The coastland times. [volume] (Mnateo [i.e. Manteo], N.C.) 1947-1959, 1954-02-19
Tragedy.

Nineteenth century. AS ISAo'eo
TO the writer by an eye witness
during this dramatic and sad
event.
The Steamboat "Home" found
cred on Ocracoke Island, NC,
Oct, 9th, 1887, with a loss of 100
lives.
The Battery in New York City
was crowded on that Saturday
afternoon Oct. z, 1887. People
from all walks of life had come
to see this, the queen of the
Seas, the last word in maritime
transportation, depart with her
human cargo of one hundred and
thirty souls, forty-three of which
were members of the crew. Sir
ems screeched, whistles blew,
bells rang amid the rustic and
hustle of hoop-skirts and horse
drawn cabs. A few were laugh
ing, others were crying, some had
left their homes and farms from
far away 18th Street. They came
by horseback, by carriage, and
some had walked through the
muddy streets from the suburbs
of Greenwich village, while hogs
ran across their path be-spatter-
ing miladys costume with the
filth and vermin of the gutter.
It was a great day. The cream
of New York's and Charlestown's
society were sailing on the
Steamboat Home.
The passenger list read like a
page torn from the ''Blue Book"
The Rev. George Cowles of
New York's fashionable Central
Church, who had held discourse
which will be long remembered,
says the New York Observer"
for its Impressive and Solemn
Character" He was one of the
passengers as also vas his beau
tiful wife. When last observed,
says Mr.. Hussey, an eyewitness
and a survivor, they, Mr.. Cowles
and his wife were reclining side
by side on a piece of baggage and
a kind Providence permitted a
survivor to repeat as the last
words which fell from the lips Of
Mr.. Cowles, Gle who trusts in
Jesus is safe, even amid the per-
lis of the sea-"
While friends and relatives
were saying good bye amid
laughter, kisses, and tears, Cap
tain White, a besotted, incompe-
tent wretch left drinking party
from the passengers quarters
and staggered on deck, to give
the command to "Cast Off" He
was a big, burly, weather beaten
man, rough in manner, sloppy in
appearance, with two fiery eyes
surrounded by lids that looked
as though they had been made
from strips of red flannel. His
name was known in every bar
room from the Bowery to Borneo,
from Cristobal to Calcutta. He
was so hard on his crew, and
thought so little of them, that he
didn't even bother to record
their names with the customs
officials, with the result that
they went to their watery graves
without their friends or families
knowing their cruel fate. Even
the Chief Engineers name was
unknown. The only member of
the crew who was personally
known to him was the chief
officer, a Mr.. Mathews.
care you ready, Mathews" he
beloved in a stentorian voice,
and Mr.. Mathews, (who had just
inished supervising the loading
of the last stick of slab wood,
which was used for firing the
boilers,) replied, "Aye, Aye, Sir
At that the gang plank was
yanked aboard and Captain
White yelled, ''Let her co." and
turned toward the bridge.
While the crowds on the
wharf sang, prayed, waved hand
kerchiefs, and shouted God
speed" and 'Bon Voyage" while
whistles blew and every ship in
the harbor dipped colors as a
parting salute, the mighty side
paddles began to turn and the
Steamboat Home pointed her
noble prov towards the Narrows
and cole Debbil Sea-" Thus be-
gan one of the most heart-rend-
ing, horrible, disasters in the
annals of the sea.
When I was a small boy, I used
to sit at night and listen to the
older people tell of the ship
wrecks along the coast of North
Carolina, especially around Cape
Hatteras and Ocracoke Island,
where I was born. God help the
sailors on a night like this" was
and is, to this day a household
saying, in this section of the
country.
Old Arcadia Williams, who has
been dead these many years, is
responsible for the tale I am
~I1..4 A-tA~IJ W. I'LL Ill -