Coffin Ship

by William Henry

  VIII – Recovery and Burial

  On Tuesday morning members of Boston’s Irish community began arriving in Cohasset. It was only then that the full enormity of the tragedy was revealed to them. For many their worst fears were well founded and their loved ones were dead. Local people were already combing the beaches looking for bodies and the devastated families joined in the search. Fragments of the wreckage of the St. John, that included hats, bonnets, dresses, scarves and jackets, were spread across the shoreline. Breakers were still crashing angrily against the rocks and washing over a small section of the St. John that still remained afloat. A reporter from the Boston Daily Herald arrived in Cohasset during the day and gave the following brief account of what he witnessed in the wake of the tragedy:

  One of our reporters visited the scene of the lament-able catastrophe yesterday, and states that the sight was heart-rending in the extreme. The shore, for about a mile in length, was strewed with portions of the wreck. Some of the bodies were shockingly mutilated. The forehead of one the woman [sic] was horribly mangled; the flesh from the right leg of another was torn off from above the knee to the feet; all the others were more or less bruised, with the exception of one young girl, recognised as Sally Sweeny [sic], whose person exhibited no injuries.[1]

  Henry David Thoreau, an American writer, and his friend Ellery Channing, a poet, arrived in Boston in the aftermath of the tragedy. They had planned to meet the Provincetown steamer, which should have docked the previous day, but had not arrived because of the storm. Thoreau noticed a handbill announcing the terrible news and he and his companion decided to go to Cohasset to investigate the reports. He later documented the tragic event in his book, Cape Cod.

  He recorded that along the way he met many Irish people travelling to Cohasset to identify the bodies and help tend to the survivors. They were also on their way to the funerals, the first of which was supposed to take place that afternoon. It appeared that all of the people travelling to Cohasset that morning were bound for the beach. People were also flocking in from the neighbouring county. Hundreds of people arrived on foot or in wagons. Among them were sportsmen still dressed in hunting jackets, carrying guns and game bags, and flanked by dogs. On the way to the beach, Thoreau and Channing passed Cohasset General Cemetery where they noted that a hole as deep and large as a cellar had been freshly dug. A winding, rocky road led to the shore, along which several hay-riggings and farm wagons were returning, each carrying three large coffins. The owners of the wagons were acting as temporary undertakers. Nearer the shore horses and carriages were secured to the fences. People dotted the beach for a mile or so in either direction, searching for bodies and examining the washed-up fragments of the wreck.[2]

  Thoreau and Channing arrived in Cohasset two days after the storm yet the waves were still breaking violently on the rocks. Thoreau observed a collection of coffins lying on a green hillside a short distance from the water. A small crowd had gathered around these boxes. About twenty-seven or twenty-eight bodies had been recovered. Items of clothing that could only be described as rags were still attached to the bodies, but they were now being covered with white sheets and placed in the coffins. Irish relatives were trying to lift the lids to identify the bodies of their friends and family.

  Some of the men involved in the grim task of preparing the bodies for burial were rapidly nailing down the coffin lids. According to Thoreau, these men carried out their work with a ‘sober dispatch of business’. In some cases two or more children, or a parent and child, were placed in the same coffin. Once a body had been identified, the name was recorded in red chalk on the lid of the coffin.

  At this point the bodies of Peggy Mullen and her sister’s child had been recovered and had been placed in the same coffin. Peggy’s sister, who had travelled to America on an earlier ship, had been anxiously awaiting the arrival of her baby and her sister when news of the tragedy spread through the streets of Boston. With great apprehension she made her way along the rocky road that led to Cohasset beach. She spent some time walking along the shore, seeking information on her child or sister, but no one could tell her anything. Finally, her heart beating wildly in her chest, she made her way towards the bodies. There, to her horror, she discovered her sister still alive but lying in a coffin with her arms wrapped around her little baby girl. The broken-hearted mother died three days later, adding one more victim to the tragedy’s death toll.

  When the bodies had all been assigned a coffin, they were placed on the wagons to await removal. Henry Thoreau gave the following graphic description of the harrowing scenes he witnessed:

  I saw many marble feet and matted heads as the cloths were raised, and one livid, swollen, and mangled body of a drowned girl – who probably had intended to go out to service in some American family – to which some rags still adhered, with a string, half concealed by the flesh, about its swollen neck; the coiled-up wreck of human a hulk, gashed by the rocks or fishes, so that the bone and muscle were exposed, but quite bloodless – merely red and white – with wide-open and staring eyes, yet lustreless, dead-lights; or like the cabin windows of a stranded vessel, filled with sand.[3]

  Thoreau and Channing walked further along the rocky shore. In the first cove they came upon they found what appeared to be fragments of the brig strewn about the place and mixed up with sand, seaweed and large quantities of feathers. The wreckage was in such bad condition that at first Thoreau believed the timbers to belong to an old wreck that had most likely lain there for many years. Thoreau asked a nearby sailor if this was indeed the wreckage of the St. John. The sailor replied that it was. Thoreau then asked him where the ship had struck the rocks and the sailor pointed to Grampus Rock which lay about a mile from shore.

