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The Wreck of the Famine Ship St. John (According to Thoreau)

On Oct. 7, 1849, the brig St. John struck Grampus Ledge off the coast of Cohasset during a sudden and furious storm.

The St. John was known as a famine ship because its passengers were mostly destitute Irish emigrants fleeing the great famine. An estimated 20 percent died of disease or starvation aboard the famine ships, but more than a hundred died in the wreck of the St. John.

Henry David Thoreau happened to visit Cape Cod as the victims were gathered and buried. His account forms the opening chapter of his book Cape Cod.

Wreck of the St. John

Thoreau, who lived in Concord, Mass., decided he wanted to get a better view than he’d had of the ocean. He and a companion, the poet William Ellery Channing, left Concord for Boston on Oct. 9, 1849. On reaching Boston they learned the steamship to Provincetown hadn’t arrived because of a violent storm. They saw in the streets a handbill that said, “Death! 145 lives lost at Cohasset.”

Henry David Thoreau

So they decided to take the train to Cohasset.

“We found many Irish in the cars, going to identify bodies and to sympathize with the survivors, and also to attend the funeral which was to take place in the afternoon,” Thoreau wrote.

When they arrived, nearly every passenger headed to the beach and many others flocked in from the nearby countryside.

“As we passed the graveyard we saw a large hole, like a cellar, freshly dug there,” he wrote. And “we met several hay riggings and farm-wagons coming away toward the meeting house, each loaded with three large, rough deal boxes. We did not need to ask what was in them.”

Thoreau learned the St. John, from Galway, had wrecked on Sunday morning. The sea on Tuesday still broke violently on the rocks. Thoreau probably did not then know that the captain, Martin Oliver, hadn’t exactly tried to save the passengers.

Martin Oliver

According to the Boston Daily Bee, before the ship smashed against the rock,

…the jolly boat was hanging by the tackle, alongside, when the stern ringbolt broke and the boat fell into the water. The Captain, second mate and two boys jumped in to get her clear, when about 25 passengers jumped in and swamped her. The twenty-five, together with the second mate and two boys, perished. The captain caught a rope hanging over the quarter, and was drawn on board by the first mate. When the long boat was got clear, a number of passengers jumped over to swim to her, but all perished. The captain, first mate (Mr. Crawford), and seven of the crew swam to and reached the boat.

Large Boxes

On the beach in Cohasset, Thoreau noted 18 or 20 of the large boxes lying on a green hillside and surrounded by a crowd. People had collected the bodies, some 27 or 28, and brought them there. “Some were rapidly nailing down the lids, others were carting the boxes away, and others were lifting the lids, which were yet loose, and peeping under the cloths, for each body, with such rags as still adhered to it, was covered loosely with a white sheet.”

He witnessed no sign of grief, he wrote, “but there was a sober dispatch of business which was affecting.”

“I saw many marble feet and matted heads as the cloths were raised, and one livid, swollen and mangled body of a drowned girl, — who probably had intended to go out to service in some American family,–to which some rags still adhered…”

Sometimes, he wrote, he saw two or more children or a parent and child in the same box. “On the lid would perhaps be written with red chalk, “Bridget such-a-one, and sister’s child.”

The shore along the border of Scituate and Cohasset.

The Remains of the St. John

Thoreau then walked along the beach and saw in a cove bits of a ship and a great quantity of feathers. A sailor told him that was the St. John. Then Thoreau looked out at Grampus Rock and saw part of the vessel sticking up.

In a second cove the wreckage on shore piled up several feet deep, with an occasional bonnet or jacket on it.

“In the very midst of the crowd about this wreck, there were men with carts busily collecting the seaweed which the storm had cast up,” he wrote. Sometimes they had to separate clothing fragments from the seaweed.

Thoreau then discovered a part of one side of the St. John behind some rocks. He estimated its size as 40 feet long and 14 feet wide.

“I was even more surprised at the power of the waves, exhibited on this shattered fragment, than I had been at the sight of the smaller fragments before,” he wrote. “The largest timbers and iron braces were broken superfluously, and I saw that no material could withstand the power of the waves; that iron must go to pieces in such a case, and an iron vessel would be cracked up like an egg-shell on the rocks.”

The Funeral

Then, in the afternoon, Thoreau and Channing saw the funeral procession at a distance. The captain and the other survivors of the St. John walked at the head of it.

Cohasset Central Cemetery

“On the whole, it was not so impressive a scene as I might have expected,” he wrote. “If I had found one body cast upon the beach in some lonely place, it would have affected me more. I sympathized rather with the winds and waves, as if to toss and mangle these poor human bodies was the order of the day.”

