KALAMAZOO ANTIQUE BOTTLE CLUB NEWS Written by Allan C. Holden |
Vol 13 No 6
Member Club F.O.H.B.C.
January 2016 |
HAPPY NEW
YEAR 2016
ANTIQUE BOTTLE CLUB!
COMING UP
I have been sending the bottle club newsletter to William Purkey, who does a special column in Western & Eastern Treasures. That is a national publication, that is I feel, the best magazine for treasure hunters going today. It favors the hobby of metal detecting, but at one time it also featured good antique bottle digging stories. William is an old-school treasure hunter like me, who finds the bottle digging news interesting. William has featured the Kalamazoo Antique Bottle Club in his column in the past, and they are working on another story which will appear in a month or two. I'll keep you updated. We didn't talk about a theme for our next meeting last month, so I called Chuck at the last minute and he suggested Poison Bottles. If you have aquired any neat antique items or collectables for Christmas, we would love to see them! Wreck of the St. Clair Some of you recall my purchasing boxes of Great Lakes Shipping collectables from the Tom Post estate. I am still poring through the boxes of literature and finding treasures beyond what I expected. The following is a true story down to the last detail. This is from the October 3rd, 1888 issue of the Port Huron Times. "My name is Charles Ferris and I was born on a farm in southern Michigan and until taking a job with the Coast Guard I had never seen Lake Huron, or any other large body of water. I was twenty years of age when, in June of 1888 I signed their papers and was assigned to the Sand Beach (now Harbor Beach) Coast Guard Station. The station was, and still is, located sixty miles above the lower end of Lake Huron, on the western, or Michigan shore. At that time lumbering was big business and the Saginaw, Au Sable and Thunder Bay Rivers carried hundreds of thousands of pine logs annually to the saw mill towns on the lake. Bay City, Saginaw, Tawas, Oscoda and Alpine were thriving lumber towns where they sawed and shipped millions of feet of lumber to the lower lakes. Detroit, Toledo and Cleveland were important ports receiving these shipments. The barge St. Clair was engaged in that business. Owned and operated by Captain C. H. Jones of Bay City, she carried five sailors and a woman, or a total of seven including the Captain. The woman was cook for the crew. The tale which I am about to relate began on the morning of Monday, October 1st 1888. The wind had gone to the northeast, and by noon had become a gale. By mid-afternoon the storm had increased tremendously and huge seas were battering the harbor walls. Several ships had already sought shelter in the harbor. That afternoon I was standing watch in the lookout. I spotted a ship a mile or two to the southeast apparently in trouble. She later proved to be the barge, St. Clair, northbound, and loaded with 350 tons of coal for Bay City. Unable to reach the harbor, the captain had ordered both anchors to be dropped and they were attempting to ride out the storm. She was being badly punished by the seas and she appeared to be in trouble. We launched a lifeboat and went to her before dark. Captain Plough, our commanding officer tried his best to persuade the men on the St. Clair to board the lifeboat and be taken ashore. Both anchors were holding and Captain Jones was disposed to stay with his vessel. He said that all he had was tied up in her and he would stick with her to the last. After we saw that it was impossible to get the Captain or any member of the crew to go ashore, Captain Plough asked for the girl, but for some reason she wouldn't come with us. He then informed Captain Jones that if they needed us, to burn a torch as a signal. We started on our return trip to the shelter of the harbor. After a long and backbreaking pull into the teeth of the gale we reached the harbor entrance. Tremendous cross seas made it difficult to get through the gap but almost by superhuman effort by the entire crew we finally reached shelter, drenched and thoroughly exhausted. There were several tugs and steam barges inside the harbor and we asked several of them to go out and attempt to tow the St. Clair in, but all refused. So we went to our station and now it was blowing a living gale and increasing by the minute. It was my watch down at the end of the pier. In going to my post, I had to run between the madly rushing seas which were sweeping over the breakwater. I had not been at my post long when I saw that a torch had been lighted on the St. Clair. I worked myself back to the station and reported to Captain Plough. Every man was called for action. Some gave their money or valuables to Mrs. Plough. Then we manned the lifeboat in the worst storm any of us were ever to