Cape Race

by Robert C. Parsons

  Wilson battled slob ice and winds that increased to hurricane force by Wednesday, February 20. By 2: 00 a.m., the ship was taken onto the rocks at Chance Cove Head after it was embedded in slob ice carried toward the shore. Lavinia was pounding heavily and leaking when the captain decided to abandon ship.

  The ship’s boat was put out onto the slob ice, and between pushing the lifeboat over the ice and using planks, the hatch covers, and other boards laid on top of the ice, they reached shore. The crew were unsure of exactly where they were and had to wait for daylight to break. At dawn the captain, mate, and two seamen set out to try to find a settlement.

  They arrived at Broad Cove, where they telegraphed Lavinia’s owners, Baine Johnston, then walked back to the wreck site. While Wilson and his group were in Broad Cove, three of the men whom the captain had left to stand by the wreck became hungry. They decided to go on board and try to get some food. They took a line with them from the shore and had just climbed aboard the stranded Lavinia when the wind picked up. They were isolated on a vessel fast falling to pieces.

  When Wilson arrived back at the site, all were able to pull the men back to the shore. In the cold winds and long hours, these sailors taken from the wreck suffered the most. Wet and cold from the struggle over the ice, they were on an exposed beach from 2: 00 a.m. Wednesday to 4: 00 p.m. Thursday in a fierce blizzard, with no food and only snow to quench their thirst. Fortunately, seas that would have hammered the shoreline were kept down by the slob ice.

  The captain and crew lost all belongings and any extra clothing; many of Wilson’s nautical instruments went down with Lavinia. As told by Wilson, it was likely some of them would have died of exposure on the beach, but for the telegram sent to Baine Johnston from Broad Cove.

  The owners requested the St. John’s harbour tug John Green to go to the scene. By 2: 00 p.m. February 20, all were aboard the tug en route to St. John’s. As the crew passed the scene where their ship had stranded, they saw it had practically broken up from the pounding on the rocks.

  31

  With the Help of God and a Few

  Good Wrecks

  September 1909

  For 37 years, Laurentian crossed and recrossed the Atlantic. In the end, Captain Imrie was obliged to stand by and see his ship breaking apart on the rocks at Cape Race.

  Laurentian, built at Greenock, Scotland, by R. Steele and Company in 1872, was for many years named Polynesian. During the years under the latter name, it was nicknamed “Rolly Poly, ” because it would roll and pitch dramatically in heavy seas. An iron screw bark of 3,983 net tonnage, Laurentian had an overall length of 400 feet. Its work was to deliver freight and passengers from Liverpool and Glasgow to Quebec and the United States. For example, in April 1873, under the name Polynesian, it carried the first group – 49 boys – from the National Children’s Home (a charity that cares for orphans since renamed to Action for Children) in London to Quebec.

  Laurentian left Boston on Friday, September 3, 1909, and steamed through thick fog off Nova Scotia. Captain Imrie reduced speed. Early in the morning of September 6, while making about 13 knots an hour, it struck rocks near Cape Race. On this voyage, Laurentian carried 20 cabin passengers, 30 in steerage, and 40 crew.

  When the steamer slammed into the rocks, it rebounded heavily. The shock threw most of the passengers, who were asleep at the time, out of their berths. They scrambled for the upper decks without stopping to put on outer clothing. Confusion reigned for half an hour before Imrie and his officers succeeded in quieting all, persuading them to go below and dress adequately.

  A stiff northwest wind banged the ship about, and the situation became so serious that, at 7: 00 a.m., orders were given to put the lifeboats overboard. Twenty-five passengers, mostly women and children, were placed in the first boat.

  Unfortunately, the bow tackle collapsed and several people were thrown into the sea. Others, who clung to the half-turned-up boat, were injured when the boat thumped up against the side of the steamer.

  Imrie and crew threw ropes over the side, and within 15 minutes those who had been dipped in the cold Atlantic were pulled to the deck. The passengers still clinging to the lifeboat were taken back to the deck. Neglect in maintaining good operative equipment and lack of lifeboat drills had nearly taken the life of some passengers. However, Divine Providence intervened and all were rescued.

