Cape Race

by Robert C. Parsons

  According to a summary in the Evening Te legram (October 19, 1909) called “The Single Grave”:

  They assembled on the edge of the cliff above and arranged for descent into the abyss below. Coombs went first and Myrick also descended. Only a rope held them in their descent, but they got safely down – down to a scene that cannot be described.

  With courage they began their work and continued until they had snatched from the sea more than 20 of its victims. When the task was finished the two men in turn were hoisted to the cliff top.

  The scene at the top seemed almost worse than the gulch beneath, for about them lay the bodies that had been recovered. To give them a decent Christian burial was the next concern. There was no room for ceremony, nor idle speculation, or unnecessary labour (to dig the ground in the solid frozen cliff top near Mistaken Point).

  The shrouds were pieces of canvas, carpet and material they had recovered from the debris. Side by side they laid the bodies and then covered them in. The mound they raised on the hill top was “a single grave.”

  The fishermen then bared their heads and offered up a prayer of their faith. They didn’t know whom they had buried nor the place of residence.

  John Myrick, who later became a long-time keeper of the lighthouse at Cape Race, said that he and others “recovered about 20 bodies and pieces of bodies that drifted in one small crevice in the cliff. These were interred near the wreck scene.” He later said there were 27 different individuals; the body of a woman floated off shore, but seas and surf were too high to recover it.

  One man had the letters R. K. tattooed on his arm. He was later identified as Richard Keef (e) of Ferryland, who travelled on George Washington as passenger or crew. “Every man we got, ” said Myrick, “had his head torn off by the sea and had not one tack of clothes on.”

  Myrick went to the burial site occasionally in the 1880s and recalled, in a 1909 interview, “If anyone belonging to the lost men wants to see where they are buried, I will be only too glad to show them the place. There should be a good rail put around there or a tombstone to mark the place.”

  A report in the New York Times of February 17, 1877, says the SS George Cromwell was dashed upon the rocks of Newfoundland and all aboard had perished. Fifty years after the event, the newspaper Morning Chronicle of October 6, 1909, reports that George Washington was wrecked near Cape Race.

  A subsequent article in the New York Herald stated it would seem only decent that provincial authorities (in Canada or Newfoundland) be forced by the pressure of public opinion to establish ordinary safeguards for mariners that governments of all other civilized countries establish. Certain types of life-saving equipment, such as life jackets, adequate ropes, a life-saving pulley system, (flare) rockets, and storm lanterns, were in short supply or non-existent at the cape. In 1883 (See Chapter 13), another shipwrecked crew decried the same problem.

  Although recognizing the importance of the Cape Race light, the New York Herald was very critical of the Newfoundland government for not having erected other lighthouses on that part of the coast.

  (Author’s Note: If one wishes to read graphic details of mutilated bodies, identifying marks and tattoos, read page 8 of the New York Times, March 27, 1877.)

  10

  An Extraordinary

  Escape at Cape Race

  September 1877

  Robert Oake, Director of Lighthouses in Newfoundland in this era of death and disaster, said:

  “From Chance Cove to the east part of Trepassey Bay, 16 miles, in that space there have been yearly more shipwrecks and loss of life than the whole remaining portions of our coast put together.”

  The facts Oake put forward were soon borne out. On Saturday afternoon of October 6, 1877, a young French boy, Henri Riou, arrived in St. John’s under the care of Constable Grant of Ferryland. He was the sole survivor of the French brigantine Alice et Marie, totally destroyed on the rocks of Clam Cove near Cape Race.

  The Morning Chronicle, a Newfoundland newspaper of the times, recorded details of the catastrophe and the extraordinary story of the young boy. Alice et Marie left Bordeaux, France, obtained a load of salt at Cadiz, and sailed westward for St. Pierre et Miquelon, the then bustling port for the French fishing fleet situated off Newfoundland’s South Coast.

  Alice et Marie left France on July 13, 1877, and, perhaps due to inclement weather, was 42 days out before Captain Cassagne spied the coast of Newfoundland. By then, he and his crew sighted land too late for their own good. It is very likely, too, the southern part of Newfoundland was being lashed by the tail end of a tropical hurricane.

