My father and mother were Swedish missionaries to the Zulu people of South Africa and as mission children, my brother and sister and I were sent back to Sweden for schooling. We left Durban, South Africa, May 3, 1917, on the Swedish steamer Baltic and made several stops along the route at South America, Cuba and New Orleans. At New Orleans, we travelled by train to New York and boarded the liner Kristianiafjord . . .
We hugged the coast up to Halifax, steaming into the harbour to pick up passengers. When we left Halifax a few days later, all the rats jumped overboard – a bad sign, according to the sailors. Sigrid and I shared a cabin with two missionary ladies. During the day, we could be on deck but at nightfall everyone had to be inside with no lights on deck at all.
The great liner was travelling with “lights out” at night, a safeguard against enemy submarines patrolling the Atlantic. But it was not a hostile sub that caused the demise of Kristianiafjord. In the foggy night of July 14, 1917, a strong inset of tide did its dirty work as Kristianiafjord passed near Cape Race. At 4: 00 a.m. the steamer struck the rocks off Bob’s Cove, located a little west of Cape Race. The wireless station at Cape Race received the distress signal, as did other vessels in the area, including the SS Stanley and the Newfoundland ship Sable Island.
Before the two rescue ships arrived on the scene, all passengers were put aboard lifeboats and were taken into Bob’s Cove, which at that time was inhabited by a few fishermen and their families.
When the SS Sable Island, en route to St. John’s, came by, it took Kristianiafjord’s women and children to St. John’s. The first news release from St. John’s on the wreck read:
“Norwegian steamer Kristianiafjord ashore seven miles west of Cape Race. Master reports landing passengers and requesting assistance. Canadian steamer Stanley standing by and sending steamers Portia and Petrel.”
No doubt the American, Canadian, and European passengers landed on shore got a good look at Bob’s Cove, Newfoundland, on that July 15 day. It’s a small dent in a rugged coast, exposed to all wind and sea, and has a shoreline nearly devoid of vegetation, except for bog and marshland stretching for miles. There is no record if the visitors climbed the 70-foot cliff of shale and boulders to the top to view the shrub and stunted trees. Karin Norenius wrote:
We were awakened by a terrific BANG, with sirens screaming and pandemonium all round – our boat had run aground into rocks. The two ladies in our room left and I had to battle to get Sigrid out of bed. We dressed quickly. We had had the lifeboat drill so we knew where to go and got into our lifeboat just as they were lowering it.
Many women had not dressed properly and were clad in just nighties; some had babies and children with them. There was a small fishing village nearby where we all landed. It was cold and miserable and all of us were suffering with shock. My sister and I were glad to see our brother safely on land.
We spent a cold miserable day on land, but late afternoon a small steamer passed and was commandeered to take as many women and children as possible to St. John’s.
The ship Karin refers to was the SS Sable Island. When the tug Petrel arrived on the scene on July 17, it made a feeble attempt to tow Kristianiafjord off the rocks, but authorities soon requested larger salvage tugs. When tugs arrived from Halifax, divers surveyed the bottom and reported, “The vessel is resting on an even bottom and not straining much. Some damage was found under Number 2 and 4 holds, but the engine room, stokehold, and rest of hull apparently undamaged.”
By July 20-21, much cargo had been removed. Divers had closed the holes. The work of salving cargo fell to small Newfoundland schooners and steamers. Stevedore T. Godden of St. John’s had 20 experienced men and supervised the transfer of the cargo to steamers Tr embly and Ranger. In time even the copper and lead cargo was taken off, but the powerful Halifax tugs needed more than time. Even with two weeks and calm seas at their disposal, it was a vain attempt. Kristianiafjord would never be refloated. The great Norwegian American liner, now declared a total loss, was sold by public auction. The Honourable Michael Patrick Cashin bought the hulk for $2,600.
Many well-to-do people travelled on Kristianiafjord, since the ship, considered a “neutral flag” vessel, was relatively safe from enemy attack. Norway was a neutral country in World War I and its ships were not targets for enemy U-boats. But in the end, of course, it was not an enemy torpedo that finished the liner, but the coastal rocks of Newfoundland.
