ON THE SHOALS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 20, 17 May 1911, Page 42

ON THE SHOALS.

A Tate of Desperate Peril and Splendid Heroism.

By

THOMAS J. THOMAS.

IT was on the night of December Bth, 1909, that the steamer Clarion, commanded by Captain E. J. Bell, steamed out into Lake Erie from the Detroit River to encounter one of the worst midwinter storms in the his tory of Great Lakes navigation. Many • good boat went to her doom that Bight, and half a hundred brave men, When the dawn finally came, had gone on their last grim journey. As Captain Bell swung his ship into the gale-tom waters of the lake, he did not know that other, vessels were at that moment making their last struggle against the combined furies of wind

•nd water—that even at that moment his own ship, a wooden craft of about three hundred feet in length, was within little over an hour of her doom. I»i steaming slowly down the t reach - erous channel of the river, the freighter had been trimmed in preparation for the ordeal upon the open lake, for lake captains know and respect the might of old Erie, which bears an evil reputation among fresh-water sailors. Its yearly toll is great, and its sandy bottom is strewn with innumerable wrecks—ghastly monuments to her power. From the very first, the captain of the Clarion realised that the struggle was going to be a desperate one. but the freighter had weathered many a storm in her long and eventful life, and her master had the utmost confidence in her. The waves were running mountainhigh. lashed to fury by the cold December wind. To make matters worse, a heavy vapour, rising from the foaming water, was instantly converted into a dense fog, which, being quickly frozen, waa driven with stinging force against the faces of the me* oa the bridge.

Despite the heavy seas and the roaring wind, however, the Clarion made good headway until near the South-East Shoals, the exact location of which the wheelsman could only guess, since the light-ship which marks the spot was hidden in the dense fog. through which it was impossible to see even as far aft as the engine-room. On deck the men whose watch it chanced to be were kept busy. The hatches, ranged in a low row along the deck, were battened down, and everything movable was lashed fast, for the waves were smashing with crushing force even over the upper deck. In the

crew's quarters aft the off-watch men were sleeping, or, at least, making the effort. Captain Bell, at his post on ths bridge, kept his eye constantly on the compass. He knew that the steamer was now in or near the danger-zone—■ that the South-East Shoals were, or should be, just off the starboard quarter. Satisfied at last that all was right, and that the dread menace had been passed, the captain was just about to enter the pilot-house, when, without warning, there came a cry from the after end of the ship. “Fire!” yelled the man on watch. “Fire!” The cry was repeated forward. Captain Bell—his face grown suddenly white—turned to the bridge-rail and looked aft. His eyes discerned a red glow just forward of the after deckhouse. At the same instant a deck hand tore up the ladder to the bridge and cried out that the hold was a seething furnace. 'A fire at sea is terrible enough under the most favourable conditions, but, with the added terror* of a mid winter

storm, it. assumes the most horrible of aspects. - — - •- Captain Bell called the erew to quarters, and every effort was made to arrest the progress of the flames, but in a few minutes it was seen that the task waa hopeless. The Clarion was doomed. Hoarse cries, curses, and shouted orders mingled with the howling of the wind and the deep-toned roar of the waves; and then, like the shriek of some animal in an agony of terror, the whistle roared forth giving the call for help. Somewhere off through the gloom there was an answering shriek. The Clarion's siren again bellowed its cry for succour, and once more the other answered. By this time the flames were leaping high into the air from an open hatch, the wind fanning them into a fury. The roar of the blaze, mingled with the rumble of the waves and the shrieking of the gale, made a medley of sound so awesome that those who heard it will never forget. Meantime the Clarion's engines had been stopped, and the steamer, her hold a roaring furnace, drifted at the mercy of wind and sea. Captain Bell pulled the whistle rope with insistent regularity. and always came th? answer through the flying mist. Neater and

nearer came the other vessel, its sirens sounding louder every instant. Already one of the Clarion's boats swung at the davit, and the crew was ready to abandon the doomed ship on a moment's notice. The two sirens kept up a constant bedlam, the sounds indicating that the other craft was close aboard and bearing down rapidly. Suddenly,. through the driving mist, those on the Clarion saw the lights of the other vessel looming up out of the gloom just astern. Nearer thev came—so near, indeed, that the huddled group of men on the Clarion could see the outline of the hull. The other steamer seemed to be tearing on at full speed. She passed so close that the watchers in the fire-swept Clarion eould distinguish the strained faces of the crew leaning over the rail reflected in the ruddy glow of the flames. A shout went up from the doomed boat’s crew as the other drew near, for they fully expected her to stand by: but. to their horror, they passed on unheeding. Some day, perhaps, the master of that unknown steamer will meet • fat* a* terriUa a* that

to which he abandoned .the . BSea of the tlarion. He jM-ver stopped—he did not even alow down —but shot on into the gloom and the storm. Th* crew of the Clarion was too etunned to ery out. Not a man moved. All stood transfixed mutely watching with fascinated horrified eyes while the black hull of th* other craft melted into the darkness. Another steamer, up-bound, presently sounded a warning whistle just off the Clarion's port bow. Her captain had undoubtedly seen the glare of the fir* and wondered. The Clarion's whistle answered with a shriek. Captain Bell believed that tire first ship had put about and was coming back to the assistance of his men and himself. But it was a groundless hope. The other ship passed so far away that even her lights eould not be discerned through the gloom, but her constantly shrieking whistle told of her approach and her plunge into th* darkness astern. It was about this time that the erew of the Clarion heard the measured tolling of a bell, the sound reaching them faintly through the mist and the storm. Tlien they understood why the other boats had not stopped. The bell waa on the South East Shoals lightship, and,

judging by tl>e sound, it eould not be mere than half or three-quarters of a mile away.. The Clarion was even then on the shoals. It was this fact, doubt-le-s. that accounted for the fear of the ether masters to approach. Captain Bell and his erew expe ted each instant to fee] the sickening sacek which would tell of the vessel striking on the rocks. The minutes passed by. however, and still the dreaded impact-was not felt. Another steamer whistl'd far off to port ami passed on down the lake to battle her way to safety or founder in the giant seas. Captain Bell, as fear!- -- a navigator as ever trod a bridge, finally called.bis men around him. "Boys;” he said, “the Clarion is doomed. She can live b.’t an hour at best. The lightship i» not far unays let us try to make it. It is the only chance wa have.” The next instant the steamer’s two lifeboats—one a steel affair without airtight compartments—were ready for launching. Captain Bell, with twelve of the erew, dropped into the steel boat, which was lowered into the *e» OB th*

tto aide. By dint of hard work the eraft gras forced away from the doomed steamer's'aide, and finally plunged into the darkness' toward the I ightship. j It*wd» never heard from again. • ’ The other boat, launched on the windward side, was wrecked before even one man could clamber aboard. The frail boat, as it struck the water, was caught on the crest of a giant -ware, which twisted it in such a way that the lines which held it to the davits parted. The boat jru rapidly being carried away when one of the crew, Joe McCauley, an oiler, and the first hero of tire wreck, stepped forward. He realised that if the boat got away the eight survivors on the burning boat would perish miserably. Without hesitating for an instant, he sprang tv the rail and leaped into the icy water, striking out towards the drifting boat. He reached forth his hand to grasp the thwarts—and missed. A cry escaped him, and Chief Engineer A. E. Welch threw a life preserver to the struggling man. But the unhappy fellow, his fingers stiffened by the icy water, could not grasp the line. He sank from sight, and a groan went up from the seven watchers. The fact that the brave oiler had lost his life in a vain attempt to save the others was depressing enough in itself, but when the seven men on the Clarion saw the lifeboat drifting away, only to be swallowed up in the blackness, they gave up all hope. As a last resort the doomed men decided to make one more stand against the flames. A hose was manned, and Jim Thompson, first mate, volunteered to go into the burning hold, on the un-

