Wreck of the M.J. Cummings
Milwaukee Sentinel - May 19, 1894
Milwaukee Sentinel - May 19, 1894
Six of the crew of the M.J. Cummings are lost, and the fore-and-aft schooner is partially sunk this morning, three-quarters of a mile off Jones Island. One woman and one man, still lashed to the rigging, are dead from exposure and exhaustion. The bodies will be brought in today. The Cummings grounded at 9 o’clock yesterday morning in a storm of wind and sleet. The life-saving crew’s boat was disabled in its first attempt to reach the sunken vessel, and in the attempt, surfman Frank Goerdes was left on the wreck. The other life-savers then wandered the shore all day, not seeming to know what to do. Meantime, Goerdes and the crew of the schooner were left to take their chances. At 4:40 in the afternoon, after many futile efforts, a scow and a lifeboat were towed out to the wreck by the tug Hagerman. When the scow, tossing about like a pine plank, came near enough, surfman Goerdes, leapt to the rigging of the Cummings, as near the water as he dared, while grasping the rope that held the empty lifeboat. Sailor Robert Patterson was three or four feet above Goerdes, and ten feet above him was an unknown sailor from Michigan. Sailor Patterson was so numb from the cold that he could hardly move, but he kept shouting words of encouragement to his fellow sailors. Still lashed to the cross-trees was another sailor named Jim, but he was unconscious and could do nothing. "It's For Our Lives Now!" When the little lifeboat was drawn up to the foot of the mizzen-mast, surfman Goerdes shouted, “Jump, boys! It’s for our lives now!” Patterson jumped into the boat, but the Michigan sailor was unequal to the task. With a groan he loosened his hold on the rigging, and fell into the foam-capped waves. Perhaps he saw that the lifeboat had two holes in its side, where it had crashed against the schooner. Giving up all hope of reaching land, he loosened his hold. Holes or no holes, Goerdes saw that the lifeboat was their only chance for life. There was no time to be lost. He dropped into the boat, grasped an oar, and motioned for Patterson to take the other. Patterson’s fall had stunned him, but with a mighty effort he rallied and put all the strength he had left into getting ashore. Shouting encouraging words, Goerdes headed the shell against the thundering sea, and prepared to drift ashore. When the thousands who had gathered on Jones Island saw the lifeboat leave the Cummings, a rush was made toward the spot where it would probably land. As huge billows piled up in quick succession, the lifeboat would be lost to view, and the spectators would hold their breath until it appeared again, on the crest of a billow that rolled shoreward, fully fifteen feet high. Five times the frail craft, pitching and tumbling, went through walls of water. Each time a groan went out from every throat, but each time, when all seemed lost, the heads of the two men would appear again above the murky water. Surfman Goerdes’ head would be turned toward the next billow, which he knew was coming. When the little boat was within 200 feet of shore, the crowd began to feel that there was a chance for the two men to again put their feet on solid ground. The boat came through a huge wave. The two men grasped their oars, and brought the nose of the boat back squarely into the next wave. A mighty cheer went up. A second later the hearts of the spectators again stood still. A billow, higher than the others, rolled in and swallowed up the little craft. It seemed minutes before the dripping hats of the two men showed above the billow. Now the oar that Goerdes had used was whirling and tossing twenty feet away from him. Casting a glance over his shoulder to time the next billow, he stepped forward, took the remaining oar from Patterson. By the time the next ridge of water lifted the little boat’s stern, he had righted the craft. This billow sent the boat twenty feet nearer the crowd on shore. Half a dozen men with gilt letters on their hats, signifying that they were from the “U.S. Life Saving Station,” rushed down and threw out a line, but there was no need, for the last wave had been mastered. Scene of Death Just before dark, the body of the woman cook could plainly be seen lashed to the rigging. Fastened to the cross-trees, with torn sails flapping above him, lay all that was mortal of the sailor Jim. Both were cold in death. Somewhere below the waves that ran over the schooner, as if determined to tear it apart, were the bodies of the captain, mate and two other sailors. Criticism was freely given on all sides upon the work done by the men at the life-saving station, with the exception of Goerdes. It was said that they refused to go out, and ridiculed every plan formed to rescue those clinging to the Cummings’ rigging. When the scow was sent out, they stood on shore and told everyone within hearing that the next minute would see the scow, the tug and the lifeboat all swallowed by the waves. "He Was a Brave Man" After sailor Patterson was warmed at the station, he told the story of the wreck and of his stay on the sunken Cummings. He spoke with half-closed eyes and in a scarcely audible voice, for he was weak, hungry and sleepy. "We drifted in this morning, and failed to get between the piers. We were so close to shore that we knew the chances were against us keeping off. The heaviest kind of a sea was rolling. We tried to get farther from shore, and we would have if the schooner was equal to the task. Shortly before 9 o’clock the captain saw she was on the verge of going down, so we climbed up into the rigging. We barely got there when the boat gave a lurch and went down. "It seemed we had been in the rigging for weeks when the life-saving crew started out. I hardly thought they could help us with the boat they had. They got out to us, but after one of the crew got aboard – I don’t know who he was, but he was a brave man – the boat turned over, and the life-savers had to hustle for themselves. "The man aboard wrapped sails around the cook, who was half way up the mizzen-mast ladder to the cross-tree. He lashed her to the ladder, then came up to the cross-tree. He lashed the captain and the mate to the masthead. "A sail near the cross-tree sheltered us from the wind a little, but it was awful cold. We could do nothing for the woman. At 12 o’clock she was dead. “Every minute seemed an hour, and we felt we didn’t care whether we fell into the lake or not. They tell me it was 2 o’clock when poor Tom Turcott fell off and was drowned. He was nearly dead an hour before he fell, but we tried to get him to hold on for just an hour longer. The poor fellow was brave for as long as he had strength. When that gave out he was gone. “It must have been two hours after Tom fell that I saw the tug and scow start for us. I told the captain, but he didn’t seem to hear me. I knew he was about to go, and almost before I had time to think the thought, he reeled forward and fell. “The life-saving man on board saw that Mate Besour was getting too weak to stay in the lashings, which had been loosened by the swaying of the schooner, so he started up toward him, but before he got to him, the mate fell. The life-saving man tried to grab him as he fell, but he only caught a heel, and he couldn’t hold on. “When the lifeboat came alongside, the Michigan man and I went down the ladder to get into the boat. The other man, Jim, was up on the cross-tree, unconscious, and we couldn’t take him. The little boat came up to where we could jump into it, and I heard the life-saving man say ‘Jump!’ "I jumped, but the Marine City man saw there was a hole in the boat. He would not jump. A minute later he lost his balance and fell. "We left the woman cook dead in the rigging, and poor Jim unconscious, and we pulled for shore. “I don’t remember much about coming ashore. Waves seemed to break over us a thousand times. Every time they broke, I thought my time had come, for I was nearly strangled. I don’t believe I helped much to bring the boat ashore, and I thank God and the life-saving man that I’m here.” Experience with a Mad Man Surfman Frank Goerdes told the story of his harrowing ordeal. "As I jumped aboard the sunken schooner, I saw the life-saving boat capsize, and my comrades struggling to gain holds on it. I turned my attention to the half-frozen crew. The woman cook, sitting half way up the port mizzen-shroud, with sails wrapped about her, was piteously moaning for help. A sailor stood beside her, trying to encourage her. I climbed up to her, took the nearest rope, and after arranging the sails so they kept off much of the fierce wind and sleet, I lashed her to the shroud. "Then I climbed to the cross-tree to see if any one there needed attention. Within a few feet of the cross-tree I looked up, and staring at me like a madman was Capt. McCullough. "'Save my crew!' he shouted. "Assuring the captain that I had come to save all on board, I succeeded in reaching him. I was standing thirty feet above the waves. I grabbed him by the arms, and in a moment I had him lashed to the masthead. "'Let me swim ashore with my crew!' moaned the crazed captain. 'Oh, if I was only on the deck of my boat, I could save a thousand lives.' As he struggled to get free, the blood surged into his icy cheeks. "I then turned my attention to Mate Besour, who was fast giving out. I lashed him to the mast, and put a flapping sail between him and the freezing wind. "An hour after I boarded the schooner, the cries from the cook gave out. I tried to cheer those around me, but I felt the cold chilling me deeper and deeper. By the time the first man fell, I was so numb that I dared not move much. When at last I saw the tug and scow start for the Cummings, I did all in my power to cheer the half-dead crew. I realized that it now rested with me to get them off the schooner, so I saved my strength for the task before me. "I saw that Capt. McCullough was working loose from the mizzenmast, but I thought the ropes would hold him until the scow arrived. 'We are all saved now,' I shouted, and the captain seemed to make a great effort to rally. He twisted half around, and in so doing, he loosened the rope that held him, and he pitched into the lake. "When I started down the shroud, Patterson and another sailor were following. I called to the two above to jump into the lifeboat. Patterson followed my order, but the other man refused to leap. Half a minute later he fell off and was drowned. "Our lifeboat was badly damaged, and I hardly thought we would get to shore, but it was our only hope. It was hard work. Patterson was so numb and weak he could do little, and it took all the strength left in me to manage the boat. At least twenty times, in making that little distance between the Cummings and the shore, I thought we were gone. When we were within 200 feet of shore, the biggest wave of all swept over us and struck us, and it seemed we would never right again. I did not realize that we had righted until I heard a cheer float out from shore. "I never want another experience such as I have gone through today, and I never want to face another man who looked at me as Capt. McCullough did." Tugs Could Not Reach the Wreck The Cummings, a two-masted schooner, coal-laden from Buffalo to Chicago, appeared in the offing at 6:30 yesterday morning. She came to anchor off the lightship, but the anchorage ground was not good, and two hours later, impelled by the northeast gale, she ran aground off Jones Island. Six feet of water covered her deck, and her crew climbed up into the rigging. There was no need for a pennant hung at half-mast to tell those on shore that the vessel was in distress. Three tugs made successive attempts to get to the boat. First the schooner sank, the W.H. Simpson ran out to her, with the intention of taking her line and towing her inside, but the tug was driven back by the angry seas. After she sank, the tug Hagerman started out to bring off the crew, but was not able to get outside the piers. Nothing daunted, the tug Welcome made the attempt, but the plate-glass windows in her pilot house were smashed by the sea, the line-rack on the fantail was washed overboard, and the fire-room door was smashed. Meantime the life-saving crew was not idle. The mortar and breeches-buoy apparatus was brought out, but six or seven attempts to shoot the line out to the wreck proved unavailing, as each time the line fell short. At 9 o'clock in the morning Capt. Jackson Pratton and his men manned their self-righting lifeboat, and were towed part way out by the tug Hagerman. In less than half an hour they were near the schooner, and approached her at the stern. Just as one of the life-saving crew, Frank Goerdes, jumped on the vessel, a huge wave parted the line. Before the life-savers could get their oars back in the water, their lifeboat had fallen into the trough of the sea, and was swept shoreward, while Goerdes climbed up into the rigging with the crew of the Cummings. Another huge wave capsized the life-saving boat, and the crew were thrown into the water. All five of the men caught the boat, which righted in two minutes, and they clung to it until they floated ashore. The life-saving boat came ashore south of the Illinois Steel Company ore docks. Her rudder was lost, her oars smashed, and a number of seams opened. Capt. Pratton immediately telephoned to Racine, asking the life-saving crew there to send a lifeboat, but at 12:45, when the boat arrived, it was discovered to be a surfboat, and it was claimed that it could not live in the sea that was running. Tempest of Wind and Sleet All morning thousands of spectators watched from Jones Island. Fascinated by the rolling waves and the hard-beset boats, they stood exposed to the tempest of driving wind and sleet. The waves drove down the straight cut, high above the piers, and threw foam on the shore. South of the south pier lay the Cummings, which had sunk with six feet of water on her deck, and the C.C. Barnes of Toledo, which was dragging her anchor. A half mile farther south, riding at anchor with three sticks and no topmast, was another schooner. Little could be seen of the Cummings except three or four indistinct specks in the swaying masts, high in the rigging, representing all that was mortal of a crew of six men and a woman. Outside the lightship were the masts of ships that sought anchorage there. Above the horizon showed two trails of smoke, where the steam-barge Susie Chipman and the steamship Tioga were steaming up and down, as if unwilling to come into the river. The shore of the bay was a bewildering medley of waves and rushing water, and the pier connecting the lighthouse to civilization was submerged most of the time by waves. Tugs steamed along in the river, not willing to lie at their docks on account of the swell. The shore was strewn with wreckage. Pieces of spar, with tattered sails flying, washed up and down with the sand. The three-master C.C. Barnes was losing ground steadily, swaying wildly as huge rollers caught the vessel. In an effort to drift away from a treacherous section of shore, studded with sunken piers, the Barnes slipped both anchors, spread her jib, and managed to go aground within fifteen feet of the grass-covered shoreline. At 2:30 in the afternoon, the schooner C.B. Jones was seen making straight for shore before the wind, with every sail unfurled. She ran accurately between the piers, and was met by the tug Simpson just in time to avoid contact with the south pier. While great steamers found it impossible to make the harbor entrance in the storm, and even tugs found it necessary to circle far out, to get seaway to pass the piers, the schooner Jones ran the gauntlet without the slightest mishap. |