Svartskog

Svartskog, 1921. 

The Norwegian bark Svartskog vanished in or near the Bermuda Triangle in the first three months of 1921. (Winer, Devil's Triangle, p. 79.) Gaddis misspells the name Svartskag. (Gaddis, Invisible Horizons, p. 140.) However, Svartskog is a village in Norway, so that would appear to be the correct spelling. 

The winter of 1920–21 was one of the worst on record in the North Atlantic. Winds at times reached hurricane force. There were two particularly furious storms that lasted three days each, from February 6, 1921, and from February 15, 1921. 

A number of ships made port only after sustaining serious damage, so it is reasonable to expect other, less lucky ones to have sunken. (The mystics of course always turn this argument on its head and ask why not all ships survive a storm if some did. Surely, it must have been the Martians…) 

Winer describes how hurricane-force winds from the Arctic would coat superstructures with ice until ships became so top-heavy they were capsized by the towering waves, with lifeboats and rafts frozen to them so they could not be launched or float free and any survivors in the water freezing to death in mere minutes. (Winer, Devil's Triangle, pp. 79.) 

The Svartskog was one of a number of ships claimed by the Bermuda Triangle in late 1920 and early 1921. The record number of vanishing ships aroused suspicions that Russian reds were hijacking ships and sailing them to soviet ports. When government investigators realized how severe the storms had been, investigations ceased. 

While most or all of those ships were probably really storm victims, it is of course not impossible that some ships were hijacked by communists. A correspondent of The Washington Post saw several ships with their names painted out in Vladivostok. (Group, p. 36.) However, I tend to think those may very well have been Russian ships that had their tsarist names painted out, pending renaming with, uh, "good socialist/communist" names.

Finally, those ships not sunk by storms may be victims of insurance fraud.

"The commercial morality of the world seems to have been markedly lowered as a result of the war," said one underwriter today, when asked for an explanation of the situation. "The demand for bottoms after the armistice raised shipping to unprecedented values. Insurance valuations increased correspondingly. Then the slump came and values were lowered and owners faced tremendous losses, but insurance policies continued at an artificially high mark. What we term 'moral risk' naturally increased and sinkings began. That is our notion how it all came about." ("Suggests Storms Sank Lost Mystery Ships," The New York Times, June 24, 1921.)

Steinsund

Steinsund, 1921.

The Norwegian bark Steinsund vanished in or near the Bermuda Triangle in the first three months of 1921. (Winer, Devil's Triangle, p. 79.)

The winter of 1920–21 was one of the worst on record in the North Atlantic. Winds at times reached hurricane force. There were two particularly furious storms that lasted three days each, from February 6, 1921, and from February 15, 1921.

A number of ships made port only after sustaining serious damage, so it is reasonable to expect other, less lucky ones to have sunken. (The mystics of course always turn this argument on its head and ask why not all ships survive a storm if some did. Surely, it must have been the Martians…)

Winer describes how hurricane-force winds from the Arctic would coat superstructures with ice until ships became so top-heavy they were capsized by the towering waves, with lifeboats and rafts frozen to them so they could not be launched or float free and any survivors in the water freezing to death in mere minutes. (Winer, Devil's Triangle, pp. 79.)

The Steinsund was one of a number of ships claimed by the Bermuda Triangle in late 1920 and early 1921. The record number of vanishing ships aroused suspicions that Russian reds were hijacking ships and sailing them to soviet ports. When government investigators realized how severe the storms had been, investigations ceased.

While most or all of those ships were probably really storm victims, it is of course not impossible that some ships were hijacked by communists. A correspondent of The Washington Post saw several ships with their names painted out in Vladivostok. (Group, p. 36.) However, I tend to think those may very well have been Russian ships that had their tsarist names painted out, pending renaming with, uh, "good socialist/communist" names.

Finally, those ships not sunk by storms may be victims of insurance fraud.

"The commercial morality of the world seems to have been markedly lowered as a result of the war," said one underwriter today, when asked for an explanation of the situation. "The demand for bottoms after the armistice raised shipping to unprecedented values. Insurance valuations increased correspondingly. Then the slump came and values were lowered and owners faced tremendous losses, but insurance policies continued at an artificially high mark. What we term 'moral risk' naturally increased and sinkings began. That is our notion how it all came about." ("Suggests Storms Sank Lost Mystery Ships," The New York Times, June 24, 1921.)

Florino

Florino, 1921. 

The Norwegian bark Florino vanished in or near the Bermuda Triangle in the first three months of 1921. (Winer, Devil's Triangle, p. 79.) Given the same ship type and nationality and the similar names, she may be the same ship as the one that entered the triangular rolls under the name Flonine or Fionine. 

What's more, Gaddis mentions a ship by the name of Entine Florina as a Bermuda Triangle victim of the 1920–21 flap of vanishings, which sounds similar enough to Florino to likely be one and the same. (Gaddis, Invisible Horizons, p. 140.) Others even split that name into two ships. Thus, we cannot ignore the possible worst case scenario, however unlikely, that we're dealing with five distinct triangular victims: Fionine, Flonine, Florino, Florina, and Entine. At the other end of the complexity spectrum, they may all be spelling variations of the same ship. 

The winter of 1920–21 was one of the worst on record in the North Atlantic. Winds at times reached hurricane force. There were two particularly furious storms that lasted three days each, from February 6, 1921, and from February 15, 1921. 

A number of ships made port only after sustaining serious damage, so it is reasonable to expect other, less lucky ones to have sunken. (The mystics of course always turn this argument on its head and ask why not all ships survive a storm if some did. Surely, it must have been the Martians…) 

Winer describes how hurricane-force winds from the Arctic would coat superstructures with ice until ships became so top-heavy they were capsized by the towering waves, with lifeboats and rafts frozen to them so they could not be launched or float free and any survivors in the water freezing to death in mere minutes. (Winer, Devil's Triangle, pp. 79.) 

The Florino was one of a number of ships claimed by the Bermuda Triangle in late 1920 and early 1921. The record number of vanishing ships aroused suspicions that Russian reds were hijacking ships and sailing them to soviet ports. When government investigators realized how severe the storms had been, investigations ceased. 