  Around 6: 30 p.m., Saturday, September 22, Alice et Marie was on a course steering northwest by north. A heavy gale blew in straight from the southward, and there was a wild sea running off Cape Race. The land Cassagne and his eight crew – a mate, six seamen, and Henri Riou, probably a cabin boy – saw directly ahead of them was the sheer cliff face of Clam Cove. It was situated about four miles northeast of the cape.

  Although Cassagne took every means to hoist sail and to try to manoeuvre off land, it was too late. The dreaded cry went up: “We are on the rocks!”

  Alice et Marie was drifting in the breakers toward the storm-lashed shore. Cassagne, seeing it was impossible to clear the land on either side, ordered the lifeboat to be prepared. The boat was put in the davits and lowered away.

  Two sailors jumped in the boat. Before a few seconds had elapsed, the painter burst. The boat drifted away and was not seen afterward. Alice et Marie had now drifted upon the rocks and underwater reefs near Clam Cove. The captain, mate, four sailors, and young Riou stood on the deck awaiting their fate. Surely all must drown in the boiling foam and mad seas.

  A huge sea broke over the doomed vessel, smashing it into pieces and throwing all into the sea.

  Meanwhile, as a sure tragedy was being played out at sea, a number of residents of the area had gathered on the clifftop. They looked helplessly and blankly at the scene of death and destruction before their eyes. They were powerless to do anything. There was no arm strong enough to wrestle the might of those surging waters.

  They saw in the evening of September 22 what was once a stately vessel reduced to a mere mass of drifting debris. Its crew, they thought, were surely washing about among the red seaweed, cobblestones, and backwash of the cove.

  The wreckage, waves, and mad wall of surf convinced the helpless watchers that no one could possibly live under those circumstances. Then, before their incredulous sight, just as the spectators were drawing away and thinking they would later inspect the debris in civil weather, a ghostlike figure emerged from a crevice in the Clam Cove rocks.

  He, too, was tossed about again and again, but seemed to be alive. Finally, he was flung on shore by some friendly wave.

  Someone got down to the water level as soon as possible and dragged him safely to dry land. He was not badly injured and had not swallowed any water. The poor young fellow stood amazed and frightened for a while at the sight of strange faces and voices on this wild shore.

  It was Henri Riou, a boy (one source says he was 11 years old), unable to speak English. Yet, in time, he tried to communicate. It was found he could read and write French, could sing, and was an intelligent and animated lad.

  He was carried to the nearest human habitation, given dry clothes, food and drink, and more offerings of the milk of human kindness and sympathy. In time he was sent north to Ferryland.

  At Ferryland, the Commissioner of Wrecked Property (under whose jurisdiction the survivors of wrecks also fell), W. T. S. Carter, looked after him and asked Constable Grant to take him to St. John’s. Shipping authorities, armed with the description of the wreck from watchers and rescuers on the shore and with the account of Henri Riou, were able to piece together what happened to Alice et Marie.

  The French Consul in Newfoundland eventually found passage back to France for Henri Riou. He was always referred to by the people in the vicinity of Cape Race as “The Miracle of the S
ea.”

  Commissioner Carter and some police constables went back to the wreck scene to look for more bodies. Some had been found and were respectfully interred by the residents of the Clam Cove area. With no road and only a footpath to the cape, Carter’s journey down was expected to take some time. This gave the marine observers and critics of transportation and communication a chance to voice their opinion.

  The Morning Chronicle, referring to the isolation of Cape Race and that it was one of the most important sites of transportation in the western hemisphere, said:

  What a pity it is that Cape Race is practically cut off from the rest of the country for want of some means of communication. Will the Government ever make a road to Cape Race?

  11

  Ice Giants off the Cape

  May–June 1882

  The most infamous encounter of a ship with ice happened on the night of April 14-15, 1912, when the British liner SS Titanic struck an iceberg and sank in the Atlantic. Over 1,500 lives were lost. It was a singular event that spring; no other ships on the transatlantic run reported colliding with ice with resultant loss of life.

  But 30 years prior to Titanic’s cataclysmic marine disaster, a series of iceberg collisions helped label May–June 1882, The Spring of the Iceberg. Several ships on the European-to-North-American routes struck the silent but deadly mountains of Arctic ice lying in wait in the shipping lanes just off Cape Race. Unlike the Titanic tragedy, the ships in this case not only had to deal with ice, but also with another deadly nemesis of the sea – a shroud of fog.

