When the brig finally split in two the remaining passengers were swept into the sea, where they thrashed about wildly, trying to grab on to any debris to stay afloat. A large section of the brig’s deck had split from the ship and it saved the lives of seven men and two women. They held onto this piece of wreckage and were washed ashore on the Cohasset beach some time later.[6]The majority of the other passengers were not so lucky. The coastline lay less than a mile from the ill-fated ship, but most of the passengers would never make it onto American soil.
Notes
[1]Boston Irish Reporter: ‘Cohasset Monument Honors Famine Victims’ (October 1996).
Brig St. John of Galway was Cohasset’s Worst Shipwreck, Cohasset Historical Society. John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
Ennistymon Parish Magazine, ‘The Shipwreck of the St. John’. Article compiled from material supplied by Brud Slattery, John Flanagan (both Lahinch), and Frank Flanagan (USA) (1996).
The Galway Mercury: ‘Awful Shipwreck at Minot’s Ledge – Loss of St. John of Galway – About One Hundred Drowned – Men, Women and Children’ (27-10-1849).
[2]Boston Irish Reporter: ‘Cohasset Monument Honors Famine Victims’ (October 1996).
Fraser, Robert, Cohasset Vignettes (1981).
Ennistymon Parish Magazine, ‘The Shipwreck of the St. John’. Article compiled from material supplied by Brud Slattery, John Flanagan (both Lahinch), and Frank Flanagan (USA) (1996).
[3]Boston Irish Reporter: ‘Cohasset Monument Honors Famine Victims’ (October 1996).
Brig St. John of Galway was Cohasset’s Worst Shipwreck, Cohasset Historical Society. John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
Ennistymon Parish Magazine, ‘The Shipwreck of the St. John’. Article compiled from material supplied by Brud Slattery, John Flanagan (both Lahinch), and Frank Flanagan (USA) (1996).
Miscellaneous articles and letters from the John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection: ‘The Wreck of the Brig St. John’.
[4]Boston Irish Reporter: ‘Cohasset Monument Honors Famine Victims’ (October 1996).
Brig St. John of Galway was Cohasset’s Worst Shipwreck, Cohasset Historical Society. John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
Ennistymon Parish Magazine, ‘The Shipwreck of the St. John’. Article compiled from material supplied by Brud Slattery, John Flanagan (both Lahinch), and Frank Flanagan (USA) (1996).
The Boston Irish Echo: Paddy Mulkerrins, ‘More on the Ill-fated Brig, St. John – Remembers the St. John’ (14-4-1984); Bill Loughran, ‘More on the Ill-fated Brig, St. John’ (14-4-1984).
The Galway Vindicator: ‘Awful Shipwreck at Minot’s Ledge – Loss of St. John of Galway – About One Hundred Drowned – Men, Women and Children’ (3-11-1849).
[5]Boston Irish Reporter: ‘Cohasset Monument Honors Famine Victims’ (October 1996).
Ennistymon Parish Magazine, ‘The Shipwreck of the St. John’. Article compiled from material supplied by Brud Slattery, John Flanagan (both Lahinch), and Frank Flanagan (USA) (1996).
Miscellaneous articles and letters from the John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection: Ken Crotty, ‘Sinking of Irish Boat Described’ (3-10-1949) (Newspaper).
[6]Boston Irish Reporter: ‘Cohasset Monument Honors Famine Victims’ (October 1996).
Brig St. John of Galway was Cohasset’s Worst Shipwreck, Cohasset Historical Society. John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
Miscellaneous articles and letters from the John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection: Article by Robert N. Fraser, the Curator of the Cohasset Maritime Museum, (1-1-1979).
The Boston Daily Herald: ‘The Burial of the Victims of the St. John – Melancholy Sight’ (12-10-1849).
The Patriot Ledger: ‘Ceremonies to Honor Irish Shipwreck Victims’ (6-10-1999).
VII – Cohasset Shocked
The people of Cohasset had been watching the disaster unfold from the windows of their homes since dawn. At first all they could do was offer up prayers for those on board the stricken vessel. One such onlooker was nineteen-year-old Elizabeth Lothrop. It was about eight o’clock in the morning when she noticed the two ships about a mile offshore. She informed her father, Captain John Jacob Lothrop Jr, a seafarer. He immediately recognised the danger the ships were in and went to assist the Humane Society volunteer lifeboat crew who were preparing to put to sea. Meanwhile, Elizabeth made her way to beach accompanied by her brothers.
By now a small crowd of locals had gathered on the beach to stare out through the driving rain and wind at the troubled ships. They could see that the Kathleen was closer to the shore and away from the dangerous rocks. Suddenly one of the locals pointed towards a rogue wave of enormous proportions that was rising up from the sea. Within seconds a fifty-foot wall of green water, topped by a froth of angry white foam, was bearing down on the mastless St. John and its terrified human cargo. It crashed down upon the St. John with an angry roar, flinging the vessel against the rocks with such force that it looked like a toy boat in the hands of a reckless child. The St. John’s hull snapped like a twig as twenty-foot waves pounded her relentlessly, each one sweeping more men, women and children out to sea. Some of the Cohasset onlookers were convinced that they could hear the victims’ screams above the howling winds and the raging sea. Many of the locals would normally have shown little concern for Irish immigrants, but they were overcome with emotion as the tragedy unfolded before them.[1]
The volunteer lifeboat crew put to sea at Whitehead near Cohasset Harbour. They rowed as fast as they could against the enormous waves. A second lifeboat also set out and an express message was sent to Boston to enlist the help of the R.B. Forbes, but this vessel was already in use on another mission. Despite a tremendous effort, the second, smaller lifeboat and its seven-man crew were unable to reach the sinking ship and were forced to return to shore. After some forty-five minutes the first lifeboat reached the longboat, which was carrying Captain Oliver and several others, as they pulled for the shore. The lifeboat crew could see that the brig was now almost underwater and, believing that the St. John’s only survivors were in the lifeboat, they turned their attentions towards guiding the Kathleen ashore. It seems that the passengers of the longboat made no attempt to inform the lifeboat crew that there were people still afloat close to the St. John wreck. The lifeboat was capable of carrying twenty people, and it is unknown how many passengers were still afloat at this time. But the lifeboat crew, deafened by the wind and blinded by sheets of rain and sea spray, had no idea that there were still survivors in the water. As the lifeboat steered away from the St. John, the fate of the passengers still desperately clinging to pieces of wreckage was sealed. The crew of the lifeboat rowed in the direction of the Kathleen, which was now sending out distress signals. They reached the troubled ship in good time. The captain, fearing that his ship was not yet out of danger, requested that the lifeboat crew take on board five children. The lifeboat then guided the Kathleen to safety.[2]
Elizabeth Lothrop recorded the following account in her diary a few days after the St. John sank. She first observed the disaster from the window of her home and then she joined her brothers on the beach Elizabeth mentions that a whaling boat was in the vicinity of the St. John when it sank; however, this was not recorded in any other document that was researched for this book:
I arrived home a week ago last Tuesday and I have had such unpleasant weather I have not had an opportunity to look about me. Then last Sunday my eyes were opened in the following manner: About eight o’clock I made a visit to the sea room for something, where I heard an exclamation from one of the boys, which drew my attention on the sea, where I saw two brigs, one anchored in the midst of rocks with the sea breaking upon her from all sides, the other further off and apparently out of danger. I went below and informed father, he looked out and said ‘there is difficulty there’. Soon her masts were cut away. Father had gone to join the lifeboat, my brothers all for the beach, I noticed she drifted in rapidly, and if her anchors could not hold her she would inev
itably soon be on the rocks where the waves were fast forcing her with horrible vengeance, no human power could stay those waves, their aim was destruction, and how forcibly it was carried into execution was soon declared to my horror-stricken vision. In about an hour after her masts were cut away nothing was visible, in a moment she had gone to atoms and the sea had washed over the fragments, freighted with human beings. Soon, portions of the brig could be seen making for the shore now towering up mountains high and then sinking into the depths of hell. Whether there were human beings on board the wreck the thickness of the storm prevented me from determining then.
Soon the multitudes with which the beach was thronged began to wave their hats and halloo, and I understood afterwards that when they observed people on the wreck, it was a motion for a whale boat to come alongside which paid no heed to the demand, which was one of the many inhuman actions of the day, which displayed such perfect indifference to human suffering, such unaccountable hardness of heart that thinks of nothing but self ease and protection. The waving of hats led me to infer there were human beings on board the wreck. I forthwith began to put things in readiness, heat rooms and blankets, make beds, as ours is the nearest house the sufferers would all be brought in for relief.[3]
The passengers aboard the longboat rowed with all their might against the stormy sea, almost capsizing several times. Over an hour later they reached the safety of the beach, where anxious locals swarmed around them and wrapped them in blankets. They were then given shelter at a summer boarding house near Sandy Cove, which was run by the Lothrop and Whittington families. The house had already been prepared for the survivors and contained a plentiful supply of clean sheets, blankets, etc.
A handful of passengers who had managed to hold onto the floating debris of the St. John were washed ashore some time later. Their hands had to be pried away from the planks of timber that had saved their lives. One man found himself carried towards the rocks on board a piece of wreckage that he refused to part with. A rescuer had to jump onto the small piece of debris, fasten a rope around the man and pull him to safety. Upon reaching the beach the man’s face was described as being a ‘deep purple’, induced by a combination of terror and cold. His mouth gaped open and his ‘fixed teeth, and deathly eyes, formed a sight long to be remembered’.
The iron-tight grasp with which the survivors had clung to the wreckage was transferred to the clothing of their rescuers. Even after reaching the shelter and safety of the boarding house many of them found it difficult to let go.
Two of the women who made it ashore were Honora (Mary) Burke and Honora Cullen. Both women had lost their children. One can only imagine the horror and anguish they must have experienced when they realised their children were lost to them forever. It is likely that they also felt a measure of guilt at having survived when their children had not been so lucky. Their heartbroken moans could be heard by the other survivors all through the day and the night that followed.
Doctor Foster from the village of Cohasset tended to the survivors and did his utmost to ensure their comfort. One survivor, referred to only as Mrs Quinlan, and who was not recorded on the passenger list of the St. John, was taken to the Cohasset almshouse, along with Honora (Mary) Burke, for more intensive medical treatment. Honora (Mary) Burke, who was pregnant at the time, later recovered, but it is not known whether her baby survived.
Elizabeth Lothrop was at the shelter to offer her support when the survivors arrived and she later recorded the following entry in her diary:
I had enough to do, with an occasional glance out the window when at last I perceived some miserable looking creatures, that reminded me of drowned rats approaching. They could scarcely walk and were led by men on either side of them, our doors were open to receive them. Such a shuddering shivering my ears never heard before, and such a set of half drowned half naked half frightened creatures my eyes never beheld.
Three men were first brought in and then a lot of women, all Irish. What conclusion to make I did not [know;] if it were not for the exigency of the moment, we should have been overpowered by excitement. We placed them in bed, and used every exertion to restore animation to two of the women whose moans could be heard through the house. These two were senseless when taken from the wreck, towards night six were able to go to the village in a week the worst were conveyed to the poor house.
Shortly after the survivors reached safety, the bodies of the victims began washing up along the beach. The locals covered them with blankets while they waited for the delivery of coffins that were being hastily assembled by local carpenters. Many of the bodies had been badly mutilated by the jagged rocks. However, the body of one of the victims, that of Sally Sweeney, was unscathed; her features were described as looking ‘calm and placid as if she were enjoying a quiet and pleasant slumber’. Some of the bodies had been flung onto the rocks closer to shore and were now being swept away by the retreating sea. A man by the name of Charles Studley made a brave attempt to retrieve one such body, but he nearly drowned in the process and had to be rescued.[4]
Another man, a Mr Holmes, was said to have spent the day tending to the survivors and trying to rescue bodies from the surf.