While most or all of those ships were probably really storm victims, it is of course not impossible that some ships were hijacked by communists. A correspondent of The Washington Post saw several ships with their names painted out in Vladivostok. (Group, p. 36.) However, I tend to think those may very well have been Russian ships that had their tsarist names painted out, pending renaming with, uh, "good socialist/communist" names.

Finally, those ships not sunk by storms may be victims of insurance fraud.

"The commercial morality of the world seems to have been markedly lowered as a result of the war," said one underwriter today, when asked for an explanation of the situation. "The demand for bottoms after the armistice raised shipping to unprecedented values. Insurance valuations increased correspondingly. Then the slump came and values were lowered and owners faced tremendous losses, but insurance policies continued at an artificially high mark. What we term 'moral risk' naturally increased and sinkings began. That is our notion how it all came about." ("Suggests Storms Sank Lost Mystery Ships," The New York Times, June 24, 1921.)

Flonine

Flonine, November 25, 1920.

The Norwegian bark Flonine sailed from Hampton Roads on November 25, 1920, and vanished in or near the Bermuda Triangle. (Spencer, p. 108.) She was bound for Copenhagen. According to The New York Times, the name is spelled Fionine, which sounds more like a name than Flonine. ("Divided as to Theory about Missing Ships," The New York Times, June 22, 1921.)

I mean, Flonine sounds more like some competition for Drano. The Flow Seven and Flow Eight formulas failed, but Flow Nine gets the drain cleaned. Fionine is probably some diminutive of Fiona. Or her name was really Flonine, and the reporter changed it as he thought the same as I.

Given the same ship type and nationality and the similar names, she may be the same ship as the one that entered the triangular rolls under the name Florino.

The winter of 1920–21 was one of the worst on record in the North Atlantic. Winds at times reached hurricane force. There were two particularly furious storms that lasted three days each, from February 6, 1921, and from February 15, 1921.

A number of ships made port only after sustaining serious damage, so it is reasonable to expect other, less lucky ones to have sunken. (The mystics of course always turn this argument on its head and ask why not all ships survive a storm if some did. Surely, it must have been the Martians…)

Winer describes how hurricane-force winds from the Arctic would coat superstructures with ice until ships became so top-heavy they were capsized by the towering waves, with lifeboats and rafts frozen to them so they could not be launched or float free and any survivors in the water freezing to death in mere minutes. (Winer, Devil's Triangle, pp. 79.)

The Flonine was one of a number of ships claimed by the Bermuda Triangle in late 1920 and early 1921. The record number of vanishing ships aroused suspicions that Russian reds were hijacking ships and sailing them to soviet ports. When government investigators realized how severe the storms had been, investigations ceased.

While most or all of those ships were probably really storm victims, it is of course not impossible that some ships were hijacked by communists. A correspondent of The Washington Post saw several ships with their names painted out in Vladivostok. (Group, p. 36.) However, I tend to think those may very well have been Russian ships that had their tsarist names painted out, pending renaming with, uh, "good socialist/communist" names.

Finally, those ships not sunk by storms may be victims of insurance fraud.

"The commercial morality of the world seems to have been markedly lowered as a result of the war," said one underwriter today, when asked for an explanation of the situation. "The demand for bottoms after the armistice raised shipping to unprecedented values. Insurance valuations increased correspondingly. Then the slump came and values were lowered and owners faced tremendous losses, but insurance policies continued at an artificially high mark. What we term 'moral risk' naturally increased and sinkings began. That is our notion how it all came about." ("Suggests Storms Sank Lost Mystery Ships," The New York Times, June 24, 1921.)

Albyan

Albyan, October 1, 1920.

The Russian bark Albyan sailed from Norfolk on October 1, 1920, and vanished in or near the Bermuda Triangle. (Spencer, p. 108.) She was bound for Gothenberg (Gothenburg, Sweden?). ("More Ships Added to Mystery List," The New York Times, June 22, 1921.) Simpson calls her the Albyn and asserts that while she was claimed to be a free Russian ship that refused to recognize the soviet government, she was in fact a Finnish four-masted bark from Nystad, and indeed bound for Gothenburg, Sweden. (Simpson, p. 113.)

The winter of 1920–21 was one of the worst on record in the North Atlantic. (Winer, Devil's Triangle, p. 79.) From the weather maps: A southern storm passed over the Eastern Seaboard through October 1, the day the Albyan sailed. It looks like she sailed after the worst was over in Norfolk, but she may have found that it was worse than expected at sea. If she made it through the ass end of that one, Horta in the Azores reported a strong gale (force 9) on October 17.

The Albyan was one of a number of ships claimed by the Bermuda Triangle in late 1920 and early 1921. The record number of vanishing ships aroused suspicions that Russian reds were hijacking ships and sailing them to soviet ports. When government investigators realized how severe the storms had been, investigations ceased.

While most or all of those ships were probably really storm victims, it is of course not impossible that some ships were hijacked by communists. A correspondent of The Washington Post saw several ships with their names painted out in Vladivostok. (Group, p. 36.) However, I tend to think those may very well have been Russian ships that had their tsarist names painted out, pending renaming with, uh, "good socialist/communist" names. 

Finally, those ships not sunk by storms may be victims of insurance fraud.

"The commercial morality of the world seems to have been markedly lowered as a result of the war," said one underwriter today, when asked for an explanation of the situation. "The demand for bottoms after the armistice raised shipping to unprecedented values. Insurance valuations increased correspondingly. Then the slump came and values were lowered and owners faced tremendous losses, but insurance policies continued at an artificially high mark. What we term 'moral risk' naturally increased and sinkings began. That is our notion how it all came about." ("Suggests Storms Sank Lost Mystery Ships," The New York Times, June 24, 1921.)

William O'Brien

William O'Brien, April 18, 1920.

The William O'Brien was a 2,850-ton (sources disagree) steamer of the France and Canada Steamship Company that sailed from New York for Rotterdam on April 14, 1920. The next day she put back into New York. The captain reported he had had trouble with the crew.

She sailed again on April 16. Whether the unruly crew had been disciplined or replaced is not known. (Group, pp. 35.) Simpson reports the captain replaced the chief engineer. (Simpson, p. 120.)

On or about April 18, the steamer Baltic received a radio message from the O'Brien that the latter was 500 miles east of the Delaware River and required assistance. (Spencer, p. 107.) She had been hit by raging storms and lost a hatch cover. The message or the manner it was sent aroused suspicion that it had been altered. (Group, p. 35.) When the rescuers got there, the O'Brien was gone.