When the stranded passengers arrived in St. John’s, various charitable service organizations swung into action. Many women and children were lodged in the Seaman’s Institute on Water Street. First-class passengers stayed at the Princess Rink, once located behind present-day Fairmont Hotel, the Grenfell Hall, and British Hall.
However, Karin Norenius recalled staying elsewhere:
We arrived in the morning and were herded into a huge building where the residents of St. John’s offered their help to us all. Two ladies heard that there were three Norenius children in the group. Something clicked in their minds that they had met a pastor Norenius in England who was studying English before going to South Africa as a missionary years ago. Could these be his children? And we were.
The ladies took Sigrid and me to their home and Nils stayed with the Mayor and his family. The two ladies were very good to us which helped us get over the shock.
Unfortunately, Karin did not record the names of the family who gave them lodging in St. John’s. Her brother stayed in the home of St. John’s Mayor William Gilbert Gosling (whose term of mayorship was 1914-1921).
Personal items belonging to the passengers taken from the wreck were brought to St. John’s by the steamer Prospero and tug Petrel. Two thousand suitcases and trunks were landed at Shea’s and Crosbie’s waterfront premises, where Kristianiafjord’s passengers (many of whom could speak no English) lined up to claim their belongings.
On August 5, the Swedish American vessel Stockholm, which had been in Halifax, steamed into St. John’s to carry the shipwrecked people to Halifax and from there another steamer took them to Gothenburg, Sweden. Before leaving, they thanked the government of Newfoundland, the people of St. John’s, and the residents of the southern shore for the kind treatment given them in Newfoundland. Karin writes:
During the week in St. John’s, most of the passengers’ luggage was rescued. After a week there a passenger steamer came to pick us all up and took us back to Halifax. The beautiful Swedish steamer Drottingholm was there ready for us to embark and the crew of the wrecked Kristianiafjord were happy to get back to Sweden earlier than they thought. The passengers were also grateful to get aboard and settled down for a safe trip home.
We passed along Newfoundland safely this time and went up further north then turning towards the Norwegian coast down to Gothenburg. There we were met by endless small and big boats with all kinds of flags flying and hooters going and people waving.
35
East of the Light: The SS Florizel
February 1918
Reporters pounced almost regularly on the circumstances and causes of many calamities at Cape Race; the wreckages, deaths, and disasters made good copy and exciting stories for the reading public (not to mention increased circulation). One such article appeared in the Halifax Herald, boldly headlined “Why Canada Keeps Lights Burning on the Newfoundland Coast.” The main light featured was that of Cape Race.
Cape Race was, it said, “the most dreaded spot to mariners on the coast of North America . . .” as it lay directly in the route of shipping to and from Europe to North America. Many a fine steamer has come to grief in that area during the great fogs that almost continuously prevail there.
The Herald maintained that, “Every vessel passing that light within a radius of 1,000 miles was taxed two shillings and sixpence toward the expense of maintenance.” Certainly, if this were accurate, no shipmaster begrudged paying the toll.
The light on Cape Race, one of the most powerful of its kind on the coast of North America, can be seen, according to
the Halifax Herald, in fair weather for a distance of 90 miles. Attached thereto is a fog alarm station, a radio marine station, and a signal station. For many years the light and fog alarm stations have been in charge of a family named Myrick. Son succeeds father and sturdy Myricks grow up there (despite the fog and cold and hardship).
In conclusion, the esteemed paper said, “Readers of newspapers never fail to see mention of Cape Race for vessels are continuously going to their doom there.” Around that time of the commentary on Cape Race, one of the most memorable and most tragic wrecks, the SS Florizel, happened to the east of the light.
Loss of the Florizel
The SS Florizel, built for Bowring Brothers in 1909 by C. O’Connell and Company Limited, was the flagship of Bowring’s shipping business. It operated on a “triangular” run from New York, Newfoundland, and Halifax.
