Schooner A.B. Goodman ~ 4 April 1881

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Service for the fiscal year ending June 30 1881:

The last fatal wreck of the year, within life-saving limits, was that of the schooner A.B. Goodman, of Seaford, DE, bound from Baltimore, MD, to New Berne, NC, with a cargo of guano, and having on board 5 men, including the captain. The wreck took place on April 4, 1881, at about half-past 6 o’clock in the evening, the vessel striking during a northwest gale, upon the outer edge of the inner shoal off Cape Hatteras, and being at once boarded by the sea, there was only time in the overwhelming rush of waters for the men to fly to the rigging; in the effort to gain which, one of them, Louis Beck, was swept overboard, and drowned.

     The point at which the disaster took place was about three miles from shore, and six miles east of Life Saving Station No. 22 (6th District), North Carolina. This station is built upon the rise of an eminence known as Creeds Hill, and its north patrol reaches for 6 miles around the edge of the dreaded cape. Looking from the station, the view toward the cape presents to the eye the aspect of an immense desert of sand, strangely and fantastically sprinkled all over with gnarled and twisted trunks of black, dead trees. In winter, or during the inclement season, nothing more dismal could well be imagined than this Sahara, with its thin remnant of a former vegetation killed by the salt tides. The level is only diversified by occasional mounds of sand, and, here and there, pools of sea water, left by some overflow in the hollows. Behind, or to the west, a forest of pines and live oaks, dense and almost impenetrable, stretches away northward to Hatteras light house. All around the cape for two miles, in storms at flood tides, a heavy sea swings across the low and somewhat shelving beach, in among its bordering hummocks, and back again with violence, ploughing gullies as it runs. The surf makes the sand a quag, quick-sands form in the gullies, and the solitary patrolman, making his way along the top of the beach in the darkness by the dim light of his lantern, faces the chances of destruction, being liable to be swept off his feet by the rush or refluence of the surf, sucked down in the gullies by the quick-sands, or struck by some fragment of wreck-stuff shot forth by the breakers. Yet this dreadful watch is made necessary by the presence of shore of a nest of shoals, range after range, which are the terror of navigators. The first, a mile wide, stretches from the point of the cape between two and three miles seaward, covered with a depth of only seven feet of water, which in storms are miles of raging foam. This formation is, in fact, a submarine prolongation of the cape. Beyond it, separated by half a mile of channel, is another formidable shoal, the Diamond, two miles long; and beyond this again, another range of shallows, the outer shoals. For 6 or 7 miles out from shore, these terrible bottoms spread their ambush for shipping, and hence the watch in this locality for vessels in danger requires to be particularly kept around the point of the cape, no matter at what toll or hazard to the sentinel. On the evening of the disaster to the A.B. Goodman, the patrolman, pursuing his journey through the floods sheeting across his way, in the midst of a squall of rain and snow, saw far off, despite the distance and thick weather, the dim outlines of a vessel, and knew by this indication that there was some sort of a craft in the neighborhood of the shoals, though exactly where, or whether in danger, it was impossible to determine. The fact was reported by 10 o’clock to the keeper, B.B. Daily, who was up at dawn, and saw the schooner evidently aground, and, in fact, sunk, on the outer edge of the first range of shoals. He at once ordered out the surf boat to the rescue.

Benjamin B. Daily

     The storm of the evening before had been brief, and the wind, blowing freshly from the north-northwest, had beaten down the surf upon the beach. The sea, therefore, was smooth for launching, but beyond, it was very heavy. Heaps of rough water incessantly tumbling, and thickets of bursting form, filled the offing, and the current running one way, while the wind was the other, made an ugly cross sea. The little group of surf men about to enter upon this stormy field had still a more serious peril before them than the chance of being overswept or capsized by the colliding waters. Their boat being light and flat-bottomed, the breeze, which was strong, and off shore, might make return impossible, and force them out to sea, where they would almost certainly be lost.  Nevertheless, as the stout keeper naively said in his testimony, “they knew it was their duty to do what they could, so they did it.” The group was composed of the keeper, B.B. Daily, and Surfmen Thomas J. Fulcher, Damon M. Gray, Erasmus H. Rolison, Benjamin F. Whidbee, Christopher B. Farrow, and John B. Whidbee, the last named a substitute for a member of the crew absent on leave. One of the crew, Z. Basnett, was left in charge of the station. It is certain that none of the others counted upon returning alive. The disposition of their slender effects was a part of the charge given to surfman Basnett by his companions in case they perished. Having thus made each his simple will, as men facing the issues of life and death, they entered the boat and gave way.

     For a long way out the surf boat kept the lee of the cape, where the surf, flattened by the off shore wind, was comparatively smooth. Once beyond the point of the cape, they entered the rough water, and their gravest peril was encountered when, rounding the end of the inner shoal, they gained the slue or channel, lying between the inner and Diamond Shoals, down which they had to row for perhaps a mile to the locality of the wreck. In this channel, all there was of the cross sea was in full career, and the greatest circumspection was necessary in the management of the boat. Finally, at about half-past 7 o’clock, two hours after starting, the life saving crew arrived near he wrecked schooner.

