BATTERED SHIPS REACH PORT
MANY EVIDENCES OF A SEPTEMBER HURRICANE'S FURY

Posted to the Comunes of Italy Mailing List by Gay Parisano Raab - 9 October 1998.

[This was the front page story. Don't know how those who crossed the ocean did it. Now I know why all my ancestors came to the U.S. in the winter months! - G.P.R.]

The mariners who reached this port yesterday had many tales of the sea to tell, and much to say about Atlantic weather which was not complimentary. Some of the arriving vessels had met with derelict craft, and others had come very near being made derelicts themselves.

In his forecast for September weather on the North Atlantic, the Naval Hydrographer said that tropical cyclones and hurricanes could be expected.

Full confirmation of the accuracy of that prophecy was had when the fleet of storm-battered vessels reached port yesterday. The Anchor Line steamship Italia, from Mediterranean ports, had the full benefit of the storm. Capt. Craig said his vessel, journeying from Gibraltar, had fine weather until Sept. 8. The ship was then in latitude 42 degrees 30 minutes, longitude 41 degrees 5 minutes. During the forenoon a languid breeze which had been blowing from the south, freshened to a gale, the sky grew black, and the sea donned its caps of white. A gigantic beam-on swell, which rolled its waves nearly to the railing of the ship, plainly indicated that a storm of great violence was in the wake of those heaving seas.

Two staysails were set to steady the deeply-rolling vessel. An hour later it was necessary to take in the canvas to prevent it from being blown out of the bolt ropes. The hurricane, when it struck the ship, was accompanied by a laterally flying rainstorm, which stung the faces of the crew like volleys of birdshot. The ship sullenly swung her bows to meet the racing cliffs which came tumbling out of the southwest, and for a few hours her engines kept her headed to wind and wave.

The wind backed to the south, then to the southeast, and at 5 o'clock that evening it was streaming from the north. The change in direction made a dangerous cross sea, and the ship swung giddily through the summit. Seas broke over the laboring craft from all sides at once, and spoondrift, cut from the great crest of the chopping pyramids, hid everything except "just a funnel and a mast lurching through the spray."

The hatches had been battened down and the passengers had been made prisoners below. It was rather hard on the passengers to keep them penned up, but the Captain was afraid to allow any of them on deck, as it was as much as his own men could do to keep their footing.

Along toward 6 o'clock there was a roar and a crash, the bursting of skylights and a splintering of boats, and then the Italia, half drowned by a monster wave, emerged from the flood with most of her deck fixtures a wreck. The wave had made kindling wood of Lifeboat No. 1 and had wrenched No. 2 and No. 6 from their davits and swept them overboard.

The doors of the smoking room and hospital were smashed, and the copper pipes along the deck which supply steam to the donkey engines were twisted into fantastic shapes. The engine-room skylight was broken and water poured into the engine room. The after saloon was also invaded by the flood, but, beyond adding to the fright of the terror-stricken passengers, it did no injury. The wave burst over the starboard bow and raced the whole length of the vessel. Its impact against the bow threw the ship's head sharply around, and a series of wilder rolls followed its onslaught. The ship was brought back to her course again, and, after a number of more efforts to pitch her funnel over the bow, finally rode out the storm without further injury. Capt. Craig modestly sums up the story in these words: "I never saw a breeze of wind like that before; at least not at this season of the year."

Capt. James Douglass of the Wilson Line steamship Hindoo had some reminiscences to relate of this same "breeze of wind". His vessel escaped with the loss of some cattle fittings. The big steamship made some tremendous lurches, and at one time buried the rail of her bridge in a sea. The cattle sheds, which are temporary sheds of rough boards, very strongly built, were splintered by the heavy waves. One section, which was about ten feet square, with beams and stanchions attached, was picked up by the hurricane and hurled forty feet in the air, falling in the water to leeward of the ship. The covers of the forward hatch were wrenched off and swept to the forecastle head.

The Mannheim met the hurricane Sept. 9 in latitude 49 deg., longitude 36 deg. During the eight hours it lasted, the ship had all she could do to keep her deck above water. Nearly all of her fore and aft sails were lost.

Capt. Laurent of the French Line steamship La Champagne, told of a sequel to the storm. He said that on the morning of Sept. 11 a three-masted schooner, flying signals of distress, was sighted. From the mainmast was fluttering an international code signal, which conveyed the message: "I am sinking." The course of the steamship was at once altered so as to bring the stranger aboard. No sign of life on board the vessel was visible, and there was no answer to the hail which was sent when the craft had been brought close aboard. A lifeboat, in charge of Second Officer Roth, was lowered and sent to make an investigation. When the officer returned from his mission, a crowd of curious passengers, who had thronged about the rail, were eager to hear what he had to say. Mr. Roth said that he found the vessel to be the Hakon Jarl, from Christianstad, lumber laden. Her hold was filled with water, and she was kept afloat by her deckload alone. There was no one aboard. Everything had been left in shipshape order. The captain had taken all his charts and instruments and the crew had left none of their clothing. From the fact that everything was in good order on board, Capt. Laurent thinks that the vessel had not been abandoned more than twenty-four hours. When the boat had been hoisted La Champagne was headed on her course.