The Harrowing Tales of Great Lake Shipwrecks

Everyone knows, or knows of, the Edmund Fitzgerald. Or more likely, the song. However, it’s likely less known that this was not the greatest shipwreck in the history of the great lakes. In fact, it does not even make the top 10. 

“We’re not going to talk about these popular stories tonight,” said Anna Lardinois. 

The Milwaukee Historical Society hosted an online event called Tales of the Great Lakes Shipwrecks on April 1. This was the latest installment of the digital discussion series connected to MHS’s Milwaukee: Where the Waters Meet, said MHS Programming and Marketing Fellow John Harry. He then introduced Anna Lardinois, the host of the event. 

“She’s Milwaukee’s favorite haunted tour guide,” said Harry. “And is ready for a busy season of scaring people.” 

Anna Lardinois is a historian and author who has published multiple books concerning Milwaukee’s urban legends. Throughout the event, Lardinois told the stories of four of the most tragic and mysterious shipwrecks to take place on the great lakes. 

Western Reserve (1890-1892) 

On an August day, back in 1892, the Western Reserve was about to depart on her final voyage on Lake Superior. She carried a millionaire by the name of Peter Minch. She also supported his wife, Anna. His 10-year-old son and six-year-old daughter. Anna’s sister and nine-year-old niece. And 21 crew members. 

The first two days had been beautiful as they traveled through Cleveland via Lake Erie, and the passengers had no reason to fear. After all, the ship had been a record-breaker regarding speed and was thought to be indestructible. However, the weather took a sharp turn as a rare August gale reared and leered its head.  

The captain on board chose to stick closer to the shore to avoid the brunt of the weather, but Minch, assured of the ship’s durability, urged him to go out into the open water. 

The gale worsened to the point that tremendous waves punished the ship. 

“Hour after hour of being battered by the waves,” said Lardinois. “At 9:00 (at night) everyone heard a tremendous crash. The ship was being split it two.” 

Indeed, the steel ship was being cracked mercilessly open like an egg. 

With two lifeboats available, the family and crew divided themselves so the family and some of the key members of the crew were in a wooden one, while the rest of the crew piled into one made from steel. 

Once they were in the water, it took ten minutes for the Western Reserve to disappear into Superior. 

After watching the sinking, a wave came and capsized the steel lifeboat, and when the family and remaining crewmembers came to help, only two heads were visible amongst the foamy waves. 

The pulled the two survivors-the wheelsman and the captain’s son-from the water, and onto the lifeboat. Once they had them onboard, they came to a realization. 

“They had two oars,” said Lardinois. “One bucket, and were sixty miles from shore in a stout storm.” 

The men took turns rowing and bailing out water with their hats and the single bucket. 

Imagine, scooping freezing water out of a low-riding, overcrowded boat as you cling to your children and the rain and wind pelts you without relent or mercy. Consider the misery, consider the exhaustion. 

Hope struck them as they saw the red lights of a freighter. With no flare to reveal their location, they resort to screaming for help, hoping their voices will carry through the storm. They even attempt to light one of the women’s shawls, but it is too soaked through to so much as smoke. 

The freighter soon leaves. 

Now aware that they are truly alone, they continue the miserable process of bailing and rowing. Bailing and rowing. Bailing and rowing. All throughout the night. 

At dawn, once again hope greets them as they finally see the shore. Only a mile away. 

Then a wave strikes, capsizing the wooden boat. 

Only one emerges. A 24-year-old man. 

The wheelsman. 

It took him two hours to swim that last mile. Even when he finally reached the shore, he didn’t get to rest. The closest rescue center was ten miles away. 

He walked and crawled those last ten miles, and arrived at the station covered in mud, sand, blood, and likely tears. 

Waubuno (1865-1879) 

The steamer Waubuno was in charge of getting to all the ports in the Perry Sound area of the Georgia Bay. She carried everything from livestock, to whiskey, to people. 

On the last delivery of the 1879 season, the boat had been docked at Collingwood, Ontario for days due to the rough November weather. 

In town, Kate, the newlywed of a doctor, sat with her husband at breakfast, and told him she didn’t think they should board the Waubuno. 

She told him she’d had a dream, and the dream revealed to her that she and her husband would not survive if the went on the ship. Instead, she believes they should collect their luggage and continue to their destination of McKellar Village, where her husband’s new practice awaits. 

