sudden bound of joyous anticipation it was Ned. Every day of all those
long weeks Ned had scored the mental calculation, “one day nearer home.”
From his thoughts of home he was startled by a human cry.
Again he heard it coming faintly across the smooth water.
Rushing to where his uncle sat, tiller in hand, for the Captain would
allow no one but himself to guide the Polly out of that “pesky hole,”
Ned sang out, “Did you hear that, uncle? Somebody is crying for help
out there toward that rock.”
“Oh, nonsense, boy,” replied Capt. Rider, as he gave the tiller a sharp
pull to bring the Polly up a point, “guess you was asleep and had a
dream.”
“No, uncle, listen; there it is again, ’tis a baby’s cry.”
“Bless my skin, boy, I b’lieve yer right; my hearin’ ain’t extra good,
but I do hear su’thin off thar to wind’ard. But what in the world could
a baby be doin’ out thar? I don’t see no vessel nor no boat. But we
won’t leave no mortal round in this hole to drown.”
“Here, George,” he shouted, “you and Nick get the boat over and see if
ye can find whar that distressed creeter is. And Ned, you kin go along
to help. I’ll put the Polly’s sheets to wind and jog around so you
won’t lose us.”
The tide-ruffled waters splashed and sparkled as the oars, in the hands
of the hardy fishermen, rose and fell in unison.
“There, I hear it again,” exclaimed Ned from his seat at the stern of
the boat; “it comes right from that rock.”
The oars sent the boat straight toward the huge rock, on whose sides
the tide lapped with a soft rhythmic “swish, swish,” gaining slowly,
surely. Only a few feet of its slippery top remained exposed, and the
water was creeping up inch by inch until soon only a swirl and a fleck
of foam would mark the place of the hidden reef.
There on the shelving side of the rock, with the tide lapping her tiny
feet, chilled from long exposure and crying bitterly, sat a little girl.
Rough but willing hands soon had the little waif safely in the boat.
When they reached the side of the Polly Uncle Peter stood ready to
receive the strange charge.
“Well, by hooky, boys,” he exclaimed as he received from Ned’s arms the
little dripping form. “How could she ’ve got on to that rock?”
“There’s only one way I can ’count for it,” said George Barnes. “Some
devil wanted to get rid of her, and left her thar to drown.”
“Well, I’d like to catch the chap that did it; either he or I’d go
overboard,” said Ben Smith.
Ned gazed wonderingly into the face of the little child, who now,
somewhat reassured, lay smiling in the bunk where the crew had placed
her after removing the water-soaked clothing.
“Well, boys,” said Capt. Peter after all that was possible had been
done for the little charge, “we don’t know whar this baby girl came
from, and we ain’t goin’ to try hard to find out; we ain’t very handy
or well fixed for girl babies aboard the Polly, but, by hooky, we’re a
nuff site more human than the critters that left that tot out dar on
the rock to be killed piecemeal.”
The summer winds blew gently on the Polly; homeward she sped. One
bright morning the anchor dropped and the codder was home again in the
smooth waters of Provincetown Harbor.
Little Ruth (so the crew of the Polly had named her) had fared well
on the voyage, and when the boat had been rowed ashore and the fisher
wives and maidens had come down to welcome home their loved ones, great
was their astonishment at what had come home with the Polly’s fishermen.
Granny Rider, with her motherly face against little Ruth’s cheek, as
she received the charge from Capt. Peter, almost forgot to kiss Ned, so
interested was she in the wondrous tale. Over and over the story was
told, and soon everybody knew of the baby girl that had come in the
Polly.
Ruth was the joy of Capt. Peter and Granny Rider’s home. Ned was never
so happy as when playing with the little sea waif in Granny’s kitchen.
No one ever learned her history; no one apparently ever cared to do so.
Those who go down to the sea in ships learn to leave many mysteries
unsolved.
Summer passed into winter, winter into spring, and again the Polly
sailed. Ned kissed his little playmate good-by and turned to the duties
of the voyage. Years passed, the boy became a man, Capt. Peter turned
the command of the Polly to Ned. Little Ruth had grown to womanhood.
They no longer played together as children, but looked forward more
eagerly to the homecoming as the years went by. One day in Granny’s
cozy home two happy hearts were joined, and on the sea of life their
little bark sailed out on the summer sea of years.