Thoreau concluded his essay on the wreck of the St. John with the observation that the victims had come to the New World as Columbus or the Pilgrims had.

“[B]ut, before they could reach it, they emigrated to a newer world than ever Columbus dreamed of, yet one of whose existence we believe that there is far more universal and convincing evidence — though it has not yet been discovered by science…”

Most of the victims today lie buried in Cohasset Central Cemetery.

Image: Cohasset shore by Chris Devers, CC by 2.0, via Flickr. Cohasset Central Cemetery Google image: 2021 MassGIS, Commonwealth of Massachusetts EOEA, Maxar Technologies, Map data 2021. This story updated in 2022.

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The Brahmin Rough Riders of New England

Some people believe that the Rough Riders were almost all cowboys from out West. After all, it had earned the nickname “The Cowboy Regiment.”

But that wasn’t entirely the case, as you shall see. Brahmins from New England with refined backgrounds also joined the Rough Riders.

Men from every New England state volunteered for Teddy Roosevelt’s U.S. 1^st Volunteer Cavalry, better known as the Rough Riders. Massachusetts had as many as 25. As a matter of fact, the actual commander of the unit, Leonard Wood, hailed from New Hampshire. Frederic Remington featured Woodbury Kane from Rhode Island in his famous painting of the immortal charge up San Juan Hill.

Col. Roosevelt and the Rough Riders on top of San Juan Hill.

Roosevelt had four recruiting stations out West, in Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and the Oklahoma/Indian Territories. He had vast experience in the West and knew the cowboys already knew how to ride and shoot. But Roosevelt knew another target-rich area full of ready-for-action men: His wealthy, pedigreed friends throughout New York and New England.

Roosevelt put out the word. They responded in droves from polo clubs, boxing clubs, duck blinds, steeplechase courses, yacht clubs, Ivy League athletic fields and glee clubs. Many had graduated from Harvard.

One Rough Rider, James McClintock, who hailed from California, said they were in it for the adventure.

The Rough Riders are the stuff of legend, having generated a movie, a television show and, of course, a President. They were, however, one of the shortest lived units in American military history. They only existed for four months and 13 days before they disbanded.

Rhode Island Rough Riders

Woodbury Kane, Newport;Joseph S. Stevens, Newport; Norman Maxwell, Newport; Charles Hatch, Newport; Joseph F. Flynn, Cranston.

Rough Rider Woodbury Kane

Woodbury Kane, a classmate of Teddy Roosevelt’s at Harvard, was born in Newport, a cousin of John Jacob Astor IV. A noted yachtsman, he belonged to the New York Yacht Club and served on the crew of the Columbia in the 1899 America’s Cup Race. He was also a noted big game hunter.

After graduation, he lived the life of a bon vivant in Newport and New York. In April 1898 he and other East Coast friends joined the U.S. 1^st Volunteer Cavalry.

After enlistment, he, William Tiffany and other East Coast friends donated two $7,500 Colt machine guns to the unit. When the unit expanded to a thousand men he received a lieutenant’s commission.

While serving in the Rough Riders he was always noted for being dressed to a T, no matter the conditions. While leading K Troop in the charge on San Juan Hill, he was wounded in the forearm. Kane was awarded a citation for gallantry and promoted to captain.

He spent the rest of his life living the life of a dandy until a heart attack cut him down at the age of 46. His obituary noted he left no children, but he did leave his beloved polo pony.

Vermont

Ira A. Hill, Grand Isle; Wallace Batchelder, Chester.

Wallace Batchelder graduated from Chester Academy in Chester, Vt., before enlisting in the Rough Riders. He later fought in the Philippines under General Wood. After his service he returned to Vermont, where he became a lawyer and chaired the state’s committee to elect Roosevelt President of the United States in 1904. He later broke with Roosevelt, who in 1912 sent him a telegram telling him not to support any candidate who didn’t support Roosevelt. Batchelder replied he wouldn’t support Roosevelt.

New Hampshire Rough Riders

Dudley S. Dean, Laconia; Walter F. Hickey, Nashua; Leonard Wood, Winchester.

Leonard Wood was the actual commander of the Rough Riders; Teddy Roosevelt was his second in command.

A descendant of four Mayflower passengers, he trained as a physician at Harvard Medical School. He served as a major general in the Army. When he came to command the U.S. 1^st Volunteer Cavalry in Cuba, he was a seasoned Indian fighter in the West and had already been awarded the Medal of Honor. After the Spanish-American War, he served as Governor-General of the Philippines and contended for the Republican nomination for President in 1920.

Dean was an All American football quarterback for Harvard from 1888 to 1890. He participated in the charge on San Juan Hill. That was not to be his last military adventure. During World War II, he served as a lieutenant colonel In the U.S. Army Air Force. He was the executive producer of the play Winged Victory, which ran from November 1943 to May 1944. He lived until the age of 79, passing away in 1950.

Dudley Dean, football star

Dudley’s son John H. Dean played football for Harvard too. At Harvard, he befriended Joseph P. Kennedy and they spent summers together at Cohassett, Mass.

Maine

Guy Muncie, Calais; Harrison J. Holt, Portland; Frederick C. Wesley, Bangor.

Harrison Holt graduated from Phillips Andover and Harvard. Upon his Harvard graduation in 1898 he enlisted with Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. After the war and some business ventures in Mexico he joined the New York Globe and Commercial Advertiser as a reporter. Later in life he wrote novels and detective stories, including The Calendared Isles, a Romance of Casco Bay (read it here) and Midnight at Mears House.

Connecticut

Edward C. Hall, Wallingford.

Unlike most of the Ivy League Rough Riders, Edward Hall graduated from Yale, not Harvard. Upon graduation in 1894, he went to work for Westinghouse and did a brief stint at a North Dakota ranch before enlisting with the Rough Riders. After the war he joined General Electric in Lynn, Mass., then transferred to the Schenectady office, where he died in 1912.

Massachusetts

Harry A. Curtis, Boston; Prescott H. Belknap, Brookline; John D. Hubbell, Boston; Rufus K. Thomas, Boston; Wellman H. Saunders, Salem; John P. Gardner, Boston; Guy H. Scull, Boston; Harry A. Davis, Boston; Francis B. Crowninshield, Marblehead; William H. Mitchell, Salem; Winslow Clark, Milton; Edward F. Donnelly, Boston; Michael F. Hogan; William T. James, Fitchburg; Arthur M. Leroy, Boston; Raymond Morse, Springfield; Edward A. O’Brien, Charlestown; William J. Tudor, Boston; Harry C. White, Somerville.

Francis Boardman Crowninshield, another Harvard graduate, went on to become a noted international yachtsman. He fought with Troop K of the Rough Riders and took part in the charge up San Juan Hill. In 1900, he married Louise DuPont from the famous chemical family. In 1911, he won the King of Spain’s Cup in Spain, now among his many trophies at the Eastern Yacht Club in Marblehead, Mass.

Rough Riders. Image courtesy New York Public Library.

About the author of this story: Leo Caisse of East Providence, R.I., passed away in 2020. He published the book, The Civilian Conservation Corps: A Guide to Their Works in Rhode Island. He also published a number of historical articles, including Ears On the World in America in World War II Magazine, October, 2017. Leo earned a B.A. and M.A. in American History from Providence College and he lived in East Providence, R.I.

This story updated in 2022.

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Lighthouse Keepers, the Ultimate Social Distancers

Ever since George Worthylike climbed the steps to light the lantern at Boston Light in 1716, lighthouse keepers have practiced an extreme form of social distancing.

Boston Light

For many years, lighthouse keepers got their job through political patronage. The work offered a steady income and a place to live, as lighthouse keepers had to work from home to keep that light going from sundown to sunrise.

But lighthouses often stood on barren ledge far out to sea, and life could get lonely for the keeper and his family. Some lighthouses are said to be haunted by the ghosts of lighthouse keepers driven mad by the monotony and isolation.

The problems faced by lighthouse keepers, in fact, sound very much like the challenges faced by people under shelter-at-home orders during the 2020 health crisis.

Getting a decent haircut, for example, can be hard when you live 25 miles out to sea. Such was the case with Mrs. Roscoe L. Fletcher, who described her lonely life to a newspaper reporter on Jan. 2, 1943. She was married to the lighthouse keeper at Matinicus Light, well off the coast of Rockland, Maine.

“I am enclosing a photo of a lighthouse haircut. It may be amusing to those who can have a choice of numerous barbershops at any hour of the day,” she wrote. “If my husband doesn’t have an opportunity, on account of weather conditions, to get his hair cut at either of the islands, I have to get up the courage and try.”

Lighthouse Keepers Fight Boredom

In the days before Netflix, boredom posed a serious problem for lighthouse keepers. In the 1890s someone visited Minot’s Ledge Lighthouse, which sits on a rock off the coast of Scituate and Cohasset in Massachusetts. The keeper told the visitor, “The trouble with our life here is that we have too much time to think.”

Minot’s Ledge Light in a Storm (Harper’s Magazine)

Elson and Connie Small were stationed in Maine lighthouses for 29 years–without electricity until 1946. Connie wrote, “Cooped up on a rock together for months on end, seeing no one else, we’d sometimes get mad at each other.” Eldon would go off by himself to the engine house, or Connie would go stand on a ledge by the sea for several hours.

Lighthouse keepers often kept themselves busy with gardens, but some of the lighthouses on the Maine coast sat on barren rock. At Saddleback Ledge, the lighthouse keeper managed to grow some pea vines, potatoes and oats from his trash. Keepers brought dirt from the mainland to Mount Desert Rock and Boon Island to make container gardens.

In 1876, the Lighthouse Board started sending about 40 books in wooden cases to the most isolated lighthouses. There were 50 little libraries that first year, another hundred the next. By 1885, there were 420 libraries. The keepers had to exchange them every three months during the quarterly inspection. No one knows how long they lasted, but there were 351 libraries by 1912.

Lightships

Lightship crews faced the same monotony and isolation that lighthouse keepers did. Lightships were essentially floating lighthouses with a beacon and a fog signal. They had to be manned 24/7 with a good lookout at all times

At the Brenton’s Reef Lightship, crews had to serve 20-21 days on and 10 days off. In 1905, the New York Times reported,

The sailors say that before they have been ten days on a shift they are bored to death of one another’s company. For five days or so at the start they play checkers and chess, and have an occasional game of cards. That soon palls. [. . .] Five days before it is time for shore-leave some of the men are scarcely on speaking terms.

Nantucket Lightship

Bernie Webber, in Lightships, Lighthouses, and Lifeboat Stations: A Memoir and History wrote on a Nantucket Lightship WAL-534, a captain and chief engineer didn’t get along. They were the only two who ate in the wardroom. They hung a curtain down the middle of the table so they didn’t have to look at each other during meals.

Worse than Nantucket may have been the South Shoals Lightship, which combined the horrors of isolation with the pitching and rolling of the sea. An old whaling captain once said, “The loneliest thing he had ever seen at sea was a polar bear floating on a piece of ice in the Arctic ocean; the next loneliest object was the South Shoal Lightship.”

The crewmen aboard the Nantucket lightships found a way to alleviate their boredom: making baskets. Hence the Nantucket Lightship Basket, which today sell for hundreds of dollars.

Lighthouse Keepers’ Ghost

For some asocial keepers, lighthouses were an introvert’s heaven. For others they amounted to sheer hell.

The isolation of the Phippsburg, Maine, lighthouse, for example, drove the lighthouse keeper to madness and murder. Today a piano-playing ghost is said to haunt Seguin Lighthouse. The story goes that the lighthouse keeper in the mid-1850s bought his wife a piano to keep her from getting bored. But she only had one piece of sheet music. And so she played the same song over and over and over, driving her husband mad. Finally he chopped the piano to bits, then killed his wife and himself. Sometimes people say they hear piano music floating on the breeze at Seguin Island.

Ernie

New London Ledge Light, a short tower atop a squat building on a hunk of ledge in the Thames River, actually lies within the borders of Groton. Ledge Light’s fame rests with a ghost named Ernie, real name (according to a psychic) John Randolph. Ernie opens and shuts doors, turns the television on and moves things around.

New London Ledge Light

The story of Ernie, aka John Randolph, goes like this: During the 1920s, John Randolph brought his wife to live on Ledge Light after winning an appointment as lighthouse keeper. His wife couldn’t stand the loneliness of living on a tiny island with all the lights of the city beckoning to her a mile away. She began flirting with fishermen and harbor pilots, and one day she left John Randolph. Desolate, John Randolph climbed to the top of the lighthouse, cut his throat and fell 65 feet to the ground.

Ernie’s legend lived on, but one lighthouse keeper’s daughter didn’t believe it. Barbara Beebe Gaspar’s father kept the light going during the 1930s, and she concluded the story of Ernie arose from bored and lonely lighthouse keepers.

In 1987, a Coast Guard crew member stationed at Ledge Light wrote in the logbook:

“Rock of slow torture. Ernie’s domain. Hell on earth—may New London Ledge’s light shine on forever because I’m through. I will watch it from afar while drinking a brew.”

New London Ledge Light By Moondancedryad – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21656592. Lightship Nantucket By ArnoldReinhold – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=70975216.

This story last updated in 2022.

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