Return of the Tessler
Ruth Kriehn - Fisherfolk of Jones Island
Ruth Kriehn - Fisherfolk of Jones Island
The weather was threatening at one o'clock on Saturday afternoon, March 1, 1913, when Charles Tessler gave orders for his fish-tug the Tessler to head for home. Aboard the tug were his son Richard, his brother Albert, and William Treu, Alex Treu, and Clay Hermann.
As the Tessler was heading toward port, a stay bolt let go, immediately putting out the fire in the boiler, and stranding the tug thirty miles from shore in a sixty-mile gale. The wind continued to rise. Fearing the danger of being driven helplessly by the storm, Captain Tessler gave orders for the anchor to be dropped. Work was begun immediately in an attempt to repair the damaged boiler. First it was necessary to bail the water out of the engine room. It was a long hard job. Every time the door of the room was opened, a flood of water from the pounding waves poured in. However, several hours of superhuman effort got the work done, and the men turned their attention to the boiler. It was a one-sided battle against the freezing waves that crashed tons of water over the small tug. No matter how hard they worked, the men were still cold. The mercury dropped fast, and everyone realized that unless a fire could be started, all would freeze to death. They knocked out a part of the cabin partition and cut it into kindling and shavings. A search produced only three matches. Breathlessly the men watched as the first match was lit. The match flickered and went out. A second attempt also failed. As the heavy sea bounced the boat about mercilessly, encrusting it with ice, the men huddled together, debating how to build a fire with the one remaining match. Then, by chance, Clay Hermann happened to put his hands in his pockets and pulled out a small candle. He had put it there by accident the day before, upon going into the cellar of his father's saloon at the foot of Washington Street. Could the candle be lit with the remaining match? The captain remembered a little telephone book he kept in his locker. He hurried to get it, soaked it with a bit of kerosene from a lantern, held the candle to it, and a fire was started. Soon a bit of warmth spread throughout the cabin. With nothing left to fear but the tearing loose of the calls of the cabin, or the possibility of springing a leak, the men went to work to repair the damaged boiler. Albert, the engineer, fashioned a soft plug made of brass and lead, to replace the original bolt. Then Richard and William risked their lives as they went onto the narrow ice-covered deck, crawling on their stomachs, dipped little buckets into the lashing sea, and climbed to the top of the engine room to fill the boiler through a manhole. Several times they were almost washed off, as waves swept over the top of the tug. By midnight the boiler was filled, a fire made, and the crew was ready for the trip home. Unable to carry more than half the ordinary amount of steam, for fear of again blowing out the repairs, they cruised along at about four miles an hour. At seven o'clock on Sunday morning, Carl Meyer, just a kid, stood shivering in the cold on the dock near the life-saving station. His uncle was getting the tug Forelle ready to go search for the missing Tessler. The uncle called to the boy. “Climb up on the cabin and throw over that line.” Carl climbed up, and there he saw the Tessler. “Here she comes!” he hollered. His uncle, thinking he was talking about the line, asked, “Where? I don't see her.” Carl began jumping up and down. “The Tessler! The Tessler! Here she comes!” In the distance, headed straight for the harbor, was the ice-shrouded phantom tug. |