December 1897
Captain Olsen broke down at the conclusion of the retelling of these events, and for good reason. In a steamer-ship collision off Cape Race, he had lost his wife. Although the local paper didn’t say so, no doubt the captain must have been in a state of shock seeing his life mate disappear in the mad moll and confusion of the disaster. His own vessel, the 199-ton barquentine Florence, was on the bottom with its cargo and, in addition to his wife, four of his crew had perished.
Captain Henry Olsen, an experienced sailor of 57 years, was interviewed on July 29, 1897, by a reporter from the Boston Globe. Olsen, trembling and nearly in tears, began his tale:
After we loaded 345 ton of soft coal at Sydney, we left on Tuesday, July 20, for St. John’s to deliver our cargo to Walter M. Monroe, who owned the Florence. We met calm seas and light winds until Wednesday evening when a dense fog settled over the ocean and we were unable to obtain an observation of the sun or stars.
We took the usual precautions to guard against collision, blowing the foghorn and keeping a lookout man well forward. At 11: 30 a.m. Saturday, after being nearly three days in fog and standing in all that time in the direction of Cape Race, we thought we were nearing land.
Olsen then ordered his crew to put Florence on a starboard tack and reefed up the sails. They crept along at about two or three knots per hour. But, despite the caution, it was not enough. Florence was in the steamer’s track or route between Europe and North America. At 1: 20 p.m., they heard the shrill blast of a steamer’s whistle. “Before the sound even died away, ” said Olsen, “there loomed up, making directly for us, the huge hull of an ocean steamer.”
Captain Olsen, below when the lookout shouted for him to come on deck, recalled:
On the way out of the cabin I called to my wife and she in turn roused the first mate, Edward Broderick, who had come off watch at noon, and was asleep in his bunk. We had hardly reached deck when the ship, which proved to be the SS Scandinavian, was on us. It struck on the port side and before its headway was stopped went halfway through us.
While the vessels were locked together we were in no immediate danger, except from falling spars which were dropping all about us on the deck. The order to reverse the steamer’s engines which had been given when we were first sighted, soon had the effect of backing the steamer away from us. In about three minutes after it pulled the sharp bow out of the gaping hole in our side, our vessel Florence went down stern first in 90 fathoms of water.
Of our vessel’s crew, cook Morris, seamen Yabsley and Norman were never seen after the steamer struck. They were probably asleep in the forecastle. On impact, bosun Ole Olsen and seaman Robert Essens jumped into the main rigging and were soon followed by mate Broderick. All three swung or jumped on to the steamer’s deck.
Seaman Fry appeared at the side of the Florence just before it went down. His shipmates, now on the deck of the steamer, threw him a rope and he was pulled halfway up the side of the steamer. But he must have relaxed his grip, fell back into the water and was never seen again.
At this point, Captain Olsen, filled with emotion and sorrow, could not continue the tale, and Mate Edward Broderick picked up the thread of the account. Moments after the collision, he had been summoned to the deck. He was clad only in his shirt and trousers:
When I reached Scandinavian’s deck I got a coil of rope and threw it to Captain Olsen, who by that time was standing near the galley on Florence with his arms around his wife. Mrs. Olsen was crying and I heard the captain say that if need be they would die together.
The captain secured the end of the rope and attempted to make it fast about his wife, but the rope was not long enough as the steamer was backing away from the wreck. It was pulled from his hands.
I called to those of the steamer to lower away the lifeboat and Olsen, Essens, and myself took hold and assisted the crew in getting the boat out of the chocks. In the excitement and confusion no one knew just what to do. No knife could be found to cut the lashings of the lifeboat and finally Scandinavian’s ship carpenter chopped the gripes with a hatchet. All this time valuable minutes were lost and, before the lifeboat was into the water, Florence had gone down.
When the vessel took its last plunge, the captain became separated from his wife. They had been both drawn into the vortex caused by the sinking and Mrs. Olsen never appeared above the water. The captain soon came to the surface and swam to a lifebuoy thrown from the steamer. With this he stayed afloat until the lifeboat, manned by the second officer of the steamer, three of its crew and myself, reached him.
