Schooner Anna R. Heidritter ~ 3 March 1942

The Heidritter was the last of the great 20th century sailing ships to wreck on North Carolina’s coast.

Built in Bath, ME, the Cohasset burned to the waterline on January 22, 1907 while in Baltimore Harbor. She was rebuilt in Maryland as the Anna R. Heidritter and launched in 1910. She had survived a U-boat attack in WWI and carried bullets in her masts from the encounter. Captain Bennett Coleman commanded her since 1919.

Tracking the Anna R. Heidritter

An article appearing in the New York Times on November 15, 1928 indicated that the schooner had sent out an S.O.S on Tuesday night. However, owner Edward L. Swan (of 26 De Koven Court, Brooklyn) reported it was in no danger. A communication from the Navy station at Norfolk, VA forwarded a message from the steamship K.R. Kingsbury reporting, "Passed four-masted schooner Anna R. Heidritter at 5:45 p.m. Schooner flying signals of distress. Boats gone, also provisions. Request one boat and provisions from revenue cutter. Position: latitude 31:58 north, longitude 75:08 west. Holding under easy canvas." The Kingsbury said that the schooner resumed course after relaying the message. This position would have put the schooner about 30 miles off Fernandina, FL, indicating she had blown off course during a storm.

The New York Times reported on February 12, 1936 that the Heidritter, which had left New York for Charleston, SC 32 days prior with 1,200 tons of coal, was in tow the evening of February 11 and on her way to St. John's Light, FL after having been battered by storms. At the time of her rescue she was 300 miles S.E. of Charleston and about 300 miles off course. Mr. Swan reported that the ship had most likely been blown by a northeast wind across the Gulf Stream and required an easterly wind to get her back. Earlier weather reports told of gales in the Southern waters. The Coast Guard reported that the ships plight had been observed and reported by the passing steamship Raleigh Warner at Jacksonville, which then sent out the Coast Guard cutter Yamacraw to take her in tow. The New York offices of the Coast Guard reported that the schooner had lost her sails and her supply of water was gone. Otherwise, she was in good condition.

On November 28, 1937 the Coast Guard reported the cutter Champlain had taken in tow for New York the Anna R. Heidritter. Apparently the night before she had collided with the Red Star liner Pennland about 40 miles east of Sandy Hook. The schooner suffered damage to the bowsprit and fore-rigging.

While carrying log wood from Charleston to Pennsylvania she hit a storm off Ocracoke and was washed up on a bar on May 2, 1942. After seeking refuge near Hatteras Inlet her anchors parted and she was driven ashore. With her back broken, the crew lashed themselves to the masts.  All 8 on board were eventually saved.

Nine days after being rescued, Captain Coleman died in an auto accident in New Jersey. He was 63 and the youngest of his 8 crewmen. “He was one of the most able shipmasters I ever knew and a gentleman at all times,” wrote Mr. Swan. “None of us carried insurance. Captain Coleman was our insurance policy.”

Schooner Allie R. Chester ~ 29 January 1889

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Service for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1889:

Three of the crew of the wrecked schooner Allie R. Chester, of New York were succored at the Ocracoke Station (6th District), North Carolina, for a week at this time. As they had been taken from their vessel in a destitute condition, the keeper supplied them with a partial outfit of clothing from that sent to the station by the Women’s National Relief Association. The loss of the Chester on the Outer Diamond Shoal about 8 miles southeast of Cape Hatteras was attended by very painful circumstances which were quite beyond the powers of the Service to control. The casualty occurred on the night of the 20th during a strong southeast gale with fog, the schooner having been driven onto the shoal while on her way from Charleston, SC, to New York with a cargo of phosphate rock. Five of her crew, including the captain and mate, were almost immediately washed overboard and lost. The vessel was seen from the Cape Hatteras Station the following morning and closely scanned with the telescope. She was taken to be a schooner which had been wrecked some days before on the same shoal. No signs of life on board could be discovered, but in any case a boat could not have gone to her, so violent was the sea off the cape. The next morning, the storm having moderated somewhat, the crew launched their surf boat, started for the shoal, and pulled out within half a mile of the vessel. At the same time a wrecking steamer employed in the vicinity passed within the same distance and also scrutinized the wreck. A little later a schooner sailed through the slue. As nothing could be seen to indicate that there were men on the wreck, the two vessels kept on their way and the life saving crew returned to the shore. The same steamer again went by a short time afterwards discovering no evidence that a part of the crew were still on board. This confirmed the surfmen in their belief that all hands had been lost. Later in the day the schooner James E. Kelsey, of Chincoteague, VA, passed near the wreck, discovered and saved three men who, having been wrapped in the gaff topsail for shelter, had not been previously seen. They remained on board the rescuing vessel over night and on the 23d were taken to the Ocracoke Station and cared for as stated above.

