by J. F. Collen
“I’m with you, Mr. Entwhistle,” said Obadiah. Armistead, Patrick, Jerome, Zetus, and several other men standing within earshot shouted ‘Aye’. That was support enough for James. He waved his hand in a ‘come on’ motion and the men stormed up the quarterdeck to the pilot’s room, with Thomas Collyer marching behind them.
Nellie looked at the shore as they whizzed by. Our daring speed increases. Tarnation! Papa is up in arms... something is dangerously awry....
She hurried back to the ladies’ parlor to advise her family.
“Now! Mama, I want walk. Now.” Augusta’s little girl, Perpetua, pestered her mother as Nellie walked toward the seated ladies.
Before Nellie reached the group, the girl darted across the parlor and Nellie scurried after her.
“FIRE!” yelled someone from the deck directly above them.
“Fire?” all the ladies shouted in alarm.
“Remain where you are,” said a steward, in a calm voice. He walked through the cabin saying, “I assure you, there is no danger. These fires are easily extinguished.”
Nellie suddenly smelled burning wood. “No!” she shouted. She caught Perpetua and ran back to her family. “We must go to the bow. ‘Tis the safest part of the ship.”
“But the officers are telling us it is safe here. We must remain sheltered here,” said Agnes.
“Zetus just relayed that the barkeeper told the men in the bar to go aft!” cried Anastasia, walking toward them.
Nellie said, “The bow is usually the safest point in a ship. Seems a strange instruction to ‘go aft’.”
Mrs. Entwhistle said, “We must listen to the crew. They’ll not steer us astray.”
Nellie scrunched her face in a look of doubt. She tried to reason with her mother. “How well apprised of the situation is the barkeeper? What can he glean from his post behind the bar? Does he know the full extent of threat to our safety?”
All the women stared at her. Nellie made up her mind. “I, for one, am not so trusting of this racing crew. You heard Papa. He believed this speed was not prudent. I resolve we immediately venture forward and seek his counsel and aid,” Nellie declared.
“Gott im Himmel,” said her mother. “God in heaven, I shall stay here with the ladies. I will instill and maintain calm in this cabin and await further information.”
“I shall stay with Mutter,” said Agnes, resuming her crewelwork.
Nellie’s face took on its stubborn expression. She clamped her mouth shut, picked up her handbag, turned on her heel, and strode out of the lounge toward the bow. Anastasia followed her.
Augusta and her daughter followed on Anastasia’s heels.
Smoke, already billowing out of the interior of the midsection of the ship, made it difficult to walk along the outside gangway. Suddenly Nellie gagged, overpowered by the acrid smell. Is that tar or wood resin? she wondered, trying to remain calm and practical as she picked up Augusta’s daughter to hasten their progress. Anastasia clutched Nellie’s elbow, coughing and sputtering as they passed through the smoke to the bow of the ship.
Nellie picked up her skirt with her free hand and covered her mouth with it, screening her breathing. She felt Augusta’s fingers slip from her arm. Smoke bit at her face, choked her breathing and stung her eyes. Tears streamed down her face.
Nellie’s elbow brushed against the wall as Perpetua squirmed in her arms. The intense heat emanating from the wall singed her sleeve. Nellie surmised the smokestack and fire lay directly behind it. After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality, was only a minute, they burst out of the smoke onto the main deck. Behind them they could see flames leaping into the sky and hear fire crackle.
“Unless they follow us immediately, Mutter and Agnes shall never penetrate that fire,” screamed Anastasia.
To Nellie’s immense relief, Obadiah and Patrick stood at the bow. “Where are the other men?” Nellie asked, as Anastasia shouted, “Where is Zetus?”
Obadiah grabbed Nellie and crushed her in a big bear hug, disregarding Perpetua stuck in between them. “Zetus and your father joined the bucket brigade. The firemen work feverishly to extinguish the flames.”
Anastasia burst into tears.
“Where is Augusta?” asked Nellie.
“With your mother and Agnes?” asked Obadiah.
“No! She was walking right behind us,” said Nellie. She shaded her eyes under her hat and looked around. She could not see Augusta in the black smoke billowing from the passageway. Her eye caught a figure on the ladder climbing from the hurricane deck to the pilot’s house. To her amazement she saw it was her father, high above them, shouting at the pilot as he climbed.
Suddenly, the bow of the ship rose in the air. Nellie felt her feet rising up as she desperately clutched the frightened Perpetua.
The entire dense crowd, gathered on the forward main deck, gulped an audible intake of breath. In that breathless silence, the ship lurched upwards and then suddenly all forward motion stopped.
Screaming, some passengers fell to the deck.
The abrupt stop sent travelers pitching forward. Nellie dropped to her knees and prevented herself from falling on top of Augusta’s little girl.
There was no sound but the crackle of the fire and the hiss of steam. A few men jumped to their feet, climbed up to the rail and looked down.
“The Captain’s run us aground,” shouted Patrick. “Abandon Ship!”
Chapter 7 – Help!
Yonkers, New York, July 1852
Nellie jumped to her feet and in one horrified glance saw the ship’s bow rammed into the shoreline, arrested inches before the railway tracks. Patrick grabbed the rope ladder and pulled people forward, assisting them up over the railing and down to safety. People on the hurricane deck above jumped, dangled from ropes, or scrambled down the bulwarks to reach their deck. Not even pausing to catch their breath, many ran across the planks and leapt over the railing to the shore.
Nellie, still carrying Perpetua, clambered up the bollard and swung the child over the guardrail. Obadiah appeared out of the crowd and steadied her. “Let me jump first. When I shout, throw Perpetua to me. I will catch her, and then you.”
“I shall drop Perpetua, but then should I not search for the others?” Nellie asked, looking over her shoulder where a crewmember was busy throwing luggage overboard.
“Your father will find them.”
“Papa! Is he alright? I saw him hanging on the ladder to the pilothouse just before we struck land,” cried Nellie.
“Right as rain,” said Zetus, suddenly standing next to her. “I saw your father on the hurricane deck already helping people down to the promenade deck.”
Anastasia leapt into his arms and covered him in kisses.
Obadiah said, “I’ll leave the onboard rescues to your father and Jerome’s capable hands. I shall attempt search and rescue from the sea—that wall of fire raging from the midsection makes passage aft to fore impossible.”
“Mayhap I can assist people below deck, on this side of the smokestack and boiler room, and conduct them to the bow,” said Zetus. “Obadiah, you take the ladies ashore and see what can be done from there.”
“That was my plan,” said Obadiah stiffly.
“Of course,” said Nellie.
Obadiah jumped over the railing. In a flash, he landed on all fours in the dirt and quickly regained his feet, holding out his arms to catch Augusta’s little girl. Nellie looked down, suddenly apprehensive. She hesitated. She drew in her breath, and leaned as far over the rail as she could, speaking soothingly to the bewildered Perpetua.
Augusta stumbled to the front of the bow from the smoke-filled gangway just as Nellie aimed and dropped her little godchild. Augusta saw Nellie drop Perpetua and covered her eyes, biting back a scream.
The girl landed safely, right in Obadiah’s arms.
“Praise the Lord,” Nellie shouted.
Augusta rushed to the bollard. She looked down and saw her baby safe in Obadiah’s arms. Without a word
to Nellie, she climbed over the rail and jumped.
Augusta scrambled to her feet on the dirty terrain, and grabbed Perpetua, crying, and covering her little girl in kisses. The smoke from the fire mushroomed, encompassing the shoreline and shrouding them from Nellie’s vision.
The wind blew and Nellie spied Obadiah peering through the greyed atmosphere, scanning the boat rail to find her. She heard him shout, “Ready? Cornelia? Ready?”
Nellie jumped. Obadiah caught her, easing her impact so she alighted on her feet. She stood, blinking smoke from her eyes, in shock.
Several at a time, passengers leapt over the side of the ship and dropped out of the black gloom on to the ground around them. Obadiah assisted as many as he could, sometimes catching a child or a lady, breaking their fall, other times helping people right themselves. Augusta crooned to her crying little girl, rocking her in her arms as they backed out of the line of fire. The flames and smoke gathered strength, darkening more of the shoreline.
“The bucket brigade is making no visible progress,” exclaimed Obadiah.