He was completely exhausted and inconsolable at the loss of his wife. When it was found there was no hope for the remainder of the crew or the captain’s wife, the steamer’s bow was turned west and it continued on its way to Boston.
Florence’s survivors were scantily clothed when they reached the steamer, but the officers and crew did what they could to supply extra clothes and to make the shipwrecked men comfortable. Captain Olsen spoke with Scandinavian’s Captain Eastaway, claiming that his steamer was going too fast in foggy weather. Eastaway, a veteran shipmaster who hailed from Glasgow, Scotland, acknowledged that, before he reversed his engines, Scandinavian was making about ten knots per hour.
Captain Olsen lost his gold watch, all nautical instruments, a sum of money, and personal effects. The others in the crew saved nothing except the scant clothes they wore. In fact, the captain was without shoes until Eastaway supplied him with a pair.
Mrs. Olsen, 54 years old and a resident of St. John’s, was praised by the surviving crew as “a respectable and kind woman who had often gone to sea with her husband. At the risk of her own life, she waited at the door of the mate’s cabin until she was sure he was awake.” The captain and Mrs. Olsen had no children.
According to subsequent statements from the crew, William Fry, who had been pulled halfway up the steamer’s side, had evidently been severely injured by the wreckage. His clothing had been torn to shreds by debris, and he seemed to be semi-conscious.
When Scandinavian reached Boston’s Mystic Wharf, Florence’s remaining crew went to the British consulate, only to find it closed for the weekend, and had to return to the steamer for temporary accommodations. Eventually, the consulate provided the distressed mariners with transportation to Newfoundland. Florence, built in Brixham, England, in 1875, was valued at about $4,500, and some insurance had been placed on the vessel.
As for the Allan Line steamer Scandinavian, only slightly damaged at the headrails from the impact, it continued business as usual. Neither its captain nor managing business were held accountable for an accident that cost five lives.
23
Bernicia: Surrounded by
Hundreds of Boats
May 1898
The SS Bernicia made a quick run from North Shields to an area just off Newfoundland, when conditions changed. Bound for Montreal, it left England on Tuesday, May 17, 1898, and ran into dense fog off the North American coast on Sunday, May 22. For three days, Captain Howley could not make a sighting to determine his position, nor could he see any sign of land; however, there were numerous icebergs about. He had reduced speed or stopped to figure out just where he was.
Howley well knew of the dangers of icebergs, having encountered one the year before. Bernicia put into St. John’s in January of 1897 with the bow smashed in from contact with ice off Cape Race.
Now, 16 months later, more trouble. At 9: 30 p.m. Wednesday, May 25, Captain Howley, thinking he was well out to sea, had the lead line cast, and it came back as 50 fathoms. This confirmed he was well away from land, and he ordered Bernicia on full speed.
Within 20 minutes, the steamer plowed into the ragged rocks on Gull Island, near Cape Ballard. All crew below deck ran topside as speed and seas forced Bernicia higher on the rocks. Underwater ledges penetrated through the plates from the bow to midship. Displaced plates broke the cylinders of the engines. Had the watertight bulkhead not remained in place, holding against the in
rushing water, the steamer would have sunk within minutes.
Seeing Bernicia was going to sink eventually, Captain Howley and his 20 crew now set out to save their lives. Four boats were lowered over the side in readiness to push away. The crew went below again to get their clothes. The second mate’s boat took the lead and went into Black Cove with the others following. They spent a long and cold night on an exposed beach.
When daylight came, Thursday, they tried to get their boats off shore and back to the wreck. They had heard a steamer off shore blowing its whistle. Unknown to them, it was the SS Coban. Captain Fraser had seen a steamer high up on the rocks at Cape Ballard. He didn’t see any of the ship’s boats around, nor any sign of life on the steamer; thus he assumed the shipwrecked crew had gotten off and were on shore somewhere. In the dense fog and high seas, there was nothing Fraser could do, and Coban steamed on to St. John’s.