Spencer claims she was a wooden-hulled ship, although new. (Spencer, p. 107.) Even if she had not lost a hatch cover, wooden hulls and steam engines do not mix in oceangoing vessels. Given the vibrations and stresses, she may easily have sprung a leak without further provocation if she had a wooden hull.

It doesn't look like she really was a wooden ship, though: She was a modern steel-hulled oil burner launched in 1915 at New York Shipbuilding. That's probably a misunderstanding due to the fact that she was at a time intended as a lumber carrier (though at the time of her sinking she was carrying coal). Somebody apparently mistook a ship built for carrying lumber for one built out of lumber.

While we're at it, here's the full article I just linked.

NEW YORK, April 19. — The steamer William O'Brien, which reported yesterday she was in distress 500 miles east of Philadelphia, is taking water rapidly, according to a radio message received here today. The message was relayed by the liner Baltic, which left here Saturday for Liverpool, but there was nothing to indicate the Baltic was nearby. 

The O'Brien, operated by the France and Canadian Steamship corporation, is an oil burner of 3,143 tons and carries a crew of 40. She left here last Thursday with 6,500 tons of coal for Rotterdam. ("Ocean Liner Is Sinking," The Miami News, April 19, 1920.)

Either way, three months later, the mother of a crewman got a postcard from France, allegedly in her son's handwriting, that said he had been on a ship with Edsel Ford. When it was found that Ford had been in Detroit at that time, the matter was judged a hoax. (Spencer, p. 107.)

During the Carroll A. Deering investigation, the NYPD claimed they had uncovered a plot by the United Russian Workers of the United States and Canada to ship out on steamers, mutiny, and sail them to soviet ports. (Kusche, Bermuda Triangle Mystery, p. 70.)

By itself, this case is not mysterious. The O'Brien probably really lost a hatch cover and was swamped in a storm. That tended to happen back when hatch covers were from wood and canvas.

What makes it interesting is the claims about the trouble with the crew, the "altered" radio message, communists, and the postcard, which lend themselves well to conspiracy theories. Yet that's what it is — only claims.

For now, the facts look like this:

LONDON, April 27. The White Star liner Baltic has arrived at Liverpool. She reported that in mid-Atlantic during a gale she received a wireless summons from the steamer William O'Brien, reporting that the hatch covers had gone, and that she was making water rapidly. The Baltic immediately steamed to her assistance, but the wireless messages became undecipherable, except for the word "sinking," repeated several times. Other vessels also searched the spot, but found no trace of the vessel or her crew. ("An Ocean Tragedy," The Mercury (Hobart, Tasmania), May 1, 1920.)

Not one hatch was gone, but the plural. The O'Brien was making water rapidly. And she radioed she was sinking.

Once I find an article on what was supposed to be fishy about that message, I'll post it here. Stay tuned. 

Doris

Doris, August 8, 1915.

The "382-ton schooner Doris, last seen in the Gulf of Mexico on August 8, 1915," allegedly vanished in the Bermuda Triangle. (Quasar, pp. 56.)

HAVANA, Aug. 14. — Weather conditions are still so bad that many steamers do not dare to leave port. The steamship Miami, carrying U.S. mail, and several other steamers have been compelled to return to port. The American steamer Calamares, which sailed, despite the warning of the Captain of the port, who refused to give her clearance, sent a wireless message late this afternoon that she was breasting the storm successfully. ("Storm Holds Ships at Havana," The New York Times, August 15, 1915.)

In my line of business, we call that the 1915 Galveston Hurricane.

Annie Hendry

Annie Hendry, December 16, 1911.

The "cargo schooner Annie Hendry, which left Turks Island in cargo of salt on December 16, 1911," allegedly vanished in the Bermuda Triangle. (Quasar, p. 57.)

WASHINGTON, Dec. 11. — An advisory storm warning was issued by the Weather Bureau at 11 AM to-day, denoting the approach of a severe disturbance in the vicinity of Turks Island, one of the Leeward Islands, about 700 miles from Miami. The direction and movement of the storm had not been definitely determined, but caution was advised to those vessels heading toward Southern Florida. ("Warning Out for a Coast Storm," The New York Times, December 12, 1911.)

NEW ORLEANS, La., Dec. 20. — Damage far exceeding the original estimate has been done by the storm, which last night swept the Gulf Coast east of here, extending far inland at places.

…

At Pensacola, Fla., three ships went ashore, and a steamer rammed another. Serious washouts and damage to minor shipping are reported from Gulfport, Miss.; Mobile, and the West Florida coast.

…

("Gulf Storm Brings Ruin," The New York Times, December 21, 1911.)

Arkadia

Arkadia, October 1910.

The "steamer Arkadia, of over 2,200 tons, which left Louisiana in October 1910," allegedly vanished in the Bermuda Triangle. (Quasar, p. 57.)

A new name was added yesterday to the list kept at the Maritime Exchange of vessels lost at sea. It was the name of the steamer Arkadia of the New York and Porto Rico Navigation Company. On the list the Arkadia is posted simply as "missing," but "missing" on the Maritime Exchange list reads "lost" to every seaman who scans the record, for the entry of the steamer's name means that all hope for her has been abandoned.

Richard D. Wrigley, acting manager of the steamship company, conceded as much in the company's offices at 12 Broadway yesterday. He fears that the steamer was lost in the hurricane which swept the Gulf and the Atlantic off the Southern coast last October.

"The Arkadia was stanch, and on our lists we had no more capable skipper than Capt. Richard F. Griffiths, but I am certain now that the hurricane proved too much even for his skill," said he. "The only hope for those on board is that the steamer may have gone down far out of her course and yet within reach of some sailing vessel. Had she foundered anywhere in her course it seems as though we must have got some word of the accident through other steamers. If a sailing vessel rescued her crew and passengers, however, it may be that they now are being carried to some out-of-the-way port, and in such an event it might be weeks still before we could get word from them. The chance is remote, however, and one on which we, at home here, have ceased to count."

The Arkadia carried four passengers, and forward and aft she had a crew of thirty-seven men. All forty-one have been lost, so the company officers here believe.