  ‘You can see a part of her now sticking up; it looks like a small boat,’ the sailor added.

  Thoreau then enquired if the bodies he had seen earlier represented all of the victims.

  ‘Not a quarter of them,’ replied the sailor.

  ‘Where are the rest?’

  ‘Most of them right underneath that piece you see.’

  There was a sufficient amount of debris scattered along the shore to make people think that this re-presented the whole of the wreckage but it would take several days for it to be uncovered and removed in its entirety.

  Among the crowd gathered on the shore were local men, busy gathering clumps of seaweed that had washed ashore during the storm. They were moving this valuable manure beyond the reach of the tide so that it could later be loaded onto carts and taken away for use on their land. Thoreau recorded that although they were often obliged to separate fragments of clothing from the seaweed, and might at any moment have exposed a body, they still seemed unwilling to let this seaweed go to waste. [4]

  As Thoreau and his companion continued along the beach, poignant indicators of the extent of the tragedy caught their attention: a man’s clothing had snagged on some rocks, and a woman’s scarf, a gown and a straw bonnet had washed ashore. They also encountered one of the St. John’s masts which had been broken into several pieces. In stark contrast to this scene, about a mile to the south the masts of the Kathleen could be seen, now safely docked in Cohasset harbour.

  In another rocky cove along the water’s edge lay an intact section of one side of the St. John’s hull. It was almost completely hidden away behind rocks, some of which were about twenty feet high. The wreckage was perhaps forty feet long by fourteen feet wide. The powerful waves had left their mark on this section of the hull; even the largest pieces of timbers and iron braces hadn’t managed to withstand their destructive power. Thoreau noted that some parts of the timber were so rotten that he could almost pierce them with his umbrella. He was later surprised to learn that some of the survivors had come ashore clinging to this decayed section of the ship.[5]

  A little further along the beach Thoreau and his companion came across a number of men crowded around the first mate of the St. John, who was giving his account of the tragedy. He spoke
of the captain as the master of the ship and seemed a little excited as he gave his account of the disaster. Obviously speaking of the jolly-boat, he was saying that when they jumped into the boat it filled with water which caused the ‘painter’ to break and sink. Another sailor stood on a rock close by, he was chewing tobacco and gazing out at the sea. He turned and called to his companion, saying, ‘Let’s be off. We’ve seen the whole of it. It’s no use to stay to the funeral.’ Continuing along the shoreline, Thoreau and Channing encountered one of the male survivors of the brig. Thoreau described him as a ‘sober-looking man, dressed in a jacket and gray pantaloons, with his hands in the pockets’. Thoreau asked him a few questions, which he answered, but he seemed reluctant to talk about his ordeal and after a few moments he walked away. One of the lifeboat men had been standing by his side, dressed in an oil-cloth jacket. He told Thoreau and his companion how he and the lifeboat crew had gone to the aid of the Kathleen, thinking that all the survivors from the St. John had been in the longboat and were safely deposited on the beach. The huge waves had prevented the lifeboat crew from seeing the passengers still afloat beside the sinking vessel.

  Having spoken with the lifeboat man, Thoreau and Channing moved further up the beach and found the flag of the St. John spread on a rock, as if it had been left there to dry. They continued their walk as far as a headland called Whitehead. There, in a little cove, they met an old man and his son collecting seaweed, their expressions placid, as though they had no knowledge of the tragedy that had befallen so many innocent people only two days earlier. When questioned, the old man said that he had heard about the wreck and knew most of the particulars, but had not been to the area since it happened. His main concern was the various weeds he carried in his arms – rock-weed, kelp and seaweed.[6]

  The first set of funerals took place in the afternoon on Tuesday 9 October. The religious services were performed by Revd Reid and Revd Joseph Osgood, both Unitarian ministers in Cohasset. The services were held in the local church. However, before the remains of the victims were removed for burial a question arose over the type of service that should be held at the graveside. It was decided that because the victims were predominantly Catholic, and it being the wish of the relatives, a priest would perform the graveside ceremony. Fr John T. Roddan from Quincy was asked to carry out the service. A common grave was dug on the highest point of Cohasset General Cemetery, with a commanding view of the bay. The mass grave measured over twenty feet long, and was nine feet wide and six feet deep. After the church service, the funeral procession took place, with Captain Oliver and the survivors of the St. John leading the way. As the funeral party neared the cemetery, hundreds of people were still arriving in Cohasset. The Boston Daily Herald later reported that as the coffins were being covered a number of horse-cars arrived from Boston. Among the passengers was the sister of Miss Peggy Adams, one of the victims. Her husband accompanied her. They had come from South Boston and wished to view the body of Miss Adams. The coffin containing the remains was opened at her request. The woman experienced a most ‘poignant agony’ upon seeing the body of her sister. The sight of this ‘melancholy reunion’ touched all those present. Peggy Adams was not recorded among the St. John’s passengers.[7]

  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.

  Miscellaneous articles and letters from the John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection: Bob Cuble, ‘Irish, Past and Present, Found Tragedy and Hope’.

  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).