One of the first ships in the world specifically designed to navigate in ice, Florizel was built of steel and was equipped with a submarine signalling apparatus. Its wireless system was valued at $700,000. The ship was 305 feet long, 30 feet deep, and was 1,980 tons net.
Like most Newfoundland steamers in its day, it was used in the seal hunt for many years and as a transport ship during World War I. Although altered each spring to go to the sealing “front, ” essentially Florizel was built to carry passengers. As one of the Bowring’s Red Cross Line of vessels, the ship was quite luxurious, with first-class accommodation for 145 and second-class accommodation for 36.
The SS Florizel began its last and tragic voyage on February 23, 1918, with William Martin, a skilled navigator and experienced mariner as its captain. En route from St. John’s to Halifax and New York, it carried 60 crew members and 78 passengers, among them many prominent businessmen from St. John’s.
Within a few hours after Florizel left St. John’s, the weather changed for the worse, making navigation very difficult. After nine hours steaming southward, the captain felt sure they had cleared Cape Race and changed course westward; it proved to be a fatal decision.
Despite the many hours of travelling, they had only gone about 50 miles and were still short of Cape Race. Martin mistook the white of the breakers for ice and, shortly after changing course, crashed full speed upon rocks northeast of Cappahayden.
The steamer was ripped apart quickly, and many of the passengers were drowned or killed within minutes. Most of those who survived had squeezed into the Marconi Shack – the radio room of the ship.
Surviving crew sent out distress signals and, by the evening of February 24, the first of the rescue ships had arrived. In the flying spray, high waves, and storm conditions, no rescuer could see any sign of life on board the wreck until the storm calmed. Then a weak light could be seen moving. There were people still alive aboard.
Forty-four of 138 survived the disaster, and the last of them were rescued 27 hours after the ship had struck the reef.
Captain Martin survived the wreck and was held responsible for the disaster. He was severely criticized, especially for his failure to take soundings. The marine court suspended his certificate for 21 months but allowed him a chief mate’s certificate for the time of suspension. However, during the Marine Inquiry, it became known through the testimony of Third Officer Philip Jackman that the cause of the disaster had not been entirely due to the carelessness of Martin.
Chief Engineer J. V. Reader, in an effort to lengthen the time it would take them to arrive at Halifax, had reduced the engine revolutions, even though the captain had ordered the ship to proceed at full speed. By delaying their arrival time at Halifax, Reader hoped he and the rest of the crew would be forced to spend the night there, enabling him to spend time with his family.
After the wreck of Florizel, the Evening Te legram demanded an inquiry “into the criminal negligence which for 50 years and more has left this hideous coastline without proper and sufficient aids to navigation.” The Florizel shipwreck inquiry recommended a Royal Commission to consider whether additional lights, fog signals, and rescue services were needed.
A Royal Commission, appointed in 1920, recommended that consideration be given to anchoring a light ship beyond shoal water that reached seven miles southwest from Cape St. Mary’s, that Cape Pine light be changed from a fixed to a flashing light like Cape Race’s, and that the power of the light at Bear Cove Head (Fermeuse) should be increased. Only modest improvements, however, followed the Florizel inquiry and the Royal Commission.
36
Death on the Mast
September 1922
John Myrick retired as Cape Race lightkeeper in 1922 after 24 years of service. In January of 1921, the year before he retired, a Halifax newspaper reporter went to Cape Race to write a profile of the facility and to interview Myrick. Quite a number of older people in Halifax recalled the disappearance of the two steamers George Washington and George Cromwell in 1877 somewhere off the southeastern tip of the Avalon Peninsula. Wanting to know more of those disasters and other calamities at Cape Race, the reporter talked to John Myrick.
The light at Cape Race is very powerful, says the Halifax Herald. It has been seen at sea from a distance of nearly 200 miles. The light and the fog alarm station there, as well as the Marconi wireless signal station, are all maintained by the government of Canada and are under the Nova Scotia agency of the marine and fisheries. Thus, while not in Canadian territory [Newfoundland’s becoming a province of Canada was still 28 years in the future], it is regarded as a Canadian light for it points the way to all shipping coming from the east to enter the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
The Herald newsman says:
While at Cape Race recently I talked to the keeper of that famous light in order to learn some particulars concerning the fate of the two Georges. John Myrick went to the cape when a boy of 16. He was a young man when those two fine ships were wrecked and remembered the occasion very well. They were the first wrecks he remembers and they were lost about the same time. (The details of both are found in Chapter 9).