Newspaper Article:

New York Times, January 29, 1889

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 Annie E. Pierce ~ 22 February 1892

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Service for the fiscal year ending June 30 1892:

On February 22, 1892, the schooner Annie E. Pierce, of Somers Point, NJ, bound from Bogue Inlet, North Carolina, to New Bedford, MA, was beached by her master at a point two and one quarter miles south of the Little Kinnakeet Station (6th District), North Carolina, and the death of Alonzo Driscoll, the mate of the vessel, occurred in consequence. As the schooner came into view from seaward through the rain and mist of that stormy February morning, she was espied by a small boy, who called attention to her. At once the keeper saw from the direction she was steering that the vessel would soon be aground, and he made immediate preparations to render assistance. The adjoining stations were spoken by telephone, and in response the keeper and crew of the Gull Shoal Station immediately repaired to the spot indicated, while the keeper of the Big Kinnakeet Station came with horses to assist in hauling the beach cart. In about three-quarters of an hour from the time the vessel was first seen the three life saving crews were upon the beach near the vessel, which had stranded about 150 yards out. Operations began forthwith, under the direction of the keeper of the Little Kinnakeet Station. Communication was soon established, and in less than an hour the entire crew were landed with the beach apparatus, excepting the mate, who had been killed by a heavy sea before the vessel stranded.

     It appears from the testimony of the master that in the forenoon of the preceding date, when off Cape Henry, VA, the weather became thick and the wind came out from the northeast, increasing to the force of a gale and creating a rough sea. The vessel was then hove to under a close-reefer mainsail, and made good weather until the straps of the main sheet block suddenly parted, carrying away the main boom. This unfortunate accident made it necessary to run back down the coast before the wind, but finding that a course clear of the Hatteras Shoals could not be made, as the soundings on the morning of February 22 indicated that the current was sweeping the vessel toward the land, the master resolved to beach her as a final means of safety. The beakers were seen at about 11 0’clock, although the land was not then visible. Putting the helm to port, so as to run head on, the captain ordered all hands into the cabin, as the safest place when passing through the breakers. While going over the outer bar an immense sea broke over the stern, smashing the yawl and bursting into the cabin with terrific force. At this time the mate, Alonzo Driscoll, of Atlantic City, NJ, stood within the cabin holding the doors together, and was therefore directly in the path of the wave, which tore away the doors and sent one of them with fatal violence against him, to all appearances causing instant death. The crew rushed out of the cabin and climbed into the rigging. The captain followed, after hastily examining the mate; but while he was making his way forward the vessel was again swept by a sea, which left him helpless with a broken leg. By slow and painful movements he crawled to the cabin and remained there until two members of his crew placed him in the buoy, which by this time had been sent off. Upon landing, the captain was carefully wrapped in blankets and sent to the Little Kinnakeet Station in the keeper’s cart, where he received all possible attention, the keeper doing the best he could with the appliances and remedies of the station medicine chest in dressing the injured limb and alleviating its pain.

     The crew were also cared for at the station, where they remained for a period of 9 days, until the state of the weather permitted their departure across the sound to the mainland. The isolation of the narrow strip of land on which the life saving station is situated is such that no physician could be secured to give the captain needed treatment. Efforts were made to obtain surgical aid from the mainland, but the severe gale and high sea which continued several days prevented until March 1, when the revenue cutter Winona, from Newbern, bearing a surgeon of the Marine Hospital Service, reached the station in response to a dispatch from the Department. The master then received proper professional care, and on the following day was conveyed to Newbern on the cutter. The high surf prevented the launching of the boat until the third day after the occurrence of the wreck, when a successful trip was made to her, and the mate’s body and the clothing of the crew were brought on shore. The body was prepared for burial at the station, and then carefully laid to rest in the cemetery of the neighborhood, after funeral ceremonies befitting sad occasion, in the presence of his late comrades. The clothing supplied by the Women’s National Relief Association was drawn upon for the urgent necessities of the master, as well as in preparing for burial the remains of the mate.

     In addition to many verbal expressions of gratitude for the kind attentions received while sojourning at the station, written statements were made by the master and crew of the lost vessel. A disposition, executed February 25, 1892, before Samuel R. Hazen, a notary public, previous to the official investigation of the unhappy accident is given below:

We, the undersigned, captain and crew of the schooner Annie E. Pierce, which was wrecked near Little Kinnakeet Life-Saving Station, despose and say that the made, Alonzo Driscoll, was instantly killed by the sea as the schooner was crossing the outer bar; also, just before the vessel stranded, the captain’s leg was broken by the violence of the sea. This loss of life and injury to limb happened before the vessel struck the shore, and was in nowise the fault of the life-saving crew. We also state that the crew of the Little Kinnakeet Station were promptly on hand and rendered all possible assistance. JOSEPH R. SOMERS, RISLEY SOMERS, GEO. J. LODER, EDWARD DRISCOLL, of the schooner Annie E. Pierce

Steamer Ariosto ~ 24 December 1899

It would seem easy to distinguish a fixed white light in Ocracoke’s 65-foot-tall lighthouse from a flashing white light in Cape Hatteras’ 198-foot-tall lighthouse. But under duress during storm conditions, navigators sometimes made costly errors. 

