The Day The Ships Went Down
For the love of God, don't leave us!
The cry rang out from the deck of the freighter Sevona, split in half and sinking on a shoal in the early morning hours of Sept 2, 1905... a day when two great ships foundered among Lake Superior's Apostle Islands, with the loss of twelve lives.
Two lighthouse keepers watched these ships go down, each from his own tower. One battled raging surf to save five sailors, but the other?
We'll probably never know just what he did.
The Sevona, shortly before its loss
The Sevona
The weather forecast had been fair when the Sevona left the Allouez ore docks, near Superior, the previous evening. Headed for Erie, Pennsylvania, the steel-hulled steamship carried 6,000 tons of iron ore, as well as a handful of passengers. All told, there were twenty-four souls aboard, including four women.
Built in 1890, the Sevona was one of the largest ships on the lake at the time of her launching, at exactly 300 feet, but nonetheless, in the competitive Great Lakes shipping environment, pressure grew to carry more and more cargo. In early 1905, the Sevona entered drydock, to be cut in half and lengthened by 72 feet.
Her master, Capt. Donald MacDonald, had many years of experience on salt water and fresh. He also had every reason to be prudent: he'd been shipwrecked himself, long ago, off the coast of Ireland; only he and one other man survived.
The Pretoria
Among the other ships to leave the Allouez docks that day were a tandem pair, the Venezuela and the Pretoria. The Venezuela was a steamship; her consort, Pretoria, was a wooden-hulled "schooner barge" designed primarily to be towed by a steamer, but carrying enough sail that she could manage on her own when necessary. Her owner and designer, James Davidson, was well-known as a master of wooden boat construction; at a time when other shipwrights were turning to steel, Davidson's work in wood still inspired awe.
To many observers, the Pretoria was Davidson's masterpiece. She was gigantic, by the standards of the day, one of the largest wooden vessels ever to sail Lake Superior. A newspaper account of her launch in 1900 actually described her as the largest wooden boat ever built. Though this claim is subject to dispute, it is undeniable that that at 338 feet, the Pretoria was actually larger than the steel Sevona had been when built. Her master, Capt. Charles Smart, had such faith in the vessel that he declared he'd rather sail her on her own through any storm, rather than rely on a tow.
Lake Superior would soon give Capt. Smart an opportunity to test that claim.
Off Sand Island
The weather began to worsen a few hours after the Sevona set out. As midnight passed, a full gale was blowing; seas grew rapidly, and waves crashed across the freighter's bow. At 2 am, some 70 miles out of Superior, Capt. MacDonald changed course to turn for the shelter of the Apostle Islands. That decision, though prudent, would doom his ship.
Slowing to half-speed, the Sevona made its way blindly through the rain and wind. No radar in those days, no GPS, no depth sounders. Not even a lighthouse might be seen in these conditions. Captain Macdonald would have to rely on his years of experience and his knowledge of the lake to keep his ship safe; away from the rocks and shoals of the Apostle Islands.
His skills would fail him.
Off Outer Island
The Pretoria, meanwhile, was facing an equally perilous situation. Struggling against the gale, the barge and her towing steamer had managed to pass some 30 miles beyond the Apostles when calamity struck: her steering gear failed. The Venezuela changed course and began an effort to tow the disabled Pretoria back to shelter in the lee of the islands. It was a desperate maneuver in the wild seas, and it failed: the heavy towline snapped under the strain, and the howling wind quickly swept the mammoth ship out of sight. The Venezuela turned back to search for her consort, but she was gone.
For several hours, the great ship drifted helplessly in the waves.
The great ships sank at opposite ends of the archipelago,
off Sand and Outer Islands.
Off Sand Island
The Sevona inched its way through the waves at slow speed. Suddenly, though, there was a grinding jolt. Chief Engineer William Phillippi recalled the moment:
"I received a signal from the captain to check the speed but after she struck I received no more signals and I stopped the engine. There were three distinct shocks and crashes, then the boat came to a stand and broke in two. We blew the whistle for help until our fires were put out."
