Wreck of the Naomi
Captain William Callaway
Captain William Callaway
We had shipped out of Milwaukee, and on November 4th, 1869, we were wind-bound at Manistee.
The wind shifted that night, and on the morning of the 5th it was blowing a heavy gale from the west. One of the men went out on the pier to look along the beach, and he saw a bark about six miles north, on the outside sandbar. Three other sailors and I started to walk along the beach to the scene of the wreck, but we were obliged to take to the woods, as the heavy sea was washing up against the clay banks.
When we got within closer range of the vessel, we could see the crew on the cabin, with the seas washing over them. Their lifeboat was already on the beach. They had lowered their boat with the intention of coming ashore, but the heavy seas had filled her with water, and she broke adrift and came on the beach. One of the crew had tried to swim ashore to summon help, but he had drowned in the attempt.
The peril of the men on the wreck filled us with horror, and we decided to try to rescue them.
The only boat at hand was the vessel's lifeboat, but the breakers pounding the boat had started some of the frames from the planks, and had shaken the oakum out of the seams on one side. A farmer brought us a hatchet and some nails, and we turned the boat bottom-up and nailed the planks to the frame as best we could. The next thing was to caulk the seams, and we made use of a pair of old pants we found. A lumberman by the name of Calkins pulled off his coat and tore off his shirt-sleeves. We tore the coat into shreds and filled the seams with them, using our knives as caulking irons. I then cut a piece from one end of the painter and made a becket through the ring bolt in the stern of the boat, to keep the steering oar from slipping out of the sculling notch and getting away from me.
By this time a crowd had gathered, among them sailors and citizens from Manistee. They told us it was folly to attempt a rescue in the lifeboat, and some said they would go back to Manistee to get a good boat, and bring it back on a wagon, but they would have had to drag the boat a long way through the woods by hand, and I knew that by that time it would be nearly night, and the crew would have perished.
Three oars and a pail had come ashore with the lifeboat. I got together a crew of three men besides myself, two to row and one to bail. Two were Chris Hansen and James Gillespie, and the third was a sailor from the schooner William Heg.
There was a strong current running south along the beach, so I had the onlookers partly drag and partly carry the lifeboat to the north, to allow for the current in fetching up at the wreck. They ran into the water to push us afloat. Our boat was a large one, about eighteen or nineteen feet long, but the seas were so high that she nearly stood on end when pointing out through the breakers. We managed to keep her afloat, bailing her out with the pail as fast as the spray came over.
The first sight that met our eyes as we approached the wreck was that of the captain and his wife. He was tied fast to one end of a rope passed over the mizzen boom, and his wife, who was fast to the other end, lay dead in his lap.
The vessel had her topsail and mainsail close-reefed and set, and the main boom was lying on the rail, with the end about eight feet from the side. I got our boat under the end of the boom, for it was not safe to go too close to the vessel in that terrible sea. The men on the wreck came along the rail to the end of the boom, then dropped into the boat. Three of them dropped in all right, but when the fourth was descending, we shipped a sea in our boat that threw us from under him, and he fell overboard. The undertow brought our boat back to its former place, and the man came up alongside. One of our men grabbed hold of him and got him into the boat. As soon as he could speak he invoked heaven and the saints, calling down upon us blessings for saving his life.
Having by this time shipped considerable water, we were obliged to put off for the beach, in order to save ourselves and those we had taken from the vessel, and to get the boat in trim. If we had shipped another sea, it might have been the end of us.
As we approached the shore, the men on the beach ran out into the water and took hold of the boat to pull her ashore. Two of the men we had rescued stepped out of the boat and dropped down as if dead, when they realized they were saved. The people on the beach had built a fire in the woods, back of a sand hill, and carried the exhausted men there, wrapped them in blankets after rubbing them with whiskey, and gave them some of it to drink. This brought them around after a while. The crowd wanted me to take some whiskey too, but I refused to have any until I got through.
We put our boat in trim again, and pulled her up the beach to our former starting point, but when we were ready to set off, two of my boat’s crew backed out and would not risk a second trip. It was some time before I could find two others, although there were a number of sailors among the spectators. I succeeded finally in filling my crew, but I do not remember the names of the two recruits.