     She was completely sunk, her hull all under. Only her two masts stuck up from the swirling water, and perched up in the main cross-trees, wrapped in the main-gaff topsail, were huddled the four wretched survivors of her crew of five. After three or four daring and dangerous attempts to get near, baffled by the strong current and the vast commotion of the sea above the sunken hull, keeper Daily hailed the wretched group up on the mast, telling them to keep good heart and that they would be rescued as soon as possible; then dropped astern about three hundred yards and let go the anchor, having decided that it as necessary to a successful effort to wait. The efforts already made had consumed much time, and the boat anchored within an hour of noon. An hour afterward, the flood-tide somewhat smoothed the break of the sea over the sunken hull, and the life saving crew got up their anchor, worked p to the windward of the vessel, where they again moored, and then slowly and cautiously, by slacking on the anchor line, let the boat veer down toward the main mast of the wreck. Once within range, the keeper hove his boat hook, by a line attached, into the rigging and held on. The fateful moment had arrived, the boat was slacked in, so that the keeper could get hold of the first man hat came down from aloft, and the first mate slowly descended the rigging. As he came within reach, the keeper, standing n the stern of the boat, seized him, but the man, terrified at the frightful rush and roar of waters beneath him, and doubtless unmanned by cold and hunger, and the may hours of horror he had undergone, broke from the keeper’s hold and clambered up the rigging again. The boat was hauled back a little, and the keeper spoke up cheerily, encouraging the men in the cross-trees, and declaring they would all be saved. Presently, the line was again slacked, the boat veered down, and the mate once more descended. His fright again seized him, but the keeper, forewarned, got a mighty hold, and by sheer force, jerked him out of the rigging and landed him in the boat. The captain then came down, was seized by the keeper the moment he came within reach, and torn from the shrouds. The other two men, emboldened by this energetic succession of deliverance, slid down the rigging and jumped into the boat without aid. Quickly the keeper then let slack his warp, recovered his boat hook, and gave the word to haul back to the anchor. Three of the rescued men were seated on the thwarts, the captain in the stern sheets, the anchor was got up, and the hard work of the return began.

     By this time the wind had changed to the west-southwest, blowing freshly, and so roughening the water on the south side of the shoals—which was the side on which the approach to the wreck had been made—and the keeper decided it would be safer to attempt the landing on the north side, or near Hatteras lighthouse. The men gave way with a will, wind and sea against them. The light keepers watching them as they toiled upon the running swells, had some time before made up their minds that they would not be able to get to land that night, if they ever did. But the strenuous effort conquered, and somewhere about 2 0’clock the life saving crew, dripping and exhausted, gained the beach, near the lighthouse tower, with the sailors they had saved.

     These sailors were at once taken up to the lighthouse by the keepers, where a meal was set before them. No food had passed their lips since about 11 o’clock of the day previous, and they were nearly perished with cold and hunger. Their rescuers were in little better case, having eaten nothing since 4 o’clock the day before, a period of about twenty-two hours. Nevertheless, without waiting to share in the repast of the sailors, they set off to their own quarters, a tramp by the shortest cut across the cape of nearly five miles. Thy reached the station greatly exhausted. All of them had been out on the tempestuous patrol or some part of the night before, some of them from 2 o’clock in the morning until dawn. From this night of broken rest they had passed abruptly to 8 hours of tragic labor under the shadow of death upon the sea. Their valiant rescue achieved, there still remained this long trudge, which left them finally at the station, a group of haggard, worn out men.

    Descant is unnecessary upon the feat they performed in saving the four sailors. Such deeds attest themselves; and there are few scenes in human life more deeply affecting than the spectacle of this crew of poop men making their wills upon the beach, and leaving their small store of effects in charge of a comrade for the benefit of their families before entering upon a struggle of deadly peril for the lives of four unhappy creatures, who, in their dying misery, must have thought themselves abandoned forever by men, if not beyond all human aid. To have done this—to have quietly resigned the certainties for the chances of existence in such a case and under such circumstances—was more than noble; and there are no hearts, however cold, that will not feel that in this action the unassuming surfmen of an obscure coast reached again, as many low-down and almost nameless men have often reached, the full stature of heroism.

Newspaper Article:

The Norfolk Virginian
April 6, 1882

A schooner also went ashore on the Diamond shoals yesterday, in regard which two messages were sent to the chief signal officer, the last one, dated 3:20 p.m., reading as follows.
     Schooner ashore on Diamond Shoal proves to be the two-master schooner A.B. Goodman, G.F. Seward captain, bound from Baltimore, Md., to Newberne, N.C., loaded with guano; five men all told, saved; one seaman lost; crew saved by Life Saving Station No. 22 who started for the wreck at 6 a.m. today; vessel struck at 7 p.m. yesterday and crew taken off at 11 today. She will probably be a total loss; going to pieces now.