Conditions aboard the grounded Sevona were desperate. The force of the crash had split the boat in half. In the bow portion were the captain and the officers; all of the experienced seamen. In the after section were the engine-room crew, the passengers... and both of the ship's lifeboats.
One of the passengers, Kate Spencer, described the scene:
"We got into the life boat at that time, but the captain and the men could not come aft owing to the break. He hailed us through the megaphone 'Hang on as long as you can.' We did so, but the sea was pounding so hard, that we finally got out of the small boat, and into the large vessel again, all congregating in the dining room which was still intact.
"The big boat was pounding and tossing. Now a piece of the deck would go, then a portion of the dining room, in which we were quartered. During all this time, the men forward could not get to us. Finally, at 11 o'clock everything seemed to be breaking at once, and by order of the chief engineer, we took to the small boat again.
"One by one we piled into the boat, leaving six men behind us. I never heard such a heart-rending cry as came from those six. 'For God's sake don't leave us,' they cried.
Off Outer Island
What of the drifting Pretoria?
A newspaper account published two days later tells the tale:
"The Pretoria had a sail up forward, but the wind blew it to ribbons. She was helpless in the trough of the sea. The waves washed over her, and the wind was driving her in the direction of Outer Island. The pumps were set at work but they gave out and the anchor was dropped in 180 fathoms. It dragged some distance, but at last brought up one and one half miles from the island and held.
"The seas pounded the distressed barge furiously. Water got into the hold through the hatch combings.. the hatches came off and the water poured into the hold. Then the covering board gave way and the decks began to float off."
The crew of ten had only one hope: launch the lifeboat and head through the storm to Outer Island.
Postcard view of Outer Island Lighthouse
Off Sand Island
Stirred by the cries of their shipmates, several sailors set their own safety aside and returned to help their comrades launch the balky port lifeboat.
Now, two small boats pulled away from the dying Sevona; six in one, eleven in the other. The port boat, with six aboard, headed straight for Sand Island, where they made a successful landing and quickly found shelter with fisherman Fred Hansen. Engineer Phillippi, on the other boat, directed a valiant, but fruitless attempt to rescue the men stranded on the forward section. Turning finally toward the mainland, the lifeboat tossed in the waves for six full hours before reaching shore at Little Sand Bay.
This was wild country in those days, but the castaways were lucky to meet a farmer out looking for a lost cow. He led them to a logger's cabin where they could rest and warm up. As soon as he gathered strength, Phillippi set out by horse and wagon for Bayfield, to seek aid for the seven men remaining on the wreck. It took him nearly a full day to travel the eleven miles through the rough country.
By the time he arrived, his comrades' fate was already sealed. Working feverishly on the battered deck, Captain MacDonald and his six companions improvised a raft from several hatch covers. When it seemed the ship was about to break up, they launched the makeshift craft and made for the island. It broke apart as they neared shore, and all seven drowned in the surf.
Postcard view of Sand Island Lighthouse
On Outer Island
From his perch atop the Outer Island lighthouse, keeper John Irvine could see the Pretoria's lifeboat pulling away. His dry words in the lighthouse logbook recounts the scene:
"September 2- A terrible gale blowing from the NE, the biggest sea that I have seen since I have been at the station, which is eight years. About 2:30 PM, sighted a Schooner at anchor about two miles NE of Station. About 4 PM seen small boat leaving Schooner."
Irvine was alone in the lighthouse that day; both his assistants had gone to the mainland before the storm struck. At sixty-one years of age, Irvine was not a young man. Born in the Orkney Islands of Scotland, he'd come to the U.S. as a child and served with the Union Army in the Civil War. He went to sea after the war, and spent years as sailor himself before entering the Lighthouse Service.