We started off once more, but had got only about half way to the vessel when we shipped a sea that nearly half filled our boat, so we had to put back to the beach to get the water out and the boat in trim again. We once more got our boat back to the starting point, ready to put out again, when the two men declined to re-enter her. It took some time to get two others, but finally we did. The two were Captain Hall of the schooner Stronach, and my mate, Gus Janet. Chris Hansen deserved great credit for sticking by me all the time. The others also were worthy of praise.
The third time we put off, we reached the vessel all right, and got the boat under the main boom as before. One man came along and dropped into the boat as the others had done. Another got as far as the mizzen rigging when his strength failed him, and he could go no further. He stood on the rail, holding on to the rigging. I got the boat near him and told the men to watch their chance, and when the boat was on top of a sea, to drag his legs off the rail. This they did, and the man tumbled into the boat like a thousand bricks. He was not hurt.
The captain now was the only living person left on board, and he was not able to help himself. I asked Gus Janet to watch his chance to jump on board, when we got the boat alongside by the mizzen rigging, and were on top of a sea. I figured the only way he could save the captain was to loosen the man’s wife, throw us that end of the rope, and pitch the captain overboard, so we might haul him into the boat.
Gus got aboard all right, and did all he could, but at such times it takes longer to do things. He had loosened the wife, but before he could accomplish the other details, we had shipped so much water that I saw we had to put out for the beach again. I did not want to leave my mate on board the wreck, so I got the boat under the boom and called to him to come aboard. He came along the boom and dropped into our boat, as the others had. Then we started for the beach.
The captain must have thought we had given him up. He cast a look at me I shall never forget, then he rolled off the deck, between the cabin and the rail, and drowned. It had been my intention to get the boat in trim, and return to fetch him.
We reached shore safely, but my arms were so strained they were shaped like a bow, and I could not straighten my fingers, from gripping the steering oar so tightly. We had been about four hours accomplishing our task.
When I arrived back home after this trip, the members of the Milwaukee Chamber of Commerce, to my surprise, were kind enough to present me with a gold watch and chain.
The wind shifted that night, and on the morning of the 5th it was blowing a heavy gale from the west. One of the men went out on the pier to look along the beach, and he saw a bark about six miles north, on the outside sandbar. Three other sailors and I started to walk along the beach to the scene of the wreck, but we were obliged to take to the woods, as the heavy sea was washing up against the clay banks.
When we got within closer range of the vessel, we could see the crew on the cabin, with the seas washing over them. Their lifeboat was already on the beach. They had lowered their boat with the intention of coming ashore, but the heavy seas had filled her with water, and she broke adrift and came on the beach. One of the crew had tried to swim ashore to summon help, but he had drowned in the attempt.
The peril of the men on the wreck filled us with horror, and we decided to try to rescue them.
The only boat at hand was the vessel's lifeboat, but the breakers pounding the boat had started some of the frames from the planks, and had shaken the oakum out of the seams on one side. A farmer brought us a hatchet and some nails, and we turned the boat bottom-up and nailed the planks to the frame as best we could. The next thing was to caulk the seams, and we made use of a pair of old pants we found. A lumberman by the name of Calkins pulled off his coat and tore off his shirt-sleeves. We tore the coat into shreds and filled the seams with them, using our knives as caulking irons. I then cut a piece from one end of the painter and made a becket through the ring bolt in the stern of the boat, to keep the steering oar from slipping out of the sculling notch and getting away from me.
By this time a crowd had gathered, among them sailors and citizens from Manistee. They told us it was folly to attempt a rescue in the lifeboat, and some said they would go back to Manistee to get a good boat, and bring it back on a wagon, but they would have had to drag the boat a long way through the woods by hand, and I knew that by that time it would be nearly night, and the crew would have perished.
Three oars and a pail had come ashore with the lifeboat. I got together a crew of three men besides myself, two to row and one to bail. Two were Chris Hansen and James Gillespie, and the third was a sailor from the schooner William Heg.