A FEW OF THE MANY DEEP SEA MYSTERIES
The great sea is ever full of unsolved mysteries, ships sail out into
the wide ocean and are seen and heard from no more. And the many human
lives on board are blotted out as completely as though they had never
been.
* * * * *
We have space for but few instances, and most of the following ships
when starting out on their last voyages passed out by Cape Cod.
* * * * *
The full rigged ship Brynhilda, with a full cargo and deck load of
lumber, sailed away on September 27, 1914. After many adventures in
Russian waters, neither ship nor crew were seen again.
* * * * *
Then the ship Avon pushed out on the deep blue sea and was never seen
or heard from again.
* * * * *
In 1914 the Balmaha faded away in the ocean’s mist.
* * * * *
In the following year the Pass of Balmaha, carrying a cargo of cotton
valued at a million dollars, joined the fleet of mystery ships.
* * * * *
In 1917 the great Navy Collier Cyclops, with a complement of 300
officers and men, disappeared in the mists and the darkness of the ever
restless sea and another strange mystery was added to the long and ever
increasing list of unsolved tragedies.
THE MONTE TABER
On September 14th, 1896, the Italian Bark Monte Taber struck on Peaked
Hill Bars during a furious northeast gale. The disaster was attended
by loss of five men, whose deaths were attended by circumstances of
mysterious and almost romantic interest. It was learned that there
had been three suicides on board the vessel, and the fate of the
other members of the crew could not be definitely determined; they
disappeared in the storm and in the breaking up of the doomed craft.
[Illustration: THE MONTE TABER--AFTER THE STORM HAS DONE ITS WORK]
The bark hailed from Genoa, and carried a crew of twelve men, including
the officers and two boys. She had a cargo of salt from Trapan, Island
of Sicily, for Boston.
The craft had been struck by a hurricane on September 9th, and when off
Cape Cod on the night of the 13th, in endeavoring to make Provincetown
Harbor, struck the dreaded Peaked Hill Bars. She was discovered by
patrolman Silvey, of the Peaked Hill Station. The night was dark as ink
and the sea was running high, and smashing over the bars with terrific
force, and the bark soon gave evidence of speedy destruction.
Owing to the darkness and the storm the coast guard crew could not
locate the wreck; there was nothing that could be seen to shoot at and
nothing to pull to, even if a boat could have been launched, which was
impossible. It is believed that the Captain was so humiliated by the
loss of his vessel, that he fell into a frenzy of despair and took his
own life, and some of the officers and crew followed his example.
Six of the crew managed to reach the shore on top of the cabin which
had broken away from the ship and were pulled from the surf by the Life
Savers. One of the boys said he swam ashore. An investigation conducted
by the Italian government, disclosed that the Captain did commit
suicide.
It has been said, whether true or not, that it is a tradition among
Italians that when a master of a vessel is so unfortunate as to lose
the craft he is in duty bound to do away with himself, as he could
never again expect to command a vessel.
LOSS OF THE OAKLAND
One of those sudden storms which so often develop and sweep down
along the Cape Cod Coast without warning in the fall of the year,
broke over the Cape on the night of the 12th of October, 1913. The
tug Paoli, towing three coal laden barges, which left Vineyard Haven
the day before, was caught in the rush of the gale between Wellfleet
and Highland Light. Hoping to pull through and round Race Point for
an anchorage, the tug struggled on through the ever increasing gale;
when opposite Highland Light, with the monstrous seas sweeping over
the barges every moment, the strain on the towing hawser proved too
great and it snapped away from the tug when the tow was two miles from
shore. The barges became separated and were drifting helplessly towards
the outlying sand bars, over which a wild sea was breaking. Two of the
barges were able to get up some sail, drove before the gale down the
coast and escaped; not so with the Oakland, which was the third barge
in the tow. Those on board finding that the barge was being forced
rapidly towards the sand bars, and those on the barge hoping that the
gale might moderate, dropped both anchors and brought the vessel to a
stop one mile from shore and just clear of the bar.
The tug was then able to get near enough to the barge to take off
the three members of her crew, but the Captain and mate refused to
leave the craft. As the day of the 13th advanced the gale and the sea
steadily increased and the barge strained heavily at her anchors.
