vicinity of the harbor had been used for the testing grounds of the
submarines of the United States Navy, and this made it necessary for
some large vessel to be stationed here for the purpose of carrying the
supplies and parts that might be needed on the submarine boats, and the
ship selected for this purpose was the large Government cutter Morrill.
This ship, on the afternoon of a day in December, returning from a
short cruise in the bay, tied up at her anchorage in the harbor.
All day the wind had been coming strong from the southeast and blowing
directly into the harbor. As darkness came on the gale steadily
increased, and before midnight had reached hurricane force. It was a
time in the month when the tides were very high. All around the harbor
little power fishing boats were straining at their anchors as the
rising seas swept constantly over them.
Soon the force of the gale, as it drove the rising seas against the
high sides of the Morrill, slowly but surely forced her constantly
nearer the shore of the harbor, dragging her anchors with her as wave
after wave beat against her bow and sides. Suddenly the anchor chains
snapped and the ship began her wild course of destruction across the
harbor. Swinging to the right she crashed into a fishing boat and sent
it to the bottom, then sharply to the left she sent another fishing
boat to destruction, continuing her swinging, zigzag course until she
had passed over or through three more boats. Then, as a big wave drove
with great force at her quarter, she swung around towards the west and
plunged into the centre of a long pier which extended into the harbor.
This offered no appreciable check to her onward course; tearing through
this, scattering timbers and wharf logs in every direction; then on to
a short pier on the shore she smashed into a good sized building on the
head of this wharf which had been used during the summer as a playhouse
and restaurant. Her further progress was then checked but not until she
had landed within a hundred yards of the main street in Provincetown.
For miles along the shore front at Provincetown the beach was littered
with wharf logs and debris by the ton. Cottages were undermined, boats
were wrecked and driven ashore, buildings damaged, cellars flooded, and
the whole harbor front presented a scene of desolation. The loss to
property ran into thousands and thousands of dollars.
In the Congress of the December Session of 1927, a bill was introduced
to obtain money to reimburse the fishermen for the loss of their boats
in the mad voyage of the Morrill.
From 1845 to about 1870 was the period of the highest efficiency in
this type of sailing craft and the full rigged ship sailed upon every
sea and navigated every ocean of the civilized world, and with their
great white sails spread in the sunlight, were pictures of delight upon
every sea.
Shortly after the Civil War steam propelled vessels began to assume
a place in the passenger and freight carrying business of the sea
somewhat to the exclusion of the sailing ship. Slowly but surely they
were forced back and driven from the sea, growing less and less in
numbers until this year of 1928 it is doubtful if there is one vessel
of this type on the Atlantic coast of this country today, and very few
on any ocean of the world. Steam and electric power have driven them
into the discard.
LOSS OF THE MONTCLAIR ON ORLEANS BEACH
The beginning of 1927 was a season which resulted in many disasters
along the North Atlantic coast, and especially on the outer coast of
Cape Cod. It is a matter of record that not since the terrible disaster
of the loss of the steamship Portland in 1898, had so many people gone
to their deaths in the cold waters of the gale-swept sea from Nantucket
to Boston.
On the second day of February the three masted schooner Montclair of
New Jersey, from Bangor for New York, with a cargo of lumber, after
battling a fierce gale for forty-eight hours, drove ashore one-fourth
of a mile from the Orleans Coast Guard Station.
She struck the bar at low water and instead of driving over she held
fast and the waves poured in awful force over the doomed craft’s decks
from stem to stern, tearing away her deck load of laths which were
piled high above her rails and scattering them into the wild sea that
ran racing towards the shore.
Soon her deck houses yielded to the terrific pounding of the
storm-borne waves. The strings that held the laths in bundles were soon
broken and these little strips of wood a quarter of an inch thick,
an inch and a half wide and four feet long, were being smashed into
kindlings, thrown about in the surf until they formed a great stack of
broken stuff, and a short distance away looked like a huge hay stack.
Her crew consisted of a captain and six seamen. Into this mass of
broken and jumbled sticks the vessel’s crew were hurled by the never
ending rush of the driving sea.