  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] Thoreau, Henry David, Cape Cod (1865), pp. 14, 15.

  [3]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).

  Thoreau, Henry David, Cape Cod (1865), p. 16.

  [4] Thoreau, Henry David, Cape Cod (1865), pp. 16, 17.

  [5]Ibid., p. 18.

  [6]Ibid., p. 20.

  [7]Centenary Commemoration (booklet) (21-8-1949).

  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).

  Notes copied from Newcomb Bates (Jr), the Town Clerk of (Cohasset) (7-10-1849).

  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).

  The Patriot Ledger: Edward Rowe Snow, ‘Brig Wreck Killed 143 Off Cohasset’ (6-10-1959); Laura Doherty, ‘Celtic Cross: Cohasset’s Memorial to a Shipwreck’; ‘Ceremonies to Honor Irish Shipwreck Victims’ (6-10-1999).

  The Pilot: George E. Ryan, ‘Wreck of Brig St. John’ (October 1979).

  Thoreau, Henry David, Cape Cod (1865), p. 20.

  IX – The Aftermath

  Over the following days a constant vigil of the shoreline was maintained in the hope of recovering more bodies. Numerous bodies were still drifting off-shore and over time many of them were recovered. During the following weeks forty-five bodies in total were buried in the mass grave. These burials must have been spread out over a number of days or indeed weeks, with a section of the mass grave being left open to allow for the addition of new bodies. While some sources state that none of the forty-five bodies were identified, this cannot be true given Henry Thoreau’s eyewitness account in which he mentions the names of some of the victims being recorded in red chalk on the lids of their coffins. The fact that the coffins were opened to allow the survivors to view their relatives would also indicate that some of the victims were identified.

  On 4 November 1849, almost a month after the disaster, Fr Roddan returned to Cohasset to celebrate the first Catholic mass to be held in the town. It took place in the local high school hall and was attended by Irish and Portuguese fishermen and their families who were living in the area at the time. The mass was sponsored by relatives of the St. John survivors and was dedicated to the memory of the victims. Mass has continued to be held in Cohasset every year since the catastrophe to commemorate all those who lost their lives.

  Over the years many ships had been lost in the dangerous waters of Cohasset Bay but the tragedy of the brig St. John was the worst to befall the area. In 1847 plans for a lighthouse for Minot’s Ledge had been drawn up in an effort to prevent tragedies but it was New Year’s Day 1850 before its light finally shone down on the bay. However, the lighthouse proved unstable and in 1860 it was replaced by a new structure that took five years to complete. A lady from Cohasset, Mary Barnes, later wrote the following lines of poetry in commemoration of the tragedy:[1]

  What think ye, as ye stand there where rises this shaft of stone?

  The dreams and hopes of fellow men facing the land of light.

  What think ye, oh Spirit Survivor as ye stand there all alone?

  Elizabeth Lothrop was later sent a sum of $10 by the L.T. (benevolent) Society for the kindness she showed the survivors. She returned the money, saying that ‘it might be better employed’ elsewhere. In the days following the disaster, she confided in her diary that so great was the tragedy’s effect on her that she feared her life would never be the same again. She would never be as ‘happy and carefree�
� as she had been before that dreadful day. She wrote of a profound sadness that never seemed to abate. The following extracts from her diary indicate how the tragedy affected her. They also reveal that the bodies of the brig’s victims continued to wash ashore for some time after the disaster:

  I attended church today after a long absence, but my mind is so full of everything, I cannot pay much attention to the disclosures. A dancing school has commenced I do not attend it but my mind runs the way; then this horrible shipwreck, and the continual picking up of dead bodies on our beach, has so excited my mind that I tell them I shall never get over it.

  I took a walk on the beach after meeting, and there I saw two or three bodies stretched out. I did not approach very near to them, as I was told, they looked like anything but human beings. Last Wednesday I called at the poor house to see those two who were taken from here a day or two previous. Mrs Quinlan and Mrs Burke, I found they had improved rapidly. I should judge they had good care taken of them. I found but twelve paupers in the poor house, and some curious looking objects …[2]

  A week after the tragedy Captain Oliver and his first mate were called before the local authorities to give their accounts of what had happened. Captain Oliver stated that his ship had passed ‘Cape Cod Light at about 5 p.m. on Saturday’ and reached ‘Scituate Light at 1.00 a.m. on Sunday’. He told them that he had ‘stood northward for about three hours to clear land. As daylight approached, he tacked the ship and stood South, South, West. The weather was very thick.’ Coming inside of Minot’s Ledge, he caught sight of another brig anchored inside the breakers. At Hocksett Rock he had tried to ‘wear away up to the brig, but found he could not fetch up’. He dropped both anchors in the hope of holding the ship in position and avoiding a collision with the rocks. Captain Oliver informed the inquiry that the anchors had dragged. He recalled instructing his crew to cut the masts away but the ship had continued to drift and was eventually forced onto Grampus Ledge and destroyed. The authorities did not hold Captain Oliver accountable for the tragedy. However, a report from the Galway Vindicator argued that the captain should have been held accountable for at least some of his actions: