Stranded (11 page)

As if on cue, the
Peterson
came alongside in Haines. Her captain, Cornelius Stidham, immediately recruited two more crew members to help his existing complement of eight men, and had fifty extra blankets placed on board. History doesn't record how exactly the good captain procured these items during these small hours of the day, but by 4:00 a.m.
Peterson
was manoeuvring away from the dock in Haines and back out into the turbulent waters of Lynn Canal. The operator in Haines wired back the news to Frank Lowle in Juneau: the
Peterson
was coming.

Around the same time the
Peterson
set sail from Haines, help was also on the way from Juneau in the form of a small,
sixty-five
-foot mail boat called the
Estebeth
. Manned by Captain James Davis, the
Estebeth
was just four months old when she began her journey out of Juneau Harbor. She normally stuck to short mail and passenger runs between Juneau, Skagway, and the village of Sitka, located on the eastern side of Baranof Island near the Pacific Ocean. But if Captain Davis had qualms about pushing his new ship to her limits in a rescue attempt in bad weather, he kept his misgivings to himself. Although only licensed for thirty-five passengers, she could fit two hundred souls on board in a pinch. She would be the first of many vessels to leave Juneau Harbor in the hours before dawn that day.

Much like Frank Lowle when he looked out his window earlier that morning, Captain Davis only saw softly falling snow on his departure from Juneau. The weather the
Princess Sophia
was being punished with seemed to not be an issue at all. That all changed once the
Estebeth
cleared the northernmost point of Douglas Island. Here, at the entrance to Lynn Canal, Davis got a taste of what the stricken ship was facing. Snowfall increased dramatically and a strong wind from the north slammed into the ship's forward superstructure. Whipped up into a froth by the increasing wind, the heavy seas tossed the petite
Estebeth
. It took nearly six more hours of sailing through these conditions for her to reach the
Princess Sophia
.

Other vessels were on the way, and would arrive earlier. At 5:45 a.m. Juneau Radio wired David Robinson on board the
Princess Sophia
. “Tell VFI [
Princess Sophia
] [that] agent says three boats should arrive there in thirty minutes. These can care for 200 passengers.” Robinson wired back almost immediately: “VFI [
Princess Sophia
] says there is danger of fuel tanks puncturing. Tide is rising and heavy sea running and strong wind on quarter. Stopped snowing.”
[4]

Four hours after running aground, this was the new challenge facing the
Princess Sophia
: whether or not the imminent high tide would force her off Vanderbilt Reef. Although the snow had let up and the fog that had enveloped them was finally beginning to lift, the wind and seas surrounding them remained as fearsome as ever. This concern filtered down to her passengers, most of whom were still huddled in the ships public rooms, strapped into their lifebelts. Fearing the worst, they began to make their way out on deck. For Captain Locke and his officers, how much damage the grounding had done to the ship's hull was still unknown. During their inspections of the ship's interior spaces it became clear she was not taking on water and her double-bottom hull had not been penetrated. This, however, was no safeguard against what might happen at high tide. As Army Private Auris McQueen noted, “It was thought she might pound her bottom out on the rocks.”
[5]

At six in the morning the tide hit its highest point. If anything, the increasing water level only managed to drive the wreck more firmly up on Vanderbilt Reef. The crashing of the waves against the hull and the horrifying sounds it created seemed to be lessening, and the weather was slowly starting to improve. Coupled with the assurances of Captain Locke and his officers and crew, most passengers began to calm down. Word had spread around the ship that other vessels were on their way, and most calculated that their situation seemed to be slowly improving. Many took off their lifebelts and conversed with each other, while card games broke out here and there using decks of Canadian Pacific-brand playing cards.

Satisfied that they were stuck on the reef for some time to come, at 7:20 a.m. the first formal wireless message of the entire day was sent out. Relayed from Captain Locke aboard the
Princes Sophia
via the United States Radio Station in Juneau, its recipient was Canadian Pacific's British Columbia coastal service superintendent, Captain James Troup.

PRINCESS SOPHIA RAN ON VANDERBILT REEF LYNN CANAL AT 3 O'CLOCK SHIP NOT TAKING WATER AND WATER UNABLE TO BACK OFF AT HIGH WATER FRESH NORTHERLY WIND SHIP POUNDED ASSISTANCE ON WAY FROM JUNEAU. LOCKE
.
[6]

In the wireless message the time is given as three in the morning. British Columbia was on Pacific Standard Time, which is one hour ahead of Alaskan Standard Time.
Princess Sophia
kept her clocks set to Pacific Standard Time, accounting for the difference. Unfortunately, wireless telegraphy was far from being an accurate science; the message sent to Captain Troup was received in Juneau at 7:20 a.m., but it wasn't passed along to the Canadian Pacific offices in Victoria until 8:24 a.m. Captain Troup finally received the message at 9:11 a.m. — nearly two full hours after it had been sent from the
Princess Sophia
. The delays and limitations of the wireless would continue to be a source of frustration and confusion as the day progressed.

Daylight — or what little ambient light could break through the suffocating greyness of the overcast skies — arrived just before eight in the morning. The snow had almost stopped, with just a few light flakes swirling about. The wind still pounded at the stern of the ship. Finally Captain Locke could see well enough to properly assess the damage to his ship.

At 9:00 a.m. the
Peterson
arrived. At eighty-five feet, the
Peterson
was a steam-powered United States harbour boat, capable of making ten knots. But with no wireless apparatus on board, Stidham wasn't able to communicate with the outside world; any outgoing messages would have to be passed on via the
Princess Sophia
herself.

Princess Sophia
looked different than the last time Stidham had laid eyes on her. Just the morning before, when
Princess Sophia
had docked in Juneau en route to Skagway, Captain Stidham had procured some much-needed oil from the ship. Looking at the massive Canadian Pacific ship perched high atop Vanderbilt Reef, the United States harbour boat captain tried to take it all in.

His thoughts turned to taking
Princess Sophia
's passengers off. In a pinch, he could cram around one hundred twenty-five people on board the sturdy little
Peterson
, and Stidham reckoned he could potentially squeeze one hundred and fifty on board if he got creative. He might have to; a quick scan of the cloudy horizon revealed his ship was the first, and only, ship on the scene.

Ordering one of his crew, Kramer, to grab a megaphone, Stidham — who was at the helm of the
Peterson
and unable to leave his post — instructed him to hail the
Princess Sophia
. Almost immediately Captain Locke appeared on the open quarterdeck of his ship. Stidham instructed Kramer to ask Captain Locke if there was anything he could do. Through his own megaphone, Locke hollered back that he wanted the
Peterson
to remain close at hand. Leaning against the rail and gesturing down at the reef below his keel, Captain Locke responded that he was waiting for the tide to come in. At the moment, only
Princess Sophia
's aftermost lifeboats could actually reach the water.

As he came closer, Stidham noticed that a large number of passengers had gathered at the rail on
Princess Sophia
's promenade and boat decks. Dressed warmly, they peered out at the new arrival from their perch. One of her lifeboats, the third from the bow on the starboard side with three or four men in it, had been completely lowered to the water and was bobbing up and down alongside the
Princess Sophia
, still attached to its lines. Stidham realized they were crew members inspecting the hull of the ship, though they seemed to be spending much of their time just trying to keep the small boat from crashing into the steel hull. Stidham glanced up again at the passengers on the decks above him. None said a word.

Robert Wakely,
Peterson
's engineer, also noticed the successfully lowered lifeboat. He was joined on deck by fellow crewmember Thomas Ryan, who noticed that
Princess Sophia
was leaking oil. The slick ran for well over a mile out from the wreck, and Ryan observed that the Canadian Pacific ship's bow had been torn away at the keel.

The two men looked at the lifeboat, resting calmly in the water with its small complement of crew members fussing about inside. Aside from the oil slick and the wind, conditions seemed good for a rescue attempt. The last seventy feet of the
Princess Sophia
's hull rested comfortably in the water, off the reef. That should have been enough to get the aftermost lifeboats launched and to the rescue ships. But in a world still highly regulated by chain of command, neither Wakely nor Ryan said anything.

Fireman Victor Shockway also thought the time had come to get passengers off the
Princess Sophia
, but he was also reluctant to voice his opinion to Captain Stidham. “I didn't think it was any of my business,” he would later say. “I don't go in where I ain't got no business.”
[7]

Recognizing that Captain Locke wanted the tide to rise so he could properly get
Princess Sophia
's lifeboats in the water all at once, Captain Stidham manoeuvred the
Peterson
around the stricken ship, planning to stay close by until the next high tide. Stidham discussed the situation with the rest of his crew and they agreed that conditions were optimal for a rescue. Hopefully they would still be at high tide.

Despite there finally being the potential of rescue, many passengers were not so certain the danger was behind them. Even without the driving snow, the weather still bordered on atrocious, and the falling tide meant that more of Vanderbilt Reef — and the
Princess Sophia
— was being exposed.

One skeptic was Jack Maskell. The resident of Dawson City was travelling back to England to be with his fiancée, Dorothy. Grabbing a pen and some of the stationery paper that Canadian Pacific supplied, he found himself a comfortable spot in the observation room and sat down. From there he could gaze through the oversized windows showcasing a panoramic view of the bow and the ship's promenade deck. He twisted the pen around in his hand for a few moments. There was something about putting ink to paper that seemed to finalize things. Finally, he wrote:

To whom it may concern:

Should anything happen to me, notify Eagle Lodge, Dawson. My insurance, finances and property I leave to my wife (who was to be) Miss Dorothy Burgess, 37 Smart St., Longsight, Manchester, England.
[8]

He signed the bottom of the page and noted the date in the top right-hand corner, adding “In Danger at Sea. Princess Sophia.” He looked at the paper again and thought of Dorothy, thousands of miles away. Folding the note into neat sections, he tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. Silently, he took a fresh piece of paper and penned a second letter. This one was longer and far more personal.

Shipwrecked off Coast of Alaska. S.S.
Princess Sophia
. 24th Oct. 1918.

My own dear sweetheart,

I am writing this dear girl while the boat is in grave danger. We struck a rock last night which threw many from their berths, women rushed out in their night attire, some were crying, some too weak to move, but the life boats were soon swung out in all readiness, but owing to the storm would be madness to launch until there was hope for the ship, surrounding ships were notified by wireless and in three hours the first steamer came but cannot get near owing to the storm raging and the reef which we are on. There are now seven ships near. When the tide went down two thirds of the boat was high and dry. We are expecting the lights to go out any minute also the fires. The boat might go to pieces for the force of the waves are terrible, making awful noises on the side of the boat which has quite a list to port. No one is allowed to sleep, but believe me dear Dorrie it might have been much worse. Just here there is another big steamer coming. We struck the reef in a terrible snow storm. There is a life buoy marking the danger but the Captain was to port instead to starboard of buoy. I made my will this morning leaving everything to you my own true love and I want you to give £100 to my dear mother, £100 to my dear father, £100 to dear wee Jack and the balance of my estate (about £300) goes to you Dorrie dear. The Eagle Lodge will take care of my remains.
[9]

He looked the letter over, then, satisfied, folded and placed it in his jacket pocket. Maskell didn't know it at the time, but the letters he had just completed would provide some of the only insight into what was actually taking place on board the
Princess Sophia
during her final hours.

Around the time Jack Maskell was penning his letter, the
sixty-five
-foot
Estebeth
arrived, coming up on the starboard side of
Princess Sophia
. After sailing for six straight hours from Juneau to aid the stricken ship,
Estebeth
's captain, James Davis, made a new entry in his log book: “10:20 Wreck S.S.
Sophia
, Vanderbilt Reef.” He then turned his attention to the
Princess Sophia
. He was surprised to see just how high out of the water she was resting; nearly the entirety of her bow was clear and surrounded by reef, while she sagged at the stern. All the way aft her propeller was visible above the waterline, though the majority of the bladed apparatus remained submerged.