This bit of late nineteenth-century poetry vividly captures prevailing views of the nefarious “wreckers” who inhabited the isolated coasts of the early republic (a wonderful example of imagination trumping reality). Here you’ll find those constants of wrecker literature: false lights, murder, plunder and innocence lost. For more images check out the digitized copy of the original 1895 publication in The Century Magazine here. I’ve transcribed the full text, including the short introduction, below. This tale might be oddly familiar–it anchored the recent (and thoroughly enjoyable) novel The Watery Part of the World by Michael Parker. Enjoy~

Theodosia Burr:

The Wrecker’s Story.

By the Author of “Stonewall Jackson’s Way.”

With Pictures by A. Hencke.

On December 30, 1812, Theodosia, the beautiful, accomplished, and devoted daughter of Aaron Burr, and wife of Governor Alston of South Carolina, stunned by the run of her father, and the death of her boy, took passage on the Patriot, a pilot-boat, to rejoin her father in New York. The vessel never came to port. It is known that a storm raged on the Carolina coast on New Year’s day, 1813, and the circumstantial evidence seems conclusive that the Patriot fell into the hands of “bankers.” There were wreckers and pirates who infested the long sand-bars that fence the coast outside of Currituck, Albermarle, and Pamlico sounds, and reach as far south as Cape Lookout.

It was their practice, on stormy nights, to decoy passing craft by means of a lantern swinging from the neck of an old nag, which they led up and down the beach. Thus, vessels were stranded on the banks off Kitty Hawk and Nag’s Head, and plundered, after the crews and passengers had been slain with hangers, or compelled to “walk the plank.” Long after the disappearance of the Patriot, two criminals executed at Norfolk, Virginia, confessed to having had a hand in the death of Theodosia Alston. There were, they said, members of a gang of “bankers,” who wrecked and pillaged the Patriot, forcing her people to wak the plank.

***

In revel and carousing

We gave the New Year housing,

With wreckage for our firing,

And rum to heart’s desiring,

Antigua and Jamaica,

Flagon and stoup and breaker.

*

Full cans and a ranting chorus;

Hard hearts for the bout before us:

To brave grim death’s grimaces

On dazed and starting faces.

With dirks and hangers bristling,

We for a gale went a whistling,

*

Tornado or panpero,

To swamp the host of Pharaoh;

To goad the mad Atlantic,

And drive the skipppers frantic;

To jar the deep with thunder,

And make the waste a wonder,

And plunge the coasters under,

And pile the banks with plunder.

Then the wild rack came skirling,

Ragged and crazed, and whirling

Sea-stuff and sand in breakers,

Frothing the shelvy acres,

Over the banks high-bounding,

*

Inlet and sound confounding.

Hatteras roared and rumbled,

Currituck heaved and tumbled;

And the sea-gulls screamed like witches,

And sprawled in the briny ditches.

Shelter and rest we flouted,

Jorum and pipe we scouted,

Fiddler and wench we routed.

“Fetch out the nag!” we shouted;

For a craft in the offing struggled.

“Now for a skipper juggled;

Now for a coaster stranded,

And loot in the lockers landed!”

With lantern cheerly rocking

*

On the nag’s head, we went mocking,

Lilting of tipsy blisses,

And Bonnibel’s squandered kisses.

Straight for that hell-spark steering,

Drove the doomed craft careering;

Men on her fore-deck huddled,

Sea in her wake all cruddled,

Kitty Hawk sheer before her,

And the breakers booming o’er her;

Till the rocks in their lurking stove her,

And her riven spars went over,

And she lay on her side and shivered,

And groaned to be delivered.

*

Boats through the black rift storming,

Foes on her quarter swarming;

Dirks in the torchlight flashing,

And the wicked hangers slashing;

Lips that were praying, mangled;

Throats that were screaming, strangled;

Souls in the surges tumbling,

Vainly for foothold fumbling;

Horror of staring faces,

Gruesome in death’s grimaces;

And God’s wrath overpast us,

With never a bolt to blast us!

*

By the brung of our doings daunted,

We crouched where the fore-deck slanted,

Scanning each other’s faces,

Graved with that horror’s traces.

One, peering aft, wild-staring,

Points through the torches flaring:

“Spook of the storm, or human?

Angel, or wraith, or woman?”

Havoc and wreck surveying,

Imploring not, nor praying,

Nor death nor life refusing;

Stony and still–accusing!

*

Black as our hearts the creature’s

Vesture; her matchless features

White as the dead. Oh! wonder

Of woman high heaven under!

So she moved down upon us

(though Death and the Fiend might

shun us),

And we made passage, cowering.

*

Rigid and mute and towering,

Never a frown she deigned us,

Never with curse arraigned us.

One, trembling, dropped his hanger,

And swooned at the awful clangor;

But she passed on, unharking,

Her steps our doom-strokes marking,

*

Straight to the pland, and mounted.

“One, two, three, four!” we counted;

Till she paused, o’er the flood suspended,

Poised, her lithe armes extended–

And the storm stood sill, and waited

For the stroke of the Lord, belated.

~John Williamson Palmer

I’m a huge fan of documentaries, especially those that are readily available online. Here is a great one, brough to my attention by friend of Ships on the Shore smallerandsmaller (great blog, check it out!). Here’s the synposis (and link to the full documentary):

In December 2006 Andrew’s first attempt to cross the Tasman Sea in a standard one-man kayak was aborted after two days due to trouble keeping warm inside the cockpit. Andrew’s second attempt began on 11 January 2007 and ended on 12 February when the search for his missing body was called off following the recovery of his partly flooded kayak on 10 February just 30 nautical miles short of his destination Milford Sound.

The sleeping arrangements at sea involved deploying a sea anchor, squeezing his body down into the kayak and sealing the hatch with a bulbous fibreglass capsule (dubbed “Casper”) fitted with an air-only ventilator which, with its self-righting capabilities, made it possible to ride out the most severe storm conditions that are inevitable in that part of the ocean. Unfortunately, when the capsule was pivoted to its stowing position behind the cockpit, it made it impossible to kayak roll due to being filled with water like a bucket. Therefore, whenever he capsized, he had to swim out of the kayak, push it upright and perform full self-rescue.

When his kayak was recovered, only this capsule was missing. It was presumed to have been torn off by a freak wave. One of its pivot arms had already been damaged. Veteran sailor Jonathan Borgais, who was directing the expedition by providing weather predictions, explained: “From the beginning, my biggest concern was the approach to New Zealand. And this part of New Zealand is notoriously dangerous. On a good day you can get rogue waves: a two or three metre set that can come out of nowhere. Not big, but powerful. That’s very dangerous. I have no doubt that a wave got him.”

The documentary of Andrew’s journey Solo: Lost at sea incorporated video footage recovered from one surviving memory stick in his camera as well as interviews with people on his team during the expedition. It begins with the distress call he made on 9 February.

Four hours east of the shipwreck carnival float in the last post is The Shipwreck Museum in Rock-a-Nore Road, Hastings. I’ve yet to visit, but it’s apparently situated in the midst of a shoreline ‘maritime park’ where you can check out the exposed ribs of 17th and 18th century shipwrecks, a 138 million year-old fish fossil, and artifacts galore during this year’s 25-anniversary celebrations.

Want to take a more active role? Well, the museum is looking for volunteers who “will be matched with tasks depending on their skills and the time that they are able to give, whether it be chatting to visitors, making use of IT skills, or helping to update displays. Those interested can drop in to the museum, call 01424 437452, or email info@shipwreck-heritage.org.uk.”

There are a lot of shipwreck museums around the world. I’d like to make a comprehensive list of them. Here’s a start–help me make it definitive!

United States

Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum

Key West Shipwreck Museum

Nantucket Shipwreck and Lifesaving Museum

New Jersey Shipwreck Museum

Discoversea Shipwreck Museum [Delaware]

Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum [North Carolina]

Thunder Bay National Marine Sanctuary [Michigan]

International

Bredasdorp Shipwreck Museum [South Africa]

Charlestown Shipwreck and Heritage Centre [England]

The Western Australian Museum–Shipwreck Galleries

I’ve been enjoying the sights, sounds, and throws of a New Orleans Mardi Gras for over a week. Fat Tuesday looms. I’ve seen pirates throwing spears, ships pulled by tractors and beads by the ton. But still no shipwreck! I’ve got another five or six parades to go, so I’m holding out. Thankfully, I found this fantastic shipwreck float from across the pond. I’m hoping the New Orleans folks will pick up on the idea next year.

Rum running and Mardi Gras–the two things that are going to occupy my weekend (and fellowship essays, but that’s not as fun). Mardi Gras speaks for itself. As for rum running–CBC TV’s Land and Sea is premiering “Rum Running,” a new half-hour documentary, this Sunday at high noon.

According to the film’s press release:

Rum Running… reveals how law abiding citizens of Atlantic Canada were lured into the alcohol smuggling trade. The film depicts the high stakes role that Nova Scotia and the French Islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon played during the era. Every month rum runners from the Maritimes, would deliver up to 300,000 cases of alcohol–rum whisky, wine, and other liquors–from St. Pierre to America’s notorious ‘Rum Row’ off the US northeast coast. This thriving trade injected much needed money into dozens of Maritime communities during tough economic times and made many individuals rich…

Remnants from the rum running era are still visible today in the names of restaurants, hotels, and streets in towns like Lunenburg. Houses built with money from rum running still stand in testament to the overnight fortunes that were made. Even expressions uttered by rum runners, like “the Real McCoy” in reference to pure liquor, are still used today.”

Sounds like a fitting complement to all you Boardwalk Empire devotees! In any case, Land and Sea is a fantastic series that produces great documentaries [see this earlier post]. ”Rum Running” looks to be a great addition to the series.

You can find the film’s facebook page here. Following the broadcast, the documentary can be watched on the CBC TV website at: www.cbc.ca/landandsea.