…

"SS Arkadia, New Orleans, Oct. 11, for San Juan, missing," is the way the notice at the Maritime Exchange reads, for it was from New Orleans that the Arkadia set out, and it was to San Juan that she was bound. She sailed on Oct. 11, and since that day not a word has been heard of her.

It was bright and cloudless, so the Weather Bureau records show, when she sailed out of the Mississippi River from New Orleans on what should have been a short cruise. Her holds were packed with a cargo of flour, rice, and other food products. From her decks her crew and passengers waved to friends ashore as the steamer drew away from New Orleans, and pointed down into the Gulf, and then the Arkadia dropped out of sight.

After Oct. 11 not a single vessel spoke the Porto Rican liner. A day before that the hurricane which swept away many ships had begun to blow over the Gulf, but its force was not even suspected when the Arkadia sailed. Off shore, however, shipping men here think now, the Arkadia probably encountered its full force, and after a time went down before it, perhaps within a few hours, perhaps not until the steamer had been blown miles out of her course and out of the course of any other vessel.

For five days the storm continued, and when it finally died down it had cost scores of lives and caused thousands of dollars of damage to shipping. From every Southern seaport came reports daily from Oct. 10 to 15 of damaged vessels creeping into port, many of them with news of some less fortunate craft that had foundered. One of these, her owners now believe, must have been the Arkadia.

But Capt. Griffiths had passed through more than one hurricane, his wife declared yesterday, and that is why she refuses to believe that he met death in the October storm.

…

The Arkadia was a steel steamer, schooner rigged, of 1,636 tons. Her length was 280 feet, her beam 41.1 feet, and her depth 21 feet. She was built in Stockton, England, in 1895, by Craig Taylor & Co., and was considered able to outlive the strongest seas and winds. ("Steamer Missing with 41 Aboard," The New York Times, December 10, 1910.)

Again, Quasar "forgot" to tell us about the hurricane. It's called the 1910 Cuba Hurricane or the Cyclone of the Five Days.

"James Bond. You appear with the tedious inevitability of an unloved season."

— Hugo Drax

"Curses! Foiled again!"

— Snidely Whiplash

Anna R. Bishop

Anna R. Bishop, December 25, 1909.

The schooner Anna R. Bishop was lost (vanished?) east of Jacksonville, Florida, with a company of seven. (Berlitz, Without a Trace, p. 22.)

The Hamburg-American liner Amerika arrived yesterday from Hamburg and Channel ports bringing a record number of passengers. …

An old derelict is again reported by Capt. Knuth. On July 31, in latitude 48 degrees 46 minutes, longitude 22 degrees 4 minutes, he sighted the abandoned American schooner Anna R. Bishop. She was lying very low in the water, with only the stump of a mast standing.

The Anna R. Bishop, from Jacksonville to Elizabeth, NJ, was first reported abandoned on Feb. 28. She was then about 240 miles northeast of Bermuda. She was about 700 miles due east [sic, obviously, west] of the French coast when the Amerika sighted her on Sunday. She had drifted since her crew left her 600 miles to the north and 1,500 miles to the east. She has been sighted several times by passing craft, always moving north and east, a constant menace to navigation. ("Amerika Sights Derelict," The New York Times, August 7, 1910.)

The Martha S. Bement, the Maggie S. Hart, the Auburn, and the Anna R. Bishop — the great Charles Berlitz Jacksonville Christmas schooner bash of 1909. Four more for the Bermuda Triangle.

Well, either the Martians/Atlanteans were swarming, or there was a storm. Looks like Berlitz happened upon four schooners that sailed straight into the Christmas Day Blizzard of 1909.

Auburn

Auburn, December 23, 1909.

The schooner Auburn was lost (vanished?) east of Jacksonville, Florida, with a company of nine. (Berlitz, Without a Trace, p. 22.)

The Martha S. Bement, the Maggie S. Hart, the Auburn, and the Anna R. Bishop — the great Charles Berlitz Jacksonville Christmas schooner bash of 1909. Four more for the Bermuda Triangle.

Well, either the Martians/Atlanteans were swarming, or there was a storm. Looks like Berlitz happened upon four schooners that sailed straight into the Christmas Day Blizzard of 1909.

Maggie S. Hart

Maggie S. Hart, December 18, 1909.

The schooner Maggie S. Hart was lost (vanished?) east of Jacksonville, Florida, with a company of eight. (Berlitz, Without a Trace, p. 22.)

The Martha S. Bement, the Maggie S. Hart, the Auburn, and the Anna R. Bishop — the great Charles Berlitz Jacksonville Christmas schooner bash of 1909. Four more for the Bermuda Triangle.

Well, either the Martians/Atlanteans were swarming, or there was a storm. Looks like Berlitz happened upon four schooners that sailed straight into the Christmas Day Blizzard of 1909.

Martha S. Bement

Martha S. Bement, December 16, 1909.

The schooner Martha S. Bement was lost (vanished?) east of Jacksonville, Florida, with a company of seven. (Berlitz, Without a Trace, p. 22.)

Group lists her as a derelict and cites the The New York Times, but without any particulars. (Group, p. 139.) He must have meant this article, though.

ROTTERDAM, March 23. — The British steamer St. Nicholas, arriving from Savannah, reports having passed on March 12 in latitude 41 degrees north, longitude 46 degrees west, the American schooner Martha S. Bement, dismasted and with her decks awash. The derelict is in the path of transatlantic steamers and is a dangerous obstruction to navigation.

* * *

The Martha S. Bement, a three-masted wooden schooner, sailed from Jacksonville on December 16 for New York, and had been many weeks overdue. She carried a crew of seven men, and was owned by F. & A.L. Heidritter of Newark, NJ. She was built at Bath, ME, in 1881, and registered 375 tons net. ("American Ship a Derelict," The New York Times, March 24, 1910.)

The Martha S. Bement, the Maggie S. Hart, the Auburn, and the Anna R. Bishop — the great Charles Berlitz Jacksonville Christmas schooner bash of 1909. Four more for the Bermuda Triangle.

Well, either the Martians/Atlanteans were swarming, or there was a storm. Looks like Berlitz happened upon four schooners that sailed straight into the Christmas Day Blizzard of 1909.

Martha S. Dement, more like.

George Taulane, Jr.

George Taulane, Jr., September 18, 1909.

The schooner George Taulane, Jr. was lost (vanished?) east of the coast of Georgia with a company of seven. (Berlitz, Without a Trace, p. 22.)