  That spring, newspapers on the North American eastern seaboard reported disaster after disaster with disturbing headlines: “The Prussian Collides with an Iceberg” and “Another Disaster With an Iceberg and Yet Another.” One paper decried the wreck of Chatham, New Brunswick’s, Pride of Chaleur, lost to ice in late May.

  Pride of Chaleur built at Bathurst, New Brunswick, in 1877 was registered in Chatham, owned by Ezekiel McLeod of Saint John, and commanded by Captain Kerr. The 517-ton brigantine entered Iceberg Alley while on a voyage from Barbados to Montreal with a cargo of sugar. Although the loss occurred in May, it was not until June 13 before the rescue ship that picked up Chaleur’s crew reached port. “All went well, ” said Kerr, “until the ninth (May), when we made the ice.”

  We ran along the edge of it, steering North 40 miles, wind southwest and blowing strong. At six p.m. there being no appearance of an opening in the ice, hauled ship by the wind on starboard tack and stowed light sail, headed southeast.

  At eight p.m. took in upper topsail, single-reefed the mainsail, stowed jib and middle staysail; at 11, tacked ship, wind veering to southeast and a thick snow storm prevailing.

  On May 10th struck ice which started the lower port bow. All hands went to the pumps. We took off the fore hatch and tried to stop the leak. On this day a gale of wind and snow continued, but even with all hands at the pumps, the water gained on us rapidly.

  On May 11th at two a.m. the ship was filling rapidly. All attempts to stop the leak proved impossible and at four a.m. readied the boats to abandon ship. The weather moderated at six a.m. and we left the ship; there being 11 feet of water in the hold.

  We stayed by the ship until 8 o’clock, when we sighted the brigt. “F. H. Odiorne” of St. John’s, Newfoundland, Captain C. W. LeBuff. This ship was bound for Little Glace Bay and it received us on board. As we were boarding this ship, the Pride of Chaleur sank.

  F. H. Odiorne was afterward stuck in ice eight days while trying to reach Glace Bay, and finally had to sail to Halifax to land the shipwrecked crew.

  The June 22, 1882, edition of Newfoundland’s Evening Te legram commented on the string of wrecks with the headline “Another Collision with an Iceberg: Loss of Prince Edward Island’s Barque Lizzie Cameron.

  Captain Alexander Cameron had been commander of Lizzie Cameron for six years, ever since it had been launched at Souris West, PEI, in 1874. This was a 375-ton sailing barque with an overall length of 128 feet. It was jointly owned by James Duncan, Robert Hodgson, and John Robertson of Charlottetown.

  Lizzie Cameron left Charlottetown on June 10 with a cargo of oats for Bordeaux, France. Fine weather and favourable winds were the order of the day until the 16th, when thick fog settled over the water. Up to then there had been no sign of any ice, and Captain Cameron and his ten crew didn’t anticipate trouble from that source.

  At nine-thirty that evening, Lizzie Cameron sped along at a good rate in latitude 45 North, longitude 48 West, about 150 miles east of St. John’s, Newfoundland. Without warning, Lizzie Cameron collided with an immense mass of ice, smashing in the port bow close to the fore hatch and turning the topgallant foresail completely over. The ship filled so quickly, in less than half an hour the water reached the deck. It seemed as if the barque would settle down and sink in a few minutes.

  Captain Cameron ordered out the two lifeboats and had them duly provisioned. By this time it was unsafe for the crew to get around on deck, and even more dangerous to remain on the wreck any longer than necessary.

  All hands climbed into the lifeboats and pushed off. They had scarcely left the side of the wallowing Lizzie Cameron when the forward part dipped below the surface, and then the ship heeled over on its beam ends. The bark lay for quite a while with just its side showing above water. The boats remained near the wreck until daylight, 6: 00 a.m., Saturday. They began the long row for Cape Race, hoping to be sighted by some passing vessel and to be picked up.

  When the night of June 17 came on, Captain Cameron took the precaution of tying both lifeboats together, using some blankets as cordage. The spring fog off Newfoundland was dense and the lifeboats could easily become separated.