Coban arrived in port at 4: 30 a.m., reporting the wreck of a steamer about a half-mile north of Cape Ballard. Fraser was not able to see the name of the vessel, but said the stranded ship was painted grey and had a yellow funnel. Fraser felt it would be impossible to get the wreck pulled off the rocks, and within a few hours it would probably go to pieces.
At noon, the identity of the wreck became clear when Bowring Brothers received a message from Assistant Collector of Customs Mr. Carter at Renews:
SS Bernicia from England to Montreal, in ballast, went ashore at Gull Island, near Cape Ballard last night and is a total wreck. The crew have safely landed. Further particulars will be given later.
By late Thursday evening, Bernicia’s crew went out to the wreck, picking up more clothes and personal belongings and salvaging what they could from their ship. The crew spent two nights on Black Cove Beach, as the nearest residence was five miles away at Broad Cove. They kept themselves warm with huge fires blazing from beach driftwood.
By then, the St. John’s harbour tug D. P. Ingraham had been dispatched to the wreck scene and reached it at 5: 00 p.m. Thursday. Owing to high seas and an onshore tide or current running, the Ingraham spent the night in Renews. On Friday, it picked up the crew and three boats; the fourth had gone adrift from the beach. The report from the tug stated:
The wreck of Bernicia is in a peculiar position for if it had struck 20 yards on either side of where it lodged, the vessel would have gone down immediately. She now lies hung by the middle and swings with every motion of the sea. There is 18 feet of water under the bow, 7 feet amidships and 5 fathoms astern. Its bow is not more than 50 feet from the cliff.
The crew had a narrow escape from death, but thank Heaven the water was smooth. Captain Howley and the chief steward are still at the wreck and will endeavor to sell her and look after the material. Hundreds of boats were on the scene all day yesterday.
The last part of D. P. Ingraham’s dispatch was ominous: “Hundreds of boats were on the scene all day yesterday.” This meant the boats of the “ship wrackers” – those, usually fishermen, who board a ship illegally and take its goods without proper salvage permission. Although much equipment and gear reached the auction block in St. John’s (as seen by the ad, next page) the salvage for fishermen along the southern shore was said to especially lucrative.
The SS Grand Lake visited the wreck site to remove equipment and material from Bernicia. Mate Blacker of Grand Lake went into Black Cove Beach to see if Howley wanted transportation to St. John’s. The captain stated he had wired for Lloyd’s Insurance surveyor to inspect the wreck; thus he could not leave until the surveyor had arrived and completed his work. Blacker confirmed the presence of wrackers: “The place was covered with boats from everywhere along the shore.”
Another strange aspect of the Bernicia loss – a little north of Cape Race – was the composition of the crew. The eight firemen, six sailors, a cook, steward, donkeyman, carpenter, and bosun came from Ireland, Egypt, Russia, Turkey, Germany, Finland, Norway, Italy, India, and yes, one Newfoundlander.
As for the wrackers on the coast, journalist George Harding in Harper’s Monthly Magazine (April 1912) admired their courage and determination to save lives. He said, “There is probably no coast in the world where wrecked seamen are rescued with so great a disregard of danger to the rescuers, more hospitably received, more generously pitied and more heartily sped on their way.”
Sped on their way, so that the livyers can get to wrecks. “Give a Newfoundlander a boat and a boat hook, ” as Harding quoted the words of a wrecked captain at Cape Race, “and he will paddle five miles to sea and strip the hide from a dead steer.”
What the captain said is literally true. A hide in that era and on that coast was of value – it could be converted to carry-all bags, Newfoundland pony harnesses, tapping for shoes, and other uses. Cattle steamers from Montreal frequently passed Cape Race’s doorstep; many of them left their bones. It was said by writer Harding that almost all the cattle (and sheep) on the southern Avalon were descended from forebears that were rescued from the sea during a gale of wind and a shroud of fog.
24
Getting the Bad News from
Cape Ballard to Cape Race
October 1899
When the final reports of the wreck of the steamer Bay State became available to shipping authorities, three southern shore towns were singled out as especially helpful to the shipwreck crew: Cape Broyle, Renews, and Fermeuse.
