Final Voyage

by Eyers, Jonathan

  Meanwhile in the North, when they covered it at all, newspapers turned the disaster into a sensational story of Confederate conspiracies, sabotage and revenge against heroes of the victorious Union. Such theories didn’t go away. As late as 1888 a St Louis man claimed his former business partner (a Confederate agent during the war) made a deathbed confession to having blown up the Sultana by hiding a coal torpedo (an iron casing filled with an explosive powder) amongst the steamship’s coal stores. When shovelled into the furnace the coal torpedo would have caused the boiler to explode. But the claimed confession was not taken seriously.

  Ultimately nobody was held to account for what happened. Legal charges brought against the army officials who allowed the Sultana to become so fatally overcrowded were dropped. The worst punishment given to anyone involved was a military discharge, and even then it was an honourable discharge. Blame for the actual explosion did not fall on Captain Mason or the boilermaker in Vicksburg. The Sultana’s second engineer, one of the most senior crewmembers to have escaped the burning ship, claimed that water levels in the boilers were more than sufficiently high enough. He died of his injuries before he and his testimony could be cross-examined.

  In 1982, archaeologists excavating under a soybean field a couple of miles inland from the banks of the Mississippi on the Arkansas side discovered a large amount of burnt timber some 30ft (9m) below the ground. When they charted the course of the river in 1865 they found the Mississippi had shifted a couple of miles eastward over the intervening 120 years. There wasn’t much left of her or those who went down with her, but they had finally found the last resting place of the SS Sultana.

  3 The Halifax Explosion

  The loss of a ship, the devastation of a city

  By the early twentieth century Halifax, Nova Scotia, had become an Atlantic hub, the gateway for trade between North America and Europe. For American ships the port was the last stop on the way to Britain, and for European ships it was the first stop with a direct link over land to every city in Canada and the United States. The railway lines that ended in California on the western side of the continent ended in Halifax on the eastern side. Halifax’s harbour was known as one of the world’s deepest natural harbours which never froze. Situated in a large protected basin, 5 miles long by 3 miles wide (8km by 5km), and accessible only by an easily defended narrow channel, the harbour made the city important strategically as well as economically.

  Halifax had always proved a useful naval base for the British, but during the 1776–83 War of Independence, due to Britain’s inability to base any of its ships within firing range of American vessels, Halifax became an essential outpost. It was sufficiently far away and more than sufficiently well defended to make a futile target for the new Continental Navy, yet was close enough for the Royal Navy to use as a safe haven to gather, repair and rearm the fleet, as well as to launch fresh attacks from. In the second war between Britain and her former colonies (1812–15) ships that sailed from Halifax took part in the successful invasion of Washington DC, which resulted in the Capitol building being severely damaged and the White House almost completely destroyed.

  As late as 1935 the American military kept a contingency plan updated in case of another war between Britain and the United States. Though the Royal Navy had moved its western Atlantic base of operations to Bermuda after the War of 1812 (and where it remained until the late 1950s), in the event of hostilities breaking out again the American government didn’t want to risk Halifax falling back into British hands. The war plan involved bombing Halifax with poison gas and then occupying the city with troops.

  In both world wars Halifax served as a waypoint for Atlantic convoys. It was particularly crucial during the early years of the Second World War, after France had fallen and Britain fought on alone against Nazi Germany. Merchant vessels bringing vital supplies from the United States were a target for German U-boats, so they went via Halifax. Royal Navy cruisers and destroyers based there accompanied the vulnerable ships the rest of the way, as they had during the First World War when Halifax became a key city for the Allies despite being over 3,000 miles from the frontline.

  By 1917 the population of Halifax had grown to nearly 60,000 because of the city’s growing importance. Nearly all of the 400,000 Canadian troops who travelled to Europe to fight on the Western Front passed through Halifax, and it was soon made a requirement that every neutral ship travelling between Britain and the United States (in both directions) stop at Halifax for inspection prior to continuing. Submarine nets were installed outside the harbour to make the city just as unviable a target for the Germans as it had been for the Americans a century before. But with record traffic coming and going, the harbourmasters struggled to keep control. Collisions in the crowded harbour had become so frequent that perhaps the Halifax Explosion was inevitable.

