at this writing, no authentic information has
come to light which would give the names of the many vessels
totally lost or the number of persons drowned; it is sufficient to say
that the hurricane of July 12, 1842, was one of the worst in the
history of coastal Carolina.
Hardly had the residents begun clearing up the debris from this
hurricane, however, when another storm, hardly less severe, struck
the same area. This one swept in from the sea August 24, and by the
time it was over three vessels were known to have been lost, a
number of others were reported aground, and at least eight mariners
were dead,
The brig Kilgore, ea route from Trinidad to Baltimore in ballast,
went ashore on Currituck Beach, bilged and became a total wreck,
but her captain and crew managed to reach shore safely. Mean-
while, the brig Pioneer, carrying a load of salt from Turks Island
to Norfolk, stranded on Ocracoke Island with the loss of one crew-
man; and the ship Congress, also loaded with salt from Turks Island,
was wrecked on Cape Hatteras and seven on board were lost. Thus,
46 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
within one month, two storms had ravaged the coast, taking a
terrific toll in shipping, lives, and property.
F. A. TUPPER
Captain Parkinson and the crew of the bark Mary Bollard, which
sailed from Boston March 2, 1843, bound to New Orleans with a
cargo of ice, did not reach their destination and almost failed to
make it back home again!
On March 12 the Bollard was cast away on Berry Island in the
Bahamas. Fortunately the Captain and crew were picked up by
wreckers, who took them to Nassau. There they met up with the
crew of the ship Algonquin, of Philadelphia, which had also been
wrecked on one of the near-by islands, and together the two crews
of shipwreck survivors took passage on the schooner F. A. Tupper,
which was bound from Nassau to Baltimore. They had a pleasant
enough trip of it until they reached the vicinity of Cape Hatteras;
but then, on March 27, they ran into a severe gale, and that night
struck the beach southeast of Chicamacomico.
The three crews from the Mary Bollard, the Algonquin, and
the F. A. Tupper, numbering thirty-one men in all spent the night
in the Tupper* s rigging, expecting every moment to be cast into
the seething surf beneath them. At 4 A.M. the next morning the
vessel finally broke in two, and at five o'clock she completely dis-
integrated in the breakers, casting the men into the sea. But by
then most of them were old hands at that sort of thing, and though
the vessel proved a total loss, all thirty-one of the men managed
to gain the safety of the beach. There is no record of how they
proceeded on the remainder of the return trip to Boston, but it is
an even bet they travelled by railroad.
EMILIE
The French bark Emilie, of Bordeaux, having crossed the greater
part of the Atlantic without mishap, was nearing land. Her destina-
tion was Norfolk, Virginia, where she was slated to pick up a cargo,
but thick and foggy weather had prevented Captain Sauvestre from
taking observations for twenty-four hours, and at sunset, December
THE TOLL MOUNTS 47
3, 1845, he was not at all certain how close he was to land. By dead
reckoning he figured, however, that he was sufficiently far north
to make Cape Henry, and a sharp watch was kept for the light
there throughout the early evening.
At 8 P.M. that night, not having seen the light, the Captain be-
came apprehensive and decided to wear ship and stand off from
shore until daybreak. He should have thought of that earlier, for
even as he gave the necessary commands the vessel struck, and so
violent was the impact that her rudder, sternpost, and part of her
stern frame were torn off, and she immediately sank in two and a
half fathoms of water. Captain Sauvestre did not know it, but his
vessel had stranded at a point near the boundary line between the
states of Virginia and North Carolina, less than 150 yards from
shore.
Efforts were quickly made to get the vessel's launch overboard,
but she was stove in before striking the water and soon sank along-
side. All hands ten in number then took refuge in the rigging,
where they remained throughout the night, while the vessel be-
neath them was constantly swept by tremendous breakers.
Dawn the next morning brought no respite and no prospect of
rescue, for the coast was shrouded in a dense covering of wave-
borne spray so thick that they could not see shore.
Their clothes soaked, and the masts beneath them swaying wildly
in the wind and threatening to fall each time a wave rolled over
the deck, the ten men held on until mid-afternoon. Then one crew-
man climbed down, jumped into the tumultuous surf, and attempted
to swim to shore for help. He was drowned soon after striking out
from the ship.
The weather by then had cleared sufficiently for the coastline to
be visible, and all hands pitched in to make a raft from the sails and
spars left dangling. This was finally completed and launched, the
nine remaining men taking positions on the unwieldly craft. Even
as the last man got on board, however, the line holding the raft to
the wrecked bark parted, the raft was swept into the breakers, and
six of the nine men were washed overboard. The three yet remain-
ingthe Captain, mate and one crewman succeeded in holding
their positions on the raft while it was driven through the breakers
and washed up on the beach.
48 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
The three French survivors were soon discovered by residents
of the area; all were in desperate shape, especially the mate, who
was not expected to live. As for the six other men who had been
washed off the raft, all of them were later recovered from the surf,
their lungs filled with water, dead. Seven of ten lives lost, and
another ship consigned to the sands of the Carolina coast.
ORLINE ST. JOHN
The loss of the New England bark Orline St. John off Cape
Hatteras, February 21, 1854, provides the only case which has come
to the attention of this writer where cannibalism was actually re-
sorted to by shipwreck survivors on the Carolina coast.
The Orline St. John, built in 1848, was owned by William Brad-
street of Gardiner, Massachusetts. Under command of a Captain
Redbird the zjo-ton bark left Norfolk in mid-February, 1854,
bound for Barbados, B.W.I., but was dismasted in a severe gale off
Hatteras on February 21. That night a heavy sea swept the wal-
lowing vessel, almost completely filling the cabin and drowning a
colored seaman named Martin.
Mrs. Hannah Redbird, recent bride of the Captain, was caught
in the cabin at the same time but was extricated by the Captain
and crewmen through a small window. She was carried out on deck
and hauled up into that part of the rigging still standing, where she
was securely lashed to a spar. The Captain and crew had meanwhile
sought positions of safety near by, for the entire deck of the vessel
was regrilarly swept by storm-driven seas.
The next afternoon, February 22, Mrs. Redbird died in her
husband's arms, and her body was subsequently lowered into the
sea. That same night the second mate, who had been drinking salt
water, became delirious and, against the advice of the Captain, tried
to enter the cabin in search of fresh water. He was never seen
again.
The following day another colored seaman, a man named Doug-
lass, died in the rigging from exposure and want. His body was
left hanging there.
For a full week the survivors, including the Captain, first mate
and several seamen, remained in the rigging of the derelict, without
THE TOLL MOUNTS
49
access to food or water, and suffered constantly from cold and
exposure. As a last resort, according to a report published in Boston
the following month, "they were compelled from necessity to feed
on the body of the colored sailor named Douglass."
During this period several vessels came within sight of the wreck
and attempted to reach it, but they were driven off by the extreme
state of sea and weather. On the first of March, ten days after the
vessel was wrecked, the bark Saxonville, bound from Calcutta to
Boston, appeared near by, and through the diligence and persistence
of her master and crew, remained there until a rescue could be
effected.
On arriving in Boston it was found necessary to amputate both
feet of one of the survivors, a sailor named Thomas Grant, described
as "being in horrible condition from frostbite and continually in
salt water." All of the other survivors, as well, were in bad condi-
tion from these same causes, but none seemed to have suffered ill
effects from eating human flesh taken from the dead body of their
shipmate, Douglass.
IRONCLADS AND BLOCKADE RUNNERS
1861-1865
)HE CIVIL WAR came early
to the North Carolina coast and departed late. The capture of
Forts Hatteras and Clark at Hatteras Inlet, August 29, 1861, was
the first successful naval operation for the Federal forces; the
capture of Fort Fisher, at the mouth of the Cape Fear River below
Wilmington, January 15, 1865, was the last. During the intervening
three and a half years there was no normal ship traffic in the area,
for the merchant carriers were supplying either North or South,
and thus were as much a part of the fight as were the warships
which engaged in numerous skirmishes on the coast, as well as in
the sounds and rivers.
The resultant ship losses fell into two broad categories. First were
those vessels lost in actual naval combat, or as a direct result of
such combat. Second were the merchant vessels lost while attempt-
ing to run the Federal blockade of Wilmington. In this volume the
two types will be treated separately.
CIVIL WAR NAVAL LOSSES
The capture of Hatteras Inlet in late August, 1861, was ac-
complished with a minimum of effort and no ship losses or serious
damage to the Federal Navy. Even while that battle was in progress,
however, a second Federal fleet was being outfitted at Hampton
Roads, this one for an attack on Port Royal, South Carolina. Ap-
proximately twenty-five schooners, loaded with coal for the steam-
ers of the fleet, left Hampton Roads on October 29 for Port Royal,
IRONCLADS AND BLOCKADE RUNNERS 51
followed the next day by more than fifty other craft; in all, the
largest flotilla ever assembled under an American commander up to
that time.
Some of them never got to Port Royal, for a terrific gale was
encountered off Cape Hatteras, the vessels of the fleet were
promptly scattered, and by the time it was over at least two of them
had foundered. One was the transport Peerless, loaded with stores,
whose crew was rescued by the Mohican. The other was the old
steamer Governor, carrying a landing force of six hundred marines
in addition to some fifty naval officers and crewmen. At the height
of the storm her smokestack was washed away, her engines failed,
and she wallowed helplessly in the rough sea, sinking. The steamer
Isaac Smith attempted to come to her assistance, but shipped so
much water that her commander was forced to order the Smith's
guns thrown overboard to keep his vessel afloat; and it was left to
the sail frigate Sabine to effect the rescue of the 650 persons aboard
the Governor, a feat which was accomplished finally with the loss
of only seven men.
Ironically, none of the remaining vessels was sunk in the success-
ful campaign against Port Royal; demonstrating once again that the
sea itself especially the shoal-infested sea off Cape Hatteras is the
naval man's most formidable foe.
At the conclusion of the Port Royal campaign a third and even
larger fleet was assembled in Hampton Roads. The destination this
time was Roanoke Island and the other fortifications held by the
Confederates in the North Carolina sounds.
This fleet sent out to capture eastern North Carolina was a motley
collection of ferry boats, side-wheel steamers, and river craft,
hurriedly got together for the purpose. Some, armed with a gun
or two, were designated as gunboats; the others were used for trans-
porting troops, horses, and supplies. It was, however, far superior
to anything possessed at that time by the Southern defenders.
This improvised Federal battle flotilla reached Hatteras Inlet
January 12, 1862, found the coast buffeted by strong winds and a
rough sea, and was forced to anchor offshore until the tempest died
down sufficiently to effect a crossing of Hatteras bar. While an-
chored, a number of the vessels grounded and at least one, the
steamer City of New York, was lost.
52 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
It took almost a month for the fleet to cross into the sounds and
prepare for the actual attack on Roanoke Island; but once Admiral
Goldsborough's forces got there they made quick work of it: en-
gaging the small Confederate force in Croatan Sound on February
7; sinking the flagship, Curlew; and forcing the others which had
expended most of their ammunition to retreat up the Pasquotank
River that night.
The Curlew, which sustained a direct hit and sank near Fort
Forrest (Manns Harbor) was an iron-hulled, side-wheel, river
steamboat. The Seabird, which took her place as command ship of
the Confederate fleet, was a wooden vessel, also a side-wheeler. The
other six were converted canal tugs, averaging about ninety-five
feet in length.
This pitiable little force, manned for the most by foreign-born,
non-English-speaking seamen, formed a second defensive line below
Elizabeth City on the Pasquotank, augmented by a large armed
schooner, the Black Warrior.
On February 10, a portion of the Federal fleet, consisting of
fourteen vessels mounting thirty-three guns as against six smaller
Confederate vessels with a total of eight guns steamed up the
Pasquotank to attack, and it took them exactly thirty-nine minutes
to capture Elizabeth City and the small fort near by at Cobbs Point,
and sink most of the defending craft.
The Seabird was rammed and cut completely in two by the
Federal gunboat Commodore "Perry before the former hardly had
a chance to sight her two guns; the Fanny , a former tugboat cap-
tured from the Federals at Chicamacomico in December, was run
ashore and blown up by her commander; the schooner Black War-
nor kept up a sharp fire until she was set afire and abandoned; the
Appomattox attempted to flee through the canal, only to find that
the vessel was "about two inches too wide to enter," and so it too
was set on fire and blown up; the Forrest, damaged at Roanoke
Island, was destroyed on the ways; and the Ellis was captured. Only
the Beaufort escaped, making her way through the canal to Nor-
folk, at that time still in Confederate hands.
Thus in short order the Federal forces eliminated the Confeder-
ate fleet guarding the North Carolina sounds, and thereafter it was
a fairly simple mopping-up operation to take Edenton, Winton,
IRONCLADS AND BLOCKADE RUNNERS 53
South Mills, Nags Head, Oregon Inlet, and Plymouth. The next
month New Bern was attacked and captured, then Havelock Sta-
tion, Morehead City, and Beaufort fell into Federal hands, and on
April 26 the heavily fortified works at Fort Macon, guarding Beau-
fort Inlet, were captured. No further ship losses were reported,
however, until September 6, when the Federal gunboat Pickett was
sunk while attacking Washington, North Carolina.
In November the small gunboat Ellis, captured at Elizabeth City,
was dispatched on a daring reconnaissance mission up New River,
going as far as Jacksonville; but on the return she ran aground near
the mouth of the river, was attacked by Confederate forces, and
on November 25 she was finally destroyed by the Federal sailors
manning her.
By the end of 1862 the day of the improvised gunboat was on the
wane, for both sides were now actively engaged in turning out
specially designed ships of war. The first of these put into service
by the Confederates was the former schooner Merrimac, trans-
formed into an iron-clad ram and renamed Virginia. The first for
the Federals was a new type of gunboat equipped with a revolving
turret and named Monitor. These basic designs were followed
throughout the remainder of the war, the Federals completing more
than thirty of the monitors, and the Confederates commissioning
several iron-clad rams.
The first of each the Virginia, most frequently referred to in
history by its previous name, the Merrimac, and the original Mom-
tor engaged in their now famous battle at Hampton Roads, March
9, 1862, and though the result was indecisive, later engagements
between other monitors and rams gave a decided edge to the little
Federal craft. But the original Monitor did not last long enough to
take part in these subsequent tests.
On her only previous sea voyage, from New York to Hampton
Roads three days before the Merrimac fight, the Monitor had almost
foundered. A radically different type of craft from any previously
constructed, 172 feet long and 41 feet wide at the water line, she
was built so low that only her revolving turret and small pilot house
were visible above the surface in even a moderate sea, thus earning
for her the nickname of "cheesebox on a raft."
54 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
One deficiency in the original Monitor, corrected in later vessels
of the same design, was that she shipped large quantities of water
at the point where the turret joined her hull, whenever rough seas
were encountered; and on December 30, 1862, while off Cape
Hatteras, the seas she encountered were rough to an extreme.
After she had successfully defended the wooden vessels of the
Federal fleet against attack by the Merrimac in Hampton Roads
and participated later in a limited campaign on the James River, the
Monitor was no longer needed in Virginia waters, and so the ship
had been ordered to proceed to South Carolina for action against
the remaining Confederate strongholds there.
She departed from Fort Monroe, Virginia, the morning of De-
cember 29, 1862, with a total of sixty-five officers and men on board
and was accompanied by the powerful side-wheel steamer Rhode
Island. The weather was heavy at the time, with dark, stormy-
looking clouds and a westerly wind. To hasten the Monitor's speed
the Rhode Island took her in tow with two long twelve-inch haw-
sers, and throughout that afternoon and night the vessels proceeded
southward toward Cape Hatteras.
At noon the next day, December 30, the wind shifted to the
southwest and increased to gale force, and shortly before dark that
evening the two vessels attempted to round Cape Hatteras. "The
sea pitched together in the peculiar manner only seen at Hatteras
. . . and rolled over us as if our vessel were a rock in the ocean only
a few inches above the water," said Helmsman Francis B. Butts, who
was on duty at the time. "The wheel had been temporarily rigged
on top of the turret The vessel was riding one huge wave,
plunging through the next as if shooting straight for the bottom of
the ocean, splashing down upon another with such force that her
hull would tremble, while a fourth would leap upon us and break
far above the turret, so that if we had not been protected by a
rifle-armor that was securely fastened and rose to the height of a
man's chest, we should have been washed away."
Because the Monitor had no mast on which to hoist the regular
naval code signals, a method of communication had been established
in which a message was written with chalk on a blackboard and
held up to view. But with the approach of darkness this system was
of necessity abandoned, the last chalk message from Commander
IRONCLADS AND BLOCKADE RUNNERS 55
J. P. Bankhead informing the Rhode Island that a red light would
be burned as a signal if the crew of the Monitor was forced to
abandon ship.
On board the Monitor, meanwhile, the water had gained steadily,
the coal was so wet that the engineer found it impossible to keep
up full steam, and he was ordered to slow down the engines and use
all power that could be spared on the pumps. The water still gained,
the forward momentum of the Monitor was practically stopped,
and for fear of striking the Rhode Island Commander Bankhead
ordered the tow lines cut. James Fenwick, a gunner, volunteered
to go forward for this purpose, but was washed overboard and
drowned almost as soon as he had gained the deck; Boatswain's Mate
John Stocking, though succeeding in reaching the bow and cutting
the line, was also swept away by the seas before he could return to
the comparative safety of the turret. Anchors were then let go,
striking bottom in about sixty fathoms, and for a while the Monitor
rode more easily. But then the small pumps drowned out, the main
pump came to a virtual standstill for lack of power, and it became
necessary for all hands to start bailing, an operation described by
one crewman as being akin to "bailing out the ocean."
Water was pouring into the Monitor from two main leaks. The
first was at the juncture of the turret and hull; the second was
through the anchor well, where the packing had been torn away by
the cable as the anchor was let go. By this time, also, the two lines
cut loose from the Monitor had become entangled in the Rhode
Island's wheel. From the deck of that vessel the lights of the Mowtor
were clearly visible; white lights, shining up from the openings in
the turret. Then, suddenly, a red light was seen; the Monitor was
being abandoned.
Two boats were lowered away from the disabled Rhode Island.
Brave men, volunteers, manned the oars and headed for the smaller
iron-clad vessel, half submerged beneath the towering seas. By the
time these boats reached the Monitor most of her officers and crew-
men were crowded in the turret or on deck. The two boats pulled
up alongside, were held there as the Monitor's crewmen jumped on
board; then, fully loaded, they headed back for the Rhode Island,
leaving a handful of men still trapped inside the sinking cheesebox.
56 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
The task of getting on board the Rhode Island proved harder than
had been that of getting off the Monitor. Crewman Butts described
the perils in graphic style:
"We were carried by the sea from stem to stern," he said, "for
to have made fast would have been fatal. The boat was bounding
against the ship's side; sometimes it was below the wheel, and then,
on the summit of a huge wave, far above the decks. Lines were
thrown to us from the deck of the Rhode Island, which were of no
assistance, for not one of us could climb a small rope; and besides,
the men who threw them would immediately let go their holds, in
their excitement, to throw another which I found to be the case
when I kept hauling in rope instead of climbing.
"Two vessels lying side by side, when there is any motion to the
sea, move alternately; or, in other words, one is constantly passing
the other up or down. At one time, when our boat was near the
bows of the steamer, we would rise upon the sea until we could
touch her rail; then in an instant, by a very rapid descent, we could
touch her keel. While we were thus rising and falling upon the
sea, I caught a rope, and rising with the boat, managed to reach
within a foot or two of the rail, when a man, if there had been one,
could easily have hauled me on board. But they had all followed
after the boat which at that instant was washed astern, and I hung
dangling in the air over the bow of the Rhode Island, with Ensign
Norman Atwater hanging to the cat-head, three or four feet from
me, like myself, with both hands clinching a rope and shouting for
someone to save him.
"Our hands grew painful and all the time weaker, until I saw
his strength give way. He slipped a foot, caught again, and with his
last prayer, C O God!' I saw him fall and sink, to rise no more. The
ship rolled, and rose upon the sea, sometimes with her keel out of
water, so that I was hanging thirty feet above the sea, and with
the fate in view that had befallen our much-beloved companion,
which no one had witnessed but myself. I still clung to the rope
with aching hands, calling in vain for help. But I could not be
heard, for the wind shrieked far above my voice.
"My heart here, for the only time in my life, gave up hope, and
home and friends were most tenderly thought of. While I was in
this state, within a few seconds of giving up, the sea rolled forward,
IRONCLADS AND BLOCKADE RUNNERS 57
bringing with it the boat, and when I would have fallen into the
sea, it was there.
"I can only recollect hearing an old sailor say, as I fell into the
bottom of the boat: 'Where in did he come from?' "
Butts now found himself right back where he had started, but
fortunately, while he was hanging from the rope dangling over the
side of the Rhode Island, preparations had been made for lowering
heavier ropes, and by this means the survivors were hauled to the
deck. One boat crew refused to be drawn aboard, however, for
they remembered the men still trapped on the Monitor. Casting off
again they set off for the sinking craft, by then more than two miles
distant from the side-wheel steamer. From the deck of the Rhode
Island the boat's progress was observed for a while; then it disap-
peared in the gloom, just as the lights of the Monitor were seen for
the last time.
The two vessels were then about ten miles offshore direcdy op-
posite Cape Hatteras. When finally the tow lines were untangled
from the wheel of the Rhode Island and that vessel got underway,
no trace of the Monitor, or of the lifeboat, could be found, and
after searching the area for some time the following morning, the
Rhode Island returned to Fort Monroe with forty-nine survivors
of the Monitor.
The lifeboat from the Rhode lsla?id was picked up at sea by a
passing vessel and returned to Philadelphia. Local rumor has it that
several bodies, supposedly some of the four officers and twelve men
lost from the Monitor, drifted ashore near the Cape later. There
have been recent claims that the remains of the Monitor have
been discovered, and a plan has even been advanced to salvage
the craft and move her bodily ashore as a museum piece. That may
be, but even if she is never again in a position where men can tread
her decks, people the world over will long remember the gallant
little vessel which helped so dramatically to revolutionize the con-
cepts of naval warfare, only to meet an ignominious end in the At-
lantic Graveyard.
During the period following the original attacks on the North
Carolina coastal fortifications other ships foundered, stranded, and
were sunk. The 329-0)0 Federal steamer R. B. Forbes went down
58 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
at about the time of the battle of Roanoke Island; the Frying Pan
Shoals Lightship, removed from its station by the Confederates and
anchored in the Cape Fear River just above Fort Caswell as a sort
of floating fortress, was burned by a raiding party; and the brig-of-
war Bainbridge, which normally carried a crew of about forty,
foundered off Hatteras, August 21, 1863, with all hands but one
being lost.
In early February, 1864, the Federal steamer Underwriter was
sunk at New Bern, and in April of that year the Confederate ram
Albemarle came down the Roanoke River, attacked the small Fed-
eral garrison at Plymouth, captured the town, and sank the gunboat
South-field. The presence of the powerful Albemarle^ patterned
after the Merrimac but much improved over that first ram, made
the North Carolina sounds untenable for the Federals, and they
were therefore faced with the alternatives of retreating from the
area or of destroying the ram. The latter course was decided on,
and a small fleet of powerful naval vessels was sent out for the
purpose, encountering the Albemarle in the sound for which she
was named and coming off second best. Then a daring young offi-
cer, Lieutenant W. B. Gushing, volunteered to attempt to sink the
Albemarle with a torpedo-like bomb while she was at anchor at her
new home base in Plymouth, and despite general skepticism as to
the feasibility of the plan, Gushing succeeded in destroying the
vessel.
Fort Fisher, Wilmington, and the Cape Fear River still were in
possession of the Confederates, and many millions of dollars worth
of badly needed supplies had passed through this single open avenue
into Southern hands since the other coastal ports had been closed.
Accordingly, in December, 1864, approximately sixty warships and
numerous transports and auxiliary craft, then the largest naval force
ever assembled in American waters, was got together at Hampton
Roads, an army of eight thousand men boarded the troop carriers,
and the mighty flotilla headed south for Cape Fear. Like the earlier
fleets attacking Port Royal and Roanoke Island, this one encount-
ered stormy weather on the North Carolina coast; but the vessels
anchored off Beaufort, successfully rode out the gale, and on Christ-
mas Eve the naval bombardment of Fort Fisher began.
IRONCLADS AND BLOCKADE RUNNERS 59
Fort Fisher, located between Carolina Beach and Cape Fear, was
an exceptionally strong fortification with a normal defending gar-
rison of something under two thousand, but in anticipation of the
Federal attack, a large body of additional troops was made avail-
able.
General B. F. Butler, in command of the attacking Federal troops,
had already figured out a scheme whereby he thought the fort, its
defenders, and the handful of Confederate ships aiding in the de-
fense could all be levelled at the same time without incurring any
loss of life on the part of the attacking forces. In carrying out this
plan the old Federal gunboat Louisiana was filled with three hun-
dred tons of gunpowder, a special fuse and?' firing mechanism was
rigged out, and the Louisiana was towed to Cape Fear, though the
other vessels of the fleet were careful to remain a safe distance away
while this floating bomb was in transit.
Finally, late on December 23, the Louisiana was towed in close
to shore opposite the fort, the time fuse was ignited, and the brave
men attending to this hazardous enterprise were removed from the
scene at top speed in the same vessel which had towed the Louisiana
to her place of attack.
General Butler, apprehensive of the disastrous effects of the im-
pending explosion, had anchored his fleet off Beaufort, better than
fifty miles away. The sixty vessels of the naval force had proceeded
seaward, where most had let their fires die down and let off steam
so that the concussion would not cause further explosions. The poor
Confederate defenders, meanwhile, had heard rumors that a powder
boat was being sent to the attack, but having no inkling of the
magnitude of General Butler's undertaking they continued about
the normal work of preparation for the more conventional attack
which they expected momentarily.
The Louisiana blew up at 1:30 A.M. December 24, 1864. The
resultant explosion was heard as far away as Wilmington, but even
in Fort Fisher it was more like the sound of a large cork being ex-
pelled from a bottle of champagne than anything else, and the
Confederates continued their work without delay. The Navy men
on the warships heard it too and came in soon after to see what
damage had been done; but General Butler, the originator of the
awesome plan, was not aware that the ship had exploded until a
60 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
dispatch vessel reached him later that morning with the news that
the operation had gone off as planned, except that about the only
thing destroyed was the Louisiana!
The naval vessels took up the work then, bombarding the fort
throughout most of the day, and on Christmas three thousand of
General Butler's troops landed on the beach near by. But on close
examination the defenses were deemed too solid for a ground at-
tack and Butler's army withdrew. Two weeks later, however, an
even larger fleet and a ground force under a new commander made
a second attack on Fort Fisher, this one culminating in success for
the Federals. No further losses were sustained by the attacking
vessels, but the Confederate gunboat Tallahassee was blown up by
the defenders; the gunboat Raleigh, abandoned up the river, was
destroyed; and the gunboat North Carolina, her bottom eaten out
by worms, was found sunk.
Thus, on January 15, 1865, the last remnants of the Confederate
Navy in North Carolina waters were lost, the strongest of the
coastal fortifications was captured, and the last open port was
finally closed. So far as the North Carolina coast was concerned,
the Civil War was ended.
THE BLOCKADE RUNNERS
By 1863 most of the Atlantic coast seaports as far south as
Florida were in Federal hands or effectively neutralized by Federal
forces. The lone exception was Wilmington, North Carolina, which
remained until January, 1865, the main port of entry for foreign
goods consigned to the Confederate States of America.
Wilmington, before the war, was a small though prosperous
town, noted primarily for its exports of tar, pitch, turpentine, and
lumber. Suddenly, through the peculiar exigencies of war, it be-
came the sole port from which badly needed southern cotton could
be shipped abroad.
Economists have long attributed the relatively poor condition
of our southern states to the centralization in agriculture by which
cotton became king. Yet, ironically, this very concentration on
cotton production was a prime factor in enabling the Confederacy
to hold out as long as it did; for the world needed cotton, and the
IRONCLADS AND BLOCKADE RUNNERS 61
only place from which it could be secured in quantity was the
South.
Thus cotton became, in effect, the medium of exchange between
the money-poor Confederates and the rest of the world; and the
northern states, as well as the countries of Europe, paid dearly for
it.
Cotton, at Wilmington, was worth something like eight cents a
pound; in Europe it sold for nearer eighty cents, and in the northern
states for as much as a dollar. Thus a thousand dollars worth of
merchandise, traded for cotton in Wilmington, brought ten thou-
sand dollars or more when delivered abroad.
At the outset the same vessels which had been engaged in the
delivery of lumber and other peacetime exports, were employed in
shipping cotton from Wilmington and returning with the military
stores and merchandise needed in the South. These were sailing
vessels, schooners for the most, and the Federal government quickly
put a crimp in their activities by dispatching a small fleet of coal-
burning steamers to blockade the port. The sailing ships were no
match for the steamers and so withdrew from this lucrative traffic,
but they were replaced shortly by small, fast steamers, able to run
past the blockading vessels under cover of darkness.
On the River Clyde, in Scotland, there began then a veritable
shipbuilding boom; for Clyde-built steamers were recognized as
among the fastest in the world, and many of them, being of small
size and shallow draft, were admirably suited for the job of navi-
gating the shoal-infested waters in the vicinity of Cape Fear.
In short order most of the available Clyde-built steamers were
purchased by firms, individuals, or governments anxious to cash in
on the cotton bonanza. Premium prices were paid for the older
vessels, usually amounting to more than their original cost, and
construction of additional craft was speeded up. So great was the
exodus of steamers from the Clyde to blockade-running activities
that the Times, of London, said in 1863: "Should the demand con-
tinue at this rate, there will soon be scarcely a swift steamer left
on the Clyde."
The introduction of the Clyde steamers brought an intensifica-
tion of the Federal blockade. At one time there were three separate
lines of blockading vessels past which the steamers had to go; one
62 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
some forty miles at sea, a second approximately ten miles out, and
a third close to shore.
The blockade runners soon evolved a system whereby they ap-
proached close to land as much as forty or fifty miles away
from Cape Fear, waited for night, and then ran at full speed for
Wilmington, hugging the shoreline in the process. A great number
of these steamers stranded, and when unsuccessful in getting clear
of the sand bars, were discovered at dawn the following morning
by the Federal blockading vessels. In most cases a dramatic contest
then ensued between the blockading vessels on the one hand and
the Confederate shore-based troops on the other for possession of
the valuable cargo. The most frequent result, however, was that
neither one salvaged any appreciable amount before the stranded
vessel was set afire by the blockaders' guns or by demolition squads
sent out by the Confederates.
Thus, today, the coastal waters extending from Topsail Island
to Shallotte are littered with the remains of these iron-hulled steam-
ers, and though most are buried in the sands, a few are still visible
above the water rusted reminders of the days when King Cotton
reigned.
The newspapers of that day, and books, magazine articles, and
pamphlets since published, contain numerous accounts of these
strandings, but only the highlights can be mentioned here.
One of the first steamers lost in attempting to run the blockade
was the Modern Greece, a large English vessel registered at about
one thousand tons, which was chased ashore by the blockaders
in the early morning of June 27, 1862. The crew of the Modern
Greece escaped, and later the troops from near-by Fort Fisher suc-
ceeded in removing a large part of her valuable cargo, including
several badly needed Whiteworth guns, considerable clothing, and
enough liquor to keep most of the Fort Fisher garrison in high
spirits for more than a week.
It was more than a year later, however, before the blockade was
sufficiently strengthened to take an appreciable toll of the vessels
bound in and out of Wilmington; and in the interim, that town was
subjected to a severe plague of yellow fever, in which more than
four hundred lives were lost.
In the last six months of 1863 at least ten blockade runners were
IRONCLADS AND BLOCKADE RUNNERS 63
destroyed on the coast, one of the finest of which was the Hebe,
described by observers as "a beautiful little steamer," her hull and
smoke funnels camouflaged with a coating of grayish green paint,
and carrying at the time of her loss a cargo of drugs, coffee, cloth-
ing, and foodstuif.
In attempting to enter the Cape Fear River through New Inlet
(located at the northern end of Smiths Island but now closed), the
Hebe was intercepted by a Federal vessel and was run ashore the
morning of August 18 to prevent her capture. Even as the pas-
sengers and crew put off for the beach in the Hebe's boats a board-
ing party from the blockading vessel approached the stranded
steamer. Meanwhile a Confederate battery set up in the sand dunes
opposite the wreck opened fire, and before the would-be boarding
party reached the Hebe their boats were sunk, the Federals were
forced to swim through the breakers in order to save their lives,
and were captured the moment they reached shore. Finally, the
following day, the blockaders bombarded the Hebe and set her on
fire, destroying both vessel and cargo.
The Atlantic, a converted Gulf coast steamer renamed Elizabeth,
was stranded and burned at Lockwoods Folly September 24, 1863,
supposedly through the activities of a Federal spy who was later
found to have been on board. And the Douro, which left Wilming-
ton the night of October 1 1, 1863, and was lost between Fort Fisher
and Masonboro Inlet, had once before been captured by Federal
vessels, sold as a prize in Canada, purchased by the Confederate
Government, and put right back in the blockade running business
again.
Only one case is recorded of the Federals losing a ship in their
blockading activities, and that came about during an attempt to
float a stranded blockade runner. The vessel lost was the gunboat
Iron Age, one of five craft attempting to haul off the steamer
Bendigo which had stranded at Lockwoods Folly Inlet, January 4,
1864. The Iron Age likewise stranded on January 1 1, was set afire,
and destroyed; and though this was the Federals' only such loss,
few of the other attempts at salvage netted more than what the
boarding sailors could carry off on their persons.
The blockade runners, for the most, operated from Nassau and
Bermuda to Wilmington, and those which were successful averaged
64 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
at least one round trip a month. They were required by Confederate
law to provide at least one-third of their cargo space for govern-
ment stores, but the law was not strictly enforced, and at the same
time that Southern troops were deserting by the thousands because
of hunger and lack of clothing and munitions, many steamship
agents and even some army officers in Wilmington were ac-
cumulating fortunes through the sale of delicate perfumes, silks,
tea, and other non-essentials brought in by the blockade runners in
which they owned part interest.
There must, therefore, have been considerable mourning among
the speculators in Wilmington in early February, 1864, for during
the first nine days of that month a total of six blockade runners
were lost. One was the little Clyde steamer Spunkie, which had
made a number of successful runs before grounding a short distance
west of Fort Caswell, February 9. The others were the Wild Day-
rell, which accidentally ran ashore near Stump Inlet on February i;
the Nutfieldy which stranded and was burned at New River Inlet,
February 4; the Dee, grounded off New Inlet, February 6; and the
Fanny and Jenny and the Emily of London, both of which were
lost north of Wrightsville Beach on February 9.
The last blockade runner lost was the Ella, which was wrecked
off Baldhead, or Smiths Island, in December, 1864, shortly before
the Federal forces attacked Fort Fisher. The Ella was owned by the
Bee Company of Charleston, and her cargo belonged to "private
parties and speculators." Chased ashore by blockading vessels, she
was abandoned by her crew; but a company from the Edenton
Battery, commanded by a Captain Badham, boarded the vessel in
the face of strong enemy fire and successfully removed thousands
of dollars worth of food, whisky, and other stores. So impartially
were the salvaged items distributed throughout the garrison that
even the Chaplain was reported, in an article in Harper's Magazine
some time later, to have "said some very queer graces at the head-
quarter's mess-table."
The Ella was the last of more than thirty blockade runners to
become total losses in the vicinity of Cape Fear. But for every one
thus destroyed there was at least one other captured at sea by the
Federal naval vessels, which preferred to capture if possible be-
cause of the large prize money involved. The acting ensigns of one
IRONCLADS AND BLOCKADE RUNNERS 65
blockading vessel received $9,589.67 each as their share of the
proceeds from the sale of just one captured vessel, and the cabin
boy of another got the equivalent of six years pay. Blockading, as
well as blockade running, paid off well along the North Carolina
coast in the Civil War.
CATCHING UP ON LOST TRADE
1866-1877
COASTAL TRADE flourished
in the period immediately following the Civil War, for peace
brought with it a great demand for the civilian goods so long denied
the participants in the struggle between the North and South. One
immediate result was that a large number of war craft were hastily
converted to commercial use; another was that coastal Carolina was
soon littered with the remains of ships lost in this scramble to catch
up on lost trade.
THAMES
The fdo-ton passenger steamer Thames, on its regular run be-
tween Galveston and New York, rounded Cape Hatteras, April 6,
1869, and headed north along the coast. When still within sight of
the lighthouse on the cape a frenzied cry was heard from amid-
ships: "Fire!" By the time Captain Pennington could organize his
fire-fighting crew, the flames had spread so rapidly that there was
no hope of bringing them under control, and all hands nine crew-
men and nine passengers were driven from the cabin.
With the wind blowing strong from the west Captain Penning-
ton ordered the three aft boats removed from their davits and car-
66
CATCHING UP ON LOST TRADE 67
ried forward; then, with passengers and crew gathered on the bow,
he headed his vessel into the wind, toward shore.
The flames continued to spread, however, and soon afterwards
Pennington was driven from the pilothouse, leaving the vessel in
an unmanageable state. Hurriedly the three boats were then low-
ered over the side, the passengers and crew crowded in them, and
the Thames, by then almost completely engulfed in flames, was
abandoned in the sea off Hatteras.
Two of the boats reached shore that night. The third, containing
the ship's cook, two cabin boys, a seaman, and a coal heaver, either
drifted to sea or overturned on Diamond Shoals, the five crewmen
being given up for lost.
KENSINGTON
On January 27, 187 1, the bark Templar and the steamer Kensing-
ton were involved in a collision sixty miles northeast of Diamond
Shoals. The World Ahnanac lists this as one of the worst maritime
disasters in history and claims a total of 150 lives were lost; but the
plain facts are that no one was lost on either the Templar or the
Kensington, though the steamer did go to the bottom.
The Kensington, with a crew of thirty and eighteen passengers,
left Savannah, January 25, 1871, for Boston carrying a full cargo
of cotton, rice, and lumber. Two days later, January 27, the Temp-
lar sailed from Hampton Roads, bound for Rio de Janeiro.
About 7:30 that evening, while tacking to the eastward, Captain
Wilson of the Templar made out a steamer on his starboard beam.
"Saw her mast head and red light plain," the Captain said, "and
supposing that the steamer would pass under our stern we held our
course to the eastward. Finding then that the steamer did not alter
her course, several of the crew hailed her as loud as they could. No
attention was paid to the hail, the steamer holding her course."
Realizing that the steamer would, on that course, cut his own
craft in two, Captain Wilson ordered his wheel hard over. Slowly
the bark turned aside as the Kensington passed under her bow,
taking away the "bowsprit, jibboom, fore and main topgallants,
foretopmast, and all attached." A moment kter the bark crashed
into the side of the steamer.
68 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
A sailor, who at the time of the accident was perched in the
forward rigging of the bark, was thrown to the deck of the Kensing-
ton. The two vessels then drifted apart, and since Captain Wilson
claimed he "heard no sound or indication from the steamer, of
distress," he quickly sounded his pumps and ordered the debris
cleared away on the Templar.
Meanwhile, the sailor who had fallen from the bark to the deck
of the steamer found all confusion there. The Kensington, with a
large hole in her side, was already filling with water, and the crew-
men were even then in the process of lowering away her boats. The
sea being comparatively calm, this was accomplished in a short
time, and the thirty members of the steamer's crew, the eighteen
passengers, and the lone sailor from the Templar managed to row
clear before the vessel sank.
They were picked up late the next morning fifteen hours after
the collision by the steamer Georgia, which transported them to
Charleston. Complete details of the disaster, as recounted by the
crew and passengers of the Kensington and the sailor from the
Templar, were printed in the newspapers there and sent by tele-
graph to other parts of the country, together with a statement that
the Templar and the remaining members of her crew were pre-
sumed lost.
Two days later, however, the steamer Yazoo, en route from
Havana to Philadelphia, sighted the Templar off the Virginia Capes,
partly filled with water and moving slowly northward under im-
provised sails. The Yazoo took the bark in tow, reaching Norfolk
the following day, and subsequently the vessel was repaired and
made ready for sea duty again.
The above facts are gleaned from interviews with the Captain
of the Templar, the passengers and crewmen of the Kensington, and
the crews of the Georgia and Yazoo, as published in contemporary
newspaper accounts. It is definitely stated in several of these ar-
ticles that there were forty-eight persons on board the Kensington
and that all were saved; and in none of them is there mention of so
much as a single life being lost on the Templar, thus completely
refuting the published reports in more recent times that 150 lives
were lost and that this was one of the worst maritime disasters in
history.
CATCHING UP ON LOST TRADE 69
HENRIETTA
The clipper ship Henrietta left Puerto Rico in late October,
1873, loaded with a cargo of molasses, sugar, and syrup. The 950-
ton vessel carried a crew of sixteen, including the master, and was
bound for the port of Philadelphia.
While en route north the Henrietta came upon a schooner, dis-
abled and lying low in the water. In order to lighten the schooner,
most of her cargo of coffee was transferred to the larger clipper.
Then the two vessels parted, and the Henrietta, now heavily loaded,
continued on her way up the coast.
The morning of November 4 the clipper encountered a strong
northeast gale, and before it was over the vessel's main topsail was
carried away, her foremast fell with it, and the mizzenmast was
wrung off six feet above the deck, leaving the ship little more than
a log drifting upon the angry waters.
After that the wind let up, but the waves seemed to grow even
larger as the vessel drifted toward shore. Subsequently all of her
boats were swept away except one which was lashed amidships;
one man, the steward, was washed overboard; and by the time she
appeared off the Carolina coast she was a complete derelict, at the
mercy of wind and wave.
She struck, finally, on the southern end of Frying Pan Shoals,
lodging briefly on a bar in about three fathoms of water, then drift-
ing clear and sinking in a deep gully beyond. The fifteen remaining
crewmen put off in the lone boat, but two hours later the small
craft capsized, throwing all fifteen into the raging surf. Two, the
captain and mate, managed to regain the boat; the other thirteen
drowned. And for five more days the two surviving officers, with-
out food or water, drifted aimlessly on the open sea until they were
finally picked up by a passing vessel.
NUOVA OTTAVIA
Spencer D. Gray, like most residents of coastal Carolina in 1875,
was a man of most trades and of none, an individual of diverse
talents carpenter, fisherman, farmer, hunter who could and would
70 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
do just about any kind of work that might bring in a living for
himself and his growing family.
In 1875, Spencer D. Gray, a balding man with a slight middle-
age stoop, took on something entirely new; Spencer Gray left his
home at Church's Island and moved over to Currituck Lighthouse
on the beach, there to become a member of the new United States
Lifesaving Service.
He was listed on the payroll at $20 a month as a surf man; his
job was to patrol the barren beach north and south from Jones Hill
Station (later, Whales Head; still later, Currituck Beach) on the
lookout for ships in distress. And at those times when a ship did
come on shore he and his fellow surf men were charged with the task
of saving the lives of unknown castaways even at the peril of
their own.
By March i, 1876, Spencer Gray had become accustomed to the
job to the long hikes along the beach in the worst of weather; the
handling of his particular oar in the station lifeboat; the method of
operation of the mortar gun, the breeches buoy, and the life car.
And he had grown accustomed, almost, to separation from his wife
and two children back at Church's Island, though a third child was
six months on the way, and that would make it harder later on.
Soon after dusk on March i, a vessel appeared just north of Jones
Hill Station, a large sailing vessel, a bark, stranded on the bar a
couple of hundred yards from shore.
Keeper John G. Gale, who had taken command of the Jones Hill
Station when it was first put in operation, mustered his crew. One
man, John Chappell, was absent, having been sent to Tulls Creek
for supplies. The others Gale, Spencer Gray, Lemuel Griggs,
Lewis White, Malachi Brumsey, and Jerry Munden hauled the
lifeboat down to the surf and made preparations to go to the aid of
the crew of the distressed vessel.
Neighbors appeared on the beach at this time J. W. Lewis, H. T.
Halstead, George W. Wilson, and others and offered their assist-
ance. Keeper Gale asked for one volunteer to take the place of
Chappell in the boat. Halstead stepped forward, actually climbed
in the boat, but was replaced by Wilson, a younger, larger, stronger
man.
The wind that night was from the southeast, light, but the
CATCHING UP ON LOST TRADE 71
weather was thick and the sea was rough, with the surf pounding on
the beach. Offshore, in the haze, the stranded vessel was barely
visible. The sound of her flapping sails came across the water dimly.
But it was impossible to see, from shore, whether she was a stout
ship or frail; whether she was in the breakers or beyond them;
whether her decks were above water or swept by the seas. Keeper
Gale could have set up his beach apparatus and fired a line aboard;
but there was no certainty, there in the darkness, that a rescue could
be effected until morning and morning might be too late. So the
seven men, six lif esavers and volunteer Wilson, launched their life-
boat through the surf and rowed out toward the stranded bark.
Spencer Gray, at his oar, was bent over even more than usual;
the others, near him, pulled with equal strength and willingness.
Lif esavers at stations all along our coast have gone out since, many
times, under just such conditions as those; but that night of March
i, 1876, at Jones Hill one thing was different, for the surfmen,
inadvertently or otherwise, had neglected to put on the cork life
jackets which the service had provided for them.
The group of observers on the beach, augmented now by other
neighbors from the community near the lighthouse, watched as the
lifeboat passed through the breakers, reached the calmer water
beyond, then moved off into the darkness. A lantern on the stern
of the little boat, bobbing up and down with the heavy ground
swells, marked the position of the craft; the only sounds were of
the wind and the surf and the flapping of the sails against the masts.
Then, suddenly, another sound came to them across the water, a
shrill scream, terrified. And then the bobbing light disappeared
from view.
A constant watch was kept on the beach then, and soon after
one of the lifeboat oars drifted ashore, then a second, a third, and
a fourth. After that the boat itself, turned bottom upwards, empty;
and still later, one of the lif esavers, Malachi Brumsey, all life gone
from his body.
Throughout the night the friends and neighbors and kinfolk
waited, and at dawn the bark was still there; masts still standing,
sails still flapping, and men clustered together on her deck. Eight
of them were counted, but Keeper Gale was not among them. His
body was found on the beach with the bodies of Lemuel Griggs,
72 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
Lewis White, George Wilson, and five unidentified Italian sailors,
members of the crew of the ill-fated vessel on the bar. As for the
others, only one thing was certain: Spencer Gray was one of the
eight still on board the vessel, for his stoop, his bald head, stood out
even at that distance.
If it was a period of trial for the eight men yet alive on board the
Italian vessel, it was no less trying for the neighbors on shore. The
craft was within easy range of the lif esaving mortar, and ample shot
and line were available. But the trouble was that the lifesavers, the
men trained in the use of the equipment, were all gone; at Tulls
Creek, or drowned, or still out there on the ship.
The neighbors tried. They fired time after time after time, until
the shot was exhausted and the vent in the mortar was clogged by
sand. Forty-one rockets were sent up throughout the day and night,
as encouragement for the men stranded on the vessel; for at least
one of them was a native man, a neighbor: Surfman Spencer D.
Gray.
It was all in vain, for at noon that second day of March the
vessel began to go to pieces, and by 2 P.M. she had completely dis-
appeared. Four men drifted ashore on a piece of wreckage, strangers
all, Italians; they were exhausted, bruised, two with open gashes in
their feet where spikes on the breaking deck had cut them. In the
days that followed the Italians told, as best they could with signs
and motions, what had happened. But it was never determined how
or why the bark her name was Nuova Ottaviahzd stranded there.
Fragments of the wreck which drifted ashore (one large section of
the stern came in twenty miles down the beach near Kitty Hawk)
were charred, leading to speculation that the vessel had caught fire
at sea. But it was only speculation, never substantiated.
At Church's Island, across the sound, meanwhile, Molly Berry
Gray was left a widow, with two children to support and a third
on the way; for her husband, Spencer D. Gray, who had somehow
managed to reach the deck of the Nuova Ottavia after his lifeboat
capsized, did not live long. Like his six brave companions, he
drowned before ever again reaching shore.
THE HURON
1877
AT 11:35 A -^., SATURDAY,
November 24, 1877, the Signal Service in Washington received an
urgent and foreboding message from the operator at Kitty Hawk,
North Carolina: "The United States man-of-war steamer Huron
struck two miles north of Number 7 station at i: 30 A.M. The fore-
mast and maintopmast have gone. The steamer is a total wreck. As-
sistance is needed immediately. The sea is breaking over her, and
several bodies have already washed ashore drowned. The number
on board is about 135. No cargo."
In Norfolk, Virginia, where this message was relayed, the news
was not such a shock as might have been expected; for rumors had
been making the rounds in Norfolk all morning that the Huron,
which had left that port the day previous in the face of a heavy
southeast gale, had grounded on the treacherous North Carolina
outer banks.
The Huron, en route from New York to Key West, the Gulf of
Mexico, and the Caribbean on a leisurely survey expedition, had
put in at Norfolk several days earlier for coal, and on the eve of
her regularly scheduled departure had received orders to remain
there until a draftsman from Washington could join the expedition.
For three days the Huron lay at anchor in Hampton Roads while
her 1 6 officers and 115 crewmen waited and fretted and groused,
73
74 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
navy style, over the delay. Late Thursday, John J. Evans of Wash-
ingtonthe draftsman reported aboard, and the following morning
the Huron was inspected and made ready for sea.
Old salts, the superstitious kind, will not put to sea on a Friday;
bad luck, they say. And it is worth noting that on this particular
Friday the Huron was the only vessel which cleared Hampton
Roads for sea duty, for storm warnings were flying at Norfolk and
Cape Henry had been flying, in fact, since Wednesday afternoon
and the merchant masters, even the unsuperstitious ones, remained
where they were.
Commander George P. Ryan, Captain of the Huron, was an ex-
perienced seaman and navigator; his officers and crew were among
the best disciplined in the entire Navy; his vessel, only two years
old and built of five-eights inch iron, had been referred to on oc-
casion as "the strongest hull in the Atlantic waters." Storm warnings
might hold merchantmen in port, but Commander Ryan's orders
were to put to sea as soon as draftsman Evans arrived, and with no
subsequent orders of a contradictory nature it was his job to do
just that.
With the addition of Evans there were 132 of them on board the
Huron when she moved out of Hampton Roads shortly after noon
that Friday, a full crew, right down to a small contingent of United
States Marines. The only conspicuous absentee was Lieutenant
Arthur H. Fletcher, who had served previously as her executive
officer. He had been plagued by a premonition that the Huron was
destined to disaster, and being refused repeated requests for a trans-
fer, he had simply jumped ship and deserted. His place had been
taken by Lieutenant S. A. Simmons, a man less concerned over what
the future might hold.
Ensign Lucian Young, who had on occasion come face to face
with disaster, was another who seemed to experience no such fears
as those which had bothered his former superior officer. Ensign
Young, a short, stout young man of twenty-five, born in Lexington,
Kentucky, and trained at Annapolis, looked anything but the hero.
Yet in his locker box he carried a medal awarded by the Humane
Society of the City of New York and a letter of commendation
from die Secretary of the Navy, for distinguished bravery in jump-
THE HURON 75
ing overboard in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, at the height
of a severe gale, to rescue a seaman who had fallen out of the rig-
ging. On second thought, a man like that might not recognize fear
even if it slipped up and kicked him from behind.
Once past the mouth of Chesapeake Bay that afternoon it was
obvious to all on board the Huron that the weatherman had known
what he was talking about, for the wind was at gale force and a
heavy sea was running. The Huron was not alone out there, for one
vessel passed close by, a schooner, and another was seen in the
distance; but whereas the Huron was steaming toward the open sea
the other two were shoreward bound, scurrying for the safety of
Hampton Roads.
Every ship's captain, heading south from Chesapeake Bay as
Captain Ryan of the Huron was doing, is faced with an immediate
decision; there are three courses from which he must choose. The
warm greenish waters of the Gulf Stream, passing slowly up the
Atlantic Coast, come in so close at Hatteras that they almost touch
the outer fringes of Diamond Shoals, then bear away from the land
again as their northward movement continues past the mouth of
the Chesapeake. Always the movement is northward, at a steady
pace of about four miles an hour, carrying tropical fish and plant
life far beyond their normal habitat, and providing north-bound
mariners with a sort of watery conveyor-belt on which they can
travel.
For south-bound ships it is a different proposition, for then the
movement of the Gulf Stream is against the vessel, and a craft whose
engines pushed her at a steady four miles an hour, say, would get
no place at all. That is where the decision comes in; whether to
travel in the Gulf Stream, bucking that four-mile current all the
way; to move beyond the Gulf Stream a couple of hundred miles
from shore, thus losing the time it takes to get out that far; or to sail
right down the coast, close in between the Gulf Stream and the
fearful sand reefs along the Carolina coast.
Commander George P. Ryan of the 541 -ton barkentine-rigged
screw-steamer Huron putting faith, no doubt, in his own ability,
in the experience of his crew, and in his sturdy vessel chose the
last course, ignoring the repeated warning that the seaman who hugs
the land always courts death.
76 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
At 6: 30 P.M., with Currituck Light on the starboard beam, the
gale increased in intensity and carried away the Huron's jibstay.
Lieutenant W. P. Conway, in charge of the deck at that time, took
a single reef in his fore-trisail, a double reef in his main-trisail,
brailed up the spanker, and set the fore-storm-staysail. Currituck
Light was then approximately eight miles off, and ordering sound-
ings taken, Conway learned that the vessel was in fifteen fathoms
of water.
Lieutenant James M. Wright relieved Conway of the watch at
8 P.M. and in turn reported nothing out of the ordinary when he
handed the duty over to Lieutenant W. S. French at midnight.
Currituck Light had by then disappeared astern, and the beam from
the new light at Bodie Island was not yet visible ahead. So far as
Wright and French knew, the vessel was a safe distance from shore,
and no changes were made in her course. What they failed to take
into consideration is that the coast, almost straight from the Virginia
line to Caffeys Inlet, makes a slight bend eastward between the
villages of Duck and Kitty Hawk (standing on top of the dunes
north of Duck, the Wright Memorial, fifteen miles to the south, is
today visible over the cove thus formed) so that a minor change in
course is necessary.
No such change was made, and as the fog by then obscured the
Bodie Island Light, the earlier premonitions of Lieutenant Fletcher
were on the verge of realization, yet it is probable that that gentle-
man, safely ashore in custody of the naval authorities, was at the
moment sleeping soundly and without fear; for it was his successor,
Simmons, and not Fletcher, who was destined for a watery grave
aboard the Huron that cold November morning.
An hour and a half later at 1:30 A.M., Saturdaythe lookout
sang out that he had sighted breakers to starboard. Lieutenant
French immediately ordered the helm hard over, and at the same
time shouted for the leadsman to take soundings. The orders came
too late, for the ship suddenly jarred to a stop, swung around
toward the beach, and heeled over on her port side.
Lieutenant Conway, awakened by the shock of the ship striking,
thought she had collided with some other vessel. Commander
Ryan, apparently dressed and prepared for any emergency, quickly
appeared on deck with charts in hand, checked the approximate
THE HURON 77
location with Lieutenant French, and ordered all hands on deck.
Ensign Young had already taken his place near the Captain, await-
ing further orders. There was considerable movement throughout
the vessel, as officers and crew members ran to their stations, but
the moment was marked by a complete absence of confusion and
hysteria; the discipline was paying off.
Already the seas were breaking over the vessel from the port
side, sails and spars were scattered over the deck, and she was partly
filled with water flowing down the open hatches. Orders were now
given to batten down the hatches, throw the guns overboard, and
take in the sails. None of these orders was ever carried out, for the
hatch covers were washed away or broken, the guns were too firmly
attached to the deck to be dislodged, and those men who climbed
aloft were unable to make headway with the sails.
When the command was given to launch the boats, Lieutenant
Conway assembled a crew and directed efforts to get the cutter
overboard. Even before the boat cleared, however, she was partly
stove in by the forward davit; and as she struck the water a huge
wave carried her away. But she rode back on the next swell, this
time smashing into a stanchion and tearing another hole in her side.
Conway and his helpers were able to secure her, however, and a line
was attached to her bow with the thought that if the cutter reached
shore the line might serve as a means of rescuing those left behind.
But the whole effort was doomed to failure, for water poured in
through the holes in her side, and the small craft filled and sank
from sight.
The shore, by this time, was dimly visible through the haze and
darknessthough many questioned whether it was really the shore
they saw and Ensign Young, having gone below in search of
signals, returned with two boxes of Coston lights and an armful of
rockets. He sent up five rockets and burned more than a hundred
of the signals, but no response was observed from shore.
In the engine room, meanwhile, every effort had been made to
keep up the fires, and for half an hour after the vessel struck, her
engines continued a fruitless attempt to back her off the reef. At
2 A.M. Chief Engineer Olsen ordered the fires hauled, the engines
were stopped, and shortly afterwards the fastenings of the starboard
boilers gave way and the massive boilers drifted across the sloping
78 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
fireroom floor and lodged on the port side. At that point, with
water pouring down the engine-room hatches, Olsen ordered his
engine-room crew on deck.
Ensign Young, having exhausted his supply of rockets and Coston
signals, returned to the poop for further orders from his captain.
"The ship was lying on her port, bilged, broadsides inclined about
ten degrees and seas breaking clear over her," he said. "I heard the
order given for all hands to go forward as quick as possible. As I
passed the cabin door Mr. French asked me if that was all. I stopped
and told him 'Yes. 3 Then he said: We must go quick.' We all
started together. I had hold of the Gatlin gun, when a very heavy
sea came over and washed myself and about five others down to
leeward. All but myself went under the sail, and they were
drowned. I was caught in the bag of the sail and hurt both legs
against the gaff, but worked myself forward and succeeded in
getting on the top gallant forecastle."
It still was not light, though a faint glow had appeared in the east.
The tide was rising, and the stern of the vessel was almost com-
pletely submerged. A few men were huddled together in the main
rigging, but most were forward, clinging to the bowsprit and
grouped together on the gallant forecastle with Ensign Young. It
was bitter cold, and those with extra clothing shared it with others
near them. Lieutenant Conway had located a blanket somewhere,
and he and Ensign Young and two others tried to use it as a shield
against the cold wind and spray. It did little good.
Suddenly a light appeared off the starboard bow, a moving light,
apparently on shore. The survivors, some by now lashed to the
bowsprit with halyards, cheered at the prospect of help from that
quarter.
But if the remaining crewmen aboard the Huron were looking
for assistance from shore they were in for bitter disappointment.
The light they saw was carried by a fisherman, one of several who
had come over from the soundside village of Nags Head to see the
wreck. They were men who lived by the water fishing provided
their livelihood but they had no boats with them, and no lifesaving
apparatus, and all they could do was stand there and watch and
wait and maybe pray, if any among them felt so inclined. A life-
THE HURON 79
saving station, one of several recently established on the outer banks,
was located two and a half miles south of the scene of the disaster.
But Congress had provided meager funds for operation of the sta-
tions, and at that particular season Station Number Seven at Nags
Head was inactive, the keeper was at his home on Roanoke Island
across the sound, and none among the Nags Head fishermen knew
how to use the lif esaving apparatus stored in the station, or dared
to break in and get it if they did.
It had taken some time, even, for most of the Nags Head people
to realize that there really was a vessel ashore, and more time, still,
for them to decide whether it was worthwhile going out in the
storm to offer what little assistance they could.