  At 10: 00 a.m. Monday they heard a bell ringing, accompanied by the sound of a foghorn. Pulling in that direction, they discovered the schooner Bentley of Provincetown, Massachusetts, fishing near the Virgin Rocks.

  Captain McLeod invited them on board, and the shipwrecked crew enjoyed the hospitality up to 2: 00 p.m. Tuesday. Lizzie Cameron’s crew figured they could not wait for weeks on a fishing schooner moored on the Grand Banks, then perhaps be taken to the United States. They hove off their lifeboats and, wishing the generous Captain McLeod and his crew goodbye, left Bentley and resumed their row toward Newfoundland.

  At two-thirty in the afternoon on June 21, dehydrated and weary from their long and hard pull at the oars and from exposure to the open ocean, they met the fishing vessel Brenton. Skippered by Captain McLarren, Brenton was out of Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, and at that time was about eight miles off Bay Bulls, Newfoundland. Captain McLarren offered to bring them to St. John’s. The shipwrecked crew had rowed nearly 150 miles.

  Captain Cameron realized this was more than a benevolent act, especially since Brenton was on its way to the fishing grounds with fresh bait obtained at Bay Bulls. Cameron and his crew were housed in the Queen’s Hotel in St. John’s until they found transportation back to Prince Edward Island.

  The SS Asdrubal, although more than three times larger than Lizzie Cameron, was still no match for a floating mass of ice off Newfoundland. The 1,194-ton steamer, registered in London, was bound from Saint John, New Brunswick, to England with a cargo of deals, i.e. lumber and squared logs ready for sawing.

  It hit an iceberg off Point Lance on the southern Avalon Peninsula and went down at 1: 00 a.m., June 22. Captain Thomas Larkin and his crew of 25 were found by fisherman Lawrence Dinn and brought into St. Mary’s.

  Robert Carter, the superintendent of Mercantile Marine, sent the tugboat Cabot to St. Mary’s to bring the shipwrecked men to St. John’s.

  The Cromwell steamer Alhambra passed a strange sight on its regular run from New York via Halifax and Louisbourg to St. John’s. When Captain Farquhar docked at the Harvey and Company wharf in June 1882, he put in a “shipwreck” report and filed this statement:

  We left the port of Halifax on Thursday last; soon after a dense fog set in and continued up to seven p.m. yesterday, Monday.
On Friday we called at Louisbourg for bunker coal and left at six a.m. on Saturday – fog as dense as ever.

  Sunday evening at eight o’clock, with Cape Race bearing E. N. E., 22 miles, we could not see more than a few hundred feet from the ship. Stopped the engines at one a.m. and found ourselves close alongside a large iceberg. At daylight we moved along slowly and, during the next few hours saw seven or eight more huge bergs.

  At 5: 30 last evening (June 12), when seven miles south of Cape Ballard, passed a large ox with a board fastened to the head and, soon after, several bales of hay, put up with flat hoops, such as are used in Upper Canada and Prince Edward Island. We also passed a quantity of ship wreckage.

  Shipping authorities figured that if the captain had not stopped the engines, Alhambra would have become a casualty of the ice lying in wait off Cape Race. As for the large drowned ox, the several bales of hay, and wreckage, it could only indicate some other vessel had run afoul of the ice with disastrous results.

  Most likely the flotsam that the SS Alhambra passed came from the wreck of Pera, the third great ship to hit the ice and sink that spring. There had been no message of distress or indication that this ship had gone down until two of its lifeboats reached land several days later.

  Captain Christie was sailing from Montreal to Britain with a cargo of deals and cattle. While groping along through icefields and small bergs, Pera collided with an iceberg 30 to 40 miles off Cape Race. It sank almost immediately, but the crew launched three lifeboats; one with the first officer and several men reached St. Pierre on June 15.

  The second lifeboat, with the bosun and ten crew, were brought to Newfoundland by the schooner Florella of Harbour Grace. It had been five days sailing from Sydney with a cargo of coal. While 32 miles southeast by east of Cape Race, Florella came across the drifting lifeboat with the bosun and crew of Pera. The bosun summarized what happened: