Wreck of the Lady Elgin
Chicago Press and Tribune - Sept. 8-10, 1860
Chicago Press and Tribune - Sept. 8-10, 1860
A most appalling calamity has burst upon our community, with news of a disaster without parallel in our marine annals.
The schooner Augusta came into port this morning and reported that last night about midnight she had collided with a large steamer on the lake, a few miles out of Chicago. The Augusta suffered seriously in the encounter from the loss of her headgear, and was leaking badly. She had a full cargo of lumber, which shifted when she struck the steamer head on. The captain knew nothing of the extent of the damage to the other vessel. The rest of the news came full soon, in an intelligence which filled our streets with anxious inquirers. The other vessel in the encounter was the steamer Lady Elgin, Capt. Jack Wilson, which had left this port last night for Milwaukee, on her return of a military excursion from that city. She had on board nearly four hundred souls, of whom less than fifty have been saved. Early reports indicate that there were a large number of ladies in the cabin when the collision occurred, and when informed by Capt. Wilson that the steamer was sinking, none of them seemed to realize the awful fate impending. There was comparative quiet until the moment the vessel was swallowed up, when an awful scream of despair went up. Among those on board the ill-fated steamer were the Union Guards of Milwaukee, the Black Yeagers, the Green Yeagers and Rifles, several fire companies, and the Milwaukee City Band. They spent the day yesterday in Chicago, and left late last night on board the Lady Elgin. Work of Rescue When our reporters reached Winetka at 10 a.m., the surf was rolling in heavily and breaking in thunder along the beach. The shore there is an uneven bluff, from thirty to sixty feet high, with a narrow strip of beach at its base. The beach for three miles was strewn with fragments of the ill-fated steamer. Out to sea, for as far as the eye could reach, the angry waters were dotted with rafts and spars, with what appeared to be human beings clinging to them. Eighty to one hundred persons were counted, being driven at the mercy of the maddened elements toward the high rolling breakers and surf-washed beach. From the bluff thousands watched with straining eyes, as many, alas, met their fate in the waves. The work of rescue began about five a.m. a little north of Winetka, where the earliest intelligence was received from the survivors who came ashore in the steamer’s yawl. This boat was soon followed by another. The neighborhood was aroused. Word was sent to the life-saving station below. A party of men were preparing to go up to where the boats had landed, when their attention was drawn to their own shore. The wind, from out of the northeast, had carried each arrival a little farther south, and now rafts bearing human beings were seen nearing Winetka. Parties of men were on the alert and ready for the work of rescue. Word was sent to Evanston, and its citizens and students came up in force. Attention was directed first to a large raft coming in steadily over the waves, upon which were standing a large group, some fifty in number. Around it on all sides were single survivors and groups of two or three or more, but painful interest centered about the fate of the larger raft. It neared the seething line of surf. With a glass, those on shore could see that ladies and children were on the raft, but an instant later, they saw the raft break and disappear in the seas. Of all those on board the raft, only fifteen names appear in our list of the saved. Among the lost was the brave heart who had tried his best to save those committed to his charge, and who perished in the attempt – brave Captain Jack Wilson, commander of the steamer. Muscular Christianity The work of rescue, however, did not pause in the agony that wrung the hearts on shore. Men stripped off their clothing, and with ropes tied about them, dashed nobly into the surf. Only by such peril did they wrest the victims from the wreck, and we assert that the teachings of the Garrett Biblical Institute must include a liberal amount of “muscular Christianity,” for Messrs. Spencer and Combs of that institution were foremost among the heroes of the day. The scene was one which witnesses will never forget. The forty to fifty persons saved were less than one third the number that came in from the lake, to face the fearful gauntlet of the breakers several hundred feet off shore. The rafts would come into the line of surf, dip to the force of the waves, turn completely over and be lost, where a stone’s throw could reach them. The scenes of these fearful hours would fill a volume. The saving of the gallant James E. Evison of Milwaukee, with his wife in his arms, was one that left few dry eyes among the spectators. He had tied himself and his precious burden to the roof of the pilot house. Again and again the waves broke over them, and still they came on. Midway between the first breakers and the shore their raft grounded on something. There it hung, beaten and swept by roller after roller, not two hundred feet offshore. Edward Spencer, before named, with a rope about his waist, dashed into the waves, but was washed back by the huge seas. It was a critical moment. He again followed a retreating roller. As it passed the couple on the frail structure, the man with his wife leapt into the water, and made laboriously towards their rescuer, and not a second too soon. An angry roller was at their back. The rescuer toiled nobly, they neared one another, and just as the outstretched hands met, all vanished in a submerging wave. Then, with a cheer that rang along the shore, the retreating wave revealed that they were safe. The next instant, eager hands were bearing two limp burdens, husband and wife, up the steep bluffs. Grief and Confusion at Milwaukee Our special reporter reached Milwaukee by the earliest train on Saturday. It arrived a little after one o’clock p.m., amid a scene of wild grief and confusion at the depot. A throng of two or three thousand people crowded near the station, while telegraph and newspaper offices were thronged with parents, brothers, sisters and friends of those on board. Many who presented dispatches were in tears, and some of the scenes were the saddest ever witnessed. As soon as news of the great disaster reached Chicago, Capt. Prindiville ordered one of his tugs, the McQueen, to proceed to the scene of the wreck, to pick up any survivors. She left about 11 o’clock, and in the face of a terrible gale and a high sea, went up as far as Waukegan, thence cruised down the shore. Pieces of the wreck were met in abundance, but to none of them was anybody clinging. The McQueen returned to the city, having picked up only a dead child and a trunk. It is to be regretted that the tug was not off Winetka, where the loss of life from the rafts was so great. A crew came down on a rail car from Kenosha to Winetka with a lifeboat, but neither it nor the boat taken up from Chicago could be used, it being impossible to force them out through the surf. Survivors' Tales When the steamer began to break up, George Furlong found a cabin door, with which he threw himself into the water. A man named Gough made his way to Furlong’s raft, which proved insufficient for both. As Gough refused to relinquish his hold, Furlong left it and swam to a cattle pen, upon which he and a companion succeeded in reaching the shore, along with four or five dead cattle. Gough, however, was lost. Timothy O’Brien helped launch the boat in which he was saved, then started to go for his wife and daughter, but was prevented by his comrades and forced into the boat. His family was lost, and he saw them no more. Frank Christine left the boat on a raft with some twenty others, and was the only one of them who was saved. Charles May came to the breakers on a raft with twelve others. The raft overturned, and he was the only one who reached the shore. A large man could be seen for some two or three hours, standing on a piece of the wreckage, and evidently guiding it towards the shore. Reaching the breakers, his raft was dashed in pieces, and he struck out for the shore, struggling manfully to reach it. He had almost succeeded when a heavy wave broke over him and, receding, carried him out of sight. The steamer’s piano came ashore, and a man was seen clinging to one of the legs until it reached the surf line. He disappeared in the breakers. J. B. Rodee left the wreck on a snare drum, floated on it for some two hours, and then secured a plank. A larger plank coming his way, he seized it, and afterwards dragged upon it John H. Collins, a colored waiter, who was nearly exhausted, and then assisted Louis Steinke upon it. The body of Herbert Ingraham was still warm when discovered, and physicians gathered around him, under the impression that life was not extinct. The discovery, however, of a severe wound on the back part of his head showed that there was no hope of resuscitation. He apparently had managed to keep afloat till he reached the fatal breakers, where he was injured by timbers which were dashed hither and thither with fearful velocity. All the survivors praised Capt. Jack Wilson, commander of the ill-fated steamer, for bravery and daring. True to his duty, he was cool and collected in confronting danger, instant and earnest for the safety of his passengers. For a long time, in the company of fifty on a raft, he held in his arms a young child, while he cheered his companions. His last words, as they neared the fatal line of surf, were of encouragement and cheer: “Now boys, look out for the breakers ahead.” It was a timely warning but vain. The raft broke apart, and Capt. Wilson went down in the angry waters, his last act being to attempt to save two children. No accurate list of persons on board can be given, but the number is nearly as follows: Excursion party 300 Regular passengers 50 Crew 35 A special train will furnish us with further details of bodies on Sunday morning. So full are the details from statements of passengers, crew and witnesses, that we prefer to leave the main narrative to such sources. Statement of Edward Westlake “I was porter on the steamer Lady Elgin. We left Chicago for Milwaukee on Friday evening, shortly before midnight. The wind was blowing hard from the northeast, with a heavy sea running. I mingled freely with the passengers, and am of the opinion that there were at least 330 souls on board, including the crew. The greatest good feeling was manifested by the party, and dancing and other forms of merriment were kept up until a late hour. “I went to bed about a quarter past two. My bed was on the main deck, near the after gangway on the larboard side. I had not got asleep when I heard a fearful crash. I jumped out of my room with my pants in hand, and pulled them on as I went on deck. I went forward along the larboard side and saw a vessel at the after gangway. Some of our crew hollowed to her to send her crew aboard, as we supposed she was sinking, but no answer was made to our hail, and we saw no one. As the schooner fell aft, some portion of her rigging broke the lamp-room windows. She soon was out of sight. “I went forward and met the captain. He told me to get a light. I got one, and we looked over the side to see what damage was done. It did not appear to be serious. The captain said he thought we could list her to starboard, and she would not leak, as the damage appeared to be above the water line. “I went and locked down the fire-hole, and heard that a fireman, had discovered a leak. By command of the captain, I went aft for some mattresses with which to stop the leak. With the assistance of a couple of passengers, I threw eight or ten mattresses down into the hold. I then went back through the cabin, where ladies and gentlemen were gathered. They appeared to be neither alarmed nor excited. “I went to the pilot house, where the wheel was turned hard to starboard, and the boat headed for shore. "I ran down again to the fire-hold, and saw water within a foot of the furnaces. I went aft, and met the captain again. He appeared to be cool and collected. He ordered the after-yawl to be lowered. I took the bow tackles, and somebody else was at the stern. As the boat was lowered, several persons jumped into her from the promenade deck. As the boat struck the water, the tackle was unhooked, and I swung off by the ropes into the boat. Mr. Caryl and one or two deck hands also jumped in. “The captain ordered us to go around to the larboard side, where the Elgin had been struck, to try to stop the leak with mattresses, which he said they would throw to us. However, we discovered that we had just one oar in the boat. We asked repeatedly for another, but there was nobody to throw it to us, for the captain had gone elsewhere, and the people seemed to be very much excited and confused. "'Come in with the boat!' they screamed. 'Come in with the boat!' "We hollowed for a line to be thrown to us, but we did not get it. We sculled around as well as we could with one oar, trying to get alongside the vessel, as we continually asked for another oar or a line. But no attention was paid to us. Finally someone threw us an oar, but it was carried off by the sea. "The wind then blew us away still farther, and we were not able to make another approach. “After lying off a little while, the distance between ourselves and the Elgin constantly growing greater, we put the boat before the wind, and with thirteen persons, myself included, started for shore some ten miles away. We watched the lights of the Lady Elgin for five to ten minutes. She was rolling heavily. Then she appeared to sink between two heavy swells, and we saw her no more. “We drifted ashore near Winetka about six a.m., exhausted by the night’s dangers and fatigue. We had great difficulty in landing under the bluff, where our boat was capsized, but all our party was saved. In an hour or two another boat came ashore, containing eight persons. In landing, she was upset in the surf, and four of her passengers were drowned. “Our going away was against our will. With but one oar in such a boat as ours, and in such a sea, we could do nothing but keep our craft before the wind.” Statement of Lieut. Hartsuff “I was asleep in my berth when the Lady Elgin collided with the Augusta. I immediately jumped from my berth, and saw the schooner floating away. At first I did not think serious damage had been done, but soon discovered that the steamer was settling. I ran toward the pilot house, where I found Capt. Wilson on the hurricane deck. I asked him if he thought there was any danger, and he replied that he thought the steamer would float. He told me where there were life preservers on the hurricane deck. I passed them down to passengers in the cabin, and took one for myself. While I was on the hurricane deck, quite a number came up on the deck, but only a few of them were females. How many came up I could not say, as it was very dark. “Within half an hour after the Lady Elgin was struck, she broke up. The hurricane deck floated off, and the vessel went to the bottom with a tremendous noise. As she broke apart, I jumped into the water with my life preserver, a board six or eight feet long and a foot wide. I pulled with all my might to escape from the mass of the wreck. All around me were persons floating on pieces of wreckage. It was very dark. “I heard the voice of Capt. Wilson, cheering and encouraging the people, telling them that the shore was but a few miles off, and that if they kept calm and obeyed his directions, they might all be saved. I heard his voice for perhaps ten minutes. “When daylight came, I saw a large mass of the wreck a little distance to the windward, covered with people. I also saw a fragment of the wreck a short distance from me, on which was a woman and three men. She was so exhausted that she seemed unable to keep from dropping to sleep, although the men tried to prevent it. She was drowned while still on the wreck, unable to keep her head from the water. “I got on a large piece of the hurricane deck, on which there were four others. I don’t know who they were. To keep from capsizing, I told the men with me so to sit on it in such a way as to keep the edges under water. By my instructions, we turned our faces from the shore and faced the waves, to watch the breakers as they came towards us, so we were ready for them. In this way we were saved from being washed off, while almost everyone near us were carried from their frail barks, and perished. “On this raft I remained until we were within a quarter of a mile of the shore. There the raft broke up, and two of the four men with me were washed off and drowned. My remaining companion contrived to regain the raft, and I again took to a life preserver I found afloat. On this I floated to the shore just below the bluffs. “I saw a lone woman floating on a dining table, and a short time after I saw the table capsize and she disappear under water for several seconds, but she reappeared, clinging to the table, and eventually, by great exertions, she regained her seat upon it. When last I saw her she was near the shore, and as I heard of a woman being saved shortly after, I presume she must have been the one. “Under a piece of wreckage were four dead cattle, and on it were two or three persons. The buoyancy of the dead cattle kept this piece almost entirely out of the water, and when last seen, the peculiar lifeboat was near the shore. “From the time I was swept from the raft until I reached the shore, I was several times buried deep under the waves. When close to the shore, I was thrown from my life preserver and went to the bottom, and although the water was not more than three or four feet deep, I was so exhausted that I was unable to rise. I crawled for some distance under the water until I reached dry land.” Statement of Second Mate M.W. Beeman “Capt. Wilson was on watch by the side of the pilot house, and I on the main deck. About 2 o’clock and 25 minutes, a squall struck us. In five minutes more we saw the lights of a vessel approaching. She was a point off our port bow. I sang out to the wheelsman, “Hard a-port!” and the captain gave the same order. “The vessel seemed to pay no attention to us. She struck us just forward the paddle box on the larboard side, tearing off the wheel, cutting through the guards and into the cabin and hull. We were steering northwest by north a point to the windward of our course. The wind at that time was northwest. After striking us, the vessel hung on a moment, but soon swung off and got clear. I went below to see what damage was done, and when I got back on deck she was gone. “At first we did not suspect the fatal character of the blow. The collision was severe, but I had no idea that the Elgin was going down. Capt. Wilson was somewhat alarmed, but he behaved as a man should with great responsibility upon him. “Capt. Wilson gave orders to lower a lifeboat on the starboard side, and to row around to the larboard and see what damage was done. I helped lower the boat, and the first mate and I got in, but when the boat struck the water, she dashed under the guards and filled. While bailing her out, fifty or more passengers gathered on the guards preparing to jump in. To avoid being sunk by this crowd, we dropped astern. The lifeboat partly capsized two or three times, and we were kept busy bailing. “We had but two oars, and with these we tried to pull back to the Elgin, but were unable to do so. The sea was running heavily, and the wind was against us. We continued our efforts until we saw, by the disappearance of the lights, that the steamer had gone down. “We saw a man swimming near us, and we picked him up. He was Eddy Hogan, a deck sweeper. In the lifeboat were the first mate, a man named Effert, and another man I did not know. “The night was intensely dark. The rain was falling in torrents. The lightning was vivid and the thunder incessant. We could not hear anything from the Elgin until just before she disappeared, when two screams met our ears. We were not more than a quarter of a mile away. We knew that she had gone down by the disappearance of the lights. We kept as near the spot as we could, in hope of picking up some of the passengers or crew, but we saw nobody. “When daylight came, we found we had drifted a long way in towards the shore. We landed near Winetka. Striking the surf, we were upset, and Effert and the stranger drowned. I was washed out from shore two or three times by the retiring waves, but at last managed to climb the bank.” Statement of M.E. Smith “I was asleep in the mate’s room when the collision took place. Awakened by the loud crash, I went on deck as quickly as possible. The vessel with which we collided had got clear of us. Capt. Wilson was giving orders to lower a boat to ascertain the extent of the damage, but the boat could not get near the Elgin by reason of the waves and wind. “I assisted in rolling freight to the starboard, to list the boat over, and in pushing some cattle overboard, to lighten up. But the water seemed to be coming in so fast that the captain ran to the pilot house to see how she was heading. When told “west,” he said, “That’s right, boys, get her in to land if you can.” “He then ran back to the cabin to arouse the sleepers, and get them on the hurricane deck. Many stateroom doors were fastened, and he broke them in with an axe, exhorting the sleepers, many of whom had been drinking a good deal, to rouse up and save themselves. A few of them refused to leave their berths, but after a little time, a greater part of the passengers had got to the upper deck. “The captain told each man and woman to get a plank life preserver, in which loops of rope were tied, and to prepare for the worst. There appeared to be plenty, and some were passed down the sky lights into the cabins, for those who would not come out. “During this time Capt. Wilson had portions of the upper works cut away, for raft material should the steamer go down. But for the high seas running, the wisdom of Capt. Wilson’s order would doubtless have saved his own life and those of the many others now lost. Most of the passengers were cool and collected, and Capt. Wilson encouraged them with cheerful words and assurances that the deck would carry us all ashore. "Within fifteen minutes of the first alarm, the Elgin began to settle and reel, as if for her final plunge. A few loud screams arose, and a few frantic passengers jumped overboard, in a hurry to meet their fate. “Just at the moment the boat went down, a sea struck her upper works, and they parted from the hull and floated off in several pieces. "This was a trying moment. The shock and force of the waves swept off several of our number. The night was dark, and all lights were soon gone, so we could not see who was safe and who was gone. I found myself on a piece of the wreck, perhaps 15 feet by 30 feet, the boards and ribs or carlins of the upper deck. With me were 25 to 28 others. We had little to do but allow ourselves to be floated toward shore, until we found among pieces of the wreck a few cabin doors. Setting them on end, broadside to the wind, we made them serve as sails. “Soon after setting out on our perilous journey, we spotted another piece of the deck, more deeply loaded than ours. Capt.Wilson was on it. They came near to our float, and continued on with us, he keeping us in heart by his words of good cheer. “After daylight Capt. Wilson busied himself providing for the general safety, by fastening loops to the carlins, on which we might hang when we came to the surf. Four or five women were with us. One of them had a child about six months old, and the captain was solicitous for its safety. He held it when not otherwise employed. He had given the child up but for a moment, to attend to some matter, when a wave swept it away, and it was gone. “The storm was severe, but we did not suffer greatly from the cold, for the water was warm. “About half past 9 o’clock we neared the shore at Winetka. About 200 feet from the shore, our frail craft was lifted by the surf, which was running strong, and capsized. The raft was broken by the force of the waves. Capt. Wilson, Mr. Waldo, Mr. Newton and I all clung to a smaller piece of the deck, but striking the surf again, we again were capsized and thrown into the surging waves. I managed to find the wreck again, and Mr. Waldo got on another piece, but Mr. Newton and Capt. Wilson were seen no more. “After much exertion and appalling danger, I gained the land. Of the twenty-eight persons on our raft, only eight – seven men and one woman – were saved. The rest went down within sight and sound of safety. “I want to say that Capt. Wilson behaved nobly from the beginning to the fatal close. It is due to him that any were saved, except those who came off in the boats.” Statement of Ex-Alderman Carter “My first information of the wreck was at 8 o’clock in the morning, when news was brought from Mr. Jared Gage’s house that the steamer Lady Elgin was wrecked, and that drenched persons had come ashore and needed clothes and food. “We went and watched from the bluff for any signs of the wreck. Soon we could see small objects in the northeast, floating, or rather pitching and tossing on the mad waves. As they came nearer, we saw they were fragments of the steamer, freighted with human beings. Some had one person, some two, three, or a dozen. “People rallied on the shore with ropes. The excitement increased as the rafts approached. “The first raft to reach the shore was a small one, with two women upon it. As it came in, it broke up, and one only of the women was saved. This was Mrs. Rivers of Milwaukee. She told us that her companion on the raft was a friend who had clung to her. At length the friend had said she could hold on no longer, and she feared she would carry Mrs. Rivers down with her. This she would not do. She let go her hold, and was instantly engulfed and seen no more. “Near this small raft, and arriving at the same time, was a larger raft with more than twenty persons on it. Among these was Capt. Wilson. Twelve or thirteen were saved, but the rest drowned in the surf when within a few rods of the beach. “Capt. Wilson had behaved admirably, cheering and directing the little company to hold doors and planks so as to make sails and rudders of them. Sad to say, after all his skill, coolness and manliness, when the raft broke up in the surf, the gallant captain was lost. “Anxiety soon was alive again, as several other fragments of the wreck appeared, with people clinging to them. The wind was strong from the north, and a tremendous sea was setting southward. The little rafts, with their cargoes of humanity, were dancing about upon the waves, drifting towards the south and towards the shore. "The company on land was rapidly increasing in number, all ready to do what they could, but nothing could be done except to watch the little rafts, and when any came to the beach, to rush out and grab the persons from them, and lead them up the bank and into the houses, where they could be washed, rubbed, dry-clothed, fed, warmed and put to rest in beds. “A woman, Mrs. Joseph Sherlock, rushed into the water three times, and pulled out and saved three drowning men. “The steam tugs that were sent out from Chicago failed to accomplish anything, because they kept two or three miles out at sea, while the sufferers, on their frail rafts and boards, were much nearer to the shore. Nor could the lifeboats do anything. No such craft could live on such a sea. Nothing could be done but in the way it was done, which was to seize the survivors as they came to shore, bear them to houses, and care for them.” Statement of Steward Frederick Rice “About half an hour before the collision I called the porter and directed him to trim all the lamps. The passengers were dancing at the time, and the lamps were trimmed at their request. The whole boat was lit up brilliantly. “In a few minutes, the wind and sea increased to such an extent that dancing had to be suspended. The lights, however, were not turned down, but remained burning brightly. “Between two and half past two the Augusta struck the Lady Elgin on the larboard side, amidships, pushing her bowsprit through the companion-way and deck into the hold. The bilge injection pump was started, but the water speedily extinguished the fires. Twenty minutes after the collision, the engines stopped, and when Capt. Wilson called to restart the engines, the engineer’s reply was that there was no steam. “The scene on board the steamer was one of terror. Passengers ran hither and thither. Women screamed and clung to their husbands or companions. “Everything that could be was done to try to stop up the hole. Mattresses were pushed into it, and planks spiked over it, but to no avail. The captain ordered the crew to get the lifeboats ready, and directed five or six men to take the big boat round to the hole, to see if it could be stopped. “Twelve men jumped into the boat, and I, by order of the captain, placed myself in the stern, and with the oar used every exertion to get round to the hole. The passengers crowded the guardrail, ready to leap in. The steward, to prevent them from sinking the boat, shoved it off as far as possible. As the boat swung round the stern of the steamer, the sea struck it and carried it away. There was but one light oar in the lifeboat, and with this it was impossible to get back to the steamer. The sea made a clean breach over the boat every minute. I called for more oars, and one was thrown, but we could not get to it. “We then put the lifeboat before the wind. For a considerable time after the boat left the wreck, the terrific shrieks of the passengers were heard above the howling tempest. The lights of the steamer were distinctly seen by us until we were at least a mile distant, when they suddenly disappeared. The steamer went down about twelve miles from land. “With great exertions we at last reached the foot of a steep clay bank, which one of the men succeeded in climbing. He let down a rope, by which the others were drawn up.” Statement of Michael E. Smith At the time of the collision I was asleep in the mate’s room. A man came to tell the mate that a vessel had run into them, striking on the port side, just forward of the wheel house. I went out on deck, where we were ordered to throw the cattle overboard, and to carry mattresses below to stop the leak. A boat was sent outside to ascertain the extent of the damage. I did not see the boat again. “Capt. Wilson ordered all the passengers to gather on the hurricane deck, and to take life preservers. We began to break open stateroom doors to get out the lady passengers, and to use the doors as floats. “There were four lifeboats on board, all of which were launched. The first lifeboat contained two mates and the wheelman, who went to stop the leak, and did not come aboard again. The second boat contained thirteen persons, who all got safe on shore. The third and fourth boats filled soon after leaving the ship. “I remained on the hurricane deck till the Elgin sank, and I floated away on it. I was on the same raft as Captain Wilson and many others. He was walking about, cheering and directing the passengers, part of the time with a child in his arms. “Just before entering the breakers, I heard him say, ‘Now boys, look out for the breakers.’ A moment later the raft broke, and we saw no more of him.” Statement of H.G. Gardner “I had just lain down when the collision occurred. I went out on deck, and saw a schooner sheering off. I went to ascertain the extent of the damage, and afterwards carried down mattresses, and helped throw cattle overboard. Then I helped to break stateroom doors, and was obliged to force several ladies out and up on deck, as they were so frightened they refused to make any effort to save their lives. After getting as many ladies as possible on deck, with floats to support them, I remained on the upper deck till the boat sank, and I floated away upon it, with more than a hundred others. "The deck afterwards broke into three rafts, leaving me with about fifteen companions on the forward part. Of that number seven were washed off before reaching the breakers, and five were lost in the breakers, leaving only three who reached the shore alive. “Capt. Wilson did everything that could be done under the circumstances, and the ladies as a general thing, behaved nobly.” Statement of Capt. D.M. Malott, Master of the Augusta “The Augusta took on a cargo of lumber at Port Huron, and left about four o’clock p.m., the first of September. Nothing material occurred during the voyage until the evening of the 7th of September, with the vessel heading south by east with all sail set, and a strong wind out of the northeast. At 2 o’clock a.m. she was off Waukegan, wind in the same direction and fresh. She was four or five miles offshore, weather cloudy, moon up, not very dark, our lights all in order, the vessel on the same course. “At about 3 o’clock we took a heavy squall from the north, and the vessel breached to. We lowered away the fore and mainsail about half way, took in the jibs, and were running under these sails when we discovered a steamer’s lights, red and bright, which we supposed to be from a quarter to a half mile distant, and steering between north and northeast. It was raining hard. We kept our vessel on her course east by south until we saw a collision was probable, when we put helm hard up. In about two or three minutes we struck the steamer, just abaft the paddle box on her port side. “The steamer kept on her course, engine in full motion, heading the Augusta around north alongside of the steamer. We got separated from the steamer in about a minute, and the Augusta fell off into the troughs of the sea. All our head gear, jib boom, staunches, etc., were carried away. We took in all sail, and cleared away an anchor, supposing the vessel would fill. We lost sight of the steamer within five minutes after the collision. “After clearing the wreckage, and finding our vessel was not leaking, we got up the fore-staysail, and made efforts to get the vessel before the wind and save the masts, as all the head-stays were gone except one fore-stay. We were obliged to hoist a part of the foresail. We succeeded in getting before the wind, and stood in for the land. “When within three miles offshore, we stood down along the shore, and arrived off Chicago harbor about half past 7 o’clock a.m., September 8th. Heroism and Meanness Lofty heroism is often found alongside meanness of the most squalid type. Among the wreckage there came ashore numerous kegs of spirits, wines and beer, resulting in a drunken fight among some of the shore party. The agent for the Lady Elgin hired men to heap together portions of the cargo, and a large mass of stuff was collected at Gross Point, including barrels of flour and spirits, and pieces of furniture. Three or four men guarded these, but in the night they were attacked by a gang of wreckers, who drove them away and stole the property. The scoundrels came with wagons, carts, bags and baskets, greedy for the prey. They carried off all that they could. Had they had more teams they would have stolen everything. Early yesterday morning the thieves were again afoot. Three trunks belonging to Mr. Lurnsden came ashore. When found by the officers on watch, they had already been broken open and rifled, and silk dresses, articles for toilet use, shawls, laces and jewelry had been carried off. A search was at once instituted, and a large part of the valuables were recovered from the parties among whom they had been divided. In the jewel cases were said to be diamonds of considerable value. The offenders, three Germans from Evanston, will be put where diamonds will do them no good. Waiting for the Waves Yesterday morning a large train came down from Milwaukee to Winetka, having on board a great number of friends of the saved and the lost. They were principally Irish. They spent the middle of the day waiting for the waves to give up their dead. Moving to and fro on the high bank, searching with anxious eyes every inch of the beach and every breaker that rolled in, they were a sad sight. Reports of bodies found were eagerly seized upon, and at times the most exaggerated rumors prevailed. But most distressing was the hope that still buoyed many of them up. “I know he’s safe,” we heard one woman say. “He was so careful and cool in danger that he could not be lost. No! He is saved! He will come!” An old woman and a little girl sat on the high bluff, gazing pitifully out on the lake, as if entreating the water to give up its victims. Asked if her friends had been on the Lady Elgin, the old woman said, “No, a son and a daughter." |