Perhaps it was a sense of kinship with the desperate men in the lifeboats that guided his next move. Grabbing a signal flag and a rope, Irvine raced down the steep stairs from the lighthouse grounds to the beach.
The sailors pulled at their oars, making slow progress against wind and wave, painfully making their way to safety. Then, five hundred feet from shore, the boat capsized, tossing the men every which way. Five of the sailors were washed away to their doom; five were able to hold on to the hull. As the overturned boat neared the beach, Keeper Irvine did not hesitate. Wading out into the breakers, he pulled the five men to shore, one by one.
Outer Island keeper John Irvine
with grandson, 1905
On Sand Island
Like John Irvine at Outer Island, Sand Island Lighthouse keeper Emmanuel Luick knew that something was going badly wrong close by, but accounts differ as to what he knew, and when. Many later reports describe Luick as standing on the lighthouse catwalk with binoculars, helplessly watching the tragedy unfold offshore. However, the words in his logbook tell a different story:
"Sept. 2. At 5:45 am a steamer whistled a distress, not visible, but for fog and heavy raining. We were unable to see or tell where the steamer was, only knew she was NE of the station. At 10 am, it clear up some so we could see a steamer drifting in/out the East side of the station where she soon struck bottom. We could see no life on board or see any distress signal. We patrolled the beach from 10 to 12 but found nothing."
Later that same day, he saw the first of several victims:
"One man which was going back and forth in the sea but life was extinguished. We tried to get him but was unable to do anything as the sea did not bring him close enough."
Luick himself added to the confusion; in later years he was willing to assign himself a more heroic role. One Sand Islander remembered meeting him long ago: "He used to tell us about when he went out to try to rescue people off the Sevona."
That boast can be dismissed, but there are other stories about Emmanuel Luick and the wreck of the Sevona that are harder to assess. Luick was not well-liked in the close-knit community of lighthouse keepers; one former keeper described him bluntly: "He was a mean man. Miserable. He makes you appreciate the better ones."
Sand Island keeper Emmanuel Luick
Perhaps it was his odd-man-out status that set tongues wagging among the islands and back in Bayfield. One keeper's daughter recalled a ghoulish tale:
"He was fanatic about taking pictures... I remember when they had a bad storm up there and so many drowned. This one assistant, he wanted the assistant to hold up the drowned men so he could take pictures of them."
Others made a more serious accusation:
"They always told a story about him that I believed, " said one former keeper. "When the Sevona went down there the bodies came up on the beach there was a satchel. Each ship, the captain was the paymaster. The bodies and the satchel were there but no money. And (Luick) had a lot of money after that."
There's no question that Emmanuel Luick did at least some scavenging of the wreck. His own log records that for several days, he and his assistants walked the beach, watching for bodies. At the same time, they took the opportunity to gather up anything they might find useful. Luick was particularly pleased to round up the ship's hatch covers and drag them into the trees above the water line. They'd make good building material, he no doubt thought.
Indeed they would. Several days later, former Lt. Gov. Sam Fifield came up in his steam yacht from the south end of the island and grabbed all the hatch covers for a building project he had in mind. Luick was furious, but there was nothing he could do.
Sevona Memorial Cottage, Sand Island
In The Years Since
Both the Sevona and Pretoria rest below the lake; now and then sport divers visit their graves. In the 1990s, archeologists examined both wrecks, and discovered that the point where the Sevona broke in two was far from the segment added early in its final year. Contrary to speculation, chopping the boat in half and adding an extra section had nothing to do with its loss.
Sam Fifield used the hatches he collected to build what he called the Sevona Memorial Cottage, which still stands on Sand Island today.
John Irvine died less than three years after he waded out into a furious lake to rescue five sailors. Some say that the ordeal ruined his health.
Emmanuel Luick lived another 42 years. He had plenty of time to tell people about the day he tried -- so he claimed -- to save the men on the Sevona.
All Rights Reserved
Originally published in
The ECHO, July-August, 2007