  Collisions in the crowded harbour had become so frequent that perhaps the Halifax Explosion was inevitable.

  The city had already been touched by another maritime disaster five years before. On 17th April 1912 the Mackay-Bennet, a British-owned ship which repaired undersea telegraphic cables between Europe and the American continent, was sent out to the area where the Titanic sank. There her crew pulled about 300 bodies from the water, including John Jacob Astor’s. Some were already in such a condition that the captain ordered them buried at sea. Between 150 and 200 were brought back to Halifax, and almost all of them were buried in the city’s cemeteries.

  A disaster waiting to happen

  Despite the name, the SS Mont Blanc was actually built in Middlesbrough, which in the latter half of the 19th century was at the heart of northern England’s iron and steel industry. The 3,131-ton freighter was one of more than 600 similar steamers constructed by Teesside’s notable Dixon brothers over a 50 year period. Launched in 1899, the 320ft (98m) steamer was registered in St Nazaire, France, and before the First World War broke out she carried various types of cargo all over the world. After the outbreak of war the French government bought the Mont Blanc. Because she was going to continue crossing the Atlantic, and would be ferrying wartime supplies, two defensive cannons were installed on her decks. They wouldn’t provide much defence against U-boats or enemy warships, but they would ward off small-scale privateers hopeful of finding something valuable to the French government aboard.

  In her holds she carried 200 tons (some 400,000lb) of TNT, 10 tons of guncotton, 35 tons of benzol and 2,000 tons of picric acid.

  In November 1917 the Mont Blanc was chartered to carry a particularly dangerous cargo from New York to France. On the 1st December the Mont Blanc left New York, her captain Aime Le Medec ordering her helmsman to set course for Halifax, where they would join the next convoy to cross the Atlantic. In her holds she carried 200 tons (some 400,000lb) of TNT. She also carried 10 tons of guncotton, a highly flammable propellant that needed to be kept wet because stored dry it was too dangerous. She also carried 35 tons of benzol, which could be used as fuel or in the production of more TNT. But her main cargo consisted of over 2,000 tons of picric acid, an explosive used in artillery shells that was so sensitive to shock or friction that, like guncotton, it was best to store it wet (though 600 tons of it aboard the Mont Blanc was carried dry). It couldn’t be stored in metal containers because the metal surface would encourage picrate salts to develop, and the salts could cause a spontaneous detonation.

  Despite carrying all of this military-grade explosive material, when the Mont Blanc left New York she did not fly the regulation red flag to indicate the nature of her cargo. Le Medec did not want to make his unaccompanied and unprotected vessel a target for any U-boats who might intercept her on the way to Halifax. After all, a French ship carrying explosives was ultimately destined for only one place. The Mont Blanc reached Halifax late at night four days later, but as she entered the protected harbour at 8.40am the next morning she still wasn’t flying the red flag.

  From avoidable to inevitable

  Having refuelled with coal at Halifa
x, the SS Imo was cleared to leave harbour at 7.30am on 6th December. The 430ft (131m) Norwegian steamer had been chartered by the Commission for Relief in Belgium, an American organisation led by future US President Herbert Hoover, to carry a cargo of urgently needed aid to Europe. Her captain, Haakon From, had meant to leave for New York to pick up his cargo the previous evening, but after being delayed at the busy wharf awaiting coal he missed his departure window. When night fell, the submarine nets were raised to prevent any U-boats waiting outside the harbour from surreptitiously slipping in under cover of darkness; a suicide mission for their crews, but one which would invariably result in the destruction of many of the vessels moored at Halifax. The Imo would now have to wait until the next morning to leave.

  The Mont Blanc faced the same problem, but coming from the other direction. Delayed in New York whilst her dangerous cargo was carefully loaded and stored in her hold, she reached Halifax too late in the evening of 5th December and the submarine nets were already up. Aime Le Medec and his crew spent a tense night sitting at anchor outside the harbour, fully aware that, were there actually any submarines in the vicinity, then the Mont Blanc was a sitting duck. As soon as the submarine nets were opened again the next morning at 7am, the harbourmasters gave the Mont Blanc clearance to enter, but Le Medec was delayed one last time by ferries crossing between Halifax and Dartmouth, the town on the opposite side of the channel.

  Though cleared to leave at 7.30am, the Imo was also delayed by traffic for over an hour, by which time Haakon From was eager to get moving. The Imo entered the Narrows, the most restricted stretch of the channel between Halifax and Dartmouth, just after 8.30am, going 7 knots. The speed limit within the harbour was 5 knots, but it’s possible that the harbour pilot instructing From and his helmsman wasn’t fully aware that the ship had picked up speed so rapidly.

  With an empty hold and a narrow beam of 45ft (13.7m) – a length to width ratio unusual for vessels of her size – the Imo cut through the water with ease. Without any cargo weighing her down, she rode high in the water. Her rudder and propeller were not even fully submerged below the waterline, making her more difficult to manoeuvre. However, this was nothing new to the Imo’s helmsman, who was used to the ship often doing her own thing. She had three propellers, two of which revolved to the left, leaving only one which revolved to the right. This meant that when going forwards the Imo always veered to the left, and when going backwards always veered to the right. Her helmsman had to compensate for these idiosyncrasies at all times.

  The Imo cut through the water with ease. Without any cargo weighing her down, she rode high in the water.

  Due to another ship blocking her way, the Imo entered the Narrows on the left hand side, despite harbour regulations insisting all vessels keep to starboard. Once in the channel the Imo’s helmsman may have struggled to veer back to the right. In 1917, not least because of how busy the harbour was, ships were still allowed to travel through the Narrows in both directions at the same time, which made it especially important that vessels entering or departing stayed to the correct side. The 125ft (38m) tug Stella Maris was towing two barges into harbour as Imo started coming out on the wrong side, and the two vessels only narrowly avoided collision. Had the Imo hit the Stella Maris then the Halifax Explosion would probably never have occurred.

  The Mont Blanc, now under the command of experienced harbour pilot Francis Mackey, entered the Narrows about a mile behind the Stella Maris, going 4 knots. When Mackey spotted the Imo at the other end of the channel, and on the wrong side of it, she was still going 7 knots. At their combined speeds, the two steamers would reach each other in only a matter of minutes. Mackey immediately signalled with a blast of the Mont Blanc’s horn that the Imo should change course. The Imo responded with a double blast of her own horn, which signalled that she would not change course.

  Sailors on other ships in the harbour gathered on their decks to watch what they assumed was now an imminent collision.

  With the two ships getting ever closer, Mackey veered to starboard and then cut the Mont Blanc’s engines, hoping the Imo’s pilot and helmsman would get the message and follow suit. Again, the Imo responded with a double blast of her horn to negate the Mont Blanc’s pilot’s instructions. Drawn by this increasingly urgent dialogue between the two vessels’ horns, sailors on other ships in the harbour gathered on their decks to watch what they assumed was now an imminent collision.

  But collision wasn’t inevitable just yet. If he had been piloting any other ship – or rather had this one been carrying any other cargo – Mackey could have run the ship aground in the shallows. However, Mackey had supervised the inspection of the Mont Blanc before she was allowed into harbour, and he knew how volatile her cargo was. The ship might survive the impact, but the shock could set off the explosives in her hold. Re-engaging the Mont Blanc’s engines, Mackey took the only other option left to him – he ordered the helmsman to steer hard to port. Though the Imo was bearing down on the Mont Blanc fast, perhaps there was still time for the Mont Blanc to get out of her way.

  And there probably would have been, had the pilot on the Imo not then made a fateful decision. He had ordered the engines cut, but the Imo had been going so fast that inertia continued to carry her towards the Mont Blanc. When the pilot saw the Mont Blanc start to turn slowly to port, he believed she would never be able to complete the evasive manoeuvre in time. The Imo signalled with three blasts of the horn – she was reversing her engines. The captain and the helmsman of the Imo knew their vessel’s idiosyncratic ways, but neither of them was in charge. As the Imo slowed, her reversing engines swung her bow to the right.

  The Imo struck the Mont Blanc on her starboard side with such force that the Imo’s bow was buried nearly 9ft (2.7m) into the Mont Blanc’s hull.

  Had just the Mont Blanc steered to port, or had just the Imo reversed its engines, then the collision may have been avoided. Instead, both actions combined to make collision inevitable. The Imo struck the Mont Blanc on her starboard side with such force that the Imo’s bow was buried nearly 9ft (2.7m) into the Mont Blanc’s hull.

  Inside the Mont Blanc’s forward hold, drums of benzol were crushed and burst open, spilling the liquid fuel over the other cargo.

  The Halifax Explosion

  The Imo had struck above the waterline, and whilst the Mont Blanc was no longer seaworthy, the damage to her hull was still repairable. In the pilothouse and on deck, the Mont Blanc’s officers and crew could only be grateful that the collision had not detonated the ship’s cargo instantly.

  Then someone on board the Imo – perhaps the pilot, perhaps the captain, neither survived to testify – made the second fateful decision of the morning. As those on the Mont Blanc surveyed the damage to their vessel, the Imo’s engines were restarted. Slowly, she began to reverse. The two interlocked ships started to disengage. In the Mont Blanc’s forward hold, unseen by anyone, metal grinded against metal as the Imo’s bow retracted from the gash it had torn in the Mont Blanc’s hull. It is now believed this generated the sparks that ignited the benzol.

  Once the Imo had withdrawn completely from the Mont Blanc, about ten minutes after the collision, smoke began to pour out of the hole in the Mont Blanc’s side. Mackey and Le Medec knew immediately that the benzol in the hold had caught alight. As a thick black cloud of smoke blanketed the ship and towered into the air above her, both the pilot and the captain ordered everyone on board to evacuate.

  A thick black cloud of smoke blanketed the ship and towered into the air above her.

  They would later claim that they thought the Mont Blanc could explode at any second. Even as they fled they were not hopeful of making it to safety in time. Thus they defended their decision not to make any attempt to fight the fire before they abandoned ship. The fire being oil-based and having already spread as far as it had, they may not have been able to put the fire out anyway. It’s possible that nothing short of scuttling the ship and flooding the hold would have extinguished the flame
s, and doing that quickly was beyond their means. They might only have had time to move the Mont Blanc further away from residential areas. Instead they launched the lifeboats and paddled for the nearest shore, at Dartmouth, as fast as they could.

  The Mont Blanc, meanwhile, drifted in the other direction, toward the Richmond shore. Seeing all the smoke, Horatio Brennan, the captain of the tug Stella Maris, swiftly anchored the two barges he had been towing, turned around and sped back towards the stricken steamer to help. The Stella Maris passed at least one of the Mont Blanc’s lifeboats as she approached. The fleeing crew in the lifeboat tried to shout warnings about the explosive cargo to the tug, but either nobody on board the Stella Maris understood their French, or they chose to ignore the dangers. The Mont Blanc’s lifeboats continued toward Dartmouth. The Stella Maris continued toward the Mont Blanc.

  Crowds of spectators all along the shoreline started to gather and watch.

  A shopkeeper whose Richmond premises faced the harbour saw the burning ship crash into the nearby Pier 6. As flames spread to the wooden pilings he raised the alarm, and within minutes dozens of firemen arrived at the dockside and began to unroll their fire hoses. Meanwhile, crowds of spectators all along the shoreline started to gather and watch. Husbands were on their way to work, wives on their way to the shops, children on their way to school. In houses and on balconies overlooking the harbour more people stopped what they were doing to view the excitement.