This Month in Maritime History

Our Island is Honored to Welcome the USS NANTUCKET (LCS 27)

The U.S. Navy will commission the future USS Nantucket (LCS 27), a Freedom-variant littoral combat ship, on November 16, 2024, at the Charlestown Navy Yard in Boston.

According to the Navy, the ship's name honors "the rich heritage of the people of Nantucket and the maritime legacy that the island represents." At Charlestown, the sponsor of LCS 27, Polly Spencer, will follow Naval tradition and give the order during the ceremony to "man our ship and bring her to life!" That will be when the long, narrow commissioning pennant will be hoisted, and she becomes a proud ship of the fleet. The pennant identifies her as a U.S. Navy ship and will remain aloft until stricken.

After the ceremony, the USS Nantucket will sail from Boston to its homeport at the Naval Station Mayport in Jacksonville, Florida. Her captain will be Commander Kari Yakubisin, who, along with several crew members, honored the Shipwreck & Lifesaving Museum last year with a visit and tour.

As reported elsewhere, this is the fourth U.S. Navy ship to carry the name USS Nantucket, some for brief periods. The new namesake is a small combat ship, and in some ways, she reminds me of one of the ships I was on when I was in the U.S. Navy—a long time ago! Built at the height of World War II, the USS Edmonds' DE 406 mission had similarities to the new vessel in that both served a role in anti-submarine warfare. However, in the 1940s, ships went from concept to battle-ready in months, not years.

The keel date for the Nantucket was September 10, 2017, and her commission date will be November 16, 2024. That is a five-year and one-month wait for the ship to go to battle stations. On the other hand, Edmonds' keel date of November 1, 1943, was only five months and two days before commissioning on April 4, 1944. Is there a lesson for the Navy here?

TRAGEDY IN STORMY SEAS – Part Two

By Charles J Allard, Museum Director

Although newspaper accounts of the sinking of the Constance assumed that Russell Palmer’s Saturday morning appearance on Dionis Beach was the first report of the missing thirty-eight-foot cabin cruiser, it was not. Russell’s father, Carl, had reported to the Coast Guard at Woods Hole that the vessel was missing at 9:00 PM on September 9th. That report triggered messages to Cross Rip Light Vessel and Brant Point Lifeboat Station shortly after 9:00 PM. Brant Point confirmed that the boat departed Nantucket a little after 4:00 PM. A check of harbors and anchorages failed to disclose her presence. The Nantucket station posted a beach lookout. By 10:55 PM, Woods Hole notified Search and Rescue in Boston that the boat was missing, and by 11:15 PM, USCG Patrol Boat 83388 was dispatched to search from Falmouth to Nantucket and off Cape Pogue but found no trace of the Constance or possible survivors. At 2:00 AM, she put into Bridgetown but was underway again at 5:00 AM, finally mooring at Nantucket at 9:00 AM. Woods Hole further expanded the search by requesting an air search by Salem Air Base at 1:00 AM on the 10th. A Coast Guard plane took off at 7:03 AM and began progressively eastward, searching the harbors, coast, and area off Cape Pogue. The USCGC Legare (WSC-144) was in the area on another mission when ordered to join the search. At 7:30 AM, she was searching the Muskeget Channel. Early Saturday at 7:00 AM, Brant Point launched an amphibious craft to search the waters west of the island. At about 9:00 AM, Russell Palmer phoned Station Brand Point from Dionis and reported the foundering of the Constance and ten persons in the water off Dionis Beach.

Around dawn on Saturday, civilian planes, including one with Carl Palmer aboard, had joined the search but reported negative results back to Falmouth at 8:30. The same report came from two US Navy helicopters. At about the same time, Brant Point launched a motor lifeboat to search off Dionis Beach. CG 83388, now manned by two of the four men earlier in the amphibious craft, received word of Russell Palmer’s landing, and his report at 9:30 also headed for the area of Dionis Beach. As luck would have it, from one of the civilian planes, Carl Palmer was the first to spot the small circle of survivors.

With the discovery of survivors, the Coast Guard motor boat was quickly at the scene, where they found only two alive in the roped circle: Alfred Allenby and his finance, Jane Mange. They struggled to get Miss Mange aboard in the choppy seas, but she had stopped breathing by the time they had her aboard. Allenby, a former lifeguard, tried to resuscitate her but collapsed from exhaustion, unable to do so. Alfred was the only survivor among the ten who so carefully abandoned the Constance the night before. Afterward, in an interview at his bedside at the Cottage Hospital, Allenby attributed his survival to stamina acquired while a lifeguard.

The tragic night in the waters of the Nantucket Sound took the lives of the Rev. Hubert Allenby (52), a Congregationalist clergyman; his wife, Mable Marie (49); his son, Leighton (20); his daughter, Millicent Nairn (22) her husband, Robert Nairn (25); Alfred’s finance, Jane Mange (19); Emily Foster (21); John Hadley; and Patricia Dickinson (18). In addition to Alfred, two Allenby sons who were not on the cruise were left. One, eighteen-year-old Gilbert (18), was with the Air Force in Germany, and Norman (15) was in boarding school in Massachusetts.

A few weeks ago, on the anniversary of the sinking of the Constance, Norman, who went on to become a lawyer, and his wife Robin visited the Shipwreck & Lifesaving Museum. He is working on a project to tell the story of the sinking and its aftermath from the perspective of the youngest son of a family that endured much pain.

The U. S. Coast Guard Marine Board of Investigation had nothing but praise for the search and rescue operations and found that the owner of the boat, Carl Palmer, had acted appropriately. As to the boat operator, Russell C. Palmer, the Board considered his actions “to be at worst errors in judgment in a situation that might tax the ability of the most accomplished of seamen and do not include the basic elements of negligence.” The Board further stated that circumstances justify no disciplinary action.

As the response by the US Coast Guard, US Navy, and civilians exemplifies the courage, persistence, and traditions of those this Museum honors, the writer included the fine details of the search and rescue.

Tragedy in Stormy Seas

TRAGEDY IN STORMY SEAS – Part One

By Charles J Allard, Museum Director

Friday, September 9, 1949, was a typical end of summer day on the Cape and Islands. The Reverend Hubert Allenby+ and his wife Mabel of Falmouth were pleased that their family and several young friends were going to join them on a boat trip to Nantucket for a day of cycling, picnicking, and sightseeing on Nantucket Island. The Reverend’s friend, Carl Palmer, was happy to let the group of ten use his 38-foot cabin cruiser, Constance. His son, Robert, who at 23 was about the same age as most of the group, would operate the boat.

It is less than fifty miles between Falmouth and Nantucket, so the trip over was uneventful, and the day on the island was over too soon. The group, tired and ready to return home, boarded the Constance and left Nantucket Harbor a little after four. The weather was fair, but there were threats of rain squalls. There seemed nothing to worry about. Robert Palmer was a WW II Navy veteran and left at the end of the war as a Quartermaster 2nd class, meaning he was familiar with observing weather, knew something about ocean navigation, and during general quarters (ready for active battle) he would have acted as the ship’s helmsman because of his skill and experience.

When they had been under way for around forty-five minutes, the skies darkened, and the sea became rough with heavy waves. Off the port bow, Palmer spotted a small sailboat with a bare mast that appeared to be in trouble. He turned his craft to port to come to the aid of the small vessel when a huge wave enveloped his bow and filled the cockpit with water. The bow foundered and the twin screws came out of the water as the now heavy bow signaled danger to all aboard. His starboard engine, one of two 100 HP Mercury motors sputtered and stopped with its ignition flooded. Palmer's attention was now on his own boat, and he quickly turned to Leighten Allenby, to take the helm as he had to attend to the silent engine.

Unable to get the engine going, it became clear to Palmer that they had to abandon ship. The group was calm, and he passed out life preserves, two to each passenger, linked them together with a mooring line, and they all descended into the water. They formed a circle and held on to the trailing anchor line to stay near the still floating craft. Palmer was concerned that the short mooring line was not enough to keep the group together, so he left the circle and swam back to the boat to retrieve additional line. While he was on the fragile boat, the group lost the anchor line and were swept away from the boat. Palmer tried to keep them in sight, but the dark night was too much. They became separated and the young boat captain was on his own. By now, the boat was breaking up, and he was able to stay afloat by hanging on to a piece of the cabin,

During the night, the current and waves had taken him within fifty yards of the Cross Rip Lightship, but no one heard his yells for help. By dawn he could see the Nantucket beach which was about two miles distant. Holding a piece of his flotsam in front, he kicked and swam his way to shore at about 8:30 AM and struggled to reach a nearby house.

In the meantime, the circle of ten survivors floated helplessly in the dark. They tried to keep spirits up by talking, singing, and telling jokes, anything to keep them from falling asleep and drowning. Sadly, Hubert Allenby, 52, succumbed to the cold, passed out, and died around seven in the evening of September 9th. The next to die was his twenty-year-old son, Leighton. By early the morning of the 10th, only four of ten survivors were still alive. As each person passed away the group cut them loose from the circle hoping that their bodies might help rescuers find them.

END OF PART ONE

An Incident While Blue Fishing Off Tuckernuck By Marcus W Dunham (1858-1942) Edited by Charles J Allard

This story was originally recounted by Marcus Dunham in 1938 and appeared again in a local publication in the late 1960s. Dunham was one of the heroes of the Gale of 1879, became a surfman, and was a lifelong angler of note. Here, he calmly tells a story of lifesaving—his own.

Some years ago, while in the fishing business on Tuckernuck, I was setting bluefish nets off the island's south side about a half mile from the beach. On a particular day, it was windy, blowing hard from the south, with every appearance of a coming storm. I went to the beach, hauled my dory into the water, and rowed off to my nets to take out what fish were caught and prove that my nets were clear. As I looked shoreward that morning, I saw the south beach was a smother of white, so I decided to beach my dory down near the opening. After doing this, I returned home.

It was foggy and nasty in the morning, and I saw that I was in for a tough time. I went to the shore, launched my boat, and prepared to row along the beach where the nets were set. As I rowed along, I saw a big sea running, breakers everywhere, as rugged as the Devil. I had to watch out every minute.

I had gone most of the way to the nets and was not keeping as close a watch as I should when I heard a roar, and away came a roller of water right at me, all white. I pulled one oar as hard as possible, but it was not enough. I could not get her head up, and the sea caught me on the bow.

I know no one ever had a faster sleigh ride than I had for about half a minute, and then, over, I went with the dory on top of me. Under the dory, everything was calm, but I had to get out. I dove down under her and came out on the other side. When I came to the surface, my boat was about 15 to 20 feet away, and I had all my clothes on, long rubber boots, an oil coat, etc. What a mess I was in!

I tried to get on my boat once as she was anchored bottom up, but she went right through the sea, so I gave that up. Then I tried to take my boots off and finally got one off, but I went down twice while doing it and swallowed some water, so I gave that up, too. I then attempted to swim with all my clothes on. It was slow work even though the swell was with me. I had a long quarter mile to go.

I gained slowly. My son, Robert, was on the shore watching me. I finally worked my way quite close to the beach and got on top of a giant roller, which carried me well up toward the beach. Robert waded down, grabbed me, and pulled me ashore.

After a while, I struggled to the wagon, and then I was just as weak as a rat.

To Learn More about Marcus Dunham and his Legacy of Valor, click here.

Does Character Matter?

For several months, we have explored island responses to the many sailing ship-era shipwrecks near Nantucket. Virtually all these disasters happened during one of New England’s infamous Nor’easters or other seasonal storms. Even the US Lifesaving Service (USLSS) on Nantucket took the summer off. They only worked from September 1 until the end of April. We, too, can pause now and reflect on why Nantucketers successfully rescued mariners facing the dangers of the sea.

The constant in all the rescue events we explored was the willingness, no more than that, the courageous impulse of volunteers and professionals that went forth in the face of exceptional risk to themselves. This year’s reinterpretation at the Shipwreck & Lifesaving Museum of the history of lifesaving on our island takes a hard look at the reasons for the success of the USLSS.

Visitors will find new displays and explanations of the selection, training, and heroic work of our island’s surfmen, the catchall term for those who served in the USLSS. The recruits had to be fit, have maritime experience, and be willing to adhere to a strict regime of disciplined rescue procedures. These requirements, along with daily drills to hone their skills with well-maintained equipment, meant all the difference between life and death for survivors. Each surfman had to know not only his job but also that of his five mates. If a Surman ever faltered, another crew member would quickly step into his spot and carry on.

So, we accept that all the surfmen were well-trained, worked with good equipment, and knew what had to be done, but is that all it takes to be a hero? Of course not, and here is where we come to the defining qualities that make the difference. Character matters, and the new presentations in the Boathouse focus beautifully on why persistence, endurance, competence, and gallantry were shared and employed on every treacherous recuse faced by lifesavers.

Your visit to the Museum now includes a rich selection of artifacts and equipment used by Nantucketers that brings to life the challenges embodied in the stories of self-sacrifice and service on behalf of others—actions from yesterday, lessons for today.

Ahoy to May

The end of April and the arrival of Daffodil Weekend is a sign that summer is almost here in Nantucket. We have less than a month to prepare for the influx of seasonal visitors. At the Shipwreck & Lifesaving Museum, we have been working hard for many months to make exciting changes to our exhibits and public spaces.

As our readers know, we have always emphasized the incredible bravery of volunteer and professional lifesavers. We are proud to be the first museum in America dedicated to their honor. This year, we are reinterpreting the beloved Boathouse to showcase tales and historical artifacts highlighting the endurance, persistence, competence, and gallantry of these brave souls who risked everything to save mariners from the treacherous sea. Surfmen saved lives because they were always ready.

May is also a reminder that while we praise the lifesavers, we often fail to acknowledge the uncertainty and complexity of life for the men who worked for the U.S. Lifesaving Service. Most of them knew hardship as experienced mariners, former whalemen, fishermen, or had been in trades related to the sea.

As surfmen, they worked for the U.S. government but were only hired for the season from September through April. They had to reapply annually. During the winter months, they lived at the lifesaving stations, but come May, they had to move out - a situation that is still familiar to many Nantucketers today. The Keeper and his family lived year-round at the station.

From 1886, the service required uniforms, but surfmen had to purchase them through payroll deductions. If a service member died in the line of duty, his survivors received the equivalent of two years' salary. Disability payments only lasted two years. All of this was in an era that taught us much about fishing nets but little about safety nets. Nonetheless, in periods of prosperity and economic difficulty, the Lifesaving Service on Nantucket had many willing recruits. Even a glance at photographs of uniformed surfmen lined up outside their stations reveals their strong sense of pride in who they were.

Semper Paratus.

Women in Maritime History

This month's post is a little different than previous months. Instead of just one story, we thought we would bring a story from each staff member. For Women's History Month, we asked each staff member to share their favorite female in Maritime history. It was fun to learn about different historical figures. We hope you enjoy reading along>>>

It used to be said about March weather, “In like a lion, out like a lamb.”

The expression did not hold in 1879. In the loss of lives and property, the Great Gale of 1879 was the Nantucket’s most costly weather event. During the storm, at least 68 ships ran aground on the shoals surrounding the island, and countless sailors lost their lives in the stubborn freezing storms that began on a Monday morning, the last day of March.

Many heroes, both volunteers and professional lifesavers, risked their lives in a flurry of gallantry and self-sacrifice. And none were more honored than Captain Thomas F. Sandsbury (1838-1903) and his Massachusetts Humane Society volunteer crew.

At the break of day, Sandsbury’s crew hauled a dory six miles to Eel Point to row out towards the floundering Emma G Edwards, where only two mariners survived the night. The others had either frozen or drowned in the raging sea.

After rowing the eleven miles back to Nantucket with bodies and the survivors, they wasted no time. They set out again, spending 32 hours recovering stranded sailors or the remains of many who had succumbed to the harsh conditions. At the capsized J. W. Hall, only a single young German sailor tied to the rigging was left alive, but crew member George Coffin dived into the water, cut him loose, and got him safely into the surfboat.

All received the Mass Humane Society’s highest award, silver medals and $25, but additionally, Sandsbury received a gold medal from the U.S. Congress for extraordinary courage and leadership. In 1891, he was appointed the Keeper of the new US Lifesaving Service Station at Great Neck (Madaket).

Endurance, Heroics, & Recognition: A Nantucket Story in Two Parts Part Two: Heroics and Recognition

At the end of Part One, we saw the crew of the Mary Anna barely clinging to life, and in the case of the steward, he said his goodbyes to his shipmates. But let us continue the story....

The ship was up on the Inner Bar and on its beam ends. All day Sunday, the gale-force winds continued. Nantucketers watched helplessly as the steamer Island Home became lodged in the ice, where she lay until Tuesday, and volunteers gallantly tried in vain to get to the crew's assistance but found it impossible. The level of anxiety for the crew's fate was island-wide, and it was the only topic of conversation all day.

Around ten at night, the volunteers became convinced that the condition of the ice and calmer seas enabled them to affect a successful rescue using dories when possible and planks when necessary to cross the ice while hauling their boats behind them. Eight volunteers in two underwriters' boats left from Cliff Shore to row and crawl the two miles to the stranded ship. They understood the condition of the crew and had with them dry clothing, blankets, and enough whiskey to warm the hoped-for survivors.

The night was clear and cold, and two and a half hours later, the rescuers were alongside the vessel. They found all five men still alive, including the steward, who revived at the prospect of being saved. They returned via the same passage as the way out, arriving at three in the morning. All were lodged at Adams House (7 Fair Street), and medical care was provided for the three crewmen whose feet had severe frostbite). The rescuing party and their families endured five hours of suffering and worry, but their bravery and willingness to risk all for the sake of others was done without thought of reward.

The volunteers may not have thought of a reward, but the Nantucket townspeople raised $180 for their sacrifice. However, the story of their incredible rescue became known far beyond our shores. The Massachusetts Humane Society gave each volunteer silver medals and $10; the Suffolk Club of Boston presented $120 to the group; and Rowland. H. Macy, a Nantucketer who had tried whaling and finally turned a struggling dry goods business into a profitable New York City enterprise, sent what was described as "a liberal sum of money, to be divided among the party of young men."

And what of the Mary Anna? The wrecked ship's hull was auctioned "as she lies" to A. M. Myrick for $23. Before the sale, about 150 tons of coal were saved, and the remnant of almost 50 tons was sold "where it lies, in the vessel" for $12. The landed coal sold at auction at an average of about seven dollars a ton.

And who were these willing volunteers? You may find an ancestor or relative among them. Or you may have stories of their lives to share with the Museum and others. They were heroes:

William E. BATES

Henry C. COFFIN

Alexander FANNING

Joseph P. GARDNER

Isaac HAMBLEN

James A. HOLMES

Stephen W. KEYES

George A. VEEDER

Image Caption: Mass Humane Society Silver medal awarded to James A. Holmes for his part in the Mary Anna rescue, February 5, 1871.

Endurance, Heroics, & Recognition: A Nantucket Story in Two Parts

Endurance, Heroics, & Recognition: A Nantucket Story in Two Parts

Part One: Endurance

At 3 AM on Thursday, February 2, 1871, the Schooner Mary Anna sailed out of Holmes Hole (now Vineyard Haven). The weather was clear with wind at S. W. By eight that night, she was off the Highlands of Cape Cod still loaded with coal, but a falling barometer told Captain Lennan that a Nor'Wester was closing in.

A gale was in the offing and Capt. Lennan and his crew of 4 experienced sailors were called upon to use all their skill and stamina to save the vessel and their lives. At 11 PM, battling N. W. winds and heavy seas, they anchored under Chatham at 4 AM on Friday and remained there for 24 hours. A heavy storm from N. W. dragged them about 100 yards when the captain let go the second anchor. Still, by 11 AM on Saturday, when the big chain parted and they hove up the small anchor, the ship was about a mile from land. The crew struggled to two-reef the mainsail, foresail, and jib to hold up in smooth water between Monomoy and Chatham. Still, the ship was "icing up very badly." The strains on the frozen rigging were such that at 3 PM, the foresail burst at the cringle. The winds then moderated, and they ran for Holmes Hole, the nearest harbor, but as they passed Shovelful Light Ship, the winds increased to a fierce gale. The ship became unmanageable, its sails useless, and burdened by the accumulating ice; the captain cut the halyards. There was no way to make a harbor, and Captain Lennan decided to strand her as a last chance to save his crew.

Exhausted by the cold and their labors, the absence of a boat, and everything else either washed overboard or frozen in place with ice 2 to 3 feet thick, encouraged the captain to head towards Brant Point as the place most likely to be near help. All evening, the sea breached over the vessel, forcing the crew to seek safety in the rigging, a choice that caused even more pain and suffering.

The crew could climb down to the deck on Sunday morning, but they were without food or drink, and only at night did they find a small cylindrical stove that gave more hope than warmth. It is hard to imagine the suffering that fell upon these men with frozen feet and hands.

All day Sunday, from the ship, they could see the Island Home's fruitless attempts to come to their rescue and the thwarted efforts of the men on shore to get across the ice. Captain Lennan said, "At dark on Sunday night, I had made up my mind that our friends on shore would give up any further trials until morning, giving the ice time to strengthen. I knew that all of us could not live until daylight." At 9 PM, the steward with badly frozen feet was ready to give up and said his goodbyes to his shipmates.

Part Two will be released next week.

Nantucket Hospitality? - January

She left Glasgow for New York with cargo and 20 passengers on December 31st. Still, at noon on Wednesday, January 21st, 1857, the steamer City of New York was off course, low on coal, and anchored half a mile from Nantucket's 'Sconset shore. Captain Robert Craig and his crew had no way of knowing they were stranded off Nantucket during its worst winter on record and in the middle of a 31-day harbor freeze-up. There was no communication with America or the world. Hence, Captain Craig hurried to town to try to procure coal. With the aid of Captain Thomas A. Gardner, ship agent, and coal dealer, arrangements were made to transport the coal to the 'Sconset beach and, by small boat, load it on the steamer.

The harbor had been frozen solid for two weeks, and for the next few days, the island was hit with rain, snow, temperatures as low as -10 °, and damaging gale-force winds. It was not until January 28th that some 200 men began shoveling snow, which stood in drifts up to thirty feet high along the 8-mile route to 'Sconset. The coal was loaded on carts and had to be bagged before loading onto small boats for transport to the ship. Some 115 tons of coal were moved over seven cold, difficult days and nights. The steamer New York left ‘Sconset waters on the afternoon of February 3rd and arrived in New York City 22 hours later.

Since Nantucketers think of such service and accommodation (hospitality) as routine, on the morning of departure, Captain Gardner presented his $7,000 bill for 115 tons of coal, road clearing, and transport to Captain Craig, only to be met with exclaims of incredulity, salty language, and a firm refusal to pay such an outrageous sum. Now, Nantucketers are also used to this response.

Gardner had to disembark empty-handed. His pleas to the New York-based ship's agent brought no response, and several months later, Gardner traveled to New York City, where he successfully sued the ship's owners for full recovery. Good service deserves a reward.

December - The Wreck of the Schooner Lucy Jones

Schooner Lucy Jones first wrecked on Nantucket Shoals on December 22, 1887.

Hoping to see the long overdue Lucy Jones on a cold December morning in 1887, C. C. Crosby walked out of his Whale Street coal, grain, and feed warehouse into the growing storm. Heavily laden with a shipment of badly needed coal, he knew the schooner had stopped overnight at Vineyard Haven to take on a pilot to get the ship safely through the treacherous Nantucket shoals.

That afternoon, word came from the watchtower that a ship in severe distress was seen hard up on the bar near the entrance to the harbor. Nantucketers quickly gathered on Straight Wharf while onboard the Lucy Jones; the 5-man crew risked freezing as they climbed into the rigging to avoid the waves washing over the stranded ship's decks. The men were in desperate circumstances. Despite the increasing gale force winds, there were more volunteers anxious to help than needed, and 16 men who knew rescue was the first task were soon in the insurance underwriters' boat, pulling oars on the way to try and save the crew.

Over the next few days, wreckers offloaded enough coal to enable Captain Duncan and his crew to kedge the ship off the bar and bring her alongside the Wharf. This action was a welcome outcome, as the crew, cargo, and the uninsured vessel were all saved.

To read the whole story and learn more about the rescuers : Click Here.

Plus! Don't hesitate to contact us if you find a family member on the list and have photos or stories you'd like to share.