All through the day until late in the afternoon we watched the barge
pitching and rolling in the great seas that swept her, expecting every
moment to see her drag to the bar and be pounded to pieces. We knew
that a leak must sooner or later pour water into her hold. Soon we saw
smoke rising from her pumping engine which indicated that water was
coming in, and those on board were making an effort to prevent the
flooding of the hold, but we could see that they would be unable to
overcome the leak and the water was slowly but surely sinking the craft.
This barge carried a small dory on the deck house. Pretty soon we saw
the captain and mate unlash the boat and take it down on deck; then
they went into the cabin and came out each with a suit case; these
they placed in the dory; then they lowered the boat into the water
and we realized that they were preparing to take to this frail skiff
and abandon the barge. Heavens, we knew that they might as well jump
into the sea at once rather than prolong the agony, that boat had no
more chance to reach the shore than the men had to swim there. Soon
they cut the rope that held the boat to the sinking craft, seized
the oars and pulled around the stern of the barge; for about fifteen
minutes they were able to keep the boat heading the sea, then came
a great overpowering wave that swept the boat to its crest and sent
it a hundred feet away, hurling the men into the rushing waves and
turning the boat bottom up, for a brief moment the heads of the men
appeared above the wild sea, then dropped from sight. Their bodies were
recovered next day far down the beach from where the sea swallowed them
up.
[Illustration: ALL THAT REMAINED OF THE OAKLAND]
When the sun rose next morning all that was visible protruding above
the still raging sea was one lone mast above the sunken hull, mute
evidence of another tragedy of the sea.
In a few days the broken hull was washed up on the beach and the cargo
was scattered along the shore.
LOSS OF THE CASTAGNIA
For a day or two previous to February 17th, 1914, the weather had been
extremely bad along the New England coast with very cold northeast
and northwest winds with snow squalls. On the afternoon of the 16th a
deeply laden bark was seen by the Cahoons Hollow Coast Station acting
very strangely. She would first sail up the coast for quite a distance
and then tack and sail down the coast. This was repeated several times,
and it seemed to the Life Savers that the officers of the bark had
completely lost their bearings. The vessel finally drove away in the
mists of the night under short sail. At daylight next morning the Coast
Guard patrol discovered the vessel hard and fast on the outlying sand
bar.
It was bitterly cold and the tattered sail of the vessel slatted
against the broken spars; ice covered her decks and hung in great
bunches to her broken ropes. Her crew had been driven to the rigging by
the raging seas which constantly swept over her, and the Coast Guard
could see a number of human figures clinging desperately to the rigging.
Then the Coast Guard apparatus was placed in position and a shot sent
over the vessel; three times the shot and line sped over the craft, but
the men in the rigging made no effort to secure the line; then Capt.
Tobin decided that an effort must be made to launch the life boat.
But under the terrible conditions which prevailed it was an undertaking
fraught with much danger.
But the boat was launched and the Life Savers pulled away. Soon they
reached the side of the ship and called to the men in the rigging to
come down. Eight of them after much effort and assisted by the Coast
Guard crew were finally gotten into the boat. Capt. Tobin of the Coast
Guard crew said to one of the rescued sailors, “Why don’t those other
men come down?” “They cannot,” was the reply. “They are dead, frozen
to death.” The boat returning to shore was pretty well overloaded with
crew and rescued, and as the bow touched the beach was overturned,
but all of the men were thrown clear of the boat except Capt. Tobin,
who was caught between the steering oar and the stern of the boat and
considerably injured. The Coast Guard station was more than two miles
away from the scene of the disaster but the Marconi Wireless station
was only a mile away and to this house the half frozen sailors were
hurried as fast as their almost helpless condition would permit. A
physician was summoned from Wellfleet and the condition of the men made
as comfortable as possible, then hurried by the next train to Boston
hospitals. All of them lost fingers or toes.
The three dead sailors, from necessity, were left lashed to the rigging
where they had died, until the next day, when the bodies were brought
to shore and buried in the town cemetery. In a few days the hull of the
ship lay a battered wreck on the shore.
[Illustration: HIGHLAND CLIFFS AND SIGNAL STATION
The author’s home from which the passing ships are sighted and reported
by telegraph or telephone to Boston and the Newspapers]
THOMAS W. LAWSON
THE LARGEST SCHOONER
An interesting vessel of this class was the seven masted schooner,
Thomas W. Lawson, built in 1902 by the Fore River Ship and Engine
Company of Quincy, Mass. She was of steel, 368 feet long, 50 feet beam,
34½ feet depth of hold and of 10,000 tons displacement, thus being the
largest vessel of this class ever constructed for sailing only.