Schooner Charles ~ 5 October 1881

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Services for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1882:

At 11 a.m., during the prevalence of a heavy gale from the north-northeast, the weather being squally and thick, the lookout at Station No. 20 (6th District), Little Kinnakeet, North Carolina, sighted a small schooner under close-reefer foresail and jib scudding down the coast before the wind. When nearly abreast of the station she was observed to haul in towards the land, as though it was intended to beach her. The life saving crew at once started out with their apparatus to her assistance.

     When near the surf another schooner was seen coming from the northward and also apparently edging in towards the beach. The first schooner, which proved to be the Charles, 33 tons register, of Beaufort, North Carolina, struck about a mile south of the station soon after the life saving crew got out. She went head on with the seas sweeping her deck from one end to the other, and did not fetch up until most high and dry. The surfmen pushed forward with all the haste possible, and in a few minutes were abreast of the vessel. She was so well up that one of the surfmen waded out with the whip line until he was waist deep in the surf, and then grasping the gear of the martingale managed to climb on board and make the tail block fast to the foremast, for the purpose of aiding the landing of her crew.

     Three persons were on board—two men and a boy. They refused to leave the vessel until their effects could be gathered together, the captain descending to the cabin and locking himself in. There was no time for parleying, as the other schooner was fast nearing the breakers and the life saving crew must proceed to her as quickly as possible. The captain was therefore informed that if he desired the assistance of the station crew it must be accepted at once. This brought him to reason, and he and his crew were soon transferred to the shore and conducted to the station.

     The Charles was from Broad Creek, Neuse River, North Carolina, bound to Baltimore, MD with a cargo of lumber. The captain reported encountering the first of the gale the night previous when to the northward, abreast of Currituck Beach light, and that he had lost his yawl and most of the deck load, besides springing the fore-gaff. By the time the latter was repaired so as to carry sail on it the storm had increased to such severity that he was compelled to run before it and ultimately to beach the vessel to save himself and crew. The hull of the schooner being uninjured the captain subsequently contracted with a party to haul her across the beach and launch her in Pamlico Sound, and thus saved his vessel, he and his crew receiving shelter at the station while the work was going on.

NOTE: See also the McColly, rescued immediately after the Charles.

Steamer Cragside ~ 21 February 1881

Report of Keeper James W. Howard:

"Feb. 21st 1881: Steam Ship Cragside, -- Home port -- London England. 4 years old, 2 masts, Master, W.L. Sinclair, traveling from Galveston, Texas to Liverpool, England -- Crew 23 -- cargo, cotton.... wrecked near Ocracoke LSS, 7 pm at night, moderate winds, thick fog, high water, sea moderate.... Arrived at wreck at 11:30 pm, returned to station 5 am.... 2 trips with surf boat... Breeches Buoy used -- 15 trips of breeches buoy to wreck.... 22 lives saved, English and Japanese. (1 life lost -- Ipswich,  England) attempted to leave in ship's Boat and was capsized...."

Schooner H.W. McColly ~ 5 October 1881

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Services for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1882:

By the time the crew of the Charles were safely ashore, the schooner which the life saving crew had seem coming down the coast astern of her had also stranded about a quarter of a mile south of the station. She struck the bar at about noon. The life saving crew, No. 20 (6th District) hurried toward her as quickly as the bad condition of the beach would permit, the water in some places being almost knee deep at the foot of the beach hills, well above ordinary high-water mark. To add to the difficulties of travel the wind blew a furious gale right in their teeth.

     As afterwards learned, the schooner was the H.W. McColly, of New York, 111 tons measurement, bound from Broad Creek, Neuse River, North Carolina, for Philadelphia, with a full cargo of pine lumber. Her crew numbered 5 men, all told. Like the Charles, she had encountered the first outburst of the gale the previous night, when far to the northward, and by morning had lost most of her sails, part of the deck load, and was leaking badly. In this condition she was run ashore, having scudded before the gale until it became no longer safe to do so; her captain, from his knowledge of the coast and of the existence of life saving stations, realizing that it was the only chance he and his men had for their lives. The schooner brought up on the outer bar, about 200 yards from the beach. She lay stern to the sea, which at once commenced breaking over her with such irresistible volume that the crew were compelled to take to the rigging for safety, the captain ascending at the main while the rest went up forward.

     By the time the life saving crew arrived the sea and current had cut the vessel’s stern around off shore. The wreck gun was soon placed in position and fired, the shot lodging the line across the end of the jib boom. Watching their opportunity between the seas the men in the fore-rigging quickly descended and went out on the boom and secured the shot line, and by that means, after considerable difficulty, owing to the action of the current upon the lines, succeeded in getting hold of the whip, the tail block of which they made fast to the flying jib stay. The hawser was then sent off, and also made fast above the block. At this moment the crew of Station No. 21 arrived upon the scene, and with their assistance the hawser was quickly tautened, and everything arranged in working order for bringing the people ashore.