She wasn't by any chance bound for the Gulf of Mexico?

LOUISVILLE, KY, Sept. 20. — A Gulf hurricane, which, beginning early to-day, swept along the Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida coast, has inflicted heavy damage, and tonight is continuing unabated.

…

At 3 PM the Weather Bureau there reported that the piling up of the Gulf waters at the mouth of the Mississippi already had caused a rise of three feet in the waters of the river at New Orleans, a thing unprecedented at that point from such a source.

…

So strong was the force of the wind at New Orleans that the neighboring lakes were agitated till they overflowed, covering the adjacent lowlands.

…

Fragmentary reports from points in Southern Louisiana and Mississippi show that the hurricane is sweeping along the Mississippi and Louisiana Gulf coast, damaging shipping, ruining the more frail structures, and seriously impeding railroad traffic. ("Gulf States Swept by Ruinous Storm," The New York Times, September 21, 1909.)

Then again, storm may have found her on the near side of the Florida peninsula just as well:

WASHINGTON, Sept. 20. — The tropical storm now raging will move northward, and merge with the disturbance in the Northwest over the central valleys Tuesday night, causing rain over a considerable part of the country east of the Rockies. The rain will reach the North Atlantic States Wednesday night. ("Tropical Storm Headed This Way," The New York Times, September 21, 1909.)

George R. Vreeland

George R. Vreeland, January 27, 1908.

The schooner George R. Vreeland was lost (vanished?) east of Hampton Roads, Virginia, with a company of seven. (Berlitz, Without a Trace, p. 22.)

When I noticed these two vanishings, of the Baltimore and the George R. Vreeland, in the same neck of the seas, so close after each other, I immediately thought, storm.

Guess who was right?

The American liner Philadelphia, from Southampton, and the French liner Savoie, from Havre, got in yesterday with tales of gales and terrific seas. The worst day, according to Capt. Poirot of the Savoie, was on Saturday, when the vessel was deluged with the seas and rolled so badly that the steel foremast cracked just below the crow's-nest.

…

("Storm Cracks Liner's Mast," The New York Times, February 3, 1908.)

Saturday was February 1.

She may have been this wreck:

News of another disaster attributed to the recent storm off the coast was contained in a wireless message received here last night from the tug Astro, bound from New York to Port Arthur, Texas. The tug's message said:

"At 2:17 PM Tuesday, in latitude 34 degrees 7 minutes north, longitude 76 degrees, 45 minutes west passed a sunken vessel, either a four-masted schooner or barge. Her masts were sticking 25 feet out of water; shredded sails, having appearance of having been quickly abandoned. Fore, main, and spanker top-masts still standing; mizzenmast gone.

"Derelict lies in dangerous position in line of lightships." ("Tells of Another Wreck," The New York Times, February 5, 1908.)

Then again, the Vreeland may have been done in by the same storm that likely sank the Baltimore. We don't know what Berlitz meant when he gave the date January 27, 1908, for the Vreeland incident. Did she sail that day? Or was she reported missing that day? In the latter case, she might even be the schooner seen sinking by the Manna Hata.

…

The report of a sea tragedy was brought in yesterday by the steamer Manna Hata from Baltimore. A three-masted schooner was seen on Thursday evening struggling in the trough of the sea off the Delaware Capes. The Manna Hata had been blown some miles off her course, and when she got near the locality where the vessel had been last seen she was gone and many pieces of wreckage were floating in the water. ("Sloop's Crew near Death," The New York Times, January 27, 1908.)

Thursday was January 23.

Baltimore

Baltimore, January 22, 1908.

The bark Baltimore was lost (vanished?) east of Hampton Roads, Virginia, with a company of nine. (Berlitz, Without a Trace, p. 21.)

When I noticed these two vanishings, of the Baltimore and the George R. Vreeland, in the same neck of the seas, so close after each other, I immediately thought, storm.

Guess who was right?

NORFOLK, Va., Jan. 25. — The overdue Old Dominion liner Jamestown, which left New York Thursday afternoon, and which was caught in yesterday's severe coast storm, arrived at her Norfolk pier at 2:30 o'clock this morning.

The Jamestown was blown many miles seaward and labored heavily in the fiercest of the gale until she was able to make the Virginia Capes at midnight. Heavy seas washed the decks of the steamer, the severity of these being shown by the fact that the vessel's crew, when able to venture out, picked from the meshes of the three-foot rope netting beneath the ship's deck rail more than a score of fish, which had been caught therein as the seas receded from the vessel.

…

("Catch Fish on Ship's Deck," The New York Times, January 26, 1908.)

The Old Dominion liner Princess Anne, due at this port on Friday afternoon, got in from Norfolk last night. She had been delayed by the storms off the cost. All her thirty passengers were safe.

Capt. Tapley said that on Friday morning the vessel ran into a fierce squall and snowstorm. The wind blew at the rate of ninety miles an hour, and it was so thick that it was impossible to see a half ship's length ahead. So terrific was the hurricane that the Princess Anne was forced fifteen miles out of her course. She ran to the eastward before the storm to avoid going ashore.

All this time the vessel was going at less than half speed, and she could make but little headway against the storm. ("Coaster Had Rough Trip," The New York Times, January 26, 1908.)

ATLANTIC CITY, NJ, Jan. 26. — The fishing sloop Pittsburg and her crew of eight men under command of Capt. George Jeffries came into port to-day after a three-day battle with the elements in which crew and boat fared badly. They had snow, rain, and gales, and fire in the hold of their sloop added to their peril. The roll of the billows overturned the stove in the galley. The men were nearly famished. Their fingers and noses were frozen. When the storm had blown itself out, the crew rigged up a jury mast and small sail, by aid of which they made their way home.

* * *

The report of a sea tragedy was brought in yesterday by the steamer Manna Hata from Baltimore. A three-masted schooner was seen on Thursday evening struggling in the trough of the sea off the Delaware Capes. The Manna Hata had been blown some miles off her course, and when she got near the locality where the vessel had been last seen she was gone and many pieces of wreckage were floating in the water. ("Sloop's Crew near Death," The New York Times, January 27, 1908.)

Thursday was January 23.

Derelict Found by the Ellen Austin

Derelict found by the Ellen Austin, 1881.