Two of the crew were fortunate enough to get hold of a bit of floating
wreckage and were swept clear of the tangled mass of laths and thrown
to the shore where rescuers succeeded in pulling them from the surf.
Not so with the other five members of the crew. The onrushing current
swept them from the deck of the fast breaking up craft and threw
them directly into the surging mass of broken and piled up laths,
practically cutting off nearly every possible chance of escape. Had the
lumber been of boards and timbers the chance for the sailors to reach
shore would have been much better.
The Coast Guard from Nauset and Chatham reached the scene as promptly
as they could, but they were a long distance from the wreck, and the
nature of the cargo made it practically impossible to send a line over
the vessel, and the distance from the shore where the craft lay still
further operated against the rescue of the unfortunate crew.
Sometimes the Government has fits of economy, but the Coast Guard
service is a poor place to begin the practice of it. Some time before
the Coast Guard Station at Orleans had been abandoned, that is, the
crews had been withdrawn and the station locked up.
Another case of the irony of fate that under these conditions this
schooner should be thrown at the very doors of the station that had
been abandoned.
Had this station been manned it is quite probable that every man of the
crew of this craft would have been saved.
After this experience the Government made haste to reopen the Orleans
station and a full crew went on duty December 1st, 1927. This seems to
be another case of locking the stable door after the horse has been
stolen.
[Illustration]
LOSS OF THE REINHART AT RACE POINT
A short time previous to the seventh day of December, 1926, a storm of
considerable violence had prevailed all over the North Atlantic and in
and around the waters of Massachusetts Bay and along the shores of Cape
Cod.
The temperature had been low for several days, and high easterly winds
with frequent flurries of snow and sleet, and the sea was running
riot all over the ocean from Maine to Nantucket Shoals. Under these
conditions, late in the afternoon of the 7th, the three masted schooner
W. H. Reinhart, Capt. Barton, from Bangor for Philadelphia, with a load
of lumber, was driven hard and fast upon the outlying sand bars at Race
Point, about half way between Race Point Coast Guard Station and the
Light.
Several of the crew were more or less frost bitten and exhausted by the
trying conditions with which their vessel had been beaten about in the
storms. The Coast Guard men were promptly on the scene and after a hard
struggle succeeded in taking off from the vessel Capt. Barton and the
seven members of his crew and rushed them to the Coast Guard Station.
The storm continued and before daylight next morning the schooner
showed unmistakable signs of going to pieces, and later the mizzen mast
smashed off and fell into the sea. The ever rising gale swept the big
waves in torrents over the deck of the stranded craft and after a while
tearing much of her cargo of lumber from her decks and scattered it
along the shore, men on the shore were able to secure a considerable
portion of the deck load which had come driving in with the sea.
The owner of the cargo then contracted with E. Hayes Small to salvage
the lumber and deliver it in Provincetown or some nearby point from
which it could be sent to destination.
Mr. Small, manager of the Highland Hotel, ten miles away, kept on his
farm there eight strong horses which had been accustomed to work on the
beaches and sands. The contract provided that he should use whatever
lumber was needed for the construction of a suitable shed or stable in
which his horses could be kept near the wreck. The horses were, with
grain and hay, removed to the beach and three men left there to watch
and care for them. This stable was necessary because of the distance
from the hotel which barred going back and forth every day.
Rapid progress was made in recovering the cargo. Then the stripping
from the vessel of all material of any value began. Rigging, sails,
anchors and material of various kinds were brought ashore at every
favorable opportunity.
[Illustration: WHAT THE SEAS DO AT RACE POINT, CAPE COD]
In the meantime the vessel was being pounded to pieces. The next storm
tore away the mainmast and the hull became more and more battered until
finally the foremast toppled into the sea and only the smashed up hulk
lay scattered on the storm-swept shore.
Mr. Small’s contract also provided that he should have the lumber
with which the temporary stable was built; then it was carted to the
Highlands in North Truro and went into the construction of a fine
cottage which bears the name of “Mayflower.”
This was begun in January, 1927, and completed in June. Fortunately no
lives were lost in this disaster, but it caused many hours of suffering
for those men who comprised the crew of the wreck.