She was built for the Coastwise Transportation Company, at a cost of
about $150,000.
Mr. Lawson was a considerable contributor in the cost of her
construction and the vessel was named for him.
She sailed from Delaware Breakwater on the 2nd of December, 1907, with
a cargo of coal for some port in France. She carried a complement of a
crew of 19 officers and men. And in a bad storm was driven on the rocks
a short distance from France on Friday, December 13, 1907. There 17 men
of the ship’s company perished. The vessel was a total wreck. No other
attempt was ever made to construct a vessel of this type. She was too
large to operate in the coastwise trade. She was a bad sea boat and not
satisfactory as an ocean going proposition. The loss of her crew was
not on our coast but unusual conditions surrounding the craft make it
of moment to note her loss in this connection.
LOSS OF THE SHIP ASIA
This was one of the worst wrecks that had occurred on the New England
coast in many years.
This ship was on a voyage from Manila for Boston with a cargo of East
India goods. Approaching the Cape Cod coast she encountered a terrific
storm and struck one of the outlying shoals off Nantucket.
The furious sea which drove over her decks in torrents soon began the
work of destruction. When she struck the shoal on Sunday morning there
was a furious northeast gale tearing the sea into a fearful condition.
The next day the ship gave every indication that she must soon be a
broken and dismantled wreck.
Besides the crew of twenty-three men, Capt. Dakin’s wife and little
daughter were on board.
When the ship began to pound to pieces the mate and such members of the
crew as had not already been swept overboard did all in their power to
assist Capt. Dakin in shielding his wife and daughter from being swept
away by the seas which broke in fury over the vessel. Before the ship
broke up the mate lashed the captain’s daughter and himself to a large
piece of wreckage, hoping in that way to reach the shore.
Capt. Dakin and his wife were swept away before they could fasten
themselves to any part of the wreckage. Of the whole number on board
the ill-fated craft but three were saved. These were sailors who clung
to a piece of the ship, and after drifting about in Vineyard Sound for
several days were finally picked up, and placed on the lightship, more
dead than alive.
The bodies of the mate with his arms locked about the captain’s
daughter, and both securely lashed to a piece of wreckage, were picked
up a few days later far down the coast. Both had been frozen to death.
The bodies of the captain and his wife were never recovered, and only a
few bodies of the crew were ever found.
BARGES WADENA AND FITZPATRICK
On March 17th, 1902, after some very bad weather, two coal carrying
barges lay stranded on the shoals off Monomoy Point, and the terrible
disaster which followed was the worst in some ways that ever happened
on this wreck strewn shore. Seven members of the Monomoy Coast Guard
and five men whom they went to rescue perished in the awful sea that
swept over the shoals and rips.
Following is the story by Captain Ellis of the Monomoy Station, the
only surviving member of the crew that started to the rescue.
On Tuesday, March 17th, about 1 o’clock in the morning, the schooner
rigged barges Wadena and Fitzpatrick, which had broken away from tug
Peter Smith, lay stranded on the southern point of Monomoy. The barges
remained on the shoals without lightening their cargoes. On the night
of the 16th the weather became threatening, and all except five of the
persons on the Wadena, who had been engaged in handling the cargo, were
taken ashore by the tug.
Shortly before 8 o’clock on the morning of the 17th one of the
patrolmen from our station reported that the Wadena appeared to be all
right, but later Capt. Eldredge, then keeper of the station, received
word from Hyannis asking if there was anything wrong on the barge. Up
to this time no one at the station had any knowledge of there being any
person on the barge, supposing that the tug had taken all off the night
before.
Then Capt. Eldredge walked down to the end of the point where he could
better see the situation. Arriving there he found that the barge was
flying signals for help. He at once telephoned me, as I was No. 1, at
the station, telling me to launch the surf boat from the inside of the
point, and with the crew pull down to the end, about two and a half
miles from the station. There we took on Capt. Eldredge and I gave him
the steering oar.
The wind was fresh from the southeast and a heavy sea running. None
of us were of the opinion that the barge was in any danger, as she
was lying easy, but Capt. Eldredge decided that it was better to pull
around the Point and try to reach the barge. At certain places on the
shoals the sea was especially rough, and some water was shipped on
the way out to the vessel, but without much trouble we succeeded in
bringing the surf boat under the lee of the barge just abaft the fore
rigging, the only place where it was practical to go alongside.
As soon as we got up to the barge a line was quickly thrown aboard and
made fast by those on the craft. The persons on board were much excited
and wanted to be taken right off. Capt. Eldredge immediately directed
them to come down into the boat.
The sea was breaking heavily around the stern of the barge, and there
was little room for operations in the smooth water, and the rail of the
barge was 12 or 14 feet above the surf boat. Four of the five men on
board lowered themselves over the side of the barge one at a time into
the surf boat without mishap by means of the rope, but the fifth man,
who was a heavy person, when half way down lost his grip on the rope
and dropped with a crash onto the middle thwart of the boat. All five
being finally landed in the boat, the captain placed two of them in the
bow, two aft and one in the middle, and told them to sit still and keep
close down to the bottom of the boat. In order to get away from the
barge quickly the painter was cut and the surf boat was shoved off. In
order to clear the line of breakers that extended from the stern of the
barge so that we could lay a good course for the shore, a part of the
surfmen were backing hard on the port oars, while the others gave way
with full powers on the starboard side. Before we could get the boat
turned around a big wave struck us with fearful force and quite a lot
of water poured in over the rail of the surfboat. Capt. Eldredge stood
in the stern of the boat with the steering oar giving his orders and
the surfmen stuck to their posts.
As soon as the water came into the boat, the rescued men from the barge
became panic stricken, threw their arms about the necks of the surf men
so that none of us could use our oars; the seas, one after another,
struck us, and the boat, filling with water, turned bottom up, throwing
all of us into the raging sea. The seas kept striking us after the boat
upset and we were soon in among the heaviest breakers. Twice we righted
the boat, but before it could be gotten into position it was again
capsized.
After righting the boat twice our strength was fast leaving us and we
all knew that we could not survive long without assistance.
The five men that we had taken off the barge were the first to be
swept off the overturned boat and perish before our eyes; they did not
regain hold of the boat after the first capsize.
All of us clung to the boat, giving each other all the encouragement
we could. Surfman Chase was the first one of our crew to go, then
Nickerson and Small were swept to their death. Capt. Eldredge, surfmen
Kendrick, Foye, Rogers and myself still managed to hold onto the boat;
every sea that struck the boat nearly smothered us. Kendrick was the
next to drop into the sea, and Foye soon followed. Capt. Eldredge,
Rogers and myself expected that we too would share their fate. Rogers
was clinging to the boat amidships, while Capt. Eldredge and myself
were holding near the stern. The captain called to me to help him
get a better hold and I managed to pull him up on the bottom of the
boat, when a sea struck us and washed us both off. I managed to regain
my hold on the bottom of the boat; looking around I saw the captain
clinging to the mast and sail which had washed out of the boat. When I
last saw our brave captain he was drifting away holding on to the spar
and sail.
My strength was fast going and when poor Rogers asked me to help him
get farther up on the boat the only thing I could do was to tell him to
try to hold on as we were drifting nearer shore. But he had lost his
strength, however, and failing to get a better hold he dropped beneath
the waves.
I was now alone on the bottom of the boat, and seeing that the center
board had slipped part way out, I managed to get hold of it, and
holding on with one hand managed with the other to get off my oil
clothes, under coat, vest and boots. By that time the overturned boat
had drifted down over the shoals near the barge Fitzpatrick, and when I
sighted the craft I waved my hand as a signal for help. I soon saw the
man on the barge fling a dory over the side, but could see nothing more
after that of the dory owing to the mist and spray arising from the
water. Finally it came in sight with a man rowing towards me, and it
was brave Capt. Elmer Mayo. He pulled me into the boat. I was so used
up I could not speak.
To land in that small boat through that surf was a perilous
undertaking, but Mayo was a skillful boatman and we landed safely.
If those five men taken off the barge had kept their heads and done as
we told them all hands would have landed in safety.
STORY OF THE SLOOP TRUMBULL
Between Highland and Race Point Lighthouses, on Cape Cod, stretches a
long line of treacherous, dangerous sand bars. Situated midway between
these points on the shore is the Coast Guard Building known as the
Peaked Hill Bars Station. From this station the surfmen have rescued
many lives and have seen many sailors go down to death in the raging
sea.