Last, and queerest of all, comes the case of the abandoned derelict, in seaworthy condition, which the British ship Ellen Austin encountered, in mid-Atlantic, in the year 1881. She put a small prize-crew on board the stranger, with instructions to make for St. John's, Newfoundland, where she was bound herself.

The two ships parted company in foggy weather — but a few days later they met again. And the strange derelict was once more deserted. Like their predecessors, the prize-crew had vanished — for ever. (Gould, p. 30.)

The greedy captain of the Ellen Austin then forced another prize crew onto the derelict. Again the ships were parted in the fog — and neither the derelict nor the second prize crew was ever seen again in this world!

"A comparison suggests itself here between the abandoned ship and a trap…" (Berlitz, Bermuda Triangle, p. 70.) A trap by which the Martians capture their human specimens, to say out loud what Berlitz implied.

This story originated with Gould's account given above. The vanishing of a second prize crew and any further embellishments are fiction.

As for Gould's original story, Gould was a serious researcher, so he likely didn't make it up, but he didn't give any sources. Kusche searched in The New York Times, in the London Times, at Lloyd's, and in Newfoundland papers, but didn't find anything. (Kusche, Bermuda Triangle Mystery, p. 45.)

Until Gould's source is found, nothing can be said about the veracity of this tale. He may just have been relating some yarn he heard from an old sailor.

Berlitz claims that the sails of the derelict were furled and her rigging was intact and the ships were parted by squalls, not fog. Of course, a guy like Berlitz won't let you off the hook at less than two prize crews.

Chaplin claims the derelict could not be identified, as she had no logbook or trail boards (p. 36) and that the captain of the Ellen Austin was called Baker (p. 37). Maybe that's true, or maybe it's just Chaplin's way of getting around the embarrassing fact that the original story doesn't have the good grace to name the derelict, without having to make up a name that could be debunked. (Storm and fog, two prize crews.)

Winer finds the following fascinating facts (Devil's Triangle, pp. 160.):

The derelict's "teak decks betrayed traces of recent holystoning."

The head- and foresails of the schooner had been furled so carefully that it must have been done at leisure. The "mainsail was luffing wantonly…" "It was evident that she had been hove to…"

"The two dories lashed down atop the main cabin appeared to have been the only small boats ever carried aboard." (OK, now we "know" that the crew of the derelict didn't take to the boats, so they must have been beamed away.)

"The open galley door banged in cadence with the ship's movement." (A-one, an-a-two…)

The captain was called Baker. (So that's where Chaplin found the captain's name. Chaplin didn't have the good grace to give sources for his individual claims, but he listed Winer's book in his bibliography. Some bibliography: Star, Enquirer, Tattler…)

Captain Baker led a boarding party of four crewmen. (Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and — yes, the redshirt.)

"[H]e smashed his boot down[,] pulverizing a thumb-sized cockroach into the deck…" (Yes, he's bad. I'd hate to be that roach… Hey, at least he didn't hit the redshirt.)

He was carrying a Colt revolver. (Did I say he's badass? And he still didn't hit the redshirt.)

His mating call was, "Halloo thar… anybody aboard?" ("Sure thing, love. Come right down — I'll suck for a buck." That's by the way why no one ever left the suck boat.)

He was thinking of the Mary Celeste. (The ship, not the suck for a buck lady.)

"The two sailing vessels had been becalmed within sight of each other for several days before they drifted to within hailing distance on August 20, 1881."

The derelict carried a cargo of lumber that looked like mahogany. She (the derelict, not the suck for a buck lady) had apparently sailed from Honduras or some such Central American lumber-producing country, was found halfway between The Bahamas and Bermuda, and may have been bound for Britain or the Mediterranean.

Her logbook and the trail boards with her name were missing. There was nothing to identify the ship or her crew. (Oh, come on. Just make up a name for her, so that I can debunk it.) Otherwise, there was no damage and no trace of violence. There were plenty of provisions.

The Ellen Austin was Boston bound, but had to detour south due to headwinds. (Ah, that's how she got into the Bermuda Triangle.) Baker decided to take his prize to Boston.

After two days of calm, a storm struck right on time for the witching hour. The crew of the Ellen Austin could see the derelict's navigation lights all through the night, until early in the morning, when the rain was blown horizontally into their faces from that direction so they couldn't look there anymore.

After two dark and stormy days, fair weather returned, but the derelict had vanished. Three days later at dawn, she was sighted once more.

She was sailing so erratically that it took almost an hour to board her. Of course, she was deserted once more.

But that's not all. The food was untouched, the bunks had not been slept in, and the new logbook had vanished. The navigation lights had burned out. The crew of the Ellen Austin had filled them with whale oil to last three days straight — and now they were dry again! Had they really burned out — or was it like nobody had ever been on board?

Spooky, huh? But whether it's spooky already or not, Winer won't let you get up from the campfire after just one prize crew!

Yes, another prize crew is placed on board. All of them are armed. A lifeboat is towed behind the derelict. The prize crew is ordered to abandon ship at the slightest sign of trouble.

After two days of sailing, the ships get separated in a haze. When the Ellen Austin gets back to the spot where the derelict was last seen, she's gone! And neither she nor any of the prize crews is ever seen or heard from again!

Winer's account being so very vivid and detailed, there are three options: He was there (doubt it), he located the mother of all sources (please tell us, Richard), or his account is largely fictional. I tend to think the last option is the right one.

In one of Quasar's better efforts, he researched the following facts: The American schooner Ellen Austin was a New York to London [sic] packet with the Blue Swallowtail Line of Grinnell, Minturn & Co., a big ship of 1,812 tons, 210 feet long, built of white oak at Damariscotta, Maine, in 1854. She last sailed under the American Flag under Captain A.J. Griffin.

Something would appear to be amiss here. The Blue Swallowtail Line linked New York to Liverpool; the New York to London service was the Red Swallowtail Line.

Unfortunately for a true believer like Quasar, this is where the story really starts to fall apart. According to his research, the Ellen Austin made only one voyage in 1881 under that name, before she was renamed the Meta. The Ellen Austin left London on December 5, 1880, and arrived in New York on February 11, 1881.

Quasar notes that this was an unusually long voyage, and that the delay could have been due to her searching for the prize-crew-snatching derelict. But he also, quite reasonably, assumes that the captain of the Ellen Austin would have had to account for a loss of crewmen. Yet Quasar could find no casualty report at Lloyd's for that year. Besides, the legendary Ellen Austin was allegedly bound for St. John's or Boston (depending on whether you believe Gould or Winer), not New York.

So if the incident occurred in 1881, the destination or the name is wrong. If it occurred before 1881, the year is wrong. If it occurred after 1881, the year and name of the ship are wrong.

Quasar speculates that the old salt that told Gould this yarn had forgotten the right year, as the incident had happened many years before. Also, that illiterate old salt would have identified ships by their beakheads or figureheads, as sailors traditionally did. So that hypothetical old sailor would still have identified the ship as the Ellen Austin, never noticing that the name had been painted over.

Any way you slice it, the facts don't match. There's at least one error even in the least sensational version of the story, Gould's. So it looks like whoever originally told the story was at least in one respect an unreliable witness.

"However, as with all second or third hand information, there is room for mistakes," observes Quasar. Yet, as with all second or third hand information, there is also a good chance it never really happened. Without a credible contemporary source, the story seems to be just that — a story.

So what we do not have is a good source for this story, which would indeed be very mysterious (though not necessarily supernatural) if it were true. The only source we have, Gould, while good as in reasonable, recorded the "incident" (if an incident it was) about half a century after it allegedly happened.

What we do however have is a 1911 short story by British maritime writer William Hope Hodgson, "The Mystery of the Water-Logged Ship," which describes a very similar incident of a repeated loss of salvage crews on a derelict. (Spoiler: In the story, the recurrent salvage crew vanishings are due to the derelict being a trap by pirates. The pirates hide in a secret compartment accessible through hollow masts.)

So we have two options: Either there was a real incident, which inspired both Hodgson's fictional short story and Gould's allegedly factual account later on. Or someone who knew Hodgson's short story attached the name of a real ship, Ellen Austin, to it and sold it to Gould as the real McCoy. Until someone finds a contemporary historical account of the incident, like in a newspaper, a logbook, or a casualty report, one has to assume that this story, fascinating as it may be, is nothing but a sailor's yarn run amuck.

HMS Atalanta

HMS Atalanta, January 31, 1880.

The HMS Atalanta was built in 1844 as the 26-gun frigate HMS Juno. She was converted into a training ship and on January 10, 1878, renamed HMS Mariner and on January 22, 1878, HMS Atalanta. On January 31, 1880, she sailed from Bermuda to Portsmouth, only to vanish in the Atlantic with 290 cadets and officers. She is presumed lost in a storm.

Your friendly neighborhood mystic would try to mystify the vanishing like this:

The report of the investigating committee on the loss of the British training ship Atalanta was published on December 29, 1880, and stated no reliable trace had been found. The committee said they considered the Atalanta a very stable ship, except at the large angles of the heel, and that the alterations in her rig only tended to increase her safety. The committee spoke favorably of her officers and crew, and pointed out that at the time of her loss exceptional storms proved fatal to a number of merchant vessels. The only exception was that survivors or debris in the other cases were always found.

Experts agreed that the Atalanta must have encountered stormy weather, but so did scores of other vessels that crossed the Atlantic Ocean at the same time; yet the other vessels met with no mishaps other than slight delays. They pointed out that a British naval vessel was much safer than a merchant ship.

If military men could not manage a well-equipped sailing vessel in storm, what would happen to them if they found themselves in mid-ocean on board a disabled ironclad? (Spencer, pp. 91.)

Kusche quotes extensively from the coverage of the London Times (Kusche, Bermuda Triangle Mystery, pp. 36.):

April 13, p.6: First the store ship Wye and then the whole Channel Squadron were sent to search the Atalanta.

April 14, p. 2:

When the Atalanta left Bermuda there were 109 tons of water on board, and an ample supply of provisions. The ship was in all respects sound, possessed of unusual stability, and commanded by an officer of good judgment and high professional qualifications; but the unexpected delay in her arrival affords cause for anxiety for her safety, bearing in mind the many disasters which have occurred during the past two months, consequent on the very severe weather which has been experienced in the Atlantic.

The easterly gales had been blowing for nearly a month. The Tamar is rumored to have seen a capsized copper-bottomed ship. This, however, cannot have been the Atalanta, as the weight of her water tanks and her forty-three tons of ballast would not have allowed her to float once capsized.

April 15, p. 10: The captain of the Tamar sent a telegram saying he did not pass a ship bottom upwards. Great excitement in Portsmouth because the Atalanta docked in Falmouth. It was, however, the merchant vessel Atalanta, not the HMS Atalanta.

April 19, p. 6:

On Saturday a report was bruited abroad to the effect that a lifeboat had been found, with the name Atalanta painted on the stern. This was not confirmed, and even if it had been the boat could not have belonged to the missing ship, as it is not a custom in the navy to paint the names of the men-of-war to which they belong on the stern or anywhere else.

April 20, p. 12: The gunboat Avon arrived in Portsmouth and reported immense quantities of floating wreckage in the vicinity of the Azores.

April 21, p. 8:

There can be no question of the criminal folly of sending some 300 lads who have never been to sea before in a training ship without a sufficient number of trained and experienced seamen to take charge of her in exceptional circumstances. The ship's company of the Atalanta numbered only about 11 able seamen, and when we consider that young lads are often afraid to go aloft in a gale to take down sail… a special danger attaching to the Atalanta becomes apparent.

April 26, p. 8: The Channel Squadron found nothing in the Azores.

April 27, p. 10: The crew of the Tamar arrived in Portsmouth. Among the passengers was an able seaman, John Varling, who had been invalidated from the Atalanta on January 3.

Varling's account of the performance of the training ship is far from reassuring, though the question will, of course, arise as to the value of his opinion. She is reported as exceedingly crank, as being overweight… and as having aroused the distrust of Captain Stirling… She rolled 32 degrees, and Captain Stirling is reported as having been heard to remark that had she rolled one degree more she must have gone over and foundered. During the trying situation the peculiar weaknesses of the ship's company were brought prominently into notice. As, with the exception of two, the officers were almost as much out for training as the crew, Captain Stirling scarcely ever left the deck, and the work of shortening sail and sending down the spars was left to the able seamen on board, who, including marines (mostly servants) petty officers, and cooks, only numbered about 50 in a crew of 250… The young sailors were either too timid to go aloft or were incapacitated by sea-sickness… Varling states that they hid themselves away, and could not be found when wanted by the boatswain's mate. It took the ship 31 days to go to Barbados from Tenerife… or about nine days [extra]…

May 10, p. 8: The Channel Squadron arrived in Bantry Bay and still had heard or picked up nothing from the Atalanta.

