The tragedy of Monomoy Beach

by Clarkson P. Bearse

CHAPTER V

One of the rules of the service was that at daybreak the morning watch should go up into the lookout and see if anything had transpired during the night that hadn’t been seen. The next morning, the morning of the seventeenth, this was the fatal day, the watch reported to Captain Eldredge that he couldn’t see the “Wadena”. In fact he couldn’t see the end of his beat. It was another one of the rules that if you couldn’t see the end of your beat because of thick weather, it was your duty to dress up, sailors called it dressing up when they put on their oil clothes and boots, and go down until you could see. So the watch was preparing to go when Captain Eldredge changed his mind for some reason or other and said to the watch, “Never mind. You stay where you are. I’ll dress up and go and see how it looks down at Point Rip.” He put on his oil clothes, boots, and sou’wester. He went down to the surf and headed south for Point Rip four miles away. The lookout watched him as he went and after a while he slowly disappeared in the mist. Before Captain Eldredge was promoted captain of the old Monomoy Lifesaving Station he had been a surfman for twelve years, for twelve years he had patrolled the beach, night and day, in all kinds of weather. But this morning as he went down, this morning as he disappeared in the mist, he was taking his last walk. He was walking his last mile. In an hour and three-quarters he arrived at the little shanty but he couldn’t see. So he went way down to the end of the beach, climbed up on a sand dune, and looked off. At first he couldn’t see, but after a while, there came a rift in the mist. Then he saw. There was the “Wadena” still hard and fast on the shoal, the rift widened and then he saw, there in her rigging was the American Flag, union down, a signal of mutiny or distress. In every great tragedy, in every great disaster, there are men sitting at home beside the fire who offer criticism. Men criticized Captain Eldredge because he went out at that particular time when the tide was running to the windward kicking up a nasty treacherous sea, but we must remember that there wasn’t a cowardly cell in the make-up of Captain Eldredge. If anything, he was too courageous. There was the American Flag, union down. To him, it was “go” rather than be branded a coward forever or impeached for insubordination. The American flag union down, he had no alternative, it was go even though he knew he was going down into the valley of the shadow of death, he hesitated not a minute. He hastened over to the shanty, called the station, got the number one man on the wire who happened to be Seth Linwood Ellis of Harwichport. He said, “Ellis, the “Wadena” has her colors in the rigging. We are going off. Launch the small boat, come down on the inside. I will walk over across and you can pick me up.” Men have criticized Captain Eldredge because he ordered the small boat. At that time the old Monomoy Station had but two lifeboats. One, called the small boat which was kept down in the boat house on the inside just above the high water-mark. The other was called the large boat built right up to date at that time. They kept her in the boat house connected with the station, something like a half-mile from the water. Captain Eldredge knew that it would be a tremendous task to launch the big boat, haul her down over the sand dunes down in the hollows and through the sand, especially when they were short-handed. So, influenced by the American Flag union down, to save time he ordered the small boat. Seth Linwood Ellis, obeying the orders of his superior, launched the small boat. They went down on the inside and as they went down, they saw Captain Eldredge standing way out on the beach. They went in as close as they could and Captain Eldredge waded out, climbed aboard, and took the steering oar. Seth Linwood Ellis took the after thwart, shipped his oar, and they were ready to proceed. But before they proceed let’s look at the boat. This was a lapstreak boat. Suppose you live in a clap-boarded house, turn it upside down, throw in about ten or fifteen feet of water, and jump in and try to save yourself, by clinging to those clapboards with a half inch margin, three inch space, and half inch margin. When that boat was bottom up, the only thing they had to cling to was those half-inch margins.

