The Ark of 1803: A Story of Louisiana Purchase Times

by C. A. Stephens

Everything loose on the roof—the large poultry-cages, spare sweeps, oars, setting-poles, and a part of the mammoth bones—were whirled upward and away; and, not only from their ark, but from all the others, everything loose went flying to leeward. The roof of the ark to windward of them was torn off, and, with a terrific crash, went hurtling over their heads.

The shouts of the men blended with the squalling of poultry and the hideous squeals of terrified or injured horses. Immediately, too, the heavy craft felt the impulse of the tornado, and went drifting rapidly before it.

Whether they would have been safer apart than together is not easy to say. The two flatboats astern prevented the arks from using their sweeps; and, seeing that all six of the boats were being blown rapidly toward the bank, Marion Royce shouted to the captains of the two Kaskaskia arks to cut the hawsers and try to get clear of each other, so as to use their sweeps.

If they heard, which is doubtful, nothing was done; in fact, the craft to windward was in great distress from waves that were breaking aboard her.

Captain Royce then seized an ax and cut the cables himself. His instinct was to get free. As he did so one of the spars caught, and slipping inboard, crashed through the gun-room, seriously injuring MacAfee, who had run in there for shelter. But the pressure of the wind still held the boats together; they drove on before the gale, and within five minutes all went ashore where a gravel bank rose steep out of deep water.

Fortunately for the ark, it had the middle berth; for, owing to the momentum and weight of the mass of boats, the Kaskaskia ark next the bank gave beam, and was so crushed that it immediately filled and sank, the crew with difficulty escaping across to the other boats.

One of the flats astern—the one inshore—also sank. Six of the horses aboard it, whose halters it was impossible to cut, were drawn down; the other fourteen of the poor animals succeeded in keeping their heads above water. The boatmen were powerless to do anything for them; indeed, the attention of all was given to rescuing the crews of the two wrecked boats.

Rain was now falling in such sheets that it was impossible to see objects twenty yards away. What became of the six-ton skiff that had joined them no one knew. So dire was the confusion and uproar of the disaster that none of the survivors was able to give any information concerning it—whether it was swamped, with all on board, or had got free and gone out of sight below the foot of the bluff. It was manned by four pioneers, one of them a clergyman named Willis, from the new settlement at Fort Jefferson, a little below the mouth of the Ohio.

Two men had been drowned or crushed on board the wrecked Kaskaskia ark; the other one had also lost a man, probably knocked overboard and drowned when the roof was blown off. A man was also reported missing from the Cincinnati flatboat.

Even after the tornado had passed and the waves subsided, the three craft which had escaped were in bad plight, having lost nearly all their sweeps, poles and other gear. Evening was at hand, and being unable to get away, they lay there against the bank all night.