Crib Disaster
Milwaukee Sentinel - April 21, 1893
Milwaukee Sentinel - April 21, 1893
The terrific storm and tremendous sea yesterday morning swept away the shed from atop the crib at the new water-intake tunnel. The frail structure, containing engines and pumps supplying air to the tunnel, was blown from its foundation about 5:30 o’clock yesterday morning.
All fifteen men working in the tunnel, with but one exception, were drowned or suffocated in the air chamber within the crib. Strong men on shore watched the furious waves break over the crib, only 3,000 feet away, powerless to render the aid they were only too willing to attempt. Weeping women and children paced the shore, wringing their hands in agony for their loved ones. Not until noon could the brave men of the life-saving crew, with the assistance of the staunch tug Welcome, get to the scene of the disaster, so terrible was the sea, so high the waves. At the risk of their own lives, they arrived in time to save just one of the fifteen unfortunate men. By late last night James Miller, the only survivor, had recovered sufficiently to tell the story of his wonderful escape and the awful fate of his companions. Though so weak that he could talk only for a few minutes at a time, his history of the terrible hours spent by the men is a lucid one. Terrible Hours “So severe was the gale Wednesday that at 10 o’clock in the evening the men decided to seek safety in the upper lock, where we remained until 5 o’clock this morning. At that hour the water, which earlier in the evening had penetrated to the shafts, began entering our compression chamber. When the air in the lock became so foul that suffocation was certain if we stayed longer, by a unanimous vote, we decided to open the upper trap and force our way to the top of the crib. We pushed up the door, and the water rushed in. Only six of us reached the platform. Those left behind must have been immediately drowned, and I think their bodies will be found in the shaft when it is opened. “The six of us were obliged to climb a ladder through ten feet of water, and it was only after a desperate struggle that we gained a wire rope which had been attached to the hoisting engine. We grasped the rope, and there we all swung for about ten minutes. Then the first of us gave out. He fell from the rope back into the pit and disappeared. One by one the men dropped, until before the end of the first half hour, McBride and I were the only ones still clinging to the rope. He held on until within ten minutes of when the lifeboat arrived, but finally he became exhausted, loosened his hold on the rope, and sank, waving his hand as he disappeared below the water, as if to encourage me to cling to the line. “A few minutes later I saw Oleson of the life-saving crew approaching me. When he got to me, I asked him, ‘Can you save me? If not let me stay here.’ “‘I have you, and you will not drown,’ he said. He took me on his back and lifted me into the water, never releasing his hold on me until I was safe in the lifeboat. I was so exhausted that I don’t remember anything after I felt his arms around me.” Miller is almost a giant in physique, and to his great strength is attributed his ability to cling longer to the wire rope on the crib. Shanty Swept Away About 5:30 A.M. yesterday the patients at St. Mary’s Hospital were startled by the loud report of an explosion. Rushing to the windows, they saw the frame shanty, which covered the tunnel crib, tottering and shaking. A moment later it fell beneath a great wave, which poured over it, as it disappeared beneath the raging waters of Lake Michigan. Hospital authorities sounded the alarm, and soon a crowd of eager onlookers gathered on the lakeshore within sight of the crib, which lies off the North Point water tower. A message was sent for the life-saving crew. The gallant fellows, despite the fact that they had been working on the sunken schooner Laurina since early morning, gathered as soon as possible and started with the surf-boat in a cart for the scene of the disaster. En route the wagon gave way, and no attempt was made to repair it, as old sailors who visited the scene said the boat could never reach the crib through the surf. An attempt was made to obtain a tug to tow the lifeboat to the crib. The Milwaukee Tug Boat Company offered the service of any boat desired, and the Starke was selected because of her light draft. Out of the harbor and into the raging whirlpool of the open sea the Starke forced her way, but the strain was too great, and when her windows were shattered by the wind, she was compelled to return to port. Then the tug Welcome was tried. With every wave washing her decks, she sped into the angry elements, with the lifeboat