  Eventually, six more lifeboats were put over. Passengers later said many of the seamen of Laurentian did not know how to row or to operate the small craft. The passengers in some lifeboats were obliged to handle the oars themselves.

  High seas constantly sprayed over them, drenching all the shipwrecked people. It was only through constant bailing the lifeboats were kept afloat.

  To add more consternation to the wreck, no one knew exactly where they were – somewhere off the south coast of Newfoundland, but at what location? Consequently, officers on the lifeboats decided not to approach too closely to a beach that could dimly be seen and heard nearby. On either side of what appeared to be a beach were cliffs that rose to about 50 feet.

  About ten o’clock, after the boats had been adrift for two hours, the fog dissipated somewhat as the summer sun warmed the sea and land. A boat from a nearby fishing village, probably from The Drook or Portugal Cove South, spotted them.

  Soon fishing boats came out and towed or piloted Laurentian lifeboats to a small harbour. True to the traditions of Newfoundland people, they took passengers and crew under their wings and offered shelter, food, or extra clothing.

  On Monday night, a steamer left St. John’s to bring the shipwrecked people to that port. Soon after Laurentian struck, the plates amidships gave way and Number 2 and 3 holds and the engine room flooded. Not long after, the hull broke in two near the engine room.

  Captain Imrie was obliged to stand by to witness the destruction of his steamer within a few hours; fortunately, despite an overturned lifeboat, a strange coast, and high seas, there was no loss of life.

  No doubt the salvage was great for the livyers between Cape Race and St. Shotts, as the people of that area were well-accustomed to gifts from the sea: food, clothing, supplies, provisions. Materials, like wood with no immediate use, could build a home or warm one in winter. Strange and useless stuff, say, bales of cotton, might bring a few dollars somewhere, sometime.

  According to the book Secrets of the North Atlantic Islands by American author Edward Rowe Snow, there was a fitting example of this economic mainstay from the days of many great ocean liners and fewer navigational aids. Monsignor Power of St. John’s spoke with Reverend Father Hennebury, whose parish included Trepassey and Cape Race.

  “How did you think your people will get along this coming winter?” the Monsignor asked.

  “Very well, ” the priest answered, “with the help of God and a few good wrecks.”

  32

  Titanic: “Shut up!

  I’m Working Cape Race”

  April 1912

  The shipping news that dominated newspapers around the world in the spring of 1912 was the story of the sinking of the largest ship ever built up to that time. On April 10, 1912, the British White Star Line Titanic set out on its maiden voyage from Southampton, England, to New York. Nearly 305 metres long with 11 decks, it carried over 2,000 people.

  Everyone in the shipping industry knew Titanic was the finest and most luxurious ship that had ever been built; its captain and builders thought it unsinkable. Yet, incredibly, within a week it lay deep beneath the Atlantic Ocean. Shortly before midnight on April 14, the great liner struck ice 153 kilometres south of Cape Race.

  Less than three hours later, Titanic sank with the loss of just over 1,500 lives. The tragedy made world news, and the causes for the disaster were analyzed for years afterward. Many of the people aboard were wealthy American or British citizens or were well-known industrialists and their wives. Some of these perished; others survived.

  On the night the Titanic sank, wireless operator Jack Phillips was s
ending telegraphs to Cape Race for relay to New York City. When Cyril Evans, wireless operator of the SS Californian, sent an iceberg warning to Titanic, only a few miles away, Phillips was annoyed with the loud signal since Californian was so close. Phillips responded, “Shut up, shut up! I’m working Cape Race.”

  This response would become one of the most famous and quoted put-downs in communication and transportation history. The bored Evans soon went to sleep, and Titanic hit an iceberg only 15 minutes later.

