Wreck of the Christopher Columbus
Milwaukee Sentinel - July 1, 1917
Milwaukee Sentinel - July 1, 1917
Thirteen persons were killed and a score or more injured shortly after 4:30 p.m. Saturday, when a huge water tank crashed across the bow of the excursion steamer Christopher Columbus, as she swung downstream in charge of two tugs. The accident is the greatest maritime disaster ever to occur on the Milwaukee River. Other bodies may later be taken from the river.
As the steel frame supporting the huge tank, 100 feet in the air, crashed against the boat, it knocked passengers into the river and crushed the bodies of others. The side of the big vessel was smashed in as though it were an eggshell. The screams of women, the shouts of men, and the commands of officers threw the passengers into a panic. Several jumped into the river. The water tank itself went over the boat and toppled into the water, clear of the vessel on the west side, but the frame of heavy steel beams fell directly across the hurricane deck, smashing the quarters of Capt. Moody, demolishing the wheelhouse, and puncturing a hole twelve feet in diameter directly over the restaurant. Capt. Moody was caught in the wreckage, and made an almost miraculous escape. Both of his legs were injured. James Brody, acting quartermaster, was at the wheel, but escaped. The Columbus carried about 200 excursionists from the University of Chicago on their annual outing, with over 200 other passengers. The vessel was being pulled from her dock at the foot of Sycamore Street by the tugs Knight Templar and Welcome, to the foot of Buffalo Street, where the Milwaukee and Menomonee River join. The tow-lines of the Templar were fastened to the prow, and the Welcome was at the stern. The tugs were drawing the big boat close to the east docks when the current of the Menomonee, augmented by recent floods, struck the boat broadside. The current was so strong that the prow of the vessel was swept toward shore, fifty feet from the water tower. The danger was observed by Capt. Moody, his officers and the tug-men, and the captain signaled the engines to back up. However, the prow of the boat hit a steel stanchion supporting the water tower with a glancing blow, and it snapped like a pipe-stem. The structure snapped off about twenty feet from the ground, and toppled over. The stanchions, which had been bolted to the seven-story Yahr & Lange Drug building, at the foot of Chicago Street, tore the bolts completely out, leaving gaping holes in the wall. The people killed and many of those injured had been standing where the steel support crashed against the boat. Nearly all were on the promenade deck, crowded toward the bow to obtain a better view of the harbor. Despite the confusion following the accident, the tugs managed to pull the vessel across the river, where she was tied to the Canadian Transportation docks. There the work of rescuing the victims was completed. One of the first men on the Columbus to render assistance was Frank Woods, who had been in charge of the soda counter. When Woods felt the shock, he rushed to the deck and saw three persons in the water. He threw them life preservers. They managed to keep afloat until small craft arrived and carried them to safety. He then went to the bow, where he saw some of the dead crushed in a mass of wreckage. Woods and others climbed through the hole that had been punched through the vessel, and dragged the bodies of the dead and injured into the restaurant. Physicians, who had been hurriedly summoned, worked over the injured, while the dead were laid out, awaiting the arrival of the police and the coroner. More than 100 policemen, six ambulances and dozens of taxicabs were pressed into service, but it was after 6 before the last body had been removed from the boat. As fast as the injured were taken from the wreckage they were rushed to hospitals in taxicabs. Calls were sent for volunteer physicians, and within a few minutes dozens responded. Besides those at the emergency hospital, six doctors were at work on the boat. Crowds of onlookers flocked to the scene. By 5 p.m. thousands lined both sides of the river, and lines of police were drawn to keep them from interfering with the work of rescue. At 2 a.m. officials were still unable to estimate with any degree of accuracy the number of persons missing. It is believed that many passengers, including Milwaukeeans, fled from the ship as soon as she was tied to the dock. An accurate count of the dead may not be obtained until the river gives up all the bodies. Three different versions as to the cause of the accident were given Saturday night, but all witnesses agree that the primary cause was the strong current sweeping into the Milwaukee River from the Menomonee River. In one version, Capt. Moody said that when the boat felt the current, he signaled the engine room to reverse power, and that both tugs pulled in an effort to avert the collision. A second version is that when the current pushed the boat to the side, the tug Knight Templar was directly in front, and in danger of being run down. To prevent this, the tug cast off the tow lines, and the current quickly shoved the big boat against the stanchions. Another version, which is supported by river and lake men, is that the Columbus turned to prevent a collision with the freighter Northern Light, which was proceeding down the Menomonee River toward the outer harbor. The freighter had just passed through the Milwaukee Road drawbridge, and apparently both boats were fast approaching the East Water Street bridge. According to river men, the Columbus, in warning to the Northern Light, sounded seven blasts from her whistle, which means “I am coming down.” Capt. Maxon of the Knight Templar declined to make any statement. Capt. John A. McSweeney of the tug Welcome also declined to talk. “It all happened so quickly that I don’t know yet what occurred,” said passenger Gertrude Sykes, as she stood shivering in a borrowed overcoat, drenched to the skin from the water that poured out of the tank upon the ship. Though sitting with her friends on the port side of the hurricane deck, well forward and almost directly under the tank, she escaped with just a drenching and a slight scratch on her cheek. “We were all sitting there, laughing and chatting,” said Miss Sykes, “when suddenly there was a downpour of water and an awful crash. I don’t know what happened, even now. It was all so sudden.” One passenger said he was standing within ten feet of the place where the tank hit, and declared that the crash was the most terrific he ever heard. “The creaking of timbers, the yells of boat-hands, and the screams of women will stick to me as long as I live,” he said. “The whole boat rocked and careened as if it were going over. I rushed back with the rest, but when I saw that the boat was safe, I came back and watched them taking out the bodies from the hole made through the side. One woman had her head mashed into a jelly. Another had her legs cut completely off. I saw them gathering up the heart and organs of another person. I tried to get through and help, but they wouldn’t let me.” Broken glass, chairs, benches, tables, blood-soaked canvas and lifebelts lay in heaped confusion after the crash. The red carpets of the forward dining room were water-soaked and covered with glass, broken timbers and sandwiches. Word from Chicago is that the excursionists on the Columbus were not in a formally organized party, but included instructors and students from Northwestern University, the University of Chicago, and other schools in the city. The groups happened to be together because it was the weekend, and because some, who happened to be from far-away states, wanted to see Milwaukee before they returned to their homes later in the summer. The whaleback steamer Christopher Columbus is the largest excursion boat in the world. She was built for the Chicago World’s Fair, and was a curiosity because of her unusual rounded hull, known as a “pig” among vessel-men. On her first trip she carried 3,000 passengers. In later years she carried many Illinois people to Wisconsin to get married, when no license was required here. The steamship is 362 feet long. |
River Current Blamed in Columbus Tragedy
Milwaukee Sentinel - July 2, 1917
Milwaukee Sentinel - July 2, 1917
Capt. Charles Moody of the Christopher Columbus freely discussed the accident Sunday afternoon, just before giving his testimony to federal investigators.
"The accident was due to the heavy current running down river," said Capt. Moody. "Any and all reports that there was any friction between the captain of the tug Knight Templar and myself just before the accident is pure fabrication. Both tugs working on the Columbus did all they could to avert the accident. “I saw my boat drifting toward the warehouse and the tank, and I yelled to the tug to stop it, and it immediately began its efforts to avoid the crash. As soon as I saw we were not stopping, I gave the order to reverse the ship’s engines with full speed. I knew that by so doing I might back my ship into the bridge below us and perhaps do great damage to it, but I preferred the sacrifice of any part of the Columbus to jeopardizing the lives of my passengers. “Immediately after my order to reverse the engines, the second mate rang the alarm, because he thought we would back into the bridge. When I saw the ship stick its nose into the underpinnings of the water tank, I yelled to the people to get back. But they were too interested, it seemed, in waving to those on shore to heed my warning. “As the tank rocked back and forth, then crumpled up and crashed upon the bow of the boat, I jumped to the starboard entrance to the pilot house, and Jim Brodie, the wheelman, leaped to the port entrance. As soon as the crash was over, I looked at the spot where Brodie had been standing, but saw nothing but a huge hole. My first thought was ‘Jim’s dead.’ “I crawled forward of the pilot house, and there was Jim, holding his head in his hands. 'Hello, Cap, I thought you were a goner sure,' he said, as he caught hold of me. ‘We had better get busy, Cap. A lot of people have been killed.’ “Somebody yelled ‘man overboard,’ and I rushed out on the deck and ordered the boats lowered. The sailors, practically all of them deep-sea men from the Atlantic Coast, went right about their business. I ordered the forward workboat lowered, and they began picking the people out of the water. "There was no panic. Only silence prevailed. I would have felt better if somebody had yelled." |