Patti Tillett, a young girl living with her stepfather up in the
woods, said later that she was the first to hear the boom of the
rockets fired by Ensign Young. She was up at that hour preparing
breakfast for her stepfather, but when she woke him and told him
there was a vessel ashore, he considered the story a figment of her
imagination, turned over on his side, and went back to sleep again.
Shortly afterwards Patti saw Evan O'Neal, another fisherman,
passing by en route to the sound landing and tried to get him to
"get up a crowd and go for the beach apparatus, but there were
no men in the station, and nobody dared to break in, they stood that
much in fear of the Government."
Finally, O'Neal and Patti and several of their neighbors did walk
over to the beach, and it was their light which the shipwrecked
sailors saw and cheered.
More than fifty men were crowded on the forecastle of the
Huron when it became light enough to see, and others were hang-
ing on to spars and rigging and railings to anything that was
stationary all over the forward part of the vessel.
One boat remained intact, but when Captain Ryan and one of
the crewmen attempted to launch it the boat crashed down on them,
capsizing the craft and throwing both men into the water. Neither
was seen alive again.
Thus at daybreak the survivors of the shipwreck found them-
selves confined to a small forward section of the wreck; each suc-
cessive series of waves was breaking higher and higher on that part
8o GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
of the vessel which was still above water; the boats had all been
washed away or dashed to pieces in their davits; and their captain
was drowned.
With almost every wave someone else disappeared. Executive
Officer Simmons was washed overboard three times, regained the
comparative safety of the ship twice, but was drowned the third
time. One particularly large wave swept completely over the vessel,
carrying at least a dozen men to their death.
Cadet Engineer E. T. Warburton had secured a position by the
pinrail on the starboard side. "I protected my head for some time
by a tarpaulin, which several of us held around us," he said, "but
the seas came heavier and by every one I was dashed against the
pinrail, bruising my limbs and taking my breath away."
Dennis Dasey, a sailmaker, had clung to the starboard fore-chains,
but he relaxed his grip momentarily and was washed overboard.
"I swam back to the ship," he said, "and Peter Duffey swung me a
line and pulled me back into the chains." Both Dasey and Duffey
later reached shore.
Ensign Young and Lieutenant Conway had been taking periodic
soundings over the vessel's side. At first they found six feet of water,
then seven, then seven and a half, and finally eight. That was when
Ensign Young decided to leave the shelter of his blanket and take
some definite action to save himself and the others.
The Huron carried, in addition to its cutter and other small boats,
several rubber balsas, or life rafts. These were oblong in shape and
similar in design and size to those used as emergency rafts by air-
men in more recent times. At dawn only one remained on board the
Huron, the last visible means of communication with shore; a small,
frail, unwieldy contraption, more suitable for child's play in an
indoor pool than the purpose Ensign Young had in mind. But En-
sign Young, remember, was a man experienced in saving life. "He
can swim like a duck, and knows no such thing as fear," it was said
of him later. And so Ensign Young made his way along the littered
deck to the tiny balsa, calling for volunteers to help him get it into
the sea.
"A three-inch line was made fast to the balsa," he said, "and the
same was lowered overboard, but it fouled with the jibboom fore-
guard and other spars. I got down on the torpedo spar and worked
THE HURON 81
about ten minutes to clear the balsa, and called for someone to help
me. Mr. Danner (Ensign Fred Danner, who was drowned) came
down part of the way and said he was too weak and could not
on."
At this point a seaman, Antonio Williams, crawled down to
Young's side and offered his assistance. It took them fifteen minutes
to get the balsa clear of the spars, but then they found that the line
held it close to the ship. Their shipmates, gathered on the forecastle,
shouted for them to cut the line and get on shore for assistance. "I
had a small penknife but could not open it because my hands were
so numbed," Young said. "Williams opened it, and I succeeded in
cutting the rope. Was then struck several times by the spars, once
in the small of the back and across the hips. We thought the beach
ran perpendicular to the ship. It was foggy and we could not see
the shore. When the line was cut the balsa went towards the stern
of the ship, and we thought we were going to sea. We paddled the
balsa with pieces of panelling, and near the stern of the ship a heavy
surf struck us and capsized the balsa end for end."
That was almost the finish for both of the brave men. Williams
said his neck was caught between two spars and he was almost
choked to death before he could free himself and gain the surface.
As for Ensign Young, his leg was jammed tight and he too was
held under water far beyond the time he thought his breath could
hold out. But, miraculously, both he and Williams managed to re-
gain the balsa.
"I told Williams to get on the end," Young continued, "and we
would swim and steer the balsa in for fear of another capsize. We
were thrown over again, and this catastrophe threw Williams about
ten feet. My arm being jammed I was thrown on my back. When
we came up again it was rather still water. I swam and pushed the
balsa toward Williams and he got on top and stood up and looked
around, and said that he saw the masts of fishing vessels ahead,
which proved to be the telegraph poles on shore, I told him we'd
steer for it. We capsized twice more, and before we knew it were
on the beach."
They had reached the shore about three-quarters of a mile north
of the wreck, and immediately pulled the balsa out of the surf so it
would be available if needed later. Despite his ordeal on the balsa
82 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
and the injuries he had received, Ensign Young did not hesitate
then, for his task had just begun.
Two men, washed off the Huron earlier, were lying in the com-
paratively calm water inside the surf, too weak to get up. Young
pulled both on shore, then hurried down the beach, pausing at the
first building he came to probably a fisherman's temporary shack
but finding it empty. Opposite the wreck he met O'Neal and
Patti Tillett and a dozen or so of their neighbors and told them to
go up the beach where the men were washing ashore and try to
render what aid they could. He himself assisted in this, but only
after he had dispatched a man on horseback to the telegraph station
at Kitty Hawk with a message for assistance to be sent to Washing-
ton.
It was then shortly after seven o'clock in the morning. The sea
was so high that many of those aboard the Huron at the time Young
and Williams left in their balsa had been washed overboard; among
them was Lieutenant Conway, who reached shore safely.
Learning that the lif esaving station at Nags Head was closed and
the fishermen were afraid to break in, Young induced five of them
to accompany him to the station. "I then walked and ran down the
beach with these men to the station," he said. "Found no one there
but saw a team coming down the beach, which proved to be that
of Sheriff Brinkley of Dare County. I broke open the door, got the
mortar and line; broke open a locker and found powder and balls,
which Sheriff Brinkley brought up in his team."
But by the time Lucian Young and Sheriff Brinkley and the
fishermen returned to the scene of the wreck with the lifesaving
apparatus it was nearly noon, the Huron was almost completely
submerged, and not a single living person remained on board the
vessel.
Survivors, bruised and exhausted, suffering from the cold and
exposure, some completely naked, were stretched out on the beach
or searching for their shipmates in the surf. The bodies of several
others were laid in a neat row on top of the bank. Of 132 men
aboard the Huron when she left Hampton Roads twenty-four hours
earlier, only thirty-four remained alive.
In Washington and Norfolk, meanwhile, Ensign Young's mes-
sage, transmitted by the signal service operator at Kitty Hawk, was
THE HURON 83
setting in motion extensive rescue operations. The Secretary of
the Navy telegraphed Baker Brothers, Norfolk wrecking firm, to
send their steamer B & J Baker to the scene; Admiral Trenchard,
flag officer of the North Atlantic squadron based in Norfolk, dis-
patched the government steamers Poivhatan, Swatara, and Fortune,
taking passage himself on the first of these. Captain J. J. Guthrie,
superintendent of the newly formed Sixth Lifesaving District, took
the steamer Lady of the Lake from Portsmouth to Old Point Com-
fort and boarded the outbound B & J Baker there. Mr. Henry L.
Brooke, reporter for the Norfolk Virginian, also secured passage on
the wrecking steamer.
The B & J Baker arrived off the Nags Head beach at 7:45 Sunday
morning. The sea was still rough, though the wind had moderated
(it had been recorded at sixty-eight miles per hour at Cape Henry
the morning of the wreck) , and the Baker lay off the coast for some
time attempting to establish contact with the survivors on shore.
Captain Stoddard of the Baker considered it too rough to attempt
a landing through the surf at that time, but in the early afternoon
a boat was lowered over the side containing Captain Stoddard,
Superintendent Guthrie, reporter Brooke, six seamen, and Stod-
dard's pet dog. The official report of this landing attempt stated
that the boat "came shoreward in good style up to the surf on the
outer bar, 100 yards south of the Huron and 200 yards from shore.
The first breaker, a huge mound of tumultuous water, was gallantly
surmounted by the boat, which then swept swifdy down the long
valley of the subsiding wave, when another tremendous breaker
arose aft, and, although the crew pulled for their lives, it overtook
the boat, caught it under the quarter, whirled it broadside to, and
flirted it up, ten feet in the air, spilling every one on board into
the sea/'
Captain Stoddard, Mr. Brooke, and one of the crewmen regained
the overturned craft and clung to it until it was dragged through
the surf. Another crewman swam to shore unaided. Stoddard's dog,
taking a dim view of the whole proceedings, swam back to the
B & J Baker and was hoisted on board. But Superintendent Guthrie
and four of the crewmen were not seen again until their bodies
were washed up on the beach some time later. Thus five more deaths
were added to the Hurotfs toll, bringing the total to 103.
84 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
The four rescue vessels remained opposite the scene of the dual
disaster until dusk Sunday night, and then, realizing that assistance
from the sea was out of the question, returned to Norfolk*
The survivors, meanwhile, had been cared for as well as possible
by the residents of Nags Head and the keeper of the Lifesaving
Station, B. F. Meekins, who had come over from his home on
Roanoke Island. The four surviving officers Ensign Young, Lieu-
tenant Conway, Assistant Engineer R. G. Denig, and Cadet Engi-
neer E. T. Warburton spent Saturday night at the home of Sheriff
Brinkley; the thirty crewmen who had been saved were housed and
fed at Station Number Seven.
Sunday morning the small side-wheel steamer Bonito, which had
been lying abreast of the cut through to Roanoke Island, tied up
at the soundside wharf at Nags Head, and Captain Cain volunteered
to transport the survivors to Norfolk. The offer was immediately
accepted, and Sunday afternoon the shipwrecked sailors crossed
over to the wharf from the ocean side.
A reporter for the Norfolk Landmark described the scene at
Nags Head that Sunday afternoon in vivid terms.
"About 4 o'clock," the reporter wrote, "Sheriff Brinkley and
several of his neighbors arrived with banker ponies and three or
four steer and mule carts for the purpose of transferring the sur-
vivors to the side-wheel steamer Bonito, lying at Nags Head wharf.
Those who were unable to walk took seats in the carts, and friend
Brooke, of the Virginian, led the cavalcade, seated upon a pony and
wrapped in an army blanket from head to foot.
'Those who were able to walk to the steamer, some two miles
distant, straggled along after the vehicles across the immense waste
of white sand. A few of the most active ones scaled the barren sand
hills, and from their summits stopped a few moments to cast a last
look at the noble steamer which had, so short a time before, been
their temporary home, but over which, then, the terrible breakers
were rolling with relentless fury. The scene, although solemn in
the main, had its grotesque phases, and it was well worthy of the
artist's pencil. Thirty-four half clad, shoeless and hatless survivors,
were toiling over a white and desolate waste, and behind them a
long unbroken line of breakers were sounding a harsh and sullen
THE HURON 85
requiem over the watery graves of a hundred or more of their
comrades."
And so, Ensign Young and the other survivors of the Huron dis-
aster were transported to Norfolk, and in the days that followed a
total of ninety bodies was recovered from the surf along the North
Carolina and Virginia coast, some washing ashore more than forty
miles north of Nags Head.
Ensign Young had lost his locker box, and the lifesaving medal
and letter of commendation it contained; but soon after he received,
in their stead, a Gold Lifesaving Medal of the first class awarded by
his government for gallantry and humanity at the scene of the
disaster, and a similar award went also to Seaman Antonio Williams.
As for the Huron, to this day she is visible beneath the waters on
the beach at Nags Head, a broken, twisted, rusted hulk, frequented
by fishermen who claim that the sheepshead and other fish living
there are the largest, fightingest, and best tasting on the coast.
THE METROPOLIS
1878
IT IS DOUBTFUL THAT
Richard Brooks and Jake Mitteager ever heard of the Cataract
de Inferno and the treacherous falls above it on the River Madeira
in the interior of Brazil. Yet, were it not for the Cataract de Inferno
neither Brooks nor Mitteager would have been cast into the storm-
churned surf off the coast of North Carolina in the cold early
morning of January 31, 1878, in company with some 250 other
innocent persons.
The River Madeira forms in the great watershed of Bolivia in
South America at a point more than a thousand miles closer to the
Pacific than to the Atlantic, but because the Bolivian watershed is
on the east side of the towering Andes the River Madeira flows
toward the Atlantic. Small river boats navigate the Madeira for
several hundred miles eastward to a junction with the Mamore
River; then for 180 miles the river is dotted with innumerable falls
and rapids, the greatest and easternmost of which is the Cataract de
Inferno. From the town of Bairmo, just below the cataract, larger
boats proceed down the River Madeira to the Amazon and on to
the Atlantic Ocean.
The Cataract de Inferno, consequently, is the bottleneck which
prevents vessels from proceeding some two thousand miles up the
86
THE METROPOLIS 87
Amazon, Madeira, and Mamore rivers to the productive Bolivian
watershed. And in 1868 the National Bolivian Navigation Com-
pany, realizing this, hired a New York engineer to survey the area
above the cataract and determine if it was possible to construct a
canal or railroad around the falls. Colonel George Earle Church,
the engineer hired for the job, announced that the construction of
a i8o-mile railroad along the river from the town of Bairmo to the
intersection with the Mamore River was feasible, and in early
November, 1877, Messrs. P. and T. Collins, contractors of Phila-
delphia, were awarded a contract for construction of the railroad.
That is where Richard Brooks became involved.
Richard W. Brooks, a native Philadelphian, was twenty-three
years old when the Messrs. Collins signed their railroad contract
with the National Bolivian Navigation Company. He was a brick-
layer by trade, and despite his youth had twice before sailed on
ocean voyages, had served an apprenticeship with the firm of
Weatherstine and Kupp, and had been employed for three years
as a journeyman bricklayer by the George Waterhouse Company.
In January, 1878, however, there was little construction work in
the Philadelphia area little work of any kind for that matter and
young Dick Brooks, married and with a child to support, was out
of a job. An inducement to signing on with the Collins' was the
high wage, the certainty of employment throughout the stay in
Brazil, and the fact that all of his expenses would be taken care of
and his pay could be sent home. On the debit side was the length of
the trip the Collins' Company was signing workers for a minimum
of eighteen months in Braziland the fact that he would have to
leave his family at home.
In the end Dick Brooks apparently decided that steady work in
far off Brazil was better than unemployment at home, and he signed
as a bricklayer to work on tunnels and arches.
Dick Brooks signed too late to take the first boat, the Mercedita,
which left Philadelphia on January 2 with two hundred men,
mostly engineers and mechanics, and eight hundred tons of rails,
machinery, and engines. But another vessel was due to sail toward
the end of January, and a third in early February.
Mr. Thomas Collins, the "T" in P. and T. Collins, had super-
88 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
vised the hiring and fitting out of the vessels which were to trans-
port his men and supplies to Brazil. He admitted to being a
superstitious man, and that accounted to some extent for his in-
sistence that he should personally inspect each vessel before de-
parture. He found all in order on the Mercedita, and felt that the
firm of Henry L. Gregg, who served as his agents in locating the
ships, had done a good job.
The second vessel they chartered was the former Federal gun-
boat Stars and Stripes, which had seen considerable service in the
New York to Cuba run in recent years; the third was the spacious
Richmond, lately in the passenger service on Chesapeake Bay and
its tributaries. Several British ships had been available, but Thomas
Collins followed a policy of buying and hiring at home when pos-
sible. His one trouble, considering his bent toward superstition, was
that he did not check back far enough on the records of the ships
he chartered.
Especially was the above true in the case of the second boat
Collins dispatched from Philadelphia, the former Stars and Stripes.
For the war record of the Federal gunboat Stars and Stripes in the
War Between the States was distinguished only by her designation
as temporary flagship of the forces under Commander S. C. Rowan
in the attack on Roanoke Island and the subsequent campaign in
the sounds of eastern North Carolina. The Stars and Stripes was one
of the first of the Federal vessels to pass through Hatteras Inlet into
Pamlico Sound, and she fired her share of ammunition at the Con-
federate defenses on Roanoke Island, part of the time discharging
her guns while stranded on a shoal. After that she played a most
inconspicuous part in the Federal campaign, being noted only for
the havoc she had wrought earlier on the coast of North Carolina.
A superstitious man, knowing these facts, might well have been
wary about entrusting his men and cargo to such a ship on the
dangerous passage along that same North Carolina coast, and so it
must be assumed that Thomas Collins knew nothing of the war
record of the vessel he chartered. For that matter, the name of the
Stars and Stripes had long since been changed, she had been re-
fitted completely for the merchant trade, and even her papers had
been altered somehow so that she was listed as having been built
nine years after her participation in the battle of Roanoke Island.
THE METROPOLIS 89
So far as Thomas Collins knew, the vessel he hired for the run to
Brazil was the six-year-old steamship Metropolis.
Neither, apparently, did Thomas Collins know that the Atlantic
Coast Line Railroad had chartered the Metropolis (or Stars and
Stripes) the month previous to transport freight from Norfolk to
Wilmington while the railroad's bridge at Weldon was being re-
built, but because she arrived at Norfolk disabled and in tow of a
Navy vessel, had cancelled the charter. More evidence, this, for a
superstitious man.
But Thomas Collins seemed not aware of this background, and
consequently the Metropolis, having been equipped in New York
with additional lifeboats for the voyage to Brazil, proceeded to
Philadelphia, where her cargo was loaded, and on Monday after-
noon, January 28, the railroad workers began coming aboard.
The Metropolis was tied up at the Reading Railroad wharf at
the foot of Willow Street, and both the wharf and Willow Street
behind it were crowded with people thousands of them, it seemed
to reporters who later described the parting sceneand there did
not seem to be a dozen among them who were not Irish. It was
almost as if every Irishman in Philadelphia, and every Irish woman
and child as well, had come to the foot of Willow Street to board
the Metropolis, or to say goodbye to someone who had, or just to
watch the vessel sail.
There were tender scenes aplenty as the Metropolis was made
ready for departure. There was, for instance, the foreman who,
after repeated passionate farewells, could not bring himself to tear
his wife's arms from around his neck and finally led her back along
the wharf to where Thomas Collins was standing, surrounded by
people, and told him he just could not go; and the big workman
who begged fruitlessly to have his motherless son accompany him.
And there were those who changed their plans the engineer, whose
baggage had not arrived on time and who consequently waited for
the next ship; and Thomas Collins himself, for that matter, who had
intended embarking on the Metropolis with his wife, but on in-
specting the crowded quarters aboard the vessel decided that they
would do better to wait for the Richmond.
Dick Brooks made it this time, but at the moment when he waved
to his wife for the last time and turned to mount the gangway it
90 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
would not have taken much for the young bricklayer to change
his mind.
In the end there was such a crowd around the gangway that
some who were trying to get on board were left behind, and others
already on the vessel to see friends off were unable to reach shore,
and so were hired on the spot to take the place of those who had
not made it.
There were 248 people on the Metropolis when she moved out
into the stream that evening. Of these 1 3 were members of the crew,
215 were laborers, and the remaining 20 were saloon passengers,
including three women.
The Metropolis was a screw steamer, bark-rigged, listed as being
198 feet in length, 34 feet across the beam, and with a tonnage of
879. Considering the vessel's size, her engines were said to have
been exceptionally small. On the voyage to Brazil she carried, in
addition to the passengers, almost a thousand tons of cargo, in-
cluding 500 tons of iron rails (enough to lay between seven and
eight miles of track) and 200 tons of stores and 250 tons of coal.
A $42,000 insurance policy on the cargo was not signed until two
days after the Metropolis sailed.
She laid at anchor all Monday night, proceeding downstream
the next morning and reaching the Delaware Breakwater shortly
before noon. Soon afterwards the pilot was dropped, and Captain
J. H. Ankers headed his craft toward the open sea. Throughout
that afternoon and night the Metropolis encountered calm seas
and fair skies, as the vessel remained out of sight of land. Wednes-
day morning the sea became choppy, then rough, and by afternoon
most of the laborers had lost both their appetites and most of what
they had eaten since leaving Philadelphia. A peculiar jarring sound
developed in the hold that evening, and on investigation it was
found that the iron rails, improperly stored in close-packed piles,
had begun to shift with the movement of the vessel. At about this
time the frenzied cry of "Fire" was heard, and within brief seconds
men were running in all directions, some dragging heavy hoses,
others with water buckets, and still others searching for the fire or
a means to escape it.
Only in the main cabin, where the passengers were sprawled out
on improvised berths, was there a semblance of order; and this was
THE METROPOLIS 91
not because the Irish laborers there were any more restrained, but
simply because many were too seasick to care. Fortunately it was
soon discovered that the fire call had been a false alarm, escaping
steam from a broken pipe having been mistaken for smoke.
Meanwhile First Engineer Jake Mitteager was having other
troubles, for the Metropolis was laboring heavily and it was diffi-
cult to keep the engines running steadily. Finally leaving the engine
room in charge of an assistant, Jake made his way aft and discovered
a leak near the rudder post. Soon the water was waist deep in the
hold, and Captain Ankers held a quick consultation with Paul J.
White, who was in charge of the workmen aboard, and William
H. Harrison and J. J. Moore, his assistants. It was decided that the
best course was to throw overboard part of the cargo of coal in
order to lighten the vessel sufficiently for the circulating pumps
to gain on the water still pouring into the hold. Apparently, though
they were opposite the mouth of Chesapeake Bay at the time,
Ankers did not even consider going into Hampton Roads for re-
pairs.
A general call was sounded for all passengers to assemble in the
main cabin, where the seasick ones were dragged forcibly from
their berths, and the berths were piled in a corner. Then the hatches
were removed, some of the men were lowered into the hold, and a
bucket brigade was formed to transfer the coal from the storage
bins to the main deck, where it was thrown overboard.
The men were kept at this labor throughout the evening and
until well past midnight Jake Mitteager figured they must have
thrown over at least fifty tons until finally the pumps began to
gain on the water and the bucket brigade was discontinued.
This was only a temporary respite for Dick Brooks and the other
laborers, however, for the cargo of iron rails shifted more and more
with each movement of the vessel, the open seams in her hull
widened, and under the added strain the circulating pumps broke
down. Again a bucket brigade was formed, this time to bail out the
water, but this proved little help and the vessel gradually began to
fill
Jake Mitteager was encountering still more difficulties, for as
the water rose in the hold the strain on his engines became greater,
and he experienced great difficulty in keeping his fires burning. At
92 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
the suggestion of Chief Engineer Joseph J. Lovell he finally broke
open a barrel of tallow and added this to the fires, and for a while
was able to keep up sufficient steam. Then, without warning, a
huge wave broke completely over the vessel, taking away the
smokestack, seven of the lifeboats, the steam whistle, the engine-
room ventilators, skylight, after-mainsail, starboard saloon, and
most of the gangway. The galley stove toppled over, crushing the
assistant steward beneath it; tables were overturned in the officers'
dining saloon, and one of the ladies, Mrs. Harrison, was thrown
against a bulkhead and seriously injured.
Even as those on deck were taking stock of the damage Jake
Mitteager notified the Captain from the engine room that the water
had completely drowned out his fires. And so, just before dawn
that Thursday morning in the winter of 1878, the former Union
gunboat Stars and Stripes, now the Metropolis, loaded with almost
a thousand tons of coal, iron rails, stores, and human beings, was
completely disabled in a turbulent sea, most of her lifeboats washed
overboard, her steam whistle out of commission, and only part of
her sails still intact.
Through the haze Captain Ankers spotted the beam of a light-
house to the west he said afterwards that he knew all along it was
Currituck Beach Light, but others on board thought it was Cape
Charles and realizing that his vessel could not remain afloat for
long, ordered all remaining sails set, and headed for the beach.
At Currituck Beach, North Carolina, that morning, as was his
custom, N. E. K. Jones left his house on the sound side of the nar-
row sand spit and walked over to the ocean to see if any ships or
stranded property had come ashore during the severe storm of the
night before. He was accompanied by Jimmy Capps, a young
hunter-trapper who lived near by. Before they reached the ocean
front Capps halted, grasping Jones' arm, and peering through the
early morning gloom, exclaimed: "Yonder's a vessel ashore."
Jones, the elder of the two, was not able to see anything at that
distance, but hurrying forward they discovered through the fog
the lone mast and hull of a vessel, close to shore. At first Jones
thought it was abandoned, and said to Capps that the crew must
have been taken off earlier by a passing ship; but just at that time
they heard the sound of many voices raised in what could pass for
THE METROPOLIS 93
a cheer, and on closer inspection Capps said he could see people a
lot of themmoving about on board.
Jones and Capps lived in a tiny village forty miles south of Cape
Henry and a short distance below the Virginia line. The village (no
longer a village, and now known as Poyners Hill) was centered
about a hunting club and included only half a dozen houses. Four
miles to the north was a larger village (now Corolla), the Cur-
rituck Beach Lighthouse, another hunting club, and the newly
established lifesaving station designated as Station Number Four.
The nearest habitation to the south was Lifesaving Station Number
Five, some seven miles distant.
When he learned that there were people aboard the wreck Jones
lost no time in dispatching Capps for assistance, sending him back
to the village to borrow a horse from a neighbor, Swepson C.
Brock. But Capps found the house deserted. He had already caught
the horse and was in the process of saddling it when Brock came
up from the near-by marsh. On being told of the disaster Brock
mounted his horse and rode out to the beach at a gallop, waving
his hat as he passed the wreck to let those on board know that
assistance was coming, and then proceeding up the beach as fast
as he could to pass the word to the lifesavers at Number Four.
On the Metropolis, meanwhile, all was confusion. The vessel
had struck the outer bar head on and had then drifted over the
bar into deeper water, finally coming to rest on the inner bar only
a hundred yards from the beach. When the men saw shore they
cheered lustily, thinking that they were safe at last, and this was
the cheer Jones and Capps heard when they first spotted the vessel
from the beach.
The people aboard the vessel were far from safe, however, for
they were separated still from the shore by a line of towering
breakers. Already several had been washed overboard and drowned,
including one of the ladies, and when the vessel struck word was
quickly passed for every man to look out for himself. Those who
could find them immediately donned life jackets, while others
launched the remaining serviceable lifeboat, and six men finally put
off in the frail craft. A line was passed on board for them to tow
to shore, but in the confusion it was left behind.
At this point Dick Brooks decided the best course left for him
94 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
was to try to swim ashore, and he jumped overboard, followed by
the first mate and a third man. The tide was then low, and as it
proved later the great majority could have been saved had they
followed Brooks' example at the time. But most preferred to re-
main aboard, trusting that help would arrive from shore.
Brooks and his two companions reached the beach safely at about
the same time that the six men landed in the lifeboat, and the nine
of them proceeded up the beach to a line of telegraph poles, which
they followed in a northern direction. The only living thing they
saw was a cow, which ran away, but they followed her, according
to Dick Brooks's account, "running a mile through brush and briar
in our bare feet with nothing on but shirt and drawers" and finally
reached the Currituck Beach Lighthouse Club. Here they were
provided with dry clothes by William Jones, an employee, and on
the return of John J. Dunton, owner of the club, word of the wreck
was dispatched to the lifesaving station, though the lifesavers had
by then been informed of the disaster by Swepson Brock.
Keeper John G. Chappell of Lifesaving Station Number Four
was on the beach when Swepson Brock arrived with news of the
wreck of the steamship Metropolis. When he returned to his station
the members of his crew were already loading the mortar, breeches
buoy, shot, powder, line and lifesaving suit in the hand cart. Chap-
pell immediately mounted the horse behind Brock, one of his men
passed him the station medicine chest, and instructing the crew to
follow with the hand cart, he and Brock set off for the wreck.
Long before they had covered the four and a half miles to the
scene of the disaster, Brock and Keeper Chappell began to find
pieces of wreckage on the beach and an occasional body. Chappell
dismounted once and tried to resuscitate a woman (Mrs. Harrison) .
In this he was unsuccessful, and they proceeded on to a point op-
posite the Metropolis, where a number of people were assembled,
including local residents as well as survivors. It was then almost
11:30 and some four hours had passed since the vessel struck the
bar; yet most of her passengers and crew, including Jake Mitteager,
still clung to mast and spar and anything else that was above water.
For the next hour Keeper ChappelTs medicine chest was in constant
use, and a number of survivors were revived who might otherwise
have died.
THE METROPOLIS 95
While their keeper was thus engaged the six remaining lifesavers
from Station Number Four were laboriously dragging their heavily
laden cart toward the scene. With the mortar and other equipment
it weighed in the neighborhood of one thousand poundsmore
than 165 pounds per manand the six-man team found the beach
newly covered with storm tides, causing the broad wheels of the
cart to sink four or five inches in the sand.
It is doubtful that it was within the capabilities of the six human
beings to haul that cart the full distance to the wreck. All of them
had been on beach patrol during the night, and had walked from
twelve to thirty-two miles along the flooded beach on the lookout
for stranded vessels. When less than one third of the way to the
wreck, all were nearly exhausted; young William Perry, Jim and
John Rogers, Sam Gillett, and Nat Gray had pulled and shoved
and lifted the cart each laborious step of the way, while Piggott
Gilliken, a fifty-year-old sailor who had just recently joined the
service, seemed to do the work of two men. But they had, after
a mile and a half of it, just about reached the end of human en-
durance, and there was hardly one among them who could drag
his own weight forward, let alone pull his share of the load.
Fortunately, at this point, John Dunton came up behind the
tired lifesavers. He was mounted on his beach pony and was fol-
lowed by Dick Brooks and the other survivors on foot. Dunton
hitched his pony to the cart, thus partly relieving the lifesavers,
and in this manner all of them reached the scene of the wreck
shortly after noon.
Jake Mitteager had by then been washed overboard and had
managed to swim ashore. But a great number of other survivors
yet remained on the doomed craft.
Then, as now, the basic means of contacting a disabled craft from
shore and removing the survivors was with the breeches buoy.
Accordingly, Keeper Chappell set up his mortar there on the beach
and attempted to fire a line aboard the wreck.
The Metropolis was comparatively close to shore, and though
head on to the beach, she nonetheless presented a good target. On
the first shot the line passed over the vessel, and before those on
board could reach it, had dropped to leeward and into the sea. The
9<5 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
line was quickly hauled back on shore by the lifesavers, coiled
again beside the mortar, and this tine, benefiting from the ex-
perience of the first shot, Keeper Chappell aimed lower and suc-
ceeded in landing the line across the port fore-topsail yardarm.
Immediately, Second Mate Cozens crawled out on the yardarm and
secured the line, but not being familiar with the apparatus he passed
it down to his companions on deck in such a manner that it still lay
over the spar.
Thus, as willing hands bent to the labor of pulling the heavier
line and block aboard, the line dragged over the spar, chafing as it
did so, and when at last the block was lifted clear of the water and
was almost within arms' reach, it broke under the added strain and
fell back into the water.
Enough mistakes had been made already to cause luck to take a
dim view of the proceedings. For one thing, the Metropolis was so
old, rotted, and poorly powered that she had been turned down
as a coastal freight hauler, and yet had been chartered to transport
a human cargo below the equator; for another, when Captain
Ankers discovered that his vessel was leaking he chose to press on,
instead of taking the safe course of turning back or trying to make
Hampton Roads; then, after she had struck the beach, the only
serviceable lifeboat had been permitted to leave the vessel without
carrying a line ashore; and finally, Second Mate Cozens had not
been properly briefed on how to handle the lifeline, with results
which had just been seen.
Now it was the lifesavers' turn. For after that second try had
proved ineffective, another ball was placed in the mortar, the line
was hauled back and spliced to a spare piece, and all was made
ready for another attempt. It was then that Keeper Chappell dis-
covered he had brought along only enough powder for two shots.
There was ample extra line; there were two spare shots. But there
was no more powder. The station, where extra powder was kept,
was more than four miles distant, and both beach ponies had dis-
appeared, one on a journey to Kitty Hawk to deliver a message to
the telegraph officer there, and the other in the opposite direction
to summon additional lifesavers.
Once again Swepson Brock came to the rescue, this time offering
to supply powder from a reserve he kept at his home near by. Again
THE METROPOLIS 97
James Capps ran across the sand beach to the Brock home, returning
in a short time with the powder, enough for a number of shots.
Maybe the powder was stronger and quicker than the slow-
burning type provided the lifesavers; maybe the line was improp-
erly attached to the ball. But in either case (and there was heated
discussion on this score for a long time following the disaster) when
Keeper Chappell fired the next shot, the ball parted from the line
and sailed high above the Metropolis to land with a slight splash
far to seaward; and when the last ball was attached to the line, this
time with special care being taken with the knots, the same thing
happened, and the lifesavers were left with an ample supply of
Mr. Brock's powerful powder but with no more shots.
When the result of this fourth and final attempt was observed
aboard the Metropolis, those still remaining on the wrecked vessel,
knowing that she was fast going to pieces, realized at last that they
would have to reach shore unaided or not at all. Actually, the
strongest had already made the attempt, either in the boat or by
swimming, and many of those remaining were without life pre-
servers.
Quartermaster James Poland still had not given up. Grasping
a line on deck he instructed those standing there to feed it out to
him gradually, and placing the end of the line in his mouth he
clamped down hard with his teeth, and dropped into the churning
surf. The odds were against James Poland all the way. For a short
distance he was able to make some progress; then the current began
to carry the slack line up the beach, the large waves broke directly
on top of him, and his friends back on the wreck ran out of line.
So this last effort was thwarted, and Quartermaster James Poland
let go of the line and struck out for shore on his own.
At about this same time the mainmast fell, and the remaining
section of the cabin was washed overboard, taking many of the
survivors with it. The scenes of horror there on the fast disintegrat-
ing ship were graphically described by the fortunate ones who
managed to reach shore alive.
Second Mate Cozens jumped overboard just as a heavy sea
crashed down on the hulk. He was thrown against a lumber raft
which had floated loose from the hold, and suddenly found himself
entangled in the ropes which held the raft together. "The seas beat
98 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
over me mercilessly," he said later, "but with my jack knife I freed
myself from the ropes and managed to swim clear of the lumber
raft."
Chief Engineer Joseph J. Lovell had gained a spot of comparative
safety in the rigging and remained there until the mast fell. Then
he turned to the man nearest him, asked for a chew of tobacco, and
when he had taken a large bite and "jawed" it a couple of times, he
picked up a cabin door and jumped overboard. Three men followed
him, but all three were swallowed up by the sea. Lovell drifted
northward on his door, being constantly buffeted by the huge
waves, and finally gained shore with the help of others waiting there
a half mile above the scene of the wreck.
Alfred Newton, a passenger, was on deck when the mainmast
fell. "Several men got caught in the falling rigging," he said. "A
poor German implored me, for God's sake, to lift the spar off of
him ... it was on his head. Another man had his leg fast. The side
went down and I was washed overboard. I turned to look, and saw
nothing more of the ship but the sea alive with beings struggling
for their lives. I got within about 20 feet of shore when I gave out,
but thanks to the life-saving men and my God I arrived safely."
Dr. G. D. Green, the vessel's surgeon, said: "The scene was
beyond description, the eye alone can tell it truthfully. There were
not enough of the life-buoys, and many poor souls were vainly
seeking for them. The mainmasts went over and every sea surged
over us. Dozens went in the water, struggling for their lives, and I
saw many a good swimmer killed by the rough debris rolling over
them. Those that could swim were so often carried so far out to
sea by the under current that they perished from exhaustion, having
eaten nothing for 24 hours and being chilled through with the cold
water. I am unable to relate how I saved myself, as I was in-
sensible."
Last man to leave the Metropolis was J. H. Alcox of Boston, who
remained on the wreck until the last vestige of the hull disappeared
beneath the waves; then, counselling the struggling swimmers
around him "to trust in God and your life-preservers," he aban-
doned himself to the struggle for life in the breakers.
This was a busy time for those who had gained the shore. Human
beings, many unconscious and not a few dead, were drifting ashore
THE METROPOLIS 99
with every wave. Keeper Chappell, having donned his water-tight
lifesaving suit, made an ineffectual effort to swim to the vessel and
carry a line, but had to be dragged out of the surf in turn by his
cohorts. Soon afterwards Captain Ankers, fully dressed in a life-
saving suit identical with that which the keeper wore, was spotted
by Swepson Brock, drifting helplessly. He, Piggott Gilliken, and
Chappell waded out beyond the first breakers and dragged the
Captain ashore, finding his suit improperly fitted and half full of
water and the Captain unconscious.
For a mile or more along that wreck-strewn beach brave men,
singly and in groups, waded into the deadly surf at risk of their
own lives to rescue people they had never seen before. The seven
lifesavers led the way; numerous bystanders Dunton, Brock, T. J.
Poyner, Captain Everton, and John Saunders, to name a few joined
in the brave and humane work; and those of the survivors who were
well enough did their part also. Dick Brooks helped rescue his
share, but in later accounts it was Jake Mitteager who was most
frequently mentioned, for the engineer, seemingly everyplace at
once, was reported as having saved or helped to save nearly thirty
lives.
It was dark when the last of the survivors reached shore, and
great fires of driftwood had been built back from the beach. Doctor
Green, hampered by a lack of medical supplies, rendered every
aid he could to the injured, most of whom were transported on
the backs of their fellow survivors or in a horse cart which arrived
later to the near-by homes of Brock and Jones, or to Dunton's club
and to the lighthouse at Currituck Beach. But some, nearly nude,
numbed from the cold, and without food for a day and a half, re-
mained there on the beach by the driftwood fires all night and
were still there the following morning when the first outside relief
parties arrived.
In Norfolk, Washington, Philadelphia, and elsewhere about the
country the first news of the disaster was a telegraph message from
the Signal Service operator at Kitty Hawk, sent out at eight o'clock
the night of the wreck: "At 6: 50 A.M. steamship Metropolis struck
on Currituck Beach, three miles south of Currituck Light. 248 per-
sons were on board; 50 swam ashore. No assistance from Life-
Saving Stations."
zoo GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
The inaccuracies in this first report are attributed to the fact that
the message was delivered to Kitty Hawk by a young boy who had
left the scene of the wreck at noon. But as this message flashed
around the country many official and independent agencies, and
not a few individuals, immediately went into action.
The chief Signal Service operator in Washington ordered a man
from the Kitty Hawk station to proceed to Currituck Beach at
once and open telegraphic communications; the Times, of Phila-
delphia, dispatched a reporter to the scene; the commandant of the
Navy Yard in Norfolk sent four vessels to offer assistance, the
Coast Wrecking Company and the Baker Wrecking Company sent
two other ships, and the mayor of that city called an open meeting
of the citizens to lay plans for the reception of the survivors.
It was less than two and a half months since the Huron had
wrecked on that same coast, and the newspapers of Norfolk were
well prepared to offer complete coverage of the disaster to their
readers. The Journal assigned two reporters to the wreck story, and
the Landmark put almost its entire staff on the job.
Back at Currituck Beach the last of the survivors had been
dragged from the surf, and young Dick Brooks, thinking no doubt
of his wife and child back at Germantown, was determined to get
home as soon as possible. Shortly after sunset he left the beach and
walked over to the sound landing with N. E. K. Jones, who took
him across Currituck Sound to the home of N. N. Hampton. He
was given a sumptuous meal at Hampton's and provided with a
comfortable bed, and the next morning, early, Hampton rowed him
up the shore to Currituck Landing, where at 6 A.M, he took the
steamboat Cygnet to Norfolk. Thus Dick Brooks was the first
survivor of the Metropolis to reach the outside world, and needless
to say his was a royal reception.
When the first message of the disaster had come through the
preceding night, two crack reporters of the Landmark had im-
mediately begun a search for a steamboat which they could charter
for the trip to Currituck Beach. Being unsuccessful in this they had
made arrangements to hire a coach, but at departure time the next
morning the coach owner failed to show up. Finally they had
learned that the Navy tug Fortune was to depart at 10 A.M. and
THE METROPOLIS 101
managed to secure passage on that vessel; but the Fortune got stuck
in the mud before it cleared Norfolk Harbor and remained there
most of the day, eventually getting clear at about the time that the
Cygnet, with Dick Brooks aboard, tied up at a wharf near by.
Word that Dick Brooks was on the Cygnet had been telegraphed
from the locks at Great Bridge, and another Landmark reporter
managed to "kidnap" him immediately upon his arrival, with the
result that that newspaper printed the first exclusive account of the
tragedy, and Dick Brooks became the temporary hero of the day.
He managed, however, to get off a telegram to Thomas Collins in
Philadelphia, asking: "What shall I do with the men who are
saved?" to which Collins replied: "Care for them. I will be on
tomorrow."
That same afternoon Friday, February r, the day following the
wreck Dr. Sawtelle of the Marine Hospital Service, Samuel Shipp,
assistant postmaster for Norfolk, and a reporter had reached Cur-
rituck Beach on the steam tug /. W. Haring.
The following account was received from the scene of the wreck
by the Landmark that afternoon: "The beach is strewn with frag-
ments of the wreck, furniture and drygoods Only the merest
top of the machinery and a boat-davit can be seen At Van
Stock's and Church Hill's Landing the scene is most piteous; 146
people without hats or shoes, and in many instances almost naked,
several simply wrapped with blankets, despite efforts of the people
to provide clothing. The various statements of the survivors es-
tablish the fact that the Life-Saving Station was thoroughly ineffi-
cient, and while the members of the crew at Number 4 did all they
could to rescue the unfortunate castaways, the means provided by
the government were totally inadequate and useless in the emer-
gency.
"Many who happened to save something in their clothing," the
report continued, "were robbed on the beach or when they were
senseless in the surf. In fact, there seems to have been a general
pillage of the bodies whenever found. Clothing was cut from the
bodies with knives, even the body of Mrs. Harrison had a belt cut
from her waist and her underclothing barbarously torn off. Forty-
four bodies were buried and their graves marked by the life crew
102 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
on Friday Assistant Postmaster Samuel Shipp found the general
mails of the Metropolis rifled. Ten mail bags reached the shore with
special mail for Brazil and all except one were robbed and the
letters cut to pieces to secure the contents. The letters were strewn
over the beach in every direction."
By this time Captain Ankers, having been saved by Chappell,
Gilliken, and Brock and cared for at the latter's home, was re-
covered enough to make an official statement. "At 6:45 A.M. we
struck the beach," he said. "At 1 1 A.M. one of the life-saving men
appeared upon the beach waving his hat and promising assistance.
At 12 noon men of the station made their appearance, but came
poorly prepared to save life. All the assistance they could render
was to get the wrecked out of the surf as they came ashore. Had
they come properly prepared, nearly everyone could have been
saved. From my experience here with life-saving, I consider it a
farce."
Currituck County and the Lifesaving Service continued to take
a beating in the nation's press. The New York World, assuming
that the lifesaving station "was closed because of bad weather,"
called for the dismissal of the lifesavers. The Philadelphia Times,
quoting from a report made earlier by Sumner I. Kimball, super-
intendent of the Lifesaving Service, stated that petty politicians had
influenced the selection of lifesavers on the North Carolina coast.
Only the Norfolk Latzdmark came to the defense of the people of
the area, quoting reports concerning atrocities against the dead to
the effect that "some of the survivors themselves were engaged in
this nefarious work," in addition to local residents, and that the
"good people of Currituck County should not be blamed for the
work of a few bad ones."
The Landmark called for an investigation by the grand jury of
Currituck County and the U. S. Post Office Department, decried
the false economy of not providing sufficient lifesaving stations and
adequate equipment in the area, and suggested that the pay of the
lifesavers ($200 yearly for the keeper, and $20 monthly in season
for the surfmen) be raised. The next day the paper joined the
Baltimore Bulletin in editorializing on the "criminal negligence of
the owners" (Benjamin P. Lunt, George D. Lunt, and John Hege-
man, Jr., all of New York) in sending such an old, rotten and
THE METROPOLIS 103
unseaworthy vessel abroad with human beings. "In England/' the
papers stated, "they hang men for such crimes or send them to the
penal colonies."
The Lunts and Hegeman, whose vessel was insured for $100,000,
failed to make an appearance at Norfolk to greet the survivors or
to provide for them in any way; but Thomas Collins, having wired
ahead giving Foreman P. J. White full authority to spend what-
ever funds were necessary in caring for them, arrived in Norfolk
as soon as possible.
Collins found his laborers well taken care of. The survivors had
reached Norfolk Saturday morning on the Cygnet. A hot meal was
waiting for them at Mr. Amos P. Jordan's Market Dining Saloon,
and when they had finished eating they proceeded to the Taab
Building on Market Square, where mattresses and bedding (loaned
by the Navy and other groups) had been arranged for them. The
survivors remained in Norfolk as guests of the city and the populace
until Monday afternoon. That they were well cared for is attested
to by the following sample menu of meals provided them at Mr.
Jordan's Dining Saloon.
BREAKFAST: Beefsteak and onions, boiled and fried potatoes,
steamed oysters and fried ham, smoked ham and beef hash, egg
bread and fresh bread, and coffee.
DINNER: Ham and cabbage, corn beef and turnips, cream potatoes
and sweet potatoes, oyster pie, stuffed baked veal, roast beef, corn
bread and loaf bread.
SUPPER: Pork steak and beef steak, liver and bacon, cold ham
and cold corned beef, coffee, fresh bread and butter.
The official report shows that eighty-five persons lost their lives
in the wreck of the Metropolis. One hundred and twenty seven of
the surviving laborers, being well stuffed with oysters, steak, and
the other delicacies listed above, boarded the Bay Line steamer
Florida Monday afternoon under the personal supervision of
Thomas Collins. They were bound for Baltimore, and thence to
Philadelphia, where on the tenth of the month they were scheduled
to start again for Brazil on the modern steamship Richmond.
But Jake Mitteager and Dick Brooks would have no part of it.
Jake left Norfolk for New York earlier that morning with the
other members of the crew, still an employee of the Lunt brothers
104
GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
and Hegeman. As for Dick Brooks, he had missed out on the oysters
and steak, but at that moment he was probably nearing Philadelphia
and a reunion with his wife and child, no doubt convinced finally
that unemployment at home in Pennsylvania was preferable to a
steady job laying bricks beside the Cataract de Inferno in Brazil.
EACH MAN A HERO
1878-1893
THE TRAGIC LOSS of the
Huron in 1877 and of the Metropolis in 1878 occurred at a time
when the Federal Government was in the process of organizing
lifesaving facilities along the North Carolina coast. Actually, the
first North Carolina lifesaving stations were put in commission in
the winter of 1874-1875, but the early efficiency was greatly
hampered by the interference of what the Lifesaving Service termed
"petty local politicians, whose aim was to subordinate the service
to their personal ends."
The service charged, specifically, that these politicians attempted
to "pack the stations with their own creatures, without the slightest
respect to use or competency." Apparently they were partly suc-
cessful, for though a number of the men first employed as lif esavers
went on to distinguish themselves, there were so many misfits at
the outset that it took four or five years to finally weed them out.
By 1879 there were twenty stations already built or planned
between Currituck Beach and Cape Fear, and for the most they
were manned by efficient, brave, and loyal men. That most of the
incompetents had been removed from the service was dramatically
illustrated in the record for the next fifteen years; for during the
period from 1879 through 1893 some of the most daring rescues in
the history of lifesaving were accomplished on the North Carolina
coast.
105
106 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
M & E HENDERSON
The lifesavers had a comparatively easy time of it at the wreck
of the three-masted schooner M & E Henderso?z at New Inlet,
November 30, 1879, but the circumstances of the wreck were
strange and mysterious from the very outset; so much so, in fact,
that the three survivors of the seven-man crew were later im-
prisoned on suspicion of mutiny and brought to trial in Baltimore.
The 387-ton Henderson, an old vessel hailing from Philadelphia,
had sailed from Bull River, South Carolina, with a cargo of phos-
phate rock destined for Baltimore. She had on board in addition
to her captain, two mates and a cook (all white men) and three
deckhands (all Spanish mulattoes). The evening of November 29
she was seen north of Cape Hatteras, close in to shore but in no
danger. There was a stiff breeze and a sizeable surf, but the night
was clear, with the entire area illuminated by a bright Carolina
moon; no reason there, certainly, for any concern.
At five o'clock the next morning the early morning beach patrol-
man from Pea Island returned to his station house, started a fire in
the galley stove, roused the cook, and mounted the lookout tower
for the purpose of inspecting the coast near by. He soon spotted a
lone figure on the beach and supposed at first it was a fisherman;
but then he noticed that the man was hatless and seemed to be
staggering, so he left the tower, awakened the keeper, and took off
down the beach to investigate.
His haste was justified, for he soon came upon the man, a hag-
gard and dripping figure, dark-skinned, and able to mutter little
more than incoherent sounds. The lifesaver was able to understand
that his vessel was aground, the masts already down, and the captain
lost.
The castaway was carried back to the station and put under the
care of the cook, while the other lifesavers set out in the direction
of the wreck. They had gone little more than a mile south of the
station when they discovered, near the north bank of New Inlet,
great piles of debris in the surf, and offshore, in the breakers, the
last solid remnant of the vessel, rising and falling in the eerie false
dawn.
EACH MAN A HERO 107
Here the} 7 - met a party of fishermen who said they had discovered
one of the survivors and had taken him to their camp on Jack's
Shoal, a small island on the sound side of the inlet. The keeper and
two lifesavers borrowed a boat from the fishermen and headed for
the island, while the remaining Pea Island crewmen began a
systematic search of the debris for survivors, a search which proved
completely futile.
The keeper had better luck, finding at Jack's Shoal the man the
fishermen had saved, now dry, warmed by hot coffee, and swathed
in bedclothes. And on his return still a third survivor was dis-
covered, this one crumpled on the sand near the beach. The man
was unconscious and hardly breathing, but they hurried with him
to the station, stripped him of his wet clothing, rubbed warmth
and life into his limbs, administered restoratives, and soon had him
sufficiently recovered to be out of danger.
Thus three of the seven aboard the Henderson were rescued, but
little information could be gained as to the reason for the vessel's
loss or the circumstances surrounding the death of the others; for
these three were the deckhands, men of foreign birth, unable to
speak or understand more than an occasional word of English.
The fact that they were illiterates and of a different race and
color seems to have brought suspicion on them in the first place,
especially in the eyes of the Henderson's owners. Had they been
white men, with sufficient knowledge of our language to state their
case, no matter how implausible it might have been, the affair
probably would have ended there, with nothing more than un-
spoken questions as to why the vessel had stranded under such
circumstances and how it happened that only deckhands survived.
But they were dark-skinned foreigners, and on warrants sworn out
by the owners they were arrested, transported to Baltimore, and
clapped in jail there, to wait in solitude for many months before
their case finally came to trial.
That is all there was to it; for the trial produced nothing new
in the way of information, and the three men were set free at last
for want of evidence, leaving us with nothing but a sketchy and
provoking outline of one more shipwreck mystery on the North
Carolina coast.
io8 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
A. B. GOODMAN
Few of the early lifesavers had worldly belongings worth the
mention: a shack back in the woods behind the dunes, a horse or
cow and a hand-made cart; a gun of some sort; maybe a little boat
and a piece of net; and probably a few acres of sandy beachland,
theirs through inheritance or the right of the squatter.
It was an unusual sight, therefore, and one probably never since
duplicated along the outer banks, to see seven men gathered around
a rough table in the Creeds Hill Lifesaving Station before dawn,
April 4, 1 88 1, all engaged in preparing simple wills, bequeathing
their meager belongings to their loved ones. Most could not write,
and the literate ones did double duty, drawing up the plain docu-
ments and indicating for the others the spot where they should
make their faltering X marks.
Why this sudden concern over the disposition of worldly goods?
Why were seven strong and healthy men, each at the same time
and all for the first time putting their affairs in final order? The
reason was that they were soon to put to sea in their light, flat-
bottomed rowboat and head out to the very center of treacherous
Diamond Shoals at the height of a raging offshore wind against
which, if it continued in force, they could have no hope of ever
again returning to the safety of land. For a vessel was aground on
the shoals, and human beings clung to her rigging; human beings
whose names and homes and nationalities were unknown to the
seven men, but whose lives were their responsibility.
B. B. Dailey was keeper of the Creeds Hill Station, and the first
to make out his will; his crewmen were Thomas J. Fulcher, Damon
M. Gray, Erasmus H. Rolinson, Benjamin F. Whidbee, Christopher
B. Farrow, and John B. Whidbee. They pulled on heavy clothes
and dragged their boat down to the beach, leaving the wills be-
hind. Snow fell as they made ready to launch, large wet flakes that
came at them horizontally from the northwest, plastering their
clothes and faces on the side to windward.
The sea there on the south side of Cape Hatteras was calm enough
to permit the launching; but once offshore beyond the protection
of the land the wind struck them from one direction, the strong
current from the other, twisting their boat about in crazy fashion,
EACH MAN A HERO 109
exposing them again and again to the full force of the sea's awe-
some uprising.
The surprising thing was that they ever reached the vessel out
there on Diamond Shoals, but they did; they got close enough to
read the name, A. B. Goodman, on her stern and to see four men
clinging to her rigging (a fifth had been washed overboard and
drowned during the night.) The lifesavers realized the futility of
trying to rescue the four men with wind and sea at their angry
worst, and so they anchored near by, yet kept their oars in constant
readiness. An hour they waited, and then another. Their action in
writing wills seemed fully justified, for without a change of wind
they could neither rescue the castaways, nor themselves survive.
Then, as their hope and strength waned, and the full realization
of their plight came to them, as the Goodman began to go to pieces
and their own frail boat began to fill, the wind slackened, died out
almost completely, then shifted around and blew in from the sea.
They pulled up underneath the tangled rigging then; but as the
first of the four seamen climbed down almost within reach, close
enough to realize the smallness and inadequacy of the would-be
rescue craft, he was overcome with a sudden fear and scrambled
back once more to his perch high above. Keeper Dailey pleaded
then, convinced another that this was his only hope, inveigled the
man into coming close, reached out and grasped him as he too held
back and pulled him bodily into the lifeboat. Another ventured
close, was seized by the Keeper and torn from the shrouds; and the
other two, perceiving this, followed voluntarily.
The rescued captain was seated in the stern sheets of the little
boat, the three crewmen on the thwarts. Oars were manned, the
anchor hauled aboard, and at last the eleven of them, almost swamp-
ing the lifeboat, began the long pull shoreward. The wind was more
favorable, but the sea was as rough as before and the current as
strong. Hour after hour they rowed, and finally, late that afternoon
they passed inside of the shifting shoals, crossed a gully near the
shore, and beached their boat at last on the north side of the cape.
The rescued men were taken to the near-by lighthouse where food
awaited them; but the lifesavers, not waiting for food, hurried
back along the beach the six miles to Creeds Hill, where the would-
be beneficiaries of their seven wills were waiting.
no GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
DULCIMER
Probably there is no connection between the two, but the fact
is that the point east of Hatteras Inlet where the sugar-laden bark
Dulcimer was lost February 12, 1883, has long been considered by
surf fishermen one of the finest spots on the Atlantic coast for
catching channel bass.
There was $32,000 worth of sugar in the hold of the Dulcimer
when she came ashore there, and in those days $32,000 would buy
a lot of sugar. But though the eleven crewmen of the 290-ton
English vessel were saved, the cargo of sugar, picked up in Brazil
and scheduled for use on the tables of greater New York, was left
there to sweeten the waters now frequented by great schools of
the fighting channel bass.
ANGELA
In these days of large ocean-going steamships equipped with
every conceivable device for saving life and preventing disaster, of
radar and airplanes and blimps and helicopters, of amphibious
ducks and jeeps suitable for rapid beach patrol, the mariner in
distress has the odds all in his favor. But in times past, when sailing
ships dominated ocean traffic and the lifesaver walked his lonely
vigil along trackless sand reefs, before ship-to-shore telephone came
into usage, or even wireless for that matter, the odds were strictly
on the other side.
During the comparatively short period in which the United
States Lifesaving Service was in operation on the North Carolina
coast 1875 to 1915 hundreds of ships presumed lost off the banks
were listed in the annual reports of that agency with the brief
notation: "Lost at sea never heard from." These listings are so
numerous, and the information as to time and exact location so
sketchy, that they are purposely omitted from this volume. But
some idea of the utter helplessness of the crews of these lost vessels,
and of the thin threads of chance on which their lives depended,
can be gleaned from the accounts of other shipwrecks from which
human beings escaped with their lives.
Imagine, for example, the hopeless feeling of the ten Italian crew-
EACH MAN A HERO in
men on board the 373-ton barkentine Angela when she sprang a
leak at sea while en route from Cartagena, Spain, to Baltimore with
a cargo of iron ore. The pumps took care of it for a while, then the
open seams widened as the vessel wallowed in the sea, until finally
it was obvious to all that the Angela, heavily laden as she was with
the dead weight of the iron ore, could never reach the port for
which she had sailed. It was not a situation peculiar to the ten
Italians on the Angela in the spring of 1883, for the crewmen of
many of those "never heard from" ships must have faced the same
thing.
Captain Carlo of the Angela could have abandoned his craft
there, to drift for hours or days or weeks in his frail yawl until it
capsized or a passing vessel came in sight, or he and his crewmen
died from starvation or thirst or exposure, or the horrible insanity
so frequently resulting from any of the three. Instead, he stayed
by the ship, headed westward for the coast, hoping that he could
beach the Angela before she sank completely. Other mariners have
chosen the same course and died for it.
At midnight, March 4, with the sky dark and overcast and only
the thunderous crashing of the breakers to announce the proximity
of land, the Angela struck bottom, grated forward momentarily,
and then held fast. Still she rolled, as each succeeding breaker struck
her, and jagged holes appeared in her hull where only open seams
had been before. Having been at sea for weeks without sight of
land, and possessing in any event only a limited knowledge of the
conformation of this foreign coastline, Captain Carlo was able to
do no more than speculate as to the place where they had stranded.
It might be the dreaded shoals off Cape Hatteras, or the bar making
out from some shallow inlet, or any of a thousand other places on
the coast. Land, the dry, hard-packed, above-water kind, might be
a hundred yards distant, or fifteen mileg. The only thing of which
Captain Carlo could be certain was that his vessel was aground,
the breakers were fast pounding her to pieces, and now that he had
accomplished what he had set out to do the lives of his crewmen
were as much in danger as before.
Captain Carlo had his yawl launched there in the dark, hurriedly
boarded it with his nine men, shoved off from the Angela, and
headed seaward. Shortly a light was seen to the west, a brightly
ii2 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
burning red light, the international signal that assistance was at
hand. Later, shots were heard and at daybreak the Italian captain
was able to better understand the situation. The Angela had drifted
within three hundred yards of shore, and a group of men life-
savers from Paul Gamiels Hill Station had set up their beach
apparatus there and fired a line aboard the vessel.
Captain Carlo headed for shore, intending to beach his yawl op-
posite the men. But the lifesavers waved him back, displaying a
large red flag as a warning. Soon the Italian tried again, was waved
back a second time; he moved up the beach and headed in a third
time but was still warned away. What he did not know was that
the tide was then at its highest and the beach at that particular spot
was so steep that it was impossible to successfully guide a boat
through the surf. Not understanding this, the Captain proceeded
out to sea, beyond the farthest line of breakers and headed north.
Four miles, five, seven, his crew rowed, until a building came into
view and another group of men on the beach opposite. This was
Caffeys Inlet Station, and the lifesavers there, having sighted the
Italian yawl, had hauled their own lifeboat down to the beach,
which sloped much more gradually there than at Paul Gamiels
Hill. They launched their lifeboat through the still turbulent surf,
shipping a barrel of water or more in the process, but reached the
yawl, removed five of the Italians, returned them safely to shore,
and then went back for the others.
Thus Captain Carlo and his nine crewmen lived; but the Angela
and her cargo of iron ore were lost there in the surf a quarter of a
mile south of Paul Gamiels Hill Station; and had their luck been
different, had Captain Carlo taken to his yawl earlier or a strong
gale struck them while heading for shore, or if any one of a dozen
different circumstances had arisen, the Angela and her crew of ten
could easily have been listed with hundreds more, simply as: "Lost
at sea never heard from."
EPHRAIM WILLIAMS
During the first thirty years of operation of the Lif esaving Serv-
ice on the North Carolina coast a total of twelve Gold Lif esaving
Medals, highest such award made by our government, were pre-
EACH MAN A HERO 113
sented for exceptional bravery in saving life. Of this number, seven
more than half were awarded to the lifesavers from Cape Hat-
teras and Creeds Hill stations who rescued the crew of the bark-
entine Ephraim Williams, December 22, 1884.
The Ephraim Williams, a 491 -ton vessel loaded with lumber and
bound from Savannah, Georgia, to her home port of Providence,
Rhode Island, with a crew of nine, ran into a storm off Frying Pan
Shoals December 18 and soon became waterlogged and unman-
ageable.
On December 2 1 she appeared southwest of Cape Hatteras and
was kept under surveillance throughout that day by lifesavers who
had assembled near the cape point for service if needed. Late the
following morning the vessel, having temporarily disappeared, was
discovered north of Diamond Shoals and almost opposite Big Kin-
nakeet, to which point the lifesavers then proceeded with their
boats and apparatus. The sea was described by veteran observers
in the area as the roughest they had ever seen, with huge rollers
crashing first on the outer reef a half mile or so from shore, and
then churning all the way in, across the inner reef, to the beach.
Beyond these farthest breakers, wallowing in the huge waves, the
Ephraim Williams seemed on the verge of sinking, for her decks
were awash, and only her masts showed above water.
The lifesavers paused abreast of the vessel, just watching and
waiting, for there was no sign of life on board, and even if there
had been, it was the opinion of most of them and of their neighbors
who had assembled there with them that no boat could live in
such a sea.
Then suddenly, as they watched, a flag fluttered out on the mast
of the stricken ship and was slowly hauled upward as a signal of
distress. Someone was yet alive on the derelict vessel!
Keeper Benjamin B. Dailey of Cape Hatteras Station immediately
called on his men to launch their boat. With no more hesitation
than he himself had shown, they carried out his orders, Keeper
Patrick H. Etheridge (who had recently relieved Dailey as Keeper
of Creeds Hill Station) stepping in to take the place of an absent
crewman. Cumbersome clothing was removed, each man donned a
cork belt, and all loose articles in the boat were carefully lashed
down. The boat was hauled to the water's edge. Sk men stepped
u 4 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
inside, took their seats, each grasping his oar in readiness. Others
helped push the craft into the shallow water, while Keeper Dailey
jumped in over the stern, stood there, his feet braced, the long
steering oar held against his side.
The very first strokes took them into the inner line of breakers,
over one wave crashing down in front of them, then over another
and another and another. Each wave tossed the surfboat high in
the air, then dumped it into the trough beyond, concealing the boat
from shore, flipping it up and down, up and down, while the life-
savers pulled with mighty strokes on their heavy oars and Keeper
Dailey bent his weight against the sweep.
They passed those first breakers, somehow, moved seaward
through the seething, churning turbulent mass of water between
the two reefs, paused momentarily as they came to the outer line,
waiting for a break in the huge combers before them. At last the
break came, Dailey shouted an order, the oars dug in and the little
craft fairly leaped forward into the seething foam. The first wave
capped over, broke before them, pushing the bow of the boat high
in the air, until she stood almost vertical so that the anxious watchers
on shore could see every one of her crew, and the decking beneath
their feet, and the ropes lashed down beside them. Then, as sud-
denly as that wave had struck, it rolled beneath them, the boat
levelled off, and before the next one could come down on top of
them the lifesavers had passed through the outer breakers.
They rescued the crew of the barkentine one by one, for even
out there beyond the breakers the sea was too rough to come in
close to the sinking vessel. Already the castaways had decided to
abandon ship, had lashed together improvised rafts, and one, even,
had been pushed off from beside the ship. Had they followed that
course, had the lifesavers not come to their aid, they would have
faced those breakers with slight hope of making shore alive. But
Dailey and his men not only reached them, but managed, somehow,
to return through those same breakers to the safety of shore.
"I do not believe that a greater act of heroism is recorded than
that of Dailey and his crew on this momentous occasion," reported
the officer sent down later to investigate. "These poor, plain men,
dwellers upon the lonely sands of Hatteras, took their lives in their
hands, and, at the most imminent risk, crossed the most tumultuous
EACH MAN A HERO 115
sea that any boat within the memory of living men had ever at-
tempted on that bleak coast, and all for what? That others might
live to see homes and friends. The names of Benjamin B. Dailey and
his comrades in this magnificent feat should never be forgotten."
Benjamin B. Dailey, Patrick H. Etheridge, Isaac L. Jennett,
Thomas Gray, John H. Midgett, Jabez B. Jennett, and Charles
Fulcher. Those are the names; each the recipient of the nation's
highest award for saving life.
ARIO PARDEE
By land it is about ninety miles from Perth Amboy, New Jersey
to Chester, Pennsylvania; under normal conditions a sailing vessel
can make it down the Jersey coast and then up the Delaware River
to Chester in a day or so. But Captain Henry A. Smith of the 198-
ton schooner Arlo Pardee, attempting this trip with his vessel loaded
with cement, ran into one gale after another in late December,
1884, and ten days later found himself stranded on the North
Carolina outer banks, several hundred miles south of where he
wanted to go.
Captain Smith sailed from Perth Amboy at 7 A.M., December 18,
with four crewmen. He passed Sandy Hook at 1 1 A.M., and when
off Long Branch early that afternoon ran into a severe snowstorm.
By then the wind was blowing strong from the north so Smith
decided to ride it out.
That particular northerly gale lasted 56 long hours and was ac-
companied by continuous high seas which swept everything mov-
able from the Pardee's decks.
The wind then shifted to the south and increased again to gale
force. Smith rode that one out, too.
The next day the wind went around to the northwest. Once again
it reached gale proportions, and for the third time Smith rode it
out.
Finally, the wind calming down a bit, the Pardee ran for the.
land, reaching the Five Fathom Bank Lightship, located off the
entrance to Delaware Bay, which is just where Smith wanted to go
in the first place. It had been six days since the Pardee left Perth
Amboy but she was still only halfway to Chester; and to make
n6 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
matters worse another gale blew up, this one from the west, so
Smith hove to.
Twelve hours later, the wind abating once again, Smith tried to
beat his way into Delaware Bay, but the wind hauled around to the
north and his jib blew away. Again he hove to, and since by this
time the Pardee's boat had been stove in and the schooner was
shipping a lot of water, he hailed a passing steamer and asked to be
taken off. The steamer got a line on board and removed one man,
but by then night was coming on, the sea was running very high, so
the operation was discontinued.
For the next sixty hours the Pardee, with four men on board, rode
out the northerly gale. Finally it, too, died out, and Smith set what
sails remained and steered a west course for land. At midnight,
December 28 ten days after leaving Perth Amboy a light was
sighted, and Smith let go his anchors. At dawn the next morning
he found the Pardee almost in the breakers at Wash Woods, North
Carolina, with lifesavers standing by on shore.
After that it was a simple matter for the lifesavers to come out
in their surfboat and remove the four men, and soon afterwards the
Pardee slipped her chains and stranded on the shore, both vessel
and cargo eventually being totally lost. Wash Woods was a long
way from Chester, but even so Captain Smith seemed happy enough
to be on dry land once again.
NELLIE WADSWORTH
The little schooner Nellie Wadsworth was anchored in Hatteras
Inlet the morning of December 5, 1885, her captain intending to
Wait there until the strong southwest gale then in progress was
sufficiently diminished to permit passage through the shallow cut
to Pamlico Sound. But the Wadswartb never reached the sound,
and her remains are probably still there, buried in the shoals on the
north side of the inlet, while somewhere near by the body of one
of her crewmen lies interred in an unmarked sand grave.
Lifesavers from Durants Station saw the Wadsworth soon after
she came to anchor and kept her under close watch throughout the
day. In fact, when she dragged in over the shoals they proceeded
to the scene with their surfboat, but finding her riding smoothly in
EACH MAN A HERO n 7
calm water just beyond the beach, and seeing no signal of distress
from the vessel, they made no effort to reach her at that time.
At 9 o'clock that night the beach patrolman found the vessel still
firmly held by her anchor, but when his relief reached the scene at
i A.M. on December 6 he discovered that the 6i-ton schooner had
dragged her anchors and was lying in the very midst of the break-
ers, broadside to the beach about 120 yards off. The surf man,
W. R. Austin, signalled to the castaways, and then returned to his
station with all possible speed. By 3 A.M. the lifesavers were again
on the scene, this time with their beach apparatus, and although the
night was dark and the schooner had no lights, the first shot fired
at the vessel landed within easy reach of the crew.
It was cold that December night, the temperature well below the
freezing point. In the main rigging, where they had been forced
to take refuge, the five men on board the Wadswortb were so
numbed by the cold and so cramped in their precarious perch, that
they could hardly budge the line.
The procedure in effecting a rescue by breeches buoy from ship
to shore is basically simple. First, a shot is fired over the ship with
a strong, light line attached; then a block is tied to the shore end
of this, with a heavier line (known as a whip line) threaded through
the block. The lifesavers hold on to both ends of the whip line and
when at last the block is drawn aboard the vessel and tied high on
a mast it is possible for the lifesavers to send something out to the
vessel (a hawser, or breeches buoy, or life car, or cork jackets) or
by hauling on the other end of the whip, to bring men or equip-
ment to shore.
In the case of the Nellie Wadsworth the crew managed to get the
block and whip line on board, but had just finished tying the former
to the mast when the mast gave way, breaking off just above the
block and crashing into the water. The lifesavers quickly tied
several cork jackets to one end of the whip line and sent them off
to the ship, but when within a few yards of their destination they
became entangled in floating rigging. One of the crewmen, a man
named George Richardson, jumped into the icy water and swam
toward the life belts. He reached them at length but was so over-
come by the cold that he finally lapsed into unconsciousness before
succeeding in untangling them from the debris.
n8 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
Meanwhile, unable to see what had happened but realizing that
the line was rendered useless, the lif esavers tied their end to the lone
beach pony they had employed in hauling the apparatus to the
scene, and by driving the pony high on the beach succeeded in re-
leasing the line. In this manner the belts and debris, with the un-
conscious form of George Richardson entangled in them, were
dragged back through the surf to shore.
With the line thus clear the lif esavers were then able to rescue
three more members of the crew in rapid succession, though the
fifth and last man lost his grip on the line and had to be hauled from
the surf bodily.
Both Richardson and the fifth crewmen were revived there on
the bleak sand spit and a start was made for the station, three miles
away. But Richardson, thinly clad and suffering acutely from his
exertions and exposure, begged to be left alone, then closed his eyes,
and again lapsed into unconsciousness. He died soon after.
Each of the lifesavers then took one of the castaways in charge,
and the long trek toward the station was resumed, but long before
it was reached the four survivors became so exhausted that they
were unable to walk, and pleaded piteously to be left there on the
beach to sleep and rest; a course which almost certainly would have
resulted in their death. The lifesavers pressed onward, however,
sometimes dragging the limp sailors, sometimes carrying them on
their backs along the cold and storm-flooded beach, and finally, at
seven o'clock that morning, the station was reached, fires were built,
stimulants prepared, and the four men were provided with dry
clothing and hot food.
They remained there for several weeks, too feeble and ill at first
to rise from the beds on which they had been placed, but in time
they recovered sufficiently to return to their homes, leaving their
shipmate, Richardson, and the little schooner Nettie Wadsworth
to rest forever in the sands of Hatteras Island,
ALLffi R. CHESTER
At dawn, January 20, 1889, the lookout on duty at Cape Hatteras
Station made out the dim shape of a vessel aground on the outer
edge of Diamond Shoals. A close watch was kept throughout that
EACH MAN A HERO 119
morning, and since no distress signals were seen it was determined
that the vessel was a schooner that had been wrecked in the same
vicinity earlier.
Twenty-four hours later, however, the lifesavers still were not
convinced that the schooner was an old wreck, and so launched
their surfboat and rowed to the scene. They approached within
one-half mile, still saw no signs of distress or of life on board, and
returned to their station. Meanwhile a passing schooner stopped
to investigate, as did a wrecking steamer; but both, drawing the
same conclusion as had the lifesavers, proceeded on their way.
Late that second afternoon a day and a half after the vessel was
sighted from the station lookout the schooner James E. Kelsey,
passing near the wreck, discovered signs of life on board, and on
approaching closer, found three men. The survivors said that the
vessel was the schooner Allie R. Chester, which had stranded on
Diamond Shoals while en route from Charleston to New York with
a cargo of phosphate. Five other crewmen had been washed over-
board soon after the vessel struck, and the three survivors, suffering
acutely from exposure, thirst, and hunger, had wrapped themselves
in the voluminous canvas gaff topsail where they had remained
until rescued, too weak even to signal for help.
HENRY P. SIMMONS
Robert Lee Garnett was a large man, powerfully built; he was a
seafaring man, possessing great fortitude, determination, and faith.
In 1889 Robert Lee Garnett was one of eight men comprising
the crew of the three-masted schooner Henry P. Si?mnon$, a fine,
staunch 650-ton Philadelphia vessel engaged in the coastal trade.
In mid-October of that year the Simmons took on a cargo of phos-
phate rock at Charleston, and on October 17 put to sea, her destina-
tion Baltimore.
The first five days the voyage produced nothing out of the
ordinary for seaman Robert Lee Garnett and his shipmates, and by
noon of October 23 the SiwmoTis was well past Cape Hatteras and
nearing the entrance to Chesapeake Bay. With no prior indication
that a storm was in the offing, a strong easterly gale suddenly struck
the schooner and by eight o'clock that evening was blowing in
izo GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
gusts of hurricane intensity, building up huge seas through which
the vessel plunged, shipping great quantities of water in the process.
At this point the captain ordered his men to take in the already
close-reefed mainsail, but so strong was the wind and so furious
the action of the sea that they were unable to comply, and the
captain and his crew were forced to lash the helm and take to the
rigging. This left the Si?rmwns almost completely at the mercy of
the wind and waves, and the two ganged up on her in royal fashion,
finally driving the vessel on shore at 10: 30 that night on the lower
end of Pebble Shoals, right at the boundary line between the states
of Virginia and North Carolina.
She bilged and filled with water almost immediately, the top of
her cabin was swept away by one of the first breakers which struck
her, and the Sitmnons soon settled in the sands until her hull was
completely submerged, and nothing but the three masts was left
above water.
A torrential rain, which continued throughout most of the night,
limited visibility to only a few yards, so that the eight men clinging
to the rigging were unable to determine even their general loca-
tion; all they could do was to hold on there, shielding their bodies
as best they could from the wind and the cold, driving rain.
Four and a half hours after they struck the shoal at 3 A.M.,
October 24the steward, numbed, exhausted, and unable to hold
on any longer, fell from his perch on the mast and was lost in the
churning surf below.
The officer who investigated the disaster later gave this account
of the situation confronting the seven men still alive at dawn: "The
scene from the rigging of the wreck was a wild and terrifying one.
The wind still raged and the waves broke into surf as far offshore
as the eye could see through the pelting rain and spoon drift, while
to the leeward lay the low sand hills, which ever and anon came
into sight and were then hidden by the towering billows that madly
chased one another shoreward, and were there scattered with
thunderous roar into a smother of foam and spray upon the desolate
beach."
The castaways found themselves more than a thousand yards
from shore, and when lifesavers appeared on the beach that morn-
ing and attempted to fire a line aboard the wreck, the shot covered
EACH MAN A HERO 121
little more than half the distance. But the fact that the lifesavers
were there, and knew of their plight, was at least encouraging.
The seven men, however, were in need of something more
tangible than encouragement. Even as the lifesavers were in the
process of setting up their gear the second mate was swept from
the rigging to certain death, and soon after the unsuccessful shot
was fired in their direction a third man met the same fate. This left
only five crewmen still alive on what remained of the "fine,
staunch" three-master Henry P. Simmons; and long before that day
was ended yet another fell from the mast, to disappear forever.
That night was the second Robert Lee Garnett spent in the
rigging, soaked to the skin, without adequate clothing to protect
his body from the winter cold, ravaged by the pangs of hunger,
able to gain sustenance only from what rain water he could catch
in his free hand and the hollow of his hat.
At dawn the next day October 25 the lifesavers attempted to
launch a surfboat from the beach but were thrown back. As a last
resort they dispatched a telegraph message to Norfolk, asking for
the assistance of a tug; and a tug did start from Hampton Roads,
got as far as Cape Henry, but was thwarted by the terrific sea off-
shore and returned to her berth.
At noon that day another of the castaways fell from the rigging
of the doomed vessel, leaving only three men alive.
Driftwood fires were lighted on the beach that night, the third
the men had spent in the rigging, and at dawn the following day,
October 26, the three survivors, including Robert Lee Garnett,
were still there, still clinging to what remained of the masts and
rigging. Three attempts were made that day to launch a surfboat
from the beach, lifesavers from four different stations on the
Virginia and North Carolina coast taking part, but each time the
would-be rescuers were tossed back on the beach.
That afternoon another of the survivors fell from his perilous
perch and was drowned, leaving only two men alive; and still later
one of these lost his grip and disappeared in the turbulent sea. Of
the eight men who had shipped on board the Simmons only Robert
Lee Garnett remained alive.
The surfside watch was increased that night; the driftwood fires
burned brighter than ever. From shore, in the darkness, it was im-
122 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
possible to see the tall thin masts a half mile out there on the shoal
or to tell whether the single man out there was still alive. But he
had been there at dusk, a forlorn and helpless being, still alive; and
for the lifesavers that was reason enough to keep the fires burning
brightly.
Before dawn the next morning the wind died down, shifted to
the westward, breaking the force of the waves which had pounded
across Pebble Shoals for four successive nights. In the early morn-
ing darkness a boat was finally launched, lifesavers under command
of veteran Keeper Malachi Corbel rowed the thousand yards to
the sunken ship, waited there until the first light of day appeared
in the sky, then pulled up close beside the wreck.
Miraculously, Garnett was still there, still alive, wrapped in the
tattered remnants of a sail. He climbed down stiffly from the rig-
ging, made his way slowly toward them, dropped into the boat,
and was quickly returned to shore. Eighty hours he had clung to
the rigging, experiencing pain and hunger and thirst and despair
which had proved fatal to his seven companions eighty hours
through which few other men could have Hved. But Robert Lee
Garnett, remember, was a man of powerful physical build a man
of great fortitude, determination, and faith.
THE OCTOBER STORM OF 1889
The terrible storm of October 23, 1889, in which Robert Lee
Garnett's seven shipmates lost their lives, continued its destructive
work all along the North Carolina coast.
At Nags Head, thirty-five miles to the south, the beach patrol
from Kill Devil Hills Station discovered the upside-down hull of
a vessel in the breakers the next morning. There was no sign of
life, for each wave swept over the upturned hull, but a body was
found on the beach soon after, and a second one was recovered
after the storm had subsided. The vessel was the Francis E. Waters,
a 147-ton schooner hailing from Baltimore, which had left George-
town, South Carolina, a few days previous with a cargo of lumber
destined for Philadelphia and a crew of six men.
At approximately this same time and some twenty-five miles
farther south, the three-masted schooner Annie , Blackm&n of
EACH MAN A HERO 123
Somers Point, New Jersey, bound from Philadelphia to Jackson-
ville with a cargo of coal, was thrown on her beam ends three miles
off New Inlet. The vessel sank, and the seven crewmen were tossed
into the sea, six of them losing their lives. The seventh, the captain,
had donned a cork life jacket the day before and so floated toward
shore, eventually reaching New Inlet. It was dark when the captain
crawled up on the beach and making his way inland he soon dis-
covered a telegraph pole. Tying himself to the pole with a line
which he happened to have in his pocket he walked round and
round, like a horse tethered to a stake, in order that he might keep
up his circulation. He was still walking when he was found the next
morning by lif esavers.
Hardly had the captain of the Elackman been carried back to the
lifesaving station, however, when another vessel was discovered on
the beach in the same vicinity. This was the 43y-ton schooner
Lizzie S. Haynes, and even as the lifesavers reached the scene the
three masts broke off near the vessel's deck and, with a crash that
was audible above the roar of the wind, fell into the sea.
There had been seven men aboard the Haynes when she stranded.
Now, only fifteen minutes later, only two could be seen from shore.
A line was quickly fired on board and the two men the captain
and steward had pulled most of it out to the vessel when it sud-
denly caught in floating debris and broke in two. Another line was
fired, and yet another, and not until four o'clock that afternoon
was the breeches buoy finally put in operation.
There were delays, even then, for a third man remained alive on
the Haynes* This was the mate of the vessel, who had been injured
when the mast fell and by this time was delirious; he had violently
resisted all efforts by the captain and steward to place him in the
breeches buoy and with the approach of darkness was at last left
there while the other two were drawn to safety.
At ebb tide, later that night, a lif esaver went out in the breeches
buoy and found the body of the mate yet warm. The body was
quickly drawn ashore, stimulants were administered, and the life-
savers tried every way they knew to revive him, but to no avail.
And so the mate of the Haynes joined four other of his companions
in death, bringing the toll for that disastrous storm to twenty-four
lives lost. Yet the carnage was not ended, for still another vessel
i2 4 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
came ashore that afternoon, the 2jo-ton schooner Busiris, of St.
John, New Brunswick, which stranded and was lost two hundred
yards north of Poyners Hill Station, the fifth craft destroyed by
that one storm within an area extending for less than a hundred
miles along the Carolina coast.
JOSEPH H. NEFF
One of the few instances on record of the keeper of a lif esaving
station on this coast being discharged for negligence resulted, ironi-
cally, from the wreck of a tiny schooner of only ten tons burden,
carrying a cargo valued at less than three hundred dollars, and with
a total crew of but two men.
This was the schooner Joseph H. Neff of Wilmington, employed
in hauling small cargoes of freight in the vicinity of that city, and
en route at the time of her loss from Lockwoods Folly to the Cape
Fear River with a load of tar, wood, and turpentine.
She was discovered anchored just beyond the breakers and in
distress two and a half miles southwest of the Oak Island Station at
4 A.M., December 17, 1890, by a surfman on patrol who hastened
back to his station with the news.
Keeper Savage, who had but recently taken over in that capacity,
decided it would be a good idea to brew up a pot of coffee before
departing for the wreck, thus occasioning the first of several need-
less delays. And when finally he and his crew started for the scene
they went empty-handed, leaving both their surfboat and beach
apparatus behind.
Further, when the scene of the wreck was reached and several
barrels were found floating in the surf, the Keeper ordered his men
to drag these out of the water and place them above the high water
mark before going on to the wrecked vessel.
When the lif esavers finally arrived at the scene of the wreck,
two men were hanging to the partly submerged craft. A small skiff
belonging to the Neff had drifted ashore near by, and the Keeper
had this dragged to the scene, but it was then discovered that the
skiff had no oars, so one surfman was left on the beach while the
remaining members of the Oak Island crew returned the two and a
half miles to the station for the surfboat.
EACH MAN A HERO 125
Meanwhile the craft went to pieces in the surf, and the lone
lifesaver managed to drag both men to the beach, where one was
found to be dead. By the time Keeper Savage returned the whole
business had come to an end; and so, it developed, had his brief
position as keeper.
STRATHAIRLY
One of the most disastrous wrecks in the history of Hatteras
Island was that of the 1,2 3 6-ton schooner-rigged screw steamer
Strathairly, which stranded a mile and a quarter south of Chicama-
comico Station, March 24, 1891.
The Strathairly hailed from Newcastle, England, and was en
route from Santiago, Cuba, to Baltimore with a cargo of iron ore
and twenty-six in her crew when she encountered a fog north of
Hatteras and stranded a little after 4:30 that morning. She im-
mediately sounded distress signals on her steam whistle, and these
were soon answered by the red glare from a Coston light, burned
by the Chicamacomico beach patrolman, who then hurried back
to his station for help.
One hour after the steamer first struck, the crew of Chicama-
comico Station had arrived on the scene, and though the wrecked
vessel was not visible through the fog an experimental shot was fired
in her direction, falling far short of the target. Within two hours
of the time she stranded the crews of two other stations and the
district superintendent of the Lifesaving Service, as well as a large
number of people from the village of Chicamacomico, had as-
sembled on the beach opposite the stranded vessel.
For something like four hours that morning until shortly after
ten o'clock the people there on the beach were helpless to render
aid to the shipwrecked crew. Because of the exceptionally rough sea,
boat service was considered out of the question; because of the
dense fog the Strathairly could not be seen, and only the periodic
sounding of her whistle and the sound of human voices were evi-
dence that there really was a vessel aground out there.
The fog finally lifted a little after 10 A.M., and for the first time
the lifesavers and Chicamacomico citizens could see the Strathairly.
Her mainmast had long since fallen; all of her boats had been dashed
126 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
to pieces in the surf; the vessel itself had broken completely in
two; and twenty-three of the twenty-six men who had comprised
her crew were huddled together in the bow part, the other three
the captain, first mate and chief engineer having already drowned
when the mast fell.
As soon as the fog lifted the Lyle gun was fired, but the shot fell
short, for the Strathairly was then a quarter of a mile from shore.
The second shot fell short also. The third, with a smaller line at-
tached, landed on the forecastle, where the survivors began to haul
it aboard, only to have it break when the gear was within a few
feet of the vessel.
Still another shot was fired, this one striking the forward rail.
Again the men pulled on it, and again the line broke. The lifesavers
tried again, and then again, and again, and again, firing as fast as
the lines could be hauled ashore and set up. For five full hours it
went on, shot after shot after shot, some falling short of the target,
others breaking as the handful of survivors still strong enough
attempted to haul them on board. There were, actually, only three
of the twenty-three men at this time who were not so overcome
with the results of exposure or injuries as to prevent their helping
in these activities.
A little after three o'clock that afternoon one of the seamen,
Albert Smith, put on a life belt and jumped overboard. Those
gathered on the beach finally pulled him from the surf unconscious
and nearly dead. He was taken to a near-by residence and revived,
the first person saved from the stranded ship. Three others already
were dead; the remaining nineteen were still on board the wreck.
Again the lifesavers attempted to fire a line on board; again it
broke. Darkness was approaching by then, the tide was once more
coming in, and after a full day of steady attempts at rescue they
were no nearer than before in accomplishing their purpose.
At twenty minutes before five that afternoon exactly twelve
hours after the vessel first struck the remaining crewmen, having
been provided with life belts, jumped one by one into the boiling,
writhing surf, and the current carried them far to the south.
The lifesavers and villagers, aware of the drift to the south, were
deployed in that direction for more than a mile. By dark that night
sixteen of the crewmen had been dragged from the water. Of this
EACH MAN A HERO 127
number ten were dead when they reached the shore. Thus, that
night, most of the Strathairly crewmen were sheltered in the Chica-
macomico Station house, seven of them, the living ones, bedded
down in the bunks usually occupied by the surfmen, while ten
others, all dead, were laid out on the floor. The bodies of the other
nine were never recovered.
NOT THE ST. CATHARIS
They say you can still see the bloodstains on the floor of the old
Chicamacomico Station (now used as a boathouse) for many of
the bodies recovered from the surf following the wreck of the
Strathairly were badly cut and bruised from striking pieces of
wreckage. Some will tell you that the bloodstains are from the
ninety crewmen reported lost on a vessel called St. Catharis, and
there is written evidence in sources usually considered reliable to
back up such a statement.
The purpose of this book is to present factual narratives of the
more outstanding shipwrecks which have occurred on the coast
of North Carolina; certainly a wreck at Chicamacomico in 1891
resulting in ninety deaths would merit inclusion here. Yet the plain
facts are: there was no such wreck; and the whole story is the re-
sult of a series of coincidences, misrepresentations, and misunder-
standings. So that the matter may once and for all be set straight,
the facts are published here.
In 1892 the following notation was included in a listing of ship
losses for the year 1891: "British ship St. Catbaris wrecked off
Caroline Islands, April 16."
In more recent years the World Almanac and Book of Facts, in
a listing of "Marine Disasters," included: "April 16 (1891) British
ship St. Catharis wrecked off Carolina Island." *
* This writer corresponded with the editors of the World Almanac in connec-
tion with their listing of the St. Catharis (as well as their erroneous listing of the
Kensington-Templar affair in 1871) finally asking the specific question: p <c Where
is the Carolina Island you mention?"
The following answer was received (from A. E. Lenktis, who compiles their
listing of Marine Disasters) under date of June 8, 1951:
"As to the Carolina-Caroline controversy, this will be changed to Caroline in the
new listing. Not even the Coast Guard would hazard a guess on the location of
Carolina Island. Since I found both names, it was not too hard to pick the more
tangible location. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."
128 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
The deduction here is fairly obvious. Somewhere along the line
the letter "e" on the end of "Caroline" seems to have been sup-
planted by an "a", probably through typographical error. This
would not, however, account for the widespread story that the
St. Catharis was wrecked at the exact point of Chicamacomico and
that ninety of the seamen are buried there. Apparently the origin
of this is the following published statement: "Close by the station
(Chicamacomico) is the burial mound of British seamen drowned
in the wreck of the St. Catharis, Apr. 16, 1891, in which 90 lives
were lost." (North Carolina, A Guide To The Old North State,
Federal Writers' Project, WPA, Chapel Hill, 1939, page 300.)
This statement has been cited as the authentic basis for more
recent reprints of the St. Catharis story. But there is no mention
of such a wreck in the official reports of the United States Life-
saving Service; neither can any mention of it be found in contempo-
rary newspapers or periodicals. And though there are people living
on the outer banks who say they remember their parents telling
about the terrible wreck of the St. Catham, two men, both living
in the area at the time of the wreck and both still active and re-
spected citizens, say that there was no such wreck there.
Looking over the above facts the probable reason for the un-
founded stories of the wreck of the St. Catharis at Chicamacomico
is easily understood:
Within a month's time two large ships are lost.
Both are British ships.
One (St. Catharis) is lost off the Caroline Islands in the Pacific.
The other (Strathairly) is lost on one of the islands off the North
Carolina coast.
The loss of one (St. Catharis) is mentioned in listings of great
ship losses at that time.
The listing is reprinted many years later, and the letter V on
the end of the word "Caroline" is somehow changed to "a".
A WPA writer, coining across this mention of loss "Off Carolina
Island" checks with local residents of the islands off the Carolina
coast. They remember hearing of a large vessel wrecked in the
spring of 1891. Yes, it was a British craft. Yes, a number of people
were drowned. Yes, the name was something like St, Catharis.
EACH MAN A HERO 129
Thus, through a combination of typographical errors, similarity
in circumstances and dates, and reliance on stories handed down
from deceased ancestors, people begin to accept as fact the pub-
lished statements that the British ship St. Catharis was wrecked at
Chicamacomico, April 16, 1891; that ninety lives were lost; that
the bodies were laid out on the floor of the old Chicamacomico
Lifesaving Station until the floor was covered with blood; and that
the unmarked graves of the ninety drowned sailors are still there in
the sand. Yet, in reality, the St. Catharis was wrecked thousands of
miles from Chicamacomico, and the circumstances attributed to the
St. Catharis were those surrounding the loss of the steamer Strath-
airly, March 24, 1891, as recounted in this chapter from official
records.
NATHAN ESTERBROOK, JR.
Frequently delay and loss of life at the scene of a coastal ship-
wreck are caused by failure to make proper use of the lifesaving
apparatus. The wreck of the Nathan Esterbrook, Jr. February 20,
1893, is a good example.
The 7i3-ton three-master was beating her way southward along
the North Carolina coast with $33,000 worth of guano in her hold.
The night of the nineteenth the wind was from the southwest,
strong; the sky was clear, the water rough. At 12:40 A.M. on the
twentieth the Esterbrook struck the outer bar about two and a half
miles north of the Little Kinnakeet Station and was discovered
twenty minutes kter by Surfman L. B. Gray. Patrolling on horse-
back, Gray dismounted when he first spotted the craft about 1,000
feet offshore and immediately tried to light a red Coston signal to
let the people aboard the wreck know that help was at hand. But
the signal, and the two spares he carried with him, failed to burn,
so he mounted hurriedly, whipped his horse to a gallop, and in the
eerie darkness pounded along the hard-packed beach to the station.
Picture the confusion at Little Kinnakeet Station at 1:30 in the
moming of February 20, 1893. Even as the sleepy-eyed men pulled
on their heavy waterproof jackets and trousers and hip boots, the
voice of Keeper E. O. Hooper could be heard shouting orders:
i3o GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
two men were to hitch Gray's horse to a cart; a third, to load
the cart with medical supplies, blankets, life belts, extra shot, and
powder; the others, to wheel out the heavy beach apparatus.
Meanwhile Hooper telephoned the nearest stations Gull Shoal
to the north and Big Kinnakeet to the southfor assistance, then
he mounted the lookout tower and burned a red Coston flare in the
hope that those aboard the wTeck would know that help was on
the way.
Hooper then started oJff in the cart, while the six members of his
crewone was at home, ill hitched on to the beach apparatus
wagon like a six-mule team and set off behind him. Long before
they reached the wreck, however, the Big Kinnakeet crew, with a
pair of government horses, overtook the sis men. They all arrived
at the scene at about 3 A.M., and the Lyle gun was immediately
brought into requisition. It was carefully sighted by the lights of
the schooner, which were still burning, and a moment later a
friendly shot went whizzing through the air toward its mark.
Despite the distance and the wind, Hooper had aimed true. But
the shot, striking the heavy forestay, glanced off, carrying the at-
tached line into the water and out of reach of those aboard the
ship.
The line was hauled in and a second shot attempted, this one
falling short. But the third shot, with a lighter line attached and a
heavier charge of powder in the gun, landed in an excellent posi-
tion across the ship, midway between the foremast and mainmast.
Captain George L. Kelsey of the Esterbrook and his eight crew
members eagerly grasped the line, hauling it aboard until they
could reach the block sent out by the men on the beach. This they
attached to the mast and signalled by means of a lantern to send
out the breeches buoy.
Everything seemed to be proceeding in shipshape fashion up to
this point. But Kelsey, no doubt handling lifesaving apparatus of
this kind for the first time, had caused the block to be tied too low
on the mast, with results which later proved fatal.
When the breeches buoy reached the ship, the second mate,
Charles Clafford, was assisted into the contraption, slipped his legs
into the two open holes provided for them, and his mates gave the
signal to haul away. It was Clafford's last ocean voyage.
EACH MAN A HERO 131
Just as the lifesaving crew began pulling on the line to haul
Clafford ashore, the wreck shifted, the low hanging line slackened,
and for the next five minutes Second Mate Charles Clafford, instead
of travelling high above the water in a comfortable perch in the
breeches buoy, was dragged through the rough surf. Somewhere
between ship and shore he swallowed a lot of water; somewhere
else he was struck by floating debris and injured internally. And
when his unconscious form was finally dragged out on the beach
there was not a man among the lifesavers assembled there who gave
him a chance of living.
Nonetheless, an effort was made to resuscitate him, and surpris-
ingly enough he was soon breathing normally and was able to
provide information as to the number of men remaining aboard the
wreck, the condition of the ship, and the manner in which the
hawser was tied.
Hooper was convinced, when he heard Clafford's story, that it
would be disastrous to attempt to land others in the breeches buoy,
so, despite the rough surf, he ordered the surfboat launched, took
the steering oar himself, and attempted to reach the ship. But the
high wind, furious surf, and exceptionally strong longshore current
proved too much for the small boat, and Hooper eventually turned
about and landed on the beach again.
It was daylight when Hooper and his men again assembled op-
posite the wreck. The crew of the stricken vessel could be seen
clearly by this time, and the lifesavers signalled them to change the
block and lines to the lee bow, where there could be sufficient
clearance. Meanwhile, Clafford was returned to the station, and the
crew members were sent back for the life car, a fat, cigar-shaped
contraption, made of metal, watertight, and large enough to hold
four men. When this piece of apparatus eventually arrived at the
scene it was slung on the hawser in place of the breeches buoy and
sent out to the Esterbrook.
Two men came ashore in the life car on the first trip, two more
on the second, and so on until four trips had been made and the
eight men remaining had been removed to safety. It sounds easy,
written that way, but actually so many perplexities were encount-
ered in the operation that it was well into the afternoon before the
last man had arrived safely on the beach.
1 3 2 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
At 3 P.M. fourteen hours after the ship came ashore, and twelve
hours after lifesaving operations were begun the three crews of
surfmen left the scene, taking the rescued men from the Esterbrook
to the Little Kinnakeet Station. Later that night Second Mate
Clafford, turning weaker as each hour passed, finally succumbed
and was buried near the station the following day.
In the annals of the Lifesaving Service and in the record of the
Graveyard of the Atlantic the wreck of the Nathan Esterbrook,
Jr. was routine. But it points up the value of the lif esaving stations
along the coast at that time and demonstrates the versatility of the
men and their equipment. Telephonic communications were used
to assemble additional men at the scene; the breeches buoy, once
the only means of rescue, was found inadequate, and the newer life
car was successfully substituted in its place. You can find the record
of the Esterbrook today in the lifesaving report for 1893: eight
lives saved; one life lost; $33,000 worth of guano given up to the
sea; a $20,000 schooner totally wrecked; and twenty-three tired
lifesavers and three government horses on double rations for one
meal to compensate for energy expended.
THE LONG DAY OF DUNBAR DAVIS
1893
IT WAS ALMOST like a va-
cation with pay for Dunbar Davis and his family during those
summer months of 1893. They had free run of the big house the
government had built four years earlier on the wide sandy beach
near old Fort CaswelL They could bathe in the surf if they chose,
or swim in the still waters at the mouth of the river just back of
the house, or visit the old fort and look for Civil War souvenirs,
or fish, or crab, or sail, or just loll in the sun and take it easy.
The cool summer breezes coming in off the ocean made it more
pleasant there than at Southport, two miles to the north, or at
Wilmington, twenty miles up the Cape Fear River. If they got
lonesome, Dunbar and his wife and five children could visit with
the keeper of the near-by lighthouse and his family, or have friends
over from the mainland, or even get around to see some folks in
Southport on Saturday evenings when they went for supplies.
The only thing was, sometimes they wished they could take off
for longer the way they used to when Dunbar was sailing his
charter sloop along the coast but now he had to stay on the island
for the full four months and keep a watch out for ships in distress;
for Dunbar Davis was keeper of the Oak Island Lifesaving Station,
133
i 34 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
and his seven-man crew was relieved of duty from the end of April
until September first.
Some folks had said that it was a waste of money putting a life-
saving station there on the west side of the entrance to the river
when there was one already at Smiths Island on the other side.
Dunbar did not think so, for he had served earlier as keeper of that
other station, and he knew that Keeper Watts, who had relieved
him there, had all he could do patrolling the long open beach to the
north and east of Cape Fear and keeping a lookout for trouble on
Frying Pan Shoals. Watts had no time to do anything about ship-
wrecks to the west at Lockwoods Folly, or Shallotte Inlet, or
Tubbs Inlet, or down along the South Carolina border. And there
were times, too, when more than one crew was needed to assist the
wrecked vessels and their crews, for Cape Fear and Frying Pan
Shoals had taken a huge toll of shipping in rimes past and there was
no prospect of a let-up.
Had Dunbar Davis been a student of history he could have
borne out this argument with a quotation from the diary of the
colonizing expedition sent out by Sir Walter Raleigh in 1585, the
group which went on north to Roanoke Island and established there
the first English settlement in America. The first mention of the
North Carolina coast in that diary was a portent of things to come:
"The 23rd (of June)," the account stated, "we were in great danger
of a wreck on a breach called the Cape of Fear."
Three hundred and eight years had passed, and in 1893 there
was still that same danger for any mariner sailing past Cape Fear.
But visitors that summer would have wondered about all the talk
of danger, for there had been no shipwrecks there in 1893, no lives
lost, not even so much as a skiff overturned in the river so far as
the official record showed. And late in August, as Dunbar Davis
and his family prepared for the return of the full station crew to
Oak Island, it still had the appearance of a vacation spot un-
crowded, cool, and quiet.
In retrospect, that most certainly would have seemed an ominous
quiet. For disaster, full-fledged, unpredictable, wanton disaster,
struck the Carolina coast that last week in August, 1893.
In the Cape Verde Islands, two thousand miles east of the Carib-
THE LONG DAY OF DUNBAR DAVIS 135
bean, a storm blew up on August 17. It gained in intensity as it
headed westward, became a lusty, full-grown hurricane on August
1 8, picked up speed and force August 19, 20, 21, and 22, pushed
north of Haiti on August 23 and 24, and passed between Cuba and
Bermuda on August 25 and 26. It followed a gentle arc as it sped
westward, moving faster than do most hurricanes, and apparently
knowing all along, so gently did it curve, just where it was headed.
Its destination was the city of Charleston, South Carolina, and it
struck there in the heat of the late summer at a time when vaca-
tionists had flocked to the near-by beaches, inflicting property
damage estimated at ten million dollars and taking hundreds of
lives.
So sudden and unexpected was the hurricane's appearance that
most ships in the vicinity had no warning of its presence until the
terrific winds actually struck.
The 335-ton schooner Roger Moore had passed by Oak Island
shortly before, en route from Wilmington to Ponce, Puerto Rico,
with a cargo of lumber. She was caught on the fringe of the storm,
and before it was over lost part of her sails and deck cargo, and
one of her eight crewmen was washed overboard. But the Roger
Moore was lucky.
The schooner Mary J. Cook, 436 tons, was bound from Port
Royal, South Carolina, to Boston with a cargo of lumber and car-
ried one passenger in addition to her crew of seven; the schooner
L. A. Burnhavn, 389 tons, bound from Savannah to Portland, Maine,
carried lumber and a crew of seven; the schooner A. R. Weeks,
445 tons, from Satilla Bluffs, Georgia, to Elizabethport, New
Jersey, carried lumber and a crew of eight; the schooner George
W. Fenimore, 673 tons, from Brunswick, Georgia, to Philadelphia,
had lumber and a crew of eight; the schooner Oliver H. Booth, 247
tons, from Brunswick to Washington, D. G, had lumber and a
crew of six; the schooner Gertie M. Richer son, 219 tons, from New
York to Caibarien, Cuba, had a general cargo and a crew of seven;
the schooner John S. Case, 198 tons, from Jonesport, Maine, to
Puerto Plata, Santo Domingo, had lumber and a crew of six; and
the schooner Lizzie May, 201 tons, was en route from New York
to Fernandina, Florida, in ballast with a crew of six.
i 3 6 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
None of these eight ships was ever seen again; no trace of them
or their crews was ever found. They just disappeared, swallowed
up in the center of the hurricane, battered to pieces, turned over,
sunk in the middle of nowhere. Fifty-five crewmen, one passenger,
and 2,808 tons of shipping lost, before the hurricane even reached
the coast. Mary J. Cook-L. A. Burnhom-A. R. Weeks-George
W. Femmore Oliver H. Booth Gertie M. RickersonJohn S.
Case Lizzie May. Eight names, eight ships; no details; just dull,
lifeless statistics, typical of countless similar losses in other hurri-
canes which have struck the Carolina coast.
The Cape Fear area, though escaping the direct fury of that
August hurricane of 1893, g ot ^ ts share of winds, tides, and trouble,
and the summer vacation ended a week early for Dunbar Davis
and his family at the Oak Island Lifesaving Station.
At midnight on August 27 the three-masted schooner Three
Sisters, of Philadelphia, fully loaded with pine lumber she had
picked up in Savannah, was off Frying Pan Shoals Lightship. By
i A.M. of August 28 the wind had reached hurricane force, and
within an hour the sails and inizzenmast had been lost, and both
master and mate washed overboard and drowned. This left the
cook in charge of the five-man crew, and though the cook may have
been a good man with a skillet of eggs and a pot of coffee, he was
strictly out of his element when it came to handling a 286-ton
schooner, especially one without mizzenmast or sails.
Throughout that day the vessel drifted, wallowing in the rough
seas, shipping large quantities of water, and slowly being driven
toward the Carolina coast. She was spotted at two o'clock that
afternoon from the watchtower of Cape Fear Station by Keeper
J. L. Watts and shortly afterwards by Dunbar Davis at Oak Island.
The apparent intention of the cook was to run her ashore, but
Watts and Davis knew that such action in the tremendous seas then
breaking northeast of the cape would be fatal to both vessel and
crew, and Watts managed to signal the schooner to anchor there
and await assistance.
That was the easiest part for the lifesavers. The real job would
be in providing the assistance that had been promised.
The schooner, by then, was so close to shore opposite Smiths
Island that Davis could see only her masts above the beach; so he
138 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
got out a small boat, kissed his wife goodbye, and poled out into
the mouth of the river in an attempt to cross over to the island.
Meanwhile, Watts had returned to the Cape Fear Lighthouse,
where he had borrowed a boat and hired a young man to help him
row the five miles to Southport. En route he met Dunbar Davis
and quickly outlined the situation. The two keepers decided it
would be best for Davis to return to his station and make his surf-
boat ready for sea duty, while Watts went on to Southport for a
crew of volunteers. Both were successful in carrying out their
respective tasks and at 8: 30 that night Dunbar Davis left Oak Island
again, this time in his surfboat with Keeper Watts and nine volun-
teers: J. E. Price, Samuel Brinkman, Samuel Newton, Tommy St.
George, Wesley Smith, Crawford Watts, Robert Weeks, Joe
Newton, and Moses Stepney.
It took them better than an hour to cross the narrow river mouth,
so strong was the wind and tide, and two more to proceed along
the back of the beach to a point opposite the place where the
schooner had been anchored. They found her there, riding easily
and holding her position. The wind had died down, but the surf
was as strong as ever, and the vessel was too far from shore to use
the Lyle gun and breeches buoy. So, the two keepers decided to
leave Davis' boat and walk back along the beach to Cape Fear Sta-
tion, where Watts' surfboat was anchored.
They reached the station about i A.M., eleven hours after the
schooner was first sighted and waited until daylight to attempt to
take the surfboat out through the channel into the open sea.
Before dawn the eleven men shoved off, rounded the cape with-
out accident, and reached the schooner soon after sunrise. Despite
the heavy seas, it was a comparatively simple matter to take off the
five crewmen and return with them to Southport where medical
attention could be had. As for the Three Sisters, she was left there
at anchor, to be towed into the harbor for repairs when the storm
subsided.
So far, except for loss of sleep, tired muscles, and a thorough
soaking from the spray, Dunbar Davis had not fared so badly,
though he was anxious to get back to Oak Island, dig into one of
his wife's midday dinners, and then catch up on his sleep. But it
would be many an hour before Dunbar Davis could sleep again.
THE LONG DAY OF DUNBAR DAVIS 139
"After landing the crew of the schooner Three Sisters at South-
port," he reported later, "I saw a signal on the pole at the station
indicating that there was a vessel in distress." The crew of volun-
teers had departed, and Keeper Watts was occupied with tending
to the wounded men they had taken off the schooner. So Davis
scouted around the village, rounding up the two Newtons, Watts,
Smith, and Weeks of the original group of volunteers, and D. W.
Manson, J. L. Daniels, and T. B. Carr to take the place of those
he could not locate.
When they reached the station Davis learned that his wife had
hoisted the signal. The German brig Wustrow had stranded about
nine miles west of Oak Island Station, near Lockwoods Folly, and
gone to pieces. Subsequently, however, word had been brought to
the station that the crew of the brig had reached the beach with
the aid of some fishermen in the vicinity. Davis was on the verge of
dismissing the volunteer crew, but before doing so he climbed to
his watchtower on the off chance that he might be able to see the
Wustrow. Almost immediately he spotted a vessel, closer to the
station than had been reported, and obviously still intact. For a
moment, a very brief moment, the tired, fifty-year-old lifesaver
felt a surge of relief; but as he focused more clearly on the vessel
he suddenly realized that the situation was worse rather than better,
for this was not a brig, but a three-masted schooner. Two ships
were aground west of his station!
The schooner seemed to be anchored and was beyond the line of
breakers, so Dunbar called on his volunteers and once again they
put off in the Cape Fear surfboat. This time, however, they got
only as far as Cape Fear Bar; the wind and tide and breakers com-
bined to hold them in an almost stationary position no matter how
hard they rowed, so finally they gave up and started back inside
again.
Another hope appeared, for a pilot boat and a tug, larger vessels
built for rough weather, had come down the river on learning of
the vessel in distress. But though Davis pleaded with the captains
of both craft to tow his tiny surfboat across the bar and into the
open water beyond, he was twice refused, and was left with only
one other course to return to his station and proceed down the
beach on foot with his lif esaving apparatus.
i 4 o GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
It was midafternoon \vhen the ten men they had been joined
by Tommy St. George, one of Davis' winter crew began the long
trek along the coast, pulling the apparatus cart behind them.
"The beach was so cut through in many places," Davis said, "that
we made very slow time, and I saw that we could not reach the
wreck (the schooner, which later proved to be the 4ip-ton Kate
E. Gifford, of Somers Point, New Jersey) before night; and further
saw that she was not aground. I unloaded a part of the gear and
pushed on, thinking to be of some service to the crew of the brig.
On coming within about two miles of the schooner I met a man
with a mule and cart who stated that the crew of the brig had gone
to a farmhouse and a party of fishermen was taking everything as
it came ashore."
Davis immediately hired the man with the cart to take him to the
spot where the Wustrow had come to grief, and arriving there
they found the beach littered with boxes and crates and wreckage,
but of it all there was only one chest which had not been broken
open.
"In the meantime," Davis' report continued, "the schooner had
tried to get underway and had grounded. It was now sunset, so I
signalled to the schooner that I would assist her as soon as possible.
I left a man to keep a fire opposite the schooner, and engaged the
man with the mule to return for the balance of the gear. Even
with the mule's help we could make but little headway, for the
sand was boggy and every half mile or so we would come to deep
gullies. On one of our stops a man came up with a yoke of oxen.
I engaged them, and while hitching them up Keeper Watts came
up with F. W. Fulcher, D. W. Fulcher, H. E. Mints, L. A. Gal-
loway and Ramon Williams. This was about 10 P.M., and still a
hard job was before us, but I made no other stops and reached the
vessel at 2 A.M."
There in the darkness, with the waning winds of the hurricane
striking them from across the open sea, with the spray and spindrift
rolling across the flat beach like tumbleweed on an open prairie,
with the debris from one wreck washing at their feet, and the lights
of a second dimly visible in the treacherous breakers before them,
Dunbar Davis and his volunteer crewmen methodically set up their
THE LONG DAY OF DUNBAR DAVIS 141
Lyle gun, sank a sand anchor, hooked on the line and ball, loaded
the gun with powder, and with careful aim sent the shot straight
and true toward the stricken vessel
The line landed on the schooner; they knew this, even though
they could not see clearly at that distance, for the line was held
aloft and in place, not drifting in the surf as it would if it had missed
the mark. But the seven men aboard the nineteen-year-old Kate E.
Gifford which already was going to pieces did not see the line
in the darkness, so it just dangled there, the ball swinging back
and forth in the wind.
Forced to wait until daylight to resume their rescue attempt, the
lifesavers built great driftwood fires on the beach, affording some
assurance to the shipwrecked sailors that they had not been left to
their own meager devices. And when dawn came at last the line
was soon spotted and made secure at a point high on the mast, and
heavier lines and the breeches buoy were hauled aboard.
The breeches buoy looks like a pair of English hiking shorts with
a sort of round toilet seat at the top where the belt should go. It
is designed so that a shipwreck survivor can put his legs through
the two openings, hold on to the line to which it is fastened, and
be drawn to shore in safety, if not in comfort. The round rim at
the top keeps the breeches buoy spread open and in the event the
thing dips into the water as frequently happens this buoyant rim
helps keep it afloat.
One of the Gifford crewmen climbed into this contraption as
soon as it reached the vessel, raised his arm and waved to the life-
savers, and was quickly drawn ashore. Back again went the breeches
buoy, and a second survivor climbed in and was hauled out on the
beach; then a third, a fourth, until finally all seven of the crewmen
had reached the beach safely. Dunbar Davis immediately loaded
six of them in the ox cart and sent them to the station; the seventh,
the mate of the Gifford, remained at the scene with Dunbar Davis
to watch over the gear that had come ashore and the shingles from
the schooner's deck cargo, already littering the beach.
It was afternoon by then, August 30. The record to that time
contained three vessels: schooner Three Sisters, grounded, captain
and mate washed overboard, crew of five saved; brig Wustroiv,
i 4 2 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
beaten to pieces in the breakers, crew of nine safely ashore and
cared for by near-by farmers; schooner Kate E. Gifford, grounded
and breaking up, crew of seven rescued in breeches buoy.
Dunbar Davis thought again of his wife's cooking, and of sleep,
but the job was not yet done. He and the Gifford's mate built up
the driftwood fire and had about decided to take turns sleeping,
when they spotted a small boat coming in from the sea. The boat,
a ship's yawl, came up opposite them and then headed into the surf,
landing safely with the assistance of the two men on shore.
There were seven men in the yawl cold, wet, hungry, and ex-
hausted. The boat, they told Davis, was from the three-masted
schooner Jennie E. Thomas, which had become waterlogged about
thirty-five miles southwest of Cape Fear. All food and water on
board the schooner had been exhausted, so the mate and three men
left her and boarded a near-by vessel in hopes of getting supplies.
But the other vessel, the 37i-ton schooner Enchantress^ carrying a
cargo of railroad ties from Port Royal, South Carolina, to New
York, was in as bad a condition as theirs; worse, even, for one mem-
ber of the crew, the mate, had been washed overboard already,
the captain was injured, and the Enchantress, waterlogged and
unmanageable, was drifting toward shore. So the captain and two
of her crew had joined those in the yawl from the Jennie Thomas
and the seven had headed for the beach, eventually spotting the
fire which Davis had built. (Later, the Enchantress stranded near
Lockwoods Folly and became a total loss, and the Thomas was
towed into Southport and repaired, the remaining crew members
of both being saved.)
"These men had been without food for four days," Davis said
of the seven who had come ashore in the yawl, "so we hauled their
boat up and I sent them to the station for food and clothing. The
team did not return until sunset, and the oxen were so badly used
up that they had to rest for the night. By this time I was getting
pretty fagged. I had gone without food for two days and without
water for 12 hours, and had been wet all the time. So I engaged
a man to watch the gear and the mate and myself started to the
station."
When Dunbar Davis finally returned to Oak Island Station at
nine o'clock that night he found the place crowded with ship-
THE LONG DAY OF DUNBAR DAVIS 143
wrecked sailors. There were six from the Kate E. Gifford } plus
the mate; seven from the ]ennie Thomas and Enchantress, and four
from the brig Wustrow, who had come to the station in his absence,
badly bruised and nearly naked. All of the food in the station had
long since been used up, and the clothing too. But the keeper of
the lighthouse and his wife had come over to assist Mrs. Davis in
tending to wounds and cooking, and they had provided consider-
able additional food from their own larder.
Dunbar Davis found that the beds were all taken as well, but he
did not care; the way he felt that night he could sleep anywhere and
any way.
Also, he had to catch up on his sleep that night, for the next day
was the last of August, and the winter crew was due back on duty
September i. Dunbar Davis' summer vacation was over.
SHIPWRECKS AS A BUSINESS
1893-1899
SHE SEA HAS long provided
a livelihood for the residents of eastern North Carolina. Today, hun-
dreds of thousands of inland folk come down to the shores to look
at, bathe in, or fish from the sea, and so the tourist business is now
the main source of income. Earlier, before modern roads and bridges
made the seashore accessible to the tourists, it was commercial fish-
ing that brought in most of the needed dollars; earlier still, ship-
wrecks provided the bulk of the income.
It is hard today to think of shipwrecks in terms of employment
and profit. Yet, before the turn of the century, hundreds of our
coastal men had steady jobs as lifesavers, lighthouse tenders, and
crewmen on wrecking schooners. In addition, almost every com-
munity had a wreck commissioner or underwriter's agent. And for
those left out when the steady work was passed around, there was
ample opportunity for a man with business sense to make a good
profit buying and selling salvaged material, and frequent jobs were
available removing cargo of vessels lost on the beach.
The magnitude of this over-all wrecking operation can best be
seen by referring to the statistics for a given period of time. In the
six years from August, 1893, to August, 1899, for example, an
average of almost one ship per week was stranded on the North
Carolina coast. The majority were gotten off, yet there were enough
totally lost to leave nine full shiploads of lumber and eight of phos-
phate on the coast, as well as five shiploads of coal, two of shingles,
and one each of iron ore, coffee, sugar, salt, grain, lime, molasses,
cotton, marble, and crushed stone, not to mention a number that .
144
SHIPWRECKS AS A BUSINESS 145
carried general cargoes or were in ballast. Shipwrecks, in those days,
were big business; and business was rushing.
EMMA J. WARRINGTON
It was quiet on the Carolina coast for a month after the August
hurricane of 1893; then, on October 4, things began to pick up for
the lifesavers stationed at their lonely outposts along the banks.
At Paul Gamiels Hill Station, opposite the village of Duck, the
lookout spotted a two-masted schooner heading for shore about
half a mile south of the station. By the time Keeper A. J. Austin and
his crew reached the scene, the schooner was high up on the beach
and her four crewmen were safely ashore.
The vessel was the Enmta J. Warrington, the survivors said, a
59-ton schooner en route from New Bern to her home port of
Somers Point, New Jersey, with $500 worth of pine boards. No,
none of the survivors was injured, said owner-captain R. E. Young
when the lifesavers came up. Yes, they'd appreciate a change of
clothes and some warm food and coffee back at the station. No,
the lifesavers needn't bother going aboard the vessel just then, for
they could come back later when the rough surf subsided and see
about salvaging the rigging and the pine boards that hadn't been
washed overboard. On second thought, though, they might take a
look in the cabin and see if the two passengers were still alive.
Passengers! Keeper Austin and his crew lost no time in rigging
up a ladder and boarding the vessel, and in short order they were
back on shore again with two tame bears the passengers who had
been locked up in the cabin.
CHARLES C DAME
The eight men aboard the 598-ton three-masted schooner Charles
C. Dame, of Newburyport, Massachusetts, had a tougher time of
it than those who had stepped ashore from the Warrington. The
Dame, disabled at sea, grounded about eight miles from shore on
Frying Pan Shoals and was seen at dawn, October 14, 1893, by the
lookout from Cape Fear Station.
At 7 A.M. that morning, having lined up an additional hand to
i4<$ GRA\ 7 EYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
help with the surfboat, Keeper J. L. Watts put to sea. There were
eight men in the tiny craft: Keeper Watts, six regular surfmen, and
the additional man he had hired for the job. They rowed steadily
for eight full hours in a sea that constantly threatened to swamp or
overturn the small craft. Soaked to the skin from the moment they
first put to sea, they were uncertain time and again whether they
could reach the vessel or return safely to shore. There was no cer-
tainty, even, that any living persons remained aboard the ship, but
they pushed on anyway, hour after hour, against odds that pre-
vented the Oak Island crew from getting across the bar to help them
and kept the Southport tugboats anchored at their berths inside.