derstanding that the line of hose would be passed down to him. Without more ado the mate, after shaking hands with his fellows, went down through an opening in one of the hatch covers. The hose was thrust down, but no hand reached out to grasp it. Mate Thompson never came on deck again—he was just another who gave up his life for his fellows. Following this tragic incident, the sttrv. lvor '- now reduced to six in number, lived only in the hope that the captain would send lielp. None of the unhappy men knew that the steel lifeboat had been lost. Besides, even if it had survived the terrible storm and reached the lightship, the captain would have believed that the second boat had got safely away with the rest of the hands. Finally driven to the after deek by the steady advance of the flames, the mere handful of men stood about hopelessly awaiting the end. Each and every man had now reconciled himself to his fate. There was nothing left to do but' wait, an d if at the last minute no help appeared they would hurl themselves into the sea, preferring death by drowning to that of being roasted alive on the illfated vessel. ■Then, to the horror of the little party, huddled on the after-deck, tlie Clarion suddenly scraped bottom. .Carried -over * a °b B t ruc t*’ , n by the driving seas, sh-i *free, only to strike again. lightly. The boat was on the shoals now in •ead .earnest, and death for a11..0n board £ ut • f ew minutes away. The next

Inatairt might bring the grinding shock that would mean the burning steamer's end. The erew, huddled together in lb: shelter of the after wheelhouse, their faces covered with iee and sleet, gave themselves up for lost. Welch, the chief engineer—a burly fellow who had sailed in the Clarion almost from the day of her launching—turned a pale face to the rest of-the men. “I guess this spells the finish, boys,"* he said. "It’s our last cruise.'* No one vouchsafed any remarks, and Welch continued: ‘"I say, lads,” he pried, his teeth chattering with the ehill of the winter wind, "if we've got to go, let's go like men. There ain’t no chance in the world, but we'll die fighting.” A minute later he .vent to where the funnel loomed up into the darkness and started to climb the exhaust-pipe. "Just one more toot for luck.” he bawled out to the men below. The next instant he pulled the whistle cord, and the Clarion’s siren once more split the air with its cry of distress. This time the rumbling scream died away into a dismal maon, which seemed almost human. The last ounce of steam in the Clarion's boilers had gone out in that final, pitiful plea for help. To the indescribable joy of everyone the signal was answered, but recai'.ing the actions of the other three boats the unhappy men would not allow themselves to hope. No master would risk his boat on the shoals. Nevertheless, the whistle of the other

steamer sounded nearer, and every instant the answer to that last dismal, soul-stirring wail of distress grew greater in volume. In less than ten minutes the shadowy outline of a big steel freighter loomed up out of the mist. The six men on the Clarion watched her without interest, tor they knew that she. too. fearing the dangerous shallows, won.J pass on her way, And she d>d; but it seemed to the watchers that her speed ha 1 diminished. Iler whistle kept up a constant shrieking which first grew faint, then gradually louder, until the black hull agaiii stole into the circle of light that penetrated the gloom. "Good heavens!” cried Welch. "He's going to try to take us off! He can never do' it; he'll run on the shoals.” The chief engineer cried out in warning but his voice failed to carry through the storm. The other steamer came on at slow speed, and passed within hailing distance of the Clarion’s stern. “Stand by to be taken off!” came a voice from the stranger’s bridge. “Fin going to circle around you and come up close to your fantail. Stand ready to jump.” “The shoals!” roared Welch through a megaphone. “Hang the shoals!” eried an answering voice, and the big freighter slid on into -the night like a giant spectre. In less than ten minutes she again came in Anew, making little more than steerage way. Slowly she came on, pitching and

