Pescadero Memories

NO HOPE FOR THE COLOMBIA,

Each Swell Churns the Vessel on Jagged Rocks.

BORNE IN TOWARD THE SHORE.

Water Fills the Forward Hold to a Level With the Hatchways.

CAPTAIN CLARK BLAMED FOR

THE DISASTER.

Kept the Vessel Moving at Thirteen

Knots an Hour in the Fog.

PESCADERO, Cal., July 15.— The Pacific Mail steamship Colombia is thumping the life out of herself and her master is walking her trembling deck trying to explain why he ran his ship thirteen knots an hour in a fog almost as dense as milk. But whatever reason Captain Clark may give for plunging ahead at high speed through a vapor-hidden sea, the Colombia wallows heavily on the rocks a few hundred yards to the southward of Pigeon Point. The reef is gnawing great holes in her good steel hulk, and to and fro down in the forehold the waves rise and fall. She struck first on the port bow and the jagged rocks rent her cruelly there; then the wounded craft, pushed ahead by a 13-knot force, went farther on to the sharp points, and the ground swell, with its lifting and sinking, is completing her undoing. Every time she lets down on the cluster of rocks the shattered plates in her bottom bend and break. She groans as she rolls in ber bed and the grinding of the reef that is destroying her resounds weird and uncanny through her compartments. This was a beautiful, calm, sunny day and the doomed Colombia appeared to

rest safely on a quiet sea. She went ashore at low water and her fore hold, with fifteen to eighteen feet of water in it, holds her bow down on the rocks when the rising tide elevates her stern. Still the bow lifts somewhat on the swell — just enough to let the forward part of the steamer’s hull pound the plates out of her, and the strokes can be heard ashore through the quiet air. When the Colombia struck she was headed northward, directly for San Francisco. Captain Clark was hurrying. He had been speeding up the coast from Acapulco, his last port, and was trying to make a record with the new Pacific Mail steamer that came out to take the lost Colima’s place. He was already two days ahead of time and was still doing well, so he was hugging the points of land and no seagrass was growing under his keel — hence the thirteen knots an hour in a dense fog. Within 200 yards of a field of hay, cut and in stacks, lies this courser of the seas, now helpless on the shore. Spectators from all the country around dotted the shore to-day and watched her roll and grind. Some brought their lunch-baskets and made a picnic of a disaster. The Colombia pitches but little, as her bow is hard on the rocks, but every time a swell strikes her she comes down aft with a force that momentarily threatens not only to stave her in but to break her in two. Sometimes she rolls over at an angle of 45 degrees, and comes back onto the rocks with a force and suddenness that threatens to snap her spars. That was a danger momentarily threatened this forenoon. Captain Clark stood on the starboard side of the forward deck this morning when she turned over further than usual and came back with a thud and a crash.

“That’s a hard one,” he said curtly, “and they’re getting bigger. She won’t last long if they get much worse.”

The Colombia lies in a little bay, with the Pigeon Point lighthouse high above her on a point about a quarter of a mile to the north. When there is a blow outside the waves house-high chase each other into this bay. If a storm should come up outside the Colombia would be tossed up and down on the rocks so that there would not be enough left of her in twelve aours for use as scrapiron. This is what the ship’s officers are afraid of. Even if the weather continues calm, which it is likely to do at this ume of year, the officers

do not believe the Colombia can be saved. They try to put a cheerful face on the situation, but it is an effort to do so. When asked separately by a Call representative whether it would be possible to save the vessel three of the ship’s officers said “I do not think so.” Another said, laconically, “You tell us how.” When asked this morning how he felt Captain Clark replied, “Well, I’m still on deck,” and then the captain caught hold of a rope to steady himself as the ship lurched toward the land.

Every swell that strikes the Colombia works her further in shore, inch by inch and foot by foot. By this time to-morrow, if the present rate of progress keeps up, it will be possible to pitch hay down on to her decks from the fields above. To such ignoble possibility may a noble ship come in her great helplessness.

Up to noon to-day there was water in only one compartment forward. There is no water aft, though the rocks are expected almost with each roll to punch a hole into her and let in the sea. The fires under her boilers were out this morning. The reason for this was stated by one of the engineers to be to save coal. Most of the ship’s coal is in the forward compartment, and the bulkhead next to it is full of rolling water and floating and pitching cargo. It could be plainly seen through the open hatch. During a half-hour this morning the water in this compartment raised two feet, until it was flush with the deck, and broken boxes and packages of merchandise were almost thrown over the sides of the hatch as back and forth she rocked.

Captain Clark said this afternoon if the weather was favorable he intended to drop his anchors and try to work the Colombia’s stern around so that she would float with only her prow on the sand and rocks. The tug Vigilant is lying about a half mile out to sea for this purpose or any other service she may be able to render the stranded ship. The tug Reliance lay out to sea all forenoon, but left at 12 o’clock for San Francisco with Mrs. Strand, the stewardess of the Colombia, several attaches of the ship and other passengers. Mrs. Strand waved a sad farewell to her shipmates as she left for the tug in one of the ship’s boats. Captain Metcalf, an underwriter’s agent, took charge of the stranded steamer. The Colombia’s crew, from the captain down, will remain with her until ordered to leave. All the boats are tied alongside, and during the night a big, white lifeboat from the life-saving station at Fort Point came down and dropped anchor between

the ship and the shore. This it could easily do, as the Colombia rolls in less than four fathoms of water. The figures on her bow show twenty-three feet, while her stern is comparatively high up. As the ship lies at present there is no danger to the lives of those aboard, but if a blow should come up and the swells run high the ship’s boats would be very necessary. Work aboard the Colombia to-day indicates her abandonment, as much, if not more, than it does anything else. She is being diligently lightered of her cargo, and everything aboard is being racked up, preparatory to removal, from lamp globes to the ship’s stores. The steward said it

might be necessary to remove them in a hurry, and they wanted to put them into shape. This is altogether probable. It will only take enough water to roll the ship over and leave her bottom-up in the breakers.

The steam schooners, Newsboy and Jewel, are lying by the Colombia. The Newsboy was busy hoisting tons of coffee by the sack out of the Colombia’s hold and dropping it into her own. The steam winch got no rest since early in the morning. The Jewel lies out a way, awaiting her turn. She will tie up alongside when the Newsboy is loaded. The latter will try and take all the coffee and the Jewel the remainder of the cargo, which is general merchandise and baggage. Most of the cargo will be taken out undamaged, as up. to this evening there was water in the compartment forward only. The fishermen and farmers in the vicinity of Pigeon Point may have had a famine for many years, as to Central American fruit, but they are having a feast now. The fisherman’s boat in which a Call representative was rowed out to the wreck from Lighthouse Point this morning was nearly half filled with Central American limes. The enterprising boatman had picked them up from the surf and from the water near the ship. They were a part of the Colombia’s burst cargo. Thousands of the yellow fruit floated in the sea. Captain Clark was rather uncommunicative