"We did not reach the vessel until three o'clock P.M.," Watts
said in his report. "The schooner had sunk on the shoal, her decks
were under water, and every sea was .washing over her. The crew
members were huddled together on the jib boom, the only place
they could get clear of the sea."
Once he had arrived at the scene, however, it took Watts only ten
minutes to remove the crew of eight, and with his boat jammed
with people, he immediately turned about and began the long and
dangerous trip home. They shipped water with every sea on that
return trip, and more than once the surfboat seemed on the verge
of capsizing, but their destination was finally reached just before
dark that night.
Following this experience Samuel S. Grove, master of the Dame,
sent a letter of thanks and appreciation to Keeper Watts, which
read as follows:
Baltimore, Maryland
October 19, 1893
Dear Sir: Allow me to extend the thanks of myself and
crew of the schooner Charles C. Dame to you and the
heroic men who manned the lifeboat from your station
to my vessel on October 14, when she was breaking to
pieces on Frying Pan Shoals. Without your assistance it
is more than probable that myself and crew would have
been lost in the terrible seas that swept our decks.
Your heroic fight of twelve hours to reach the vessel
was a superhuman effort that deserves a record in the
annals of the Life Saving Service, which I, as a mariner,
SHIPWRECKS AS A BUSINESS 147
always regard as a sailor's hope when shipwreck stares
him in the face in storm-ridden seasons along our coast.
Your rescue of every man, and the safe landing of your
own and my crews, was a piece of work that it delights
me to pay tribute to, and the kind treatment of us while
under your care requires me to double my thanks, and
extend the same from my officers and crew. This but
feebly expresses the feeling of gratitude that animates my
writing this; but believe, dear Captain, that in my heart
there is a warm affection and admiration for the keeper
and crew of the Southport Life Saving Station. I hope
we may meet again when you will be in my care, but
under different circumstances.
I remain, sincerely,
Samuel S. Grove,
Late Master of Schooner Charles C. Dame
Captain J. L. Watts,
Keeper of Southport Life Saving Station, Southport,
North Carolina.
Such letters were not uncommon, just as the daring rescues were
not uncommon, and the annual reports of the Lif esaving Service,
and later records of the Coast Guard, contain hundreds of such
attestations to the bravery of the lifesavers on the outer banks.
CLYTHIA
News reached Virginia Beach, January 22, 1894, that a large
Norwegian bark, the Clythia, had stranded early that morning near
Wash Woods, just south of the Virginia-Carolina line. The local
people, as always, were anxious to get more details; especially to
learn whether any cargo had come ashore. Their interest was shared
by a guest at the hotel, Mr. Evans, of Baltimore, who had stopped
off in Virginia Beach en route to that same section of the coast
for a few days of duck shooting at the Ragged Island Gun dub.
Mr. Evans figured if he could start early enough he might have
time to get a first-hand look at the stranded ship and still not miss
any hunting that day. But even as he was arranging transportation
148 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
to the scene further details of the wreck reached Virginia Beach,
and Mr. Evans was forced to change his plans.
The Clythia, it was learned, carried a crew of seventeen and was
en route from Genoa, Italy, to Baltimore with $29,000 worth of
statue marble when she struck Pebble Shoals in a thick fog early
the same morning. She was sighted soon after by the north patrol
from Wash Woods Station, and by eight o'clock Keeper Malachi
Corbel and his cre\v had reached the scene. By then, however, the
tide had risen sufficiently for the Clythia to clear the shoals, and
she had drifted in to the outer bar and stranded there less than five
hundred yards from shore.
The same rising tide had completely flooded the sandy coast
"running over the beach half-boot deep," according to Keeper
Corbel so the lifesavers were compelled to throw up a bank of logs
and sand before they could get a firm footing for their Lyle gun.
While thus engaged the Clythia drifted still closer to shore, so that
by the time the gun was mounted she presented a good target, three
hundred yards away, her bow pointed to\vard the beach, and her
glistening white marble figurehead clearly visible to the lifesavers.
Keeper Corbel landed a shot on the forward deck of the bark
soon after 9 A.M., and the tedious business of hauling the sailors
ashore was commenced, an operation which continued until mid-
afternoon. A total of thirty-four trips were made with the breeches
buoy, rescuing all seventeen crew members and bringing ashore a
load of personal belongings for each.
The iron-hulled Clyilna carried more than 1,100 tons of the
marble, and even before the last of her crewmen reached shore she
was firmly imbedded in the sands with no hope of ever being
floated. Salvaging the marble was another story, and repeated at-
tempts were made in future years to save it, the last about 1925
when a diver went down inside what remained of her hull and
found that much of the marble was w^orm-eaten. It is still there, or
was the last time anybody investigated.
But what did all this have to do with Mr. Evans of Baltimore?
Why was he forced to change his plans as soon as he learned the
details of the wreck? It developed that the cargo of marble aboard
the Clythia was consigned to the Evans Marble Company of Balti-
more, thus making it necessary for Mr. Evans to forego his hunting
SHIPWRECKS AS A BUSINESS 149
trip and return to his office at once to place an order for another
shipment to take its place.
FLORENCE C. MAGEE
Frustration and hard luck were the rules of the day at the wreck
of the new four-masted schooner Florence C. Magee, which
stranded six hundred yards from shore off Bodie Island at midnight,
February 26, 1894.
Keeper J. T. Etheridge of Bodie Island Station, who reached the
scene with his crew soon after the wreck was sighted, had hard
luck from the very start. His first shot struck the wreck, but by
then she was completely under water with only her masts showing,
and the survivors could not reach the line. It was hauled back and
a second shot fired, this one falling short; a third broke off at the
shank; a fourth struck a mast and glanced off; a fifth finally hit the
rigging and stayed there, but in the darkness the men on board
the vessel could not find it. They located it at daybreak, however,
and attempted to haul it off through the surf, but by that time the
whole thing was so tangled up in rigging and wreckage that they
could hardly budge it.
Etheridge gave up, so far as that means of rescue was concerned,
and with a picked crew the Nags Head lifesavers had reached the
scene also he tried next to launch his surfboat. The wind was from
the east, the tide low. The waves, huge ocean-bred rollers, were
breaking out as far as the eye could see. But the surfmen succeeded
in passing through the surf, picking their time and spot, and so
large were the waves they encountered that the surfboat was ob-
scured from the sight of those on shore more often than not. A line
had been tied to the stern of the rescue craft, and the other life-
savers played this out as the breakers were passed, remembering
no doubt other crews who had failed to return on just such ex-
peditions as this.
A fishing smack now appeared offshore and, approaching as close
to the wreck as possible, lowered a dory. Thus two rescue craft
reached the ten crewmen clinging to the shrouds of the Magee at
about the same time, the fishing dory removing four of them, and
Etheridge taking off the remaining six.
i 5 o GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
The four in the dory were soon transferred to the surfboat, and
the trip back through the breakers was begun. "It was blowing so
hard the oars would not hold the boat back," Keeper Etheridge
reported, and without the assistance of the men left holding the
line on shore now pulling the line taut, relaxing their hold each
tine Etheridge signalled, then pulling it in again it is doubtful
they could have kept the boat on an even keel between the great
rollers. It was a slow, tortuous, deathly game, but the lif esavers won
out. Another mission accomplished. Ten more lives saved. Another
cargo of fertilizer good only for fish food. And if you know where
to look and catch it when the tide is right, you can still see part of
the hull of the i,o8i-ton Florence C. Magee about a mile up the
beach from the Bodie Island Lighthouse.
OGIR
Many a mariner has been lost through an inability to interpret
signals, and especially has this been true with vessels sailing in
foreign waters.
The loss of the Norwegian bark Ogir illustrates the point.
The Ogzr, 547 tons, was in ballast from Hull, England, to Wil-
mington. She arrived off Cape Fear, October 10, 1894, and anchored
just beyond the bar to await daylight and a pilot. During the course
of the night the vessel and the lif esavers on shore exchanged signals,
leading the latter to believe that the craft was in no danger. Yet
the following morning the Ogir was discovered aground on the
outer bar, with two of her masts already cut away, breakers com-
pletely surrounding her, and the eleven men aboard in imminent
peril of their lives.
Keeper Dunbar Davis of Oak Island with a full crew at his dis-
posal this time launched his surfboat and arrived in the vicinity of
the wreck three miles offshore a little after six o'clock that morn-
ing. The vessel was right in the middle of the largest breakers, sur-
rounded by masts, spars, rigging, and other wreckage. Every wave
threw this floating debris high in the air, then dropped it down
again with tremendous force, tossing huge masts around like
noodles in a pot of boiling water, up and down and sideways, a
SHIPWRECKS AS A BUSINESS 151
surging, seething mass of wreckage in which no frail surfboat could
ever live.
Davis surveyed this hopeless task. He saw the huge breakers
blocking his way to windward, the wreckage on the lee side, and
the eleven men, helpless and nearly hopeless, grouped forlornly on
the stricken ship. Unless the sea calmed down before the vessel
went to pieces there was only one hope; just one slim chance and
without hesitation Davis decided to try it. The spanker boom had
fallen overboard with the other debris but was off by itself on the
port side, one end still lying on the deck. Davis signalled for one of
the men to crawl out on this, then, waiting for a comparatively
smooth spot to show up between breakers, he dashed forward; a
lifesaver reached over and grabbed the sailor, Davis shouted orders,
the oarsmen dug in, and they were out in the clear again before
the next wave reached them.
Even without the floating wreckage to hinder them it was a
touchy game there on the tumultuous bar, as time after time the
operation was repeated; two men saved, then three, four, five, and
finally nine of them aboard the surfboat. The remaining two re-
fused to chance it and signalled to the others to head for shore.
They waved goodbye as their comrades slowly moved out of sight
and they were left alone there on the doomed ship.
But Dunbar Davis had not given up. As soon as the nine sur-
vivors were safely ashore he turned about again, headed back for
the ship, and tried to get the two remaining crewmen to climb down
on the spanker boom as the others had done. But they were sea-
men, remember; and seamen supposedly are blessed with a special
intuition when it comes to what the weather is going to do. Dunbar
Davis felt it too, by then, a lessening in the force of the wind, a
different formation in the cloudy sky, the prospect of clear, calm
weather.
And so the two crewmen remained on the Ogir throughout that
night, and the next morning Davis and his crew made a third trip
across the bar. The waves had lost much of their force, the wind
had died down, and this time the surfboat reached the side of the
hulk that had but recently been a proud sailing craft. The two
survivors slid down lines they had hung over the side, and the Ogir
was left on the bar to die alone.
152 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
RICHARD S. SPOFFORD
Captain Roger Hawes of the three-masted centerboard schooner
Richard S. Spofford was a trusting man. His main trouble seemed
to be that he trusted the wrong things at the wrong time.
Captain Hawes was en route from his home port of Boston to
Darien, Georgia, in late December, 1894, with stone ballast in the
hold of his 488-ton vessel. The day after Christmas, having passed
Cape Hatteras, he ran into a squally southeast wind, and anticipat-
ing a shift to the westward, decided to sail in closer to shore so that
he would not be driven into the Gulf Stream.
The wind did shift to the west as he predicted, a strong gale-
force wind, blowing with such intensity that Captain Hawes was
unable to go about on the offshore tack for fear of losing his main-
sail. So he held the Spofford the way she was, confident that he
could reach the comparatively sheltered area in the lee of Cape
Lookout and anchor there until the storm passed by. And having
made up his mind as to what he wanted to do, Captain Hawes
seemed to forget about it, trusting implicitly that the thing was as
good as done.
With her centerboard down the Spofford drew twenty feet of
water, yet throughout that afternoon and evening Captain Hawes
took no soundings; and so complete was his trust, that he went to
his bunk as usual that night and slept until 3 A.M., at which time
he awoke, possibly because of a premonition of danger and decided
that maybe after all it would not be a bad idea to check on the
depth of the water.
Captain Hawes might just as well have remained asleep, for his
decision came too late. The Spofford, instead of being a few miles
east of Lookout, was in reality a few miles west of Hatteras; and
there was no lee there, no deep water for safe anchoring, only
shoals and reefs and breakers, tossed up at the entrance to Ocracoke
Inlet.
The Richard S. Spofford struck these shoals in the darkness,
bumping along from one to another with a terrific jarring impact,
until at last the centerboard became wedged in the sand, a sort of
pivot on which the vessel swung back and forth. But the waves
soon drove her around, broadside to, wrenching the centerboard
SHIPWRECKS AS A BUSINESS i 53
from the hull, and the Spofford drifted over the outer bar into
comparatively calm water. She rested there long enough for Captain
Hawes and his seven crewmen to put out anchors, and then dragged
still closer to shore, coining to rest finally on the inner bar about
three hundred yards from the beach and almost directly opposite
the village of Ocracoke.
Now, Ocracokers are fine people, as any visitor to that quaint
and interesting village can attest, but on this occasion, if we are
to accept the findings of the government inspector sent down to
investigate the circumstances of the loss of the Spofford, they did
not react in true Ocracoke fashion. For when the Spofford was dis-
covered ashore the next morning and a number of people of the
village had gathered on the beach near by, it was soon obvious that
no rescue attempt could be successful without proper lifesaving
equipment. And though there was a fully-manned lifesaving station
fourteen miles away on the east end of the same island and a second
one across the inlet at Portsmouth (though this station was new
and not completely equipped), no effort seems to have been made
to notify either.
The result was that the men aboard the Spofford were left to
shift for themselves as their vessel, half submerged, continued to
take a terrible beating from the storm-driven breakers. Shortly
before noon, convinced at last that no help was coming from shore,
five of the crew launched the schooner's yawl and headed for the
beach, leaving Captain Hawes, the steward, and a third crewman
on board. The yawl overturned almost as soon as she cleared the
ship, each of the five men grabbing whatever he could find to hang
on to, and in this manner they eventually reached the inner breakers
where they were rescued by the citizens of the island.
So great were the hazards these five men faced in their successful
attempt to reach shore that Captain Bragg, an experienced Ocra-
coke pilot, later said: "I don't believe that one of them would be
saved again under similar circumstances."
Fortunately for those still aboard the wreck, Keeper F. G. Ter-
rell of the Portsmouth Station had observed the Spofford, and
though he was not certain she was in danger, had mustered a
volunteer crew and started across the inlet in an old rowboat, no
other equipment being at hand. His first act on reaching the scene
i 5 4 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
was to dispatch word to the other lif esaving station at the far end
of the island; his second was to attempt to raise a crew to row out
to the wreck in the yawl, but in this he was not successful. When
the Ocracoke lifesavers arrived at eight o'clock that night the three
remaining members of the schooner's crew were huddled on the
bowsprit, the only part of the wreck on which they could be clear
of the breakers.
Because of the darkness and the uncertain target the lifesavers
were forced to wait until dawn to attempt a rescue. In short order,
thereafter, Captain Hawes was drawn ashore in the breeches buoy,
and the other crewman soon followed him ashore, but the steward,
having suffered injuries previously, was dead, his body lashed in
the rigging.
On returning the fourteen miles to their station the Ocracoke
lifesavers found their feet so badly swollen that they could not
get their boots back on for two days, so the people of the village
recovered the body of the steward. As for Captain Hawes, having
sold what was left of the rigging and furniture, he took his de-
parture from Ocracoke, a tired, despondent man, no doubt con-
siderably less trusting than before.
J. W. DRESSER
The 602 -ton barkentine /. W. Dresser of Castine, Maine, was
bound from Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, to New York with a cargo of
sugar in late July, 1895. On July 22, with a heavy sea running and
a strong wind from the southwest, Captain R. O. Parker sighted
a lighthouse on his starboard beam. Figuring it was Bodie bland
he decided to head in closer to shore to escape the effect of the
wind and strong sea, but shortly after noon, while still ten miles
offshore, the vessel grounded.
Captain Parker got out his charts and did some quick figuring,
but the more he figured the more certain he was that he could not
ran aground ten miles off Bodie Island Lighthouse; there just were
not any shoals out there. In that part of his figuring the Captain was
absolutely correct, but the plain facts were that the lighthouse he
took to be Bodie Island was in reality the one at the point on Cape
Hatteras, and the /. W. Dresser was hard aground in a heavy sea
SHIPWRECKS AS A BUSINESS 155
on the most dreaded spot along the Atlantic Coast. The Dresser
had struck on outer Diamond Shoals.
Captain Parker could not have picked a worse time for it, since
at that time of year the lifesaving crews along the coast were on
vacation except for the keepers, and at Cape Hatteras Station the
keeper was sound asleep, confident that nobody was fool enough
to run a ship ashore just because of a little breeze from the south-
west.
Consequently, the vessel was not discovered until late that after-
noon, too late for a volunteer crew to be mustered before dark.
Meanwhile, the Dresser broke in two during the night, and Captain
Parker and his nine crewmen made a fruitless attempt to launch the
ship's boat. They had about given up hope of rescue when, at 5:30
the next morning, a pair of tiny specks appeared on the western
horizon. Soon two surfboats, one each from Cape Hatteras and
Creeds Hill stations, came up alongside and the ten men were
quickly transferred to the boats, though Captain Parker was
knocked overboard in the process. By ten o'clock that morning the
survivors were bedded down ashore almost within the shadow of
the tall, spiralling tower which the Captain had mistaken for Bodie
Island Lighthouse.
E. S. NEWMAN
The wreck of the three-masted schooner E. S. Ne e wmm of Ston-
ington, Connecticut, south of the Pea Island Station on October
1 1, 1896, though involving no great financial loss, did provide con-
siderable excitement. The Neivmm, a 393-ton schooner en route
from Providence, Rhode Island, to Norfolk in ballast, tangled with
a severe storm shortly before reaching her destination. Before it was
over her sails had been blown away and the vessel, unmanageable,
had drifted almost a hundred miles southward along the coast.
The Ne e wman struck the beach at 7 P.M. when the storm-driven
tide was so high that the entire island was inundated water ex-
tending from sea to sound and the vessel drifted within thirty
yards of the normal high water mark before her keel struck bottom.
It was a harrowing prospect which Captain S. A. Gardiner faced
that October evening; doubly so, because his wife and three-year-
156 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
old child were on board the vessel with him. Gardiner did what
any mariner in similar circumstances would have done; he sent up
a distress signal, spoke reassuring words to his wife, comforted his
child, and waited.
At Pea Island Station, two miles to the north, Keeper Richard
Etheridge had been forced to discontinue beach patrols during the
height of the storm, but he kept a man on watch in the lookout
tower, constantly smarming the raging seas in both directions.
Surfman Theodore Meekins, on watch from dusk until 9 P.M.,
was having difficulty seeing even the oudying buildings of the sta-
tion, for sea spray covered the glass windows of the tower, and
blowing sand cut through the dark night to further obscure his
vision. Then, suddenly, to the south, he thought he saw a rocket,
a red flare against the blackness of the night. But then, just as
quickly, it was gone; had he really seen a flare, or were his already
bloodshot eyes playing tricks? Surfman Meekins took no chances.
He immediately lighted a red Coston signal, held it aloft until the
flame died out, then shouted for Keeper Etheridge. A second signal
was burned, and now two pairs of eyes peered through the darkness
to the south. They saw it then, both of them. No mistaking it this
time; a red torch-light was burning on the storm-tossed beach to
the south. A vessel was in distress.
"It seemed impossible under such circumstances to render any
assistance," Keeper Etheridge reported later, but he mustered his
crew anyway, hitched a pair of mules to the apparatus cart, and
headed down the beach. "The storm was raging fearfully, the storm
tide was sweeping across the beach, and the team was often brought
to a standstill by the sweeping current," he reported, but the life-
savers pushed on.
Dick Etheridge had spent most of his life on the beach at Pea
Island. A Negro, he had fished there during his early years, and
before the Lif esaving Service began operations on the coast, he led
so many successful rescue expeditions that he was given command
of the station at Pea Island when the government first put it there.
Now, almost twenty years later, he was one of the most experi-
enced, able, and daring lif esavers in the entire service.
But the wreck of the E. S. Newman proved something new for
Dick Etheridge. Never before had he come so close to a wrecked
SHIPWRECKS AS A BUSINESS 157
vessel with full lif esaving apparatus at hand, only to be thwarted in
every attempt to fire a line aboard. For the water was so thick it
was impossible to sink a sand anchor or build a platform on which
to mount a gun; the only chance was to forget the modern life-
saving gear and see what human strength, perseverance, and luck
could do. Dick Etheridge had a plan.
Two of the strongest surfmen were called to his side, and the
idea explained to them. Foolhardy, some might have said hopeless,
or sure death. But not these two. They had served under Dick
Etheridge long enough to understand that nothing was proved
impossible until it was tried; and they volunteered for the job.
A heavy line was then tied around their bodies, firmly, so that
they were lashed together. They grasped another line in their hands,
and with their fellow surfmen holding the other end of the line on
the bank they moved slowly into the breakers, past the high water
mark, into the deeper waters beyond. They bent low against the
wind yet were forced to rise up high each time one of the pound-
ing waves rolled in past the stranded vessel before them. It was
tortuous work, slow and dangerous, with not one chance in a
hundred of success.
Captain Gardiner and the eight others clinging to what remained
of the Newman's deck structure had seen the arrival of the lif esavers
and cheered them, and now as this final effort was made Dick
Etheridge heard "the voice of gladdened hearts" from on board
the vessel. Captain Gardiner did his part, lowering a ladder over
the schooner's side, the side nearest the two struggling surfmen.
Finally they reached the stricken ship, grasped the ladder, held it
steady as a crewman climbed gingerly down into the riotous mass
of water in which the lifesavers stood. The extra line they carried
was wrapped around the sailor, tied securely, and together the two
lifesavers carried him back up to the bank, their buddies pulling and
dragging them through the water and boggy sand.
There were eight more people on the E. S. Ne f W7nan y the crew-
man said; eight more, including a woman and a child. The lifesavers
had proven that their keeper's idea was sound; others replaced the
two who had gone out first; again and again and again the surfmen
went back through that raging sea, back to the side of the wrecked
vessel, back to the ladder hanging down its side. The child was
158 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
taken ashore, the woman, the other crewmen, and finally the Cap-
tain. Nine of them, altogether, literally carried from their waiting
graves to safety on the flooded beach.
Dick Etheridge, and the brave men under his command, had ac-
complished the near impossible once again*
GEORGE L. FESSENDEN
There had not been a life lost because of shipwreck on the North
Carolina coast for three and a half years when the three-masted
schooner George L. Fessenden came to anchor four miles off New
Inlet, April 26, 1898.
The Fessenden, a 394-ton schooner hailing from Bridgeton, New
Jersey, was twenty-four years old, and as one crewman later said,
"as rotten as a pear." She had sailed from Philadelphia, March 30,
1898, loaded to capacity with 521 tons of stone destined for South-
port. Four weeks later, still loaded with stone, still heading for
Southport, the Fessenden anchored off New Inlet.
Her interim activities were somewhat obscure. It was known that
she had put into Hampton Roads shortly after leaving Philadelphia,
though she had not been scheduled to stop there; it was also known
that she had managed to get as close to her destination as Cape
Lookout. But a furious southeast gale had struck her there, com-
pelling Captain C. B. Norton to put about and head for the com-
parative safety of the area north of Cape Hatteras; an area compara-
tively safe, that is, because Norton apparently figured that the
Fessenden would then be protected from the southeast winds.
That was about like jumping out of the way of a runaway horse
into the path of an oncoming locomotive, for by the time the Fes-
senden had rounded Cape Hatteras and proceeded northward a bit
to the comparative safety Captain Norton sought, the wind had
swung around and a strong northeaster was tearing into the coast.
The two storms were too much for the old Fessenden, and by the
morning of April 26 her foremast was broken off about one-third
of its length below the crosstrees, her main-topmast was gone, and
she had lost most of her sails. That is when Captain Norton headed
in dose to the mouth of New Inlet and anchored.
SHIPWRECKS AS A BUSINESS 159
Surfman E. S. Midgett of the Chicamacomico Station saw the
Fessenden bearing in toward the coast in a partially disabled condi-
tion and hastened back to his station with the news. By that time
the schooner had anchored without any show of distress signals,
so Keeper L. B. Midgett set his code flags to inquire whether she
wanted any aid. The flags were ignored by the schooner.
The weather was clear; the northeaster had died down and there
was only a moderate wind. But Keeper Midgett realized that the
vessel was in a dangerous position should the winds increase again,
so he ordered a constant watch maintained and had the lif esaving
gear brought out in readiness for immediate use if needed.
At dusk the Fessenden was still anchored there, riding easily at
her moorings. No distress signals were seen during the night, and
although the wind had freshened, she was in approximately the
same position at dawn of April 27. Shortly afterwards, however,
it became evident that her cables had parted and she was heading
for the beach.
Midgett had already alerted the stations on either side of Chica-
macomico. He now ordered his crew out with the gear, telephoned
Gull Shoal and New Inlet stations for immediate assistance, and
proceeded up the beach to a spot one mile north of his station,
where it seemed likely the vessel would strike the beach.
Captain Norton's reasons for not answering the lif esavers* sig-
nals, and for refusing to show any sort of a signal of distress after
the Fessenden had anchored, were never explained; for Captain
Norton was washed overboard just as the vessel struck the bar, the
first human casualty aboard the unlucky schooner.
The remaining six members of the crew were gathered on the
f orecastle deck at this time, but as soon as she grounded the heavy
load of stone secured the Fessenden there on the shoal as firmly as
if she had been part of a man-made jetty, the breakers began to
sweep across her deck, and the crewmen were forced out on the
jib-boom.
Keeper Midgett fired only one shot with his Lyle gun, placing
the line almost in the hands of the sailors hanging on to the boom.
Because of their precarious position and the strong current sweep-
ing down the coast they had difficulty hauling the line aboard, and
160 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
they were still engaged in this work twenty minutes later when the
vessel suddenly went to pieces, disintegrating like a piece of fragile
pottery dropped on a stone wall.
Two crewmen were said to have been killed by the debris before
they had a chance to strike out for shore; another was swept down
the beach and drowned before crossing into shallow water. But
the lif esavers, each with a heaving line, immediately scattered along
the beach and succeeded in dragging the three remaining crewmen
from the surf. One of these was unconscious, apparently dead, but
artificial respiration was applied and in time he recovered his senses.
Thus, of seven men aboard the George L. Fesse?iden, four, in-
cluding Captain Norton, lost their lives; and so completely was the
vessel wrecked that there was no visible sign of her on the bar when
the northeaster subsided; only her rotten timbers cluttered the
surf, grim reminders that the area north of Cape Hatteras offers
only false security to the seafarer seeking safe anchorage.
ALFRED BRABROOK
Ice, twelve hundred dollars worth of it, was the cargo of the
three-masted schooner Alfred Erabrook of Fall River, Massachu-
setts, when she sailed from Boothbay, Maine, in early March, 1 899.
The 563-ton Brabrook, with eight men in her crew, was en route
to Charleston, South Carolina.
It was a cold trip all the way, with or without the ice; for when
she approached Cape Hatteras in the predawn hours of March 7,
the Brabrook ran into a severe snow storm, and before the captain
could get his bearings the vessel stranded two miles north of Gull
Shoal Station.
The lif esavers were on the scene by daybreak, but though the
first shot fired by Keeper D. M. Pugh was successful, it took most
of the morning to set up the breeches buoy in the freezing cold
and rescue the crew.
Shortly afterwards the vessel disintegrated, spreading icebergs,
shipwreck style, along the beach for miles.
CIRIACO
1899
THERE ARE PEOPLE still
living along the Carolina coast who had intimate knowledge of San
Ciriaco, whose most poignant memories are of San Ciriaco, whose
friends were killed by San Ciriaco, whose homes were destroyed by
it and whose lives were changed by it, but who have never before
heard the name and will not recognize it now.
The people of Puerto Rico knew San Ciriaco. They knew it and
remembered it and have made a place for it in the history of their
island home, for it was the Puerto Ricans who gave San Ciriaco *
its name.
San Ciriaco was the hurricane of 1899. There were others that
year, but San Ciriaco was the hurricane of 1899. It was spawned in
the southern oceans near the equator, was bred on the islands of
the Caribbean, spent much of its mature life off our own coast, and
* San Ciriaco was the name of the saint on whose day the hurricane struck
Puerto Rico.
161
i6i GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
died a slow death in the Azores. It lived for almost a month, took
thousands of lives, destroyed innumerable buildings, and sank ships
wherever it went.
The impending arrival of San Ciriaco was heralded along the
outer banks in the early morning of August 16, 1899. A high and
troubled surf pounded the shore at Cape Hatteras, the sky became
overcast, and the wind, normally light and from the southwest at
that time of year, went around to the east and got down to the
serious business of blowing. By noon it had reached fifty miles per
hour.
At about that time the three-masted schooner Aaron Reppard,
having left Philadelphia on August 12 with a cargo of coal for
Savannah, was anchored off the coast somewhere between Cape
Henry and Cape Hatteras. Captain Osker Wessel, apparently not
aware of the approach of San Ciriaco, had decided to ride out the
storm. But San Ciriaco was not the kind of storm you could ride
out, as Captain Wessel soon discovered; for his craft drifted closer
and closer to shore, and in the early afternoon breakers were seen
astern. Even at that late hour, had he chosen, Captain Wessel could
have let go his anchors and stood a good chance of drifting high on
the beach. But Captain Wessel took the other course, held fast to
his anchors, even hoisted sails, and the Reppard slowly dragged into
the pounding surf.
There were eight men aboard the 4J9-ton Reppard: Captain
Wessel, six crewmen, and a passenger named Cummings. When the
vessel struck, all hands immediately climbed into the shrouds, Cum-
mings taking to the mizzen-rigging, a sailor named Tony Nilsen
to the main-rigging, and the others to the fore-rigging. From those
vantage points they could see the beach, a long sand bank almost
completely covered with storm tides and behind it the shallow
waters of the sound, the whole of it barren, submerged, and un-
inviting. Their situation seemed hopeless. But even as their gaze
swept the beach, figures appeared there, fifteen or twenty of them,
waving their arms and signalling.
The people they saw were lif esavers, guardians of the coast, who
had been aware of the proximity and plight of the schooner for
some time and had now assembled from the Chicamacomico, Gull
Shoal, and Little Kinnakeet stations to render aid.
SAN CIRIACO 163
The survivors clinging to the rigging of the Reppard saw these
men make preparations for their rescue, watched as the first shot
burned loose from its line and sailed overhead, saw the second fall
short, and were almost struck by the third as it lodged squarely
across the head stays, almost within their grasp. Yet they could
not reach the line, let alone attempt to pull it aboard, for every bit
of their time and strength was required in hanging on as the Rep-
pardy heavily laden with some seven hundred tons of cargo, pounded
against the bottom with a terrible jarring impact as each breaker
swept in across the reef.
Cummings, the passenger, was the first to lose his balance and
fall from his perch high on the mizzenmast. For a moment it looked
as if he could be saved, for his leg caught in a rope as he fell; but
immediately the wind began slamming his limp body against the
mast with such force that life soon left him. And even as Cum-
mings body swung there, his face bruised almost beyond recogni-
tion, the vessel began to disintegrate. The mainmast went first,
throwing Nilsen to the deck, from whence he was washed over-
board; then Captain Wessel jumped into the sea, swam toward the
beach, changed his mind, started back for his ship, and sank from
sight just before reaching it.
The foremast fell next, carrying the five survivors into the churn-
ing breakers, killing one as he struck the water. The others struck
out for shore, while the lif esavers waded into the surf to meet them.
Only three came in close enough for the lifesavers to drag them
through the breakers; three saved, of the eight aboard the Aaron
Reppard when she left Philadelphia two days earlier. San Ciriaco
had taken its first toll of shipping and life on the Carolina coast.
The nine men and one woman aboard the 741 -ton three-masted
schooner Florence Randall, next to encounter the wrath of San
Ciriaco, were more fortunate. They struck two miles south of
Big Kinnakeet Station and about fifteen miles south of where the
Reppard had gone ashore at about the same time that the three
surviving members of the Reppard j s crew were being dragged from
the surf. Again, the lifesavers were on the scene when the vessel
struck, but this time their first shot landed on board the vessel, the
breeches buoy was soon set up, and by dark Captain C. A- Cavillier,
his wife, and the eight crewmen were safe on shore. But the
164 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
Randall, and the four thousand dollars worth of fish scrap which
she was carrying from Promised Land, New York, to Charleston,
were lost to San Ciriaco.
The next day August 17 San Ciriaco loosed its full fury against
the narrow string of sandy reefs and islands which constitute the
North Carolina outer banks. At 4 A,M. the wind at Cape Hatteras
was blowing at 70 miles per hour; at noon it was between 84 and
93 miles; at i P.M. it was recorded at 120 miles per hour, and
throughout that afternoon and night winds of more than 100 miles
per hour prevailed. C There were not more than four houses on
Hatteras Island into which the tide did not rise to a depth ranging
from one to four feet," the government reported; and Hatteras
Island, even then, included more than half a dozen separate com-
munities. So intense were the winds and so high the tides accom-
panying San Ciriaco that it was impossible for lif esavers to maintain
their patrols, with the result that most of the vessels wrecked on
the coast were not reached were not even discovered until the
morning of the eighteenth, when the winds had begun to subside.
At Portsmouth Station, Surfman William T. Willis saw a vessel
with a distress signal flying in Pamlico Sound two miles northeast
of the station when daylight came that morning. Keeper F. G.
Terrell immediately put out in his surfboat and rowed to the vessel.
En route, another craft, a small two-masted schooner, the Lydia
Willis, was seen sunk near the mouth of Ocracoke Inlet, but there
was no sign of life aboard, so the lifesavers proceeded on to the
vessel in distress. This proved to be the Fred Walton, a 441 -ton
hulk which the Norfolk and Southern Railroad was using as a lay
boat for the company's steamers. She had broken loose from her
moorings, drifted on Hog Shoal, and broken in two. The master,
Captain Bill Gaskill, and his wife, "Miss Annie," survived the dis-
aster and were taken ashore by the lifesavers.
On the way back to Portsmouth the next day a signal was seen
flying from the mast of the sunken Lydia Willis, and on pulling up
beside the vessel Terrell learned that there had been six men aboard,
that two had been washed overboard, and that the remaining four
had spent almost two days in the rigging before the seas quieted
down enough for them to climb down to the deck. Exhausted from
SAN CIRIACO 165
their forty-eight hours aloft, they had fallen asleep almost im-
mediately, which accounted for the absence of a signal and signs
of life when Terrell passed by the first time.
Meanwhile, at Little Kinnakeet Station, midway between the
wrecks of the Aaron Reppard and Florence Randall, the three-
masted schooner Robert W. Dasey was discovered ashore. She had
been en route from Philadelphia to Jacksonville with coal and had
stranded there at the height of the hurricane. The beach was so
badly flooded still that the mules, attempting to haul the apparatus
cart to the scene, mired down in the muck at every step, and it was
more than two hours before the three-quarters of a mile from the
station to the wreck could be covered. Even then the beach ap-
paratus was not needed, for the Dasey was bow on to the beach,
with the outer jib stay hanging over the side, enabling the lifesavers
to walk into the surf and hold the jib stay fast while the seven
survivors came down it to safety. But though the rescue of the
crewmen was a comparatively simple matter, the Dasey was so high
on the beach that there was no chance of floating her. Like the hulk
Fred Walton and the schooner Lydia Willis, she too was a total
loss.
Across Pamlico Sound, meanwhile, the 66-ton schooner General
E. L. F. Hardcastle, from Wilkins Point to Baltimore with a load
of lumber, had foundered in the storm, and part of her cargo and
all five of her crew were lost.
And at Creeds Hill, to the west of Cape Hatteras, lookout F. J.
Rollinson discovered a vessel ashore about a mile southwest of the
station. When the lifesavers arrived they read, in huge block letters
along the side of the vessel, the words Diamond Shoals; this was no
ordinary vessel it was Lightship No. 69, which had dragged
loose from its permanent berth on the outer point of Diamond
Shoals at the height of San Ciriaco's fury and drifted ashore. The
nine crewmen were rescued in the breeches buoy and subsequently
were rescued in like manner three more times while salvage opera-
tions were in progress but in time the lightship was floated and
returned once more to Diamond Shoals, a lonely sentinel warning
mariners away from the dreaded shifting sand bars.
They tell the story of the wreck of the barkentine Friscilla with
pride along the outer banks; the Midgetts do, especially, for the
166 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
hero of the story was one of the family, Rasmus S. Midgett, surf-
man at Gull Shoal Station.
You can get the outline of the story from the official report of
the keeper of Gull Shoal Station: "R. S. Aiidgett, surf man No. i,
on south patrol from 3 A.M. to sunrise. He found a wreck broken
to pieces 3 miles south of station and on stern was ten men. He
managed to save them all without coming to station to report."
That is the extent of the keeper's report concerning the exploits
of Rasmus Midgett that stormy morning; but there is more to the
story if you care to look for it.
Before dawn on August 18 Rasmus Aiidgett mounted his beach
pony and went out on his beat to the south. His course took him
past the remains of the Aaron Reppard, past the spars and timbers
of countless other ships wrecked in days gone by, across gullies,
through newly-cut inlets, along a stretch of barren beachland still
buffeted by the waning winds of San Ciriaco. He had been one of
the lif esavers on the scene when the Reppard came ashore two days
earlier, and chances are he paused there, remembering the cries of
anguish from the dying; yet within half a mile he was to hear such
cries again and see through the gloom the hazy, ghost-like shape of
still another ship committed to the Graveyard of the Atlantic.
The voyage of the 643-ton barkentine Priscilla had started out
as a sort of family affair. When she left Baltimore the preceding
Saturday, August 12, en route to Rio de Janeiro with a general
cargo valued at more than $34,000, she carried a crew of twelve,
including Captain Benjamin E. Springsteen and Mate William
Springsteen, the Captain's son. Mrs. Virginia Springsteen, the Cap-
tain's wife, and twelve-year-old Elmer Springsteen, their other son,
were also on board. The Priscilla encountered San Ciriaco just north
of Cape Hatteras and managed to buck the winds until the hur-
ricane had passed. But she was so badly damaged that Captain
Springsteen could not prevent her from driving ashore, and she
struck early in the morning of August 18 three miles south of Gull
Shoal Station.
Because she was pounding so hard the Captain ordered the port-
rigging cut away, and as soon as this was accomplished the three
masts fell. Still no lives had been lost, but the waves were now
breaking across the vessel with tremendous force. The Captain
SAN CIRIACO 167
clutched his younger son in his arms, and the Mate attempted to
comfort and shelter his mother and the young cabin boy, Fitzhugh
Goldsborough. The efforts of both were futile, for a towering wave
struck the Priscilla, tearing young Elmer Springsteen from his
father's arms and washing the cabin boy, Mrs. Springsteen, and
Mate Springsteen overboard. In just that instant Captain Spring-
steen's family was taken from him.
It must have been at about this same time that Rasmus Midgett
heard the cries of distress and saw the stranded vessel, already be-
ginning to go to pieces. There was not time to return to the station
for help, but what could one man do under such circumstances?
Rasmus Midgett thought he knew.
Dismounting from his pony he ran down to the bank, waited
there for a huge breaker to roll in to shore, then raced into the water
toward the ship as the giant wave receded. He shouted hurried
instructions to the ten men crouched there on the forward part of
the barkentine, then ran for shore again as the next wave came in.
They probably thought he was insane; but Rasmus Midgett was
their only hope of rescue, and the men aboard the Priscilla obeyed
his instructions. When next he ran toward the ship in the wake of
one of the crushing breakers, a crewman climbed down the ropes
hanging over her side to meet him. Rasmus Midgett grabbed the
man, dragged him bodily from the path of the next onrushing
breaker, and deposited him safely on the beach. Then he returned
again for a second rescue attempt. He made seven trips that way,
rescued seven men, accomplishing the near impossible in the face
of the greatest adversity, yet the job was not yet done. For three
men yet remained aboard the Priscilla; three exhausted, bruised, and
feeble men, unable to climb down the side of the vessel and be saved
in the same manner as their seven cohorts.
To Rasmus Midgett, standing there on the beach with the seven
castaways he had pulled from the very arms of death, there was
only one course open. He dashed into the surf again, fought his
way through the turbulent waters to the side of the vessel, grasped
the ropes, pulled himself hand over hand to the deck. He lay there
for a moment, breathing hard, his muscles aching, his strong body
taxed almost beyond human endurance. But he rose again, stumbled
across the deck to the side of one of the three men lying crumpled
168 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
there. Lifting him to his shoulders, he returned to the ropes, slid
down into the sea, and staggered toward the shore with his heavy
burden. Again he dashed into the angry surf, climbed to the deck
of the ship, lifted the second man, and carried him, somehow, to
the place of sanctuary on the shore. The whole grueling, painful,
harrowing operation was repeated a third time and was again suc-
cessful.
Rasmus Midgett gave his coat to Captain Springsteen, the most
badly injured of the survivors, and attempted to rouse his tired
pony but without success. Instructing the ten men to follow, he
hurried back along the beach to his station, reporting the Priscilla
wrecked. What of the crew, he was asked? All saved. All safe on
shore.
For that feat, unparalleled in the annals of lifesaving, Rasmus S.
Midgett was awarded the Gold Lifesaving Medal of Honor, the
highest honor which can be bestowed for the saving of life in
peacetime.
Rasmus Midgett's work was done for the time, but the effects
of San Ciriaco were yet to be revealed. A mile and a half northeast
of Chicamacomico Station that same morning the three-masted
schooner Atirmie Bergen of Philadelphia, a 387-ton vessel en route
from Philadelphia to Nuevitas, Cuba, with a cargo of railroad iron,
coal, and oil, was discovered by the lifesavers. A Lyle gun was set
up and fired, the breeches buoy run out, and the seven crewmen
safely hauled ashore. And at Core Bank, the next day, the little
schooner George Taulane of Beaufort, bound from its home port
to New Bern with a cargo of fish scrap, ran ashore, and the five
men aboard were rescued by the lifesavers.
Meanwhile six other vessels the schooner John C. Haynes, 1,346
tons, from Port Tampa, Florida, to Baltimore, with a cargo of phos-
phate rock and nine crewmen; the schooner M. B. Mitten, 336 tons,
from New London, Connecticut, to Brunswick, Georgia, in ballast
with seven crewmen; the barkentine Albert Scbultz, 498 tons, from
Baltimore to Savannah with coal and a crew of eight; the schooner
Elwood H. STmth, 439 tons, from New York to Jacksonville in
ballast with seven crewmen; the brig Henry B. Cleaves, 389 tons,
from Haiti to Stamford, Connecticut, with logwood and eight
crewmen, and the schooner Chas. M. Patterson, 834 tons, from
SAN CIRIACO
169
Philadelphia to Savannah with coal and eight crewmen encount-
ered the wrath of San Ciriaco and disappeared forever.
Seven vessels lost on the beach Aaron Reppard, Florence
Randall, Lydia Willis, Fred Walton, Robert W. Dasey, Priscilla,
Minnie Bergen, and the lightship driven ashore from Diamond
Shoals; six others disappeared at sea without a trace John C.
Haynes, M. B. Mitten, Albert Schziltz, Elwood H. Smith, Henry
B. Cleaves and Chas. M. Patterson. More than fifty lives lost;
hundreds of homes inundated; fishing nets, small boats, livestock,
gardens, even furniture ruined. All of it caused by San Ciriaco.
Remember the name this time. San Ciriaco, the hurricane of 1899.
FROM SAIL TO STEAM
1899-1918
; TEAMSHIPS first appeared
along the North Carolina coast early in the nineteenth century, but
it was more than a hundred years before they were able to wrest
away from sailing craft the bulk of the coastal trade, and it took
a world-wide war to accomplish it even then.
During the years immediately preceding World War I, there
were more sailing vessels than ever plying the coastal routes, and
their main nemesis, as in days gone by, was that series of broad
shifting sand bars jutting out from Cape Hatteras in a vague
diamond shape. The prevailing wind there is from the southwest,
and at times the southwesters blow for weeks on end. At such times
the sailing vessels, unable to beat their way around Diamond Shoals
because of the combined force of the wind and the waters of the
Gulf Stream flowing up from the south, were forced to remain
there on the north side of Cape Hatteras for weeks at a time.
As a result, according to the older bankers, there were sometimes
as many as seventy-five or eighty sails in view off Kinnakeet, just
north of the cape; and when a shift finally did come, it was not
uncommon for the newly arrived northerly winds to reach gale
force before the first of these sailing ships could make their way
around the cape. The result, frequently, was shipwreck.
In the eighteen-year period from the fall of 1899 to the spring of
1918 a total of 1 08 vessels were totally lost on the North Carolina
coast. All but fifteen of these were sailing craft, and a large per-
centage were wrecked on Hatteras Island. It was an auspicious and
deadly climax for the reign of sailing craft,
170
FROM SAIL TO STEAM 171
ARIOSTO
In compiling a set of * Instructions to Mariners in Case of Ship-
wreck" soon after its formation, the United States Lifesaving Serv-
ice emphasized the following statement: "Masters are particularly
cautioned, if they should be driven ashore anywhere in the neigh-
borhood of the stations, especially on any of the sandy coasts, where
there is not much danger of vessels breaking up immediately, to
remain on board until assistance arrives, and under no circum-
stances should they attempt to land through the surf in their own
boats until the last hope of assistance from the shore has vanished."
Hundreds of mariners have failed to heed that advice and have
died for it, though probably the most noteworthy case on the
Carolina coast was the wreck of the steamship Ariosto in 1899.
The Ariosto was due to arrive in Norfolk, Virginia, December
25, and the thirty crewmen were no doubt looking forward to
partaking of a fine Christinas dinner in that port. But as it developed,
nine of them ate Christmas dinner instead on the island of Ocra-
coke, and then assisted, even before the meal was digested, in bury-
ing the lifeless bodies of twenty-one of their former shipmates.
The schooner-rigged steel steamer, a 2,265-ton vessel bound for
Hamburg, Germany, via Norfolk, had on board a cargo of wheat,
cotton, lumber, and cottonseed valued at more than one and a half
million dollars when she cleared from Galveston, Texas, earlier
in the month. The Ariosto bucked a smart wind and rough sea
after passing Cape Lookout the night of December 23, and at 3:45
the next morning she suddenly struck breakers, careened over on
her starboard side, and held fast.
Captain R. R. Baines, roused from his berth, assumed the craft
had stranded on Diamond Shoals, and after a hurried consultation
with his officers made plans to abandon ship. Meanwhile, he ordered
distress signals fired, and almost immediately there was a respond-
ing red flare from off in the north. Though such a flare was the
universal signal that assistance was on the way, and despite the fact
that there is no land to the north of Diamond Shoals from which a
signal of that kind could come, the Captain persisted in his belief
that his vessel was on the dreaded shoals, and the order to abandon
ship was carried out.
i 7 2 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
Even as other flares were seen in the north two boats were
lowered away, men crowded into them, and both were cast loose
before all of the crewmen had reached them. Thus four men, in-
cluding Captain Baines, were left on the stranded steamer, while
the two boats pulled off a short distance and stood by, waiting for
daylight. Long before light came, however, the two boats capsized
in the rough sea, and of the twenty-six persons occupying them
only two managed to swim back to the Ariosto. In the darkness of
night, in the midst of tumultuous breakers, the twenty-four others
were forced to fend for themselves.
They were not, however, on the outer end of Diamond Shoals
as Captain Baines had supposed, for the flares they had seen were
lighted by a surfman patrolling the beach and the lookout at
Ocracoke Station (located, then, just west of Hatteras Inlet) . The
Ariosto was aground approximately three miles southwest of the
inlet and half a mile from shore.
When the Ocracoke lif esavers, plagued by cart break-downs and
a mucky beach, arrived on the beach opposite the stranded vessel
an hour and a half after her distress signals were first seen, they
discovered a lone figure staggering toward them. This was Seaman
Karl Elsing, a former occupant of one of the capsized boats and the
only one of the twenty-four who had succeeded in swimming
ashore.
The lifesavers soon set up their beach equipment, and in the
darkness an experimental shot was fired in the direction of the
steamer. It fell far short, and all hands bent on the line in an at-
tempt to pull it back to shore, but it pulled hard as if it had caught
on something out there in the darkness. It had!
Boatswain Aleck Anderson, one of those thrown into the break-
ers when the lifeboats capsized, was a poor swimmer. At first he
tried to find something to hold to, but he was unsuccessful and
could only tread water in a frantic effort to stay afloat. It was a
hopeless task for a man hardly able to swim. With both ship and
shore beyond tiis reach, and buffeted constantly by the chaotic
breakers, he was at last in the process of resigning himself to certain
death when something struck him across the shoulders.
He reached up, found a firm line resting there, and with his last
FROM SAIL TO STEAM m
strength wrapped it around his arm. Then he lost consciousness.
Out there a quarter of a mile from shore or better, the lifesavers'
line had reached the lone figure. When they pulled in their line,
Boatswain Aleck Anderson was the dead weight they felt; half-
drowned when he was dragged ashore, he soon was revived suffi-
ciently by the trained surfmen to recount his harrowing and mirac-
ulous experience.
The rest of it was routine, A third man was dragged from the
surf, worked over, and resuscitated. More shots were fired toward
the steamer, until one landed fairly, and by mid-afternoon the
rescue of Captain Baines and the five others aboard the Ariosto was
effected. Nine of thirty were rescued; twenty-one others were
buried there at Ocracoke because heed was not taken of the advice
that "under no circumstances should they attempt to land through
the surf in their own boats until the last hope of assistance from
the shore has vanished."
HETTIE J. DORMAN
A steamship is an impersonal thing, heavy and sluggish and un-
friendly in appearance. For, in the final analysis, a steamship is only
a machine, and like any other machine is completely useless with-
out fuel to run it and men to guide it.
But a sailing craft is something else again. A sailing craft is a
living thing; a lovely woman, lithe and feminine and temperamental,
possessing a heart and soul and will of her own; a sweetheart, to
be loved and coddled and referred to always in endearing terms.
You question that? Then try calling a sailing craft "he" sometime
and watch the reaction of seafaring men.
Take Hettie Dorman, for instance. Hettie J. Dorman was her
full name, but most people called her Hettie, or just Dorman. In
1900 she was only thirteen years old, but already she possessed
knowledge and experience, especially experience, that few men
gain in a lifetime. She weighed 124 tons, somewhat overweight by
human standards, yet she was as pert and saucy as you would ever
want to see. Her home town was Drawbridge, Delaware, a sleepy
little port, so small you would not even find it on the road maps.
i?4 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
But she spent little time there, returning only occasionally for a
new outfit or to visit awhile with the folks she had been brought
up with.
Hettie was a wanderer. She liked going home, but always after
a brief stay she was ready to leave again, to run toward the open
sea, pushing her head into the winds and spreading her sails to catch
the breeze, like a little girl on iceskates. She moved gracefully across
the water, bound for distant placesromantic, yet fearful, places
that most people only heard of and never saw.
What kind of a woman is that, you say; traipsing all over the
world, alone and unescorted? But Hettie was not alone, nor was
she unescorted, for her constant companion on those trips was a
man, a neighbor from Drawbridge, even more widely travelled than
Hettie; a rough, hard working, seafaring man, yet tender and loving
in his treatment of young Hettie Dorman. His name was Sabiston
Captain J. W. Sabiston.
They left Drawbridge together that spring of 1900. They sailed
together along the coast, past the entrance of Chesapeake Bay, past
Cape Henry, past the awesome shoals off Hatteras and Lookout,
and arrived, finally, at Bogue Inlet, North Carolina.
They had work to do there, loading newly cut pine boards, two
thousand dollars worth of them, with the aid of the four crewmen
who were with them always. When the job was done they set sail
again, passed Lookout a second time, headed east beyond Cape
Hatteras, then turned north. Their destination was Patchogue,
Long Island.
They were nervy, those two, Hettie Dorman and her Captain; for
they sailed in close to Diamond Shoals, actually crossed the outer-
most point, not worried about it the way most seafarers are, for
they had crossed shoal water before and done it without mishap. But
they had overlooked one thing that day; they had forgotten the
many other ships, large lumbering steamers and sailing vessels which
had grounded there and sunk; and, with a sudden, horrible, grind-
ing, grating, ripping sound they struck one of those wrecks, tore
loose the under planking, and shipped water at a fearful rate.
Men do strange things under stress, strange and mean and thought-
less things, just as Captain Sabiston did there on the outer fringes
FROM SAIL TO STEAM 175
of Diamond Shoals. For, without a backward glance, without
bothering to take in Hettie's sails or even say goodbye, Captain
Sabiston lowered a yawl, ordered the four crewmen over the side,
and climbed in himself, leaving Hettie Dorman alone there on the
shoal.
Lifesavers from Cape Hatteras came out that afternoon and res-
cued Captain Sabiston and his crew. They, too, ignored Hettie.
But Hettie, like any woman, resented being left alone, and when
they headed shoreward she took out after them. Injured internally,
able to drag along at only a fraction of her usual speed, she made
a slow trip of it.
Before dark that night Captain Sabiston and his crew reached
shore and were bedded down in the lifesaving station; and in the
darkness, trailing her loved one as best she could, Hettie Dorman
navigated the full length of Diamond Shoals (a seemingly impossible
feat, even for the most experienced of sailors) and then headed
for the open beach to the north of the cape where last she had seen
her Captain.
At four o'clock the next morning Surfman O. J. Gray of Big
Kinnakeet Station sighted Hettie a mile or so offshore in the dim
false dawn. He burned a Coston signal as a warning that she was
dangerously near the shore, but Hettie ignored him. He burned
another, and finally a third, but Hettie kept on, and before the
surfman could return to his station for assistance she struck the
beach, only four miles north of the station where Captain Sabiston
was even then being roused by the lifesavers.
Surfman Gray and his cohorts went out to Hettie that morning,
looked her over, asked questions, tried to find out what she was
doing there; but all they learned from Hettie was her name. A
woman has her pride, you know; there are some things none of them
will let on to strangers.
That is all there was to the story of Hettie Dorman, except that
Captain Sabiston came to her later in the day, realized the error of
his ways, and tried to help her get clear of the sand bank on which
she rested. The lifesavers, inspecting her injuries, thought maybe
she could make it. But they just did not know Hettie Dorman; they
did not know about her soul and heart and will. Hettie's injuries
176 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
were not the kind you could see; they were deep within her, and
fatal. Hettie /. Dorman died there on the beach, as Captain Sabiston
looked on.
EA
For a full dose of suspense take a close look at the repeated
attempts to save the twenty-seven Spaniards aboard the steamship
Ea, stranded on Lookout Shoals in March, 1902.
The Ea (full name) was a 2,632-ton steamer bound from Fernan-
dina, Florida, to Hamburg, Germany, via New York with a cargo
of phosphate rock and rosin, when she struck the outer tip of the
shoals, twelve miles from Cape Lookout Lighthouse, in mid-after-
noon of March 15, 1902.
Lifesavers from Cape Lookout Station, under command of
Keeper William H. Gaskill, spotted the steamer at 3:30 that after-
noon and immediately put off in their surfboat to render assistance.
The wind was blowing moderately from the southeast, but the sea
was very rough and the sky overcast, and by the time they reached
the vicinity of the wreck it was dark. Despite the huge seas breaking
all around them, and the mist and darkness in which they were
enveloped, the lifesavers rowed about for several hours in a futile
attempt to find the vessel.
Returning to shore at 1:30 the next morning Keeper Gaskill
contacted the revenue cutter Algonquin at Morehead City, and
shortly after dawn the lifesavers again headed for the wreck,
this time in tow of the cutter. The Ea was clearly visible in the
daylight, but when Gaskill cast loose from the cutter and tried to
row in closer he found that the steamer was completely surrounded
by huge, frothing breakers, blocking his way in all directions.
By this time the twenty-seven Spaniards must certainly have been
aware that every effort was being made to rescue them, for in addi-
tion to the cutter and the Lookout surfboat, the tug Alexander
Jones had also come up to offer assistance. But the tug could do no
more than the others, and late that afternoon the three craft headed
back to the cape.
Early the next morning, the seventeenth, the fleet of rescue ves-
sels, joined now by the large wrecking tug /. /. Merritt, returned
FROM SAIL TO STEAM i 77
again to the wreck; the lifesavers made another attempt to row in
close but were thwarted; and after another day of waiting and
watching and hoping, they returned again to Cape Lookout for
the night.
March 18 was the day of decision and final action. For, when
the rescue vessels reached the outer tip of the shoals that morning
they discovered that the steamer had broken completely in two,
with both her bow and stern ends below water, and the crew
was gathered on the bridge. The wind had shifted and the breakers,
though still pounding with tremendous force against the Ea and the
shoals surrounding her, seemed to have abated slightly.
Once more Keeper Gaskill cast off, headed in toward the wreck
from the leeward side, but the force of the waves was so great that he
could make no progress, and yet again it was necessary for the little
surf boat to be taken in tow. She was hauled around to the windward
side this time and turned loose there. The lifesavers took up their
oars and dug into the churning sea with full strength, following the
shouted commands of Keeper Gaskill who stood in the stern, the
steering oar pressed hard against his body, his eyes constantly
searching the breakers behind and in front and on the sides. The
frail craft pounded down and across the shoal, lifted to the top of one
breaker, and was thrown down into the trough between that and
the next, flipped around like a falling leaf caught by autumn winds,
always moving forward toward the wrecked steamer Ea. But it
was all in vain, for they passed the wreck, unable to slacken their
speed sufficiently to slip into the comparatively calm spot to lee-
ward, and rode out the breakers, far beyond the stricken ship.
A lifeboat, with seventeen men aboard, put out from the Ea then,
navigated the breakers, and was picked up by the tug. But ten men
remained on board, and it was up to the lifesavers to try again.
Once more they were towed to windward, were cast loose just
beyond that riotous line of breakers, drifted into them, darted
forward toward the Ea. Keeper Gaskill steered closer this time,
almost struck the vessel as he went by, dug in with his steering oar,
shouted for his oarsmen to exert their every effort, and succeeded
somehow in making the lee, coming up beside the ship.
It was easy going from then on. The ten survivors climbed down
from the bridge and crowded into the boat with room for each to
i 7 8 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
hang on and nothing more. The line that held them to the wreck
was cut, and Keeper Gaskill steered them through the leeward
breakers to safety beyond. The ten men were pulled aboard the tug,
once more the surfboat was taken in tow, and the entire flotilla
headed in toward Lookout Bight. It had taken three full days but
the rescue was complete.
OLIVE THURLOW
No record is available, unfortunately, of the conversation between
the master of the little tug Atlantic and Captain Jerry O. Hayes of
the barkentine Olive Thurlow, while the latter vessel lay at anchor
in Lookout Bight on the morning of December 4, 1902, nine months
after the survivors of the Ea were landed there. Even more impor-
tant, there is no information as to the amount of money the master
of the Atlantic wanted to charge Hayes for towing his vessel to a
safe harbor. It is a reasonably certain guess, however, that the
amount was only a fraction of $14,000, which was the value of the
Thurhw, or even of $6,000, the cost of the more than 200,000 feet
of pine lumber she carried in her hold and on her deck.
It is known, definitely, that the Thtirlow, a 66o-ton vessel of
New York, bound home from Charleston, had struck bad weather
off Bodie Island three days previously, and that Captain Hayes had
turned about, sailed past Cape Hatteras, and sought a safe anchorage
in Lookout Bight. In the process, taking the wheel himself, the
Captain got caught between the tiller and the quadrant, breaking
a bone in his leg.
Also, if you want to look at the thing from the Captain's point of
view, a man with a broken leg, who has been without medical
assistance for three days, is not likely to have the patience required
for successful haggling over towage fees, or even for correctly
sizing up the coming weather conditions. Which might account
for the fact that Captain Hayes refused the terms offered by the
master of the tug Atlantic and refused also to take the advice of
Keeper William H. Gaskill of Cape Lookout Station, who smelt a
storm in the offing and suggested that he be allowed to move the
Thurlow to a safer anchorage.
So Captain Hayes was taken to Beaufort where a doctor set his
FROM SAIL TO STEAM 179
leg, and the Thurlovi remained at anchor in Lookout Bight, to the
north of the cape, throughout that night. First Mate Florian, in
charge of the barkentine, put over one anchor, and this with only
about thirty fathoms of chain attached. Later he let out that much
again, but by then the wind was blowing between seventy and
eighty miles per hour, the sea was so rough that Keeper Gaskill
said he had never seen anything like it in his fifteen years' experience
on the cape, and the Olive Thurlow was doomed.
Mate Florian burned two blue Coston signals as soon as he saw
that the vessel would pile up on the beach, and an immediate answer
came from the lifesavers ashore who had kept a constant watch in
anticipation of just such a situation. It was then about 4 A.M.,
December 5.
By six o'clock the lifesavers had set up their apparatus and fired
a line aboard the wreck, within reach of the six sailors who had been
forced to take to the mizzen shrouds. But even as the sailors reached
for the line the mast broke, throwing the men, mizzenmast, and
rigging to the deck in a tangled mass, crushing the skull of Steward
John Chalkly beneath the mast, and seriously injuring two others.
Chalkly's body washed overboard and was never seen again, while
the five men remaining attempted to extricate themselves from the
mass of wreckage surrounding them.
Observing this calamity from shore, Keeper Gaskill again fired
a line across the wreck, and the sailors had reached it and were in
the process of making it fast to the stump of the mast when the
whole ship went to pieces. The five sailors managed to cling to the
top of the deckhouse.
"They lay down with their arms through the skylight holes,"
Keeper Gaskill reported later, "those unhurt holding those injured
as best they could. At times all must have been ten feet under water.
One man was washed off but managed to hold out 'till in reach of
assistance, when he was taken out of the sea. By this time those on
the top of the house had reached the beach and were being taken
out of the surf more dead than alive."
The sea was filled with floating wreckage and pieces of lumber,
tossed end over end by the huge breakers and constantly endan-
gering the lives of both the shipwrecked sailors and of the surfmen,
fishermen, and two lighthouse keepers who were pulling them from
x8o GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
the surf. But the rescue was completed without further serious
injury, the five survivors were carried back to the station, and a
doctor was summoned from Beaufort to attend to their wounds.
Meanwhile, the tug Atlantic was in safe harbor, her master poorer
by one small towing fee than he might have been, but better off, by
far, than Captain Hayes and the owners of the late barkentine Olive
Thurlow.
VERA CRUZ VH
Keeper F. G. Terrell and his crew of the Portsmouth Lifesaving
Station had their hands full on May 8 and 9, 1903, for in that time
they rescued a total of 42 1 shipwrecked persons. Not only that,
but 416 of them were cared for on Portsmouth Island (fewer than 10
residents there now) and a total of 1,248 meals were provided. To
give an idea of the size of this undertaking, four and a half barrels
of flour were required just to make bread for the survivors.
It all began when the 6o5-ton brig Vera Cruz Vll^ a twenty-nine-
year-old vessel hailing from the Cape Verde Islands, stranded on
Dry Shoal Point while trying to enter Ocracoke Inlet at 2 P.M.,
May 8. To this day there is confusion as to why the Vera Cruz
was headed for Ocracoke Inlet, for she had sailed from the Cape
Verde Islands and was en route to New Bedford, Massachusetts,
and Ocracoke Inlet is considerably off course. The explanation of
Captain Julius M. Fernandez was that his supply of fresh water was
exhausted and he was attempting to get through to Ocracoke and
replenish the supply. On the other hand, it has been generally
accepted on Ocracoke ever since that he was, in reality, attempting
to smuggle some 399 Cape Verde Islanders into the United States
by way of the eastern North Carolina sounds.
Those who tell this story add details to the effect that Captain
Fernandez escaped the authorities at the time of the shipwreck and
later smuggled his own way aboard a New Bedford whaler in a
sperm oil barrel.
But smuggler or not, Captain Fernandez provided ample excite-
ment for Terrell's lifesavers and the people of Portsmouth. To
begin with, one of the passengers died of dysentery and had to be
buried there on the island. After that a first class, man-sized fight
FROM SAIL TO STEAM 181
broke out on the Vera Cruz, and the lifesavers had to go aboard
to quell the riot. And finally, it was no small task to transport 42 1
persons, including 2 3 women and three children, from the wrecked
vessel to safety on Portsmouth Island in the midst of a strong
northeaster, with the sea tide so high it flooded most of the beach.
Terrell accomplished the task of transportation by hiring every
available man and every available boat and skiff on die island. The
women of Portsmouth pitched in and did the cooking, bedding was
spread on the floor of just about every house in the community,
and somehow the 42 1 persons were taken care of and made com-
fortable, though not a handful of them could speak English.
From first to last it was a trying time, though in the final analysis
a very successful operation; for in addition to rescuing 399 pas-
sengers and 22 crewmen, the lifesavers also managed to salvage the
entire cargo of sperm oil, 214 barrels of it, valued at six thousand
dollars. But the Vera Cruz VII, at least the remnants of her, are
there yet on Dry Shoal Point.
JOSEPH W. BROOKS
A shipwreck close to shore is bad enough, but when it occurs ten
or twelve miles at sea the task of effecting a rescue is just that much
harder. Two of the veteran lifesavers on this coast seem to have had
more than their share of these long-distance rescues, and almost
invariably they came at a time when the wind was blowing a gale
and the sea was exceptionally rough. Keeper J. L. Watts of Cape
Fear was one he guided his lifesavers on more than a score such
rescues and close behind him in the number of similar relief expe-
ditions was Keeper William H. Gaskill of Cape Lookout.
Keeper GaskilPs report on the wreck of the 7 2 8-ton schooner
Joseph W. Brooks, of Philadelphia, on the outer point of Lookout
Shoals, January 17, 1904, is fairly typical of these rescues. Gaskill
was a seaman, his life dedicated to saving others; but his official
report, written in longhand and submitted in duplicate to Lif esaving
Service headquarters when the rescue mission was completed, is
surprisingly concise, well-written, and interesting. It follows:
"At 9:45 A.M. the day watch dimly discovered with the telescope
through the mist and smoke which hovered over the shoals the
1 82 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
mast of a schooner ashore on the end of Lookout Shoals. The life-
boat was gotten out and a start for the wreck made. Having a strong
fair wind was soon within hailing distance of what proved to be
the schooner Joseph W. Brooks, lumber laden, from Savannah,
Geo., bound to Baltimore, Md., which was laying in a bed of heavy
breakers, with a bad list to port, full of water, boat gone, and the
sea going over her from end to end. Getting a favorable chance I
got hold of a line from the end of the jibboom to the boat, and the
bight of another line down from the same place, which the wrecked
crew was instructed to come down on. And when the heaviest
breakers would pass, I would haul up under the end of the jibboom,
a man come down and be taken in the boat, and pull out again when
compelled to do so by the sea. In this means the entire crew of seven
was taken on board the lifeboat. When all was taken off we pulled
out clear of the breakers and made a start for the shore, arriving
at the station at 7 o'clock P.M. The wrecked crew was wet, cold
and hungry, having eaten nothing since supper the day before and
had been wet since early morning. All were provided with a warm
supper, and an entire suit of clothing (Captain excepted, who
needed none) from the supply furnished by the Women's Na-
tional Relief Association, and all made as comfortable as possible
for the night. The i8th, a boat came from Beaufort and took cap-
tain and crew of wrecked schooner Brooks to Beaufort, N.C."
SARAH D. J. RAWSON
If you check carefully through the voluminous reports of the
Secretary of the Treasury and the Lifesaving Service you will find
the following brief announcement: "In recognition of heroic con-
duct exhibited on the 9th and loth of February, 1905, in the rescue
of 6 men from the wreck of the schooner Sarah D, J. Rawson, gold
lifesaving medals were bestowed upon the following members of
the Life-Saving Service: keeper William H. Gaskill, surfmen Kilby
Guthrie, Walter M. Yeomans, Tyre Moore, John A. Guthrie, James
W. Fulcher, John E. Kirkman, Calupt T. Jarvis, and former surf-
man Joseph L. Lewis, all of the Cape Lookout Station."
There is more to the story than that, considerably more, for the
rescue of the captain and crew of the three-masted schooner Sarah
FROM SAIL TO STEAM 183
D. /. Raivson, a zpz-ton vessel hailing from Camden, Maine, was one
of the most daring ever recorded on our coast, and the fact that the
vessel went to pieces soon after the rescue was accomplished, makes
it almost certain that the entire crew would have been lost but for
the work of the lifesavers.
An epidemic of influenza had practically incapacitated the crew
of Cape Lookout Station in early February, 1905, and on the ninth
of the month Keeper Gaskill and every one of his surfmen still,
suffered the weakening effects of the disease.
The ninth was a cold day, cold and foggy at Cape Lookout, with
tremendous breakers pounding across the shoals offshore. A constant
watch was maintained in the tower, though visibility was limited
to not more than a mile or so and the entire outer area of Lookout
Shoals was shrouded in the fog. At twelve noon, when the watch
changed, Keeper Gaskill went himself to the tower, took up the
glass, trained it on the fog-enveloped shoals. There was nothing
there, just the grayish smoke-like fog, the white-capped breakers
underneath, an occasional patch of blue water. Then, suddenly, a
break appeared, a rift in the fog, a long open channel of visibility
and on the far side of it an alien object, the mast of a sailing vessel.
That was all, for the fog closed in again, the open path was there
no morejust the smoky grayness, the whitecaps, and the seething
surf in close to shore. A man of lesser experience, a cautious man,
an ordinary man, might have let it go at that; for his eyes could have
been playing tricks on him, or it might have been the mast of an
old wreck, or even if it was a ship out there it might not be in
danger. But Keeper Gaskill knew what he had seen, knew there
were no old wrecks there, and when he checked the course and
estimated the distance on the chart before him, the answer was
clear; a sailing ship was aground far out on Lookout Shoals.
Nine sick men left their station, then, hauled their lifeboat down
to the surf, pulled their oilskins tight around them, and shoved off
into the troublous surf for what could only be a long and harrowing
journey. It took them almost four hours to reach the Sarah Rawson,
but that was just the beginning, for she was surrounded by breakers,
her boat had been smashed to pieces, her bowsprit, foremast, main-
topmast, deckhouses, and rigging were gone, and the lumber from
184 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
her deck load literally filled the surf around her. Already one of her
crew had been washed overboard; the six remaining were huddled
together on the canted deck of the wreck, or what was left of the
deck.
Keeper Gaskill attempted to guide his boat through the mass of
wreckage, came within two hundred yards, but was beaten back.
Again he tried, and again and again and again "I expected to see
the lifeboat pitched end over end in the turbulent sea," said the
captain of the Sarah Rawson when questioned later but at last,
with the approach of darkness, the lifeboat was forced to pull away.
The Cape Lookout surfmen anchored there that cold and damp
and stormy night, anchored as close to the wreck as prudence
allowed, to be at hand if she went to pieces. There was no sleeping
for the lifesavers, no rest of any sort; for they were in constant
danger of being swamped by the waves or sunk by drifting wreck-
age. They had anchored downwind, in the very path of the spars
and lumber floating away from the Rawson; they wanted to be
near at hand if survivors were washed overboard.
The fifteen of them survived the night somehow nine lifesavers
in their little boat, six shipwrecked sailors on the remnants of the
schooner and at dawn, with neither food nor water to nourish
them, soaking wet and cold, coughing and sneezing, cramped and
sore of muscle and limb, the lifesavers tried again to reach the
wreck; they rowed in time after time but were thrown back as
before.
Early that morning the wind shifted; later the tide changed too.
For a time the sea calmed down a little, and the surfboat came in
closer. Still it could not reach the wreck, though it was close enough
this time for a surfman to heave a line aboard. One of the sailors
tied it around his waist, jumped into the cold and angry sea, and
was pulled safely on board the rescue craft. Back went the line,
another sailor tied it around him, and like the first was pulled to
safety. Six times that operation was performed; six men rescued, six
lives saved. And as each sailor came aboard, soaked and nearly
frozen, a lif esaver would remove his precious oilskin, wrap it around
the man whose life he had helped save, still coughing, still sneezing,
cold and wet himself. But the lifesavers could keep warm, would
have to keep warm. For there was still before them tie trip to shore;
FROM SAIL TO STEAM 185
nine miles of pulling the heavy oars in a sea too rough for safe pas-
sage of larger boats.
They made it back, those nine brave men, and landed their surf-
boat at the cape once more after twenty-eight hours at sea. Fires
were built in the station stoves, food prepared for themselves and
the six survivors, dry clothing provided for the men they had saved.
And then, their work done, the nine of them sought their beds; for
there was still an epidemic of influenza at Cape Lookout Station.
HILDA
Here is the log of attempts to rescue the crew of the three-masted
schooner Hilda at Cape Hatteras, February 6, 1907:
2:15 A.M. Surf men B. F. Etheridge and U. B. Williams of Cape
Hatteras Station discover vessel in the direction of Diamond Shoals.
Burned three Coston signals.
2:30 A.M. Keeper P. H. Etheridge, in the lookout tower of his
station, could see the vessel in the moonlight. Was slowly moving
southward.
4 A.M. Vessel stopped, presumably anchored. Made no signal
of distress. Lifesavers fired rocket to let her know they had her
under surveillance.
6 A.M. Lookouts at both Cape Hatteras and Creeds Hill stations
reported distress signals from vessel. Rockets fired in response.
6:30 A.M. Cape Hatteras surfboat launched.
7:20 A.M. Creeds Hill surfboat launched.
8: oo A.M. Two surfboats met near inner Diamond Shoals. North-
west wind blowing at gale force. Sea very rough. Temperature
below freezing and still falling. Vessel a three-masted schooner hard
aground on inner shoals five miles from Cape Point, and surrounded
by huge breakers for half a mile in all directions.
8: 15 A.M. Surfboats attempted to go through breakers to stricken
vessel, but thrown back by raging sea. Vessel now sunk, waves
sweeping over her fore and aft. One man seen clinging to remnants
of cabin.
9: 00-12: OOA.M. Repeated attempts made to reach vessel. All
unsuccessful. Surfboats frequently almost submerged by tremen-
dous breakers.
i86 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
1 2:00 Noon Having exhausted every means of rescue and in
constant danger of capsizing, surfboats head for shore.
12:30 P.M. Mast of Creeds Hill surfboat breaks off. Boat wallow-
ing in waves. Impossible to use oars because of size of waves and
force of wind. Mast finally hauled aboard and patched up.
i: 30 P.M. Cape Hatteras surfboat reached shore safely.
4: oo P.M. Damaged Creeds Hill surfboat finally beached near
Cape Point.
February 7, 1907:
6: oo A.M. Crews from both stations again assemble on beach to
attempt rescue. Weather murky.
7: oo A.M. Sky clears. Wind still blowing strong. Surf high.
Schooner has completely disappeared, presumably broken up with
loss of all hands.
That is the final entry* It was learned later, however, that the
vessel was the 647-ton schooner Hilda of Philadelphia, which had
been en route from Philadelphia to Savannah with a cargo of coal
and crew of seven all presumed lost. Just another routine entry in
the lifesavers' log.
FLORA ROGERS
The cypress-laden three-masted schooner Flora Rogers was
driven ashore a mile north of Bodie Island Station, October 23, 1908,
and became a total loss, though the crew of seven and the captain's
wife were rescued in the breeches buoy. Because the vessel was
rolling violently in the breakers the actual rescue was a slow and
dangerous operation, and all of those brought ashore were thor-
oughly dunked in the surf en route. The picture eyewitnesses re-
member, however, is of the crewman who left the ship with a fine
derby hat on his head and was still wearing it at a jaunty angle when
he climbed out of the breeches buoy on the beach.
BREWSTER
Because of the treacherous nature of the ever shifting sand bars
off Cape Hatteras the area has long been provided with a number
of aids to the mariner, both signals to warn him away from Diamond
Shoals and facilities for saving life if the warnings failed.
FROM SAIL TO STEAM 187
In 1909, for instance, two warning beacons were in constant
operation. One was on top of Cape Hatteras Lighthouse near the
point of the cape itself, and the other was on Diamond Shoals Light-
ship, fourteen miles southeast and just beyond the extreme outer
edge of the shoals. In addition, the coast in both directions was
dotted with lifesaving stations, the average distance between them
being less than seven miles. Cape Hatteras Station was located ad-
jacent to the lighthouse; Big Kinnakeet, first station to the north,
was five miles distant near the village of Kinnakeet (now Avon) ;
Creeds Hill, first station to the southwest, was also five miles distant,
near the village of Frisco. Each of these was equipped with special
boats, sail and oar powered, designed for quick launchings from the
beach through heavy surf. And at Hatteras Inlet Station, on the
eastern end of Ocracoke Island fourteen miles away, a larger, thirty-
four-foot power lifeboat was kept in constant readiness to proceed
through the inlet and join in rescue attempts.
All of the above played a part in the wreck and rescue of the
crew of the German steamship Brewster, bound from Port Antonio,
Jamaica, to New York, November 29, 1909, with seven thousand
dollars worth of bananas, pineapples, and coconuts in her hold. Yet,
strangely, the reason the Breivster wrecked in the first place was
too much assistance, rather than too little; for Captain F. Hinz of the
Brewster took his bearings from the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse
thinking it was the Diamond Shoals Lightship and set a course that
would take him up the coast some five miles east of the light.
Now, a course five miles east of Diamond Shoals Lightship would
have put him in deep water on the fringe of the Gulf Stream; but
five miles east of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse landed the German
right in the middle of the most rugged part of Diamond Shoals.
Captain Hinz was not the first mariner to make this mistake, nor
the last; for the log books of ships lost in the Graveyard of the
Atlantic and the official reports of the lif esavers show wreck after
wreck caused by the same error. The big difference in the case of
the Brewster was that she was a larger ship than most which have
stranded there, and she carried, all told, a crew of thirty-three men.
Lifesavers from all four of the stations mentioned above went
into action when the vessel was first spotted from Cape Hatteras
z88 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
at 6:30 that morning. Acting Keeper Baxter B. Miller of Cape
Hatteras and Keeper E. H. Peel of Creeds Hill launched their self-
bailing surfboats from the beach; Keeper A. T. Gray of Big Kinna-
keet mustered his crew and hurried to the cape to render assistance
if needed; Keeper D. W. Barnett of Hatteras Inlet boarded his
thirty-four-foot power lifeboat at the dock in Pamlico Sound and
proceeded out through the inlet. Even H. L. Gaskill, fishing off-
shore in his larger power boat, and the crew of Diamond Shoals
Lightship got into the act.
It was too rough to be fooling around out there in a little surfboat
in the first place, as Peel discovered when his craft sprang a leak
and sank even before reaching the shoals. The Cape Hatteras boat
rescued Peel and his crew, some of whom were transferred to Gas-
kill's fishing boat, and then Gaskill towed the surfboat as near as
possible to the wreck, where the boat was cast loose and attempted
to reach the Brewster.
By this time Peel had taken charge of the rescue operation. "Ow-
ing to the high seas which were breaking over the ship fore and
aft," he said, "it was impossible to board her. We rowed up as near
as we could, and I advised the captain to abandon his ship, which
he refused to do."
The wind, by this time, had increased greatly in force, with the
breakers making up higher and higher as time passed. Already five
crewmen from the Brewster had taken off in a yawl and were pro-
ceeding toward the lightship. But the remaining twenty-eight just
stayed there, refusing again and again to leave the vessel, while the
tired, soaked, and nearly frozen lif esavers remained in the breakers
alongside, bobbing up and down like a cowboy on a bucking horse,
pleading with the stubborn Captain Hinz, between soakings, to
get out of there.
It took an hour for Hinz to see the wisdom of this advice, and
by then the only way the rescue could be effected was by floating
a life preserver down toward the surfboat while each crewman,
individually, clung to the line and was drawn on board the small
rescue craft. But the boat was filled when only about a third of the
survivors had been taken off, so the lifesavers were forced to leave
the Brewster, return through the breakers to the comparative calm
where Keeper Barnett's power lifeboat was anchored, transfer the
FROM SAIL TO STEAM 189
sailors to the larger boat, and then return again through the raging
breakers to continue the work.
Three times the surfboat was filled with the castaways, but at
last all twenty-eight were safely transferred to the lifeboat, and the
two craft started back for shore, the power boat towing the other.
The rest was simple, for the survivors were landed through the surf
while the lifeboat went back and towed in the sunken Creeds Hill
boat. And just to round it off in fine fashion, the five crewmen in
the yawl reached the lightship and were cared for there until the sea
subsided and a cutter could remove them safely ashore.
Keeper Peel of Creeds Hill and acting Keeper Miller of Cape
Hatteras received Gold Lifesaving Medals for directing the rescue
of the twenty-eight crewmen from the Breivster, and Silver Life-
saving Medals were awarded the following surfmen: (X O. Midgett,
I. L. Jennett, Y. O. Gaskins, E. J. Midgett, U. B. Williams, W. L.
Barnett, W. H. Austin, H. S. Miller, and D. W. Fulcher.
The bananas and pineapples and coconuts littered the beach in
the days that followed, but the Brewster remained right where she
was on the shoal, a grim reminder to other mariners that there are
two warning lights at Cape Hatteras, and it is best to locate both of
them before setting a course.
GEORGE W. WELLS
The largest sailing ship ever wrecked on the North Carolina
coast (and one of the largest wooden sailing ships ever built) was
the six-masted schooner George W. Wells, of Boston, which was
lost at Ocracoke, September 3, 1913.
While en route from Boston to Fernandina, Florida, the 2,970-ton
Wells, a fast but comparatively unwieldly vessel, was struck by
hurricane winds off Hatteras, lost her sails (she had twenty-eight in
all), became partly filled with water, and drifted into the breakers
midway between the Ocracoke and Hatteras Inlet stations.
Because of the exceptionally strong winds seven shots had to be
fired before the lif esavers succeeded in landing a line on the huge
sailing craft. As it turned out, however, the seventh attempt was no
more successful than the others, for the line broke as it was being
hauled out to the vessel, and communication was not definitely
i 9 o GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
established until Captain Joseph H. York of the Wells attached a
line to a floating object, enabling the lifesavers to pull this out of the
surf and then set up their breeches buoy.
After that the fifteen crewmen, three women, and two children
on board were safely landed in the buoy. The $80,000 vessel was
too far gone to be refloated, and her hull was later set afire and
burned, reputedly because of a disagreement as to who was to
salvage her.
SYLVIA C. HALL
The United States Lifesaving Service, originally set up on a
nation-wide basis in 1871 and expanded to include part of the North
Carolina coast in 1876, was amalgamated with the older United
States Revenue Cutter Service on January 28, 1915. The name given
to the new federal agency thus formed was United States Coast
Guard, but the change actually made little difference along the
coast, for the same stations, the same equipment, and the same crews
were still employed.
At the time of the formation of the Coast Guard there were
twenty-nine stations on the coast of North Carolina. These were,
from north to south: Wash Woods, Pennys Hill, Whales Head,
Poyners Hill, Caffeys Inlet, Paul Gamiels Hill, Kitty Hawk, Kill
Devil Hills, Nags Head, Bodie Island, Oregon Inlet, Pea Island,
New Inlet (abandoned the following year), Chicamacomico, Gull
Shoal, Little Kinnakeet, Big Kinnakeet, Cape Hatteras, Creeds Hill,
Durants, Hatteras Inlet, Ocracoke, Portsmouth, Core Bank, Cape
Lookout, Fort Macon, Bogue Inlet, Cape Fear, and Oak Island.
The first instance of a ship loss in North Carolina within the
domain of the new Coast Guard was the wreck of the 384-ton
schooner Sylvia C. Hall on Lookout Shoals, March 17, 1915. It was
an auspicious beginning for the new service.
The three-master Hall, loaded with lumber, was bound from
Jacksonville to New York with a crew of five. Buffeted by a strong
gale during the night she struck the shoals just before dawn and
was sighted from Cape Lookout Coast Guard Station soon there-
after.
Keeper F. G. Gillikin launched his powerboat at 6:45 A.M., ran
FROM SAIL TO STEAM 191
into exceptionally rough seas en route, and on arriving at the vessel
could not approach close enough to effect a rescue. While waiting
for the ride to change and the wind to moderate the powerboat
was struck by a huge wave, completely burying the small craft
and seriously injuring one of the crew. That is when Gillildn
decided to return to shore for his self -bailing surfboat, in which he
could stand a better chance of getting alongside.
They did not reach shore until late that afternoon, however, and
delayed their second start until early the next morning. Then they
towed the surfboat to the scene with their powerboat, maneuvered
the surfboat in close enough to reach the survivors on the jib boom,
and effected the rescue. Thus the Coast Guard took up where the
Lifesaving Service had left off.
PRINZ MAURITS
What was described as "the worst storm in the history of central
and eastern North Carolina," hit the state Saturday, April 3, 1915,
with northeast winds reaching a velocity of seventy miles an hour
as far inland as Raleigh.
The winds were accompanied by heavy snow nearly two feet
in the capital city and exceptionally high tides which inundated
most of the seacoast. A number of sailing craft the schooners Hugh
Kelly, Alice Murphy, M. E. Cresser, Rob Roy, Clintonia, John B.
Manning and Robert Graham Dunn, and the bark Edna M. Smith
were disabled off Hatteras, and the Diamond Shoals Lightship was
torn from its moorings and drifted four miles off station.
The schooner-barge William H. Macy stranded and became a
total loss at Wash Woods after breaking loose from the tug Edward
Luckenbach (which subsequently went to pieces in the surf just
north of the Virginia-North Carolina line with the loss of fifteen
lives) .
At Kill Devil Hills the schooner The Josephine came ashore one
and three-quarters miles south of the station and broke in two, with
four crewmen reaching safety on pieces of wreckage and three
others drowning. And at Gull Shoal the coastguardsmen rescued
all seven crewmen from the schooner Loring C. Bollard^ which was
lost one-half mile south of the station.
192
GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
But the big news in that spring storm was the loss of the Royal
Dutch West Indies Line steamer Prinz Mounts, which last reported
from a point approximately ninety miles east of Kitty Hawk that
she was "sinking fast." A number of vessels, including two British
w T arships which were blockading Hampton Roads to keep the
German sea raider Prinz Eltel Friedrich from escaping, went to
the assistance of the Dutch steamer, but when they reached the
scene the following morning, April 4, there was no sign of her.
The Prinz Mounts, 285 feet in length, was registered at 1,328 net
tons, and at the time of her loss carried a crew of forty-five and four
passengers, all forty-nine of whom were presumed lost, making
the sinking of the Prinz Maurits one of the half dozen most disas-
trous ship losses off the North Carolina coast up to that time.
UNGUARDED SHORES
1918
THE UNITED STATES de-
clared war on Germany, April 6, 1917, and by May of the following
year had shipped an estimated two million fighting men overseas.
In order to transport an army of this size to France, every available
warship was pressed into service for patrol and convoy duty, with
the result that our own shores were left unguarded.
The Germans had demonstrated already that their submarines
were capable of making extended cruises of distances up to 12,000
miles, and shortly before the war the Deutschland, Germany's first
large "merchant" submarine, had visited our east coast,
To guard against attack by submarines of the Deutschland type
the United States Navy commandeered innumerable small vessels-
yachts, coastal freighters, fishing boats, and powerboats and armed
them as sub chasers and mine sweepers. In addition, huge steel nets
were spread across the entrances to the larger and more important
harbors, and in certain sections aircraft units were assigned to
antisubmarine patrol.
The night of May 21, 1918, the government radio station at
Arlington terminated its regular news report with the same an-
nouncement it had been giving for months: "No submarine. No
war warning!"
194 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
At the entrance to Chesapeake Bay this report was picked up by
a number of ships, for traffic was heavy in and out of the great port
of Hampton Roads. Undoubtedly many a radio operator and master
and crewman slept more soundly that night as a result of the reassur-
ing message; but none received it with more relief than the seventy-
seven men aboard the German submarine Z7-/J/, which at that
moment was cruising nonchalantly on the surface at the very mouth
of the bay, midway between Cape Henry and Cape Charles!
The Z7-/ 57 was the first enemy fighting ship to invade our waters
since the war of 1812, more than 105 years earlier. She was com-
manded by Korvettenkapitan Von Nostitz und Janckendorf, a
veteran sub man, and had left Germany just thirty-two days before,
well supplied with mines, ammunition for her two deck guns, tor-
pedoes, and a cable cutting device.
Her immediate assignment was to lay mines across the entrance
to Chesapeake Bay, and this she accomplished without detection,
though before she left the area a cruiser almost ran her down with-
out knowing of her presence, and she was momentarily caught in
the glare of searchlights from a small patrol boat. Still the Arlington
radio continued to report "No submarine. No war warning," and
the C7-/J/ moved up the east coast, laying the remainder of her
mines in Delaware Bay (where she was caught in a dense fog and
had to run on the surface for several hours blowing her compressed
air whistle at regular intervals). She finally proceeded to New York
harbor where for several days she was engaged in cutting cables,
surfacing at night within view of the lights of Broadway.
Her mines deposited and her cable cutting assignment completed,
the 7-zjz headed south to inflict what damage she could on coastal
shipping. In this department, too, she was eminently successful,
and by the time she reached the Carolina coast early in the morning
of June 5 she had already taken a sizeable toll of property and lives.
At nine o'clock that morning Von Nostitz sighted the 4,588-ton
British steamer Harpathian at a point approximately ninety miles
southeast of Cape Henry and almost directly opposite Knotts Island,
North Carolina. The Harpathian, bound from Plymouth, England,
to Newport News in ballast, had a crew of forty men. She was a
formidable looking vessel, of the type which frequently carried
armament and trained gun crews, and the U-boat skipper decided
UNGUARDED SHORES 195
to take no chances with her. He submerged before the steamer
sighted him, and manuevered for half an hour before reaching just
the right position for a torpedo attack.
The explosion, as the torpedo struck the Harpatlrian, was the jSrst
notice the crew had that a sub was near by. The vessel settled rap-
idly, and Captain Owens ordered his lifeboats launched. In short
order the boats had pulled clear of the sinking ship and the sub
surfaced near by. One of the twenty-six Chinese in the crew, a fire-
man, had been injured at the time of the explosion, and the Germans
took him aboard the sub, where he was treated by Dr. Frederick
Korner, the boarding officer and surgeon. While the injured crew-
man was being cared for, bully beef, tobacco, and fresh water were
passed to each of the lifeboats. Finally the wounded fireman was
placed on board one of the boats also, Von Nostitz gave Captain
Owens the course toward land, and the sub resumed its hunt. Later
the Harpathian's lifeboats were sighted by the British steamship
Potomac ', which transported the survivors to Norfolk, and even as
late as 1944 the sunken vessel was located by a Coast Guard patrol
boat, in deep water sixty miles off the Carolina coast.
That was just the beginning of the U-i^i's activities for June 5,
1918. In midafternoon she sighted two New Bedford whalers, the
Ellen Sivift and the A. M. Nicholson. The former was too far away
for a successful attack, but the latter was directly in the U-boat's
path, and at 4 P.M. Von Nostitz ordered her to heave to.
Captain J. T. Gonsalves of the ancient Nicholson was either a
very sincere man or a top-notch liar, for when his boat had pulled
over to the sub he offered such a convincing story of hard luck of
the Nicholson being owned by several very poor Mississippi families,
whose entire livelihood was dependent on the meagre income from
the whaler's expeditions that the Germans let him go, and he
reached New Bedford safely four days later.
The Norwegian steamer Vinland, sighted by the U-ifi an hour
later, was not so fortunate. She was en route from Guantanamo Bay,
Cuba, to New York with a full cargo of sugar, a commodity which
was already in short supply on the Atlantic seaboard. When Captain
Bratland of the Vinland first sighted the sub, he mistook her for a
tramp steamer and continued on his northward course, and only
when Von Nostitz fired a warning shot over the vessel was he aware
196 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
that he was under attack. Dr. Korner and a picked crew lost no time
in boarding the steamer, and while they placed small bombs in strate-
gic positions about the vessel Captain Bratland and his crew gathered
their personal belongings, loaded them in lifeboats and rowed clear.
At 6:30 the bombs exploded and the i,i43-ton Vinland and her
valuable cargo of sugar disappeared below the surface, approxi-
mately fifty miles east of the spot where the Harpathian was sunk.
For two days the Z7-/J/ cruised off the North Carolina coast
from the Virginia line to Cape Hatteras. The only vessel sighted
during this period was the Mantilla, a British ship which escaped in
a rough sea and warned other vessels of the U-boat's location. But
shortly after dawn June 8, the 3,179-^^1 Norwegian steamship
Vindeggen was sighted by the 7~/j/, and at 5:30 A.M. Captain
Ballestead halted his vessel and despite the rough sea ordered his
crew to abandon ship. The starboard boat, first to go overboard,
capsized as she struck the water, and one of the crewmen the deck-
hands were all Chinese was drowned. By that time the Germans
had come close enough to establish contact, and on learning that
the Vindeggen carried two thousand tons of copper bars in addition
to six thousand bales of wool and hides, Von Nostitz decided to try
to transfer part of the cargo to his own vessel.
The sea was too turbulent to attempt such a transfer at that time,
however, so the German ordered Captain Ballestead to get his own
vessel underway again, and with the U-boat following close behind,
the Vindeggen headed toward the open sea.
Shortly afterwards another steamer appeared, and using the
Vindeggen as a sort of decoy the U-boat was able to approach
almost within hailing distance before being seen. This was another
sugar ship, the Pinar Del JR/0, 2,504 tons, from Cuba to Boston.
In short order her crew of thirty-four launched two lifeboats and
when they were clear of the vessel the sub began shelling her at
short range. She sank, with 25,000 bags of sugar, approximately
eighty miles northeast of Nags Head. Eighteen of her crew, includ-
ing Captain John MacKenzie, were picked up shortly afterwards
by a fruit steamer en route to New York, and the remaining sixteen
were discovered by a second steamer, this one bound overseas. The
captain steamed in close to shore abreast of the Nags Head Coast
Guard Station, however, and signalled for the surfmen to come off
UNGUARDED SHORES i 97
and pick up survivors, an operation which was accomplished in the
rough sea in two trips of the Coast Guard surfboat. The story which
came out of Manteo the following day was that the submarine which
had sunk the Pinar Del Rio was accompanied by a large "mother"
steamer which presumably was serving both as a supply ship and
as a decoy.
Meanwhile, the Z7-/J/ and her so-called "mother" ship, the
Vindeggen, proceeded further offshore, and when the sea calmed
down a woman and childthe wife and young daughter of Mate
Ugland were moved to the underseas craft, where the officers'
quarters were turned over to them, while the crews of the two ves-
sels transferred some eighty tons of the copper bars to the sub,
replacing pig iron ballast which was thrown overboard. Then, on
June 10, bombs were placed inside the ship, the crew of the Vin-
deggen took to lifeboats, and with the sub crew standing at attention
and the Norwegian flag flying at her masthead, the Vindeggen
exploded and sank.
Throughout that day Mrs. Ugland and her small daughter re-
mained aboard the sub while the Vindeggen's lifeboats were towed
along behind. Still another ship was sunk during the afternoon, the
4,322-ton Norwegian steamship Heimich Lund, and her lifeboats
were added to the small flotilla of open boats being towed by the
U-boat. That evening the sub sighted the steamer Brosund, which
was given a choice of taking aboard the survivors of the Vindeggen
and Heinrich Lund or being sunk; and fifteen minutes later the
Brosund, with Mrs. Ugland, her daughter, and sixty-six crewmen
from the two sunken vessels, left the scene with dispatch.
Korvettenkapitan Von Nostitz, having disposed of his mines and
most of his torpedoes, ammunition, and fuel, turned eastward and
began the long trek back to his home base at Kiel, probably well
pleased with the results of the first invasion of American waters by
an enemy craft in more than a century.
In all, seven German submarines were dispatched to the east coast
of the United States during the war. Two of these, the U-2$6,
which was already in mid-Atlantic when Von Nostitz started back
to Germany, and the U-ifj, formerly the Deutschland, operated
off the coast of New England, concentrating for the most on sink-
ing the small vessels of the fishing fleets. Two more, the Z7-/p and
198 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
the U-*39 departed too late to reach our shores before the end of
the war. The other two not only crossed the Atlantic without
mishap but made substantial additions to the toll taken by Von
Nostitz in the U-i^i.
Fregattenkapitan Waldemar Kophamel had served as lieutenant
on the maiden voyage of Germany's first submarine and as the
commander of her second one. At the outbreak of the war he was
the most experienced of Germany's submarine officers, and in the
underseas campaign against Britain and France had sunk sixty ships,
and set a long distance record for submersibles with a twelve-thou-
sand-mile voyage down the west coast of Africa and back.
It was a fitting reward for Kophamel, therefore, that he should
be placed in command of Germany's newest, largest, and most
modern submarine, the 38o-foot U-i^o, on her maiden voyage to
the coast of the United States.
The U-240 carried thirty-five torpedoes for her eight torpedo
tubes, as well as four thousand rounds of ammunition for her two
deck guns a six-incher on the foredeck and a four-incher just aft
of the conning tower. She departed from Germany, June 22, 1918,
shortly after being commissioned at the Krupp works at Kiel and
proceeded leisurely across the North Atlantic, reaching the vicinity
of the Virginia Capes in early August.
The U-isfo encountered her first major victim, the io,ooo-ton
tanker O. B. Jennings, approximately sixty miles southeast of Cape
Henry on August 4, and Kophamel immediately fired a torpedo
at the tanker's port bow. The Jennings, a Standard Oil Company
tanker, carried a full gun crew and was returning empty from
Plymouth, England, to Newport News. Her captain, George Nord-
strom, personally spotted the torpedo shortly after it was fired and
managed to swing his vessel in time to elude it. He then ordered
full speed ahead, the single four-inch gun on the after deck was
manned, and for the next hour the tanker and the submarine en-
gaged in a running gun battle.
Fregattenkapitan Kophamel had the advantage all the way. His
was the faster vessela twenty-six-knot top speed on the surface, as
against ten knots for the tanker and he was able to stay out of
range of the Jennings* four-inch gun while his six-incher found the
range. Even so, Captain Nordstrom gave him a good chase of it,
UNGUARDED SHORES 199
zig-zagging time and again to confuse the U-boat's gunners, and
even dropping smoke boxes overboard to screen his vessel The
U-i^o fired forty shells one-tenth of her total supply before
finally making a hit; but at 1 1: 30 her gunners began making contact
at almost every shot, and ten minutes later a shell struck the engine
room, and a second one hit the tanker's magazine, causing a tre-
mendous explosion.
Her ammunition expended or destroyed, and her engines out of
commission, the Jennings was licked. One of her crewmen, Second
Steward James H. Scott, had been killed, and several others were
wounded. She sent a frantic wireless message for assistance, and
as the crew lowered the boats Captain Nordstrom exchanged
clothes with the dead steward and joined the others in the lifeboats,
leaving the doomed vessel at 12:20 P.M.
Three lifeboats were launched, one in command of Captain
Nordstrom (now dressed as a steward), the second under Chief
Engineer Albert Lacey, and the third under First Officer William
J. Manning. The U-boat carne up alongside the three boats to in-
quire for the Captain but was informed that he had been killed.
They then took on board as a prisoner Second Officer Rene Bastin,
fired several more rounds at the Jennings, and as she rolled over and
sank the sub left the scene, with Second Officer Bastin still aboard.
During the night the three boats became separated. The destroyer
U.S.S. Hull, which had intercepted the Jennings' final wireless
message, arrived in the vicinity shortly after dark and located the
lifeboats commanded by the engineer and First Officer, picking up
the thirty-three men in the two boats. The third boat, with Captain
Nordstrom in charge, was located the following morning by the
Italian steamer Umbria, which took the fifteen remaining men in
close to Currituck Beach, where the lifeboat was again launched
and Captain Nordstrom and his men rowed to safety.
This was the beginning of some concentrated warfare for the
U-140. That same afternoon, approximately no miles off Cape
Hatteras, she spotted the four-masted schooner Stanley M. Seaman
and sent a shot through her rigging. Captain William McAloney
of the Seaman, en route to Puerto Plata, Santo Domingo, from
Newport News with his i,o6o-ton sailing craft loaded with coal,
lost no time in taking the U-boat's hint. In fact, he abandoned ship
200 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
in such a hurry with his eight-man crew that he took off in a small
yawl instead of spending the extra time to lower a motor launch
which the Seaman also carried. Further, in their haste the nine men
failed to take with them water or provisions of any kind.
When the sub came up alongside and Kophamel learned of this
he suggested that they return and exchange boats; the U-i^o waited
while ample provisions were stored in the motor boat and the nine
men had again pulled clear. He then sent the Seaman to the bottom
with bombs, and for the next three days the crew of the schooner
wandered about off Cape Hatteras, finally being picked up by a
British steamer which landed them right back at Newport News
where they had started.
The following day the U-i^o surfaced within sight of the
Diamond Shoals Lightship. It is entirely possible that at that time
Kophamel had no intention of attacking the light vessel, for his
immediate target was the 3,024-ton coal-laden American steam-
ship Merak en route to Chile from Newport News. The day was
calm, with a moderate southwest breeze and a hazy sky. As soon as
the U-140 surfaced she began firing on the Merak, but the steamer
zig-zagged down the coast at full speed, and more than thirty shots
were fired at her without a hit. But the shifting sands of Diamond
Shoals, a first-class menace to shipping in peacetime, proved even
a more fatal wartime foe to the Merak, for suddenly she grounded
on the fringe of the shoals and stuck fast. Two lifeboats were
launched quickly, with twenty-three of her crew boarding one and
the remaining twenty shoving off in the other.
Seeing that the Merak was aground on the shoals and that her
crew was abandoning her, Kophamel now turned his attention to
the lightship.
First Mate Walter L. Barnett of Diamond Shoals Lightship No.
71 had been born and brought up in Buxton, the tiny fishing village
nestled in the lush, wooded dunes just back of Cape Hatteras. He
had joined the United States Lighthouse Service in 1901 at the age
of thirty, and in the ensuing seventeen years had served at various
posts along the Atlantic coast. Just recently he had been transferred
to No. 71, and on the day that the German submarine attacked her,
Captain Charles Swanburg was on liberty and First Mate Barnett
Vras in command of the light vessel.
UNGUARDED SHORES 201
Shortly after noon Barnett heard the sound of shellfire north of
the lightship and climbed the mast to the wide gallery which sur-
rounded the vessel's huge flashing light, visible on a clear night
more than sixteen miles away. For some time he remained there,
attempting through binoculars to locate the source of the firing.
Suddenly, he spotted a puff of smoke, then another, and as the haze
lifted slightly he could make out the low-slung outline of the
submarine less than half a mile away, and in the distance the mer-
chant vessel which she was shelling.
He hurried back to the wireless shack (which in this case was,
literally, a shack that had been built on the lightship's deck some
time after the vessel was launched) and sent the following message:
"Enemy submarine shelling unknown ship E.N.E. 1 A mile off
lightship."
This message may have spelled doom for the lightship, for not
until then did the U-i^o turn her guns on the anchored vessel.
"Her first shot took away our wireless," Barnett says, "but the next
five were aimed wide and missed us. We had been painting our
yawl-boat that morning, and she was hauled up on the davits with
nothing inside but a small canvas sail. I called for her oars, and had
the yawl lowered to the water."
No. 71 was a sitting duck; a tub-like 1 24-foot vessel, held in
place by 185 fathoms of heavy chains (the links were eight inches
in diameter) firmly attached to a 5,ooo-pound mushroom anchor
imbedded in the sandy shoal. She was a coal burner, and her fires
were always banked, but with the necessity of getting up steam
and at the same time hauling in the huge anchor and chain, it nor-
mally took her something like five hours to get underway. Even if
it had taken only five minutes Barnett would have stood practically
no chance of eluding the U-boat in his lumbering light vessel that
August afternoon.
As it was, the prudent thing was to get out of there in a hurry
before the sub's gunners found the range again.
"Within ten minutes we had the whaleboat overboard, and the
twelve of us had shoved off from No. 71," Barnett said. "We had
seven oars, six f ourteen-f ooters for rowing, and a sixteen-foot sweep
oar. I put the large oar over the stern and six of the crew grabbed
the others, and we headed to the west'ard as fast as they could row.
202 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
Roberts, the chief engineer, had left his false teeth behind, and none
of us had saved anything but the clothes we had on our backs, but
nobody seemed bothered too much about that.
"We rowed for maybe five miles (local rumor has it that Guy
Quidley, another Buxton native in the crew, rowed so hard that he
broke two of the fourteen-foot oars before they reached shore, but
Barnett would not confirm the story) and all the time the sub kept
firing at No. 71. Finally, we could just see her go down in the
distance. By then the sub was way out of sight, so I told the boys
to pull in the oars, and I mounted the sail, using the sweep oar for
a mast."
In the village of Buxton, meanwhile, Mrs. Walter Barnett and her
neighbors had heard the firing offshore throughout the afternoon. A
lot of people walked down to the sea on the chance that they could
get a look at what was happening, but Mrs. Barnett remained home
and tried her best to go about the usual housekeeping chores. Her
husband had said more than once that if enemy subs showed up
they would need the lightship as much as our own ships did, so he
was not in any danger. But she had a feeling that day maybe he had
been wrong.
Barnett's whaleboat had left the lightship at 2:35 P.M., fourteen
miles from the point of Cape Hatteras, but land was not sighted by
the twelve survivors (she normally carried a crew of fifteen, but
two seamen were on liberty in addition to the master) until just
before dark. They finally came up close to shore about a mile north
of the Cape Hatteras wireless station, so Barnett hauled down his
improvised sail, the crew manned the oars again, and they rowed
down the coast to a point opposite the wireless station, where at
9:30 P.M. they landed through the surf.
Barnett reported via wireless to Navy headquarters (during the
war the Lighthouse Service was under Navy control) and got word
back that he and his crew should not discuss the sinking until a
full official report could be made. He then made his way along the
familiar sandy, dune-fringed road to his house, where he was met
at the door by his wife, who had known all along, somehow, that
he would be home that night.
While all this was going on, one of the boats from the stranded
Merak had reached shore and the other had been picked up at sea
UNGUARDED SHORES 203
by a patrol boat. Meanwhile, Fregattenkapitan Kophamel's U-i^o,
having sunk the lightship, returned to pick up the Merak's papers
and finish off the vessel with bombs. And at about the time that
Barnett and the crew of Lightship No. 7 1 were sighting the familiar
coastline of Cape Hatteras, the lookout on board the U-t^o spotted
two other ships running for safety. One, the steamship Mariner's
Harbor, had witnessed the attack on the Merak; the other, the
British steamship Bencleuch, had been warned by Barnett's wireless
message. Of the two the Bencleuch had the narrowest escape, for
at one time she was within gun range of the 7-/^o. But under cover
of darkness both vessels, and a third which was also in the vicinity
the American passenger steamer Cretan hugged the shore with
all lights out and proceeded in safety along the coast.
In addition to these three vessels, twenty-eight more, in convoy
off Cape Lookout and due to round Cape Hatteras that night, were
warned of the U-boat's presence and put into a safe harbor at
Beaufort. And though, for a time, mariners rounding the dreaded
Diamond Shoals did so without the friendly warning beacon of the
lightship, a relief vessel, Lightship No. 72, was returned to the same
station less than six months later. Her first mate? Why, Walter L.
Barnett, of course. For Diamond Shoals, remember, was only four-
teen miles from home.
Off Kill Devil Hills, two days later, the U-iqo attacked the
Brazilian passenger steamer Uberaba. This time, however, a United
States destroyer, the U.S.S. Stringham, was near by and picked up
the U her aba's distress signal. For a time it looked to the 250 pas-
sengers on board the Uberaba as if they were doomed, for the
U-boat gained steadily on the slower steamship. But the Stringham
appeared on the horizon and, screened by the steamer, darted out
and attacked the sub with gunfire and depth bombs.
Shortly afterwards the destroyer sent the following report of
the engagement: "Enemy submarine sighted. . . . Dropped fifteen
depth charges Escaped undamaged."
The message from the destroyer may have meant that she and
the steamer escaped undamaged, but if it referred to the submarine
it was badly mistaken. For the U-i^o, in a crash dive to three hun-
dred feet, was rocked by a depth charge; her lights went out, seams
opened and water gushed in, and for a tinj &e undersea raider,
204 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
by then four hundred feet under water, was unmanageable. All this
time Second Mate Rene Bastin, of the sunken tanker O. B. Jennings,
was a prisoner aboard the U-boat. He reported later that for a time
he was certain the vessel was lost; then fuses were replaced, the
lights came on, water-tight compartments were closed and seams
were patched up. Finally, under control once again, the U-i^o
moved toward the open sea, surfacing next morning with no sign
of the destroyer and then proceeding as rapidly as possible back to
her home base in Germany.
While the U-140 was sinking the Jennings, Seaman, Merak and
Diamond Shoals Lightship, a sister ship, the U-12*], was attacking
small fishing boats off Georges Bank and laying her mines along
the New England and middle Atlantic coasts. On August 14, with
nine mines still remaining, she arrived off the Carolina coast and
laid the mines near Wimble Shoals, stringing them out in a two and
a half mile line across the shipping lane.
Two days later the U-nfs mines took their first toll, resulting
in one of the most dramatic rescue operations in the annals of the
Coast Guard.
The British tanker Mirlo, 6,679 tons, with a crew of fifty-two,
picked up a full cargo of gasoline in New Orleans on August 10,
1918, and headed across the Gulf of Mexico. Then she rounded the
Florida keys and moved up the east coast toward Norfolk. Despite
the absence of the Diamond Shoals Lightship, she passed Cape
Hatteras in safety soon after noon on August 16 and proceeded
north toward Wimble Shoals.
The wind was light, from the northeast; the sea comparatively
calm. When opposite Wimble Shoals Light Buoy a terrific explosion
rocked the ship, wrecking the engine room and putting the lights
and wireless out of commission. Captain W. R. Williams ordered his
lifeboats made ready for lowering and attempted to reach the beach.
He reported later that his vessel was torpedoed, but he did not
actually see a torpedo and the absence of enemy submarines in the
area (the U-uj, only German sub on this side of the Atlantic at
the time, was several hundred miles further north engaged in other
nefarious activities) makes it quite certain that the Mirlo struck one
of the mines.
The original explosion was witnessed by the lookout in the
UNGUARDED SHORES 205
Chicamacomico Coast Guard Station, seven miles northeast of the
light buoy. The keeper of the station, Captain John Allen Midgett,
was summoned and ordered out his power lifeboat. (Though keep-
ers of Coast Guard stations along the coast are generally addressed
as "captain," in almost all cases they are chief bosun mates, non-
commissioned officers equivalent in rank to Army master sergeants) .
While the lifesavers were making preparations to put to sea, a
second explosion took place on board the Mirlo, her cargo of gaso-
line caught fire, and Captain Williams, having given up all hope
of beaching the ship, ordered his lifeboats lowered away.
The port lifeboat, first to be lowered, fouled the stays and cap-
sized, but the sixteen men aboard, thrown into the sea by the
accident, all managed to reach the overturned boat and hang on
momentarily. The other two boats got overboard safely, one con-
taining the Captain and sixteen men, and the other, Boatswain
Donalds and eighteen men.
It was then that the third and final explosion took place, cutting
the ship in half and spewing its cargo of highly inflammable gaso-
line over the water in all directions.
One boat, the Captain's, was soon clear of the sea of fire; the
second, without oars, drifted aimlessly before the wind which was
steadily increasing in velocity; while the third, the one that had
capsized, remained near the sinking vessel, in the very path of the
burning fuel still gushing from her hold. The men clinging to her
sides were themselves covered with gasoline, their clothes and their
hair and even their bodies on fire. Only by remaining under water
for as long as breath would hold out, then coming up again for a
hurried breath of air and submerging once more, were they able to
remain alive; even so, in short order ten of them disappeared from
view, leaving only six still holding on to the overturned boat.
Captain John Allen Midgett of Chicamacomico Station, with
six experienced surfmen in his motor surfboat, came through the
breakers without accident and headed for the towering cloud of
smoke and flames rising from the sea on Wimble Shoals. En route
he met the Captain's lifeboat and gave Captain Williams instructions
to proceed in close to shore and wait there for his return, for the
wind had freshened almost to gale intensity, the waves were build-
ing up in size and force, and under those conditions only a self-
206 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
bailing surfboat in experienced hands could safely pass through
the breakers.
Midgett learned from Captain Williams that two other boats
had been launched, and that one of these had capsized near the
sinking ship. Leaving the Captain's boat he proceeded within a few
hundred yards of the Mirlo, which by now was on the verge of
disappearing beneath the surface. There he was confronted by a
veritable sea of fire. The entire surface of the ocean seemed to be
covered with burning gasoline. Flames shot up in patches, and
above them the great cloud of black smoke rose skyward. Midgett
circled the cloud, coming up on the lee side and finding, at last, an
opening in the blazing surface of the sea. And down this opening
he saw the overturned lifeboat, with figures still clinging to it.
Men do strange things in an emergency strange and brave and
foolish things. Captain John Allen Midgett's next action was all of
these, and more, for without a moment's hesitation he turned his
wooden boat toward that blazing sea, ordered the crew to man their
oars. He skillfully maneuvered her down that narrow open passage,
moving directly through great sheets of fire at times, constantly
enveloped in black smoke, hardly able to see for the darkness
around him. The overturned surfboat was reached at last; the six
men, exhausted, burned and blackened, hysterical and unbelieving,
were pulled into the surfboat. One of his own men collapsed in the
bow and had to be replaced. And then, his mission completed, he
turned about and headed toward the open sea.
Only the rising wind, and resultant high waves, had saved the
six men clinging to the port lifeboat; for though the gasoline had
stilled the water to a great extent, there was still enough wind and
splashing water to keep the full force of the heat from them; but
that same wind had almost proved the downfall of the nineteen men
aboard Boatswain Donalds' boat.
His was the smallest of the three boats, but it carried the most
men. The gunwales were almost level with the water, and she
shipped water with every wave. Flame, blown by the wind, seared
the flesh of the men huddled in the tiny boat and set fire to the sides
of the craft. Shirts were taken off and used to beat at the fire, then
trousers and all other clothing, until the men were naked; and still
UNGUARDED SHORES 207
the boat burned, and their flesh was singed, and they could see
nothing for the black cloud of smoke which enveloped them.
Captain Midgett, having cleared the inferno with the six survivors
of the port boat, still was not finished. Again he circled the burning
mass but could find no trace of the third boat until at dusk he saw
it, drifting helplessly before the wind with its cargo of nude and
blackened humanity.
The lif esavers hurried toward the boat, passed a line aboard, and
headed back for the beach where Captain Williams was still wait-
ing. Midgett left both boats there, landing the first load of survivors
through the surf while other lif esavers on shore shone powerful
lights on the ever larger breakers. Then he returned a second time,
and still a third, until all of the survivors seventeen in the Captain's
boat, nineteen in the Bosun's, and the six he had picked up from
the sea, in all forty-two of the fifty-two who had been aboard the
Mirlo were landed safely on shore.
Soon afterwards Captain Midgett and his crew (Zion S. Midgett,
A. V. Midgett, Prochorns L. O'Neal, L. S. Midgett, and C. E.
Midgett) received Gold Lif esaving Medals from the United States
government, and Victory Medals from the British. Then, their
burns healed, they returned again to their lonely vigil on the coast.
As for the cause of all this trouble the German submarine 17- / 77
she had moved out to sea off Cape Hatteras, where two days later
she attacked and sank the 2,846-ton Norwegian bark Nordhav,
loaded with linseed oil for New York, and then, her mission done,
she headed home.
Before the U-i 77 reached Germany still another submarine raider
left Kiel en route for our coast. This was the U-i$2, commanded
by Kapitanleutnant Franz, and her priority assignment was to lay
mines southeast of Currituck; but the U-i 52 had not yet reached
our coast when, on October 20, she received orders to return to
Germany.
That order, if earlier actions can be used as a basis for specula-
tion, was a godsend to our shipping and coastal residents. For
whereas the three submarine commanders who had attacked our
shores Korvettenkapitan Von Nostitz in the U-ifi, Fregatten-
kapitan Kophamel in the U-ifO, and Kapitanleutnant Droscher in
208 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
the U-nj in most cases exhibited genuine concern for the safety
of the human beings aboard the vessels they attacked, Kapitan-
leutnant Franz of the U-i$2 was as ruthless and unmerciful a man
as ever sailed the seas.
Franz failed to reach his destination, and en route he sank only
two ships, totalling less than 7,000 tons. The first of these he raked
with shellfire, ignoring a white flag of surrender, firing at the oc-
cupants of the only lifeboat which was launched, and in all killing
2 1 5 of the 239 men on board. The second, a small bark, he attacked
soon after receiving specific orders from the German high com-
mand to engage only warships, since the merchant war had ended.
And after sinking the bark he set the nineteen survivors adrift in
two small open boats 1,200 miles from land. In those two attacks
in mid-ocean he killed more men than did all of the other German
subs which visited our waters.
Such was the nature of the man who was en route to the Carolina
coast when the submarine war ended. And for all the horror at-
tending the sinking of the Mirlo and the other sub victims, maybe
we were fortunate after all, that Kapitanleutnant Franz never
reached our shores.
PEACETIME ENEMY
1919-1941
I EWER VESSELS were lost
along the North Carolina coast between the two world wars than
in most comparable periods of the past, but when figured on the
basis of tonnage lost, or human lives lost, or thrilling rescues and
attempted rescues, it was a period that will long be remembered.
CARROLL A. DEERING
Of the hundreds of ships which have been lost in the Graveyard
of the Atlantic, none has commanded more attention than the five-
masted schooner Carroll A. Deering, which fetched up on Diamond
Shoals in the darkness of a stormy winter night in 192 1.
At sunset, January 30, there was no sign of the Deering or any
other vessel on the shoals; just the ocean rollers, coining in from
two directions, crashing together above the Diamond's sand bars,
dropping more sand to form new shoals and move the old ones. But
at dawn the next morning, January 31, there was something else
out there on the Diamond, a schooner, tall and stately, sails set on
her five masts, abandoned by her crew, with no sign then or later
as to what had happened to the men who once sailed on her. The
Carroll A. Deering Ghostship of The Diamond.
There have been rumors aplenty; repeated rumors of mutiny and
murder and piracy. Hardly a year passes that some new theory is
not advanced, new clues supposedly uncovered. But what happened
to the crew of the Carroll A. Deering remains as much a mystery
209
210 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
today as it was January 31, 1921, and with the following facts at
hand you are welcome to draw your own conclusion.
The Deering was launched in 1919 at Bath, Maine, the last of
many large schooners constructed for the G. G. Deering Company.
Named for the owner's son, she was described as "a tremendous
sailing ship," measuring 255 feet in length, 44.3 feet across the
beam, and registered as being 1,879 tons.
Under command of Captain F. Merritt the five-master sailed from
Boston in September, 1920, bound for Buenos Aires. When off the
Delaware Capes, Captain Marritt became ill, so he put in at Le\ves,
Delaware, and was relieved of his command by a veteran retired
ship master, Captain W. T. Wormell.
The Deering then proceeded to South America, apparently
making several calls there, and leaving Rio de Janeiro on December
2, 1920, en route home to Norfolk, Virginia. She carried no cargo
and made one stop on the return journey, at Barbados in the West
Lxlies.
At 6:30 A.M., January 31, 1921, Surf man C. P. Brady, on lookout
duty at the Cape Hatteras Coast Guard Station, sighted a five-
masted schooner "with all sails set" on Diamond Shoals. At the time
the wind was from the southwest, the sea was rough, the tide,
strong.
In two boats, lifesavers from four stationsBig Kinnakeet, Cape
Hatteras, Creeds Hill, and Hatteras Inlet put to sea, reaching the
vicinity of the stranded vessel in midmorning.
In his official report Keeper C. R. Hooper of Big Kinnakeet
Station stated that she was "driven high up on the shoal ... in a boil-
ing bed of breakers . . . with all sails standing, as if she had been
abandoned in a hurry." Keeper J. C. Gaskill of Creeds Hill reported
that "she had been stripped of all life-boats and no sign of life on
board. . . crew had apparently left in own boats, as ladder was
hanging over side."
Because of the breakers surrounding the vessel the lifesavers
could get no closer than one-quarter of a mile to the schooner, and
at that distance they were unable to make out her name.
The next day the sea continued rough and the Coast Guard
cutter Sennnole was dispatched to the scene from Wilmington; and
the day after that the cutter Manmng and the wrecking tug Rescue
PEACETIME ENEMY 211
joined the Seminole from Norfolk. Not until February 4, however
four full days after the five-master was first discovered aground
was it possible to board the schooner. Waves had been breaking
over her deck, and when the wreckers reached her, water filled her
hold. Her seams were so badly ripped apart that there was no hope
of floating the vessel. Her steering gear was disabled, charts were
scattered about the master's bathroom, and food was set out in the
galley and on the stove.
Subsequently the wreckers removed what they could from the
vessel, and following a severe storm three weeks later she was
dynamited. A small section of her bow drifted ashore on Ocracoke
and for years was a tourist attraction, but in a recent hurricane it
floated free, taking up on the beach near Hatteras.
So much for the facts; now for the theories, rumors, and specula-
tion.
Mutiny Investigation revealed that Captain Wormell had con-
fided to a friend in Barbados that he was ill, and that he had no faith
in his crew, especially his first mate. It was further reported that the
vessel had passed Cape Lookout Light Vessel the day before she
stranded, and that a crewman (not the Captain) had shouted through
a megaphone that the vessel had lost her anchors in a storm off
Cape Fear and needed assistance. This led to the conclusion in some
quarters that "Old Man" Wormell had been murdered by the
mate or other crewmen, but it offers no explanation of what hap-
pened to the survivors.
Piracy Several other ships disappeared at sea at about the same
rime (though thousands have disappeared off the Atlantic coast
with no trace in years gone by) and there were reports that they
had been captured by Russian pirates. At about this time a resident
of Buxton claimed he had found a bottle on the beach with a note
inside indicating that pirates had boarded the Deering and murdered
the crew. It was later reliably determined that the man who re-
ported finding the message had written it himself.
Abandoned at Sea The most frequently voiced opinion and
the one given most credence by the Coast Guard and other agencies
which investigated was that the Deering had encountered a storm
off the lower Carolina coast, drifting toward Diamond Shoals in a
disabled state, and that her eleven crewmen, certain that she would
212 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
strand on treacherous Diamond, had abandoned her in panic, drift-
ing to sea and certain death in their open boats.
Mutiny, piracy, abandonment by the crew. Take your choice.
And if you ever get to Ocracoke examine the remnants of her bow,
as thousands of others have, so that you too may become an au-
thority on the fate of the five-master Carroll A. Deering.
VIRGINIA and NEW JERSEY
Not all ships lost on our coast were wrecked by the forces of
nature; some were purposely sunk by man.
September 5, 1923, two United States battleships, the Virginia
and the New Jersey, were sent to the bottom within a mile of the
Diamond Shoals Light Vessel by Army airmen under command of
Brigadier General Billy Mitchell. The sinkings were the first step
in the scrapping of American war craft, as required under the
naval limitations treaty drawn up after World War I. They proved,
also, that the mightiest battleships could be sunk by air attack.
The two battleships were sisterships. Construction was started
on them in 1902 and completed in 1906 at a cost of six million dol-
lars each. The 435-foot long vessels were listed as having 14,949
tons displacement, and each carried four twelve-inch and eight
eight-inch rifles in six turrets.
Most of the Army planes participating in the attack on the two
vessels took off from a temporary field set up on the beach near
Hatteras, The New Jersey was attacked first that morning from a
height of over one mile. She soon listed badly but did not sink, so
the attack was switched to the Virginia, with eight planes, flying
at 3,000 feet, dropping a total of thirteen i,ioo-pound bombs on
her. At 11:54 A.M., just thirty minutes after the attack began, the
Virginia sank, and at 3: 30 that afternoon three bombers returned to
finish off the crippled New Jersey. She, too, went to the bottom off
Diamond Shoals.
SANTIAGO
The Ward Line freighter Santiago, loaded with 32,000 bags of
sugar, left Cienfuegos on the southern coast of Cuba, March 4,
PEACETIME ENEMY 213
1924. She had accumulated her cargo at several Cuban ports, in-
cluding Matanzas on the northern coast, where she had run ashore
the week before. This had necessitated discharging some 129 tons
of sugar into lighters before she floated free; then the sugar was put
back on board again, the Santiago proceeded around the island to
Cienfuegos, and on March 4, fully loaded and apparently un-
damaged, she sailed for New York.
Three days out, the 5,ooo-ton freighter ran into a severe storm,
and for the next seventy hours she plowed through heavy seas while
the wind increased steadily in intensity. The end came Tuesday
night, March 1 1, at a point approximately sixty miles south of Cape
Hatteras. It was precipitated when one of the hatches broke open,
letting great quantities of water pour into the holds.
The men were then set to her pumps but were driven from her
hold after several hours by the inrushing water. Two officers the
first and third mates perceiving that the open hatch cover was still
intact though swept back and forth across the deck with every roll
of the vessel, attempted to move forward to retrieve it. Even as
they reached the hatch cover, however, a huge wave poured over
the deck, a terrified cry rang out in the darkness, and the two
officers disappeared.
By then the holds were practically filled with water, the pumps
were inoperative, the engines had stopped, and the vessel was un-
manageable. Captain J. S. Baldwin had rockets sent up as signals of
distress, ordered the boats launched, and gave the command to
abandon ship, meanwhile lashing himself to the mast.
In the mad scramble for the boats three more men were washed
overboard, but the first lifeboat was finally lowered over the side,
filled with human beings. Before it could be moved into the open,
however, the boat was thrown against the huge steel hull and
crushed, the water swallowing up the men who had been in it.
A second boat then went over successfully, with eleven men
aboard. "There was no attempt to man the oars," a survivor said
later, for all the occupants could do was "to clang desperately to
the gunwales."
This boat drifted clear of the sinking freighter- Shortly after-
wards, with Captain Baldwin still lashed to the mast, the Santiago
rolled over and disappeared.
2i 4 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
For three more hours the lifeboat drifted in the tumultuous sea,
half -filled with water, the helpless men able only to hang on for
their lives. Suddenly the boat capsized, and the eleven men were
thrown into the water. Ten managed to regain holds on the over-
turned craft. The eleventh failed to come up again.
Early the next morning the wireless station at Charleston picked
up a message from the Norwegian steamer Cissy, which read:
"Picked up life-boat containing six sailors, three firemen, one
carpenter from the steamer Santiago which sank 60 miles south of
Hatteras. No other life-boats seen. Proceeding to Baltimore."
That marked the end for the Ward liner Santiago. Ten saved.
Twenty-five lost. One more vessel consigned to the depths off the
North Carolina coast.
KYZIKES
"Come at once if you can. We are badly in need of assistance."
The wireless operator of the Greek tank steamer Kyzikes tapped
out this message shortly after noon, Saturday, December 3, 1927.
Other messages followed: The Kyzikes was approximately two
hundred miles off the Virginia Capes. She had been battered by
storm winds and was leaking badly. Water was pouring into her
holds from stem and stern. Most of her deck gear had been carried
away. She needed help immediately.
After that the messages stopped. The Kyzikes' wireless antenna
had been carried away. But those brief words had been enough to
set in motion extensive attempts at rescue.
Less than sixty miles away from the position given by the Kyzikes
the steamer Harvester had picked up the message, quickly altered
her course, and was steaming toward the scene. At Norfolk the
tug Carrabasset, the only large Coast Guard vessel available, was
immediately dispatched to the aid of the tanker. The motor ship
East Indian, the steamer City of Atlanta, the tanker William M.
Irish, and the steamer Baron Herries also were proceeding toward
the distressed vessel.
The East Indian, considerably farther away than the other ves-
sels, turned back when she learned that assistance was at hand. The
Harvester and City of Atlanta failed to locate the sinking ship. The
PEACETIME ENEMY 2 15
Baron Herries sighted distress rockets, stood by momentarily, then
lost the tanker in the darkness. The William M. Irish damaged her
hull and broke her steering gear and had to send out her own calls
for assistance; and the Carrabasset, encountering northeast winds of
better than seventy miles per hour, turned about and almost found-
ered before regaining the safety of Hampton Roads.
Thus, that night, the battered and leaking Kyzikes was as much
alone as before, despite the attempts of half a dozen vessels to
assist her.
The Kyzikes was a craft of 2,627 gross tons, measuring 227 feet
in length. Built at Lorain, Ohio, in 1900, and originally named
Paraguay, she had served under American registry for a number
of years before being transferred to the Greek flag and renamed
Kyzikes. With twenty-eight crewmen on board she had left Balti-
more November 28 with a cargo of crude oil destined for Seville,
Spain, had begun to leak the third day out, and was en route back
to port when the northeaster struck her Friday night. By Saturday,
when her distress signals were sent out, Captain Nickolas Kantanlos
held almost no hope of saving his vessel; his one thought was to get
his crew aboard a passing ship or on shore.
Saturday night, while drifting before the northeaster, the crew
made fruitless efforts to pump out the deeply laden vessel. During
the process four men were washed overboard and drowned, the
tanker's fires were extinguished, her engines stopped, and her lights
went out. In the inky blackness of the storm-swept Atlantic, there-
after, the Kyzikes drifted "We were like a piece of bark on the
ocean," Captain Kantanlos said until, at 4:35 Sunday morning, she
struck the beach.
'The seas pounded the side of the ship with terrific force," Cap-
tain Kantanlos recounted later. "She rocked and shook like a leaf.
Then she began to break up. We could hear the tearing of her iron
sides, the creaking of the tanks. It was terrible."
Second Mate Evangelos Palamario took up the narrative then.
"We had been expecting her to break but the pounding had been
so heavy that we didn't realize it when it happened. Day had not
begun to break, and it was still inky dark when we saw what we
thought was a ship alongside. We immediately signalled with our
lights for a rescue, and were answered by similar signals*"
216 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
Thus, after drifting helplessly throughout the night, after strik-
ing an obstruction of unknown form or location, and after crouch-
ing there on the bow of their ship while the horrible sounds of her
own disintegration came to them above the wind, there suddenly
appeared this hope of rescue. Again and again and again the lights
were flashed. Once, twice, three times the answering lights came
back. And then, suddenly, the full truth dawned on them.
This was no rescue vessel at their side. Rather, according to Mate
Palamario, "It was the stern of our own ship, which had swung
around almost alongside, and the men answering our signals were
five of our own men who had also mistaken us for another ship
and were seeking rescue!
"It was evident that the portion of the ship would soon break
away and sink," the Mate continued. "I found a signboard of the
Prudential Oil Company, the only thing available, and put it across
the intervening space of about six feet as a gang plank and saved
the five men marooned on the stern."
In this last statement Mate Palamario was a bit optimistic. He
had saved the five men from going down on the stern, but there
was still before them the prospect of being swept from the battered
bow.
On shore, meanwhile, there was activity of another kind. Ex-
lifesaver Joe Partridge, waking that morning at his home back of
the huge sand dune known as Kill Devil Hills, noticed a peculiar
odor in the air: Oil! And at about the same time Coastguardsman
Jep Harris of Kill Devil Hills Station, on the north patrol, spotted
a dim shape through the rain and spray. Both Partridge and Harris
hurried to the station to spread the word that a vessel was ashore.
Keeper Will H. Lewark mustered his crew, called for assistance
from near-by Kitty Hawk and Nags Head stations and proceeded
to the wreck. The coastguardsmen reached the scene in quick order
but had great difficulty landing a line within reach of the twenty-
four men on the Kyzikes, who by this time were all assembled on
the bridge. Contact was finally made, however, the hawser and
whip line were attached to the mast, the breeches buoy was sent
out, and the first man was brought ashore.
It was a tough operation from start to finish, for the Kyzikes, or
what remained of her, rolled with every sea, now pulling the line
PEACETIME ENEMY 217
high in the air, then dumping it down almost in the breakers.
Further, it was necessary for the survivors, waiting an opportunity,
to dash down on the lower deck between the bridge and the mast
in order to reach the spot where the line was tied; and more than
one of the twenty-four was almost swept overboard in the process.
As it was, Surfman Will Dough, manning the whip line through-
out the rescue, wore the skin completely off his hands, and his
fellow coastguardsmen were about as exhausted as the survivors
when the last of the twenty-four was brought ashore in the breeches
buoy at seven o'clock that night.
For successfully directing the rescue operation Chief Bosun Mate
WiU H. Lewark of Kill Devil Hills and Chief Bosun Mate Walter
G. Etheridge, Keeper of Nags Head Station, were promoted to the
rank of Warrant Officer. And in the months that followed repeated
efforts were made to salvage the crude oil remaining on the tanker,
first by means of pipes to shore, and later by the use of a barge and
pump anchored near by. Some oil was saved, but most of it, like
the twenty-four crewmen, was thoroughly soused with salt water.
CffiAO
The Norwegian steamer Cibao, loaded with 17,000 bunches of
Jamaican bananas, ran into the same storm that drove the Kyzikes
ashore at Ball Devil Hills and stranded seventy-five miles to the
south, at a point off the mouth of Hatteras Inlet, two miles from
shore and in the midst of a sea of breakers.
Whereas the rescue of the twenty-four survivors of the Kyzikes
was a breeches buoy operation from first to last, the rescue of the
crew of the Cibao, which took place at the same time and involved
the same number of men, was strictly a job for surfboats.
The Cibao was discovered Sunday morning by the lookout at
Hatteras Inlet Station, and within thirty minutes the coastguards-
men had launched their power lifeboat, passed through the inlet,
and approached within half a mile of the wreck. They found, how-
ever, that it was impossible to effect a rescue with the powerboat,
and they returned through the inlet once more for their smaller
self-bailing surfboat. The keeper and crew of Ocracoke Station,
and the keepers of Cape Hatteras, Creeds Hill, and Durants stations,
218 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
were on hand by then, and all of them had a part in the thrilling
rescue that followed.
The snrfboat was towed out through the inlet and cast loose just
beyond the first bar. With a picked crew aboard, the boat was then
rowed in close to the Cibao, but so turbulent was the water sur-
rounding her that even the self-bailing boat stood no chance of
getting up alongside the stranded vessel.
Through speaking tubes the coastguardsmen shouted instruc-
tions to die castaways. Each of the twenty-four was to put on a
life belt; each was to tie a separate line about his body and then
jump overboard. The instructions were quickly followed. The first
man jumped, disappeared beneath the churning surf, bobbed up,
then disappeared again, as the swirling sea swept him toward shore.
Into this mass of rampaging water the surfboat came and passed by
the sailor; a coastguardsman reached over, grasped the line tied
around his body, and the craft swept on, through and then beyond
the breakers, dragging the Cibao crewman behind. When calmer
waters were reached the oarsmen held up on their powerful strokes,
the surfboat came to a brief standstill, and the soaked and miserable,
but living, crewman was hauled aboard.
Back they went again, and time after time the process was re-
peated, until one boatload was transferred to the larger power life-
boat, and then a second boatload, and finally with the surfboat filled
for the third time, the job was done. Twenty-four more seamen
pulled from the clutches of the death-dealing surf. A total of forty-
eight lives saved in one day. And as in the case of the Kyzikes, the
leaders here were rewarded Chief Bosun Mates Charles O. Peel,
Bernice R. Ballance, and William H. Barnett all promoted to
Warrant grade.
CARL GERHARD
The spot where the Kyzikes came ashore in 1927 is approximately
one mile north of the Kill Devil Hills Coast Guard Station. On
numerous occasions this writer has fished there, wearing a pair of
water-tight goggles and armed with a home-made spear, diving
down beneath the surface, into the open hatches of the twisted and
rust-covered Greek tanker, in quest of the giant sheepshead and
PEACETIME ENEMY 219
other fish which make their home there in the bowels of the ship.
The bow of the Kyzikes remains on the outer reef, covered over
with sand except for her engine, which juts up fifteen feet or
better from the sandy bottom almost to the surface of the sea. On
the inner reef, canted sharply over on one side, is the larger stern
section of the tanker; a mass of warped decking and tanks, of
ladders, anchors, winches, pipes, cables and machinery, all under
water except for one small section which shows above the surface
at extreme low tide.
To the south of the battered remains of the Kyzikes which most
people call Paraguay, her former name is the even sand bottom,
stretching away toward Kill Devil Hills and Nags Head; but to the
north there is more wreckage still, for the Kyzikes is not alone out
there. Parallel with the stern of the tanker actually touching it at
one point is the equally battered, equally rusted, sand-covered
and eerie looking hull of the once proud Swedish steamer Carl
Gerhard.
As this is written the ocean spray, driven by strong winds from
the northeast, clouds up the window panes beside the typewriter, so
that the white caps are barely visible out there beyond the beach.
The muffled sound of the crashing waves comes through, however,
and peering through those spray-shrouded panes at the exact spot
where the sunken steamer rests, it is easy to picture the scene that
confronted Surfman Ellsworth Baum as he walked his patrol along
this same beach, peered through the spray thrown up by just such
a northeaster, and saw, in the early morning haze, the looming
shape of the steamer aground there beside the Kyzikes.
It was September 23, 1929, less than two years after the loss of
the Kyzikes. The Carl Gerhard y 265 feet long, 1,504 tons, loaded
with 2,000 tons more of plaster rock, had been buffeted about in
the North Atlantic for five days. She was bound from Mabou,
Nova Scotia, to Tampa, Florida, and had stranded in the mud off
Mabou soon after sailing. It was reported then that she had sus-
tained no damage on the Canadian mud bank, but when the storm
winds hit her off the New England coast she began to ship water.
To add to the difficulty, the weather was so overcast that sights
could not be taken, and according to a later statement by Captain
A. Ohlsson, he was lost for five days, looking in vain for stars or
220 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
sun above, or the warning beams of lighthouses on the shore; think-
ing, however, that he was at least fifty miles at sea until the very
moment when the Gerhard grated to a stop on the outer bar off
Kill Devil Hills, bumped over the sand reef, and then struck the
sunken hull of the Kyzikes.
It was nearly dawn, then, and Surfman Baum sighted the vessel
soon after. His mates were quickly summoned, and four Coast
Guard crews under command of veteran Keeper Herman Smith
of Bodie Island Station, methodically went about the business of
saving life. The sea was too high and too rough for boat service,
so the Lyle gun was placed in position, and a friendly shot was sent
across the deck. Lucky for the Gerhard's crew that the coast-
guardsmen arrived so quickly, and that Smith's shot was true, for
in the words of Captain Ohlsson, "the seas, lashed for days by the
strong northeast winds, pounced upon her like a lion upon its
prey," and the vessel began to go to pieces as soon as she struck.
There was a woman on board the Gerhard, Mrs. Ethel Adehard,
wife of the mate. A crewman came ashore first to test the breeches
buoy, then Mrs. Adehard, and after her the twenty men remaining.
Clothing and other personal belongings were left behind, some to
be recovered later; but as the breeches buoy made trip after trip
other living things beside the human beings appeared there on the
beach; first a dog, pet of one of the crewmen, then a second dog,
and finally a cat.
By afternoon the rescue was completed, and soon thereafter
Mate and Mrs. Adehard and the Swedish crewmen left the beach
at Kill Devil Hills to return to their native land or seek berths on
other ships; but the Carl Gerhard, almost completely submerged
now, remains there on the bar off Kill Devil Hills, keeping close
company with the Greek tanker Kyzikes.
ANNA MAY
Disastrous shipwrecks and thrilling rescues are not necessarily
confined to large vessels. Few men, for example, have come closer
to death and yet lived to tell about it than the five fishermen on
board the little trawler Anna May, which went to pieces on
PEACETIME ENEMY 221
Diamond Shoals at the height of a severe storm, December 9, 1931.
The Anna May, loaded with fish, headed out of Hatteras Inlet
at 2:30 that morning, her destination, Hampton, Virginia. Twenty-
two-year-old Ralph Carmine was captain of the seventy-foot vessel.
His crew consisted of his father, J. E. Carmine, Sr.; a brother,
J. E, Carmine, Jr.; a brother-in-law, Rideout Lewis; and a fifth
man, M. R. Johnson.
Long before they passed out of Hatteras Bight the trawler's gaso-
line engine stopped, and for the next hour and a half the five crew-
men took turns at trying to remedy the trouble, while the Anna May
drifted slowly toward Diamond Shoals. As well as Captain Carmine
could remember, they were all five bent over the engine box when
the craft lurched to a stop, and they looked up to find themselves in
the midst of towering breakers. Almost as quickly as it takes to tell it
the vessel swamped, filled with water and settled on the shoal, leav-
ing only her single mast above the breakers. Somehow, in that brief
moment of decision, all five of them reached the mast and climbed
to safety, but they were without distress signals, or life jackets, or
lifesaving facilities of any kind. Just the five of them, thinly clad,
clinging to the swaying mast in the darkness above the wild surf
of Diamond Shoals,
Soon after dawn that morning the lookout at Cape Hatteras
Station sighted the trawler's mast and the men hanging to it. Re-
peated attempts were made to launch a surfboat from the beach, but
it was thrown back each time. At two o'clock that afternoon a mist
settled over Diamond Shoals, completely obscuring what remained
of the craft. By then the power lifeboat from Hatteras Inlet Station
had finally managed to pass through the inshore breakers but on
reaching Diamond Shoals could find no trace of the wrecked trawler.
Newspaper headlines the following day proclaimed: "Fishing Traw-
ler Is Believed Lost In Hatteras Quicksands, Entire Crew Going
To Deaths."
As the sky slowly brightened over Diamond Shoals that next
morning, however, Coast Guard binoculars were trained on the
spot where the wreck had last been seen. Slowly a vague shape came
in view, a tall thin pole sticking up out of the breakers. The mast
still stood; and human beings yet clung to it!
222 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
A picked crew under Keeper B. R. Ballance of Cape Hatteras
launched their surfboat from the beach there at the point. The crew
of Hatteras Inlet Station, under Keeper Levene Midgett, boarded
their power boat once more and moved out through the inlet.
Ballance and Midgett were veteran lifesavers, both heroes of other
dramatic rescues in days gone by.
Meanwhile, after thirty hours on the constantly swaying mast,
young Captain Carmine and his four crewmen had about given up
hope. Soaked to the skin, nearly frozen by the December cold, they
began that second day with little thought that they had been seen,
let alone that they might be saved. Then, suddenly, two boats
appeared near by, one coming out from the cape, the other, the
larger lifeboat, moving up the coast from Hatteras Inlet. The casta-
ways shouted, waved their arms wildly, for at last there was hope.
But even as they attempted to attract the attention of the coast-
guardsmen the mast swayed far over to one side, dipped lower and
lower, and toppled into the chaotic surf.
Under other conditions the two boats would have stayed away
from the breakers, anchoring to one side, attempting to rescue the
five men by lines and life buoys. But that possibility was gone now,
and without hesitation both Ballance and Midgett turned their boats
toward the breakers, pressed on, into the midst of the tumultuous
sea in which the five men struggled for their lives.
"We came down once between two giant waves, striking the
bare sand," Midgett says, but this did not deter the surfmen. Mid-
gett's boat, larger and faster, swept in, picked up one man, then a
second, finally a third. Ballance's surfboat was right beside, reached
the other two, turned about even as they were dragged aboard.
Then both boats passed out of the breakers, into calmer water
behind; three men in one, two in the other. All five of the castaways
saved at the very moment when death seemed certain.
G. A. KOHLER
For almost ten years after she came ashore in the hurricane of
August 23, 1933, die four-masted schooner G. A. Kohler, bulking
majestically in her last resting place high above the shore, was one
of the showpieces of the outer banks. Then, early in World War II
PEACETIME ENEMY 223
she was burned for her scrap iron content, and today there is nothing
left on the beach below Salvo to mark the spot where she rested.
The Kohler, one of the last of the large sailing vessels, was re-
ported as "wallowing helplessly in the breakers a mile south of Gull
Shoal Station," when the full fury of the storm struck the Carolina
banks that August morning. Throughout the day and night she
remained there, showing distress signals, while the coastguardsmen
stood by helplessly waiting for a break in the storm. But the fol-
lowing morning the crews from Gull Shoal and Chicamacomico
soon put a line aboard the vessel and succeeded in rescuing the eight
men and one woman on board. And when the storm tides subsided
the Kohler was sitting there, far up on the beach, beyond the reach
of all except the highest tides.
For almost ten years she survived the worst that the sea could
throw at her, the strong oak timbers as solid as ever; then war clouds
formed across the ocean, the oak timbers were set afire, and all that
remained was a pile of scrap iron.
TZENNY CHANDRIS
The Eastern Packet was little different from many of the other
American freighters tied up at the James River anchorage during the
depression of the 1930*5. Built at Kobe, Japan, in 1920, she had
served a period of usefulness while the postwar boom lasted; then,
like many another craft, she was towed up the James, anchored at
the head of the long line of idle ships, and left there to rust or rot.
In a sense the Eastern Packet was more fortunate than many of
her idle neighbors, for in the summer of 1937 tugs again appeared at
the anchorage, cut out the Eastern Packet, hauled her into deep
water, and towed the listless freighter down to Norfolk for repairs.
The Eastern Packet had been sold. Her purchaser: John Chandris,
of the Greek company bearing his name. The price: $64,000.
The first positive step was to change the Eastern Packet's name.
Henceforth, Chandris announced, she would be known as the
Tzenny Chandris. After that the shipyard workers came aboard, a
Greek crew appeared, and together they swarmed over the vessel,
chipping away rust, painting, and putting her machinery in work-
ing order. Her engines, overhauled, were made to run again; her
224 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
wireless, never of the best, was put in working order but not
modernized; her lifeboats, rust covered, were patched up after a
fashion.
With these hurried repairs completed the Tzenny Chandris was
once more ready to put to sea. Captain George Couhopadelis
was her new master. Of the twenty-eight men in her crew all except
Joseph Corrie, a forty-six-year-old English coal passer, were of
Greek extraction. Many of them had not been to sea for several
years. Her wireless operator was young and inexperienced.
The Tzenny Chandris took on several thousand tons of scrap iron
before leaving Norfolk, then moved across Hampton Roads to
Newport News for still more cargo. Additional scrap awaited her
at Morehead City before she could begin the long voyage across the
Atlantic to Rotterdam.
She left Newport News, October 27, 1937, and took on the last
of her 9,010 tons of scrap and junk at Morehead City on November
1 1. When an attempt was made to move her away from the pier at
Morehead City, however, it was discovered that the weight of the
added scrap had caused her to "bump the bottom," and she had to
wait there for high tide before floating free. Finally, Friday morn-
ing, November 12, 1937, the Tzenny Chandris, deeply laden, sailed
from Morehead City.
By the time the Chandris had passed Cape Lookout she was already
taking water perceptibly. "We begged the Captain to turn back to
some port when we found she was leaking," coal-passer Corrie
stated later, "but he said the pumps would take care of the water."
Meanwhile the first winds of an impending storm had ruffled up
the water between Lookout and Hatteras, and already the Chandris
was having tough going. "She commenced listing to starboard before
we got into the storm," Corrie said. "When the storm hit us Friday
afternoon water came pouring in from somewhere in the coal bins,
shooting through a little door that coal fell through. When I went
on watch Friday night I didn't want to go down in that place, but
the Captain persuaded me to go. I couldn't swim and when the water
came rushing in that place again, I went on deck. About that time
the engine went off fix, and all lights went out."
By then the seas were sweeping over the boat deck, several of the
PEACETIME ENEMY 225
lifeboats had been carried away, and the cargo had begun to shift
so that the vessel was canted over at a fifteen degree angle.
Kostas Palaskas, twenty-five-year-old third engineer, said later
that he and others of the crew had been "pleading with the captain
for five hours," to send an S.O.S. And when finally the Captain did
order the S.O.S. sent out, the operator became confused and was
unable to send promptly. Palaskas said that he finally had to threaten
the operator at the point of a knife before he got the message off.
"I told him I would kill him if he didn't send that S.O.S.," Palaskas
said.
The S.O.S. finally went out at 4:06 A.M., Saturday, and though
it was repeated several times and was picked up both by shore sta-
tions and ships in the vicinity, at no time was the position of the
sinking ship given, with the result that one ship passed so close in
the darkness that Captain Couhopadelis tried to signal for help with
a flashlight.
In the end the Captain ordered all hands to put on life belts, and
then sent them over the side into the storm-ravaged seas tossed up
off Hatteras. The position of the Chandris at that time was approxi-
mately forty miles northeast of Diamond Shoals Lightship.
Coal-passer Corrie was the last man to leave the sinking vessel.
"The rain and wind made so much noise you couldn't hear anybody
yell," he said. "I waited there on deck. I didn't want to jump because
I had seen some of the fellows jump and they looked like they got
hurt. Then the ship lurched once and went over on her side. She
lurched again and went over flat on her side, level as a floor. Then
is when I walked down and jumped. I was caught in the suction
but I had to open my mouth to breathe and every time I did I took
in sea water. It seemed like a year before I came back up."
Twenty-eight human beings and miscellaneous sheep, hogs, and
fowl which had been carried along to provide fresh meat on the
voyage were left foundering there in the open sea as the Tzenny
Chandris went to the bottom. Six of the men located a floating life-
boat, battered and water-filled, and managed to climb aboard.
Fifteen others were grouped rather closely together, clinging to
pieces of wreckage. The remainder were scattered near by, sup-
ported by life belts and debris.
226 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
At 9: 30 that morning, approximately five hours after the Chandris
sank, the tanker Swtftsure sighted the floating lifeboat and rescued
the six men who had sought safety in it. The Svriftsure wirelessed
news of the rescue and its position, and cruised in the area for several
hours without sighting other survivors. Then she proceeded on her
way to Boston.
Throughout that day and night the other crewmen drifted in the
open sea. Two men drowned during the day. A third went crazy,
lunged at Captain Couhopadelis in maniacal fury and bit the Cap-
tain's nose before being subdued by shipmates. He died that after-
noon.
During the night three more men died from exposure, and one
young crewman, able to control his thirst no longer, drank salt
water, went berserk, tried to choke Palaskas, and finally swam oif
alone in the night to disappear forever. At dawn Sunday, surrounded
by dead and bloated animals and fowl, and with the bodies of their
deceased comrades still floating in their life belts near by, the sur-
vivors were faced with a new threat sharks.
Meanwhile, one of the most intensive and methodical rescue
attempts in history was being carried out. Four Coast Guard vessels
were patrolling the area in systematic sweeps. Seven Navy planes
and one Coast Guard plane were combing an assigned area of 19,200
square miles in search of survivors.
At 10:30 A.M. Sunday, Lieutenant (j.g.) A. G Keller, piloting
a Navy patrol plane, sighted the survivors about ninety miles east
of Kitty Hawk. Diving low he dropped a smoke bomb to mark the
spot, then flew back to the near-by Coast Guard cutter Mendota,
and directed the surface vessel to the scene. When picked up soon
afterwards, the Chandris crewmen said the sound of the plane had
driven the sharks away.
At this point nineteen survivors had been taken from the spume
and spray-filled waters, six by the Simftsure, and thirteen by the
Mendota. The bodies of four others had also been recovered. Still
not accounted for were five more crewmen, including coal-passer
Come, but by then the Naval planes had nearly exhausted their fuel
and were forced to return to Norfolk, leaving only the Coast Guard
patrol plane, piloted by Lieutenant R. L. Burke, to continue the
search.
PEACETIME ENEMY
227
Soon afterwards, however, Burke sighted two more men and the
bodies of the other three near by. He, too, dropped smoke bombs
and guided the Mendota to the scene, and so, after more than thirty
hours in the sea, Joseph Corrie, last of the twenty-eight to leave the
sinking freighter, was picked up and the saga of the Tzenny
Chcmdris was ended.
THE U-BOATS RETURN
1942-1945
I URING THE first six months
of 1942 residents of coastal North Carolina were closer to war than
were most of our troops then on overseas duty, and the coastal
Carolina war, during that period, was a one-sided affair, with the
odds strictly on the other side.*
* Little was published at the time concerning these stupendous losses so close
to home, and not much more has been published since. In fact, in the preparation
of this book, material on World War II ship sinkings has been harder to dig out
and less detail has been available than for any other period since the War of 1812.
This is due, mainly, to the existence of strict censorship at the time of the sink-
ings; to the fact that all information on ship sinkings was considered classified
material by the armed forces until long after the cessation of hostilities (and some
of it still is not available for this reason); and to a recently inaugurated syster.
whereby all of the material compiled by the various governmental commands
which had jurisdiction over the North Carolina coast has been transferred to
Washington, there to be stored in secret and inaccessible files, or placed on micro-
film in the national archives (usually without regard to chronological or geo-
graphical arrangement), or destroyed. Unfortunately, a large amount of the
factual material relating to ship sinkings seems to have been disposed of in this
last manner.
There have been newspaper articles published recently in which it was stated
that Navy figures show a specific number of lives lost and a specified amount of
cargo destroyed off the North Carolina coast during World War H These figures
are taken from the Navy press release of Sept. 17, 1945, which states that 79 ships
were sunk, 843 merchant seamen and gun crew lost their lives, and 425,850 tons of
shipping went down within the waters of the Fifth Naval District. However, the
report (the only official compilation this writer has been able to uncover) gives
information in such sketchy fashion that it is impossible to determine where n
of the ships were sunk, and of the balance, 12 are shown to have reached port
safely, 28 others were sunk off Virginia, Maryland, New Jersey, and New York,
and of the 79 ships only 29 are definitely listed as having been sunk off the North
Carolina coast.
The compilation of ship losses for World War II comes from this and other
sources, mainly from the wreck information lists and card file of the United States
Hydrographic Office, which has determined the definite location of the sunken
228
THE U-BOATS RETURN 229
Simply stated, the reason for this early success by Nazi submarine
raiders was that the Germans had concentrated on the development
of U-boat warfare while this phase of naval preparedness was rele-
gated to a comparatively unimportant status by the United States.
Thus, the outbreak of the war in December, 1941, found Hitler
with a large and fully trained underseas fleet, and when this fleet
attacked shipping along our coast it had about as hard a time of it
as a hunter shooting into a pond full of tame ducks.
The amazing thing is that we were able, during that otherwise
disastrous six-month period, to so perfect our antisubmarine defenses
as to almost completely thwart the underseas raiders throughout
the remainder of the war; for the records show that more than 90
per cent of the ship sinkings on our coast during the nearly four
years of submarine attacks, occurred in those six months between
January and July in 1942.
One of Hitler's first actions after Pearl Harbor had been to order
a submarine attack on our east coast shipping, and six of his five-
hundred-ton U-boats had been assigned to the job. These five-
hundred-tonners, constituting the bulk of the Nazi sub fleet, were
220 feet long and 20.3 feet in width; their top speed was j l / 2 knots
submerged and iji/% knots on the surface; each had four torpedo
tubes forward and one in the stern, carried a total of fourteen tor-
pedoes plus deck guns, and was fueled for an average voyage of
six weeks duration.
Other U-boats were shortly dispatched to the aid of the six sent
out originally, and by January of 1942 some nineteen German
underseas craft were operating ia the western half of the Atlantic.
To guard against them we had Sve sub-chasers, a nondescript
collection of miscellaneous small craft, and a handful of shore-based
airplanes. The situation, with one exception, was directly compar-
able to that in the early part of World War I. The sole exception
was that this time the enemy had many times the number of subs
to throw into the battle.
The war came to our coast in explosive fashion in the early morn-
ing darkness of January 18, 1942. Sixty miles off Cape Hatteras
the Standard Oil Company of New Jersey tanker Allan Jackson, a
single-screw vessel of 4,038 net tons, was proceeding northward
in a calm sea. She was loaded with 72,870 barrels of crude oil, nearly
2 3 o GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
capacity, which she had picked up a week earlier at Cartagena,
Colombia, for delivery to New York. The crew of the 45 3 -foot
vessel consisted of thirty-five officers and men.
At 1:30 that morning Captain Felix W. Kretchmer was in his
bunk, resting. Second Mate Melvin A. Rand had the duty on the
bridge, Seaman Randolph H. Larson was at the wheel, Boatswain
Rolf Clausen was in the messroom playing cards, and Seaman Gus-
tave Nox was en route to the foc'sle head to relieve Seaman Hamon
Brown of the lookout duty there.
At 1:35 A.M. two torpedoes struck the Jackson in quick succes-
sion. The first, hitting the forward tank on the vessel's starboard side,
exploded beneath an empty cargo hold and caused only minor dam-
age; the second struck even closer to the bow, exploding with such
force that the tanker was split completely in two, her cargo of
crude oil spewing out in all directions.
The second explosion threw Captain Kretchmer to the floor, and
though flames filled his quarters he managed to escape through a
porthole, falling to the boat deck on the lee side. Meanwhile both
Rand and Larson were knocked overboard by the force of the
explosion, Boatswain Clausen rushed on deck in search of a lifeboat,
and seamen Nox and Brown, closer than the others to the actual
point where the torpedo made contact, already were dead.
The scene, at that time, was one of despair for the crewmen yet
alive, for in addition to the flames engulfing the sinking ship the
entire surface of the water surrounding the vessel was covered with
fiercely burning oil.
Boatswain Clausen, in his frantic search for a lifeboat, discovered
that the No. i boat was a total wreck, the No. 2 boat was jammed
in its chocks and could not be budged, the No. 4 boat was sur-
rounded by wind-driven flames, and only the No. 3 boat remained
serviceable. This was immediately lowered away, and even before
it struck the water Clausen and seven others jumped inside.
"When the boat was in the water and held in position by the
painter we "were 3 to 4 feet from the ship's side," Clausen said.
"Around us, within a short distance, were the flames of crude oil
burning on the surface of the sea. What saved us was the strong
discharge from the condenser pump. The outlet happened to be
THE U-BOATS RETURN 231
just ahead of the lifeboat, and the force of the stream of water,
combined with the motion of the ship, pushed the burning oil away.
"I unhooked the falls and cut the painter," Clausen continued.
"At that time, the broken-off bow of the Allan Jackson was listing
to port and the main part of the vessel was listing to starboard, over
our lifeboat. After cutting the painter, I found in the excitement no
one had unlashed the oars. By the time I cut the lashings and the
oars were manned, the boat was being sucked toward the propeller."
The prospect of drowning or of being burned to death was bad
enough, but now the eight men faced a third and even greater dan-
ger. For they were pulled directly beneath the great propeller and
with each revolution the huge blades struck the boat, threatening
not only to crush the small craft, but to grind to pieces its human
occupants as well. For seconds that lasted interminably the men
stood helplessly while this giant grinder spiralled, with sickening
regularity and force just above them. But finally, pushing against
the stern of the ship with oars, the men managed to get clear of the
propeller, were suddenly caught in its backwash, and driven this
time straight at the great mass of burning oil astern.
Once again luck was with them, for this backwash from the pro-
peller forced a clear path through the burning mass, and with oars
properly manned at last the boat proceeded down this turbulent
path to safety.
Within ten minutes both sections of the tanker sank from view,
but the men in the lifeboat remained near by, searching for other
survivors, and they rescued one man, a radio operator, Stephen
Verbonich.
"Then we saw a white light, low over the sea, which undoubtedly
was on a submarine," Clausen said. "Putting up sails, we steered for
shore in a westerly direction."
Two and a half hours later a second light was seen, a blueish
searchlight, east of the lifeboat. Clausen started signalling with a
flashlight, turning the beam on the white sail and beginning a mes-
sage in Morse code, but his companions feared the light might be
from a submarine, and he stopped signalling. For the remainder of
the night the nine men eight who had pulled away from the sinking
ship in Boat No. 3, and Radioman Verbonich proceeded westward
2 3 z GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
under sail without incident. The night was comparatively warm and
the Gulf Stream wind moderate; under other circumstances theirs
could have been an enjoyable outing.
Captain Kretchmer was not having as easy a time of it. Finding
himself on the boat deck after escaping through the porthole, he
looked around for signs of life. He could locate none of his crew
and so started up the ladder leading to the bridge. "The decks and
ladders were breaking up and the sea was rushing aboard," he said.
"As the vessel sank amidships, the suction carried me away from the
bridge ladder. After a struggle I came to the surface, on which oil
was afire a short distance away." He then managed, somehow, to
grasp a couple of small boards and supported his weight on these
throughout the remainder of the night as he drifted away from the
scene of the disaster.
Meanwhile, both Second Mate Rand and Seaman Larson had also
located pieces of wreckage large enough to keep them afloat, though
in the immediate confusion they became separated. Rand later
sighted another small raft, to which Third Mate Boris A. Voronsoff
and Junior Third Mate Francis M. Bacon were clinging, and joined
forces with them; but Bacon began to get cramps and lashed himself
to the wreckage, where he died soon after.
Thus, as the first light of false dawn appeared in the sky that
morning the tanker Allan Jackson had disappeared completely, with
only an oil slick to mark her burial place beneath the waters of the
Gulf Stream; nine of her crew were in the No. 3 lifeboat a con-
siderable distance to the west; Captain Kretchmer was clinging to
his two tiny boards; Mates Rand and Voronsoif were together on
their comparatively seaworthy raft, and Seaman Larson was floating
near by on a small piece of wreckage.
They might all have remained thus until they either floated ashore
or drowned had it not been for Boatswain Clausen's brief attempt
to signal with his flashlight against the sails. For his signals had been
seen by a friendly vessel, the U.S. Destroyer Roe, which remained
near by until morning, picking up all of the survivors in turn.
That first submarine attack on the Carolina coast had proven
cosdy in lives as well as cargo; for of the thirty-five crewmen on
board the Allan Jackson only the thirteen listed above were saved.
THE U-BOATS RETURN 233
But the Allan Jackson was just one of many ships, and her crewmen
but the first of many merchant seamen lost in what has since been
referred to as the Battle of Torpedo Junction.
Eight more ships went to the bottom off the North Carolina coast
by the end of January, including the British tanker Empire Gem
and the American-owned combination ore and oil carrier Venore,
both of which were sunk southeast of Diamond Shoals on January
23 with considerable loss of life. Only the captain and one crewman
survived the sinking of the Empire Gem, and twenty-one men were
lost on the Venore.
Another eight went down in February; four freighters, three
tankers, and the Brazilian passenger ship Euarque. Of the survivors
of these eight sunken ships none were subjected to a more har-
rowing experience than the six crewmen from the Norwegian cargo
ship Blink, who were picked up in a lifeboat at sea February 14.
Twenty-three persons had left tie sinking ship in the lifeboat three
days earlier but seventeen had died as the small craft floated on the
wintry Atlantic.
The U-boat attacks in January and February had been relatively
haphazard affairs, but by the first of March the Nazis had effectively
organized their forces. For one thing, instead of operating singly
as they had in World War I, they now cruised in packs, ex-
changing information as to convoy locations by wireless and band-
ing together, especially at night, for their lethal attacks. In addition,
two or three were permanently stationed off Diamond Shoals in all
but the roughest weather, resting on the sandy bottom during the
daytime, then surfacing at night as our ships attempted to dash
around Cape Hatteras.
Night was most frequently the time of attack, not only because
it was more difficult for the subs to be seen, but because our authori-
ties had not yet ordered a blackout along the coast. Consequently,
the subs were able to surface beyond the shipping lanes, thus sil-
houetting the unwary tankers and freighters against the lights on
shore.
These tactics paid off in royal fashion, for during the month of
March the subs sank an average of almost one ship daily along the
North Carolina coast.
One of the ships sunk during March was the American freighter
234 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
Caribsea, which went down on the eleventh with a valuable cargo
of manganese ore. On the Caribsea, as on most merchantmen, the
licenses of her officers were prominently displayed in a special glass
case, and one of the licenses thus exhibited was that of Engineer
James Baugham Gaskill, whose birthplace was listed as Ocracoke,
North Carolina.
Gaskill was one of the crew members killed when the Caribsea
was sunk that night southeast of Ocracoke. On the island, today,
the inhabitants will tell you that the glass case, with GaskilPs license
prominently displayed, came ashore a few days later near the village;
and if you visit the Ocracoke Methodist Church they will undoubt-
edly point out a special cross behind the altar, a cross said to have
been made from the nameplate of the Caribsea, which the island
residents claim drifted through Ocracoke Inlet and was found
opposite GaskilTs birthplace on the sound shore.
Of all the merchant seamen set adrift off our coast during World
War II, Seamen Jules Souza of the American cargo carrier Alcoa
Guide was the luckiest. For the Alcoa Guide was sunk March 16,
some three hundred miles off Hatteras, and from then until late
April more than a month Jules Souza drifted on an improvised
raft. Three companions on the raft with him died long before help
came, but amazingly Souza stuck it out and lived to tell of his
experience.
On the night of March 18 the U-boats really hit the jackpot.
They sank five ships then: the tankers Papoose, W. E. Button, and
E. M. Clark, all at about the same time near Cape Lookout (the
survivors of the Papoose rowed to shore in the glare from the burn-
ing Hutton) and the freighters Liberator and Kassandra Louloudis
off Cape Hatteras. These vessels were in convoy and the Louloudis
was attacked while going to the assistance of the torpedoed tanker
Acme, which, ironically, was towed to Newport News and saved;
and the Liberator went down within a hundred feet of the larger
and more valuable Esso Baltimore, a tanker which was overlooked
by the underseas raiders.
The record for March 23 shows that one and two-thirds ships
were sunk off our shore. The one ship was the American tanker
Naeco, a 3, 2 5 8-ton vessel loaded with kerosene, which went down,
off Cape Lookout. The two-thirds of a ship was the three-hundred-
THE U-BOATS RETURN 235
f oot bow section of the tanker Esso Nashville, torpedoed two days
earlier some sixteen miles northeast of Frying Pan Shoals.
The Esso Nasloville, less than three years old at the time, was
originally 463 feet in length, 64 feet in breadth, and built to carry
106,718 barrels of oil. At Bayway, New Jersey, March 4, 1942,
thirty-eight lifesaving suits had been placed aboard the vessel, one
for each officer and crewman; on the sixteenth she cleared from
Port Arthur, Texas, with a full cargo of fuel oil for New Haven,
Connecticut; at 12:20 A.M., March 21, having passed Cape Fear a
short time before, a dull thud-like noise resounded throughout the
vessel, awakening the members of the crew who were asleep and
alerting those on duty.
Third Mate John Kerves had just been relieved of his watch and
was descending from the bridge when he felt and heard the thud.
He hurried to the starboard side to investigate. "I looked around
for perhaps a minute, and then I saw a streak in the water coming
toward us rapidly," he said. "When I realized it was a torpedo I
turned around and started to go inside, but it hit before I managed
this. It struck within three seconds. Flames shot in the air and oil was
thrown everywhere. Some of the hot oil was blown in my face."
Ever since he had taken over command of the Esso Nashville
Captain Edward V. Peters had insisted on holding frequent and
unexpected lifeboat drills, and this preparation, plus the timely
installation of the lifesaving suits at die beginning of the voyage,
helped save lives on the Esso Nashville.
As soon as the torpedo struck, the vessel keeled over so far that
Captain Peters said he "feared she was going to turn over." But she
righted herself, and then with her bow and stern sections practically
cut apart by the force of the explosion, began to settle at the point
of impact. The result was that within minutes her bow and stern
were so high in the air that her masts almost touched, looking for
all the world like a broken and splintered matchstick floating upright
in the water.
Captain Peters immediately ordered all hands to abandon ship,
and her four lifeboats were soon in the water. The No. 4 boat, with
twenty-one men on board, was so crowded that it could not be
moved away from the side of the ship, so six of the occupants
those who had been able to don their lifesaving suits slipped over-
236 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
board, and with the load thus lightened the others managed to row
clear.
Abandoning ship had been accomplished with a minimum of time
and with only one casualty. Captain Peters had slipped on the oily
deck and had fallen between a lifeboat and the side of the vessel,
breaking his leg as he did so. Occupants of the lifeboat attempted
to pull him on board, but he was so covered with slimy oil that
they found it impossible, and he ordered them to shove off before
the boat was crushed. Despite his fractured leg Captain Peters re-
mained afloat for three-quarters of an hour, finally reaching the
point where the torpedo had struck the ship and managing to crawl
aboard. He bandaged his leg, hoisted the ensign upside down, and
tied a white flag to the rail. Helpless to do anything else, he just
waited there, alone on his stricken vessel, hoping and praying that
she would remain afloat until dawn. She did!
The occupants of the four boats were picked up early that morn-
ing by small naval vessels operating in the vicinity, and soon after
Captain Peters was removed from the tanker. Tugs were then dis-
patched to the scene but before they could take the vessel in tow
she broke completely in two. The large bow section, already very
low in the water, was left there to sink, which it did two days later.
The tugs managed to tow the smaller 1 63-foot after section with
the engine room still intact into Morehead City, and from there
it was taken to Baltimore where her original builders prefabricated
a new bow, and ten months later she was christened again and put
back into active service.
Two of the more serious losses to submarine attack in late March
were the tanker Dixie Arrow, in which eleven lives were lost on
the twenty-sixth, including all of her deck officers, and the Pana-
manian freighter Equipoise, sunk the following day with a loss of
thirty-eight lives.
It was the sinking of the American passenger ship City of New
York forty miles southeast of Cape Hatteras on March 29, however,
which resulted in one of the most unusual incidents of the war. The
City of Ne*w York (the second ship of this name sunk in the same
general vicinity; the other, a Civil War transport, was sunk at Hat-
teras Inlet) was a 5,025-^^1 vessel, en route from Capetown to New
York with 41 passengers, 88 crewmen and 9 gunners. This made a
THE U-BOATS RETURN 237
total of 138 people on board the steamer when she sank, and of this
number 33 perished, leading to the natural conclusion, based on
simple arithmetic, that 105 survived. The fact is, however, that when
the survivors were finally picked up from her four lifeboats the
number totalled one more than this, or 106. For the Navy Depart-
ment says this was the only case ever recorded of a baby being born
in a lifeboat, and the success of the delivery under such trying cir-
cumstances was due largely to the fact that the ship's doctor hap-
pened to be in the same lifeboat with the expectant mother. The
U.S. Destroyer Roper picked up the mother, child, doctor, and
their companions; and in appreciation the child was named Jesse
Roper Noharovic.
The submarines kept up their one-a-day pace well into April.
On the first the freighter Rio Blanco sank two minutes after she was
struck by a torpedo east of Cape Hatteras, and nine members of her
crew were adrift for two weeks before being rescued. On April 3
a total of thirty-seven crewmen and gunners were lost when the
armed freighter Otho was torpedoed 180 miles off the coast, and the
same day the officers of the American tanker Byron D. Benson van-
ished in a lifeboat in a sea of blazing oil when the vessel was sunk off
Caffeys Inlet. Eight more tankers went down between then and
April 14, including the British Splendour, sunk off Diamond Shoals
with twelve deaths April 6, and the San Delfino, torpedoed off
Chicamacomico three days later with twenty-eight persons losing
their lives when their lifeboat drifted into a mass of burning fuel.
For almost three months the Nazi subs had been going about
their deadly business. In less than ninety days they had sunk some
fifty large ships, most of them loaded with valuable cargo, yet
there had not been a single documented instance of one of the
attacking U-boats being destroyed. By mid-April, however, a
change was in prospect, for- we finally had started blacking out our
coastal communities, the British had transferred a number of armed
trawlers to submarine patrol duty off North Carolina, additional
planes and patrol vessels had been made available, and a more effi-
cient convoy system had been put in practice.
In addition, a mined and protected anchorage was being provided
at Cape Lookout, making it possible for almost all coastal shipping
to proceed at night, blacked out. For most ships could make it from
238 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
Lookout to Hampton Roads (closest protected port to the north)
or Charleston (closest to the south) between dusk and dawn.
Pinning it down to actual dates, April 14, 1942, was the day when
the tide of battle changed. For early that morning the destroyer
Roper encountered a submarine south of Wimble Shoals, dodged
one torpedo, and then opened fire with her deck guns at three
hundred yards range (so close that her searchlights were played on
the target) . The gunfire seriously damaged the sub while she was
in the process of submerging, and the destroyer's depth charges
finished her off. A number of bodies were recovered from the
sunken sub that morning, and the craft was definitely identified
as the five-hundred-ton U-8j. Thus the first submarine kill of the
war off the North Carolina coast was recorded.
For a time it looked as if the Roper's success had been little more
than an accident, for certainly the overconfidence of the submarine
commander had been a contributing factor to the loss, and his
cohorts, becoming more wary as a result, were able to elude our
defenders for the remainder of the month. During this period eight
more vessels were sunk, including the British freighter Empire
Thrush, loaded with phosphates and TNT. The Empire Thrush
was torpedoed off Cape Hatteras the same day that the U- 85 went
down, but fortunately for her fifty-five crewmen the explosive
cargo did not ignite, and all reached port safely. Another vessel
lost at about the same time was the British freighter Harpagon,
loaded with planes, tanks, and 2,602 tons of explosives. The Har-
pagon was sunk off Cape Hatteras, April 19, and the following day
the Panamanian freighter Chenango, bound from Rio de Janeiro to
Baltimore, went down off Dare County with the loss of all hands
except an Irish fireman named James Terrence Bradley, who was
picked up from a raft twelve days later with a dying companion.
The record for May demonstrates in the most dramatic fashion
how effectively our antisubmarine defenses had been developed in
such a short time. During the month the subs sank but three vessels,
all British; two of them were armed trawlers serving on convoy
or patrol duty. Meanwhile, during the same period, the Navy
credited a destroyer with sinking a German submarine off Cape
Fear on May 2; the Coast Guard cutter Icarus chased the U-jfi
ashore near Cape Lookout, May 9, capturing most of her crew; and
THE U-BOATS RETURN 239
the Navy claimed two other kills, one on the eleventh and the other
on the nineteenth. A four to three score, if the Navy claims can be
accepted, with our side at last on top.
Between the end of May and the middle of July twelve more of
our ships went down, several from striking mines, while the Nazis
were losing one of their own number in exchange. Among the ves-
sels lost was the sugar-laden freighter M&mela which was tor-
pedoed, remained afloat for several days, and was being towed into
Morehead City when it was torpedoed a second time and finally
sank; and the tug Keshena which struck a mine while towing a
torpedoed vessel into port July 19.
From then until the end of the war the subs had poor pickings,
getting only a handful of ships during the next three years; the most
noteworthy were the Cuban freighter Libertad, sunk off Lookout
on December 4, 1943, with a loss of twenty-five crewmen, and the
freighter Belgian Airman, torpedoed eighty miles east of Nags Head,
April 14, 1945, with the loss of one life.
The totals for the four years of war show eighty-seven vessels
lost on the North Carolina coast, not including the German sub-
marines. Of these, better than two-thirds were sunk by Nazi raiders,
the remainder going down as the result of striking mines, stranding,
or foundering at sea. In size and numbers of vessels sunk, lives lost,
and cargo destroyed the period from 1942 through 1945 was the
worst on record; but it could have been multiplied many times had
we not come up with effective antisubmarine facilities in 1942.
THE ROMANCE IS GONE
1946
UNLESS WE BECOME em-
broiled again in full-scale war, replete with submarine attacks on
coastal shipping, there probably will be comparatively few ship-
wrecks to add to those covered in this book.
The basic causes of the countless ship losses in bygone years are
still here. The treacherous submerged sand bars on Diamond and
Lookout and Frying Pan Shoals are as unpredictable in their move-
ments now as they were when the brigantine of Lucas Vasquez de
Ayllon foundered off Cape Fear in 1526. The North Carolina coast
still is a prime target for the death dealing hurricanes which swirl
into being in the heat of the tropics during the late summer of
each year. The Gulf Stream still sweeps northward past our coast,
tangling with the cold Arctic waters off Hatteras; and the strong
and ever changing winds continue to buffet the unprotected sand
banks which stretch out to form a barrier reef beyond the inland
sounds.
These dangers were here when European settlers first came to our
shores. They will no doubt remain at least as long as the settlers do.
But other changes have taken pkce in the meantime man-made
changes which tend to lessen the awesome threat of the shifting
shoals, the hurricanes, the currents, and the constant winds.
240
THE ROMANCE IS GONE 241
Ship construction shows, as well as anything, how these changes
have eliminated much of the danger and the romance from the
work of the mariners who ply our coastal trade. For it was one
thing to sail before the mast, with the wind alone providing locomo-
tion; with only the sound of creaking rigging about you, and the
sight of billowing sails above; and with the knowledge, always, that
the next day, or the next hour, or the next moment, the wind and
current might conspire to tear your masts away, or rip off your rud-
der, or force you on the near-by shoals. But it is another thing,
today, to stand on the hot deck of a freighter; to listen to the steady,
tiresome thump of the engines; to see and feel the black clouds of
soot-laden smoke belching from the stacks; and to wonder, because
it is all so simple and automatic now, just why it was the oldtimers
were so in fear of the Graveyard of the Atlantic.
This shift from sail to steam is just one manifestation of the slow
and hardly noticeable change that has caused the word shipwreck,
already, to be primarily associated in man's mind with the dim past,
rather than with the present or future. For the men and methods of
lif esaving have undergone great changes since the days when Spen-
cer Gray and Malachi Corbel and Rasmus Midgett and their com-
patriots walked lonely patrols along the bleak and barren surfside
at the height of tempests, rowed their flimsy motorless surfboats
through breakers so high that even they did not honestly think it
could be done, and braved the full fury of Outer Diamond at storm-
height in a craft powered alone by sail and by their own strong arms
and backs.
Today, shore-based lifesaving facilities have been so improved
and so modernized that most of the stations on the North Carolina
coast have been abandoned; jeeps have replaced the horse and foot
patrol; amphibious ducks, blimps, airplanes, and helicopters have
taken over much of the work of the surfboat; radio, radar, loran,
and ship-to-shore telephone have simplified communication and
warnings; and the men themselves, younger, less experienced hands,
are now more concerned, through no doing of their own, with
dummy drills, polishing brass, and prilling stuck cars from the sand
ruts. And if the trend toward modernization continues the time may
yet come when one man, seated before a huge panel of instruments,
could keep watch over the entire coast of North Carolina.
242 GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
The effects of past shipwrecks will long be remembered on the
outer banks, however, for many of the people now populating
Carolina's coastal communities are direct descendants of men and
women who went there when their ships were cast away in the surf;
and like the ships themselves, they stayed on indefinitely. Most
of the Haymans of eastern North Carolina, for example, stem from
two brothers who washed ashore at Kitty Hawk almost 150 years
ago, married in Currituck and Tyrrell counties, and raised families
there. Today there are sixth generation Haymans who can trace
their ancestry back to the two brothers.
There still is an occasional shipwreck along our coast; several
ships have been lost since the end of World War II. One of these
was a small sailing yacht, Nautilus, which stranded at Big Kinnakeet;
two others were wartime LST's, cast ashore at Chicamacomico in
a hurricane while being towed south for salvage; a fourth was the
small freighter Southern Isles, which broke in two and sank off
Hatteras at the height of a severe storm; a fifth was the Panamanian
freighter Miget, which drifted ashore at Portsmouth and went to
pieces in the surf in early 1952. And wherever the remnants of such
a vessel can be seen, the tourists flock in ever increasing numbers.
There undoubtedly will be other shipwrecks in the years to come,
but the glamor has gone out of it the glamor, and the romance, and
most of the mystery and suspense. And the chances are slim that a
lifesaver will ever again face a task comparable to that of Dunbar
Davis in August, 1893, or of the people of Ocracoke in the hurricane
of 1842, or that a single storm will wreak the havoc of San Ciriaco
in 1899.
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST ON THE
NORTH CAROLINA COAST
The following listing of vessels totally lost along the coast of
North Carolina has been arranged to correspond with those chapters
of the book which deal with periods rather than specific shipwrecks.
As a means of simplification, locations are general rather than
specific. For example, a vessel lost two and a quarter miles south of
Nags Head Station would be listed as wrecked at Nags Head; one
sunk twenty-five miles east-southeast of Cape Fear would be listed
as lost off Cape Fear; one stranded in the vicinity of the Virginia-
North Carolina border would be listed as wrecked at Wash Woods.
By the same token it has been difficult to determine the exact date
when certain vessels were lost. The barge /. JR. Teel, for example,
broke loose from the tug Wellington, November 8, 1913, drifted
ashore near Cape Lookout on the ninth, but was not declared a total
loss until she broke up on November 10. Thus the /. JR. Teel is listed
as having been lost at Cape Lookout, November 10, 1913.
A number of listings of shipwrecks and marine disasters exist, but
in no cases have vessels been taken from these listings without fur-
ther substantiation, since double checking revealed numerous vessels
listed as lost which were, in reality, towed into port or salvaged.
Except in unusual cases vessels of less than fifty tons, and those
lost in inland waters, are not included in this listing. Neither are
hundreds more which disappeared at sea off the North Carolina
coast or are presumed to have been lost in the area.
For the use of persons interested in checking further on this
subject, an additional list of vessels probably lost off the North
Carolina coast has been made available to various libraries, including
those of the Mariners' Museum, Newport News, Virginia, and the
University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
243
244
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
1526-1814 (See pages 1-8)
NAME
Tiger
Nuestra de Solidad
El Salvador
Tyrrel
Aurora
Betsy
* Patriot
TYPE
DATE
PLACE
Brigantine
June,
1526
Cape Fear
(?)
June
29, 1585
Ocracoke Inlet
Fly-boat
1665
Cape Fear
Sloop
1666
Cape Lookout
Ship
Aug.
18, 1750
Drum Inlet
(?)
Aug.
18, 1750
Cape Hatteras
(?)
Aug.
18, 1750
Topsail Inlet
(?)
Aug.
18, 1750
Currituck Inlet
Brig
July
3, 1759
Off Hatteras
Brigantine
Sept.
19, 1776
Portsmouth
(?)
1778
Roanoke Inlet
Sloop
Sept.
6, 1797
Currituck Inlet
Pilot boat
Jan.
1813
Nags Head
Gunboat
Sept.
23, 1814
Ocracoke
LIVES
LOST
16
1815-1838 (See pages 9-26)
Voucher
William Carlton
Georgia
Revenue
Henry
Islington
Horatio
Enterprise
Emulous
Diomede
Harvest
Victory
Ship
Ship
Brig
Sloop
Sloop
Ship
Ship
Schooner
Schooner
Schooner
Schooner
Schooner
Nov.
May
July
Dec.
Dec.
Mar.
Apr.
Oct.
Jan.
Jan.
Nov.
19, 1817
15, 1818
15, 1818
1818
5, 1819
1 6, 1820
2, 1820
27, 1822
22, 1825
2 3 , 1825
18, 1825
1825
Chicamacomico
Kill Devil Hills
Currituck Inlet
Currituck Inlet
Ocracoke
Cape Hatteras
Diamond Shoals
New Inlet
Kitty Hawk
Kitty Hawk
Bodie Island
Kitty Hawk
* This vessel, discovered ashore at Nags Head, was thought to be the Patriot.
t La recent years there has been considerable speculation over the identity of a
small vessel found buried in the sands on Bodie Island. So much interest was
manifested in the find that a crew of CCC boys and other volunteer workers was
recruited for the express job of uncovering the hulk, and when this was done a
number of specialists, representing museums and government agencies, were called
in to inspect the rotting vessel. First reports published in the newspapers were
that it was a Viking ship, then that it was a crompster, and finally that it was a
type known as a pinkie, used in coastal trade in colonial days. According to a
detailed study published by the National Park Service in 1939, however, it was
concluded that the vessel was one of 176 small gunboats built for the United States
government between 1805 and 1807- One of these, gunboat # 140, is definitely
known to have exploded and burned near Ocracoke Inlet in 1814, and the Bodie
Island craft was found to have the same dimensions, the same type of workman-
ship and the same pointed bow and stern. The Bodie Island vessel is not included
in the above listing, nor is it mentioned in the text of this volume, since no in-
formation has been made available as to the time it was wrecked or the circum-
stances surrounding its loss. This note is appended, however, so that those who
have read the Viking stories will know that much of the tale is false.
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
245
LIVES
NAME
TYPE
DATE
PLACE LOST
Cape Hatteras
Lightship
Aug.
1827
Ocracoke
2
William Gibbons
Steamer
Oct.
10, 1836
New Inlet
Premium
Sloop
Jan.
8, 1837
Ocracoke
Hiram
Schooner
Jan.
19, 1837
Wash Woods
o
Victory
Schooner
Feb.
6, 1837
Bodie Island
o
Carroll
Brig
Feb.
8, 1837
Cape Lookout
Seaman
Schooner
Mar.
5. 1837
New River Inlet
o
Aurora
Schooner
June
1837
Ocracoke
o
Hunter
Schooner
Aug.
19, 1837
Kitty Hawk
2
Alhambra
Schooner
Aug.
26, 1837
Bodie Island
O
William
Schooner
Aug.
29, 1837
Cape Lookout
?
Cumberland
Schooner
Oct.
8, 1837
Core Bank
O
Enterprize
Brig
Oct.
9 1837
Bodie Island
I
Home
Steamer
Oct.
9 1837
Ocracoke
90
Oran Sherwood
Sloop
Oct.
29, 1837
Currituck Beach
Wave
Schooner
Dec.
9, 1837
Currituck Beach
Indus
Brig
Dec.
18, 1837
Hatteras Inlet
o
Ralph
Brig
Dec.
22, 1837
Wash Woods
Horse
Schooner
Jan.
31, 1838
Currituck Beach
o
1838-1860
(See pages 27-49)
Pulaski
Steamer
June
14, 1838
Off New River
100
Milledgeville
Packet
Aug.
30, 1839
Chicamacomico
9
Mary
Schooner
Dec.
22, 1839
Ocracoke
Escambia
Brig
Mar.
25, 1840
Frying Pan Shoals
p
Flora
Ship
Mar.
28, 1840
Frying Pan Shoals
?
North Carolina
Steamer
July
25, 1840
Off Cape Fear
William J.Watson
Schooner
Nov.
15, 1840
Bodie Island
Lambert Tree
Schooner
Feb.
17, 1841
Off Ocracoke
American Trader
Schooner
Aug.
24, 1841
Currituck Beach
o
Alonzo
Schooner
Aug.
24, 1841
Currituck Beach
o
Heroine
Schooner
Oct.
1841
Whales Head
o
Astoria
Bark
Jan.
29, 1842
Hatteras Inlet
Ashley
Brig
June
2, 1842
Cape Fear
o
D.W.Hall
Brig
June
14, 1842
Hatteras Inlet
o
Trident
Schooner
June
14, 1842
Bodie Island
o
Kilgore
Brig
Aug.
24, 1842
Wash Woods
o
Pioneer
Brig
Aug.
24, 1842
Ocracoke
I
Congress
Ship
Aug.
24, 1842
Cape Hatteras
7
Leroy
Schooner
Oct.
5, 1842
Big Kinnakeet
o
Marion
Brig
Nov.
4, 1842
Bodie Island
2
F.A.Tupper
Schooner
Mar.
27* l8 43
Chicamacomico
Driver
Schooner
Jan.
17, 1844
Cape Hatteras
o
Danube
Schooner
May
14, 1844
Bodie Island
o
McDonough
Schooner
June
13, 1844
Kitty Hawk
o
Argon
Schooner
Dec.
1844
Cape Lookout
o
Moon
Brig
May
8, 1845
Nags Head
Victoria
Ship
Oct.
23, 1845
Currituck Beach
o
Ontario
Bark
Dec.
i, 1845
Diamond Shoals
o
Emilie
Bark
Dec.
3> J 845
Wash Woods
7
Regulus
Schooner
Jan.
5, 1846
Hatteras Shoal
Comet
Schooner
Jan.
7, 1846
Ocracoke Inlet
?
246
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
1838-1860 (See pages 27-49) -Continued
LIVES
NAME
TYPE
DATE
PLACE
LOST
James T. Hatfield
Schooner
Jan. 18, 1846
Wash Woods
o
C.C. Thorn
Schooner
June 2, 1846
New Inlet
?
Howell (or Howard)
Ship
July 30, 1846
Nags Head
Mary Anna
Schooner
Sept. 8, 1846
Off Hatteras
Antilla
Schooner
Nov. 6, 1846
Nags Head
?
Pennsylvania
Brig
Sept, 24, 1847
Diamond Shoals
o
Rodney
Brig
June 20, 1848
Off Cape Fear
R. W. Brown
Schooner
Dec. 11, 1848
New Inlet
?
Evergreen
Schooner
Jan. 9, 1849
Currituck Beach
J. P. Bickley
Schooner
Mar. 1849
Cape Hatteras
Fanny Gray
Schooner
Mar. 1849
Ocracoke
?
Margaret
Brig
July 24, 1850
Diamond Shoals
Ocean
Brig
July 1850
Diamond Shoals
Belle
Brig
July 1850
Diamond Shoals
o
Racer
Schooner
July 1850
Diamond Shoals
3
Mary Ellen
Brig
July 1850
Diamond Shoals
o
Franklin
Steamer
Sept. 14, 1850
Currituck Beach
?
Edward Wood
Schooner
Nov. 23, 1850
Currituck Inlet
John Boushell
Schooner
Jan. 28, 1851
Albemarle Sound
4
America
Steamer
Jan. 30, 1851
Off Hatteras
o
RicWdH.Wyatt
Schooner
Jan. 31, 1851
Off Hatteras
o
Monterey
Schooner
Mar. 7, 1851
Cape Lookout
Aid Harrington
May 23, 1851
Caffeys Inlet
Jane
Schooner
June 1851
Hatteras
o
P. B. Savery
Schooner
Aug. 11, 1851
Chicamacomico
Walter J.Doyle
Schooner
Mar. 1852
Beaufort Bar
?
Magnolia
Schooner
Dec. 3, 1852
Chicamacomico
I
Mary Turcan
Brig
Dec. 13, 1852
Off Currituck
Mountaineer
Steamer
Dec. 25, 1852
Kitty Hawk
Henrietta Pierce
Schooner
Jan. 1 6, 1853
Kitty Hawk
o
Augustus Moore
Schooner
Apr. 15, 1853
Kitty Hawk
Bladan McLaugblin
Steamer
May 6, 1853
Kitty Hawk
Albemarle
Brig
Sept. 7, 1853
Off Hatteras
?
Eliza
Bark
Nov. 28, 1853
Wash Woods
I
Rattier
Clipper
Dec, 8, 1853
Currituck Beach
o
Rio
Schooner
Dec. 1853
Bodie Island
o
Sun
Schooner
Jan. 13, 1854
Beaufort Inlet
?
Cassius
Schooner
Feb. 12, 1854
Off Hatteras
Orline St. John
Bark
Feb. 21, 1854
Off Hatteras
4
Robert Walsh
(?)
Mar. 8, 1854
Off Hatteras
II
Sam Berry
Steamer
Jan. 12, 1856
Masonboro Inlet
I
Mary Varney
Bark
Apr. 5, 1856
Off Hatteras
I
A.S.Willers
Schooner
Sept. 1857
Cape Hatteras
?
Baltic
Schooner
Nov. 1857
Currituck Beach
?
Amanda Coons
Brig
Nov. n, 1858
Currituck Beach
?
Agamemnon
Ship
Mar. 25, 1859
Currituck Beach
?
Mary
Schooner
Oct. 26, 1859
Ocracoke
?
Charles
Schooner
Nov. 1859
Nags Head
?
Lady Whidbee
Schooner
Jan. 17, 1860
New Inlet
o
Chansfield
Schooner
Feb. 1860
Albemarle Sound
?
Jane Henderson
Ship
June 21, 1860
Wash Woods
V era Cruz
Steamer
1860
Bodie Island
?
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
247
1861-1865 (See pages 50-65)
NAME
TYPE
DATE
PLACE
Black Squall
Brig
April 8, 1861
Ocracoke
B. T. Martin
Brig
July 24, 1 86 r
Chicamacomico
York
Conf. privateer
Aug. 9, 1 86 1
Cape Hatteras
Governor
Fed. transport
Oct. 31, 1861
Off Hatteras
Peerless
Fed. transport
Oct. 31, 1861
Off Hatteras
City of New York
Fed. transport
Jan. 15, 1862
Hatteras Inlet
Curlew
Conf. gunboat
Feb. 7, 1862
Roanoke Island
Sea Bird
Conf. gunboat
Feb. 10, 1862
Elizabeth City
Appomattox
Conf. gunboat
Feb. 10, 1862
Elizabeth City
Fanny
Conf. gunboat
Feb. 10, 1862
Elizabeth City
Forrest
Conf. gunboat
Feb. 10, 1862
Elizabeth City
Black Warrior
Conf. schooner
Feb. 10, 1862
Elizabeth City
R. B. Forbes
Fed. steamer
Feb. 25, 1862
Currituck Banks
Oriental
Fed. transport
May 8, 1862
Bodie Island
Modern Greece
Blockade runner
June 27, 1862
Cape Fear
Pickett
Fed. gunboat
Sept. 6, 1862
Washington
Volant
Brig
Sept, 1862
New Inlet
Ellis
Fed. gunboat
Nov. 25, 1862
New River
Monitor
Fed. gunboat
Dec. 30, 1862
Cape Hatteras
Frying Pan Shoals
Conf. lightship
Dec. 31, 1862
Cape Fear River
Columbia
Fed. gunboat
Jan. 14, 1863
Masonboro Inlet
Golden Liner
Blockade runner
Apr. 27, 1863
Cape Fear River
Kate (2nd)
Blockade runner
July 12, 1863
Smiths Island
Hebe
Blockade runner
Aug. 1 8, 1863
Near Cape Fear
Bainbridge
Federal brig
Aug. 21, 1863
Off Hatteras
Alexander Cooper
Blockade runner
Aug. 22, 1863
Near Cape Fear
Arabian
Blockade runner
Sept. 15, 1863
Near Cape Fear
Phantom
Blockade runner
Sept. 23, 1863
Rich Inlet
Elizabeth
Blockade runner
Sept. 24, 1863
Lockwoods Folly
Douro
Blockade runner
Oct. 11, 1863
Wrightsville
Venus
Blockade runner
Oct. 21, 1863
Near Cape Fear
Beauregard
Blockade runner
Dec. ii, 1863
Carolina Beach
Antonica
Blockade runner
Dec. 19, 1863
Frying Pan Shoals
Bendigo
Blockade runner
Jan. 4, 1864
Lockwoods Folly
Vesta
Blockade runner
Jan. 10, 1864
Tubbs Inlet
Iron Age
Fed. gunboat
Jan. ii, 1864
Lockwoods Folly
Ranger
Blockade runner
Jan. ii, 1864
Lockwoods Folly
Wild Dayr ell
Blockade runner
Feb. i, 1864
Stump Inlet
Underwriter
Fed. gunboat
Feb. 2, 1864
New Bern
Nutfield
Blockade runner
Feb. 4, 1864
New River Inlet
Dee
Blockade runner
Feb. 6, 1864
Near Cape Fear
Fanny & Jenny
Blockade runner
Feb. 9, 1864
Wrightsville
Eimly of London
Blockade runner
Feb. 9, 1864
Wrightsville
Spunkie
Blockade runner
Feb. 9, 1864
Near Cape Fear
South-field
Fed. gunboat
Apr. 19, 1864
Plymouth
Raleigh
Conf. gunboat
May 7, 1864
Cape Fear River
Georgiana McCaw
Blockade runner
June 2, 1864
Cape Fear
Pevensey
Blockade runner
June 9, 1864
Bogue Inlet
Florie
Blockade runner
Sept. 10, 1864
Cape Fear Bar
Badger
Blockade runner
Sept. 10, 1864
Cape Fear Bar
North Carolina
Conf. gunboat
Sept. 1864
Cape Fear River
Condor
Blockade runner
Oct. i, 1864
Near Cape Fear
248
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
1861-1865 (See pages 50-65) -Continued
LIVES
NAME
TYPE DATE
PLACE
LOST
Albemarle
Conf.ram Oct. 27, 1864
Plymouth
Ella ^
Blockade runner Dec. 3, 1864
Cape Fear
Louisiana
Fed. gunboat Dec. 24, 1864
Fort Fisher
Tallahassee
Conf. gunboat Jan. 15, 1865
Near Cape Fear
Cape Fear
Blockade runner Jan. 1865
Cape Fear River
North Heath
Blockade runner Jan. 1865
Cape Fear River
1866-1877 (See pages 66-85)
Andrew Johnson
Steamer Oct. 5, 1866
Currituck Inlet
?
Geo.E.Maltby
Brig Jan. 7, 1867
Off Hatteras
Martha
Schooner Jan. 10, 1867
Currituck Beach
Alfred Thomas
Schooner Mar. 10, 1867
New Inlet
?
Flambeau
Steamer Mar. 1867
New Inlet
Quick
Brig Mar. 1867
Oregon Inlet
5
Jonas Sparks
Schooner Apr. 14, 1867
Beaufort Bar
Vesta
Schooner Apr. 1867
Hatteras Inlet
p
G. W. Carpenter
Schooner Apr. 1867
Creeds Hill
?
Daniel Chase
Schooner Nov. 4, 1867
Ocracoke Inlet
?
Adamantine
Schooner Nov. 1867
Bodie Island
?
Oneota
Steamer Nov. 1867
Off Cape Lookout
?
Francis
Steamer Dec. 30, 1867
Carolina Beach
o
Nevada
Steamer June 4, 1868
Hatteras Shoal
i
Istria
Bark June 1868
Diamond Shoals
*3
Patapsco
Steamer Sept. 12, 1868
Cape Lookout
Samuel Eddy
Schooner Feb. 1869
Frying Pan Shoals
Alliance
Steamer Mar. 4, 1869
Hatteras Inlet
?
Thames
Steamer Apr. 6, 1869
Off Cape Hatteras
?
Gulf City
Steamer June ir, 1869
Lookout Shoals
22
Ezra
Bark Sept. 1869
Bodie Island
?
Eleanor T.
Schooner Feb. 4, 1870
Carolina Beach
5
Eagle
Steamer Mar. 4, 1870
Bodie Island
o
M.A.Forbes
Bark May 1870
Currituck Beach
?
Key West
Steamer Oct. 1870
Cape Hatteras
Fairbanks
Steamer Dec. 9, 1870
Hatteras Inlet
Kensington
Steamer Jan. 27, 1871
Off Chicamacomico o
La.Republique
Steamer Feb. 1871
Off Cape Lookout
o
Pontiac
Ship Feb. 1871
Cape Lookout
?
William Muir
Brig Apr. i, 1871
Currituck Beach
Harriet N. Rogers
Schooner Jan, 15, 1873
Bodie Island
Annie McFarland
Brig Jan. 30, 1873
Currituck Beach
Faugh-A-Ballagh
Brigantine Feb. 2, 1873
Currituck Beach
William
Schooner Feb. 6, 1873
Chicamacomico
?
Ariadne
Steamer Feb. 7, 1873
Nags Head
Volunteer
Steamer Feb. 23, 1873
Nags Head
R. B. Thompson
Schooner July 3, 1873
Off Cape Hatteras
9
Spellbourne
Schooner Oct. 1873
Off Cape Hatteras
Henrietta
Clipper Nov. 4, 1873
Frying Pan Shoals
14
Waltham
Brig May 4, 1874
Bodie Island
J. Means
Schooner Oct. 12, 1874
Bodie Island
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
249
NAME
TYPE
DATE
LIVES
PLACE LOST
Blaisdell
Schooner
May
1875
Off Hatteras
?
Clara Davidson
Schooner
Feb.
7, 1876
Hatteras Inlet
?
Nuova Ottavia
Bark
Mar.
i, 1876
Currituck Beach
16
Shiloh
Schooner
Mar.
17, 1876
Durants
2
Lotta Lee
Schooner
Mar.
1876
Hatteras Inlet
O
Henry G. Fay
Schooner
Apr.
i, 1876
Caffeys Inlet
O
Electric
Schooner
Aug.
21, 1876
Off Cape Fear
S. 5. Lewis
Wrecking
/. H. Lockwood
Schooner
Schooner
Sept.
Nov.
1876
2O, 1876
Cape Hatteras
Chicamacomico
o
America
Bark
Dec.
24, 1876
Chicamacomico
lona
Schooner
Apr.
9 l8 77
Chicamacomico
?
Benj. W, Robinson
Schooner
Apr.
10, 1877
Chicamacomico
Hattie L. Fuller
Schooner
Apr.
J 3 l8 77
Oregon Inlet
Western Star
Schooner
Sept.
n, 1877
Bodie Island
Huron
Steamer
Nov.
24, 1877
Nags Head
103
1878-1893 (See pages 86-132)
E. B. Wharton
Metropolis
C. C. Overton
Success
IdaB.Silsbee
M & E Henderson
Whitney Long
Benjamin Dickerman
L&D Fisk
A. B. Goodman
Mary J. Fisher
Sandusky
Mary Bear
Thomas /. Lancaster
H.W.McColly
F. L. Carney
Stampede
Mary L. Vankirk
Minnie
Mercy T. Trundy
James W. Haig
Robbie L. Foster
Edna Harwood
Enterprise
John Floyd
Thomas J. Martin
Eugene
Dulcimer
Angela
Luola Murchison
Florence
John N.Parker
Emma C. Rommell
Schooner
Jan.
31, 1878
Steamer
Jan.
31, 1878
Brig
Bark
Feb.
Jan.
i, 1878
15, 1879
Schooner
Aug.
18, 1879
Schooner
Nov.
30, 1879
Schooner
Dec.
20, 1879
Bark
Oct.
1 8, 1880
Schooner
Nov.
23, 1880
Schooner
Apr.
4, 1881
Schooner
Aug.
24, 1881
Ship
Aug.
28, 1881
Schooner
Sept.
9, 1881
Schooner
Oct.
5, 1881
Schooner
Oct.
5, 1881
Bark
Jan.
22, 1882
Schooner
Feb.
4, 1882
Schooner
Feb.
5, 1882
Schooner
Apr.
12, 1882
Schooner
Apr.
24, 1882
Schooner
Sept.
26, 1882
Schooner
Oct.
14, 1882
Schooner
Nov.
31, l882
Steamer
Dec.
4, 1882
Schooner
Dec.
14, 1882
Schooner
Jan.
9, 1883
Schooner
Jan.
22, 1883
Bark
Feb.
12, 1883
Barkentdne
Mar.
4, 1883
Schooner
Oct.
3, 1883
Schooner
Jan.
5, 1884
Schooner
Jan.
8, 1884
Schooner
Jan.
8, 1884
Ocracoke ?
Currituck Beach 85
Ocracoke ?
Bodie Island o
Cape Hatteras o
Pea Island 4
Creeds Hill o
Off Hatteras i
Diamond Shoals 6
Diamond Shoals i
Off Lockw'ds Folly 4
Off Hatteras 3
New Topsail Inlet i
New Inlet 7
Gull Shoal o
Hatteras Inlet 10
Off Cape Fear i
New Inlet o
Cape Fear o
Cape Fear o
Durants o
Cape Fear o
Off Hatteras i
Off Mauls Point 3
Diamond Shoals o
Caffeys Inlet o
Ocracoke o
Durants o
Paul Gamiels Hill o
Kitty Hawk o
Chicamacomico o
Hatteras Inlet o
Gull Shoal o
250
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
1878-1893 (See pages 86-132) Continued
NAME
Dos Hermanos
Isaac L. Clark
Ephraim Williams
Ario Par dee
A. F, Crockett
Wave
Ada F.Whitney
Thomas Sinnickson
Vapor
Harkaivay
Nellie Wadsivorth
Crissie Wright
Jennie Beasley
Codorus
Kate Wentworth
George S. Marts
Samuel Welsh
Rachel A. Collins
Annchen
Lena "Breed
Walter S. Massey
Allie R. Chester
James E.Anderson
Josie Troop
JobnS. Wood
Parrott
HattieLottis
Wolseley
N, Eoynton
John Shay
Aberlady Bay
Viola W. Burton
Frank M.McGear
Henry P. Simmons
Francis E. Waters
Lizsde S. Haynes
Annie E.Blackmcm
Busiris
Pioneer
San Antonio
Mary A. Trainer
St. Johns
Sue Williams
Joseph Rudd
William H.Keeney
HattieS. Clark
Mignon
Blanche
Joseph H. Neff
Charles C. Lister Jr.
Nathaniel Lank
LIVES
TYPE
DATE
PLACE
LOST
Steamer
Sept. 13, 1884
Frying Pan Shoals 2
Schooner
Dec. 17, 1884
Diamond Shoals
Barkentine
Dec. 22, 1884
Big Kinnakeet
o
Schooner
Dec. 29, 1884
Wash Woods
o
Schooner
Feb. 17, 1885
Ocracoke
o
Steamer
Mar. 5, 1885
Cape Fear River
3
Schooner
Sept. 22, 1885
PoynersHiU
o
Schooner
Oct. 12, 1885
Hatteras Inlet
Schooner
Nov. 5, 1885
Cape Fear Bar
Bark
Nov. 30, 1885
Caffeys Inlet
o
Schooner
Dec. 6, 1885
Hatteras Inlet
Schooner
Jan. u, 1886
Lookout Shoals
6
Schooner
Jan. 26, 1886
Currituck Inlet
Bark
Aug. 4, 1886
Diamond Shoals
o
Schooner
Nov. 18, 1886
Bogue Banks
I
Schooner
Apr. 16, 1887
Off Hatteras
2
Barkentine
Feb. 25, 1888
Whales Head
Schooner
Mar. 12, 1888
Off Hatteras
4
Brigantine
July 17, 1888
Creeds Hill
Schooner
Dec. 4, 1888
Diamond Shoals
o
Barkentine
Jan. 18, 1889
Diamond Shoals
o
Schooner
Jan. 20, 1889
Diamond Shoals
5
Schooner
Jan. 21, 1889
Durants
Bark
Feb. 22, 1889
Chicamacomico
ii
Schooner
Apr. 7, 1889
Wash Woods
o
Schooner
Apr. 7, 1889
Albemarle Sound
2
Schooner
Apr. 7, 1889
Nags Head
Bark
Apr. u, 1889
Big Kinnakeet
Barge
Apr. 17, 1889
Poyners Hill
o
Schooner
Apr. 17, 1889
Cape Hatteras
6
Steamer
May 10, 1889
Lookout Shoals
Schooner
Schooner
May 27, 1889
Oct. 23, 1889
Big Kinnakeet
Whales Head
o
Schooner
Oct. 23, 1889
Wash Woods
7
Schooner
Oct. 24, 1889
Nags Head
6
Schooner
Oct. 24, 1889
Pea Island
5
Schooner
Oct. 24, 1889
New Inlet
6
Schooner
Oct. 24, 1889
Poyners Hill
Steamer
1889
Ocracoke
?
Bark
Schooner
Jan. 21, 1890
Jan. 28, 1890
Cape Fear River
Durants
o
Schooner
Mar. 17, 1890
Durants
I
Schooner
Mar. 22, 1890
Chicamacomico
o
Schooner
Mar. 22, 1890
Lookout Shoals
Schooner
Mar. 28, 1890
Little Kinnakeet
o
Schooner
May 15, 1890
Off Cape Fear
5
Steam yacht
Sept. 9, 1890
Cape Fear
Schooner
Dec. 17, 1890
Ocracoke
o
Schooner
Dec. 17, 1890
Oak Island
I
Schooner
Jan, 22, 1891
Ocracoke
o
Schooner
Jan. 22, 1891
Gull Shoal
I
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
LIVES
NAME
TYPE
DATE
PLACE LOST
J. W. Gaskitt
Schooner
Feb.
16, 1891
Pea Island
o
Strathairly
Steamer
Mar.
24, 1891
Chicamacomico
X 9
Vibilia
Bark
May-
25, 1891
Poyners Hill
o
William H.Hopkins
Schooner
June
21, 1891
Big Kinnakeet
A. L. & M. Townsend
Schooner
July
7, 1891
Cape Lookout
Annie E. Pierce
Schooner
Feb.
22, 1892
Little Kinnakeet
i
Freddie Hencken
Schooner
Feb.
26, 1892
Gull Shoal
Bronx
Sloop
June
21, 1892
Beaufort Harbor
Casket
Bark
Sept.
13, 1892
Frying Pan Shoals
o
Mattie E. Hiles
Schooner
Oct.
30, 1892
Currituck Inlet
o
Irene Thayer
Schooner
Nov.
19, 1892
Oregon Inlet
o
Formosa
Bark
Feb.
20, 1893
Diamond Shoals
Nathan Esterbrook, Jr.
Schooner
Feb.
20, 1893
Little Kinnakeet
I
Alphild
Bark
Feb.
27, 1893
Cape Fear
o
Martha
Schooner
Mar.
4, 1893
Cape Hatteras
Lillie F.Schmidt
Schooner
Mar.
9, 1893
Ocracoke
1893-1899
(See pages 133-6*0)
Wustrow
Brig
Aug.
29, 1893
Oak Island
KateE.Gifford
Schooner
Aug.
30, 1893
Oak Island
o
Enchantress
Schooner
Aug.
31, 1893
Oak Island
o
Emma /. Warrington
Schooner
Oct.
4. 1893
Paul Gamiels Hill
Rauenwood
Barkentine
Oct.
13, 1893
Chicamacomico
Charles C. Dame
Schooner
Oct.
14, 1893
Cape Fear
Mary W. Morris
Schooner
Oct.
27, 1893
Oak Island
o
Gertrude
Schooner
Nov.
29, 1893
Cape Fear
p
Wetherby
Steamer
Dec.
2, 1893
Diamond Shoals
Clythia
Bark
Jan.
22, I804
Wash Woods
(?}
Schooner
Feb.
4, 1894
Diamond Shoals
?
Florence C. Mages
Schooner
Feb.
26, 1894
Bodie Island
o
A. P. Richardson
Schooner
Sept.
26, 1894
Ocracoke
Elizabeth A. Baizley
Schooner
Sept.
28, 1894
Cape Fear
Ogir
Bark
Oct.
10, 1894
Oak Island
Richard S. Spofford
Schooner
Dec.
27, 1894
Ocracoke
I
Hester A. Seward
Schooner
Jan.
6, 1895
Ocracoke
Etta M. Barter
Schooner
Feb.
27, 1895
Portsmouth
o
Edward S. Stearns
Schooner
Mar.
4* l8 95
Durants
SallieBissell
Schooner
Mar.
4, 1895
Portsmouth
Laura Nelson
Schooner
Mar.
30, 1895
Bodie Island
Addle Henry
Schooner
Apr.
14, 1895
Ocracoke
o
J. W. Dresser
Barkentine
July
23, 1895
Cape Hatteras
Martin S. Ebel
Schooner
Nov.
5. 1895
Big Kinnakeet
o
Emma C. Cotton
Schooner
Dec.
27, 1895
Pea Island
o
James Woodall
Steamer
Jan.
12, 1896
New Inlet
William H.Allison
Schooner
Feb.
3, 1896
Cape Fear
Maggie /. Lawrence
Schooner
Feb.
10, 1896
Pea Island
o
Olanayron
Steamer
May
22, 1896
Cape Hatteras
Henry Norwett
Barkentine
July
7, 1896
Gull Shoal
E. S. Newman
Schooner
Oct.
II, 1896
Pea Island
Levi Davis
Tug
Nov.
29, 1896
Oak Island
o
* Not definitely identified.
252
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
1893-1899 (See pages 133-60) -Continued
LIVES
NAME
TYPE
DATE
PLACE
LOST
George M. Adams
Schooner
May i, 1897
Nags Head
Hesperides
Steamer
Oct. 9, 1897
Cape Hatteras
Mathilda
Ship
Oct. 27, 1897
Bodie Island
SffrnuelW.Hall
Schooner
Dec. 24, 1897
Chicamacomico
William
Schooner
Jan. 23, 1898
Oak Island
Samuel WTilton
Schooner
Feb. 17, 1898
Chicamacomico
S. Warren Hall
Schooner
Apr. 5, 1898
Portsmouth
Milton
Schooner
Apr. 27, 1898
Bodie Island
George L. Fessenden
Schooner
Apr. 27, 1898
Chicamacomico
4
S.G.Hart
Schooner
Aug. 10, 1898
Little Kinnakeet
o
Charmer
Schooner
Mar. 4, 1899
Portsmouth
o
Alfred Erabrook
Schooner
Mar. 7, 1899
Gull Shoal
J. C. McNaughton
Schooner
Apr. 8, 1899
Durants
June
Sloop
Aug. 11, 1899
Oregon Inlet
August, 1899
(See pages 161-6*9)
Aaron Reppard
Schooner
Aug. 1 6, 1899
Gull Shoal
5
Florence Randall
Schooner
Aug. 16, 1899
Big Kinnakeet
Fred Walton
Hulk
Aug. 17, 1899
Portsmouth
Lydia A.Willis
Schooner
Aug. 17, 1899
Portsmouth
2
Robert W. Dasey
Schooner
Aug. 17, 1899
Little Kinnakeet
Priscilla
Barkentine
Aug. 17, 1899
Gull Shoal
4
Mirmie Bergen
Schooner
Aug. 1 8, 1899
Chicamacomico
1899-1918 (See pages 170-92)
Henrietta Hill
Schooner
Aug. 24, 1899
Portsmouth
Roger Moore
Schooner
Oct. 30, 1899
Big Kinnakeet
Ariosto
Steamer
Dec. 24, 1899
Ocracoke
21
Mary C. War d
Schooner
Jan. 26, 1900
Pamlico Sound
5
Three Friends
Schooner
Feb. 9, 1900
Portsmouth
o
Jane C. Harris
Schooner
Feb. 25, 1900
Oregon Inlet
Lizzie S. James
Schooner
Mar. 12, 1900
Ocracoke
William H. Kenzal
Virginia
Schooner
Steamer
Apr. 5, 1900
May 2, 1900
Cape Hatteras
Cape Hatteras
?
6
Hettie J. Dorman
Schooner
May 5, 1900
Cape Hatteras
Palestro
Steamer
Aug. 9, 1900
Cape Hatteras
George R. Congdon
Schooner
Jan. 31, 1901
Cape Hatteras
o
General S. E. Merwin
Schooner
Mar. 4, 1901
Gull Shoal
Seabright
Steamer
Sept. 1 8, 1901
Oak Island
Leading Breeze
Schooner
Nov. 23, 1901
Portsmouth
o
Ea
Steamer
Mar. 15, 1902
Cape Lookout
Ida C. Schoolcraft
Schooner
July i, 1902
Core Bank
Ida Lawrence
Schooner
Dec. 4, 1902
Ocracoke
Olive Thurlow
Barkentine
Dec. 5, 1902
Cape Lookout
I
Wesley M.Oler
Schooner
Dec. 5, 1902
Hatteras Inlet
IO
Nineveh
Bark
Jan. 24, 1903
Off Cape Fear
Wm.H.Shubert
Schooner
Feb. 16, 1903
Bodie Island
o
C.S.Glidden
Schooner
Mar. 17, 1903
Cape Lookout
o
JohnA.Buttrick
Schooner
Mar. 30, 1903
Cape Fear
I
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
NAME
J. F. Becker
Vera Cruz VII
Lucy Russell
James H. Hamlen
Mabel Rose
J.B.Holden
Clarance H.
Joseph W. Brooks
Benjamin M. Wallace
Kate Spencer
Montana
Northeastern
Emma C. Middleton
Cordelia E. Hays
Sarah DJ. Rawson
Blanche Hopkins
D.D.Haskell
Clara E. Bergen
Thomas A. Goddard
Robert H. Stevenson
Jennie Lockwood
Myrtle Tunnell
Raymond T. Maull
Matilda D.Borda
Nellie Floyd
John I. Snow
Hilda
Oriente
Harry & Ralph
Saxon
Leonora
Anne Comber
Melrose
Orient
Governor Safford
Flora Rogers
Charles S.Hirsch
Arleville H. Peary
Belle O'Neill
Eleazer W. Clark
Brewster
Marie Palmer
Governor Ames
Frances
Arroyo
Thomas G. Smith
Catherine M. Monohan
Wm. H. Davidson
Martha E. Wallace
Spero
Harriet C. Kerlin
Well-fleet
Willie H. Child
LIVES
TYPE
DATE
PLACE LOST
Schooner
Apr. 26, 1903
Oregon Inlet
Brig
May 8, 1903
Portsmouth
i
Schooner
June 21, 1903
Gull Shoal
o
Barkentine
Aug. 28, 1903
Cape Lookout
Schooner
Oct. u, 1903
Wash Woods
Schooner
Oct. n, 1903
Paul Gamiels Hill
Schooner
Dec. 9, 1903
Oak Island
5
Schooner
Schooner
Jan. 17, 1904
Mar. 26, 1904
Cape Lookout
Chicamacomico
Schooner
Oct. 7, 1904
Cape Lookout
o
Schooner
Dec. ir, 1904
Pea Island
i
Steamer
Dec. 27, 1904
Cape Hatteras
Schooner
Jan. 4, 1905
Cape Fear
o
Schooner
Jan. 15, 1905
Cape Hatteras
Schooner
Feb. 9, 1905
Cape Lookout
I
Schooner
Schooner
Apr. n, 1905
May 9, 1905
Gull Shoal
Core Bank
o
Schooner
June 26, 1905
Durants
Barge
Dec. 9, 1905
Nags Head
o
Schooner
Jan. 13, 1906
Cape Hatteras
12
Schooner
Feb. 13, 1906
Pea Island
O
Schooner
Mar. 9, 1906
Cape Fear
O
Schooner
Mar. 21, 1906
Gull Shoal
Schooner
July 1 6, 1906
Gull Shoal
o
Schooner
Sept. 1 8, 1906
Off Cape Fear
I
Schooner
Jan. 14, 1907
Portsmouth
Schooner
Feb. 6, 1907
Cape Hatteras
7
Bark
Apr. 28, 1907
PoynersHill
Sloop
June 26, 1907
Cape Fear
Barge
Oct. 12, 1907
Gull Shoal
3
Schooner
Jan. 8, 1908
Cape Hatteras
5
Schooner
Jan. 17, 1908
Parnlico Sound
Schooner
Feb. 15, 1908
Core Bank
Schooner
Apr. 1 8, 1908
Cape Lookout
Steamer
July 24, 1908
Bogue Inlet
Schooner
Oct. 23, 1908
Bodie Island
Schooner
Oct. 29, 1908
Paul Gamiels Hill
2
Schooner
Oct. 31, 1908
Wash Woods
O
Schooner
Feb. 3, 1909
Cape Lookout
Schooner
Nov. 17, 1909
Cape Fear
o
Steamer
Nov. 29, 1909
Cape Hatteras
o
Schooner
Nov. 30, 1909
Cape Fear
o
Schooner
Dec. 13, 1909
Off Chicamacom'o
II
Schooner
Feb. i, 1910
Big Kinnakeet
8
Steamer
Feb. 20, 1910
Portsmouth
o
Schooner
Apr. 10, 1910
Core Bank
o
Schooner
Aug. 24, 1910
OrT Ocracoke
o
Schooner
Dec. 12, 1910
Paul Gamiels Hill
Schooner
Dec. 21, 1910
Cape Lookout
o
Bark
Dec. 24, 1910
Hatteras Inlet
Schooner
Feb. 6, 1911
Cape Hatteras
o
Schooner
Mar. 6, 1911
Cape Hatteras
o
Schooner
Aug. 17, 1911
Gull Shoal
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
1899-1918 (See pages 170-92) -Continued
UVES
NAME
TYPE
DATE
PLACE LOST
James Davidson
Schooner
Aug. 26, 1911
Cape Fear
o
Charles H. Valentine
Schooner
Aug. 29, 1911
Cape Fear
Lizzie H. Patrick
Schooner
Nov. 27, 1911
Cape Lookout
Charles J. Dumas
Schooner
Dec. 27, 1911
Pea Island
o
Thistleroy
Steamer
Dec. 28, 1911
Cape Lookout
Mary S. Eskridge
Schooner
Dec. 31, 1911
Big Kinnakeet
Harry Prescott
Schooner
Jan. 18, 1912
Cape Hatteras
Elm City
Schooner
Mar. 25, 1912
Lime Kinnakeet
?
John Maxwell
Schooner
Nov. 2, 1912
New Inlet
6
Savannah
Schooner
Dec. 27, 1912
Cape Fear
o
Montrose W. Houck
Schooner
Feb. 18, 1913
Paul Gamiels Hill
o
Zaccbeus Sherman
Schooner
Feb. 28, 1913
Gull Shoal
o
Richard F.C. Hartley
Schooner
Sept, 2, 1913
Chicamacomico
2
George W. Wells
Schooner
Sept. 3, 1913
Ocracoke
f.R.Teel
Barge
Nov. 10, 1913
Cape Lookout
I
Helen H. Benedict
Schooner
Feb. 6, 1914
Nags Head
o
Isle of lona
Steamer
Dec. 13, 1914
Ocracoke
o
George N. Reed
Schooner
Jan. 20, 1915
Pea Island
Mindora
Steamer
Jan. 22, 1915
Cape Fear
Idler
Yacht
Jan. 24, 1915
Cape Hatteras
12
Sylvia C. Hall
Schooner
Mar. 17, 1915
Cape Lookout
Prmz Mounts
Steamer
Apr. 3, 1915
Oft Cape Hatteras
49
The Josephine
Schooner
Apr. 3, 1915
Kill Devil Hills
3
^illiamH.Macy
Barge
Apr. 3, 1915
Wash Woods
o
Loring C. Bollard
Schooner
Apr. 3, 1915
Gull Shoal
o
Col. Thomas F. Austin
Schooner
Feb. 24, 1916
Cape Fear
o
Elsie A. Bayles
Schooner
Apr. 5, 1916
New Inlet
2
M.B.Davis
Schooner
Dec. 8, 1917
Bogue Inlet
Lulu M. Quillin
Schooner
Dec. n, 1917
Little Kinnakeet
Veturia
Steamer
Feb. 20, 1918
Cape Hatteras
o
1918 (See
pages 193-208)
* Harpathian
Steamer
June 5, 1918
Off Currituck
* Vinland
Steamer
June 5, 1918
Off Currituck
* Vindeggen
Steamer
June 8, 1918
Off Currituck
I
* Pinar del Rio
Steamer
June 9, 1918
Off Nags Head
NatMeader
Schooner
June 26, 1918
Cape Hatteras
Hattie Gage
Tug
June 29, 1918
Nags Head
I
Luna
Schooner
July 29, 1918
Portsmouth
Elizabeth T.Doyle
Schooner
July 30, 1918
Cape Hatteras
* O. B. Jennings
Tanker
Aug. 4, 1918
Off Wash Woods
I
* Stanley M. desman
Schooner
Aug. 5, 1918
Off Cape Hatteras
*Merak
Steamer
Aug. 6, 1918
Little Kinnakeet
* Diamond Shoals
^Mirlo
Lightship
Tanker
Aug. 6, 1918
Aug. 1 6, 1918
Cape Hatteras
Chicamacomico
10
* Nordhav
Bark
Aug. 17, 1918
Off Bodie Island
o
Proteus
Steamer
Aug. 19, 1918
OfT Hatteras
?
* Sunk by German submarine.
t Sunk by contact with German mine.
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
255
1919-1940 (See pages 209-27)
UVES
NAME
TYPE
DATE
PLACE LOST
Grade D. Chambers
Schooner
Feb. 13, 1919
Poyners Hill
Black Hawk
Yacht
Nov. 6, 1919
Oregon Inlet
o
Explorer
Tug
Dec. 12, 1919
Nags Head
Sunbeam
Schooner
Dec. 17, 1919
OffCurrituck
18
Mome T.
Schooner
Jan. 27, 1920
Caff eys Inlet
Powel
Steamer
Apr. 6, 1920
Off Hatteras
Maside
Steamer
Dec. 14, 1920
Fort Macon
o
Carroll A. Deering
Schooner
Jan. 31, 1921
Diamond Shoals
II
Louise Howard
Schooner
Apr. 14, 1921
Fort Macon
Mary J. Haynie
Schooner
May 24, 1921
Ocracoke
Laura A.Barnes
Schooner
June i, 1921
Bodie Island
o
USS.New Jersey
Battleship
Sept. 5, 1923
Diamond Shoals
o
U.SS. Virginia
Battleship
Sept. 5, 1923
Diamond Shoals
Santiago
Steamer
Mar. n, 1924
Off Hatteras
25
Dorothea L. Brinkman
Schooner
Mar. 22, 1924
Oregon Inlet
p
Irma
Schooner
Apr. 29, 1925
Kill Devil Hills
Victoria S.
Schooner
Aug. 23, 1925
Ocracoke
Isabella Parmenter
Schooner
Nov. i, 1925
Chicamacomico
o
Morris and Cliff
Schooner
Jan. 16, 1926
Bogue Inlet
o
Adelaide Day
Schooner
Nov. 8, 1927
Off Hatteras
Kyzikes
Tanker
Dec. 4, 1927
Kill Devil Hills
4
Cibao
Steamer
Dec. 4, 1927
Hatteras Inlet
o
George W. Truittj Jr.
Schooner
Feb. 20, 1928
Ocracoke Inlet
Bainbridge
Schooner
Feb. 5, 1929
Nags Head
A. Ernest Mills
Schooner
May 3, 1929
Currituck Beach
3
Carl Gerhard
Steamer
Sept. 23, 1929
Kill Devil Hills
o
Lavinia M. Snow
Schooner
Mar. 7, 1930
Durants
o
Catherine G. Scott
Schooner
Oct. 14, 1930
Off Hatteras
3
Anna May
Trawler
Dec. 9, 1931
Diamond Shoals
St. Rita
Trawler
Jan. 13, 1932
Paul Gamiels Hill
o
Ella Pierce ThurloiD
Schooner Barge Mar. 23,1932
Cape Fear
Cities Service Petrol
Tanker
July 14, 1933
Off Cape Lookout
2
G.A.Kohler
Schooner
Aug. 23, 1933
Gull Shoal
Glory
Steamer
Aug. 1933
Nags Head
?
Nomis
Schooner
Aug. 16, 1935
Hatteras Inlet
Mount Dirfys
Steamer
Dec. 26, 1936
Cape Fear
?
Tzenny Chandris
Steamer
Nov. 13, 1937
Off Kitty Hawk
7
Albatross
Trawler
Feb. 21, 1940
Ocracoke Inlet
?
1942-1945
(See pages 228-39)
Allan Jackson
Tanker
Jan. 18, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Brazos
Cargo
Jan. 18, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Norvana
Cargo
Jan. 1 8, 1942
Cape Hatteras
City of Atlanta
Cargo
Jan. 19, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Ciltvaira
Tanker
Jan. 20, 1942
Gull Shoal
Empire Gem
Tanker
Jan. 23, 1942
Creeds Hill
Venore
Cargo
Jan. 23, 1942
Creeds Hill
York
Cargo
Jan. 1942
Kill Devil Hills
Amerikahmd
(?)
Feb. 2, 1942
Wash Woods
Victolite
Tanker
Feb. 10, 1942
Caff eys Inlet
256 VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
1942-1945 (See
pages 228-39) Continued
NAME
TYPE
DATE
PLACE
Blink
Cargo
Feb. n, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Euarque
Passenger
Feb. 15, 1942
Kill Devil Hills
Olympic
Tanker
Feb. 23, 1942
Kill Devil Hills
Norlavore
CassvmiT
Cargo
Tanker
Feb. 24, 1942
Feb. 26, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Cape Fear
Marore
Cargo
Feb. 26, 1942
Gull Shoal
Raritan
Cargo
Feb. 28, 1942
Cape Fear
Anna R. Heidritter
Schooner
Mar. i, 1942
Ocracoke
Arabutan
Chester Sun
Cargo
Tanker
Mar. 7, 1942
Mar. 10, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Big Kinnakeet
Caribsea
John D.Gill
Cargo
Tanker
Mar. n, 1942
Mar. 12, 1942
Cape Lookout
Cape Fear
Ario
Tanker
Mar. 15, 1942
Cape Lookout
Ceiba
Cargo
Mar. 15, 1942
Nags Head
Resource
Mar. 15, 1942
KiU Devil Hills
Alcoa Guide
Clean
Cargo
Tanker
Mar. 1 6, 1942
Mar. 1 6, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Cape Lookout
Tenas
Barge
Mar. 17, 1942
Creeds Hill
Australia
Tanker
Mar. 17, 1942
Diamond Shoals
Papoose
Tanker
Mar. 18, 1942
Cape Lookout
W.E.Hutton
Tanker
Mar. 1 8, 1942
Bogue Inlet
E.M.Clark
Tanker
Mar. 1 8, 1942
Ocracoke
Liberator
Cargo
Mar. 19, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Kassandra Louloudis
Cargo
Mar, 19, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Teresa
Naeco
Cargo
Tanker
Mar. 21, 1942
Mar. 23, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Cape Lookout
Empire Steel
Tanker
Mar. 24, 1942
Wash Woods
Narraganset
Tanker
Mar. 25, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Dixie Arrow
Tanker
Mar. 26, 1942
Ocracoke
Carolyn
Cargo
Mar. 27, 1942
Nags Head
Equipoise
City of New York
Cargo
Passenger
Mar. 27, 1942
Mar. 29, 1942
Caff eys Inlet
Cape Hatteras
Malchase
Cargo
Mar. 29, 1942
Cape Lookout
Rio Blanco
Cargo
Apr. i, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Otho
Cargo
Apr. 3, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Byron D. Benson
Ensis
Tanker
Tanker
Apr. 3, 1942
Apr. 4, 1942
Caffeys Inlet
Cape Hatteras
British Splendour
Tanker
Apr. 6, 1042
Cape Hatteras
Lancing
Tanker
Apr. 7, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Kollskegg
Tanker
Apr. 7, 1942
Cape Hatteras
San Delfino
Tanker
Apr. 9, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Atlas
Tanker
Apr. 9, 1942
Cape Lookout
Tamaulipas
Tanker
Apr. 10, 1942
Cape Lookout
Tennessee
Tanker
Apr. ii, 1942
Cape Lookout
Empire Thrush
Desert Light
Empire Dry den
German sub
Cargo
Cargo
Cargo
Apr. 14, 1942
Apr. 14, 1942
Apr. 16, 1942
Apr. 19, 1942
Nags Head
Cape Hatteras
Oregon Inlet
Oregon Inlet
Harpagon
Agra
Cargo
Tanker
Apr. 19, 1942
Apr. 20, 1942
Cape Hatteras
Cape Hatteras
Chenango
Cargo
Apr. 20, 1942
KiU Devil Hills
Bris
Cargo
Apr. 21, 1942
Cape Lookout
VESSELS TOTALLY LOST
NAME
Ashkabad
Lady Drake
Senateur Duhamel
V-352
Bedfordshire
WestNotus
Manuela
Pleasantville
F.W.Abrams
U.SS.YJ?. 389
Ljubica Matkovic
Nordal
William Rockefeller
City of Birmingham
U-joi
Keshena
May-fair
Louise
Parkins
Portland
Wellfteet
Suloide
Panam
Libertad
Belgian Airman
TYPE
Cargo
Cargo
Trawler
German sub
Trawler
Cargo
Cargo
Cargo
Tanker
Antisub
Cargo
Cargo
Tanker
Cargo
German sub
Tug
Schooner
Cargo
Trawler
Cargo
Tug
Cargo
Tanker
Cargo
Cargo
DATE
Apr. 29, 1942
May 5, 1942
May 6, 1942
May 9, 1942
May 1942
June i, 1942
June 5, 1942
June 8, 1942
June 10, 1942
June 19, 1942
June 24, 1942
June 24, 1942
June 28, 1942
June 30, 1942
July 7, 1942
July 19, 1942
Nov. 9, 1942
Dec. 16, 1942
Dec. 19, 1942
Feb. n, 1943
Mar. 4, 1943
Mar. 26, 1943
Ma 7 4> 1943
Dec. 4, 1943
Apr. 14, 1945
PLACE
Cape Lookout
Oregon Inlet
Fort Macon
Cape Lookout
Cape Lookout
Cape Hatteras
Cape Lookout
Cape Hatteras
Ocracoke
Cape Hatteras
Core Bank
Ocracoke
Cape Hatteras
Cape Hatteras
Cape Hatteras
Cape Hatteras
Carolina Beach
Kinnakeet
Cape Lookout
Cape Lookout
Cape Hatteras
Bogue Banks
Cape Lookout
Cape Lookout
Nags Head
REFERENCES
REFERENCES FOR "THE OUTER BANKS"
Bolton, Herbert. The Spanish Borderlands. New York, 1921. Vol. 23.
Borreson, Thor. "Final Report on the Remains of the Old Ship Found
on Bodie Island, Dare County, North Carolina." National Park
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Colonial Records of North Carolina, The. Vols. 1-13.
Hawks, Francis L. History of North Carolina. (From Hakluyt, Vol. 3.)
Fayetteville, N. C, 1857.
Herrera, Antonio de. History of America. (Trans. Captain John
Stevens.) Vol. 3.
Norfolk Weekly Journal, Sept. 20, 1797.
Pidgin, Charles Felton. Theodosia. Boston, 1907.
Pool, Bettie Freshwater. The Eyrie. New York, 1905.
Regional Review. National Park Service, Richmond, 1939.
Thomas, R. Interesting and Authentic Narratives of the Most Remark-
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World. Columbus, n. d.
Winsor, Justin (ed.). Narrative and Critical History of America. Cam-
bridge, 1886. Vol. 2, Part i.
REFERENCES FOR "SHIPWRECKS BECOME NEWS"
American 'Beacon (Norfolk), Jan.-Dec., 1837; Jan.-Feb., 1838.
Emmerson, J. C., Jr. (comp.). The Steamboat Comes to Norfolk Har-
bor. Portsmouth, Va., 1947.
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EUms, Charles. The Tragedy of the Seas. Philadelphia, 1848.
Florida L&w Journal, May, 1935.
Howland, S. A. Steamboat Disasters and Railroad Accidents in the
United States. Worcester, Mass., 1840.
New York Daily Express, Oct. 7, 1837.
Norfolk Beacon & Portsmouth Advertiser, 1817-1836.
Norfolk Herald, 1818-1822.
Norfolk and Portsmouth Herald, Jan.-Dec., 1837.
Regional Review. National Park Service, Richmond, Aug., 1939.
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260 REFERENCES
Surf side News (Kill Devil Hills, N. G), Nov., 1950.
Tannehill, Ivan Ray. Hurricanes: Their Nature and History. Princeton,
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REFERENCES FOR "THE STEAM PACKET PULASKI"
American Beacon and Norfolk and "Portsmouth Advertiser, Feb. 3,
1838; June 22-29, J 838.
Brown, H. H. (pub.). A Minute and Circumstantial Narrative of the
Loss of the Steam Packet Pulaski, which burst her boiler, and sunk on
the coast of North Carolina, June 14, 1838. (Pamphlet) Providence,
1839.
Charleston Courier, Jan,, 1838.
Rowland, S. A. Steamboat Disasters and Railroad Accidents in the
United States. Worcester, Mass., 1840.
Wilmington Advertiser, June 20, 1838.
REFERENCES FOR "THE TOLL MOUNTS"
Rowland, S. A. Steamboat Disasters and Railroad Accidents in the
United States. Worcester, Mass., 1840.
Nautical Magazine, 1854-1857.
Norfolk Beacon & Portsmouth Advertiser, 1839-1854.
Norf oik Ledger, Dec. 13, 1877.
Ocracoke Beacon, Dec. 15, 1941.
Preble, George H. A Chronological History of the Origin and Develop-
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Redfield, W. C. Cape Verde and Hatter as Hurricane. New Haven, 1854.
Southern Argus (Norfolk), 1854-1860.
Tannehill, Ivan Ray. Hurricanes: Their Nature and History. Princeton,
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REFERENCES FOR "IRONCLADS AND BLOCKADE RUNNERS"
Ammen, Daniel. The Navy in the Civil War Atlantic Coast. New
York, 1905.
Battles and Leaders of the Civil War. Vols. i and 4,
Century Magazine, May, 1888,
Harpers Monthly, Dec., 1864; Sept., 1866; Dec., 1870.
Moore, Frank. The Rebellion Record. New York, 1861-1868. Vols. 3
and 4.
News and Observer (Raleigh), April 14, 1951.
Norfolk Virginian-Pilot, Dec. 3, 1950; April 22, 1951.
Parker, W. R. Recollections of a Naval Officer. New York, 1885.
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Poore, Benjamin Parley. The Life and Public Services of Ambrose E.
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Porter, David Dixon. The Naval History of the Civil War. New York,
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Roe, Alfred S. The Twenty -fourth Regiment, Massachusetts, Volun-
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Robinson, William M., Jr. The Confederate Privateers. New Haven,
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Sprunt, James. Derelicts. Wilmington, 1920.
Times (London), 1863.
United States Naval Institute Proceedings, Oct. and Nov., 1918.
REFERENCES FOR "CATCHING UP ON LOST TRADE"
Annual Report of the United States Life-Saving Service, 1876-1878.
Washington, 1876-1878.
Norfolk Journal, 1867-1877.
Norfolk Landmark, 1874-1877.
Norfolk Virginian, 1868-1871.
Original wreck reports of the United States Lif esaving Service.
World Almanac & Book of Facts, 1950.
Personal Interviews:
Miss Jeanette Gray, Church's Island, N. C.
Mr. Russell Griggs, Church's Island, N. C.
Mrs. B. Hampton Griggs, Church's Island, N. C.
REFERENCES FOR "THE HURON"
Annual Report of the United States Life-Saving Service, 1878. Washing-
ton, 1878.
Baltimore American, Nov., 1877.
Baltimore Sun, Nov., 1877.
Blasius, William. "Causes of the Huron Disaster" (paper read before
the American Philosophical Society), Dec. 7, 1877.
Coastland Times (Manteo, N. C), June 24, 1949.
New York Herald, Nov., 1877.
Norfolk Landmark, Nov.-Dec., 1877.
Norfolk Ledger, Nov.-Dec., 1877.
United Services, a Quarterly Review of Military and Naval Affairs,
The. Vol. i. Philadelphia, 1879.
REFERENCES FOR "THE METROPOLIS"
Annual Report of the United States Life-Saving Service, i8tf. Washing-
ton, 1878.
262 REFERENCES
'Baltimore Bulletin, Feb., 1878.
Coastland Times (Manteo, N. G), Jan. 26, 1951*
Forbes, R. B. Notes on Some Few of the Wrecks and Rescues During
the Present Century. Boston, 1889.
New York Herald, Feb., 1878.
New York Star, Feb., 1878.
New York Times, Feb., 1878.
New York World, Feb., 1878.
Norfolk Landmark, Feb., 1878.
Norfolk Ledger, Feb., 1878.
Philadelphia Times, Jan.-Feb., 1878.
REFERENCES FOR "EACH MAN A HERO"
Annual Report of the United States Life-Saving Service, 1778-1893.
Washington, 1878-1893.
Coastland Times (Manteo, N. C.) miscellaneous issues, 1936-1950.
Dare County Times (Manteo, N. G) miscellaneous issues, 1936-1950.
North Carolina, A Guide to the Old North State. Chapel Hill, 1939.
Original wreck reports of the United States Lif esaving Service.
Surfside News (Kill Devil Hills, N. C.), Oct., 1950.
Personal Interviews:
Chief Bosun Mate Levene Midgett, Rodanthe, N. C.
A. W. Drinkwater, Manteo, N. C.
T. S. Meekins, Manteo, N. C.
REFERENCES FOR "THE LONG DAY OF DUNBAR DAVIS"
Annual Rep on of the United States Life-Saving Service, 2894. Wash-
ton, 1894.
Norfolk Journal, March 12, 1871.
Original wreck reports of the United States Lif esaving Service.
Personal Interviews:
Will D. Davis (son of Dunbar Davis), Southport, N. G
Mrs. Martha Davis Aspinwall (daughter of Dunbar Davis), South-
port, N. C.
REFERENCES FOR "SHIPWRECKS AS A BUSINESS"
Annual Report of the United States Life-Saving Service, 1893-1899.
Washington, 1893-1899.
Original wreck reports of the United States Lif esaving Service.
Personal Interviews:
A. W. Drinkwater, Manteo, N. C.
T. S. Meekins, Manteo, N. C.
REFERENCES 263
REFERENCES FOR "SAN CIRIACO"
Annual Report of the United States Life-Saving Service, i$oo. Washing-
ton, 1900.
Original wreck reports of the United States Lifesaving Service, 1899.
Tannehill, Ivan Ray. Hurricanes: Their Nature and History. Princeton,
1938.
REFERENCES FOR "FROM SAIL TO STEAM"
Annual Report of the United States Life-Saving Service, 1899-1914.
Washington, 1899-1914.
Annual Report of the United States Coast Guard, 191 5-1920. Washing-
ton, 1915-1920.
Norfolk Virginian-Pilot, April 4-14, 1915.
Original wreck reports of the United States Lifesaving Service, 1899-
1914.
Original assistance rendered reports of the United States Coast Guard,
1915-1920.
REFERENCES FOR "UNGUARDED SHORES"
Annual Report of the United States Coast Guard, 1920. Washington,
1920.
Brown, Riley. Men, Wind and Sea. New York, 1939.
Chaff ee, Allen. Heroes of the Shoals. New York, 1935.
David, Evan J. Our Coast Guard. New York, 1937.
James, Henry J. German Subs in Yankee Waters: First World War.
New York, 1940.
Merchant Vessels of the United States. Washington, 1917, 1918, 1919.
Report of the United States Coast Guard Cutter Gentian, Norfolk,
1944.
Wreck Information List, United States Hydrographic Office, Wash-
ington, 1945.
Personal Interviews:
Captain Walter Barnett, Buxton, N. C.
Chief Bosun Mate Levene Midgett, Rodanthe, N. C.
REFERENCES FOR "PEACETIME ENEMY"
Annual Report of the United States Coast Guard, 1920-1932. Washing-
ton, 1920-1932.
Baarslag, Karl. Coast Guard to the Rescue. New York, 1937.
Brown, Riley. Men, Wind and Sea. New York, 1939.
264 REFERENCES
Chaffee, Allen. Heroes of the Shoals. New York, 1935,
Coastlcmd Times (Manteo, N. C), Nov. 7, 1947.
Daily Advance (Elizabeth City, N. C.), Oct 15, 1950.
Wreck Information Card File, United States Hydrographic Office,
Suitland, Md,
Original assistance rendered reports of the United States Coast Guard,
1919-1940.
Merchant Vessels of the United States. Washington, 1929, 1931, 1932.
News and Observer (Raleigh), Feb. 2, 1950.
Norfolk Virginicm-Pilot, Feb., 1921; Sept., 1923; March, 1924; April,
1925; Dec., 1927; Feb., 1929; Sept., 1929; Dec., 1931; Jan., 1932;
March, 1932; Aug., 1933; Nov., 1937; March, 1950.
Report of the United States Coast Guard Cutter Gentian, Norfolk,
1944.
Wreck Information List, United States Hydrographic Office, Washing-
ton, 1945.
Personal Interviews:
Lt. W. L. Lewark, Kill Devil Hills, N. C.
Chief Bosun Mate Levene Midgett, Rodanthe, N. C.
Surfman Marvin Midgett, Kitty Hawk, N. C.
Chief Bosun Mate Jep Harris, Kill Devil Hills, N. G
A. W. Drinkwater, Manteo, N. C.
T. S. Meekins, Manteo, N. C.
REFERENCES FOR "THE U-BoAis RETURN"
Baltimore Sun, Sept. 17, 1945.
"Battle of Torpedo Junction, The," Fifth Naval District press release,
Sept 17, 1945.
Fifth Naval District Wreck List, Norfolk, Aug. 2, 1944.
Morison, Samuel E. History of United States Naval Operations in
World War II Boston, 1947. Vo1 - *
Norfolk Virginian-Pilot, Sept. 16, 1945.
Report of the United States Coast Guard Cutter Gentian, Norfolk,
1944.
Ships of the Esso Fleet in World War Two. New Jersey, 1946.
Wreck Information Card File, United States Hydrographic Office,
Suitland, Md.
Wreck Information List, United States Hydrographic Office, Washing-
ton, 1945.
INDEX
Aaron Reppard (schooner), 162-66, 169,
252
Aberlady Bay (steamer), 250
A. B. Goodman (schooner), 108-9, 2 49
Acme (tanker), 234
Ada F. Whitney (schooner), 250
Adamantine (schooner), 248
Addie Henry (schooner), 251
Adehard, Mrs. Ethel, 220
Adelaide Day (schooner), 255
A. Ernest Mills (schooner), 255
A. F. Crockett (schooner), 250
Agamemnon (ship), 246
Agra (tanker), 256
Aid Harrington, 246
A. L. <$ M. Townsend (schooner), 251
Albatross (trawler), 255
Albemarle (brig), 246
Albemarle (Confederate ram), 58, 248
Albemarle (steamer), 15
Albert Schultz (barkentine) , 168-69
Alcoa Guide (cargo vessel), 234, 256
Alcox, J. H., 98
Alexander Cooper (blockade runner), 247
Alexander Jones (tug), 176
Alfred Brabrook (schooner), 160, 252
Alfred Thomas (schooner), 248
Algonquin (ship), 46
Algonquin (cutter), 176
Alhambra (schooner), 245
Alice Murphy (schooner), 191
Allaire, James B., 26
Allan Jackson (tanker), 229-33, 255
Allen, Captain, 37
Alliance (steamer), 248
Allie R. Chester (schooner), 118-19, 250
Alonzo (schooner), 245
Alphild (bark), 251
Alston, Governor John, 5
Alston, Theodosia Burr, 5-8
Amanda Coons (brig), 246
America (bark), 249
America (steamer), 246
American Trader (schooner), 245
Amerikalund, 255
A. M. Nicholson (whaler), 195
Anderson, Aleck, 172-73
Andrew Johnson (steamer), 248
Andrews, Joshua, 16-19
Angela (barkentine), 110-12, 249
Ankers, Captain J. H., 90-102
Anna May (trawler), 220-21, 255
Anna R. Heidritter (schooner), 256
Annchen (brigantine), 250
Anne Comber (schooner), 253
Annie E. Blackman (schooner), 122-23,
250
Annie E. Pierce (schooner), 251
Annie McFarland (brig), 248
Antilla (schooner), 246
Antonica (blockade runner), 247
Appomattox (Confederate gunboat), 52,
247
A. P. Richardson (schooner), 251
Arabian (blockade runner), 247
Arabutan (cargo vessel), 256
Argon (schooner), 245
Ariadne (steamer), 248
Ario (tanker), 256
Ario Pardee (schooner), 115-16, 250
Ariosto (steamer), i7i-73 252
Arteville H. Peary (schooner), 253
Arroyo (steamer), 253
A. R. Weeks (schooner), 135-36
Ashkabad (cargo vessel), 257
Ashley (brig), 245
Astoria (bark), 245
A. S. Willers (schooner), 246
Atlantic (blockade runner), 63. See also
Elizabeth
Atlantic (tug), 178-80
Atlas (tanker), 256
Atwater, Ensign Norman, 56
Augustus Moore (schooner), 246
Aurora (brigantine), 244
Aurora (schooner), 22, 245
265
266
INDEX
Austin, A. J., 145
Austin, W. H., 189
Austin, W. R., 117
Australia (tanker), 256
Auze, Mr., 30
Ayllon, Lucas Vasquez de, 5, 240
Bacon, Francis M., 232
Badger (blockade runner), 247
Badham, Captain, 64
Bainbridge (Federal brig) , 58, 247
Bainbridge (schooner), 255
Baines, Captain R. R., I7I-73
Baldhead, 64. See also Smiths Island.
Baldwin, Captain J. S., 213
Ballance, Bernice R., 218, 222
Ballestead, Captain, 196
Baltic (schooner), 246
B & J Baker (wrecking steamer), 83
Bangs, S., 20-21
Bankhead, Commander J. P., 55
Barnett, D. W., 188
Barnett, First Mate Walter L., 200-3
Barnett, Mrs. Walter L., 202
Barnett, William H., 218
Barnett, W. L., 189
Barney, Elias N., 30-32
Baron Herries (steamer), 214-15
Bartlett, William, 10-11
Bastin, Rene, 199, 204
Baum, Ellsworth, 219-20
Beaufort (Confederate gunboat), 52
Beauregard (blockade runner), 247
Bedfordshire (trawler), 257
Belgian Airman (cargo vessel), 239, 257
Belle (brig), 246
Belle O'Neill (schooner), 253
Bencleuch (steamer), 203
Bendigo (blockade runner), 63, 247
Benjamin Dicker man (bark), 249
Benjamin M. Wallace (schooner), 253
Benj. W. Robinson (schooner), 249
Betsy (sloop), 244
Big Kinnakeet, Ephraim Williams wrecked
near, 112
Big Kinnakeet Coast Guard Station, at
wreck of Carroll A. Deering, 210
Big Kinnakeet Lif esaving Station, at wreck
of Florence Randall, 163; at wreck of
Hettie /. Dorman, 175; at wreck of
Brewster f 187
Bird, Mr., 32-33
Blackbeard, 3
Black Hawk (yacht), 255
Black Squall (brig), 247
Black Warrior (Confederate schooner), 52,
247
Bladan McLaughlin (steamer), 246
Blaisdell (schooner), 249
Blanche (schooner), 250
Blanche Hopkins (schooner), 253
Blink (cargo vessel), 233, 256
Bodie Island Coast Guard Station, at
wreck of Carl Gerhard, 220
Bodie Island Lifesaving Station, at wreck
of Florence C. Magee, 149 ; at wreck of
Flora Rogers, 186
Bonilla, Don Juan Manuel de, 5
Bonito (steamer), 84
Bonnet, Stede, 3
Bonny, Anne, 3
Boudo, Mrs., 26
Bradley, James Terrence, 238
Bradstreet, William, 48
Brady, C. P., 210
Bragg, Captain, 153
Bratland, Captain, 195-96
Brazos (cargo vessel), 255
Brewster (steamer), 186-89, 253
Brinkley, Sheriff, 82, 84
Brinkman, Samuel, 138
Bris (cargo vessel), 256
British Speldour (tanker), 237, 256
Brock, Swepson C., 93-102
Bronx (sloop), 251
Brooke, Henry L., 83-84
Brooks, Richard, 86-104
Brosund (steamer), 197
Brown, Steward, 32-33
Brown, Hamon, 230
Brumsey, Malachi, 70-71
B. T. Martin (brig), 247
Buarque (passenger vessel), 233, 256
Burke, Lieutenant R. L., 226-27
Burr, Aaron, 5
Burr, Theodosia. See Theodosia Burr
Alston
Busiris (schooner), 124, 250
Butler, General B. F., 59-60
Butts, Francis B., 54-57
Byron D. Benson (tanker), 237, 256
Caffeys Inlet, Byron D. Benson sunk near,
237
Caffeys Inlet Lifesaving Station, at wreck
of Angela^ 112
Cain, Captain, 84
Campbell, Mr., 10
Cape Fear, Spanish brigantine wrecked at,
5; Ogir wrecked near, 150
Cape Fear (blockade runner), 248
Cape Fear Lifesaving Station, at wreck of
Charles C. Dame, 145; at wreck of
Joseph W. Brooks, 181
Cape Fear River, Frying Pan Shoals
Lightship burned at, 58; Raleigh de-
stroyed at, 60
Cape Hatteras, Congress wrecked at, 45;
Orline St. John wrecked near, 48 ; Peer-
less and Governor wrecked near, 51;
Monitor lost near, 53-57; Thames
burned near, 66; Hilda lost at, 185;
Santiago sunk near, 213; City of New
York sunk near, 236. See also Hatteras.
INDEX
Cape Hatteras Coast Guard Station, at
wreck of Carroll A. Deering, 210; at
wreck of Anna May, 222
Cape Hatteras Lifesaving Station, at
wreck of Ephraim Williams, 113; at
wreck of Allie R. Chester, 118; at wreck
of /. W. Dresser, 155; at wreck of
Hettie J. Dorman, 175; at wreck of
Hilda, 185; at wreck of Brewster, 187
Cape Hatteras (lightship), 14-15, 245
Cape Lookout, Carroll wrecked at, 20;
Papoose, W. E. Button and E. M. Clark
sunk near, 234; Naeco sunk near, 234;
German sub U-352 driven ashore near,
238
Cape Lookout Coast Guard Station, at
wreck of Sylvia C. Hall, 190
Cape Lookout Lifesaving Station, at wreck
of Ea, 176; at wreck of Olive Thurlow,
178; at wreck of Sarah D. J. Rawson,
182
Capps, Jimmy, 92-97
Caribsea (cargo vessel), 234, 256
Carl Gerhard (steamer), 218-20, 255
Carlo, Captain, 111-12
Carmine, J. E., Jr., 221
Carmine, J. E., Sr., 221
Carmine, Captain Ralph, 221-22
Carolyn (cargo vessel), 256
Carr, T. B., 139
Carrabasset (tug), 214-15
Carroll (brig), 19-21, 245
Carroll A. Deering (schooner), 209-12,
255
Casket (bark), 251
Cassimer (tanker), 256
Cassius (schooner), 246
Catherine G. Scott (schooner), 255
Catherine M. Mpnohan (schooner), 253
Cavillier, Captain C. A., 163
C. C. Overton (brig), 249
C. C. Thorn (schooner), 246
Ceiba (cargo vessel), 256
Chalkly, John, 179
Chandris, John, 223
Chans field (schooner), 246
Chappell, John G., 7j 94-102
Charles (schooner), 246
Charles C. Dame (schooner), i45-47
251
Charles C. Lister, Jr. (schooner), 250
Charles H. Valentine (schooner), 254
Charles J. Dumas (schooner), 254
Chas M. Patterson (schooner), 168-69
Charles S. Hirsch (schooner), 253
Charmer (schooner), 252
Chenango (cargo vessel), 238, 256
Chester Sun (tanker), 256
Chicamacomico, F. A. Tupper wrecked
near, 46; San Delfino sunk near, 237
Chicamacomico Banks, Enterprise
wrecked at, 12
267
Chicamacomico Coast Guard Station, at
wreck of Mirlo, 204
Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station, at
wreck of Strathairly, 125; at wreck of
George L. Fessenden, 159; at wreck of
Aaron Rep par d, 162 ; at wreck of Min-
nie Bergen, 168
Chicken, First Engineer, 35
Church, Colonel George Earle, 87
Cibao (steamer), 217-18, 255
Ciltvaira (tanker), 255
Cissy (steamer), 214
Cities Service Petrol (tanker), 255
City of Atlanta (cargo vessel), 255
City of Atlanta (steamer), 214
City of Birmingham (cargo vessel), 257
City of New York (Federal transport),
5i, 247
City of New York (passenger steamer),
236, 256
Clafford, Charles, 130-32
Clara Davidson (schooner), 249
Clara E. Bergen (schooner), 253
Clarance H. (schooner), 253
Clausen, Rolf, 230-32
Clintonia (schooner), 191
Clythia (bark), 147-48, 251
Codorus (bark), 250
Cohen, Isaac S., 26
Cohen, Phillip S., 26
Collins, Thomas, 87-89, 101-3
Col. Thomas F. Austin (schooner), 254
Columbia (Federal gunboat), 247
Comet (schooner), 245
Commodore Perry (Federal gunboat), 52
Condor (blockade runner), 247
Congress (ship), 45, 245
Conway, Lieutenant W. P., 76-84
Cooper, J. H., 32-34
Corbel, Malachi, 122, 148, 241
Cordelia E. Hays (schooner) , 253
Corrie, Joseph, 224-27
Couhopadelis, Captain George, 225-26
Cowles, Mrs. George, 26
Cowles, Rev. George, 26
Cozens, Second Mate, 96-97
Creecy, R. B., 7
Creeds Hill Coast Guard Station, at wreck
of Carroll A. Deering, 210
Creeds Hill Lifesaving Station, at wreck
of A. B. Goodman, 108; at wreck of
Ephraim Williams, 113; at wreck of
Hilda, 185; at wreck of Brewster, 187
Cretan (steamer), 203
Crissie Wright (schooner), 250
Crocker, John, 22-23
C. S. Glidden (schooner) , 252
Cumberland (schooner), 245
Cummings, Mr., 162-63
Curlew (Confederate gunboat), 52, 247
Currituck Beach, Kilgore wrecked at, 45;
Metropolis wrecked at, 92
268
INDEX
Gushing, Lieutenant W. B., 58
Cygnet (steamer), 100-1, 103
Dailey, B. B., 108-9, "3-iS
Daniel Chase (schooner), 248
Daniels, J. L., 139
Banner, Ensign Fred, 81
Danube (schooner), 245
Dasey, Dennis, 80
Davis, Captain, 38
Davis, Dunbar, vii, 133-43, 150-51, 242
Davis, Mrs. Dunbar, 143
D. D. Haskell (schooner), 253
Dee (blockade runner), 64, 247
Denig, Assistant Engineer R. G., 84
Desert Light (cargo vessel), 256
Deutschland (German submarine), 193,
197
Diamond Shoals, unknown vessels wrecked
at, 45; Kensington sunk near, 67; A. B.
Goodman wrecked at, 109; Allie R.
Chester wrecked at, 118; /. W. Dresser
wrecked at, 155; Hettie J. Dorman
wrecked at, 175; Hilda wrecked at,
185; Brewster wrecked at, 187; Merak
sunk near, 200; Lightship No. 71 sunk
at, 200; Carroll A. Deering wrecked at,
209; Virginia and New Jersey sunk at,
212 ; Anna May wrecked at, 221
Diamond Shoals Lightship No. 6p, 165
Diamond Shoals Lightship No. 71, 200-4,
254
Diamond Shoals Lightship No. 72, 203
Diomede (schooner), 244
Diode Arrow (tanker), 236, 256
Donalds, Boatswain, 205-6
Dorothea L. Brinkman (schooner), 255
Dos Hermanos (steamer), 250
Dough, Will, 217
Douglass, Seaman, 48-49
Douro (blockade runner), 63, 247
Drake, Mrs. Stella E. P., 7
Driver (schooner), 245
Droscher, Kapitanleutnant, 207
Dry Shoal Point, Vera Cruz VII wrecked
at, 180
Dubois, Captain, 28-29
Duck, Emma J. Warrington wrecked near,
145
Duffey, Peter, 80
Dulcimer (bark), no, 249
Dunton, John J., 94-95, 99
Durants Lifesaving Station, at wreck of
NeUie Wadsworth, 116
D. W.Hall (brig), 245
Ea (steamer), 176-78, 252
Eagle (steamer), 248
Eastern Packet (freighter), 223. See also
Tzenny Chandris
East Indian (motor ship), 214
E. B. Wharton (schooner), 249
Edna Harwood (schooner), 249
Edna M. Smith (bark) , 191
Edward Luckenbach (tug), 191
Edward S. Stearns (schooner), 251
Edward Wood (schooner), 246
Eldridge, Captain Ephraim, n
Eleanor T. (schooner), 248
Eleazer W. Clark (schooner), 253
Electric (schooner), 249
Eliza (bark), 246
Elizabeth (blockade runner), 63, 247
Elizabeth A. Baizley (schooner), 251
Elizabeth City, Seabird, Fanny, Black
Warrior, Appomattox and Forrest sunk
at, 52
Elizabeth T. Doyle (schooner) , 254
Ella (blockade runner) , 64, 248
Ella Pierce Thurlow (schooner barge) , 255
Ellen Swift (whaler), 195
Elliott, Captain Jesse D., 14-15
Ellis (Federal gunboat), 52-53, 247
Elm City (schooner), 254
El Salvador, 244
Elsie A. Bayles (schooner), 254
Elsing, Karl, 172
Elwood H. Smith (schooner), 168-69
E. M : Clark (tanker), 234, 256
Emilie (bark), 46, 245
Emily of London (blockade runner), 64,
247
Emma C. Cotton (schooner), 251
Emma C. Middleton (schooner), 253
Emma C. Rommell (schooner), 249
Emma J. Warrington (schooner), 145, 251
Empire Dry den (cargo vessel), 256
Empire Gem (tanker), 233, 255
Empire Steel (tanker), 256
Empire Thrush (cargo vessel), 238, 256 t
Emulous (schooner), 244
Enchantress (schooner), 142-43, 251
Ensis (tanker), 256
Enterprise (steamer), 249
Enterprize (schooner), 11-13, 244
Enter prize (brig), 245
Ephraim Williams (barkentine) , 112-13,
250
Equipoise (cargo vessel), 236, 256
Escambia (brig), 245
E. S. Newman (schooner), i55-57 251
Esso Baltimore (tanker), 234
Esso Nashville (tanker), 235
Etheridge, Captain, 45
Etheridge, B. F., 185
Etheridge, Dick, 156-58
Etheridge, J. T., 149-50
Etheridge, Patrick H., 113, 115
Etheridge, P. H., 185
Etheridge, Walter G., 217
Etta M. Barter (schooner), 251
Eugene (schooner), 249
Evans, Mr., 147-48
Evans, John J., 74
INDEX
Evergreen (schooner), 246
Everton, Captain, 99
Explorer (tug), 255
Ezra (bark), 248
Fairbanks (steamer), 248
Fanny (Confederate gunboat), 52, 247
Fanny & Jenny (blockade runner), 64,
247
Fanny Gray (schooner), 246
Farrow, Christopher B., 108
F. A. Tupper (schooner), 46, 245
Faugh- A-Ballagh (brigantine) , 248
Fenwick, James, 55
Fernandez, Captain Julius M., 180
Ferrar, Tilman, 45
Flambeau (steamer), 248
F. L. Carney (bark), 249
Fletcher, Lieutenant Arthur H., 74, 76
Flora (ship), 245
Flora Rogers (schooner), 186, 253
Florence (schooner), 249
Florence C. Magee (schooner), 149-50,
251
Florence Randall (schooner), 163-65, 169,
252
Florian, Mate, 179
Florida (steamer), 103
Florie (blockade runner), 247
Formosa (bark), 251
Forrest (Confederate gunboat), 52, 247
Fort Caswell, Frying Pan Shoals Lightship
burned near, 58; Spunkie wrecked near,
64
Fort Fisher, Louisiana blown up at, 59;
Modern Greece wrecked near, 62
Fort Forrest, Curlew sunk near, 52
Fortune (steamer), 83, 100, 101
Frances (schooner), 253
Francis (steamer), 248
Francis^ E. Waters (schooner), 122, 250
Franklin (steamer), 246
Frank M. McGear (schooner) , 250
Franz, Kapitanleutnant, 207-8
Fraser, Mrs., 32
Freddie Hencken (schooner), 251
Fred Walton (schooner hulk), 164-65, 169,
252
French, Lieutenant W. S., 76-78
Frying Pan Shoals, Henrietta wrecked on,
69; Charles C. Dame wrecked on, 145
Frying Pan Shoals Lightship, 58, 136, 247
Fulcher, Charles, 115
Fulcher, D. W., 140, 189
Fulcher, F. W., 140
Fulcher, James W., 182
Fulcher, Thomas J., 108
F. W. Abrams (tanker), 257
G, A. Kohler (schooner), 222-23, 255
Gale, John G., 70-71
Galloway, L. A., 140
269
Gardiner, Captain S. A., 155-57
Gardiner, William, 12
Garnett, Robert Lee, 119-22
Gaskffl, "Miss Annie," 164
GaskiU, Captain Bill, 164
Gaskill, H. L., 188
Gaskill, James Baugham, 234
Gaskill, J. C., 210
GaskiU, William H., 176-79, 181-84
Gaskins, Y. O., 189
Gayarre, Charles, 7
General E. L. F. Sardcastle (schooner),
i65
General S. E. Merwin (schooner), 252
Geo. E. Maltby (brig) , 248
George L. Fessenden (schooner), 158-60,
252
George M. Adams (schooner), 252
George N. Reed (schooner), 254
George R. Congdon (schooner), 252
George S. Marts (schooner), 250
George Taulane (schooner), 168
George W. Fenimore (schooner), 135-36
George W. Truitt t Jr. (schooner), 255
George W. Wells (schooner), 189-90, 254
Georgia (brig), 244
Georgia (steamer), 27
Georgia (steamer), 68
Georgiana McCaw (blockade runner) , 247
Gertie M. Richer son (schooner), 135-36
Gertrude (schooner), 251
Gillett, Sam, 95
Gilliken, Piggott, 95, 99, 102
Gillikin, F. G., 190
Glanayron (steamer), 251
Glory (steamer), 255
Golden lAner (blockade runner), 247
Goldsborough, Admiral L. M., 52
Goldsborough, Fitzhugh, 167
Gonsalves, Captain J. T., 195
Governor (Federal transport), 51, 247
Governor Ames (schooner), 253
Governor Dudley (steamer), 42-44
Governor Safford (steamer), 253
Grade D. Chambers (schooner) , 255
Grant, Thomas, 49
Gray, A. T., 188
Gray, Damon N., 108
Gray, L. B., 129-30
Gray, Molly Berry, 72
Gray, Nat, 95
Gray, 0. J., 175
Gray, Spencer D., 69-72, 241
Gray, Thomas, 115
Greed, Dr. G. D., 98-99
Greenwood, Mr., 36
Gregg, Henry L., 88
Grenville, Sir Richard, 5
Griggs, Lemuel, 70-71
Grimke, Lieutenant, 13-14
Grimke, Mrs., 14
Grove, Captain Samuel S., 146-47
270
INDEX
Gulf City (steamer), 248
Gull Shoal Coast Guard Station, at wreck
of Loring C. Bollard, 191; at wreck of
G. A. Kohler, 223
Gull Shoal Lifesaving Station, at wreck
of Alfred Brabrook, 160; at wreck of
Aaron Rep-pard, 162 ; at wreck of Pris-
cilla, 166
Guthrie, Captain J. J., 83
Guthrie, John A., 182
Guthrie, Kilby, 182
G. W. Carpenter (schooner), 248
Halsey, Captain E. L., 16-19
Halstead, H. T., 70
Hamilton, Alexander, 6
Hampton, N. N., 100
Hand, Captain, vii, u
Hand, Jesse, 10-11
Harkaway (bark), 250
Harpagon (cargo vessel), 238, 256
Harpathian (steamer), 194-96, 254
Harriet C. Kerlin (schooner), 253
Harriet N. Rogers (schooner), 248
Harris, Jep, 216
Harrison, William H., 91
Harrison, Mrs. William H., 92, 94, 101
Harry & Ralph (sloop), 253
Harry Prescott (schooner), 254
Harvest (schooner), 13-14, 244
Harvester (steamer), 214
Hatteras, Bainbridge wrecked near, 58;
Thames wrecked near, 67
Hatteras Inlet, City of New York wrecked
at, 51; Dulcimer wrecked near, no;
Nettie Wadsworth wrecked at, 116;
Cibao wrecked at, 217
Hatteras Inlet Coast Guard Station, at
wreck of Anna May, 222
Hatteras Inlet Lifesaving Station, at
wreck of Brewster, 187; at wreck of
George W. Wells, 189
Hattie Gage (tug), 254
Hattie L. Fuller (schooner), 249
Hattie Lollis (schooner), 250
Hattie 5. Clark (schooner), 250
Hawes, Captain Roger, 152-54
Hawley, Mr., 10
Hayes, Captain Jerry 0., 178, 180
Heath, Major, 28-40
Hebe (blockade runner), 63, 247
Hegeman, John, Jr., 102-4
Heinrich Lund (steamer), 197
Helen H. Benedict (schooner), 254
Henrietta (clipper), 69, 248
Henrietta Hill (schooner), 252
Henrietta Pierce (schooner), 246
Henry (sloop), vii, 9, 244
Henry B. Cleaves (brig), 168-69
Henry Camerdon (schooner), 37
Henry G. Fay (schooner), 249
Henry Norwell (barkentine), 251
Henry P. Simmons (schooner), 119-21,
250
Heroine (schooner), 245
Hesperides (steamer), 252
Hester A. Seward (schooner), 251
Hettie J. Dorman (schooner), 173-76,
252
Hibbert, First Mate, 28-33
Hilda (schooner), 185-86, 253
Hinz, Captain F., 187-88
Hiram (schooner), 245
Hog Shoal, Fred Walton wrecked at, 164
Holden, Captain Life, 15-16
Home (steamer), 23-26, 245
Hooper, C. R., 210
Hooper, E. O., 129-31
Horatio (ship), 244
Horse (schooner), 245
Houlden, Robert, 3
Howard. See Howell
Howard, Mr., 26
Howard, William, 45
Howell (ship), 246
Hugh Kelly (schooner), 191
Hull (destroyer), 199
Hunter (schooner), 245
Huron (gunboat), vii, 73-85, 100, 105,249
Hutchison, Robert, 39
H. W. McColly (schooner), 249
Icarus (cutter), 238
Ida B. Silsbee (schooner), 249
Ida C. Schoolcraft (schooner), 252
Ida Lawrence (schooner), 252
Idler (yacht), 254
/. /. Merritt (wrecking tug), 176
Indus (brig), 245
lona (schooner), 249
Irene Thayer (schooner), 251
Irma (schooner), 255
Iron Age (Federal gunboat), 63, 247
Isaac L. Clark (schooner), 250
Isaac Smith (steamer), 51
Isabella Parmenter (schooner), 255
Isle of lona (steamer), 254
Islington (ship), 244
Istria (bark), 248
James B. Anderson (schooner), 250
James Davidson (schooner), 254
James E. Kelsey (schooner), 119
James F. Hamlen (barkentine), 253
James T. Hatfield (schooner), 246
James W. Haig (schooner), 249
James WoodaU (steamer), 251
Janckendorf, Korvettenkapitan Von Nos-
titz und, 194-97, 207
Jane (schooner), 246
Jane C. Harris (schooner) , 252
Jane Henderson (ship), 246
Jarvis, Calupt T., 182
/. B. Holden (schooner), 253
INDEX
7. C. McNaughton (schooner), 252
Jennett, I. L., 189
Jennett, Isaac L., 115
Jennett, Jabez B., 115
Jennie Beasley (schooner), 250
Jennie E. Thomas (schooner), 142-43
Jennie Lockwood (schooner), 253
Jenny, 32
/. F. Becker (schooner), 253
/. H. Lockwood (schooner), 249
J. Means (schooner), 248
John A. Buttrick (schooner), 252
John B. Manning (schooner), 191
John Boushell (schooner), 246
John C. Haynes (schooner), 168-69
John D. Gill (tanker), 256
John Floyd (schooner), 249
John I. Snow (schooner), 253
John Maxwell (schooner), 254
John N. Parker (schooner), 249
John S. Case (schooner), 135-36
John Shay (schooner), 250
Johnson, Governor Gabriel, 4
Johnson, M. R., 221
John S. Wood (schooner), 250
Jonas Sparks (schooner), 248
Jones Hill Lifesaving Station, at wreck of
Nuova Ottavia, 70; Metropolis wrecked
near, 93
Jones, N. E. K., 92-93, 99, 100
Jones, William, 94
Joseph H. Neff (schooner), 124, 250
Joseph Rudd (schooner), 250
Joseph W. Brooks (schooner), 181-82, 253
Josie Troop (bark), 250
/. P. Bickley (schooner), 246
J. R. Teel (barge), 243, 254
June (sloop), 252
J. W. Dresser (barkentine) , 154-55, 251
J. W. Gaskttl (schooner), 251
J. W. Haring (steam tug), 101
Kantanlos, Captain Nickolas, 215
Kassandra Louloudis (cargo vessel), 234,
256
Kate (2nd) t (blockade runner) , 247
Kate E. Gifford (schooner), 140-43? 251
Kate Spencer (schooner), 253
Kate Wentworth (schooner), 250
Keller, Lieutenant (j.g.) A. C., 226
Kelsey, Captain George L,, 130
Kensington (steamer), 67-68, 248
Kervis, John, 235
Keshena (tug), 239, 257
Key West (steamer), 248
Kilgore (brig), 45, 245
Kill Devil Hills, Carl Gerhard wrecked at,
220
KiU Devil Hills Coast Guard Station, at
wreck of The Josephine, 191; at wreck
of Kyzikes, 216; at wreck of Carl Ger-
hard, 218
271
KiU Devil Hills Lifesaving Station, at
wreck of Francis E. Waters , 122
Kimball, Sumner I., 102
Kinley, Mr., 10
Kirkman, John E., 182
Kitty Hawk Coast Guard Station, at
wreck of Kyzikes, 216
Kollskegg (tanker), 256
Kophamel, Fregattenkapitan Waldemar,
198, 200, 203, 207
Korner, Dr. Frederick, 195-96
Kretchmer, Captain Felix W., 230, 232
Kyzikes (tanker), 214-20, 255
L. A. Burnhartt (schooner), 135-36
Lacey, Albert, 199
Lacoste, Mrs., 25
Lady Drake (cargo vessel), 257
Lady of The Lake (steamer), 83
Lady Whidbee (schooner), 246
Lamar, Charles, 39
Lamar, G. B., 38
Lamar, Rebecca, 39
Lambert Tree (schooner), 245
Lancing (tanker), 256
L & D Fisk (schooner) , 249
La Republique (steamer), 248
Larson, Randolph H., 230, 232
Laura A. Barnes (schooner), 255
Laura Nelson (schooner), 251
Lavinia M. Snow (schooner), 255
Leading Breeze (schooner), 252
Lena Breed (schooner) , 250
Lenktis, A. E., 127
Leonora (schooner), 253
Leroy (schooner), 245
Levi Davis (tug), 251
Lewark, Will H., viii, 216-17
Lewis, Joseph L., 182
Lewis, J. W., 70
Lewis, Rideout, 221
Lexington (schooner), 44
Liberator (cargo vessel), 234, 256
Libertad (cargo vessel), 239, 257
LUlie F. Schmidt (schooner), 251
Little Kinnakeet Lifesaving Station, at
wreck of Nathan Esterbrook, Jr., 129;
at wreck of Aaron Reppard, 162; at
wreck of Robert W. Dasey, 165
Lizzie H. Patrick (schooner), 254
Lizzie May (schooner), 135-36
Lizzie S. Haynes (schooner), 123, 250
Lizzie S. James (schooner), 252
Ljubica Matkovic (cargo vessel), 257
Lockwoods Folly, Elizabeth wrecked at,
63; Wustrow wrecked near, 139; En-
chantress wrecked near, 142
Lockwoods Folly Inlet, Iron Age and
Bendigo wrecked at, 63
Lookout Bight, Olive Thurlow wrecked
near, 179. See also Cape Lookout, Look-
out Shoals
272
Lookout Shoals, Ea wrecked at, 176;
Joseph W. Brooks wrecked at, 181;
Sarah D. J. Rawson wrecked at, 183;
Sylvia C. Hall wrecked at, 190. See
also Cape Lookout
Loring C. Battard (schooner), 191, 254
Lotta Lee (schooner), 249
Louise (cargo vessel), 257
Louise Howard (schooner), 255
Louisiana (Federal gunboat), 59-60, 248
Lovegreen, Andrew A., 25
Lovejoy, Mr., 29
Lovell, Joseph J., 92, 98
Lucy Russell (schooner), 253
Lulu M. Quillin (schooner), 254
Luna (schooner), 254
Lunt, Benjamin P., 102, 103
Lunt, George D., 102, 103
Luola Murchison (schooner), 249
Lydia A. Willis (schooner), 164-65, 169,
252
Mabel Rose (schooner), 253
McAloney, Captain William, 199
McDonough (schooner), 245
MacKenzie, Captain John, 196
M. A. Forbes (bark), 248
Maggie J. Lawrence (schooner), 251
Magnolia (schooner), 246
Malchase (cargo vessel), 256
M & E Henderson (schooner), io6-7,
249
Mann, Mrs., 6-7
Manning (cutter), 210
Manning, William J., 199
Manson, D. W., 139
Mantilla (steamer), 196
Manuela (cargo vessel), 239, 257
Margaret (brig), 246
Marie Palmer (schooner), 253
Mariner's Harbor (steamer), 203
Marion (brig), 245
Mar ore (cargo vessel), 256
Martha (schooner), 248
Martha (schooner), 251
Martha E. Wallace (schooner) , 253
Martin, Seaman, 48
Martin 5. Ebel (schooner), 251
Mary (schooner), 245
Mary (schooner), 246
Mary Anna (schooner), 246
Mary A. Trainer (schooner), 250
Mary Bollard (bark), 46
Mary Bear (schooner), 249
Mary C. Ward (schooner), 252
Mary Ellen (brig), 246
Mary J. Cook (schooner), 135-36
Mary 7. Fisher (schooner), 249
Mary /. Haynie (schooner), 255
Mary L. Vanhirk (schooner), 249
Mary 5. Eskridge (schooner), 254
Mary Turcan (brig), 246
INDEX
Mary Varney (bark), 246
Mary W. Morris (schooner), 251
M aside (steamer), 255
Masonboro Inlet, Douro wrecked near, 63
Mathilda (ship), 252
Matilda D. Borda (schooner), 253
Mattie E. HUes (schooner), 251
May fair (schooner), 257
M. B. Davis (schooner), 254
M. B. Mitten (schooner), 168-69
M. E. Cresser (schooner), 191
Meekins, B. F., 84
Meekins, Theodore, 156
Melrose (schooner), 253
Mendota (cutter), 226-27
Merak (steamer), 200, 202-4, 254
Mercedita (steamer), 87-88
Mercy T. Trundy (schooner), 249
Merrimac (Confederate ram), 53-54, 58
Merritt, Captain F., 210
Metropolis (steamer), 86-103, 105, 249
Midgett, Arthur V., 207
Midgett, C. E., 207
Midgett, E. J., 189
Midgett, E. S., 159
Midgett, John Allen, 205-7
Midgett, John H., 115
Midgett, L. B., 159
Midgett, Levene, viii, 222
Midgett, L. S., 207
Midgett, O. O., 189
Midgett, Rasmus S., 166-68, 241
Midgett, Zion S., 207
Midyett, John, 18
Miget (steamer), 242
Mignon (steam yacht), 250
Milledgeville (packet), 245
Miller, Baxter B., 188-89
Miller, H. S., 189
Milton (schooner), 252
Mindora (steamer), 254
Minnie (schooner), 249
Minnie Bergen (schooner), 168-69, 252
Mints, H. E., 140
Mirlo (tanker), 204-8, 254
Mitchell, Captain, 19-21
Mitchell, Brig. Gen. Billy, 212
Mitteager, Jake, 86-103
Modern Greece (blockade runner), 62,
247
Mohican (Federal gunboat), 51
Momie T. (schooner), 255
Monitor (Federal gunboat), 53-57, 247
Montana (schooner), 253
Monterey (schooner), 246
Montrose W. Houck (schooner), 254
Moon (brig), 245
Moore, J. J., 91
Moore, Tyre, 182
Morgan, William H., 44
Morris and Cliff (schooner), 255
Mountaineer (steamer), 246
INDEX
Mount Dirfys (steamer), 255
Munden, Jerry, 70
Myrtle Tunnett (schooner), 253
Naeco (tanker), 234, 256
Nags Head, Patriot wrecked at, 5; Har-
vest wrecked at, 13; Huron wrecked
at, 73-85; Francis E. Waters wrecked
at, 122
Nags Head Coast Guard Station, at
wreck of Kyzikes, 216
Narraganset (tanker), 256
Nathan Esterbrook, Jr. (schooner), 129-
32, 251
Nathaniel Lank (schooner), 250
Nat Meader (schooner), 254
Nautilus (yacht), 242
N. Boynton (barge), 250
Nettie Floyd (schooner), 253
Nellie Wadsworth (schooner), 116-18,
250
Nevada (steamer), 248
New Bern, Underwriter sunk at, 58
New Inlet (near Pea Island), William
Gibbons wrecked at, 18 ; M & E Hen-
derson wrecked at, 106; Annie E.
Blackman wrecked near, 123; Lizzie
S. Haynes wrecked near, 123; George
L. Fessenden wrecked near, 158
New Inlet (near Smiths Island), Hebe
wrecked near, 63; Dee wrecked near,
64
New Jersey (battleship), 212, 255
New River, Ettis sunk at, 53
New River Inlet, Nutfield burned at, 64
Newton, Alfred, 98
Newton, Joe, 138-39
Newton, Samuel, 138-39
New York (steamer), 37
Nightengale, Mrs., 32-33
Nilsen, Tony, 162-63
Nineveh (bark), 252
Noharovic, Jesse Roper, 237
Nomis (schooner), 255
Nordal (cargo vessel), 257
Nordhav (bark), 207, 254
Nordstrom, Captain George, 198-99
Norlavore (cargo vessel), 256
North Carolina (Confederate gunboat),
60, 247
North Carolina (steamer), 42-44, 245
Northeastern (steamer), 253
North Heath (blockade runner), 248
Norton, Captain C. B., 158-60
Norton, James, 22-23
Norvana (cargo vessel), 255
Nott, Professor, 26
Nott, Mrs., 26
Nox, Gustave, 230
Nuestra de Solidad (ship), 244
Nuova Ottavia (bark), 69-72, 249
Nutfield (blockade runner), 64, 247
273
Oak Island Lifesaving Station, Joseph
H. Neff wrecked near, 124; Wustrow
wrecked near, 138; Kate E. Gifford
wrecked near, 140; Enchantress
wrecked near, 142; Ogir wrecked near,
I5o
0. B. Jennings (tanker), 198, 199, 204,
254
Ocean (brig), 246
Ocracoke, Cape Hatteras Lightship
wrecked at, 16; Home wrecked at, 24;
Pioneer wrecked at, 45; Richard 5.
Spofford wrecked at, 153; Ariosto
wrecked at, 173; George W. Wells
wrecked at, 189
Ocracoke Bar, Henry wrecked at, 10;
Aurora wrecked at, 22
Ocracoke Inlet, Tiger wrecked at, 5;
Richard S. Spofford wrecked at, 152;
Lydia A. Willis wrecked at, 164
Ogir (bark), 150-51, 251
Ohlsson, Captain A., 219-20
Olean (tanker), 256
Oliver H. Booth (schooner), 135-36
Olive Thurlow (barkentine), 178-80,
252
Olsen, Chief Engineer, 77, 78
Olympic (tanker), 256
O'Neal, Evan, 79, 82
O'Neal, Prochorns L., 207
Oneota (steamer), 248
Onslow, Miss, 31, 36, 39-40
Ontario (bark), 245
Oran Sherwood (sloop), 245
Orient (schooner), 253
Oriental (Federal transport), 247
Oriente (bark), 253
Orline St. John (bark), 48, 246
Otho (cargo vessel), 237, 256
Owens, Captain, 195
Palamario, Evangelos, 215-16
Palaskas, Kostas, 225-26
Palestro (steamer), 252
Panam (tanker), 257
Papoose (tanker), 234, 256
Paraguay (tanker), 215, 219. See als*
Kyzikes
Parker, Captain R. O., 154-56
Parkins (trawler), 257
Parkinson, Captain, 46
Parrott (schooner), 250
Partridge, Joe, 216
Patapsco (steamer), 248
Patriot (pilot boat), 5-7, 244
Paul Gamiels Hill Lifesaving Station, at
wreck of Angela, 112; at wreck of
Emma J. Warrington f 145
P. B. Savery (schooner), 246
Pea Island Lifesaving Station, at wreck
of M & E Henderson, 106; at wreck
of E. S. Newman, 155
2 74
INDEX
Pearson, Second Captain, 28, 34, 35, 37,
39
Pebble Shoals, Henry P. Simmons
wrecked near, 120; Clythia wrecked
near, 148
Peel, Charles 0., 218
Peel, E. H., 188-89
Peerless (Federal transport), 51, 247
Pennington, Captain, 66, 67
Pennsylvania (brig), 246
Perry, William, 95
Peters, Captain Edward V., 235-36
Pevensey (blockade runner), 247
Phantom (blockade runner), 247
Pickett (Federal gunboat), 53, 247
Pike, Captain, 26
Pillow, 19-22
Pinar del Rio (steamer), 196-97, 254
Pioneer (brig), 45, 245
Pioneer (steamer), 250
Pleasantville (cargo vessel), 257
Plymouth, Southfield sunk at, 58; Albe-
marle sunk at, 58
Poland, James, 97
Pontiac (ship), 248
Pool, Dr. William G., 6-7
Pooler, Senator R. W., 32
Pooler, R. W., Jr., 32
Portland (cargo vessel), 257
Portsmouth Lifesaving Station, at wreck
of Lydia A. Willis, 164; at wreck of
Fred Walton, 164; at wreck of Vera
Cruz VII, 180
Potomac (steamer), 195
Powel (steamer), 255
Powhatan (steamer), 15
Powhatan (steamer), 83
Poyner, T. J., 99
Poyners Hill Lifesaving Station, at wreck
of Busiris, 124
Premium (sloop), 245
Price, J. E., 138
Prince, Senator Oliver H., 26
Prince, Mrs. Oliver H., 26 .
Prinz Eitel Friedrich (German raider),
192
Prinz Maurits (steamer), 191-92, 254
Priscilla, 32
Prisdlla (barkentine) , 165-69, 252
Proteus (steamer) , 254
Pugh, D. M., 160
Pulaski (steamer), 27-42, 245
Quick (brig), 248
Quidley, Guy, 202
Racer (schooner) , 246
Racer's Storm, 23, 24
Rachel A. Collins (schooner), 250
Rackam, Calico Jack, 3
Raleigh (Confederate gunboat), 60, 247
Raleigb, Sir Walter, 5, 134
Ralph (brig), 245
Rand, Melvin A., 230, 232
Ranger (blockade runner), 247
Raritan (cargo vessel), 256
Rattler (clipper), 246
Ravenwood (barkentine), 251
Raymond T. Maull (schooner), 253
R. B. Forbes (Federal steamer), 57, 247
R. B. Thompson (schooner), 248
Redbird, Captain, 48
Redbird, Mrs. Hannah, 48
Redd, Siglee, 34
Regulus (schooner), 245
Rescue (tug), 210
Resource, 256
Revenue (sloop), 244
Rhode Island (Federal transport), 54-57
Richard F. C. Hartley (schooner), 254
Rich'd H. Wyatt (schooner), 246
Richardson, George, 117-18
Richard S. Spofford (schooner), 152-53,
251
Richmond (steamer), 88-89, 103
Rider, John, 44
Ridge, Mr., 27-41
Rio (schooner), 246
Rio Blanco (cargo vessel), 237, 256
Riviere, Mrs., 26
Roanoke Island, Curlew sunk near, 53
Robbie L. Foster (schooner), 249
Robert Graham Dunn (schooner), 191
Robert H. Stevenson (schooner), 253
Roberts, Engineer, 202
Robert Walsh, 246
Robert W. Dasey (schooner), 165, 169,
252
Rob Roy (schooner), 191
Rochester, Judge, 32-33
Rodney (brig), 246
Roe (destroyer), 232
Roger Moore (schooner), 135, 252
Rogers, Jim, 95
Rogers, John, 95
Rolinson, Erasmus H., 108
Rollinson, F. J., 165
Roper (destroyer), 237, 238
Rowan, Commander S. C., 88
R. W. Brown (schooner), 246
Ryan, Commander George P., 74-79
Sabine (sail frigate), 51
Sabiston, Captain J. W., 174-76
St. Catharis (ship), 127-29
St. George, Tommy, 138, 140
St. Johns (schooner), 250
St. Rita (trawler), 255
Sallie Bissell (schooner), 251
Salvo, G. A. Kohler wrecked near, 223
Sam Berry (steamer), 246
Samuel Eddy (schooner), 248
Samuel Welsh (barkentine), 250
Samuel W. Hall (schooner), 252
INDEX
Samuel W. Tilt on (schooner), 252
San Antonio (bark), 250
San Ciriaco, 161-69, 2 4 2
San Delfino (tanker), 237, 256
Sandusky (ship), 249
Santiago (steamer), 212-14, 2 S5
Sarah D. J. Rawson (schooner), 182-84,
253
Saunders, John, 99
Sauvestre, Captain, 46-47
Savage, Keeper, 124-25
Savannah (schooner), 254
Sawtelle, Dr., 101
Saxon (barge), 253
Saxonville (bark), 49
Scarborough, Captain Edward, 12-13
Schroeder, Mrs., 25
Scott, James H., 199
Seabird (Confederate gunboat), 52, 247
Seabright (steamer), 252
Seaman (schooner), 245
Seminole (cutter), 210, 211
Senateur Duhamel (trawler), 257
5. G. Hart (schooner), 252
Sheridan, Captain Richard, 22-23
Shiloh (schooner), 249
Shipp, Samuel, 101-2
Shoemaker, William, 10
Simmons, Lieutenant S. A., 74, 76, 80
Smith, Captain, 43
Smith, Albert, 126
Smith, Captain Henry A., 115-16
Smith, Herman, 220
Smith, Noah, 39
Smith, Mrs. Noah, 39
Smith, W. C. N., 32
Smith, Wesley, 138, 139
Smiths Island, Ella wrecked near, 64
Soloman, Seaman, 32
South Carolina (steamer), 27
Southern Isles (steamer), 242
Southfield (Federal gunboat), 58, 247
Souza, Jules, 234
Spettbourne (schooner), 248
Spero (bark), 253
Spinney, Captain, 16
Springsteen, Captain Benjamin E., 166-
68
Springsteen, Elmer, 166-67
Springsteen, Mrs. Virginia, 166-67
Springsteen, William, 166-67
Spunkie (blockade runner), 64, 247
S. S. Lewis (wrecking schooner), 249
Stampede (schooner), 249
Stanley M. Seaman (schooner), 199, 200,
204, 254
Stars and Stripes (Federal gunboat), 88-
92. See also Metropolis
Stepney, Moses, 138
Stocking, John, 55
Stoddard, Captain, 83
'Stoughton, Don Francis, 22
275
Strathairly (steamer), 125-29, 251
Stringham (destroyer), 203
Stump Inlet, Wild Dayrell wrecked near,
64
Success (bark), 249
Sue Williams (schooner), 250
Suloide (cargo vessel), 257
Sun (schooner), 246
Sunbeam (schooner), 255
Swanburg, Captain Charles, 200
5. Warren Hall (schooner), 252
Swatara (steamer), 83
Swift, Mr., 32
Swiftsure (tanker), 226
Sylvia C. Hall (schooner), 190, 254
Tallahassee (Confederate gunboat), 60,
248
Tamaulipas (tanker), 256
Tappan, Charles B., 32
Templar (bark), 67-68
Tenas (barge), 256
Tennessee (tanker), 256
Teresa (cargo vessel), 256
Terrell, F. G., 153, 164-65, 180-81
Thames (steamer), 66-67, 248
The Josephine (schooner), 191, 254
Thistleroy (steamer), 254
Thomas A. Blount (schooner), 12-13
Thomas A. Goddard (barge), 253
Thomas G. Smith (schooner), 253
Thomas J. Lancaster (schooner), 249
Thomas J. Martin (schooner), 249
Thomas Sinnickson (schooner), 250
Three Friends (schooner), 252
Three Sisters (schooner), 136, 138, 139,
141
Tiger, 5, 244
Tileston, William H., 26
Tillett, Mr., 6
Tillett, Patti, 79, 82
Trenchard, Admiral, 83
Trident (schooner), 245
Twiggs, Major, 35
Tyrrel (brig), 244
Tzenny Chandris (steamer), 223-27, 255
Z7-#5 (German submarine), 238, 256
27-ri7 (German submarine), 204, 207,
208
Z7-ijp (German submarine), 198
17-140 (German submarine), 198-204, 207
27-151 (German submarine), 194-98, 207
27-15* (German submarine), 197, 207,
208
27-J55 (German submarine), 197
27-150" (German submarine), 197
U-352 (German submarine), 238, 257
27-7<?r (German submarine), 257
Uberaba (steamer), 203
Ugland, Mate, 197
Ugland, Mrs., 197
INDEX
Umbfia (steamer), 199
Underwriter (Federal gunboat), 58, 247
USS. New Jersey (battleship), 212, 255
UJSS. Virginia (battleship), 212, 255
Vapor (schooner), 250
Venore (cargo vessel), 233, 255
Venus (blockade runner), 247
Vera Cruz (steamer), 246
Vera Cruz VII (brig), 180-81, 253
Verbonich, Stephen, 231
Vesta (blockade runner), 247
Vesta (schooner), 248
Vetwia (steamer), 254
Vibilia (bark), 251
Victolite (tanker), 255
Victoria (ship), 245
Victoria S. (schooner), 255
Victory (schooner), 244
Victory (schooner), 245
Vindeggen (steamer), 196-97, 254
Vinland (steamer), 195-96, 254
Viola W. Burton (schooner), 250
Virginia-N. C. state line, Emilie wrecked
near, 47; Henry P. Simmons wrecked
near, 120; Clythia wrecked near, 147
Virginia (battleship), 212, 255
Virginia (Confederate ram), 53. See also
Merrimac
Virginia (steamer), 252
Volant (brig), 247
Volunteer (steamer), 248
Von Nostitz, Korvettenkapitan und
Janckendorf, 194-97, 207
Voronsoff, Boris A., 232
Voucher (ship), 244
Waddell, Mr., 22
Walter /. Doyle (schooner), 246
Walter S. Massey (barkentine) , 250
Waltham (brig), 248
Warburton, Cadet Engineer E. T., So, 84
Washington, Pickett sunk at, 53
Wash Woods, Ario Pardee wrecked at,
116; Clythia wrecked near, 147; Wil-
liam H. Macy wrecked at, 191
Wash Woods Lifesaving Station, at
wreck of Clythia, 148
Watts, Crawford, 138, 139
Watts, J. L., 134, 136, 138-40, 146-47,
181
Wave (schooner), 245
Wave (steamer), 250
Weeks, Robert, 138-39
W. E. Button (tanker), 234, 256
Wettfteet (schooner), 253
WeUfieet (tug), 257
Wellington (tug), 243
Wesley M. Oler (schooner), 252
Wessel, Captain Osker, 162-63
West, Gideon, 32
Western Star (schooner), 249
West Notus (cargo vessel), 257
Wetherby (steamer), 251
Whalebone Inlet, Cape ffatteras Light-
skip wrecked at, 16
Wheeler, Colonel J. H., 7
Whidbee, Benjamin F., 108
Whidbee, John B., 108
White, Captain Carleton, 24-26
White, Lewis, 70, 72
White, Paul J., 91, 103
Whitney Long (schooner), 249
Wild Dayrell (blockade runner), 64, 247
William (schooner), 245
William (schooner), 248
William (schooner), 252
William Carlton (ship), 244
William Gibbons (steamer), 16-19, 26, 245
William H. Allison (schooner), 251
Wm. H. Davidson (schooner), 252
William H. Hopkins (schooner), 251
William ff. Kenney (schooner), 250
William H. Kenzal (schooner), 252
William H. Macy (barge), 191, 254
Wm. H. Shubert (schooner), 252
William J. Watson (schooner), 245
William M. Irish (tanker), 214-15
William Muir (brig), 248
William Rockefeller (tanker), 257
Williams, Antonio, 81, 82, 85
Williams, Ramon, 140
Williams, U. B., 185, 189
Williams, Captain W. R., 204-7
Willie H. Child (schooner), 253
Willis, William T., 164
Wilson, Captain, 67, 68
Wilson, George W., 70-72
Wimble Shoals, U-85 sunk near, 238
Wimble Shoals Light Buoy, Mirlo sunk
near, 204
Winship, T. W., 16, 17
Woart, Rev. Dr. J. L., 31, 38
Wolseley (bark), 250
Wormell, Captain W. T., 210, 211
Wright, Lieutenant James M., 76
Wrightsville Beach, Fanny and Jenny
wrecked near, 64; Emily of London
wrecked near, 64
Wustrow (brig), 139-43, 251
Yazoo (steamer), 68
Yeaman, Sir John, 5
Yeomans, Walter M., 182
York (Confederate privateer), 247
York (cargo vessel), 255
York, Captain Joseph H., 190
You, Dominique, 7
Young, Ensign Lutian, vii, 74-85
Young, Captain R. E., 145
YJP. 380 (anti-sub), 257
Zaccheus Sherman (schooner), 254
Zeuchtenberg, Mr., 32
- V v
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c4/?r of sw/p, AMST;
and RIGGING TYPES
SLOOP TWO MAST SCHOONER THREE MAST SCHOONER FOUR MAST SCHOONER
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2.MAINSWST 5.JIGGERMAST
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ACTIVE Q W MMISSIONEO
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4 POVNERS HILL JONES HILL) 1 8. CAPE HATTERAS
5.' CAFFEYS INLET & CREEDS HILL
6.PAULQAMIELSHILL 20.DURANTS
7. KITTY HAWK 21. HAHERAS INLET
8. KILL DEVIL HILLS !522J2!?m.
9. NAGS HEAD , PORTSMOUTH
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1 1. OREGON INLET 25. CAPE LOOKOUT
12. PEA ISLAND 26.FORT MACON
l& NEW INLET 21 BOGUE INLET
14 CHICAMAQOMICO 28. CAPE FEAR
2ft OAK ISLAND /