In October of 1899, the 6,824-ton steamer Bay State, owned by the White Diamond Steamship Company, ran aground at Cape Ballard. While en route from Liverpool to Boston and travelling at top speed through light showers and fog, the ship struck rocks at 5: 30 a.m., October 3. The terrific shock rattled Bay State from stem to stern.
Chief Officer Langshaw had charge of the deck at the time with his watch. Within moments, Captain Walters and the other ship’s officers, suddenly awakened from their slumbers, ran to the bridge. Through the gloom they could barely make out a cliff in front of them. There were no high seas running at the time, otherwise the ship would have quickly gone to pieces.
Bay State had gone well in over the rugged boulders scattered all around in that area and, soon after striking, the ship slid backwards slightly. Thinking he might back the steamer from the nest of rocks, the captain ordered the engines reversed at full speed, but it was not to be. The steam pumps were going full out to keep against the water flooding the forward compartments.
When the crew saw Bay State was held in a viselike grip and was not going to sink while the weather stayed moderate, they remained with the ship. For several hours they set off flares and rockets. The next morning, Tuesday, Third Officer Sewell and 15 crew left in the lifeboat to get assistance from the lightkeepers at Cape Race.
By noon, Bay State’s Number 3 and 4 holds were filled with water. All boats were lowered to the water in case the remaining crew needed a quick evacuation. The barometer was falling and there was every sign of an impending storm. Captain Walters decided it would be best to take to the boats and abandon the vessel. At 2: 00 p.m. Tuesday, all remaining crew donned their lifebelts and took whatever personal effects they could.
Three boats containing 60 crew left Bay State to the rocks of Cape Race. In the distance, about a mile away, they saw the barquentine Flora, Captain Tizzard. In answer to a signal from one of the boats, Flora “backed” its foreyard, and hove to for the boats to come up. Flora took all on board, towing the lifeboats behind.
In the meantime, Officer Sewell had reached Cape Race and wired for assistance. He and others returned to Bay State on Wednesday afternoon, but by then a thick fog had set in with rain and wind. Fearing their small boat would be smashed to pieces if they attempted to board the steamer, they remained on the water all night in the vicinity of their stranded ship. It was a miserable night.
In response to the wire for assistance, the SS Greyhound came by on Thursday morning and brought Sewell and his men to Renews. From Renews they had to walk to Fermeuse to join the SS Diana, which was in port there. Diana steamed to Cape Broyle.
Here Sewell met with his captain and other shipmates, who had been landed at Cape Broyle by Flora.
Walters and his chief officers decided it would be best to return to Cape Ballard and have a look at Bay State. It was too rough for anyone to go aboard, for by now heavy combers rolled over the forward part of the wreck. With a heavy heart, the captain said farewell to his fine ship and returned to Cape Broyle, where the SS Diana waited.
On October 6, 1899, the entire crew of 74, with 11 cattlemen who were passengers and were returning to Boston, were brought to St. John’s. When the crew landed at Queen’s Wharf in St. John’s, Custom’s Officer Watts examined their luggage, and then they were free to talk to city newspaper reporters.
In an account of the wreck in the St. John’s papers, it was stated that Captain Walters and his crew:
. . . spoke in highest praise of the generous conduct of Captain Tizzard of the Flora and are loud in their praise of the people of Cape Broyle who did their best to make them comfortable. The boat’s crew who arrived at Renews and Fermeuse also thoroughly appreciate the goodness of the people in these places.
Some of Bay State’s officers claimed that if they had gotten assistance soon enough, the ship might have been freed from its perch on Cape Ballard rocks. It hung onto a rock with the bow and stern swinging and remained that way for a day. During that time, not a drop of water touched the engines or the after hold.
Walters, part owner of Bay State, had been going to sea for 35 years in the Atlantic trade, and the loss of his ship was especially distressful to him. At no time, however, did he explain why his ship was off course to such a degree that it ended up a wreck on the southern tip of Newfoundland’s Avalon Peninsula.
Cape Race Page 10