WAS IT MURDER?
Tragedy stalks abroad on the great sea and land always, not only on the
wide stretches of the great ocean but all along the bordering coasts
and inlets.
A big ship sails away into the mists and fogs of the pulsing deep and
never comes back, a fisherman pulls out in his little boat to draw his
nets and drops as completely out of sight as though he had never been.
This little book tells of shipwrecks and disasters and in the same line
we may note the passing of human life on the sea wherever it may be.
Mystery goes hand and hand with passing events on the ever restless
waters.
The following little story is but one of many like it.
Mr. Eugene W. Haines was a much respected, active citizen of the town
of Sandwich, Cape Cod. He had held many important offices in the town
and was a member of the Board of Selectmen and engaged in several lines
of business.
During the summer season he set a string of lobster pots in the bay. He
owned a small power boat which he used in going to and from his lobster
traps.
On the 19th of November, 1927, an hour or more before daylight, as was
his custom, he sailed away in his boat to draw his lobster pots, and
from that hour he was never seen again by those on shore who awaited
his return.
For many days the waters of the bay were unruffled by any strong wind
and the waters were smooth. When he did not return by mid-afternoon
searching parties started out from many points and men patrolled the
coast beaches from Provincetown to Plymouth, and boats dragged the
nearby waters of the bay for many hours. Every foot of the coast
beaches were covered but not a single trace was found of the missing
man or his boat.
There was but one possible clue to this strange situation. A gang of
rum runners had been operating in and about the bay for some time and
some of them had been caught, and Mr. Haines had been instrumental in
bringing some of them to trial and punishment.
The theory has been advanced and quite generally accepted that these
law-breakers, holding a feeling of enmity against Haines, watched his
daily going out in his boat until there came a time in which to get him.
It is generally believed that they overtook his boat, made him a
prisoner, and took the boat in tow and then proceeded out in the sea
miles from land, where they murdered their victim, weighted his body
and dropped it to the bottom of the sea, then weighted and sank the
boat and left no trace.
During the last week in November a man patrolling the shore came upon
two oars and a few things such as are carried in fishing boats which
were identified as having belonged to Haines’ boat. But this does not
clear up the mystery of the lost fishing boat, and the how and where of
the tragedy will ever remain, like many others, unsolved.
On the 20th of December portions of Haines power dory drifted ashore at
Sandwich.
[Illustration]
STRANDING OF THE BARGES
On the afternoon of April 3rd, 1915, the steam tug Mars, belonging to
the Reading Railroad Company, left the harbor of Bangor, Maine, with
three light barges bound to Philadelphia. The barges were the Tunnel
Ridge, Coleraine and Manheim.
[Illustration: DECK HOUSE OF BARGE COLERAINE
Wrecked on Cape Cod. Now Highland Golf Club House]
Soon after clearing the outer roadstead at Bangor, the weather, which
had been fine, became overcast and threatening, but the wind, though
strong, was fair, so that sail was made on the barges and the tow made
good progress. The captain of the tug hoped to pick up the Highland
Light in a short time, but on the morning of the 4th snow began
falling, the wind swung out to the northeast and soon increased to a
gale, and the tow was soon wallowing in a rapidly rising sea. At six
o’clock on the afternoon of the 4th suddenly, right under the bow of
the tug, came great rolling waves, breaking white capped over the
sand bars, only a hundred yards from the tug. The captain immediately
realized that unless his boat could get away from this danger the tug
would be smashed to pieces on the sands of the bar. The only safe thing
to do was to cut away from the barges. This was done; then by all the
power in the tug’s engines he was able to pull away, round Race Point
and anchor in Provincetown Harbor. Hardly had this been accomplished
when the propeller of the tug dropped off. Had this happened when the
tug was attached to the barges or was battling the sea outside of Cape
Cod, it is quite probable the tug would have foundered and her entire
crew lost.
The barges left to the fury of the storm drove rapidly towards the
sand bars and on towards the beach. In this encounter with the sea the
Tunnel Ridge and the Coleraine were so badly smashed that they were not
worth any attempt to float them, and it was only by the prompt action
of the Highland Coast Guard crew that those on the barges were brought
safely to shore.
