Coffin Ship (7 page)

Tea being served on board an emigrant ship.
(The Illustrated London News, 20-1-1849)

‘Soup Time': soup being served on board an emigrant ship.
(The Illustrated London News, 20-1-1849)

‘Song of the Famine

(From the Fireman)'

Knee deep in the furrow

The peasant stands,

And he wringeth in sorrow

His toil-worn hands;

And wan and woe smitten

His forehead – for care

And famine have written

His misery there.

He hath delved and upturned

Of his garden a rood,

Where blighted and burned

Lies his rot-stricken food;

The earth he had riven,

Its rottenness baring –

He looketh to Heaven,

Heartbroken, despairing.

Now enter his cottage.

Where starving in common,

Lie shivering dotage

And suffering women;

Yet, pause if you cower –

By contagion are scared;

Here fevers devour

What famine hath spared.

For drink hoarsely craving

On the damp ground reclining,

See writhing and raving

In the pestilence pining,

'Til death, hailed with pleasure,

Blackened corpses, now strews 'em

His child – his heart's treasure –

And the wife of his bosom.

Oh, God, in deep mystery

Thy Providence veiling

The peasants' sad history,

Shall it waken no feeling? –

Shall our land be by famine

And pestilence trod?

Deus vetat
– oh, amen!

Forbid it, oh, God!

Searching for ‘Stowaways'.
(The Illustrated London News, 6-7-1850)

On Saturday, 6 October 1849, the brig
St. John
entered the waters of Boston Harbour. It had been a good voyage; faster and less hazardous than people had expected for that time of year. The captain gave orders that a ration of ‘ardent spirits' be issued to the crew and suggested that the passengers should celebrate their last night on board the
St. John.
The rigging and deck were decorated with candles and plans to spend the night in song and dance were put in place. They had good reason to celebrate for they had left a land of starvation, disease and death behind them, and ahead lay a land fertile with hope.

It was late afternoon. A light rain began to fall on the passengers as they watched the American coastline draw nearer. At around 5 p.m. the ship passed the Cape Cod Lighthouse. The rain may have dampened their bodies but not their spirits, as their new home beckoned just a short distance away. The rain continued to fall, becoming heavier as the evening wore on, and eventually driving the people below deck. The passengers tried to console one another, saying that within a few hours their journey would be complete and the dangers of the sea would be behind them. However, the sailors' pale faces betrayed their fear. The weather continued to deteriorate and by midnight a gale was blowing from the north-east. Howling winds and giant waves crashed against the ship with all their might. The terrified passengers huddled together and listened as the brig's groaning timbers struggled to withstand the force of such powerful elements.
[1]

The captain gave orders to his crew to lay a course north-east in an attempt to escape the wraith of the storm. Throughout the late evening and night large waves and strong winds continued to pummel the brig. Sometime after midnight, the attack took its toll and the ship's timbers began to loosen. There was no reprieve for the
St. John
. Directly ahead of the ship lay the rocks of Marblehead, jutting out ominously like the exposed teeth of a predator. A similar threat awaited the ship at Graves Ledge. Even the howling storm could not drown out the terrified cries of the passengers below deck; the sinister groans of the brig's hull further unnerving them.

Dancing between the decks.
(The Illustrated London News, 6-7-1850)

By 1 a.m. on 7 October the fierce winds had driven the ship southwards along Massachusetts Bay. At around 4 a.m. Captain Martin realised that it would be impossible to out-sail the storm and he ordered his crew to change course and head towards the southern shores of Massachusetts Bay. But the huge waves and strong winds forced the brig towards the Cohasset coastline instead. As dawn broke, the captain stared out through the mist of rain and wind and saw Minot's Ledge in the distance, an area well known for shipwrecks. Nearby, he could see huge white waves smashing against the deadly rocks of Grampus Ledge. Both he and the other experienced sailors knew that they were in grave trouble and that their courage and leadership was about to be tested to the extreme.
[2]

Map of the Cohasset and Scituate Harbours

As the skies brightened another brig, the
Kathleen,
could be seen from the deck of the
St. John.
She lay just inside the breakers at Hocksett Rock, close to Cohasset harbour, and was also caught in the violent grip of the storm. Her sails had been torn to shreds by the storm and she had dropped anchor, but was still being dragged. On board the
St. John,
Captain Oliver quickly assessed the situation and realised that the
Kathleen
was no longer in danger. Although the ship had taken a ferocious beating, she was no longer on course to collide with the granite ledges and at worse she would run aground on the sandy Cohasset shore.