“I left Mutter and Agnes in the ladies’ cabin! We must go back to rescue them,” shouted Nellie.
“You stay here!” commanded Obadiah. “You attend to the womenfolk. I shall swim to the aft of the ship with Armistead and Nathaniel.”
“The impossibility of that plan is self-evident—neither man can swim!” shouted Nellie, her hands on her hips in indignation. “Unless you can procure a boat....”
Obadiah turned and ran toward the water.
Out of the smoke-darkened beach Anastasia appeared, limping.
“Thank the Lord!” cried Cornelia, grabbing her in a hug. “You are safe!”
“I tried to help Zetus, but my skirts kept catching fire, and my foot fell through a burning deck board. Zetus forced me to jump to safety whilst he continued down the smoke-filled gangway.” Anastasia’s face was grimy with tears and soot, but she was not crying.
“Where are Mutter and Agnes?” they both asked each other.
“I left them in the ladies’ parlor,” they both answered, simultaneously.
“I followed Zetus—in my agitation I determined I must render assistance in this misadventure,” said Anastasia.
“I could never abide riding in the ladies’ saloon! And now it seems it is a dangerous place, even if we were sitting at the window,” said Nellie, dropping her bag on the sandy dirt. “Help Augusta with Perpetua and find somewhere comfortable to perch. I shall locate Mutter and Agnes.”
“Shouldn’t you leave that dangerous task to the men?” asked Anastasia, watching in horror as Nellie unfastened her skirt and loosened her hoop beneath it.
“Thank goodness I wore my new hoop and don’t have to remove six petticoats,” grunted Nellie. In one smooth move, she yanked both her garments and, stepping out of their folds, discarded them on the sandy shore. Augusta and Anastasia gasped, in spite of circumstances, shocked at seeing Nellie in her shirtwaist and drawers.
“I must go. Neither Nathaniel nor Armistead can swim!” Nellie ripped the buttons off her boots in her haste to remove them.
“Nellie don’t,” cried Augusta.
Nellie waded into the water. Within three steps, the waves rose to her waist. Women and children jumped off the side rails of the boat and splashed into the choppy surf. The smoke expanded its pall, engulfing the view as far as the eye could see, fanned by the wind that continued to whip the river and exacerbate the surf. Fire, bellowing out of the midsection of the boat, inched its way along, both forward and aft, devouring everything in its path. Chunks of wood spit out of the ship and became missiles, randomly striking both those struggling to escape the fire and those brave enough to help.
Passengers fortunate enough to be forward on the steamship jumped, and some landed in shallow water. Rescuers assisted anyone languishing in the water to shore. Men, standing in water chest high, pushed boards to passengers who floundered in the deeper water.
The distance to the stern of the boat was not great, but the water was deep and choppy. The shoreline dropped precipitously, so very few who jumped could keep their heads above the dangerously rough surf. Plumes of black smoke obliterated the sun, making it dark and difficult to see. Flying ash and burning wood shot in deadly projectiles into the water. Loose deck chairs and stray baggage randomly helped keep passengers afloat, or perversely knocked unconscious those struggling to survive.
Utter chaos reigned.
Nellie could see faces surrounded by wet, waterlogged clothes, and dangerous debris in the choppy water. Right in front of her, a woman struggled to keep her head above the water.
Suddenly, she disappeared.
Nellie stepped further into the river and the shore fell away from her feet. Treading water, she reached out and grabbed the woman by the hair. In her desperation, the woman clawed at her, causing Nellie to lose her buoyancy. The desperate clutch of the woman pulled Nellie under. Nellie held her breath and dragged the woman, walking her feet along the river bottom until she gained firm footing close enough to shore to stick her nose out of the water. Gasping for breath, she tugged the heavy bundle a few more steps until she could stand with her head above the water. Still struggling to fill her own lungs with air, she pulled the woman’s head up out of the water and dragged her toward shore.
A rescuer standing in knee-deep water spotted her, lifted the woman from Nellie’s grasp, and carried her to shore.
Nellie turned back into the water to see a woman and child jump from the midsection of the ship. As she waded back in, the pair disappeared underwater. Nellie raced toward them. The woman resurfaced for an instant and then was gone, her heavy skirts pulling them back under water. Nellie, treading water furiously, helped push the lady up from the water into a small skiff.
But where was the child?
In a daze of distress, part of her brain recognized the arms and face of Armistead, pulling the woman into the boat. But where is the child? She repeated to herself. She ducked back down and felt around. Her arm hit something hard, sending pain rocketing all the way up her shoulder. She surfaced, grabbed a breath of air, and went under again, forcing herself to open her eyes. The murky, debris filled water made it impossible to see.
Alleluia, here he is!
She swam over and pushed the child up, head above the water, in the direction of the rescue boat. In seconds, Armistead reached into the water and lifted the little boy into the boat.
Praise the Lord, the sparse boy clothing saved him from drowning. If the child had been a girl, her dress would have dragged her below, to her doom.
She rubbed her eyes, once again treading water. Obadiah and the men had somehow commandeered a small boat.... Armistead’s massive arms are the true prescription for saving these women encased in heavy, water soaked material.
Nellie turned back toward the ship, trying to locate the windows of the ladies’ parlor. She forced herself to concentrate, to disregard the intimidating flames exploding from the hurricane deck, and only look at rail level for windows. She dodged a deck chair floating in the water and forced herself to ignore the hysterical screams and shouts all around her. I must locate Mutter and Agnes before it is too late.
One, two, three, Nellie counted windows from the bow. They were seated in the parlor around the sixth window, only two from the end of the saloon. As her legs grew tired from this unaccustomed exercise, her theory finally proved correct. She recognized her mother’s distinct profile and called to her through the open window.
“We were told to go aft!” her mother shouted. “But we cannot climb the stairs, the smoke billowing down is too overpowering.”
“Mutter,” shouted Nellie. “Take off your skirt and jump through that window. You too, Agnes!”
“Indecent,” said Mrs. Entwhistle.
“You are a strong swimmer, but your dress is too heavy. It is the only way to survive. Women are struggling in the water all around me!” said Nellie, treading water to save her life. A passing cushion h
it her in the back of her head. Thank you, Lord, that was not timber! She grabbed it, glad for the temporary respite from trying to keep afloat.
“I’ll wait for the small boats,” said Agnes. “The crew shall rescue us.”
“There are not enough boats! There is no lifeline! There are so many people—but no directions.” Nellie gasped. Mercy, they argue with me? Panicking at the thought of running out of time and breath, she shouted, “The fire is getting closer to the parlor.”
As if to illustrate Nellie’s point, a large burning pole flew down into the water right near her and her heart skipped a beat. “There is no time.”
Mrs. Entwhistle, calm and collected, even in the face of impending disaster, took darning scissors from her handbag and in seconds, cut off her skirt. Agnes sat in protest, arms folded stubbornly across her chest. Suddenly, she shrieked and pointed. Nellie could not see from her position in the water, but Agnes recognized her friend Harriett Kinsley. The poor girl struggled and bobbed in the water. As Agnes watched, the heavy, soaked material of the woman’s skirt enveloped Harriet’s head and her face disappeared under a wave of water.
Without another word, Agnes ripped open all her buttons, pulled off her dress, stepped out of her hoop skirt. Clad only in her bloomers, she climbed through the window and jumped into the river.
The current beat at Nellie and tossed her further out into the river, but she managed to push floating wood to two passengers struggling to keep their heads above the water.
Mrs. Entwhistle stuffed herself through the ladies’ cabin window. She grabbed ahold of the guardrail. A flame burst out of the window behind her, backlighting her figure as she awkwardly pulled herself up on the rail. At last she climbed over it and splashed into the water. Nellie swam to her, dodging more debris.
But Gertrude Entwhistle needed no help. She followed Agnes, swimming to shore with sure, strong strokes.
As Nellie swam beside them, someone grabbed her legs, pulling her under. She turned to try to free her legs. A woman frantically clutched at her, trying to save herself. Nellie was able to seize the woman by the shoulder, put her arm under her neck and swim forward. When I played ‘fireman’s carry’ in the water with Jerome and Patrick at Crawbuckie Beach I never dreamt I would be called upon to use this skill in an existent emergency..