this morning on the subject of shipwrecks. He answered questions in monosyllables instead of sentences. The captain simply reiterated that he mistook the New Years Island fog whistle for the Pigeon Point fog whistle, and that is about all there is to it, and about all he had to say. When he heard the Pigeon Point whistle he believed it was the toot of another vessel and changed his course to starboard. Five minutes later the Colombia was crunching in among the rocks. If the rocks had not stopped her in another half minute she would have bad her nose buried in the sand of the beach. Third Officer Thompson, who was on watch on the bridge when the Colombia struck, told the best story of how it happened. ‘We had passed New Years Island light and thought it was Pigeon Point,” he said. “The captain was on the bridge with me. We were listening for the fog signals and did not hear any, after passing New Years, until we were about where we stand now. Then we heard two short whistles, close together, and thought it was another vessel. The captain commanded ‘Hard a-starboard!” and down went the wheel hard a-starboard. In about five minutes she struck. She went on easy, but we could hear her crunching on the rocks. The fog was so thick it could be scooped up with a shovel. I was on the bridge and I couldn’t see the bow of the ship. You can almost throw a line ashore now, but we could not see the shore. I saw breakers and shouted ‘Breakers ahead !’ but it was too late then.” “Do you think the ship can be saved?” “I fear not,” he replied. The vessel rocked and rolled and pounded against the bottom while this conversation took place. Third Officer Thompson had to use his best sea legs to keep on his feet. “Isn’t there danger of her snapping a spar?” was asked. “That’s what I’m looking out for,” replied Ship’s Surgeon Arberry. “That Pigeon Point whistle ought to be changed,” resumed Third Officer Thompson. “It sounds too much like a steamer. It was very low and the instant we heard it we went to starboard to get out of the way. The whistles ought to be longer or shorter or more of them.” Captain James Marner is the keeper of the Pigeon Point light station. He has been there eight years. Captain Marner is a typical lighthouse-keeper. He has the breeze of the sea in his jovial air. In regard to the criticism of his fog signals, he said : “The fog signals are fixed by the Government. My duty is to see that they are carried out and the whistles blown. I blew my whistles from 11 :35 o’clock on the night of the 13th to 12:25 o’clock on the afternoon of the 14th, when the fog lifted. I heard the ship go on the rocks. The noise could be heard plainly up here. I thought at first she was the Madrona, but when the fog raised I saw a big black ship. My signal is a whistle of four seconds’ duration, an interval of seven seconds, another blast of four seconds and then an interval of forty-five seconds and then repeat. That of the New Years  Island light is a blast of ten seconds’ duration, an interval of fifty seconds and repeat. ‘Now, the captain of the Colombia has nobody but himself to blame,” continued Captain Marner. “He has his charts, maps and books to tell him where he is, and I do not see how he came to get in so close. His books would have told him which was the Pigeon Point light. But I cannot talk much. Captain Clark will be examined in the City, and I will be subpenaed.” J. C. Williamson, a merchant of Pescadero, says the Colombia is the fifth vessel to go ashore in the six miles between Pigeon Point and New Years Island. The ship Sir John Franklin was the first to go ashore. This was in 1868, and seventeen lives were lost. A tornbstone on the island marks the disaster. The bark Carrier was wrecked on that treacherous shore in 1869. She was coal-laden, and twenty-one lives were lost. In 1857 the ship Courier was wrecked on the point. The ship Hellespont was wrecked in 1870, in almost the same spot as the Colombia. At 10 o’clock to-night the Colombia was lying somewhat easier. She did not pound so hard, and that change in her condition, if it is permanent, may prove her salvation in the event that there is no rough weather. She seems to have slipped around into an easier berth on the sand, but she still rolls badly. This afternoon at low tide the steam-schooners were extremely cautious in approaching her and lying alongside. The swell was heavier, and the waterlogged Colombia reeled fearfully. The Newsboy anchored as far away as she could without interrupting the work of lightening. Her sides were protected by bales of hay to prevent the Colombia from crushing’ them in. Frequently the steamship on her backward reel would strike the schooner a hard blow, but the hay prevented damage, though the concussion several times knocked the men off their feet. The work of lightening continued tonight, small boats carrying the cargo from tbe ship to the schooners which were anchored a considerable distance away. About all the coffee is unloaded, but there  are tons and tons of New York merchandise yet to come out. Underwriters’ Agent Metcalfe says that further salvage of the cargo will necessitate the use of two scow schooners, and he will send to San Francisco for them. The plan and the hope of the underwriters and of Captain Clark is to take out all of the cargo as speedily as possible, then pull the Colombia off the rocks and tow her to San Francisco. This is considered possible if she is not stove in more and water does not get in any compartment other than the one forward. The Colombia to-night lay in the inky blackness of the little bay, a spectacle of light. Her donkey-engine was running, and the electric light plant was in full blast. The lights twinkled in the darkness as she rolled first over toward the land and then back toward the open sea. Hundreds of feet above the lighthouse stood, flashing a warning of the Colombia’s fate to the other vessels, which could be seen with their red, green and white lights, passing safely by on the sea’s highway.