There was a strong current running south along the beach, so I had the onlookers partly drag and partly carry the lifeboat to the north, to allow for the current in fetching up at the wreck. They ran into the water to push us afloat. Our boat was a large one, about eighteen or nineteen feet long, but the seas were so high that she nearly stood on end when pointing out through the breakers. We managed to keep her afloat, bailing her out with the pail as fast as the spray came over.
The first sight that met our eyes as we approached the wreck was that of the captain and his wife. He was tied fast to one end of a rope passed over the mizzen boom, and his wife, who was fast to the other end, lay dead in his lap.
The vessel had her topsail and mainsail close-reefed and set, and the main boom was lying on the rail, with the end about eight feet from the side. I got our boat under the end of the boom, for it was not safe to go too close to the vessel in that terrible sea. The men on the wreck came along the rail to the end of the boom, then dropped into the boat. Three of them dropped in all right, but when the fourth was descending, we shipped a sea in our boat that threw us from under him, and he fell overboard. The undertow brought our boat back to its former place, and the man came up alongside. One of our men grabbed hold of him and got him into the boat. As soon as he could speak he invoked heaven and the saints, calling down upon us blessings for saving his life.
Having by this time shipped considerable water, we were obliged to put off for the beach, in order to save ourselves and those we had taken from the vessel, and to get the boat in trim. If we had shipped another sea, it might have been the end of us.
As we approached the shore, the men on the beach ran out into the water and took hold of the boat to pull her ashore. Two of the men we had rescued stepped out of the boat and dropped down as if dead, when they realized they were saved. The people on the beach had built a fire in the woods, back of a sand hill, and carried the exhausted men there, wrapped them in blankets after rubbing them with whiskey, and gave them some of it to drink. This brought them around after a while. The crowd wanted me to take some whiskey too, but I refused to have any until I got through.
We put our boat in trim again, and pulled her up the beach to our former starting point, but when we were ready to set off, two of my boat’s crew backed out and would not risk a second trip. It was some time before I could find two others, although there were a number of sailors among the spectators. I succeeded finally in filling my crew, but I do not remember the names of the two recruits.
We started off once more, but had got only about half way to the vessel when we shipped a sea that nearly half filled our boat, so we had to put back to the beach to get the water out and the boat in trim again. We once more got our boat back to the starting point, ready to put out again, when the two men declined to re-enter her. It took some time to get two others, but finally we did. The two were Captain Hall of the schooner Stronach, and my mate, Gus Janet. Chris Hansen deserved great credit for sticking by me all the time. The others also were worthy of praise.
The third time we put off, we reached the vessel all right, and got the boat under the main boom as before. One man came along and dropped into the boat as the others had done. Another got as far as the mizzen rigging when his strength failed him, and he could go no further. He stood on the rail, holding on to the rigging. I got the boat near him and told the men to watch their chance, and when the boat was on top of a sea, to drag his legs off the rail. This they did, and the man tumbled into the boat like a thousand bricks. He was not hurt.
The captain now was the only living person left on board, and he was not able to help himself. I asked Gus Janet to watch his chance to jump on board, when we got the boat alongside by the mizzen rigging, and were on top of a sea. I figured the only way he could save the captain was to loosen the man’s wife, throw us that end of the rope, and pitch the captain overboard, so we might haul him into the boat.
Gus got aboard all right, and did all he could, but at such times it takes longer to do things. He had loosened the wife, but before he could accomplish the other details, we had shipped so much water that I saw we had to put out for the beach again. I did not want to leave my mate on board the wreck, so I got the boat under the boom and called to him to come aboard. He came along the boom and dropped into our boat, as the others had. Then we started for the beach.
The captain must have thought we had given him up. He cast a look at me I shall never forget, then he rolled off the deck, between the cabin and the rail, and drowned. It had been my intention to get the boat in trim, and return to fetch him.
We reached shore safely, but my arms were so strained they were shaped like a bow, and I could not straighten my fingers, from gripping the steering oar so tightly. We had been about four hours accomplishing our task.
When I arrived back home after this trip, the members of the Milwaukee Chamber of Commerce, to my surprise, were kind enough to present me with a gold watch and chain.