rolling in the heavy seas. It was plain that her captain was goings, to rlsK running close aboard. He didn't intend sending out the small boats. In tbe circumstances it was a long chance to take, for the shoals are treacherous. Moreover, there was the danger of the seas throwing the two boats together with such violence as to precipitate a double disaster. But the unknown took a desperate chance. Her bow was almost abreast of the Clarion's fantail when the chief engineer got a lantern, which he swung over his head the better to guide the bold captain of the stranger. Now the bow had passed. The stranger’s engines had stopped, and she staggered along under her own momentum. Foot by foot, inch by inch, she drew nearer to where the six men stood shivering. A gap of ten feet remained : now eight, now six, now fourtwo! “Jump!" cried Welch to the men. ‘•Jump! For Heaven’s sake, jump!” And jump they did, to be caught in the willing arms of members of the stranger’s erew. The last man to leap had taken a long chance. The unknown boat was drawing away as he made the leap, and, miscalculating the distance, he crashed against the steel side of the rescuer. He was already rebounding into the sea when a pair of hands reached down, grabbed frantically, and drew him up to safety. Then the stranger drew off, and as she d : d a shout went up from her crew. The chief engineer still stood on the Clarion’s fantail, So

intent had he been on swinging his signa! light an-J getting his fellows off that he had been left behind. He stood on the deck of the doomed vessel, a solitary-, pitiful figure, watching the big steel freighter with anxious eyes. His hand, still holding the lantern, had dropped limply to his side. And the stranger kept on. gradually melting into the night and tie storm. \\ eleh groaned. It seemed that, after all, he was to perish. He looked forward. The deek of the Clarion was now burning fiercely, and tongues of flame were already licking at the after-deck, on which he stood. He looked away into the night, but could see and hear nothing but the howling of the wind and the roaring of the sea. It was beyond all reason to hope that the stranger would take the risk again—for one man. Welch muttered a prayer. It was the end. The heat from the fire grew intense, almost more than the unhappy man could stand. His weather-beaten face had already commenced to blister. •Minute after minute passed, and still ha stood there. “I guess that it’s time for a swim." he told himself at last. On the bridge of the steamer Leonard Hanna, (aptain M. B. Anderson, his own trained hands on the wheel-spokes, guided his vessel past the burning Clarion. He had seen the ruddy glow of the flames through the fog long befo.ro .the doomed lioat’s siren split the air with its plea for help. At first he

believed the burning steamer to have braa but that shriek for help told him a different story. * • The craft's on the shoals," be told himself, “but I'll take a chance.” And he did. with what success has already been told. '• . It was not until the last minute that it was seen one man remained. "I*' 9 Welch!" cried a member of tbs Clarion's crew, “(tod help him!” Captain Anderson, up on the bridge, looked at the solitary figure on the < lanon a fantail. He saw the lantern, idle now. This man was doomed unless help quickly reached him. The master of the Hanna rang the engines on to half speed. He himself was on the shoals, and his boat was in danger. He steamed slowly ahead, feeling his way through the night. At any instant he might put his ship upon the rocks. That would mean disgrace and dishonour, and he would be a ruined man. Down in his lieart the captain knew he would have been within his rights, moral and otheru ise, had he abandoned the Clarion's crew to their fate. To go near the burning boat was bad navigation, and he knew it; but he weighed the problem in his mind and he took a. chance. Would he leave Welch to his fate? Ths men of both boats wondered. Anderson said nothing. The Hanna had passed out of sight of Welch, but slowly she came aroufld, guided by that master hand. Once more the blazing Clarion came into view, and the Hanna bora down upon her. Captain Anderson was going back for Welch! A hundred yards separated the two boats. Captain Anderson placed yi megaphone to his lips and bawled: — "Get ready to jump!” j Welch heard and waved his lantern. Nearer the. Hanna drew—so close this time that the sea threatened each instunt to throw the two vessels together. The high bow of the steel freighter scraped the low fantail of the w.iojlen craft. There was a creaking of timers as the boats ground together. "Now!” cried (aptain Anderson and a score of others in unison. Welch did not need tbe advice. With a wild yell he tossed his lantern into ths sea and then, leaped outward. Willing hands caught him. aijd he sank, to tha When lie op-n--ed his eyes "a . few... luiniifes later the Hanna'was forgipg through the:’storm. Off to the -outhwe-t a faint glow marked the spot'where the Clarion lay rolling in the heavy sea, making her last fight—alone.