Keeper Myrick is a hale and hearty son of the sea, ever faithful to the trust reposed in him. With his family he lives contentedly on that bleak and wind-swept cape. In his hands are the keeping of the many lives and the fate of great ships.
But the Cape Race Light is never dimmed save by the fogs which at times descend on that coast. Then the fog alarm, powerful and true, sends its warning to the mariner groping his way to port and to safety.
John Myrick finished his gripping tale of George Washington, saying, in relation to the second George, “It was never clearly established where the George Cromwell was lost.” To conclude his tale of vessels lost in the vicinity of Cape Race, Myrick (although his recollection of the exact day of some disasters was off slightly) remembered these:
Steamer Herder of Hamburg, lost at Long Beach, four miles west of the cape on October 9, 1882. Crew and passengers safe.
Allan line steamer Hanoverian lost at Portugal Cove, Trepassey Bay, August 31, 1885. Crew and passengers saved.
Steamer Cyril lost at Pigeon Cove, Trepassey Bay, in August 1906. Crew saved.
Allan liner Laurentian, lost near Mistaken Point, Trepassey Bay, on September 6, 1909. Passengers and crew saved; ship a total loss.
Steamer Normandy, lost on the south shore of Newfoundland on May 7, 1910. Crew saved, but ship sank in deep water. (Actually wrecked at Tors Cove, approximately 40 kilometres south of St. John’s.)
Death on the Aerial Mast
Not all calamities at the Cape Race facility came via the sea. A case in point was the unfortunate accident to John Lake, a former resident of Fortune on the Burin Peninsula. Lake was hired as a rigger, or one who works from heights. On September 29, 1922, he was employed at the Cape Race Station.
J. J. (James Joseph) Collins, Superintendent of the Marconi Wireless Telegraph Company at the cape, described what happened. Lake, 22 years old and unmarried, had recently been hired by the Canadian government to paint poles and towers at Cape Race. Along with Robert Lake, John came by the S
S Silvia and went to work.
On that fateful day, he was painting one of the aerial masts and was about 60 feet above the ground, as shown on page 190. A rope attached to his bosun’s chair snapped and he fell to the ground. Cape Race contacted St. John’s to ask the harbour tug Hugh D. to come to bring John Lake, who was unconscious, to hospital. But at six o’clock in the evening, before the tug reached the cape, he passed away.
37
Drift Ice off Cape Race
April 1923
Arctic ice rarely drifts as far south and west as Fortune Bay and the South Coast; however, the spring of 1923 was an exception. From late February to April, great pans of ice filled the Atlantic south of the Avalon Peninsula and into Fortune Bay. Coastal steamers were unable to get through the ice jam to land mail or food, and some communities ran short of the necessities of life.
In April 1923, four Newfoundland schooners went to the bottom as a result of encounters with the extreme ice conditions: the A. B. Barteau, Reta M. Cluett, Bohemia, and the Gladys M. Hollett, the latter three from the South Coast.
Bohemia had been found icebound and in a sinking condition by the American schooner Admiral Drake off Green Bank. Owned by Samuel Harris of Grand Bank, Bohemia was set afire and abandoned on March 18. Its crew were later transferred to the SS Arawa en route to Nova Scotia.
While travelling from Louisbourg to St. John’s in the spring of 1923, the steamship Sable I, came upon the icebound schooner Gladys M. Hollett 36 miles southwest of Cape Race. Owned in Burin by W. and T. Hollett, Gladys M. Hollett slid off the ways from McKay’s yards at Shelburne. At 122 feet overall length and 203 tons, this tern was one of the first to be equipped with gasoline-driven deck engines.
Cape Race Page 14