Boston Harbour circa 1850s.
(Courtesy of John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection)

From his deck Captain Oliver could see roaring white plumes of foam shooting high into the air and crashing back down against Grampus Ledge. He knew that unless his ship could evade these treacherous rocks, they were doomed. Although the sails had already been lowered, the bare masts were swaying dangerously in the violent winds. The captain had no way of steering the brig effectively so he ordered his crew to drop anchor. There was a rattle of chains and moments later the anchors sunk into the sea bed; there was a shudder, as the ship was held in place.
[3]
Captain Oliver hoped and prayed that the anchors would hold the
St. John
in position until the storm abated. It was a desperate gamble. However, his hope was short-lived as before long the anchors began to drag. Mountainous waves were now battering the hull and it became impossible to hold the ship in position. Each wave drew the
St. John
closer to the treacherous rocks of Grampus Ledge. Below deck the terrified passengers had begun praying. The Act of Contrition, amongst other prayers, was being offered up to God in a desperate plea for mercy. Several passengers had made their way onto the main deck and, terror-stricken, they huddled together as the ship lunged towards the granite face of Grampus Ledge.

In a last desperate bid for survival, Captain Oliver shouted at his crew to cut the masts, praying that this might lessen the impact of the ferocious winds. The masts and their rigging were promptly cut but it was too late. The breakers now measured between twenty and thirty feet in height and each one brought the ship ever closer to Grampus Ledge. Finally, the ocean seeming to have grown tired of toying with its prey, one last enormous wave sealed the fate of the ship and sent her smashing into the rocks of Grampus Ledge. The initial impact punched a huge gaping hole in the hull and many of the passengers below deck were drowned immediately. The
St. John
was smashed against the rocks repeatedly. The weakened timbers finally succumbed to the power of the sea and the ship began to come apart at the seams as the people on board cried out to heaven for mercy.
[4]

The passengers and crew clambered towards the ship's jolly-boat and longboat. Men, women and children clung to the gunwales as the merciless waves crashed down upon them. The waves snatched many from the heaving deck and delivered them to the hungry sea. Alongside the hull, the ship's jolly-boat was swaying from its tackles. Suddenly the stern rigging bolt snapped and the boat plummeted into the sea. One of the tackles held and the jolly-boat stayed afloat. Captain Oliver realised that if he could clear the line, he might be in a position to get some of the passengers and crew into the boat. Along with his second mate, two members of his crew and two apprentice boys, the captain managed to jump into the jolly-boat even though it was rocking wildly in the stormy sea. When the passengers spotted the captain and his crew seated in the small jolly-boat, a fresh wave of panic swept over them and they flung themselves at their one chance of survival. Some twenty-five passengers swamped the tiny vessel and it instantly began to sink. Almost all those on board the jolly-boat perished. Only Captain Oliver and one other man managed to battle against the waves long enough to be hauled back on board the sinking brig. Some sources indicate that Captain Oliver was the only survivor of the jolly-boat. He is said to have grabbed a rope hanging from the quarter deck and was rescued from the water by his first mate, Henry Comerford.
[5]

The longboat was now the only possibility of salvation, but it had broken loose from the brig and each wave carried it further and further away from the sinking ship. It was certain death for anyone who remained aboard the sinking vessel, so the passengers and crew began flinging themselves at the mercy of the sea, intending to swim towards the longboat. Only twelve made it: the captain, the first mate, eight other crew members and two passengers. One of the passengers to clamber aboard the longboat was the boy who had stowed away on the brig; his sisters were drowned. Amongst those swept overboard were Mary Sweeney and her remaining children, as several of them had already been drowned when the ship first hit the rocks. As the
St. John
was breaking up, Mary's husband Patrick grabbed their youngest child, three-year-old Agnes, and climbed down one of the ropes hanging from the doomed ship. Clutching his little girl he struck out for the longboat. Tragically, moments later father and child were struck by a powerful wave and the last two members of the Sweeney family perished together. Their fate was shared by the majority of the emigrants. Peggy Mullen and her sister's baby were lost to the sea, as were the Egan family from County Clare, Honora (Mary) Burke's three children and all of Honora Cullen's children.

When the brig finally split in two the remaining passengers were swept into the sea, where they thrashed about wildly, trying to grab on to any debris to stay afloat. A large section of the brig's deck had split from the ship and it saved the lives of seven men and two women. They held onto this piece of wreckage and were washed ashore on the Cohasset beach some time later.
[6]
The majority of the other passengers were not so lucky. The coastline lay less than a mile from the ill-fated ship, but most of the passengers would never make it onto American soil.