encounter. As we pulled across the harbor the sky was pitch black and the wind whistled through the rigging of the boats lying in shelter. After passing through the gap we hit the storm in all its fury. The seas were coming from all directions and it was a difficult task to keep the lifeboat headed in the right direction. We finally reached the St. Clair and endeavored to pull up under the stern in order to remove her crew to the lifeboat. We had to get close enough to take them off one by one and still keep far enough off so our boat wouldn't be stove in by the larger boat. One minute we would be riding high above her and the next she would rise on a huge wave and be high above us. Several times we narrowly missed disaster when her stern came down, just missing us it seemed by inches. This was a very dangerous assignment and required the united effort of the entire crew. We were all comparatively fresh at the time, otherwise we could not have accomplished what we did. The girl jumped first, and then the men, with Captain Jones being the last to come aboard. We had left the harbor at seven o'clock and it was eleven when we were ready to pull away from the St. Clair. The seas were now so high and the wind so strong that it was impossible for us to pull back to the harbor. There was only one thing to do, and that was to run with the storm and let the wind carry us south toward the shelter of the St. Clair River. That would mean a run of sixty miles but there was no other way . . . perhaps by morning the gale would lessen. As we squared away and headed down the lake our job was to keep the lifeboat on a true course, running with the seas. To allow her to get crosswise into the seas would allow her to broach and throw us all into the water. Our rudder was soon struck by a huge sea and carried away! Captain Plough shouted orders to the crew that we would have to steer the boat by port and starboard oarsmen, such as give way or hold water to combat the tremendous seas which we were encountering. We shipped many of them and our boat filled with water five or six times but she was a self-bailer and emptied herself each time. She behaved very well while running with the seas. One big sea caught us and put out our light, and Captain Plough couldn't see to read the compass. He called for matches, and one man had a few in a watertight container. After some trouble we got the lantern lighted again. To get off course was to court disaster. To get too far off to the port would get us into the trough of the mountainous seas and no doubt capsize the boat, and to veer too far to the starboard would bring us too close to the rocky shore. The wind kept blowing with unabated fury and it seemed like all the demons of hell had been let loose. All of us were drenched many times as the seas and spray continued to sweep over the boat. We were all nearing exhastion and suffering from the cold. It seemed that the night would never end Keeping the light going so the Captain could read the compass also became quite a chore. Two or three of the men were given a chance to hold the lantern but in turn they gave up as their hands got so cold and numb they could no longer grasp it. Then the girl took it and didn't give it up until daylight. All through the night she kept the lantern safe and sheltered the light from the wind and seas. Never once did she complain of the cold. Captain Plough directed us to keep looking for a light, either from a boat or from shore. But we saw nothing from the time we left the St. Clair until just about daylight. Then, at about seven in the morning, the captain sighted the Port Sanilac light. He wanted to get the crew ashore as soon as possible as he feared they would perish from cold and exhaustion, so he decided to attempt a landing at once. It had been eight hours since leaving the St. Clair and we had made 30 miles, just half the distance to the shelter of the river. But to continue on was impossible. There is a limit to human endurance, and we had reached that point. After twelve hours of continually fighting the storm we knew that we had approached the end. We couldn't go much further. At Port Sanilac there was very little shelter from the seas; just a dock about five hundred feet in length where the steamers landed, built partly of log cribs and partly of piling. The captain decided to round the dock and attempt a landing on the south, or leeward side and take advantage of what little shelter there was. The residents of Port Sanilac had been informed during the night of the rescue operation and knew the lifeboat was headed down the lake and would sooner or later arrive at this point. Scores of people were on the dock to witness what happened, and as many were prepared to be of assistance if needed. It was lucky for me