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Services for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1900:

Stranded about 2 miles SW. of station at 3.50 a.m., during thick weather. Station crew hastened to the scene with beach apparatus, and at 9 a.m. succeeded, after several trials, in establishing communication with the wreck. The greater part of the steamer’s crew shoved off in one of her boats and attempted to lie under her lee to await daylight, but the boat swamped and nearly all of them perished. Three were hailed out of the surf alive by the life savers, and the 6 persons who remained on the wreck were safely landed in the beeches buoy. The crew from Durants Station assisted the Ocracoke crew at this wreck. Seven dead bodies which washed ashore were given Christian burial. Thirty lives were lost in this disaster, and the steamer became a total loss. 

Newspaper Articles:
New York Times, December 25, 1899
Feilding Star, Vol. XXI, Iss. 151, December 28, 1899

Investigative Report:
Wreck Report for Ariosto ~ Formal investigation held into the circumstances attending the stranding and total loss of the Ariosto.

Wreck of British Steamship Ariosto

The most calamitous, because entirely needless, loss of life during the entire year, or indeed for many recent years in the history of the Service, occurred on December 24, 1899, at the wreck of the British steamship Ariosto on the coast of North Carolina about 2 miles to the southward of the Ocracoke Life-Saving Station. Of 30 persons on board the vessel, 21 perished, while there was in the conditions not the slightest necessity that a single one should have been lost.

     The Ariosto was a schooner-rigged steel vessel of 2,265 tons, laden with a very valuable cargo of wheat, cotton, lumber, and cotton-seed meal, carrying 30 men, including officers, and commanded by Captain R.R. Baines. When lost she was bound from Galveston, TX, to Hamburg, Germany, via Norfolk, VA, the object of the call at Norfolk being to refill the coal bunkers.

     During the evening of Saturday, December 23, the weather was clear overhead, but hazy around the horizon, and a smart wind was blowing from the southwest, driving before it a very rough sea. At midnight the weather was thick all around, and heavy showers of rain passed over from time to time, while the sea was constantly making. About 3.45 o’clock (Sunday morning) Captain Baines, who was then lying down in the chart room, heard the telegraph bell ring, and instantly sprang up to inquire the reason, when he was met at his door by the second mate, who had come to request his presence on deck. Proceeding at once to the bridge, the captain saw that his ship was entirely surrounded by “white water.” He says he did not know precisely what part of the coast he was on, but that since he could see no land or light he had an idea that he had struck the Diamond Shoals, off Hatteras. As a matter of fact, he was some 15 miles to the southwest. The engines were working hard astern, but were not able to stop the headway of the vessel, which took the bottom, and remained, as the master says, “bumping and thumping in such a manner that it seemed probable her masts would come down.” All hands were at once on deck, and rocket signals of distress were fired, the first having b seen sent up about 3.50 o’clock, as he thinks. “While still firing,” the captain says, “a red flash was seen in the north, which was taken to be from some source whence assistance might come.” And so in fact it was, being the red Coston signal of the life saving patrol.

     Believing his ship to be among the Diamond Shoals, the master feared she might work off into one of the numerous deep holes or channels and founder there, and besides he was seriously worried by the fact that the heavy seas on the starboard side broke away the three starboard boats, while the ship was constantly heeling over to the starboard, making the destruction of the boats on the port side likely to take place at any moment. He therefore held a consultation with the chief officer, which resulted in a determination to launch the port boats. Here was where the fatal mistake occurred. Signals indicated that assistance would be afforded from the shore had already been seen and correctly interpreted. As subsequent events proved, to a demonstration, if all had simply stood by the ship every soul would have been rescued by the life saving crews. Nevertheless, it must be remembered that Captain Baines supposed his vessel to be stranded on the Diamond Shoals, a place of extreme danger, so far from shore that he might well have doubted the ability of any boat to reach her, and of course miles beyond the range of any life saving gun or rocket. Having in view these facts, it may not be a matter of great surprise that he should deem it the part of wisdom to save his two remaining boats and man them alongside until the dawn of day should make it possible to determine his true position and the proper course of action then to be taken.

     This he asserts to have been his purpose. Accordingly the pinnace was first got out and manned by 11 men, including the chief and second mates, who were placed in charge with instructions to “get away clear” and then lie by until daylight. As soon as the pinnace cleared the ship the lifeboat was successfully put over and manned by 15 men. Twenty-six persons were not in the boats, while there still remained on the ship four others who were also to go in the lifeboat. These were Captain Baines, Third Officer Reed, Chief Engineer Warren, and Carpenter Peltonen. Fortunately for them the lifeboat got away before they could embark in it. To this providential accident, which probably then seemed to them the worst of ill luck, they owed their lives. It would appear that these entire operations were conducted with such haste that they were completed in less than 30 minutes from the moment the vessel stranded. Meantime she was entirely intact (as indeed she remained for several days) and the life savers were constantly firing signals of assurance that aid would be afforded. It would therefore hardly seem unreasonable to suppose that the officers of the Ariosto should have realized that they were on the shore and not on the Diamond Shoals. However, the boats were not afloat, and the entire crew in them, save four men. In obedience to the master’s instructions they lay to under the lee of the ship, the man at the oars backing and pulling to keep them head to the waves. It was an awful position, the sea constantly growing rougher and rougher, while the suction of the water around the bows and stern of the steamer was getting to be irresistible.

     Captain Baines thinks the pinnace held her position for at least an hour, and the lifeboat for full half that time (having been launched last), but at all events, from his place on the bridge he saw the former carried by the swift tide to the north into the breakers, and the lifeboat overwhelmed and capsized, throwing all its occupants into the sea. As a matter of fact both boats were upset, and all in them were cast adrift. Twenty-six persons were not battling for their lives in one of the worst seas with which desperate men have ever contended. And yet one of them, Seaman Elsing, a man of infinite skill in the water and of brave heart and wonderful physical power, actually swam ashore, absolutely unaided even with so much as the slightest piece of wreckage to help bear him up. Two others who left the ship in the lifeboat—C. Peterson, a fireman, and C. Saline, a seaman—were hauled back on board the steamer by means of the boat tackle which hung alongside, while Fireman Henroth and Boatswain Anderson, who embarked in the pinnace, were dragged from the surf by the life savers who were on the beach. By this time daylight was faintly showing, an keeper Howard of the Ocracoke Station, having gained some ocular information of the status of affairs, at once set the international code signal “M K” (remain by your ship).

     Knowledge of the wreck was obtained at the station in the following way: About 4 o’clock surfman Guthrie, while on south patrol, discovered, during a brief interval when the weather lighted, the masthead light of a steamer having such a bearing that he knew she must be ashore, whereupon he immediately fired a red signal and hastened as fast as he could to the station and turned out the crew. Davie Williams, the north patrolman, having also discovered the wreck, likewise returned to the station, finding his comrades already moving.

     The coast runs about northeast by southwest, and the steamer lay about 2 miles southwest of the station. An accident to one of the shafts of the beach apparatus cart caused considerable delay soon after the crew started, but as it was yet very dark, and as subsequent events clearly showed, this fact in no way adversely affected the operations. The tide making over the beach was especially deep at a point where the hurricane of August 16-18 had cut an inlet, and the keeper was obliged to secure the aid of 5 citizens of the vicinity to help his crew get the gear to the wreck, but not withstanding all the difficulties, the life savers were on the scene between 5 and 5.30 o’clock. Hardly had they arrived when they made out in the darkness which still prevailed, a shadowy figure staggering along the beach, who proved to be Seaman Elsing, above named as having swum ashore unaided. He seemed only half conscious, but was able to tell them of the capsize of the boats and to suggest that they might yet find men in the surf. None could be seen, however, and the life savers went quickly to work with preparations to set up the beach apparatus.

     On account of the surf running over the beach there was very serious difficulty in finding a place sufficiently high and solid to bury the sand anchor where it would hold and to place the Lyle gun where it would be out of the water. Both had to be frequently moved during the operations.

     The first shot was fired at about 5.45 o’clock, but the steamer was at least 600 yards distant, and the line failed to reach her. It was therefore hauled in, and with it came a half-drowned man, who was later found to be Boatswain Andersen. He was unconscious, but was resuscitated by the surfmen, and subsequently told them that the line fell across him as he was struggling in the surf; that he had sufficient consciousness to hitch it around his arm, and was thus drawn ashore—an almost miraculous escape from death.

     About this time other persons were dimly discernible in the water making desperate efforts to reach the beach. The life saving men strenuously attempted to reach them, going into the water up to their necks, but the surf was so strong that their utmost exertions resulted in saving only one, Fireman Henroth, who was insensible when taken from the water, but happily not past resuscitation, which was finally affected.

     It was immediately after this rescue that keeper Howard set the signal for those on board the ship to remain there, and then began firing to throw a line across the vessel. While this was going on, and, owing to the great distance, the projectiles were falling short, three sailors were dragged from the surf apparently dead, but nevertheless some of the surfmen devoted themselves to every effort to effect their restoration, although without avail. Not until well-nigh 11 o’clock was it possible to put a line over the steamer. By that hour she had worked within 400 or 500 yards of the beach, and a projectile carrying a No. 4 shot line was finally landed on board. To this was attached a No 7 and to that a No. 9 line (for fear that the smaller one might give way to the intense strain of dragging the tail block and whip line through the powerful longshore current) and when the No. 9 was safe on board, the whip line was attached to it and sent out. The hawser followed, and the actual rescue then began, but the tremendous roll of the ship, which lay broadside to, threatened to part the hawser every time she rolled ashore, and the most critical attention at the relieving tackle was necessary to prevent that disaster. Besides all this the vessel was gradually edging closer in and consequently the gear frequently had to be reset. For these reasons the operations were necessarily so extremely difficult that their completion without mishap affords the best of evidence that they were judiciously and skillfully conducted. Captain Baines was the last to leave the ship, and when he put his feet upon the beach, about 2.30 p.m., a loud cheer was sent up by all the people who had by this time assembled. Every man was saved whom the life saving crews could by any possibility have rescued under the most unfortunate circumstances following the launching of the boats, and if all had remained patiently on board not one would have been lost.

     Keeper Burrus and his crew, of the Durants Life-Saving Station, located next to Ocracoke on the north, were requested by telephone to join keeper Howard’s crew after the latter had begun operations to set up the beach apparatus. They started at once, but were obliged to use the station supply boat on account of the rough sea, and to go on the inside of the beach by way of Pamlico Sound, which consumed about two hours. They made, however, the best possible time, arriving just as the shot line was fired over the vessel, and performed their share of the work.

     A number of citizens of the neighborhood voluntarily rendered extremely valuable assistance to the life saving crews, and it is a pleasure to this office to thankfully acknowledge their praiseworthy conduct, which, it is but simple justice to add, was thoroughly characteristic of the humane and courageous people who inhabit this coast. Unfortunately the names of all of them could not be obtained, but among the number were I.M. Stowe, A.J. O’Neal, B.F. Stowe, B.E. Austin, W.B. Stowe, H.B. Stowe, and C.F. Austin.

     All the testimony taken by the investigating officer demonstrates the entire efficiency of the life saving crews, and the 9 survivors of the wreck addressed to keeper Howard a letter written by Captain Baines, and signed by him with the rest, which contains the following paragraphs:

“The six men met with the most hospitable treatment from the life-saving station and other residents. The rescue was affected under very trying circumstances, and would perhaps have been almost beyond the means at Captain Howard’s disposal had they not had valuable assistance from Captain Burrus and crew from Durants Station and several of the good people from thereabouts, whose strong arms made the use of the method at his disposal a grand success.

     That such a lamentable loss of life occurred is not in any way to be attributed to the want of diligence, promptitude, or lookout of Captain Howard and staff, and we are unanimous in our conscientious declaration that their action in the matter was all that could be done, and is deserving of the highest commendation.”

Read more at the Ocracoke Island Journal.

Capt Ryde Rupert Baines

Ryde Rupert Baines, son of Thomas Baines and Charlotte Richbell, was born in Camberwell, England on 22 Jan 1846. In 1877 he married Mrs. Mary Elly van Troyen with whom he had four children. Capt. Baines died on 9 Feb 1912. Thanks to his great grand daughter, Teresa Collados Baines, who shared photos of the following items that were rescued from the Ariosto before it wrecked. 

The fork on right bears the initials of Capt. Baines.

Schooner Aaron Reppard ~ 16 August 1899

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Service for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1900:

Wreck of the Schooner Aaron Reppard

The shattered keel and a few jagged oaken timbers of a ruined vessel lying 100 yards above low-water mark on Hatteras Island, NC, 2-1/2 miles below the Gull Shoal Life-Saving station, mark the locality where the three-masted schooner Aaron Reppard was totally destroyed on the 16th of August, 1899, during the prevalence of a West Indian hurricane, pronounced by the observer of the United States Weather Bureau “the most severe in the history of Hatteras.”

     Eight days before the wreck of the Reppard the same storm had spread almost unprecedented devastation over the island of Porto Rico, and during the intervening period had slowly progressed northward carrying more or less of destruction on its evil wings. By August 13 its center was off Jupiter Inlet, FL, and in the meantime all interests in its line of advance were advised by the Weather Bureau of its calculated movements, and all shipping bound for the South Atlantic was informed of the danger of sailing for that region.

     Whether Captain Wessel of the Reppard was actually aware of the advancing tempest is not known. He left Philadelphia at 2 o’clock p.m., Saturday, August 12, bound for Savannah, GA, and was towed as far as Reedy Island, 45 or 50 miles down the Delaware River, where he anchored and remained until Monday, August 14. At about 5 o’clock in the morning of that day he got under way and proceeded out to the capes of the Delaware, standing south with an easterly wind until past Fenwick Island Lightship, when he hauled to south by east and stood so until 8 p.m., and then kept away south.

     At that moment the coming hurricane was raging around the port of his destination, only a few hundred miles to the southward, and he was sure soon to be involved in its dreadful swirl, if he continued on his course. At 8 o’clock that night the wind was from the east and already of sufficient force to require all the light sails to be taken in and preventer stays to be set up. The next morning, Tuesday, the vessel was by calculation somewhere off Cape Henry.

     If the captain had any knowledge of the weather signals flying when he sailed, the increase of wind and fall of barometer might well have caused him to take refuge inside the capes of the Chesapeake and await developments. At 4 p.m. the hurricane, still sweeping northward, was furious around Cape Hatteras, while two hours prior to that time the wind was so heavy off Cape Henry, where the Reppard then was, that the captain hove his vessel to. She had been so strained already that the crew were kept at the pumps two-thirds of the time, and it was now too late to seek a harbor. She remained hove to during the night on the starboard tack under for staysail and mainsail with the helm lashed hard down, and on Wednesday morning the mizzen storm trysail was set to hold her up. The weather was thick, rain was falling heavily and the wind was blowing fiercely from the eastward during all the forenoon of Wednesday, and the already doomed vessel was constantly drifting shoreward, although the proximity of the land was not definitely known to those on board. At about 1 o’clock p.m., however, breakers were reported astern. The captain quickly ordered the staysail to be taken in, and both bower anchors to be let go, which was done, leaving the mainsail and trysail still set in order to keep the schooner’s head to the wind. Although 90 fathoms of chain were run out on each anchor both of them could not hold her against the tremendous sea, and she slowly dragged them for about 15 minutes, when she reached the first line of breakers, which was very heavy.

     At this juncture the mainsail halyards were let go so that the sail would run down, and all hands leaped into the shrouds to escape being carried overboard by the sea which now swept the decks. Besides the crew, which numbered 7 men, officers included, there was one passenger, named Cummings, who is said to have belonged in Charleston, SC. Captain Wessel, Mate Johnson, Steward Robinson, and seamen John Van der Graaf, Pedro Lachs, and James M. Lynott took to the fore rigging; one sailor, Tony Nilsen, to the main rigging, and the passenger, Cummings, to the mizzen rigging. Van der Graaf was the last man to reach the rigging, and he says that when he got aloft he could plainly see the shore astern, where he counted some 20 people, although he had little idea of the distance.

     The heavy hull, laden with some 700 tons of anthracite coal, pounded with terrific force, and still continued to drag farther and farther into the breakers. The persons visible on the shore were the life saving crews of the stations located at Gull Shoal, Little Kinnakeet, and Chicamacomico, who had assembled with their apparatus to render such aid as the almost hopelessly adverse conditions might permit.

     The Reppard was first seen by surfman William G. Midgett, who was on day patrol south of Gull Shoal Station. He says she was then about a mile and a half offshore, southeast of the station, heading about north, and “doing the best she could,” now making a little headway and then dropping back. He was able to make her out for an hour, at intervals when the weather would lighten up, before she anchored. “As soon as she did that,” he says, “I knew she would come ashore, and I then made my way to the station and reported her,” leaving the patrolman of the Little Kinnakeet Station on the beach to watch her. The distance he had to travel was about a mile and a half to the northward, and so heavy were the conditions that, although he was mounted and drove his horse as hard as he could, it took him 15 minutes to cover the ground. He was in ample time, however, so far as movements to effect a rescue were concerned.

     Captain Pugh immediately telephoned Little Kinnakeet Station, next to Gull Shoal on the southward, and Chicamacomico, next to the northward, requesting keepers Hooper and Midgett to join him with their crews abreast of the wreck. Then he attached his own horse to the beach apparatus cart, and those of surfmen G.L. Midgett and D.L. Gray to Service cards loaded with additional equipments, and in 5 minutes after the wreck was reported set out vigorously for the scene, where he and his crew arrived within half an hour and found the position of the vessel and men on board as above described. Within not more than 10 minutes later in either case, the other crews, who had also utilized their own horses to insure speed, also arrived.

     Captain Pugh testifies that the schooner then lay about 700 yards distant, stern toward the beach, “riding to two anchors, but slowly dragging shoreward.” This portion of the land consists of two banks about 50 yards apart with a gully between them, and the sea, which is described as being “as high as it possibly could be,” was frequently sweeping completely over the land from the ocean side into the sound. In view of the fact that the survivors and the members of the lifesaving crews agree that the employment of a boat under the conditions was clearly beyond all possibility, that question need not be here considered. No number of men, no matter how many or how skillful, could have launched a boat.

     Where the schooner then was no life saving ordnance in the world could reach her, and therefore all that the life saving crews could do was to make ready their apparatus and await the moment when she should drift within range. When she was within about 500 yards, as nearly as could be estimated, the Lyle gun was fired with a 6-ounce charge of powder and a No. 7 shot line. The line parted, however, close to the shank of the projectile, which went on its way and was lost. A second attempt was then made, and the line stood the test, but the shot fell “at least 75 yards short.” Wisely concluding, therefore, that the line was too heavy to carry the requisite distance, the gun was again charged and fired with a cartridge of the same weight, but with a No. 4 line attached to the projectile, which laid it safely across the head stays of the schooner. Van der Graaf, one of the surviving sailors, says they saw the line perfectly well and knew what it meant, but that by no possible skill or courage could any of them have reached it. He declares in his testimony that if it had fallen close to him he could have done nothing with it. “She was pounding so heavily that it took both hands to hold on.” “This must have been about thirty minutes after we reached the beach,” says keeper Pugh, “and even if they had secured the shot line I am satisfied they never could have hauled off the whip. The only thing they could have done was to haul off life preservers.”

Constructed of 52 individual cork blocks sewn onto a canvas vest with cotton duck tying tapes, this pattern of life preserver was used by the U.S. Life Saving Service, and was an essential item of equipment at stations from the late 1860s through the 1920s.

It was soon evident that the wreck was about to go to pieces, and the only thing the life savers could not hope to accomplish was to rescue the shipwrecked men from the surf when the last desperate moment should arrive. Even in this they were doomed to an extremely painful degree of disappointment. Seaman Van der Graaf says that first the deck house went by the board, then the hatch coamings and the decks, and then the bulwarks. While this destruction was going on the passenger, Cummings, in the mizzen shrouds, was caught by one leg in the ratlines and “slammed back and forth” until dead before the mast fell, which was the first to go, and went over the port side. He was never seen again.

     The mainmast shortly followed the mizzenmast, first breaking in two pieces and causing the sailor, Tony Nilsen, who was in its rigging, to fall among the debris, where he was seen by Van der Graaf, who says that, although he was badly wounded, he worked himself clear of the wreckage and got over the side, but then disappeared. Before the mainmast fell Captain Wessel jumped overboard from the fore rigging and made a brave effort to swim ashore. The men watched him all the time, now making a little progress, and now sorely baffled by the backlash of the seas until he evidently found that he must fail, when he turned around and tried to regain the vessel. In this last struggle for his life he so far succeeded as to get within 5 yards of her, but then threw up his hands and sank out of sight.

     The mate, Steward Robinson, seamen Pedro Lachs, James M. Lynott, and Van der Graaf, all in the fore rigging, were still alive, but the foremast soon broke into three pieces and fell to starboard, carrying all four men with in into the sea. Lynott was severely bruised, and his shipmates, who never saw him after the mast gave way, believe that he was instantly drowned. The steward was also injured by the fall and soon perished. Three men were still alive in the water—the mate and seamen Lachs and Van der Graaf—and fortunately they were on the side toward the shore.

     While this tragedy was being enacted the life saving keepers had decided that three surfmen from the Gull Shoal Station, two from Little Kinnakeet, and two from Chicamacomico, should put on cork jackets, and, each taking from 40 to 50 yards of shot line, wade out as far as possible into the surf, while each line should be held by two surfmen on the beach. The three men just mentioned as alive among the remnants of the foremast alongside the Reppard clung to such pieces of wreckage as they could lay hold of, and were gradually tossed near enough to the shore to be rescued by the life savers in the surf.

     Tame as these operations may seem when stated in cold and formal terms, they were by no means free from great peril to the rescuers. Heavy pieces of ragged wreckage filled the surf—planks, timbers, and broken spars—and were hurled about with deadly force in every direction, so that the surfmen had to move rapidly and with great skill to avoid them. Indeed, the veteran keeper of Little Kinnakeet Station, Captain E.O. Hooper, who refused to head the entreaties of his comrades to leave the hazardous work to younger men, rushed in at a critical moment, nearly losing his life, and suffering a fracture of one of the bones of his right leg. However, by dint of courageous and skillful effort all three of the shipwrecked men who escaped from the vessel alive were rescued from the surf. Being too weak to walk, or indeed, to stand, they were conveyed in beach carts to the Gull Shoal Station. There they were treated with proper stimulants, clad in dry underclothing, and placed in bed, where, after several hours, they recovered from their terrible experience.

     The names of the three men saved were Bernard Johnson, Pedro Lachs, and John van der Graaf, and the five who perished were Oscar Wessel, James M. Lynott, W. Robinson, Tony Nilsen, and _____ Cummings.

     The body of only one of the drowned was recovered, that of the steward, W. Robinson, which was buried on the bank north of the Gull Shoal Station.

     The fact that three life saving crews were promptly assembled on this occasion affords excellent testimony to the inestimable value of the telephone system of the Service, which is principally designed for precisely such emergencies. A single crew could not have accomplished what was done, and they could have received no assistance from beachmen, as, to the credit of these ever-ready brave men it should be stated, they often do, for the reason that the storm and consequent furious sea rolling clear across the island compelled the fishermen and other residents to stay at home and devote their utmost energies to the preservation of the lives of their families and themselves. Waste and desolation covered the entire region to an extent hitherto unknown even on that storm-beaten coast.

     Lieutenant C.E. Johnston, a most competent officer of the Revenue-Cutter Service, who investigated the circumstances of this wreck, closes his report with the following paragraph:

“There is no doubt that the surfmen did everything possible under the adverse conditions to save the lives of the people on this schooner. The storm was the worst in the recollection of any one now living on the Carolina Banks, and it is little short of a miracle that any one now lives to tell the tale of the wreck. If the master had not anchored, or if he had slipped his cables as soon as he reached the breakers, it is probable that all hands would have been saved, as the schooner would not have stopped until she was right up against the bank. Three other schooners, a barkentine, and a lightship all went ashore in the same general vicinity and in the same storm without anchoring, and the only loss of life from the five vessels was occasioned by a tremendous sea which boarded the barkentine when she first took bottom and washed four persons overboard. All the rest were rescued by the life savers.”

     The opinion of the survivors regarding the conduct of the life saving men appears from the following letter written by one of their number and signed by all, which was handed to keeper Pugh before they left the beach:

GULL SHOAL, August 21, 1899

This is to certify that the loss of the lives of the captain, three seamen, and one passenger of the late schooner Aaron Reppard wrecked near the above-named station was not because of any failure on the part of the life-saving crews to do their duty. They were at the scene of the wreck promptly, and put a line over her head stays, but we could not get it, and if we had we could not have done anything, as we had all we could do to hold on, as the vessel was rolling heavy and fast going to pieces. The life-saving crews did what they could to save our lives. BERNARD JOHNSON, First Mate ; PEDRO LACHS, Seaman ; JOHN VAN DER GRAFF, Seaman

Newspaper Articles:

Virginian Pilot, August 17, 1899
Virginia Pilot, August 20, 1899



Steamer Alliance ~ 4 March 1869

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Service for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1869:

The Alliance was built in Philadelphia, PA in 1853 and originally named Caledonia. She was a 162 foot 426 ton, steam-powered screw vessel. In 1859 she was purchased by the U.S. Government, armed, renamed Mohawk and used as a slave chaser. She captured the slaver Sygnet in the Atlantic soon after she was commissioned and in 1860 took another slave ship Wild Fire, near the Bahamas, with a cargo of over 500 Africans. During the Civil War the Mohawk was put on blockade duty where she was successful in capturing the blockader George B. Sloat.

On July 12, 1864 she was sold out of service at public auction in Philadelphia and redocumented Alliance the following September 30.

During the night of March 4, 1869 the Alliance, enroute from Boston to Charleston, went ashore about one mile south of Hatteras Inlet during a severe storm. The storm, which developed during the night into a full gale from the southeast, drove her onto the beach and completely wrecked the vessel. Portions of the cargo of boots, shoes and hay were salvaged and sold on the beach at public auction March 7th. The wrecking vessel Resolute, which had been sent from Norfolk, VA, was unable to move her and reported the vessal as abandoned.

Brig Black Squall ~ 8 April 1861

PHOTO: Ocracoke Island Journal

Built in 1856 by the Wilder Brothers, the Black Squall was en route from a performance Havana, Cuba to Philadelpia in March, 1861. She carried a load of sugar and Nixon’s Royal Circus & Menagerie of Living Animals. She encountered a Spring storm and wrecked at Ocracoke Inlet on 8 April 1861. Drowned circus performers and exotic animals ... lions, tigers, bears, a giraffe, a hippopotamus and horses ... washed up on to the beach. Two crewmen were drowned and one drowned young couple was found in an embrace. Tents recovered from the wreck were used by the islanders to make sails. It's said that some of the surviving horses enhanced the wild pony population on Ocracoke.

Schooner Brilliant ~ 19 July 1842

The Evening Post, New York, NY, 25 July 1842

Schooner Charles C. Dame ~ 14 October 1893

Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Service for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1894:

Lost her reckoning through encountering hurricane of October 13, and struck on Frying Pan Shoals early in the morning of this date, where she became a total wreck; the heavy waves making a clean breach over her decks and slowly dashing her to pieces, drove her crew to the jib boom for refuge. At daylight life saving crew discovered vessel 8 miles offshore and started for her with surfboat. After a toilsome and dangerous struggle of 7 hours against adverse and violent seas, succeeded in reaching wreck and rescuing the crew of 8 men, worn out and almost overcome by 12 hours’ exposure, in a cramped position, to the fury of the storm. Landed them at station, provided clothing, of which they were destitute, and cared for them two days, transporting them to Southport on the 16th. Crew of Oak Island Station, attempting to cross Cape Fear River Bar, and failing on account of severity of sea, requested tug to tow them out to wreck, but were refused on the ground that the weather was too tempestuous. (See letter of acknowledgement.)

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, October 19, 1893

DEAR SIR: Allow me to extend the thanks of myself and crew of the schooner Charles C. Dame to you and the heroic men who manned the lifeboat from your station to my vessel on October 14, when she was breaking to pieces on Frying Pan Shoals. Without your assistance it is more than probable that myself and crew would have been lost in the terrible seas that swept our decks. Your heroic fight of twelve hours to reach the vessel was a super-human effort that deserves a record in the annals of the Life-Saving Service, which I, as a mariner, always regard as a sailor’s hope when shipwreck stares him in the face in storm-ridden seas along our coast. Your rescue of every man, and the safe landing of your own and my crews, was a piece of work that it delights me to pay tribute to, and the kind treatment of us while under your care requires me to double my thanks, and extend the same from my officers and crew. This but feebly expresses the feeling of gratitude that animates my writing this; but believe, dear Captain, that in my heart there is a warm affection and admiration for the keeper and crew of the Southport (Cape Fear) Life-Saving Station. I hope we may meet again when you will be in my care, but under different circumstances. I remain, sincerely, SAMUEL S. GROVE, Late Master of Schooner Charles C. Dame

     In addition to the foregoing letter to keeper Watts, of the Cape Fear Station, Captain grove furnished the following statement for publication, which appeared in the columns of the Southport Leader, October 19, 1893, under the caption:

CARD OF THANKS

I desire for myself and crew to express my heartfelt gratitude for the services rendered us and the great bravery exhibited by Captain John L. Watts and his crew in taking us off the wreck of the schooner Charles C. Dame on last Saturday. The rescue was made at the risk of their lives. SAMUEL S. GROVE, Captain of Schooner C.C. Dame

THANKS TO BRIAN MANNERS for sharing the following images of the Schooner Charles C. Dame that were found in a pile of old watercolors found by his father. Drawn by Charles Cook in 1884, they may have been quick sketches or studies done on site ... perhaps for a future painting.