Page 22. MAINE COASTAL NEWS July 2012


Maritime History By Amos Boyd


Winter at sea during the days of sail was always a time of hardship, but January of 1857 was the coldest ever known, the mercury registered -39 degrees along the southern coast of Maine. The cold and suffering was intensified by northeast gales which extended southward as far as the coast of Carolina.


Many Washington County vessels returning from Central America and the West Indies were caught in the unexpected onslaught of terrible cold and high winds. There was no shelter or relief for men as they struggled with stiff almost frozen sails and icy rigging, or tried to keep their footing on slippery decks that pitched and swung under their feet.


The 216-ton brig WILLIE was built in 1854 in the Machias shipyard of E. Pearson Jr. and was valued at $7000. The WILLIE was returning from Gonaive with logwood and mahogany for the Boston market when she encountered the heavy wind and intense cold. Although the brig had been well and solidly built by master carpenter John Shaw,


The Brig WILLIE Founders at Sea


she was heavy laden, and soon began to wallow in the deep troughs of the sea. Captain Stewart of Machiasport was an experienced seaman, with a crew of hard- handed competent Downeasters and his wife and family onboard. The brig had been well maintained during the three years since her launching and was a strong vessel, but little could be done when she was struck and boarded by a heavy sea. Two masts and one of the crew went crashing overboard in a tangle of rigging and splintered wood, along with the bulwarks and everything else from the deck. Captain Stewart’s little five year old son, the petted darling of everyone onboard, was badly injured by the flying wood splinters and debris.


The brig became unmanageable, with her decks continually swept by mountainous seas. Escape from the brig was impossible, the small boats on the deck, designed for that purpose, had been washed overboard, and were completely destroyed within minutes. The only hope for the survivors was to climb into the icy rigging out of reach of the surging waters, and the


suffering boy was carried, along with his mother, to safety high above the deck. The rigging pitched and swung in the wind, climbing was not easy, their clothes were wet, half frozen and heavy, dragging them downward.


The darkness of the following night seemed to last forever to those clinging desperately to the rigging, and the weakest dropped silently into the dark water. Morning brought no rescue. The winds grew stronger, driving the wet snow to sting and burn exposed skin. Later that morning the captain’s small son died quietly as he swung in the rigging close to his parents. The weaker of the survivors remained tied in the rigging while the others did what they could to help. There was no food except a few peas, and no drinking water to ease their thirst, except for melting sleet and snow. The survivors existed, constantly wet and half frozen, for seven long days and nights that were a horror of cold, screaming wind, snow, sleet and drenching rain.


On the eighth day, the brig WILLIE was sighted by men of the brig DARIEN of


Warren, Maine. The seas were still running high and many vessels would have gone on their way without attempting a rescue, but Captain Starrett and his crew were a hardy lot, determined to save the pitiful survivors. After a great deal of thinking, careful planning, confusion and hard work, the weakened and suffering survivors were as gently as possible, moved from the wreck of the WILLIE to safety aboard the DARIEN. Then they were treated with the utmost kindness by the officers and crew and were landed at the nearest port where they were cared for until they were well enough to travel.


Captain Stewart and his wife and their surviving crew took months to completely recover from their injuries and suffering, though the loss of the Stewart’s little son could never be forgotten. When summer came, Captain Stewart was offered command of a fine new brig, taking on many of his old crew back to their life at sea, the only life they new. Mrs. Stewart, however, vowed never to put foot on a moving deck again.


Seventies Memories: Building Our First Model “Stop over this evening when you get a chance, I’ve got something to show you.”


By Lee S. Wilbur


This was the phone call I’d been waiting for. Ralph Ellis. Sometime in late 1978 my partner in Lee S. Wilbur and Co., wife Heidi, ex Lamberty, and I had come to the realization that if we were going to expand the company and enjoy a more solid future we would need to build our own models. I had zero knowledge of hull design, having fallen into boatbuilding because I needed a job, nothing quite so romantic or historical as inheriting from one’s family who’d been building boats since the “Mayflower” or another of its brethren dropped their human cargo in Plymouth. The few Wilburs landing about that time were smart and became woodsmen. I, on the other hand, new on the scene only knew what I thought looked good from the waterline up


After talking the idea over with Ralph, who quite handily lived a stone’s throw away where he had a shop with Raymond Bunker, we decided to build a 38' model. We wanted to build a larger boat with wider beam. Up until that time, Bunker and Ellis had


been working with mostly gas engines, by design lighter and less power than the new diesels which were beginning to show up in the marine field. With that in mind, Ralph quietly began whittling away on a block of clear pine in his basement. I could hardly sleep nights. Excited was a mild understatement. About that time, Heidi and I took the family back to see her folks in Austria for a short vacation. What I remember most about that trip was a good bit of my time being spent writing up specifications, material lists and initial advertising which was probably okay. “Oma and Opa” were having a great time with their grandchildren, Ingrid and Derek. Evening hadn’t but gotten a start when I slipped across the brook, up by Velora’s raspberry patch and down the cellar stairs. Ralph was waiting, doing a little sanding, smile on his face. He held it up. I was having just a bit of a problem holding back, not wanting to appear too excited, trying to be somewhat reserved, perhaps trying to bely I understood more than I knew about what he


was holding in his hand. Perhaps I was too young, or again, a romantic at heart. This was an experience few individuals are given in a lifetime. Here was a man who had come to this country from Nova Scotia. Very little formal education. Worked at fishing, then as a skipper for “summer folks”. Winters he’d taken up the boatbuilding trade and now had translated this knowledge, his experience, into a beautifully carved half model of the hull we were going to build.


We spent a good part of the evening together as he explained what he’d done and why. Ralph, as I came to realize several years later, possessed great respect for a following sea. And, rightfully so, remembering where he hailed from. Where the next spit of land to the east was England and there was nothing but North Atlantic Ocean in between. Where the ‘Novi” boats with their high bluff bows and slender shallow sterns were built to take the nasty weather going against it and schoonering before it coming back to port. I could readily see what he was trying to accomplish. A safe, heavy weather hull, one


JOHN TOFT'S TALE Continued from Page 21.


The wheelsman, it soon developed, at some unknown time after the course had been set , feeling the effects of a dash to a waterfront dive at Portland, had fallen asleep standing, propped up against the big wheel. And with every turn of the big, right-hand propeller the heading of the steamer was


nudged slightly to starboard. Ingalls had no idea where they now were, only that the big steamer was plowing through the black night headed roughly for West Africa. Below, hundreds of passengers, and also crewmembers, slept, trusting in his competence.


Very happily, of course, the steamer had fallen off to starboard, and not to port and


certain disaster. She was in no immediate danger, yet Ingalls faced a vexing dilemma. Heading back to the westward was clearly no solution, and would likely result in a wreck. After but a moment he realized that the most sensible plan of action was to do absolutely nothing, and to just let events take their course, no pun intended. When, in good time, the steamer had completed her great circle and had returned once again to her proper course, Ingalls proceeded slowly and very, very carefully. All in all, it had been a very long and trying morning.


If you are over on Beals Island this boat shop, used by Ernest Libby Jr., has disappeared.


And that’s the tale that John Toft told me on Brown’s Wharf more than thirty years ago, sixty-odd years after Lowell Ingalls had faced his dilemma. Obviously Toft, as a professional problem-solver for most of his life, thought it too good a story to let disappear, and handed it off to me. I now pass it along. No doubt any minister worth his pulpit could build a wonderful sermon around this tale, concluding with the stern admonition that one should never drink and then drive; with the assurance that patience is a virtue; and with the promise that what goes around, comes around.


that I could use to build not only commercial craft, but small yachts as well, a hull that we could give an owner plenty of room, even to the point of two staterooms. I could install more horse power, perhaps, “god forbid”, two engines.


From that evening, some time to “sleep on it” and a few more get togethers in the cellar, the model was soon completed. Ralph had hardened up the chines a bit, taken some of the fullness out of the bow and flattened the run a “scosh”. Her original bow looked much like a Bunker and Ellis design. That gorgeous flair, that sweet line as the stern sweeps up just a few inches, giving her the look of a young prancing filly kicking her heels with free spirited delight. It was beautiful.


In the meantime, with six years in the business of completing boats to float on the water, we had migrated our legal, banking, and accounting needs to Bangor. In a morning, with an early start, we could see all three and be back at work by noon. On just that sort of morning, I’d sat down in an office with all three, Pete Dane, our lawyer, Leo Loiselle our accountant, and Scott Johnson, Vice-President Merrill Bank. I laid out our plan, explained how much money we’d need, who would be responsible for each phase, what I thought the market would be, and how we planned to advertise. In less than an hour, there was agreement all around. This was a time when individuals carried a good deal of responsibility and integrity was translated by a handshake. Each had agreed to their part and the fledgling “Wilbur 38” could move forward. Heidi and I had agreed we would not say anything to other than a few of the key people in the crew as to what we were planning, bringing them in only as the project began to take shape.


As the design and details followed their course, we had also been thinking seriously who would be willing to take on the building of the moulds and subsequent parts. So happened at the Norwalk Boat Show that fall, Eric White and Wes Hauck had stopped by the boat we had on display and introduced themselves. They had set up a company in Rockland, North End Marine, to manufacture moulds and lay up fiberglass parts. They were looking for work and their credentials looked good. We were on our way.... To be continued.


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