and its crew at her stern. Like a shell, the tug was tossed from side to side by the storm. Nothing daunted, brave Captain Gnewuch kept her headed for the crib. Old sailors on hand predicted that she would never reach the scene of the disaster, but with her hatches closed, she held her course. Slowly toward the crib the little steamer made her way. She darted into the trough of the tremendous billows, which splashed and tumbled and rushed, until she came to a stop several hundred yards to the leeward of the crib. There the lifeboat men began their work, and alternately approached and fell away from the mouth of the tunnel, which stood like a rock in the angry waves. In the meantime, the watchers on shore became almost frantic. At times it seemed as if all signs of life had disappeared, and then a slight movement of a body, seen through a strong glass, would show that someone was still there. The crowd held its breath. Every eye was strained. Muttered prayers of “God be with them” were heard. It was a terrible moment. Women wept and strong men turned away their faces. The lifeboat men stood at their places. At times the little craft would sink beneath the waves, and it was thought that the rescuers, too, had perished. A moment later she would reappear upon the crest of a billow, only to sink again. After leaving the tug, the lifeboat men, at the risk of their lives, worked their boat toward the crib. Time and again they approached within twenty feet of the platform only to be hurled back again by the waves. Icy spray dashed over the men, until they were numb from the cold. Suddenly the boat was washed almost up to the side of the crib by a friendly wave. Ingar Oleson, the dauntless coxswain of the life-saving crew, snatched the opportunity. With a quick spring he gained the staging. He untied the life line from his waist, and with a quick movement made it fast to the crib, so the line now tied the lifeboat to the crib. This done, Oleson began his survey. It was a terrible site that met his gaze. Clinging to a cable was Miller. His eyes were wide open, and his face wore the pallor of death. "For God's Sake, Save Me" As Oleson approached, Miller’s lips moved. “For God’s sake, save me,” he murmured. “The rest are down there,” he added, indicating the open hatchway leading to the tunnel. As he said this he fell back, releasing his grip. He would have sunk had it not been for a quick movement on the part of the life-saver. By main force Oleson drew Miller to the platform. Tying his own cork life jacket around him, Oleson spliced him to the lifeline, while he went to look for the others. All the hatchways were open, and the shaft of the tunnel was full of water. In this small lake Oleson plainly saw two bodies floating. Both appeared to be clinging with a death grip to something, as if they had been overtaken by the flood in trying to escape from the tunnel, and had been caught by water rushing in from above. Other bodies could be seen dimly beneath the first two, but so rapidly did the waves sweep over the staging that he deemed it best to look after the living rather than hunt for the dead. Leaving the awful scene, he returned to his burden. By this time Miller had fallen into a dead stupor. With rare presence of mind, Oleson spliced the miner to his back. Fastening the life-line to his waist, he leapt into the lake, and the crew in the lifeboat began drawing them through the angry sea. Capt. N. A. Peterson, the cool and plucky commander of the life-saving crew, had taken personal charge of the line, but while standing up to encourage Miller, he was washed overboard. For fully three minutes he was tossed about in the waves. Twice he was thrown under the keel of the lifeboat. More than once the crew despaired of saving their brave commander, who was kept afloat only by a cork life preserver. Finally he was drawn aboard the lifeboat, just before Oleson and his burden reached its side, and they too were drawn over the gunwale. The tug, which had lain to in the trough of the sea, started forward its engines, and began the journey back to the city through the stormy sea. Workers Sought Shelter in Lock It appears that all the workers were in one of the locks when the structure over the crib gave way. It is thought that the shed was struck by a huge wave, and when the water reached the boilers they exploded. This added to the terror of the scene, as the whole was washed into the lake. When the pumps stopped forcing air into the locks, the men made every effort to reach the upper staging, down which the water was now rushing. The five men seen on the crib at 9 o’clock had forced their way up through the locks to the top, only to find it covered with water. There they clung as long as possible, however, all but Miller finally lost their grip, and sank beneath the water in the crib or was washed away. Miller was a miner employed in the lowest lock. His bruised arms and hands bore witness to the terrible struggle for life in which all but he were lost. In his delirium, he muttered, “I came through eight feet of water.” Few people realize the danger that the tug Welcome was in as she waited for the lifeboat. Every wave that struck her pitched her from side to side. One moment she was on the crest of a heavy wave, and the next she was full in its trough. By hard work she was kept near the lifeboat. Never once did the men flinch from what seemed to them their duty. Capt. Gnewutch's Statement After the eventful trip, Capt. Gnewutch made the following modest statement. “It took the tug an hour to reach the crib. There was an awful sea running against us the whole distance. When we did get there it took another hour to get around to the east side of the pier, the waves were so high. Finally we struck a position from which the life-saving crew could operate, and when the signal was given, we slacked the tow line and let the lifeboat drift toward the pier. “The tug followed the lifeboat with the motion of the waves and the wind, and sometimes we were within twenty rods of the pier. We could see three men hanging to a cable in the shaft of the tunnel. One of them turned out to be Miller. The life-saving crew cried out to the three men to hang on, but they apparently were too exhausted from exposure and cold, for two of them let go and fell back into the sea. “Miller was still clinging to the cable, but it was evident that he could not hold out much longer. I ordered the whistle of the tug to be blown several times in quick succession. This seemed to arouse the poor fellow, as we saw him throw back his head in a weak effort to let us know that he was still conscious. “All the while the lifeboat was drifting slowly toward the crib. It got close enough for Oleson to spring upon the pier. Just as he landed, great waves, over thirty feet high, swept the pier for several moments, and we thought both men were done for. But when the waves subsided, Oleson was seen to be making his way slowly towards Miller with a life line. He got hold of Miller just as he let loose his hold on the cable. The weight of the man was nearly too great for Oleson, but with extreme exertion he managed to release his own preserver and place it around Miller’s waist. Then he fastened the life-line to Miller. Taking another preserver, which had been thrown him, Oleson secured it about himself. “Then came the feat that caused all of us to admire him. Unhesitatingly Oleson threw Miller into the sea, and sprang in after him. In the water, with the waves breaking over their heads, Oleson got Miller on his back, and thus they were dragged into the lifeboat. Miller was more dead than alive. “It was the most courageous piece of work I ever saw.” Heartrending Scenes Scenes along the lakeshore were heartrending. Long before the tug arrived abreast of the water works, the anxious wife of Engineer McBride was seen pacing up and down the beach. At times, when it was thought that men were seen upon the crib, she would wave her handkerchief in that direction, as if to reassure her husband. Even when it seemed as if everyone upon the crib must have long since met a watery grave, she maintained her composure, but her blanched face and eager eyes told of the anxiety within her breast. Nearby stood the aged father and mother of Michael Dwyer. Mrs. Dwyer broke down often. Weeping, she would say, “Johnnie is at home sick, and I wish Mike was there with him!” She finally allowed herself to be led into the offices of the water-works building, where she was tenderly cared for by women living in the vicinity. Despite the cold, the old man insisted on standing on the beach and watching for his son. On a corner of the bank, alone and almost unobserved, stood a group of Polish women. Two of them had husbands who worked on the crib. They were asking in the Polish language for some statement in regard to their loved ones, but no one could interpret for them. With suspense the more anxious because they could not understand what was being said, they stood and watched. The crib is but a small island built in the lake. Before the storm it had been covered with a shed which housed the workmen, engines and machinery necessary for drawing down a shaft to a depth of 140 feet. The shaft was to be used as a fresh-water intake for the city. It was at this crib that the work on the intake tunnel was being done. The crib still stands in the lake, but it now is a tomb, over which the waves wash with an angry yet mournful sound. |