  After Titanic’s distress call, Cape Race played a major role in relaying news of the sinking to other ships and land locations. A few hours before the liner struck the berg, the telegraph operator at Cape Race, Walter Gray, received several messages of short remarks to loved ones in the United States, saying that certain passengers were enjoying the trip and would soon be docking in New York.

  The tale of interaction between Cape Race and Titanic just before it sank is best told from the information presented at Cape Race:

  On the night of April 14, 1912, the RMS Titanic passed within range of Cape Race on her ill-fated maiden voyage from Southampton to New York. Early in the evening [John George] Jack Phillips, senior wireless operator on Titanic, made contact with Walter Gray, Officer in Charge of the Cape Race station. The two were well-known to each other, having trained together. At one point the two operators had a friendly conversation, mainly about the magnificence of the Titanic and the great time everyone was having. A large volume of messages were sent from Titanic to Cape Race to be relayed to destinations throughout North America.

  Jack Phillips continued to send messages until just before midnight, but he was aware the ship had struck something at 11: 40. Walter Gray had turned the routine work of receiving messages over to his assistants. He was performing regular check on the stations’ engines and equipment when Goodwin, his second officer, found him to deliver the incredible news that Titanic had struck an iceberg and was calling CQD (Come Quick Danger), the international distress signal. Phillips was also using the newly introduced SOS signal. Gray immediately prepared reports of the situation for the owners of the Titanic, one New York newspaper company and the Canadian Marconi Company in Montreal.

  The world received the news, via the Cape Race Marine Radio, that the greatest ocean liner ever built, the “unsinkable” Titanic, had collided with an iceberg in the North Atlantic and was sinking by the head; women and children were being put in lifeboats.

  The last signal from the Titanic was heard about two a.m. Soon afterwards messages began flooding into the Cape Race stations; they were addressed to Titanic passengers on board the ships known to be proceeding to the scene of the disaster. The senders were no doubt reasoning that passengers might have been picked up by any one of the ships and were sending the same message to the same person on all the ships. Service messages came back from the ships saying non-delivery, addressee not on board.

  Telegraphic law required that once a message was received by a station it had to be forwarded. All the service messages had to be forwarded to the office of origin. Thousands of messages passed through the Cape Race station that night. The operators made so many mistakes that Gray ordered them from the station, keeping only Bob Hunston with him.

  Following orders Gray ignored numerous requests from a variety of sources, including the Governor of Newfoundland, Sir Ralph Champneys Williams. Gray telegraphed Governor Williams to inform him that he had no public information about the Titanic and suggested that he contact the Marconi office in Montreal. This action earned Gray a telegram expressing the displeasure of Governor Williams and stating that the matter would be taken up with Mr. Marconi himself, who was in New York at the time. Confident that he had taken the proper action Gray did not respond and never heard of the matter again.

  In fact Governor Williams sent a telegram to the Marconi International Marine Communication Company Limited in London, saying: “. . . Cape Race declined furnish this Government any information regarding Titanic despite intense public anxiety. My Prime Minister [Sir Edward P. Morris] associates himself with me in making strong representation against such action which cannot meet your approval.”

  The Marconi International Marine Communication Company Limited immediately responded, saying that they regretted the situation and that the operator at Cape Race had not carried out his duty to the governor and people of Newfoundland, possibly because he feared that providing information about the disaster would be a violation of his oath to protect the secrecy of the correspondence which he received and transmitted. They went on to say the Canadian Marconi Company in Montreal, who employed Gray, had been telegraphed and asked to issue suitable instructions to Cape Race.

  Jack Phillips died a hero as one of the victims of Titanic; his body was never found. On that terrible night he worked tirelessly to send wireless messages to other ships to enlist their assistance with the rescue of Titanic’s passengers and crew. While Phillips has borne criticism for his exchange with the wireless operator of Californian, he had delivered similar warning messages earlier that day to Titanic’s Captain Smith. Smith, acting on this advice, posted lookouts.

  As for Walter Gray – born in 1885 at Scalloway, Shetland Islands, off Scotland – he continued to serve at Cape Race for a few more years. He had lived most of his life as a wireless operator on Canada’s east coast, and died in Scalloway in 1970. His biography is The Life Story of an Old Shetlander.