At some point during the day, while walking along the shoreline, Captain Lothrop spotted a parcel of clothing bobbing up and down in the surf. He waded into the water and retrieved the parcel. Upon opening it, he discovered to his absolute delight an infant alive and well. It was reported some days later that the baby was in perfect health, and had been entrusted into the temporary care of the Gove family from the village.[5]
Urgent messages had been sent to Boston to inform the authorities of the tragic news, and the following day handbills were circulated on the streets proclaiming, ‘Death! One hundred and forty-five lives lost at Cohasset.’ The terrible news spread quickly and stunned everyone, particularly the small Irish communities of Fort Hill and South Cove. The residents of some of these communities had been awaiting the arrival of family members on the St. John. They made further enquiries of the fate of the ship’s passengers, hoping for good news, but fearing the worst. They gathered together at meetings in the homes of friends and neighbours, where it was decided that they would go to Cohasset and offer their assistance.[6]
Notes
[1]Boston Irish Reporter: ‘Cohasset Monument Honors Famine Victims’ (October 1996).
Brig St. John of Galway was Cohasset’s Worst Shipwreck, Cohasset Historical Society. John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
Diary of Elizabeth Lothrop (11-10-1849, 25-12-1849).
Ennistymon Parish Magazine, ‘The Shipwreck of the St. John’. Article compiled from material supplied by Brud Slattery, John Flanagan (both Lahinch), and Frank Flanagan (USA) (1996).
The Galway Vindicator: ‘Awful Shipwreck at Minot’s Ledge – Loss of St. John of Galway. About One Hundred Drowned – Men, Women and Children’ (3-11-1849).
[2]Boston Irish Reporter: ‘Cohasset Monument Honors Famine Victims’ (October 1996).
Brig St. John of Galway was Cohasset’s Worst Shipwreck, Cohasset Historical Society. John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
Comber, H., The Book of Thomas J. Comber and Eliza Comerford (n.d.). John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
Ennistymon Parish Magazine, ‘The Shipwreck of the St. John.’ Article compiled from material supplied by Brud Slattery, John Flanagan (both Lahinch), and Frank Flanagan (USA) (1996).
Miscellaneous articles and letters from the John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection: Article by Robert N. Fraser, the Curator of the Cohasset Maritime Museum (1-1-1979).
The Boston Irish Echo: Paddy Mulkerrins, ‘More on the Ill-fated Brig, St. John – Remembers the St. John’ (14-4-1984); Bill Loughran, ‘More on the Ill-fated brig, St. John,’ (14-4-1984); Paddy Mulkerrins, ‘Survivors found’ (letter to editor); Bill Loughran, ‘The Ill-fated Brig St. John’ (14-1-1984).
[3] Diary of Elizabeth Lothrop (11-10-1849, 25-12-1849).
[4]Boston Irish Reporter: �
��Cohasset Monument Honors Famine Victims’ (October 1996).
Brig St. John of Galway was Cohasset’s Worst Shipwreck, Cohasset Historical Society. John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
Comber, H., The Book of Thomas J. Comber and Eliza Comerford (n.d.). John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
Diary of Elizabeth Lothrop (11-10-1849, 25-12-1849).
Ennistymon Parish Magazine, ‘The Shipwreck of the St. John’. Article compiled from material supplied by Brud Slattery, John Flanagan (both Lahinch), and Frank Flanagan (USA) (1996).
The Boston Sunday Globe: ‘150 Years Later, Honouring the Irish who Died at Sea off Cohasset Coast’ (3-10-1999); ‘Remembering the St. John Disaster of 1849’ (3-10-1999); ‘Those Known to Have Perished’ (3-10-1999).
The Galway Vindicator: ‘Awful Shipwreck at Minot’s Ledge – Loss of St. John of Galway. About One Hundred Drowned – Men, Women and Children’ (3-11-1849).
[5]Boston Irish Reporter: ‘Cohasset Monument Honors Famine Victims’ (October 1996).
Brig St. John of Galway was Cohasset’s Worst Shipwreck, Cohasset Historical Society. John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
Ennistymon Parish Magazine, ‘The Shipwreck of the St. John’. Article compiled from material supplied by Brud Slattery, John Flanagan (both Lahinch), and Frank Flanagan (USA) (1996).
[6]Brig St. John of Galway was Cohasset’s Worst Shipwreck, Cohasset Historical Society. John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection.
The Boston Daily Herald: ‘Brig St. John of Galway, Ireland, Lost October 7, 1849, at Cohasset’; ‘List of Survivors and Drowned’; ‘The Burial of the Victims of the St. John – Melancholy Sight’ (12-10-1849).
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