Capt. George Israel of the Manheim, a man of many experiences in
shipwrecks, believing he could save his vessel, dropped both anchors
off the bow of the barge. This only checked for a short time the onward
drive of the barge. Capt. Israel had mistaken the force of the sea on
the outside of Cape Cod in a storm, and his barge dragging her anchors
was forced nearer and nearer the shore, until he and his crew of four
men had to be brought ashore in the breeches buoy by the Coast Guard
men.
The fury of the gale and the high and rising tide soon forced the
barges well up on the beach, so that on the following morning one might
walk dry footed entirely around them. The Manheim escaped serious
injury. Then began an effort to float her. Soon it was found that the
action of the sea and tide was building up a great breakwater of sand
around the Tunnel Ridge and Coleraine which were stranded one on each
side of the Manheim. There could be no hope of floating the latter
until these hulks were removed. Kerosene was liberally poured over
them and on a dark night a torch was applied, and the burning hulls
lit up the sea and shore for many miles around. When it was decided to
burn the barges, Capt. Israel told E. Hayes Small if he would send a
gang of men on board and remove the deckhouses from the Coleraine he
could have them; he did so, and a few days work landed the houses on
the sands of the beach, where they were cut into three pieces. Some
planks were laid on the slope of the 100 feet high cliff, and with four
horses the three parts were skidded to the top of the cliffs; then on
trucks the parts were drawn to a point on the south side of the town
road leading to Highland Light, there put together and converted to a
three-room cottage. Later on, with a small addition on the south side,
made the club house of the Highland House golf links.
Capt. Israel, with two of his men, lived on the Manheim all winter,
and on the 4th day of April, 1916, just a year to a day from the
time the Manheim stranded, she was floated off and entered the coal
transportation business again.
[Illustration]
THE JOHN TRACY MYSTERY
On the 9th day of January, 1927, the big 2000 ton freighter John Tracy
of the M. & J. Tracy Transportation Line, with some 2500 tons of coal
for Boston, steamed out of the harbor of Philadelphia, but she never
reached her destination, and from that day to this no word has come
to land to tell what befell her. Every effort by search in every port
on the coast, by telephone, by wireless, and the hunt through every
possible avenue for information, failed to obtain the slightest clue
to the missing boat. Another tragedy of the sea had been added to the
long and ever increasing list of sea tragedies of lost ships that have
dropped beneath the sea.
Knowing the usual speed with which these ships move along the coast
and knowing the conditions which prevailed, it is estimated that this
ship would have been in the immediate vicinity of Highland Light on the
night of January 11th, when conditions on the sea were dark and stormy,
with a gale-driven fog over all the sea.
In the early morning of the 10th, the three masted schooner Charles
Whittemore, with a high deck load of piling (logs), bound from Portland
to New York, encountered a strong gale and rough sea when a few miles
east of Highland Light and her entire deck load of these big logs was
swept from her decks. It has been quite generally believed that the
Tracy, steaming up the coast in the darkness and storm, ran directly
into this mass of floating logs, and the fury of the sea drove one of
them through the steamer’s side and sent her to the bottom in a very
few minutes.
On the ship were thirty-one officers and men. No man or message ever
came back to tell how, why and where it happened. No wreckage came to
the surface or the shore, but this is readily explained because of the
fact that this was an iron ship, with very little material that could
be washed from her decks, so the ship carried everything with her when
she went to the bottom of the sea.
WRECK OF THE ROGER DICKY
On the first day of January, 1927, one of those fierce easterly gales
which frequently sweep the North Atlantic coast and the outside of Cape
Cod from Chatham to Boston Light, caught the fishing schooner Roger
Dicky in a dense fog and drove her hard and fast on the outside beach a
short distance beyond the Cahoon’s Hollow Coast Guard Station, within
the boundaries of Wellfleet.
[Illustration: ROGER DICKY
Wrecked on Cape Cod, January 1st, 1927]
She was coming in from the fishing grounds bound to Boston with 20,000
pounds of cod and haddock. The Coast Guardsmen from Cahoon’s Hollow
Station were promptly on hand and brought the entire ship’s crew of
fifteen men safely to shore.
The Dicky was a staunch craft, only a year old, but the terrific seas
soon made a complete wreck of her. She was a very modern boat and quite
up to date in equipment of electric lights, hot and cold water, and the
most valuable piece of her expensive furnishings was a $12,000 electric
engine.
When it was seen that the vessel must speedily break up, preparations
were made to strip from the hull everything of value that could be
moved.
This craft stranded directly in front of a hundred feet high cliff, and
the nearest place at which teams could approach the wreck was more than
two miles at Pamet River Coast Guard Station.
The rigging and sails were quickly taken off, but the great problem
which confronted them was how to land that engine.
At that time Mr. Hayes Small, of the Highland House Hotel, owned eight
powerful horses, and Capt. Pine, of Boston, who had been sent down by
the owners of the craft to take charge, made a contract with Mr. Small
to truck the engine along the beach up through the Pamet River valley
and on to Provincetown.
By lively work on the part of a gang of men the engine was removed from
the vessel to the waiting trucks and four horses pulled it quickly up
the beach and on to destination.
Three days later the Roger Dicky was only a mass of broken timbers and
twisted chains.
Fortunately no lives were lost in this disaster.
THE GETTYSBURG TOW
On the 21st day of June, 1927, the ocean-going tug Gettysburg, of the
Reading Coal Company, towing four empty barges from Portland for Port
Reading, Pennsylvania, was proceeding down the coast outside of Cape
Cod. When the tow had reached a point east of Race Point Light, the
wind, which had been strong from the northwest, began shifting to the
northeast and increasing in violence, but as it was fair and favorable
for running down the coast, the tow kept on instead of pulling up for
Provincetown.
Every moment the wind increased in force, and when the tow was four
miles east of Highland Light the wind had increased to a strong gale
and the sea had become very rough. Suddenly at noon the hawser holding
the tug to the first barge snapped and the four empty barges comprising
the tow were adrift in the raging sea.
Then the tug made strenuous efforts to recover the barges, but the gale
and the sea made this impossible.
All the while the storm and the sea were driving the helpless barges
nearer and nearer to the sea-swept sand bars where they might be torn
to pieces if their keels once touched the bottom. The crews on the
barges, realizing that there was no hope of the tug being able to
recover them, dropped all the anchors with which they were equipped.
This held them, but it was by no means certain that they would be able
to do so if the sea and gale further increased.
Capt. Andrews, of the Highland Coast Guard Station, assembled his
entire crew and they took their life-saving apparatus up to a point
directly opposite the Signal Station of the Weather Bureau on the
Highland Cliffs. The tide was running high and sweeping the entire foot
of the cliffs and it might be a question whether it would be possible
to use the gun and shot line from the shore. So Capt. Andrews placed
part of his crew on the cliffs and the others on the beach, and there
from this point they watched the situation through the night.
Fortunately the gale did not further increase and by mid-forenoon
of the following day the storm had so far moderated that it became
possible for the tug to return to pick up her barges and proceed to
destination.
The moderating of the gale made it possible to avert what might have
been another death-dealing disaster.
[Illustration: CLIFF WHERE THE COAST GUARD WATCHED THE DRIFTING BARGES]
LOSS OF THE ELSIA G. SILVA
The fishing schooner Elsia G. Silva of Gloucester, coming in from a
fishing trip to the South Shoals, off Nantucket, on the afternoon of
February 14th, 1927, encountered a strong wind with fog when nearing
Chatham Bars. This condition grew constantly worse and the storm
increased until it reached gale force, driving a high sea over the
outlying bars, and the thick mist obscured the shore of the entire
coast. The dense fog enveloped everything except the wildly rushing
sea, and before daylight the following morning the little schooner was
borne high upon the crest of the great white-capped waves, only the
next moment to be dashed into the deep hollows of the gale-swept sea as
it rushed onward towards the beach.
Her crew of sixteen men, with much difficulty and danger, clung to the
rigging of the tossing vessel.