  Thanks to wireless “fixes” from Marconi stations like that at Cape Race, more than 1,000 survivors from Titanic were landed in New York. Learning that inventor Marconi was in the city, they marched en masse to his hotel, cheering him and crying, “We owe you our lives.”

  33

  Wreck of the Ore Carrier

  Glace Bay

  May 1913

  All hope for the salvage of ore carrier Glace Bay was abandoned in May 1913. Glace Bay left Sydney for Bell Island, Newfoundland, on the last day of April and encountered fog a few miles off the southern Avalon Peninsula. Under command of Captain Plumb, it carried a crew of 44; all but ten were Oriental sailors. By the time the ore carrier reached Mistaken Point, near Cape Race, fog was a virtual blanket, forcing Plumb to reduce speed to half.

  Many sea-girt areas along the Atlantic seaboard can claim the dubious distinction of “Graveyard of the Atlantic, ” including Sable Island, Scaterie, and the French islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon, but the southeast Avalon has, in its own right, been known as a graveyard of wrecked and sunken ships. Fog enshrouds the land mass of Cape Race and Mistaken Point for an average of 158 days a year, reducing the effectiveness of lighthouses. An added menace along the coast is a strong tidal current, which tends to carry vessels northward, too close to land.

  Glace Bay first hit the fog on early Thursday morning, May 1. On Friday morning, conditions were worse. The captain, who had not slept for more than 24 hours, was relieved on the bridge by Chief Officer Gibson. At four-thirty Friday afternoon, May 2, Glace Bay struck Mistaken Point. By this time, Glace Bay was creeping along in a fog so thick that it was impossible to see the bow of the ship from the captain’s bridge.

  No one on board seemed to realize the dangerous position or what had occurred, until all heard a crash when the vessel struck land. Through the shroud of fog, the crew could see a high, perpendicular cliff looming before them.

  Impact was so great, a number of the crew were thrown from their bunks and slightly injured. The forward part of Glace Bay was ripped open and sea water rose rapidly in the hold. In less than two hours there were four fathoms of water amidships and an equal amount aft. The two engines were below water; the main steam pipe and other parts had come off their bedding, or were under water.

  Captain Plumb could see no other choice but to save the lives of those on board. The vessel was pounding on the rocks with a heavy sea running. Plumb ordered out three lifeboats. One of the sailors recalled how Glace Bay was abandoned: “Just about this time the celestial members of the crew began to kick up a row as
they wanted to get on the boats first. On reaching the shore we made fires and warmed ourselves. The next day we returned to the ship, got our belongings and rowed to Portugal Cove, a distance of seven miles or perhaps more. There we boarded the SS Baliene and were brought to St. John’s.”

  As for the ore carrier Glace Bay, it remained visible for a short time, its back broken, a battered mass of scrap iron.

  34

  A View of Bob’s Cove, Cape Race

  July 1917

  The capital city of Norway was once called Kristiania (after King Kristian), but in 1925 the name officially changed to Oslo. When a new passenger liner slipped down the ways at Birkenhead, England, in 1913, it had been named Kristianiafjord, after the city Kristiania, with the word “fjord” being equivalent to a long, narrow bay in which the city was located.

  Built for Norwegian American Liners, the ship was 530 feet long, compared to Titanic’s nearly 900 feet. By 1917, Kristianiafjord had made many transatlantic voyages and was considered the flag or “star” liner in the Norwegian American fleet.

  It left New York on July 7, 1917, and stopped at Halifax, one of its regular ports of call. When the steamer departed for the eastward voyage across the Atlantic on July 13, it carried 900 passengers and 250 crew, plus a substantial load of freight destined for Belgium.

  Three passengers were the Norenius children: Nils, aged 14, Sigrid, 13, and Karin, 11. Karin kept a diary or record of their journey from South Africa to Sweden and described the unscheduled stopover in Newfoundland. Karin writes: