Free Coffin Ship by William Henry

lifeboat, my brothers all for the beach, I noticed she drifted in rapidly, and if her anchors could not hold her she would inevitably soon be on the rocks where the waves were fast forcing her with horrible vengeance, no human power could stay those waves, their aim was destruction, and how forcibly it was carried into execution was soon declared to my horror-stricken vision. In about an hour after her masts were cut away nothing was visible, in a moment she had gone to atoms and the sea had washed over the fragments, freighted with human beings. Soon, portions of the brig could be seen making for the shore now towering up mountains high and then sinking into the depths of hell. Whether there were human beings on board the wreck the thickness of the storm prevented me from determining then.
    Soon the multitudes with which the beach was thronged began to wave their hats and halloo, and I understood afterwards that when they observed people on the wreck, it was a motion for a whale boat to come alongside which paid no heed to the demand, which was one of the many inhuman actions of the day, which displayed such perfect indifference to human suffering, such unaccountable hardness of heart that thinks of nothing but self ease and protection. The waving of hats led me to infer there were human beings on board the wreck. I forthwith began to put things in readiness, heat rooms and blankets, make beds, as ours is the nearest house the sufferers would all be brought in for relief. [3]
    The passengers aboard the longboat rowed with all their might against the stormy sea, almost capsizing several times. Over an hour later they reached the safety of the beach, where anxious locals swarmed around them and wrapped them in blankets. They were then given shelter at a summer boarding house near Sandy Cove, which was run by the Lothrop and Whittington families. The house had already been prepared for the survivors and contained a plentiful supply of clean sheets, blankets, etc.
    A handful of passengers who had managed to hold onto the floating debris of the St. John were washed ashore some time later. Their hands had to be pried away from the planks of timber that had saved their lives. One man found himself carried towards the rocks on board a piece of wreckage that he refused to part with. A rescuer had to jump onto the small piece of debris, fasten a rope around the man and pull him to safety. Upon reaching the beach the man’s face was described as being a ‘deep purple’, induced by a combination of terror and cold. His mouth gaped open and his ‘fixed teeth, and deathly eyes, formed a sight long to be remembered’.
    The iron-tight grasp with which the survivors had clung to the wreckage was transferred to the clothing of their rescuers. Even after reaching the shelter and safety of the boarding house many of them found it difficult to let go.
    Two of the women who made it ashore were Honora (Mary) Burke and Honora Cullen. Both women had lost their children. One can only imagine the horror and anguish they must have experienced when they realised their children were lost to them forever. It is likely that they also felt a measure of guilt at having survived when their children had not been so lucky. Their heartbroken moans could be heard by the other survivors all through the day and the night that followed.
    Doctor Foster from the village of Cohasset tended to the survivors and did his utmost to ensure their comfort. One survivor, referred to only as Mrs Quinlan, and who was not recorded on the passenger list of the St. John , was taken to the Cohasset almshouse, along with Honora (Mary) Burke, for more intensive medical treatment. Honora (Mary) Burke, who was pregnant at the time, later recovered, but it is not known whether her baby survived.
    Elizabeth Lothrop was at the shelter to offer her support when the survivors arrived and she later recorded the following entry in her diary:
    I had enough to do, with an