Seven Months at Sea: The State of Maine’s Ordeal
The State of Maine left New York in July 1892 and reached Seattle 201 days later, her crew disabled by saltwater boils, her water spoiled, and her captain forced to beat men to the pumps.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
The long-expected ship State of Maine, Captain A. L. Carver, was towed into this port yesterday morning by the tug Wanderer. She was 201 days making the voyage from New York to Seattle, having left the former port July 28, 1892. She is a wooden ship of 1,467 tons register, hailing from Maine. Had she not been a staunch craft in all probability the story of the voyage would never have been told.
The seven long months at sea had a perceptible effect upon the outside of her hull, and a line of green moss could be seen clinging from her side just at the water line. An ugly patch in the planking of her port bulwarks was also suggestive of the dangers encountered at sea in rough weather. Other marks of the sea were effaced by repairs at Montevideo. The ship brings a cargo of 2,300 tons, consisting largely of heavy hardware, but containing some railroad iron and general merchandise, all consigned to Balfour, Guthrie & Co. She dropped anchor last night off Schwebacher's wharf, where she is to be docked to discharge cargo.
Captain Carver had his wife with him during the long voyage. When informed yesterday that his ship had been reported as having put into Montevideo leaking, the captain said this was a mistake. He put into Montevideo on account of a disabled crew, and because the supply of fresh water had become spoiled with salt water during the rough weather while trying to round Cape Horn.
The ship's log, kept by First Mate Thomas H. Taylor, tells the story in detail. After leaving New York the ship had a good but rather slow voyage until the 28th of October, when she was off Staten Island, nearly to Cape Horn. On that day came rough weather, which came near sending the ship and all on board to Davy Jones' locker. It was ushered in by strong winds and heavy cross seas. On the 11th the ship Paramita, also a Maine ship, was spoken, and at 10 o'clock p.m. her red light was three miles off, bearing on the same course as the State of Maine. At 4 o'clock the next morning, although it was perfectly clear, no ship was in sight, and there was some anxiety to know if that ship had reached her port, San Francisco. She arrived December 21.
The stormy weather continued, the wind blowing a gale and the sea running unusually heavy. On the morning of October 11 Cape Horn was sighted, but the next day a fresh gale arose and the ship was tossed about in the heavy sea. There was no change the next day except that snow and hail fell and the captain began to use oil in bags over the bow. The pumps were tried every two hours and it was found that the ship was making a little more water. On the 15th there was a succession of bad squalls and a heavy sea, which caused the ship to roll about so badly that great quantities of water were on deck. October 16 was bright and clear, but it was the hardest day experienced by the vessel, which labored in a high sea and a violent gale from the W.N.W., under lower topsails and fore staysail. Oil bags were continually used and Mr. Taylor says the wind was terrific and the sea fearful. Several sails were carried away and the ship was in such danger that all hands were kept on deck all night. It took four or five men to bail water out of the cabin. On October 17 the wind split a brand new foresail, which was reefed at the time, and the sea carried away some planking from the port bulwarks. The crew now began to be troubled with salt water boils and the carpenter was very badly off with them. The heavy sea continued, and on October [date illegible] according to the log, the crew were worn out so they had to be forced to work. On that date the captain lanced boils for eleven men, some of them having as many as four or five to be opened.
On the 23d the ship rolled so badly that the officers expected she would lose her masts. The cargo was adrift in the hold, but it was impossible to go below to look after it. The men were in a pitiable state from boils and swollen limbs. Their clothes and bedding had been wet for days and they could get nothing dry. The pumps were tried every half-hour, and the vessel was strained so that her decks opened. The cabin doors were stove in, the cabin was all awash, and the ship in great danger on account of the disabled crew. Here Mr. Taylor supplemented the brief entries in the log to explain that the men were so worn out that they refused to do any work. The ship was in the trough of the sea, and to set her out the yards had to be trimmed. The captain felt the seriousness of the position, and knew the vessel stood a better chance of being lost than saved. The mate said he took a belaying pin in each hand and beat the sailors until they trimmed the yards. On the 23d the Horn was again sighted, bearing northwest, twenty-five miles distant. The wind died down somewhat on the 24th, but the sea was heavy and there was not a well man on the ship, the captain being the best. They could get the men to do nothing, and things were being carried away aloft. Some men were forced aloft, and both mates followed them. Even then they could not be induced to work, except by kicks and cuffs. "But they worked," said Mr. Taylor laconically. That day he went into the hold and secured the cargo as well as he could. They pitied the men, only a few of whom were competent when well, but it was a question of life or death for all on board.
On the 25th the carpenter and several men were off duty, and here Mr. Taylor again digressed to praise Mrs. Carver, who, though naturally nervous, seemed to gain in fortitude as her husband thought he might lose the ship. She attended to the sick, was up at all times of night to make bandages, and was the best man on the ship. On the 27th of October it was found that all the fresh water above deck had been spoiled by salt water getting into the tanks, and that 200 gallons of water remained, this being in the forward tank between decks. Water must be had, and at 3 p.m. the ship was headed for the Falkland Islands for a supply of water. The weather was so rough that they could not make these islands and on November 1 steered away for Montevideo, where they arrived eight days later. There they learned that a pilot who saw the ship off the Falkland Islands went out to take in the ship and in returning was run ashore and wrecked. Arrived in port, the men had to be threatened to get them to sail off the ship. All the sailors were sick and the carpenter was on watch.
At Montevideo all the crew except one man deserted, the second mate going with them, fourteen in all. The ship was repaired, watered, a new crew shipped and sail made on November 14 for Cape Horn, which was rounded on December 30, after a moderate passage. The rest of the trip was slow but uneventful.
Mr. Taylor says that 200 gallons of oil were used in bags off the bow during the rough weather and it was found of great benefit.
“The men were in a pitiable state from boils and swollen limbs. Their clothes and bedding had been wet for days and they could get nothing dry.”
The State of Maine’s ordeal was a reminder that in the age of sail, a voyage from New York to Seattle could take seven months and cost men their health—or their lives. The ship finally docked at Schwebacher’s wharf, and its arrival was reported as a local maritime event; today the same waterfront is a different kind of working landscape.
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