As soon as Luce realized what had happened, he ordered Arctic stopped, but the engineer said this was impossible as the lower compartments were full of water. In 30 minutes all the lower stoking fires went out. By now there was six feet of water fore and aft. The captain ordered out the lifeboats.
Utter confusion broke out among the passengers and crew, but a few saner heads manned the pumps and succeeded in lightening the ship forward. They hoped to get at the bow, where the worst leaks seemed to be. Many passengers climbed into the lifeboats, which were still hanging in their davits. Forty-five minutes after the collision, Baalham went to the captain to report water was on a level with the lower deck beams and there was no hope of saving the ship. “Go to your lifeboat station, ” Captain Luce told Baalham, “and lower the boats.” Baalham recalled:
On going to those on the port side, I found them completely filled with men and women and no possibility of getting near them. I immediately went starboard and ordered two crew to lower the guard boat. I asked the captain what his intentions were and he said, “The ship’s fate will be mine.”
I then asked him if he would allow his young son to go with me, as I intended to take a boat, but he returned to me the answer, “He should share my fate.”
I then jumped into the boat and was ordered by the captain to cut away the tackle falls, and drop under the stern. I did so, at which time about 20 persons jumped overboard, of whom we picked up 17 or 18. We then fell in with another lifeboat, which had been lowered from the other side, and lightened her of part of its complement. This left 19 in that one and 26 in my boat.
Baalham said the last sight he saw of Arctic, its rails were level with the water. Many of the lifeboats capsized in the confusion, as the crew had left the ship first. At 4: 45 p.m., Arctic gave its final nod and sank. The captain’s son was killed when the paddlewheel housing fell off the ship; Luce and a few other survivors crawled atop this structure, and they were eventually picked up. Three lowered lifeboats disappeared, and their whereabouts is still unknown.
Baalham, in his description of the wreck to Newfoundland shipping authorities, said the surface of the sea around the sunken ship was “. . . strewn with human beings who had jumped or fallen overboard, to whom, however, it was impossible for us to render any assistance.”
In the thick fog, they lost sight of the sinking ship and those still left on board or in the water. Baalham took charge of both boats, and he figured he was less than 60 miles south-southeast of Cape Race. After pulling for 42 hours with nothing but the run of the sea to guide them, the survivors reached Broad Cove, about 12 miles north of Cape Race.
The 45 survivors left to walk to Renews – a coastal trail, rugged but well-marked. The group reached Renews on Friday, September 29. Baalham finishes his tale of the wreck of Arctic:
At Renews I obtained and took charge of a small schooner, which was hired by the purser and myself, and proceeded immediately in search of the wreck or her boats. We cruised around until yesterday (October 2) in a strong gale of wind from the northeast, but could find no trace of ship or boats.
I sent word to Captain Leitch of the steamer City of Philadelphia, acquainting him with the catastrophe, who, I am informed, sent off two vessels which he had employed about his own ship. (City of Philadelphia, on its maiden voyage, was aground near Cape Race. See Chapter 2)
Mr. Alan Goodridge of Renews, the principal mercantile business in the town, also sent a vessel to the scene on Saturday evening, but it has not yet returned. It is with greatest regret I have to report that no trace of the Arctic or her boats could be found. No doubt, however, is left on my mind as to the loss of the steamer Arctic.
Over a period of two days, passing ships picked up several survivors, among them Captain Luce and Jassonet Francois, who had survived two shipwrecks in the same day. Among the bodies found were Mrs. Collins and her children, Luce’s son, and about 100 others. Of the 435 who had left England in Arctic, about 65 survived.
Meanwhile, the damaged Vesta limped into St. John’s on Saturday, September 30. One man had been killed in the collision with Arctic; several others, thinking Vesta was about to sink, jumped overboard and drowned. Two lifeboats had been lowered from Vesta, but the first sank with no one aboard, while the second had about ten or 11 people aboard. This boat drifted away and was never seen again.
Fortunately, the watertight bulkhead in Vesta held, and Captain Duchesne saw this as an opportunity to save his ship. When much cargo was jettisoned, the added elevation, coupled with the strength of the forward bulkhead, slowed the inrush of water. Batting, blankets, and mattresses were jammed in the head of the boat. Then the foremast was cut away, lightening the head somewhat.
When Vesta arrived in St. John’s, many people and shipping agents viewed the crippled ship, marvelling at the superior seamanship, ingenuity, and perseverance that kept it afloat.
According to one source, the total number lost from both ships as a result of the collision off Cape Race was around 370. In its day the loss of Arctic was the most infamous example of the dangers of crossing the Atlantic and frequent loss of life; eventually the tale of the SS Arctic faded to obscurity, to be overshadowed nearly 60 years later by the 1,513 lives lost on Titanic.
In the fall of 1856, Robert Oake, an inspector of Newfoundland lighthouses, examined the site. He said the light was efficient, but living conditions at Cape Race were deplorable. He noted that only two fireplaces were available and the backdrafts from them often filled the dwelling house with smoke. Moreover, the stone walls of the tower and living quarters were continuously streaming with condensation or coated with ice in winter. To compensate, a wooden dwelling was built for the lighthouse keepers.
After the light was removed from Cape Race, it was installed at Cape North, Cape Breton, where it remained until it was replaced in 1979. Two years later it was recognized for its historical significance, and today the light is part of the exhibit at the National Museum of Science and Technology in Ottawa.
4
Christmas Near the Cape
December 1856
The first news coming into St. John’s was that a large timberladen ship had stranded near Trepassey on Christmas Day, but there was no indication of loss of life or if the ship was a total wreck. A week later, three survivors – the only survivors, as it turned out – arrived in St. John’s. By then local shipping authorities learned the details of the wreck of Welsford, and with so many lives lost, it was termed “one of the greatest catastrophes of the Cape Race area.”
All copper fastened, the 1,380-net-ton Welsford was commanded by Captain James M. Hatfield of Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, and crewed by 26 sailors, many of whom were from Scotland or Dorchester, New Brunswick. Mate William Journeay was a resident of Weymouth, Nova Scotia. Practically new, Welsford had been launched in the spring of 1856. John McMorran and James Dunn of Dorchester owned the vessel. They had aboard a large cargo of timber in deals, or as it was termed in Newfoundland, baulk – large square pieces of wood. The ship left Saint John on December 18, 1856, sailing for Liverpool, England.
The day it left, the weather was cloudy with frequent snowstorms. Captain Hatfield had no way of taking off his course by the sun or by the stars at night. On December 25, winds blew strong from the south, but about 2: 00 p.m. the snow and heavy weather cleared up enough so that the crew could see a considerable distance.
There was no land in sight, and Hatfield figured he was well off Cape Race. Soon, fog, the nemesis of vessels large and small off southern Newfoundland, enclosed the ship and the wind picked up again. Welsford was going about eight knots, with single-reefed topsails and topgallant sails, on a course east by south.
At 6: 00 p.m. the vessel grounded on a reef or ledge of rock. The crew, believing they were well out to sea, figured it was the Virgin Rocks, located about 100 miles south-southeast of St. John’s. Within a few moments they could see a high cliff. For two hours the ship surged and pounded upon a shelf until the bottom broke apart. The c
argo washed out and the floating timber tossed in the seas near the ship.
It was only a matter of minutes before Welsford broke apart – in four pieces. The mate and five seamen were on the stem, and that particular piece slowly drifted toward land. The other 21 crew must have been trapped on other pieces of wreckage and drifted out to sea.
In the night the six survivors reached the base of a cliff near the Cape Race light tower, but in the struggle to get to safety, three were washed off the rocks and drowned. For a quarter of an hour, the remaining three – mate Journeay, sailor Martin Finlayson of Scotland, and Thomas Ward (one source identifies him as Thomas Hand) of St. John’s – could hear the cries and calls of the fellows still on pieces of the wreck. After those traumatic moments, all was still and they assumed their comrades were crushed to death by the floating timber in the sea or perished throughout the night.
For the rest of the night, Christmas night, they clung to a ledge of rock, a projection of the cliff, towering above them. At daylight they climbed to the top, in a struggle of desperation where the slightest false step would have been fatal. Once at the top of the cliff, they had no idea where they were.
The weather was cold but foggy, and the three were drenched and weak. The newspaper Newfoundlander described them as “. . . only half alive, not knowing how or where to seek shelter.”
Fortunately, about midday on December 26 the fog lifted somewhat, and they saw a lighthouse about two miles away. When they arrived at the lighthouse, they were greeted and cared for by the keeper, William Halley, his wife, and Halley’s assistant.
Halley had only been appointed as lightkeeper some ten days before and had taken residence in the stone dwelling house that was part of the tower. Welsford’s survivors stayed with him for two days, until Halley located a boat to take them to St. John’s.
The wreck reminded people of another disaster at Cape Race that had happened 11 months previously. On January 29, 1856, the waterlogged bark Helen was drifting off the cape when Captain Ebsary of St. John’s in the brigantine Pursuit sailed near. Ebsary and his crew took the seamen from Helen in an operation the papers described as “a rescue from death.” It is not known how long the transfer took or where Pursuit had to sail to land the stranded seamen, but Ebsary was delayed enough that when he reached St. John’s, it was too late to participate in the annual seal fishery. The British government compensated Stabb, Row and Company, the owners of Pursuit, with £592 Sterling.
5
Cape Race and the
“Superior Ship” Argo
June 1859
The RMS Argo of the Galway Line, under the command of Captain Halpin, left New York in mid-June, 1859, for England via St. John’s. Argo was classed “a superior ship.” Netting 2,500 tons, it was ironclad, had 11 compartments below deck, and was built at a cost of £75,000. It was top-of-the-line in construction, accommodations, and amenities.
On its final voyage, in addition to the 200 passengers aboard, Argo carried 180 officers and crew. The passenger, mail and cargo ship never reached England, but ended its brief career on June 28, 1859, in Trepassey Bay.
There were no fatalities, but documentation from Newfoundland tells of a strange story of a few passengers. Apparently the stress and trauma of shipwreck and having to spend a night on an unknown shore in tents was too much for four passengers. Argo’s purser, who was in charge of fares and the fare-paying customers, did not know that four women passengers, who had been quietly put on board at New York, had been diagnosed as “insane” – a common terminology in that era. To the purser’s surprise, when Argo was being abandoned, they began acting strange, throwing bottles, food, and other articles around in the cabin.
Two of the women were eventually carried to St. John’s and placed in the Lunatic Asylum. The other two went astray in the woods near Trepassey. Up to the time of the last reports on Argo, they had not been found and supposedly had perished.
Also aboard was Miss Emma Hayward, a renowned English vocalist. After the shipwrecked people reached St. John’s, she held a concert to a packed house in the Colonial Building. Monies raised went toward the care of the stranded passengers and crew.
However, there is another side to the tale of wreck hinting at problems with the local people who fished in Trepassey Bay. The first indication of wreck of Argo came in this telegram dispatch:
Trepassey Bay, N. F., Tuesday, June 28
To: The American Express Company, agents of the Galway Line
The Argo went ashore eight miles east of here at 5 o’clock this morning in dense fog. Passengers all landed in safety. Help is on the way from St. John’s.
R. C. Halpin, Master of Argo
Other messages indicated that if tugs and help came quickly from St. John’s, Argo could be taken off or freed from the ledge it was on. A cautionary note said that where it was aground was one of the most exposed and dangerous coast on the southern Avalon.
When the crew and passengers arrived in St. John’s, the tale came out of how and why this great ship was so close to land that it went aground. On June 30, David Butterfield, the Galway shipping and passenger agent, issued a statement from St. John’s:
. . . Between 3 and 4 o’clock on Tuesday morning Argo made Cape Pine, bearing north northeast about 12 miles distant. The coastal pilot captain and all officers were called on deck on the sight of land. The course was changed which should have cleared the ship from Cape Race by 15 miles.
About 4: 30 a.m. a dense fog came up. At 5: 30 the captain saw a fishing schooner, stopped the engines, then reversed them to speak to the men on the schooner.
“Where are you fishing?” he asked.
The answer was, “On the eastern side of Trepassey Bay, about a mile off from land.”
Captain Halpin ordered the helm hard aport, the engines were put on full speed and the ship was to keep south southeast by the compass and this would have taken it clear of the land.
At that moment breakers were seen. The engines were stopped; then reversed full speed. Before Argo got underway astern, it grounded bow on the rocks at Freshwater Point, eight miles from Trepassey. It touched so lightly that some of the passengers who were asleep in their berths were not awakened.
The crew lowered the boats and disembarked the women and children first with little confusion. They were taken to the nearest land. Captain Halpin ordered the anchors out astern and tried to back Argo off, but it was useless.
Halpin then sent a pilot and Mr. Butterfield to Trepassey to get assistance. They arrived at ten o’clock and telegraphed St. John’s. Two tugs were sent down from St. John’s: steamer Dauntless and the Blue Jacket.
Halpin ordered the sails taken ashore to be fashioned into tents to protect the women and children. Argo’s boats were constantly passing from the ship to the cove, about a mile away, ferrying passengers, crew, food, provisions, and supplies.
According to Butterfield, when the passengers and most crew were off, fishermen from the area plundered the ship. About 100 of them – “harpies, ” one passenger called them – came by after hearing Argo’s signal guns. They cut away the masts and completely maimed the great ship.
At 4: 00 p.m., it was over. Argo, by this time filled with water, fell over on its beam end in six fathoms of water. The baggage of most passengers was lost. About five o’clock, a small boat from Trepassey came to the scene to say the Newfoundland tug Dauntless and passenger steamer Blue Jacket were on the way. This seemed to reassure and calm many passengers – about 200 of them, some of them in makeshift tents, others milling around.
Women and children spent a relatively comfortable Tuesday night in tents. On Wednesday, the steamers arrived and carried passengers and some crew to St. John’s. On July 6, the steamer Glasgow arrived from New York to take the passengers to Europe.
The final word on the wreck of the luxurious Argo came from a passenger who wrote a letter to the New York Times, published July 13, 1859. Too lengthy to reproduce here in its entirety, a section says:
The conduct of the crew and passengers all throughout this trying occasion was commendable . . . The fishermen in their boats came in crowds around the wreck and seemed waiting, like harpies, for their prey.
It is true they assisted with their boats, but not without pay. Before nightfall, they had commenced their disgraceful work of plunder on the ship and a hundred or two of them were to be seen stripping her of everything they could lay their hands on.
. . . As to the cause of the loss of this fine ship, various unfounded rumors have been afloat as to the carelessness of the captain. The loss of the ship must be attributed to the fog, some local attraction affecting the compass needle, and particularly the force of a current which at times sets into Trepassey Bay with great power.
Many ships have been wrecked near this place (up to 1859) and their loss has been ascribed to these causes.
6
The Barque Pioneer Intercepted by
Cape Race Press Boat
July 1862
Getting the news . . . first! The first newspaper out with the latest could sell more copies and increase circulation. In 1858, the Associated Press (AP) of New York, after the failure of the first transatlantic cable, stationed a news boat at Cape Race to meet the liners coming from England and to retrieve news copy dropped overboard in a canister.
The news was then telegraphed to New York (and St. John’s, which also availed of this service) overland through Newfoundland, Cape Breton, and down to America. Copy was then published for the media-starved masses of New York several days before the arrival of the transatlantic liners. These papers, delivering the news first, took the glory and the increased revenues.
By 1864, it was rare indeed not to pick up an American newspaper without finding a paragraph headed, “Latest News from Europe, Via Cape Race.” In the early 1860s, the western side of the U. S. telegraph ended at the Missouri River, but the territories in the west wished news from Europe. Thus the Pony Express was born in April 1860 (ending in October 1861), taking the news “Via Cape Race” from St. Joseph on the Missouri to California. When the telegraphed news reached Missouri, a horse started at a gallop on its journey west. Every 25 miles a fresh horse was ready to carry the news. The journey of 2,000 miles was completed in about nine days, connecting California with England.
Cape Race Page 3