The captain overhears, and attempts to console her by stating he would never set sail if it was dangerous, so she had nothing to fear, according to Lardinois. 

Later that night, there was a brief break in the gales, and the captain sent a crewmember out to alert the passengers that the ship was departing. Some came, some stayed. A wheelsman even quit the season early, opting to stay in town. 

However, the captain was eager to complete his last run, so he set sail into the lake. 

About 18 miles out, a lighthouse spotted the boat, and recalled that it was holding its own against the weather. However, when it didn’t arrive at its destination, it was assumed that the boat had turned around, according to Lardinois. 

They didn’t find the ship. They found an overturned lifeboat and several lifebelts. 

“I imagine an opportunity,” said Lardinois. “For many women to remind their husbands that there is wisdom in listening to their wives.” 

SS Phoenix (1845-1847) 

In 1847, the SS Phoenix was one Lake Michigan’s first propeller powered steamboats. It was filled with goods and people who had just come from New York, where they had recently immigrated to. 

After enduring gale upon gale for ten days, and the captain being injured and bedridden due to the weather, the ship stopped in Manitowoc on November 20 for rest. 

Afterwards, the passengers and crew resumed their journey until they were outside of Sheboygan. 

At around three in the morning, the passengers sensed something wrong. The attempted to enter the engine room, but the crew would not let them in. Eventually, there was no denying it, though. 

The ship was on fire. 

It is unclear what exactly took place, but there is the possibility that the crew had gotten drunk and had neglected to tend to the ship’s boiler. Causing it to overheat and eventually start a fire, according to Lardinois. 

The fire ate away at the ship like flash paper, and people panicked as they tried to evacuate. There were several issues here. 

Despite there being a population of 300 people, there were only two lifeboats. Two lifeboats with a 20-person-capacity. And not many onboard even spoke English like the crew. 

Back then, it was actually illegal to not have enough lifeboats to accommodate the people on board. However, it was often overlooked. 

The lifeboats were filled and deposited into the water, leaving about 250 passengers stranded. 

With nowhere to go, people began to run from the fire. They climbed the masts and the sails and hung from chains strewn across them. However, everywhere they went the fire followed. 

Eventually, people started to throw pieces of furniture out onto the water, praying that something would float. 

They would then leap into the impossibly cold Michigan waters, trying to land on top of dressers and chests. Those who missed their mark often did not resurface. 

One woman on top of a settee fainted from fear, and slid off into the waters. A young man froze to the ladder he clung to. Two little girls held each other’s hand and simply walked off the boat, according to Lardinois. 

In Sheboygan, the fire could be felt even inside of homes, and people were waking up to the sight of a boat that had practically burned itself all the way to the water. 

Folks rushed out on their boats in an attempt to come to their aid, but only found three survivors. 

A phoenix was consumed in flames that day, and no chick rose amongst the ashes. 

Ironsides (1864-1873) 

The Ironsides was a beautiful ship that spent much of its time in Milwaukee.  

“On the bottom she’s all cargo,” said Lardinois. “On the top she’s all luxury.” 

It had working hot water, mahogany, amenities that some passengers didn’t even have in their homes. Below deck, however, was a different story. 

The boat leaked and needed major repairs, or it would soon sink, however despite the crew’s concerns, the owners insisted it would be fine. The replaced single planks, painted over leaks, and paid the crew extra to continue running the ship. 

One day in 1873, Henry Valentine decided to send his wife, Nettie, and son, little Henry, on a pleasure trip across Lake Michigan. 

Little Henry was nothing short of a darling little child, according to Lardinois. He is remembered as wearing a sailor suit, and having blonde hair and innocent, bright blue eyes. He was loved by the crew and passengers alike. 

During the night, as little Henry and Nettie sleep together in one of the beds in their room, a sudden storm struck. 

Leaks sprung all over the place in a massive snowball effect of procrastination and cheap paint, and evacuation is soon under way. 

There are enough lifeboats and lifejackets, but the boats are very light and many of them capsize. 

Only two make it to shore. 

Nettie and little Henry are not among the passengers. 

Their bodies are later found, and returned to Henry Valentine in a small pine box. 

Lardinois’ books will be available at Boswell Books in July, and a recording of the event is available on YouTube.