that they were, or I would not be here to tell this tale. We headed for the light . The dock and all the people came plainly into view. We were pushed forward by the madly rushing breakers which became more wicked as we approached shore. Captain Plough ordered the oil tank opened and if it helped in any way I cannot say. Our lifeboat was about thirty feet long, and time after time those breakers would start astern and coil clear over the boat and never wet the crew. I looked up and it was just like a falls. I expected to see the lifeboat go end-over-end but we came through all this. However, just as we were rounding the dock the boat was struck by a tremendous breaker and she rolled down on her beam ends. I did not realize what had happened until I found myself in the water under the boat. I put my hands up against something and pushed myself down. I bobbed up quickly and found myself some distance from the boat. I could see that she was on her side and some men were clinging to her, but I had to go where the breakers, back-wash and undertow were throwing me. I was completely exhausted and it seemed at times that the breakers would smother me. I got in close to shore and thought I might touch bottom with one foot, just for a rest, but when I tried it, a huge wave completly covered me. I was becoming very weak. I saw a man coming toward me with a rope tied around his waist and the other end held by people on shore. He shouted to me and said there was a channel between us and he couldn't get out any farther, but he thought he could reach me after another breaker would send me in. I soon got it . . . another breaker came roaring in and was the last I remember. When I was revived I was in the lighthouse. Afterwards they told me they had worked on me for four hours. Then they told me the name of the man who pulled me from the water. He was Colin C. McGregor, the dock agent. I have never seen him since. Several others of the life boat crew were helped ashore by townspeople. Chris Oldfield and Robert Williams were two who assisted in the rescue. As the lifeboat rolled over, all but three surfmen and two seamen were thrown out. Everyone expected the boat to right itself immediately but it failed to do so. It beached itself south of the dock, and those clinging to it were saved. The remaining five surfmen and Captain Plough were also rescued as they were wearing life jackets. Captain
Jones, three
crewmen, and the girl were
drowned. Their bodies came
ashore later in the day about
two miles south of where the
tragedy took place. They were
recovered and laid out in the
township hall in Port Sanilac.
The following day Captain
Jones and Lewis Fertaw were
sent to Bay City for burial.
George McFarland, Henry
Anderson and the girl, Julia
Gravereatte were buried in
potters field in the Port Sanilac
cemetery. The survivors were cared for overnight by the people of the village. On the following day, Wednesday October 3rd , all the members of the Coast Guard crew left on the steamer R. G. Stewart to return to Sand Beach. She took the lifeboat in tow and they arrived at their distination at five in the afternoon. There was a large gathering of people awaiting us upon arrival. And we were welcomed with open arms, many saying they never expected to see us again. Some said they could not sleep that night, thinking of us in that storm. We learned the St Clair had foundered during the night. Large sections of the breakwater were carried away and the water had run farther into town than had ever been known before. Boathouses were wrecked and boats driven ashore. It was one of those storms that come only once in a lifetime. This adventure has been a nightmare to me all these years. In my dreams I can hear and feel the high watery walls in the stygian darkness come rushing at our tiny craft each one threatening to engulf us. And again in that merky dawn I will see that high, green mountain of water which overwhelmed us in the end. The leadership of Captain Plough had been superb and each crew member had done is job. You could ask no more. I don't consider it judgement that our boat was overturned. It was just bad luck. It was the only thing we could do . . . to attempt the landing when and where we did. In closing I must mention the courage of the girl, Julia Gravereatte. The fortitude she displayed that night on Lake Huron most surely set an example to the others. She deserved much more that a grave in potters field." The Kalamazoo
Antique Bottle Club
meets at the main downtown Kalamazoo Library, 315 South Rose Street. We
meet on the third
floor in the conference
room.
This meeting is, Tuesday January 5th Meeting starts at 7:00 pm. For questions e-mail: prostock@net-link.net <> Or call 269-685-1776
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