     While the life saving crews were hauling the breeches boy off, however, an accident occurred which, as events proved, nearly resulted fatally. The schooner had during this time gradually swung around until her head pointed to the northward, thus bringing the jib, which remained set, flat aback. This had the effect of canting her bow off shore and throwing her stern toward the beach, thus fouling the lines. The strain was too much for the hawser, as it stretched and surged, for after the men on the beach had slacked as much of it as they dared without letting go altogether it snapped in twain, the sudden jerk throwing the mate from the jib boom into the surf. The man was at once swept by the current to the southward, along the shore. Seeing his peril, three surfmen quickly donned their cork life belts and followed down the beach to a point some 300 yards distant, where, by venturing out until the surf actually broke over their heads, they succeeding in reaching him and bringing him safely ashore. He was pretty well exhausted when rescued but stoutly refused to go to the station for shelter until he could see his shipmates also safe on land.

     The schooner once started from where she first struck now began working along the bar to the southward and ere long the tail of the whip block also parted, thus for the time completely severing connection with the beach. The life saving crews quickly hauled the lines out of the surge, and after clearing them of turns and kinks reloaded the cart and moved along abreast of the schooner, watching an opportunity to again use the gun. It soon came and the line was once more dropped within reach of the people on board. At this time the schooner was lying parallel with the beach, head to the northward, having turned completely around since leaving her first position. The whip was again hauled off and the tail block made fast as before, to the flying jib stay.

     When this was done the beachmen, as a precautionary measure, sent off four life preservers. Three of them were secured and put on by the steward and two seamen, who were thus made comparatively safe. The other life preserver fouled in the wreckage alongside and was lost, leaving one man, the captain, without any. It was extremely fortunate that even three of the belts reached them, for they were scarcely in their possession when the schooner again swung around with the same result as before, viz, the parting of the line. At the time it broke one of the sailors had just started in an attempt to reach the beach hand over hand on the line. He was of course thrown into the surf, but by great good luck he managed to retain his grasp until quickly drawn ashore by the life saving crews. He was slightly injured by contact in the surf with floating lumber from the deck load, but a little brandy from the medicine chest soon revived him.

     As soon as the lines were rearranged, another shot was fired. The schooner changed her position so rapidly, however, that the line fell beyond reach of those on board. It was quickly hauled back and the fourth fire dropped it once more over the head stays. In the meantime the vessel was fast becoming a wreck. The stern had been burst in and the water alongside and to leeward was thickly strewn with lumber and wreck stuff. Scarcely had the remaining men in the rigging secured the shot line for the third time when it was cut by contact with floating wreckage. With praiseworthy perseverance the surfmen again hauled back the broken line, and, after changing it end for end, again shot it over the vessel’s jib boom. The bight of it, as the current swept it alongside was secured by the sailors in the rigging, but they were so benumbed and stiff, and in such an awkward position, that their effort to haul out the whip line failed. As the situation became more and more critical, the two men who had life preservers on resolved to attempt swimming to the beach, leaving the captain alone in the rigging. They had scarcely left her when the schooner fell over on her side. It should be remembered that during all this time she had kept steadily in motion, preserving the same relative distance from the shore, with a mad whirl of waters between, which would have swamped any boat attempting to leave the beach. The two men, buoyed upon the crests of the waves by the cork belts, gradually worked themselves shoreward and were at last thrown within reach of the surfmen, who, joining hands, waded out as far as possible, grasped them and carried them to the beach hills clear of the swash of the water. One of them was insensible, but by the energetic application of the method in vogue in the Service for the resuscitation of apparently drowned persons he was soon brought to and taken to the nearest house for shelter.

     All but one, the captain, were now safe. He clung to the rigging, anxious, but evidently with stern determination, although the very loneliness of his position, surrounded by the terrible waters, was in itself appalling. At about half past 3, just as the life saving crews were about to fire again in the hope of placing the line within his reach, to haul him ashore, the main mast broke off and he was thrown into the surf. He exhibited rare coolness and presence of mind, and made a gallant and successful struggle; for quickly disengaging himself from the wreckage he clambered to the rail which was out of the water, and thence by degrees reached the rigging of the foremast, which still remained intact. This movement was watched by the surfmen with intense interest, and as soon as he was again ensconced in the rigging the sixth and last shot was fired. At this juncture the man lost his hold and was swept out of sight, apparently under the wreck. His disappearance was but momentary, however, for to the great relief of those on shore, he quickly reappeared on the surface amidst the fragments of timbers and planking, and catching at the first piece within reach flung his arms and legs around it with the grip of death or despair. By great good luck the piece of timber to which he clung was cast shoreward by the sea, and willing hands were ready to grasp him as soon as he was within reach. When drawn ashore he was insensible. He was at once taken to a place of shelter and by proper manipulation and the administration of the usual remedies was soon brought to consciousness.

     Darkness had now overtaken them, and as soon as the men were able to travel the rescuers wended their way to their respective stations, the wrecked crew reaching No. 20 with the men of that station at about half past 8. Here, after changing their wet garments and partaking of warm food, all hands except those whose turn it was to patrol the beach, sought releaf in much needed rest after the excitement and exposure of such an eventful day. The crew of the McColly remained at the station several days until able to leave for their homes, their unfortunate craft having become a complete wreck. The crew of No. 20 thus had 8 shipwrecked sailors on their hands, those of the Charles remaining until their vessel was floated off. It should be mentioned that one of the surfmen of No. 20 had a narrow escape while wading into the surf to the assistance of one of the sailors. He was knocked almost senseless by a piece of timber, and it was only with considerable difficulty that he was rescued by his comrades. The action of the crews of these two stations (Nos. 20 and 21) on this occasion was certainly very creditable, and to their perseverance under adverse circumstances, coupled with great gallantry in wading out into the surf at the peril of their own lives, is due the saving of all those aboard the McColly.

(NOTE: See also the Charles, rescued just previous to the McColly.)

Schooner Kate Miller ~ 22 November 1881

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Service for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1881:

The schooner Kate Miller, of Philadelphia, bound from Wilmington, Delaware to Galveston, Texas, with a crew of seven men and a cargo of railroad-iron, sprung a leak on the voyage and attempted to put into Hatteras Inlet, North Carolina, for a harbor. While at anchor off the bar, in charge of a pilot, during a heavy northeasterly gale, with a heavy sea, the leak increased so that the vessel was in danger of sinking. The cables were slipped and the vessel ran ashore in the breakers, about a mile south of the inlet. It was about 3 o’clock in the afternoon when she stranded. The crew and pilot, eight in all, landed in the schooner’s yawl, and, after setting up a signal on an adjacent hill, took refuge in an old hut near the beach. The weather being thick and rainy, the wreck was not discovered from Station No. 23, Sixth District (Hatteras Inlet, North Carolina) about six miles distant, on the other side of the inlet, until the next morning at about half-past five. The life-saving crew started at once in their surf-boat, and after crossing the inlet landed on the inside and hauled the boat over to the surf-shore, from which point they pulled out to the vessel. They reached the wreck at 10 o’clock, and collecting the personal effects of her crew carried them ashore. As nothing further could be done on board, the keeper made preparations to convey the sailors across the inlet to the station. The wind was so strong that he could not pull it with the surf-boat, so he engaged the services of a sail-boat, and by that means sent them over to the station, promising to follow as soon as possible. By 1 o’clock in the afternoon he was able to start across with the surf-boat, the farther shore being reached at 3 o’clock, after a very hard pull. As the men were fagged out, and unable to get the boat any further, he beached her in a safe place inside the inlet, and then all hands walked to the station, where they arrived at 5 o’clock. They found the schooner’s crew had arrived some hours previous. The latter were sheltered at the station for four days. The vessel rapidly settled in the sand and became a total loss, but a portion of the cargo was afterwards recovered by the wreckers.

Wilmington Morning Star, Wilmington, NC, November 27, 1880:


Schooner Kate Miller, Capt. Scull, from Wilmington, Delaware, with a cargo of railroad iron, bound for Galveston, Texas, went ashore one mile south of Hatteras Inlet on the 22nd The crew, consisting of eight men, was saved in the schooner’s boat. The vessel is bilged and will probably prove a total loss.

Schooner Mary Bear ~ 9 September 1881

NORTH CAROLINA MARITIME MUSEUM

Beaufort, NC

www.ncmaritimemuseum.org

On this day in 1881 the schooner Mary Bear was lost off of New Topsail Inlet. One person perished. The exact location of the wreck is not known. This is a chart of the vicinity from 1909.

Schooner Nellie Crowell ~ 4 April 1881

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Service for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1881:

The schooner Nellie Crowell, of Hartford, CT, bound from Baltimore to Wilmington, NC, with a cargo of guano and a crew of 8 men, stranded 7 miles south of Hatteras Inlet, 12 miles from Station No. 23 (6th District), North Carolina, about 200 yards from shore. The disaster occurred at half-past two o’clock in the morning, but was not discovered until 5:30 p.m., when the schooner was perceived by the lookout on the station deck. The crew were immediately mustered, and started for the wreck with the beach apparatus. They hauled it two miles down the beach, to a point from which they intended to cross the inlet, but on arriving could get no boat to convey them on account of the heavy gale which was blowing from the northwest. This obliged them to return to the station and attempt the passage with the surf boat. They left the station the second time at 7 p.m., and after a hard and tedious pull against heavy wind and sea, succeeded in reaching the wreck at midnight. They found the crew had been taken ashore by a party of oystermen at noon, and that they had been unable to save any of their clothing. The lifesaving crew assisted the shipwrecked men to construct a camp, and then at the request of the captain of the schooner took him to Hatteras to arrange with a wrecking company for getting his vessel off. On the morning of the 5th, the life saving crew visited the wreck and obtained the clothing of the crew, after which they returned to the station, arriving at 1 p.m. On the evening of April 6, four of the wrecked crew sought shelter at the station, and four more the following day; four of the eight remained one day and night, and the other four were cared for five days. The vessel proved a total loss.

Schooner Thomas J. Lancaster ~ 5 October 1881

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Service for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1882:

The schooner Thomas J. Lancaster, of Philadelphia, PA, six 653 tons, left Boston, MA, on Thursday, September 22, 1881, bound to Savannah, GA, with a cargo of a little over 1,000 tons of ice. Her crew consisted of the captain [George L. Hunter], two mates, steward, five seamen, the captain’s wife and their three children; thirteen all told.
     At midnight on the 4th of October the vessel was about 8 miles off Bodie’s Island light, coast of North Carolina. The wind was light from the northwest, and the sea smooth. The mate took charge of the watch at midnight, and was steering south by west, according to the testimony of the man at the wheel, when the vessel grounded. Between 3 and 4 in the morning a heavy squall stuck the vessel from the north-northeast, and while the crew were engaged in taking in sail she stranded, with her head to the westward, pointing inshore. The point of disaster was about three and a half miles north of Life Saving Station No. 18 (6th District), North Carolina, and just north of the Loggerhead Inlet, which is closed up.
     As the sea was making rapidly and breaking over the rail, and the vessel commenced to pound heavily, the large boat was launched over the side of the vessel to leeward, with the intention of taking to it at daylight and trying to land. It was not then known whether the schooner had stranded on the main beach or on some outlying shoal. The second mate and three men got into the boat to keep it from being smashed against the side of the vessel. The rest of the crew were engaged in collecting clothes and supplies to put in the boat. Soon after the boat was launched a red light was seen inshore, which afterward proved to be the Coston light of the patrolman from Station No. 18, who first discovered the wreck. The boat, which was hanging by a new three or three and a half inch line from the vessel, was shipping water constantly, and one man was at work bailing it out with a bucket to keep it free.
     About half an hour after the boat was launched a sea swept it away, parting the painter and drowning two of the men, while the second mate and other man succeeded in holding on to a rope fast to the vessel which led to the stern of the boat. The second mate’s leg was broken, it is supposed by getting a turn of the rope around it, and he was supported in the water alongside the vessel until two of the crew, who heard them calling for help, let a bow line down over the side and handed them on board, the second mate first, then the man. The second mate was put in the galley for safety.
     About this time the seas dashed in at the cabin windows and the vessel commenced to break up aft. The captain’s wife and three children were then taken to the forecastle, but the water coming in there, they were moved father forward to the windlass room. After this the vessel’s decks commenced to break up and the ice to come out. All hands then took refuge on the top gallant forecastle. The second mate was lashed in the fore rigging. The mate took one child out on the bowsprit, and Mrs. Hunter was lashed to the bitts with the youngest child, 18 months old, in her arms. The other child was put in charge of the steward.
     Pretty soon a sea washed over the forecastle and swept the child from the steward down to leeward under the jib sheets. The captain went after it and succeeded in getting hold of it, but another sea came and washed it away from him overboard. The same sea took the baby from its mother’s arms and washed it overboard, and both children were lost. In trying to save his child the captain was badly hurt, being dashed against the capstan and cat head by the seas. Soon after another sea was shipped, which washed the captain off the starboard bow overboard. As the current swept him around the bow, he caught hold of the bobstays and climbed up on them. After resting there awhile, he crawled over the port bow and seated himself alongside his wife, who was then lashed in the port fore-rigging with the steward and second mate. The captain and the rest of the survivors took refuge on the bowsprit and jib boom.

     By this time the life saving men from Station No. 18 had appeared upon the scene and commenced operations. The wreck had been discovered by Benjamin O’Neal, a substitute for the No. 1 surfman, who was home sick. He was on the northern patrol from 3 a.m. to sunrise. It was about 4 a.m.; the weather was misty and thick, and soon as he made out that a vessel was ashore he burned his red light and started for the station, which he reached about daybreak, and immediately called the keeper. The crew were aroused, and while two of them went after their horses, the rest, including Stanley Midgett, a volunteer who had been hauling wood to the station, started with the mortar cart, containing the beach apparatus. The south patrolman had not yet returned. They succeeded in getting the mortar cart some distance, when the force of the gale compelled them to stop. The two men with their horses then joined them, and they again started up the beach in the face of the gale. When about half a mile on their way they were joined by the south patrol, who hitched on his horse, making in all a force of 8 men and three horses hauling the mortar cart. They arrived at the scene of the wreck about two hours after they started, probably between 7 and 8 o’clock. At times they were up to their knees in water running across the beach from sea to sound, which, with the almost constantly shifting sand under the mortar cart wheels made the hauling extremely difficult and exhausting. The Signal Service operator, whose sworn statement was taken, testified that the gale commenced a Hatteras, about half past 3 in the morning. At 5 a.m. the velocity of the wind was 65 miles per hour. At Kittyhawk it was blowing at the rate of 67 miles. At noon the wind had moderated to 40 miles. From then until sundown the average velocity was about 35 miles per hour. As the wreck occurred about half way between Kittyhawk and Hatteras it is presumable that the force of the gale was about the same there. At times on the way up the beach the sea was washing pieces of the wreck stuff against the wheels of the mortar cart.

     As soon as possible after reaching the scene of the wreck the gun was placed in position and fired. The vessel was lying nearly head on to the beach at a distance estimated to be about 300 yards from high water mark. The first shot took the line through the mizzen rigging, and probably dropped over the stern into the sea. One of the men on the wreck attempted to reach the shot line, but before he could work his way aft the strong current setting to leeward, between the wreck and shore, acting on the bight of the line, hauled the shot back through the rigging into the sea. The line was hen hauled ashore, the men faking it down n the box and on the beach as it came in. A second shot was then fired with an eight-ounce charge of powder, which parted the line close to the shot. A third was then fired with a six-ounce charge with a like result. The shot line was then taken to the cart to keep it clear of the water on the beach, and faked down on the pins so as to leave the dry end up when ready for use. A fourth shot was then fired with a six-ounce charge, which threw the line across the head stays, the bight running down to the end of the jib book, where it was caught by one of the men on the wreck, who took a turn with it around the jib boom to hold it, but not before the current had swept the line down so that the shot had been drawn up to the top of the water under the jib boom. About this time the keeper and crew of Station No. 17 arrived. The wreck had been discovered from the window of that station at daylight by one of the surfmen. As soon as they could get ready they started with their boat wagon down the beach to New Inlet, where they crossed on the inside, landing at the fish houses on the sound side of the south point. They waded across the low beach through the water to the wreck, carrying with them the station medicine chest, 7 cork jackets, a Merriman suit, and two heaving lines and sticks. Upon their arrival they joined the crew of No. 18 in their efforts to establish communication with the wreck.

     The men on the wreck having succeeded in getting the shot line to the top gallant forecastle, the tail block and whip line were bent on at the shore line, and they attempted to haul it aboard. As soon as the two parts of the whip line reached the water, the current swept them to leeward and the men on the wreck were unable, through exhaustion, to haul the whip line off any further. The life saving men then walked the shore end of the shot line to windward and bent on a single part of the whip, but the men on the wreck were unable to haul that off. The hawser was bent on with the same result. Then the tail block and double whip were again bent on and walked to windward repeatedly, and slacked away to enable the men on the wreck to haul them off a little at a time; but after getting the whip off nearly half way the sailors, evidently tired out, stopped hauling, and made the shot line fast. The life saving men from No. 18, upon their arrival, were nearly worn out with their extraordinary exertions in hauling the mortar-cart under so many difficulties, which, added to the labor performed in their attempts to open communication with the wreck by means of the beach apparatus, and the fact that they had had nothing to eat since the day before, makes it almost incredible that they were able to do anything at all. There is no doubt that their failure, through no fault of their own, to work the apparatus successfully and take the survivors off the wreck promptly had a depressing effect upon them, as they had gone there in the belief that all hands would be rescued from the wreck in a short time. The keeper of No. 17 was suffering from the effects of a severe attack of fever; and this crew, also, had had nothing to eat since the day before. Notwithstanding all this, the two keepers, seeing that nothing more could be done with the beach apparatus, decided to send to No. 18 for the surf boat, hoping that the wind and sea might moderate so that the survivors could be rescued before dark. Under the circumstances, it is evident that this was the only course to pursue. Accordingly, three of the crew of No. 18, with two horses, were started down the beach to the station after the surf boat. On the way down they met one of the surfmen returning with a shot line that he had been sent after when the second shot had parted the line. They took him, with his horse, back to the station, and hitched on to the boat carriage, but were unable to haul it up the beach with their three horses. Soon after the men had left for the surf boat a seaman, John Lilley, jumped overboard and swam for the shore. He was met in the breakers by the keeper of No. 18 and some of his men and landed safely. The keeper of No. 18 testified that the current was running so strong that it would sweep him off his feet when waist deep in the water. After this another seaman jumped off the wreck and tried to swim ashore, but was drowned in the attempt. The keeper of No. 18, who had tried to reach him, upon coming out of the water staggered and fell on the beach completely exhausted and taken with a severe chill. He was put into his cart with the man who had been saved, and taken to the station. One the way down he met the keeper of Station No. 19 coming up on his horse, and requested him to do all he could to rescue the survivors. The mate of the vessel, after the seaman was drowned, tied a cork fender to himself, and with a piece of shot line around the line which was still fast between the vessel and the shore, attempted to make his way to the beach. Before any assistance could be rendered to him from the shore he disappeared under the water and was seen no more.

     When the keeper of No. 19 arrived at the wreck, being the senior in command, he started the entire crews of nos. 17 and 18 to bring the surf boat from the latter station. It was not probably nearly 3 in the afternoon. An extra shot line having been brought in the meantime, the keeper of No. 19 determined to make an attempt to send cork jackets off to the wreck, it being improbable that the survivors could be taken off before dark. He fired one shot, which fell short, and then, cutting the shot line off the shore end, fired another, which also fell short, although he testifies that one of the men on the beach said he saw a man on the wreck throw the bight of the line overboard from the end of the jib boom, where it had lodged. This was probably a mistake, as no one on the vessel knew of the circumstance. About sundown Captain Hunter fell off the bowsprit, apparently unable to maintain his position any longer, and drifted to leeward with one arm through a life preserver. He never reached the land. Just before dark the keeper of No. 17 and the men who had gone for the boat returned without it, having been unable to haul it up the beach. They decided to return across the inlet to their station in order to get something to eat and to resume their patrol of the beach for the night. This they accomplished after a sever struggle, the men having to wade with their boat across the shoals whenever they could obtain a foothold. The keeper of No. 19 also returned to his station, leaving two or three men from No. 18 on the beach to keep watch. About 7 p.m., the wind having moderated a little, the keeper of No. 18 having rested and partly recovered from his sickness, started with four of his men and four horses to haul the surf boat up to the wreck. They succeeded in getting her up there in about three hours from the time of starting. They remained on the beach all night, keeping up a fire and making several futile attempts to launch the boat. It was not until the next morning that they were enabled to get the boat clear of the beach. They succeeded in getting under the bow of the wreck, but could not hold on and were obliged t come ashore again. The sea was still very rough and the boat was constantly shipping water. They then waited until about 8 a.m., when, the tide having fallen and the sea moderated a little, they made another attempt to launch, which was successful. They made fast to the vessel under the bow, and, sending two men on board, lowered the survivors into the boat, and watching their chance, all hands were landed safely on the beach.
     The survivors, 6 in all, were Mrs. Hunter, her child, the second mate, two seamen, and the steward. The child died that night at the station from exposure in spite of all efforts made to save it. Harry Brien, one of the seamen, testified that after the captain had fallen overboard he came in off the jib boom that evening about half past 9 and found that the child had slipped from its lashings and was hanging head down by its toes alongside the bowsprit, He picked it up and covering it with canvas laid it on top of the bowsprit. After they had landed, the keeper of No. 16, with three of his men and three from No. 17, arrived at the wreck, also the keeper and crew of No. 19. The keeper of No. 17 was sick and had sent for the keeper of No. 16 to take his place. The survivors were taken to No. 18 and made as comfortable as possible, the keeper and men placing their clothes and possessions generally at their disposal. Keeper Midgett’s wife or some other woman from the neighborhood was with Mrs. Hunter constantly while she remained at the station, attending to her wants. The box of clothing shipped to Station No. 17 by the Women’s National Relief Association was subsequently sent for and the contents placed at the disposal of the survivors. The supply of women’s underwear, and men’s clothes and shoes, and tea, sugar, and beef extract were needed especially, ad proved to be of great benefit to the survivors, who were completely destitute. The broken leg of the second mate received all the attention possible until the arrival of the Marine Hospital surgeon from New Berne, NC, who attended to it. Mrs. Hunter, under the care of her friend, Mr. Vanderherchen, of Philadelphia, who had been sent for, and the two seamen and steward, were taken to Elizabeth City in the revenue sloop Saville on their way North, and free passes were procured for the two seamen t Boston and for the steward to New York.

     It was reported that the captain’s body was robbed of $75 after it was found on the beach. This story is entirely without foundation, and is unjust and cruel to the life saving men, who made coffins for the dead at their own expense and buried them decently, besides helping the survivors in many practical ways, without thought of or desire for recompense.

     It should have been mentioned before that while keeper Midgett and the crew of No. 18 were trying to open communications with the wreck on the first morning with the beach apparatus, a citizen came up the beach and reported that a dead body had washed ashore down below. It was reported the next morning that the body was warm when first discovered. Had it been known at the time, an attempt might have been made to resuscitate it.

    Mrs. Hunter was suffering so much from exposure and bodily injuries received during the time that she was on the wreck, in addition to the loss of her husband and three children, that it would have been impossible to elicit any information from her in regard to the cause of the disaster. As Hatteras light bears due south from Bodie’s Island light, and the vessel was steered south by west after passing the last-named light, it would seem that a mistake was made n the course either by the captain or mate, neither of whom appear to have been familiar with the coast. The vessel had been altered from a centerboard to a keep schooner, which may account partly for her breaking up so soon. She was a total wreck, nothing being saved from her but part of her sails and running and standing rigging. The captain and three children, mate, and two seamen had been picked up and buried on the beach at last accounts, leaving only one seaman to be accounted for.

     In view of the foregoing facts, I respectfully submit the opinion that no blame attaches to the men of the Life Saving Service for failure to rescue the crew of the Lancaster sooner than they did. The failure to work the beach apparatus was caused by want of proper action on the part of the crew of the wreck in hauling the whip line off. From the position of the wreck after the disaster, I am confident that if they had taken the shot line to the capstan on the top-gallant forecastle there would have been little difficulty in getting the whip line off, when all would have been saved in a short time. Also, if all hands had taken to the rigging at first they would probably have been taken off safely in the end.

October 8—The keeper of Station No. 22 (6th District), Creed’s Hill, North Carolina, had a good box made and buried the dead body of a man which one of the patrol had found three fourths of a mile north of the extreme point of Cape Hatteras—probably one of the sailors of the Thomas J. Lancaster, wrecked October 5.

Newspaper Articles:
New York Times, October 11, 1881
New York Times, October 16, 1881