Cape Race

by Robert C. Parsons

  Apart from the difficulty of holding on to the upright rocks, was the danger of being killed by the heavy main boom, which was loose and sweeping the quarter deck at every motion of the ship. Right aft on the quarter was the only place in the ship from which we had any chance of jumping into the cliff.

  As each sea struck the vessel we had to watch the masts, fearing they would fall and crush us. At last, by God’s mercy, we all, one after another, safely jumped into the crevices of a nearly upright island rock.

  Before leaving the vessel we put what clothes we could quickly gather up into bags and placed them on the deck. With them was the Captain’s chronometer, sextant, and barometer, which were landed by the mate and two seamen who ran great risk in doing so.

  We were now on an island rock 200 feet high and divided by the mainland by a gulch 150 to 200 feet wide, through which the sea continually broke.

  Clow doesn’t say how long they were stranded on the island of rock or sea stack, but certainly in their weakened, wet, and exposed condition, even a matter of hours was far too long. They had no prospects of swimming across the terrible chasm – 150 feet of cold, turbulent breakers. Clow says that two men appeared on the cliff, Neill and Kennedy.

  This brave and noble fellow, Thomas Neill, swam the gulch with a line, assisted from the mainland side by John Kennedy, who later helped Neill in saving the Captain.

  As each sea broke through the gulch (the sea at this time was increasingly fast) Neill would be thrown head over heels and at times he disappeared altogether from sight. Though often dashed against the rocks, he nobly persevered, and at last succeeded in reaching the island rock on which we had landed.

  After getting another and stronger line from the shore (held by Kennedy), by the one Neill had brought with him, we were hauled through the gulch and safely landed on the main land. By then it was nearly night; so it was with a fervent “Thank God” that I placed my feet on terra firma and each and all felt truly thankful to the Almighty God for miraculously delivering us from a watery grave.

  Had the vessel gone either side of the gulch, it would have been impossible for either one of us to be saved. Had the Maglona gone where we had tried to sail, the undertow would have taken us into the very gulch where the steamer George Washington was lost – ten years previously – with every one of her crew and passengers. We were ashore about 200 yards to the eastward of where the steamer was lost.

  As soon as I was landed and had thrown the water out of my boots, I asked if I could get a man (several had come to our assistance by this time) to pilot me to Cape Race. I wished to go to telegraph the loss of the vessel and cargo. Neill volunteered to go with me.

  We started off just as we were, after night, to walk a distance of seven miles to Cape Race, through a rugged and open country, with a cold drenching rain beating in our face all the way.

  We stopped on our way to the Cape at Neill’s house (four miles from the wreck) and got our tea. I can assure you that we needed it.

  At this point in his story, Supercargo Clow says that Kennedy was the first to discover the wreck and the stranded mariners. Had he not seen them, they would have had to remain on the rock all night without food.

  In all probability, they would have been washed off the next day, or would have had to remain for three days without shelter or nourishment. “The sea rose so high, ” he said, “that the next day it would have been impossible for anyone to render us assistance for at least three days afterwards. The captain’s navigating instruments had been placed 80 to 100 feet up on the island rock and the next they were washed off, as the sea broke over the rock.”

  The same day, the sea hove the remnants of Maglona in through the gulch and over rocks. It was a total wreck. At this point, Marmaduke Clow entreated the government to grant those brave men of Trepassey, especially Neill, some substantial mark of favour, a reward, for nobly risking their lives.

  But Clow had some harsh words for others. He and the captain, after disposing of the wrecked property saved from Maglona, started overland for St. John’s – where Clow lived. The mate and crew had been sent to St. John’s by way of Trepassey some time before.

  When Captain Richards and Clow reached Ferryland, they called on Magistrate Rochford, telling him they were shipwrecked mariners, and where, how, and when they had lost their vessel, plus how close they had come to losing their lives. Being destitute, they requested some assistance with their travel.

  To their astonishment, Rochford said he could give them none, and furthermore said he had instructions from the government not to give assistance to shipwrecked people, adding that he could produce the letter if required. In closing, Clow had great praise for Thomas Neill, John Kennedy, and the people of Trepassey:

  I have often heard the Trepassey men spoken of as great wreckers. I have had the control of many ships; thus justice compels me to say that a more quiet, peaceable and law-abiding people than the Trepassey men who were at the wreck of Maglona I have never seen.

  The Thomas Neill referred to above is the same man who volunteered and was lowered down a rope into an overhanging gulch, over 300 feet high, from which he sent up the bodies and pieces of bodies of the crew and passengers of the ill-fated George Washington.

  Despite Clow’s plea for recognition for the heroism of Neill and others, it was never recorded in local papers (that this author could locate) if or when they received any public acknowledgement or award. However, in December 2003, the author received correspondence from Deborah Pennell of Trepassey, saying that her great-grandfather Neill (or O’Neill, which is the correct version of his name today) did receive medals. And the family still has them! The O’Neills moved from Long Beach to Trepassey or Portugal Cove South many years ago, and rescuer John Kennedy was a distant family relation.

  Family tradition has it that pulling the bodies and parts of bodies from the water from the wreck of the SS George Washington was a much more difficult task than the rescue of the living crew members of Maglona.

  Political observers of the government of the day were critical of the recent changes at Cape Race Lighthouse. In a letter signed “Fair Play” (Evening Te legram, July 16, 1887), one person disapprovingly wrote that the negotiations that led to the transfer of the light station from Imperial (British) to Dominion (Canada) were suggested – thus sanctioned – by Sir Ambrose Shea. Shea had not made a good bargain for Newfoundland.

  The lights, including the Cape Spear Lighthouse, now run by contract, as opposed to salaried positions, led to the discharge of former head lightkeepers and their families. Those affected were: Mr. F. Halley, married, with a family of six children, with 20 years experience as lightkeeper; Mr. James Simms, unmarried, but with 19 years of official service at Cape Race; Mr. Michael Cantwell, married, two children, but with six years service at Cape Race and 25 years assisting his father, the late James Cantwell, keeper of the Cape Spear Light.

  These men, with long and faithful service records, were now unemployed. The Cape Race Light, said “Fair Play, ” should still be the property of the Colony of Newfoundland, and the government would then be exempt from the shame of the injustice inflicted on these worthy lightkeepers.

  Eventually, Michael Cantwell, and generations of Cantwells after him, continued to man the Cape Spear light. Patrick Myrick was the progenitor of a line of Myrick Cape Race keepers, right up to the 21st century.

  18

  The Coffin Ship

  September 1888

  In the era of sail, Newfoundland sailors had a turn of phrase for a ship they deemed to be a death trap, or, in today’s parlance, an accident waiting to happen. They took a dim view of a vessel that might go down at any moment, perhaps taking all hands with it, or a hulk that looked too unsafe to stay afloat. Often, behind the owner’s back, they whispered, “’Tis a floating coffin.”

  Pubnico Belle, an old and unseaworthy schooner, ran upon the rocks at Baccalieu Island, north of Catalina, on July 8, 1891. Several people drowned, including two women and
five children. The St. John’s daily newspapers, commenting on the terrible tragedy, said that a “searching inquiry” was needed into owners putting unfit vessels to sea. Its crew had been objecting to going in the vessel, as it was in poor condition. One paper went so far as to state that Pubnico Belle was known to be a death trap that would soon take sailors to a watery grave.

  And that’s the dubious distinction the brig Anastatia earned in the fall of 1888. Early in its career, the 177-ton Anastatia was owned by Captain Richard Hennebury of Spaniard’s Bay, who sold the brig to Munn and Company. Munn put the ship in command of Captain Bransfield and ordered the ship to Nova Scotia to pick up the cargo of lumber salvaged from their brig Resolven, wrecked in the summer of 1888.

  Anastatia left Harbour Grace on September 12, but two days later was forced to put in to St. John’s. The crew were not able to keep water out, claiming the old ship was worse than unseaworthy, and believed they would all die on it.

  On September 23, it left again for Nova Scotia, but only reached as far as Newfoundland’s southeast corner before disaster struck. Off Cape Race, it met a headwind that increased to a heavy breeze, and in a short time, Anastatia began to fill rapidly. For 50 hours the men laboured at the pumps, without let-up and practically without sleep. The crew refused to try to hold on to the ship any longer.

  On Thursday, September 27, Captain Bransfield put the wallowing Anastatia ashore at Sheep’s Cove, an inlet located a little east of Trepassey. It was the same cove in which the ill-fated Jane Hunter was lost four years previously. Jane Hunter’s captain, mate, and five seamen perished. Two, Angus Rowe and Alexander Downey, survived.

  In Anastatia’s case, all crew reached shore safely, and Bransfield passed the derelict over to the local commissioner of wrecks. He employed a crew to remove all materials from the vessel and to bring it to shore. Normally, salvors get one-third, owners two-thirds. For some reason, Trepassey’s wreck commissioner offered half and half for the salvage of Munn’s brig.

  But a group of ship wreckers would have all or nothing. A gang of unruly men gathered, described by the papers of the day as “a big crowd of wreckers, ” and soon boarded the stranded Anastatia. In spite of the threats and entreaties of the commissioner and the local constable, they stripped the brig of everything movable.

  Captain Bransfield and the rest of Anastatia’s crew left for St. John’s on September 28 on the SS Volunteer. There is no record if the plunderers were ever brought to trial for their illegal activities on the coffin ship Anastatia.

  Having to pass the tides and fog of Cape Race on voyages to and from the Avalon Peninsula, south coast schooners and sailors were well aware of the danger along the coast. One prime example of avoiding catastrophe or meeting it face to face happened in January 1891 to a group of south coast sailors. It is reported in a story called:

  A Wild Night at Sea: Experience of the Schooner Antelope

  Antelope, owned by the Bugden Brothers of Burin, left St. John’s for Burin on a Friday, December 25, 1891. Although it was the Christmas season, the Bugdens and a seaman, William Collins, still had to face the stormy seas and tides rounding Cape Race.

  They rounded the cape at 5: 00 a.m., but a few hours later, the wind began to veer more in their favour. Everyone on board congratulated himself on the prospect of a quick and safe passage home. After all, Cape Race had been rounded; trouble seemed to be behind them. They passed Cape St. Mary’s, another fertile ground for marine disasters, at 4: 00 p.m.

  Captain Bugden, probably John Bugden or one of his brothers – Thomas, Henry, Philip, or Reuben – said after:

  As night came on, the wind, which now blew from the southeast, began to increase with a thick snow squall until it had risen to a perfect gale. We lay to until about 8 o’clock when the weather cleared up a little and we saw the Burin light and ran for the harbour under double-reefed foresail.

  About 9: 30 we shipped a heavy sea which swept away one of our crew, a young man named William Collins. The rest of us very narrowly escaped the same fate. At 10: 30 p.m. we arrived at home, Path End, Burin, in a very battered condition. The fatal sea had also swept away our dory, caboose (after cabin), lee rail and bulwarks, with several articles of deck freight.

  It was as if the sea was exacting payment for Antelope having made it past one of its tollgates: Cape Race. The Bugdens didn’t reach Path End until they witnessed the death of a friend and shipmate; as well, their little schooner was nigh torn apart running the gamut between the cape and home.

  In a tragic footnote to this tale of seamanship and strength while facing adversity, on July 20, 1894, Antelope was cut down while fishing on the Grand Banks, south of Cape Race, by the White Star liner Majestic. The Bugden brothers survived; two crewmen perished: William Woundy and Gabriel Mitchell of Burin.

  19

  Prudence at Broad Cove Beach

  January 1892

  News of death and destruction at the cape became fodder for journalists all across the Dominion of Canada writing about Calamity Coast. The Montreal Gazette of October 18, 1888, said, “Cape Race has been the scene of many a terrible shipwreck, ” but late improvements should reduce incidents of catastrophe. Recently, a powerful light and a steam whistle furnished with all the latest improvements had been installed and now guarded the dangerous cape. The Dominion of Canada, said the Gazette, now owned and controlled this lighthouse, and the Dominion steamer Newfield, Captain R. A. Guildford, had recently paid its annual visit to the cape. Newfield landed two new boilers and 300 tons of coal for the lighthouse service.

  It was no easy work to land the great boilers and other heavy equipment on that wild and treacherous spot. In fact, it had been reported on September 28, 1888, by the Newfoundland newspaper the Evening Mercury that the second mate Mckenzie and sailor William Turner of Newfield had drowned while bringing coal to the cape in a boat. The boat had upset and both men were lost to the seas; their remains were never recovered.

  In addition to the installation of new boilers, that year the Canadian government erected a “Crosby Automatic Signal” for the steam whistle fog alarm, replacing the old steam whistle. Accordingly, this fog signal would operate continuously and with unerring accuracy. The new signal, said the Montreal Gazette, “runs itself and with unfailing certainty. It effectively saves water (an important object where it is scarce) and also saves coal.” The Crosby Signal was simple in construction, not likely to malfunction, and would save 40 per cent in steam, water, and coal.

  Improvements came to the cape, as did ships in distress. In early January 1892, the British tanker Prudence left London, England, headed for Philadelphia. The 2,319-ton steamer, owned by Alfred Stuart of London, was commanded by Captain Peter Ross. On the evening of January 12, while steaming in dense fog, it ran aground at Horn Head, Broad Cove, near Cape Ballard and Cape Race, Newfoundland. The captain thought he had rounded Cape Race and proceeded confidently at 11 knots an hour.

  In the beginning, crew and salvors thought Prudence could be towed from the iron-like grip of rock and gravel. Two steam tugs from St. John’s, Favourite and Kite, came south to assist. Operators quickly realized the tanker would not be freed. It was firmly and fatally aground on a beach and half full of water from stem to stern.

  Much to the surprise of the crew on the two salvage tugs, they saw that their arrival had been preceded by some 500 would-be wreckers; most were milling around on the deck of Prudence. Some of these wreckers had travelled approximately 40 miles to get to the wreck.

  The wreck commissioner showed up and, warning the crowd that salvage was not permitted until the casualty was officially abandoned by the crew, told them to get off the grounded ship.

  Nevertheless, some 200 wreckers stood by in their dories and skiffs, watching for captain and crew to abandon ship and waiting to get a chance to loot. Soon the weather changed for the worse. Seas swept in and out through the doomed vessel and soon legal salvagers declared Prudence a total loss.

  All items, galley utensi
ls, rigging, ropes, deck gear, navigating instruments, clothes, and bedclothes were taken off, loaded onto the Kite and Favourite, and shipped to St. John’s. Upon official abandonment, there was little left for would-be wreckers. There was nothing in the holds but iron ballast.

  By February, a Marine Court of Inquiry was set up in St. John’s to investigate the loss and to establish the reasons why Prudence went aground. Judge Daniel W. Prowse presided, aided by Captain English and Captain White. On February 19, Judge Prowse delivered the following judgment:

  a. the said steamer Prudence, on this occasion, was not navigated with proper seamanlike care,

  b. the loss of the vessel is due to the steering of improper courses, and

  c. specially to the master’s neglect to take regular and systematic soundings. The master, Peter Ross, is alone in default.

  As a result of our judgment, Prowse said:

  We have no alternative but to suspend the master’s certificate for three months, to date from February 19, 1892. It is with regret that we do so, as in other respects, the master has shown himself to be a smart, able and competent mariner. We would recommend his being allowed a mate’s certificate during the suspension of his certificate of master.

  The print media of the day quickly picked up on the rumour that 500 wreckers had appeared near the wreck and attempted illegal salvage and theft. The people of the area from Renews to Portugal Cove South took exception to these statements. They felt the term wreckers, or “wrackers, ” maligned the character of all people in that area. There was a firm assertion that many of the men on or near Prudence were there to help. Others came out of curiosity and not for the purposes of plunder, theft, or illegal salvage.