Who was in the boat at the time? We may as well know because their names are engraved on the granite monument down by Chatham Light. That monument is going to be there a long time and when we read those names we want to know what it was all about. There was Arthur W. Rogers of North Harwich. A typical Cape Codder, he stood six feet tall, weighed 185, was married, and had one child. There was Valentine D. Nickerson. He was a twin, he had a twin brother by the name of Charlie. He stood six feet tall, weighed 185, and was hard and wiry. He lived at the junction of Main Street and Great Western Road in the depot section in a house now occupied by the family of Joseph Munroe. He had a wife and four girls. Osborne F. Chase. He was a short thick-set man. He had been a surfman a long time, he was very capable and dependable. He lived at the corner of South and Main Streets in the depot section a short distance from Valentine D. Nickerson. He had a wife and three girls. Next Elijah Kendrick, the youngest of them all, was born and brought up on Gorham Road in South Harwich in a house now owned by Edward N. Johnson. At the time of the disaster he lived in Harwich Center opposite the ball-park. The house has been moved away. He was married and had a boy and girl. Then there was Edgar C. Small of Harwich Center. The counterpart of Valentine Nickerson, hard and wiry, he was born and brought up on the Harwich-Chatham Road in a house now owned by a man by the name of Harry Young. He had a wife, son and daughter. Seth Linwood Ellis who lived on Freeman Street in Harwichport, stood six feet, weighed 190, and had a wife and son. In his younger days he was noted for his dogged determination, physical stamina and perserverance. He was the only surfman who went down to Point Rip the night of the Portland Blizzard and returned.

CHAPTER VI

The first watch down that night from eight to twelve was Osborne F. Chase. At eight o’clock he stepped out into that raging, smothering storm and disappeared. At twelve o’clock he hadn’t returned.

The watch from twelve to four was Seth Linwood Ellis. Captain Tuttle called him out. He put on his oil clothes, boots and sou’wester, strapped his time clock on his back and stepped out into the storm. That night part of the beach was flooded, so he walked up in the center of the beach. He went down in the darkness and the storm guided by the tremendous roar of the surf, and in the utter darkness he missed the little shanty. He heard the surf roaring all around him so he knew he was down on the end of the beach. He went back a little way, found the shanty, punched his time clock, and started back. The wind was blowing from sixty to eighty miles an hour with a smothering, blinding snow storm and it was so dark that it was impossible to see a thing. After a while he ran into something, looking up he saw the glimmer of a light, it was the old Monomoy Lighthouse. He ran into the broad-side of the old Monomoy Lighthouse and didn’t see it. He edged out by it and started up in the teeth of the wind, following the roar of the surf. Unless you have been there you cannot imagine the tremendous sickening roar of the surf combined with the shrieking of the wind in a storm like the “Portland Blizzard.” When the roar became deafening, Ellis would edge inland. When the roar deadened, he would edge back. So he worked his way up the beach. Many years before surfmen complained that in stormy thick weather they had trouble finding the station and sometimes went by it. So they took some weir poles, dug them down in the sand about ten or twelve feet apart extending from the station down to the high water mark. This made a land mark, but even then men sometimes would go between the poles and not see them. Coming up the beach that night, Ellis ran into one of these poles, followed them up to the station, and went in. Captain Tuttle took off the face of his time clock and looked at it. It proved that he had been down to Point Rip, punched his time, and returned one hour late. That was Seth Linwood Ellis. Osborne Chase never returned until well after daylight. He got lost—lost all sense of direction and wandered around the beach all night with out finding the little shanty that had the key to his time clock nailed to the wall. In the summer of 1887 Seth Linwood Ellis sailed out of Gloucester with Captain Hanson Joyce, mackerel seining. For the first time Captain Joyce went in a steamer instead of a sailing vessel as was the custom in those days. He carried two seine boats and two crews. He appointed Ellis captain of one boat, and he himself took the other. One morning about five miles off Highland Light they sighted a school of fish. Captain Joyce sent Ellis out after them in his boat. He saw the fish, jockeyed into position, and gave the order to go ahead and start throwing. In those days whenever a seineboat went out for a school of fish it was always trailed by a dory. When they started throwing the seine the dory would pick up the end and wait until the boat came around, then pass the end to the boat, making a complete circle. The captain stood in the extreme end of the boat on a raised platform, steering with an oar. Captain Ellis was a powerful man. Circling the school of fish that morning he gave an extra hard pull on the oar and it broke. He fell over backward, splash, into the sea. The men in the boat stopped rowing, intending to back and pick him up. He came to the surface, shook the water out of his face, and shouted “Don’t stop, go on around the fish, never mind me.” The men obeyed, the seine boat circled the fish the dory passed the end to the boat, then went back about half a mile and picked him up. Even today we don’t understand how he kept afloat with a pair of rubber boots and oil petticoat on. But that was Seth Linwood Ellis. Don’t lose sight of Seth Linwood Ellis in the struggle that is about to follow.

CHAPTER VII

Then there was Isaac T. Foy of South Chatham. He was of average height and was that handsome that the women called him the “Handsome Surfman.” He was married, but had no children. Before Isaac T. Foy, I was a surf man on the old Monomoy Lifesaving Station. One disagreeable stormy day off on the shoals assisting a stranded schooner, I was severely injured almost fatally. For over two years I fought against that thing called death, and at last I won. It was one of the rules of the service that whenever you were disabled, you were kept on the roll for a year. At the end of the year, if you didn’t come forward with the required physical percentage, you were dropped from the service. So I was dropped from the service. Of all the men who applied for the position they selected Isaac T. Foy. Without a doubt—without a doubt if it had not been for that injury I had received, I would have been with those men in the boat that morning, and Isaac T. Foy would have been elsewhere. Do you believe in luck? Do you believe in fate? Do you believe in an unseen power that controls the destiny of every human being like you and I? We have the right to believe as we will but over forty-one years have passed along since that fatal day and here I stand telling you the story. But where, oh where is Isaac Thomas Foy. Pay attention to this tragedy as it develops and see the end—the tragic end of the man who took my place and carried on.

Then there was Captain Marshall N. Eldredge of South Chatham. A giant in stature, standing over six feet tall, weighing two hundred and twenty pounds, hard as nails, he was the toughest surfman who ever patrolled Monomoy Beach. He was so tough that he went barefooted in the cold sand until the first of December. In the early spring and fall, he wouldn’t wear oil clothes but said that he would rather be wet than bother with them at all. He had a wife and three children. Those were the men in the boat that morning.

They were all ready. Captain Eldredge gave the orders to go ahead. It was the 1st of a southeast storm the tide was running to the windward kicking up a nasty treacherous sea. They went around the point and headed into the rips. Some of the rips they went around; the smaller ones they went through. So they worked themselves along slowly but surely. At last they arrived at the barge safely. They threw the painter aboard, and it was made fast. Captain Eldredge saw Mr. Mack standing on deck. He hailed them and said, “Mr. Mack, you’ve got your colors in the rigging. What’s the trouble?” Mr. Mack said, “We had an awful night last night. The wind blew and those seas rolled in, and we pounded and thumped on the bottom until we thought we were going to pieces. We were afraid and still are and we want to go ashore.” Captain Eldredge replied, “That’s all right, but we’re not coming aboard. It’s too rough. Throw a rope over the side and lower yourselves down.” So they came down, one by one, and the captain placed them in the bottom of the boat in a safe place. He put three of them on the platform at his feet, the other he put on the thwarts outside the oarsmen. They pumped out the boat and everything was ready. Captain Eldredge gave the order, “Cast Off.” There was no-one aboard to cast off so Osborne F. Chase, the bowman, cut the painter and as he did her bow fell off, a sea came rolling around the lee quarter, caught the boat under her bilge, and shoved her ahead. As she went out from under the lee of the “Wadena” the tide caught her under the weather bow and she drifted off in the trough of the sea. Before the men could get control of their oars, a sea broke over in the bottom of the boat. Those men from the barge, the very men they were trying to save, if they had only known—why one of the first lessons you are taught when you go out over the surf in an open boat in a rough sea is to sit down, the lower the better, and no matter what happens, if a sea breaks over and wets your feet, take your medicine but sit still. But when that sea broke over and wet their feet they all jumped up, interfered with the oarsmen, and then they couldn’t row. The boat drifted off into a rip, another sea broke over, and filled her half full. Then all was confusion. She drifted into another rip, another sea broke over her, another, and still another. Down she went, turned over, and came up floating bottom up. Every man struggling in the sea. Captain Mack and his men never had a chance. In five minutes they all were engulfed by the seas, except one. One young boy, a colored fellow, was clinging to the bow of the boat. He was so afraid that he turned yellow, and the whites of his eyes bulged right out of his head. A sea came rushing along, broke over him, and washed him off. He gave a terrible scream, threw up both hands, and went down to join his companions who had gone a few minutes before. Now the surfmen—every man for himself, no orders, no discipline, every man struggling and fighting for a position on the bottom of that up-turned boat. At first they all got a hold. Osborne F. Chase was clinging on the bow where the young colored fellow had just been washed off. A sea came breaking and tearing along, it caught him in its grasp, he lost his hold and drifted away, the first to go. Captain Eldredge, weighing two hundred and twenty pounds, weighted down with his oil clothes and boots, was fighting amidships. He was grabbing and clutching at those lapstreaks. A sea broke over, caught him in the face and chest, and washed him off. He grabbed again but he was short and went drifting off in those rushing, roaring rips. The next, Elijah Kendricks, if anyone had told me that the crew of the Monomoy Station would be lost with the exception of one and asked me who the one would be I would have said without any hesitation, “Elijah Kendricks”. He was an athlete from the word go he excelled in all sports, in running, jumping, baseball, skating and swimming. He was a regular water-dog in his day, but was rendered helpless by the carelessness of another. When that boat left the shore that morning, laying on her thwarts was a sail. It was a mutton leg sail used in times of emergency. When the wind was fair the men would sail instead of row. It was a rule that the sail should be lashed to the thwart. Someone neglected his duty because that sail came floating out from under the boat, right up under Kendricks. He struggled and kicked to free himself but his feet became tangled up in the halyards and main sheets. With this added weight, he couldn’t hold on. He grabbed and clutched at those lapstreaks but his fingers slipped. He sensed his doom, threw himself over on the mast and boom, floated away and was never seen again. Now five men left, five men still fighting and struggling for their lives, five men still clutching and clawing at those lapstreaks. She drifted into another rip this was the largest of them all. It was on the shoalest part of Shovelful Shoal. That morning on Shovelful Shoal the seas were breaking and pounding, hissing and foaming, roaring and crossing, a combination of sand and water, five men still clinging on, Arthur W. Rogers, Valentine D. Nickerson, Edgar C. Small, Seth Linwood Ellis and Isaac T. Foy—five men fighting for their lives—she drifted into this rip and was completely submerged. What happened nobody knows. It was a fearful tragedy, an unseen drama. When she drifted out on the other side in a smoother sea there were only two left. Isaac T. Foy wasn’t there. Isaac T. Foy perished in those breaking, pounding seas on the shoalest part of Shovelful Shoal. When she drifted out on the other side in a smoother sea there was only two left. Arthur W. Rogers was clinging to the bow of that boat waterlogged and exhausted. He was that exhausted he could hardly raise his arms. Seth Linwood was lying across the bottom clinging on with the grip of death. She drifted into another rip a sea came swashing along and washed Arthur W. Rogers amidships he grabbed and clutched at those lapstreaks but couldn’t hold. A sea washed him still further, he sensed his doom, with a supreme effort he threw himself upon the bottom of that boat and grabbed again, his fingers slipped a sea washed him off. He sank, a few bubbles and he was gone forever.