May 18, p. 10: A letter from a master mariner by the name of Allen Young recounts captains reporting "a storm of unusual violence… in the probable track of the Atalanta" and lists a litany of ships that were wrecked or missing on account of that storm.

There continued to be sightings of capsized wrecks and finds of messages in bottles and on barrels staves, which were discounted as inauthentic.

So where does that leave us?

"The committee said they considered the Atalanta a very stable ship" — how stable she really was is disputed.

"The committee spoke favorably of her officers and crew" — how many of them deserved to be so spoken of is disputed.

"The only exception was that survivors or debris in the other cases were always found." It is dishonest to say that no wreckage of the Atalanta was found. There was plenty of debris, and some of it was very possibly from the Atalanta. It's just that all of it was unmarked, including Royal Navy lifeboats, so one can't be sure either way.

"Experts agreed that the Atalanta must have encountered stormy weather, but so did scores of other vessels that crossed the Atlantic Ocean at the same time; yet the other vessels met with no mishaps other than slight delays." If Allen Young is to be believed, this is a barefaced lie.

Plus, "pointed out that at the time of her loss exceptional storms proved fatal to a number of merchant vessels" flies straight in the face of "the Atalanta must have encountered stormy weather, but so did scores of other vessels that crossed the Atlantic Ocean at the same time; yet the other vessels met with no mishaps other than slight delays." Did those vessels meet with no mishaps other than slight delays or did exceptional storms prove fatal to them? You can't have both, and particularly not in back-to-back paragraphs.

They pointed out that a British naval vessel was much safer than a merchant ship.

If military men could not manage a well-equipped sailing vessel in storm, what would happen to them if they found themselves in mid-ocean on board a disabled ironclad?

Well…

The young sailors were either too timid to go aloft or were incapacitated by sea-sickness… Varling states that they hid themselves away, and could not be found when wanted by the boatswain's mate.

Duh.

And again, only a short part of the course of the Atalanta was in the Bermuda Triangle. She may have been lost far outside it, yet she is inevitably chalked up as a victim of the Triangle.

City of Boston

City of Boston, January 28, 1870.

The City of Boston, built by Todd and McGregor [sic] in 1864, was an iron vessel with strong engines. For safety, she was ship-rigged as well. In those days, canvas was carried both to steady the ship and to be used in an emergency if the engines broke down. The Boston was 332 feet long. She had a beam of 39 feet, and a tonnage of 2,278, and was propelled by two engines. Repairs had been made after her last trip to New York. At that time the damaged propeller was changed for another with a new type of flange. There were several engineers who claimed that if the Boston ran into a bad storm with the new two-flanged propeller, she would be in danger. But the vessel received the highest ratings from Lloyd's of London, and few paid attention to the warnings of the maritime engineers.

In the winter of 1870, the Boston was given the stamp of approval and left New York under the command of Captain J. J. Halcrow. She stopped at Halifax, Nova Scotia, on January 28. After she sailed from that port with 199 persons aboard, the Boston was never heard from again.

…

Icebergs were considered, and, in view of what happened to the Titanic years later, they may indeed have caused the loss of the Boston. January, however, is not a month of extreme danger from icebergs on the North Atlantic. Stories that she was overmasted were dismissed as ridiculous, and a statement that she had probably turned turtle was also considered highly improbable. The two-flanged propeller came in for discussion, but since there was no gale or storm at the time, this was considered unlikely.

The fate of the Boston is still a mystery, and her name must be added to the long list of ships which have sailed into the unknown from the great seaport of New York. (Snow, Mysteries and Adventures Along the Atlantic Coast, pp. 270.)

No gale or storm? Not so fast, bucko.

From The New York Times:

February 22, 1870, p. 8.

Captain Brooks, of the City of Brooklyn, which arrived here on Sunday evening, reports strong easterly gales during the whole voyage, and the officers of ships which arrived yesterday report heavy ice fields on the course the City of Boston must have taken. The propeller attached to the vessel is a new two-flange one, fitted during her last visit to this port, her original three-flange propeller having been broken during her last voyage from Liverpool. Captain Brooks is of opinion that the strength of the new propeller would not be sufficient to enable her to make headway against the adverse winds which she must have encountered, and therefore, that the worst to be feared is that she has been driven out of her course; but he and other Captains recently arrived express confident opinions that she will ultimately reach Liverpool safely.

February 23, 1870, p. 4.

All the great transatlantic lines have their own tracks as distinctly charted down and separated as if they were rival railways. The Inman track, after leaving Cape Race, curves considerably towards the north, and runs in higher latitude than any other of the main sea-tracks, except that of the Glasgow steamers.

…

The season is somewhat early for icebergs, but the abnormal tropical blasts we have had until lately, and which have been traced on the American coast beyond the Canadas, may have begun the work of dislodging the ice masses on the southern coast of Greenland.

March 17, 1870, p. 1.

A Report of Overloading

One thing which has tended to increase the anxiety respecting the safety of the steamer — if any thing could add to the apprehensions regarding her — was the dispatch from London, printed in the Times of yesterday, to the effect that in the House of Commons, on March 15, "Sir J. Parkington said it was reported that the City of Boston left America loaded twenty inches deeper than the underwriters allowed. He gave notice that he should ask the Government to inform the House if there was any truth in this report."

This statement Mr. Dale, the agent in this City, emphatically declares to be untrue. The cargo of the ship was as follows: 390 tons of beef, 200 barrels of flour, 486 bales of cotton, 12 cases of sewing-machines, 18 tons of oil-cake, 88,500 pounds of flour, 189,700 pounds of bacon, 10,376 pounds of wheat, 14 bales of varieties, 82,672 pounds of tallow, and 36 bales of hops.

…

The Gale She Probably Encountered

A passenger who went over in the Russia, which left here on Feb. 2, when the City of Boston had been four days out, says in a communication to the London Times: "We heard of no gales on that side at that time, and for the first two or three days of our voyage we found the sea smooth and the sailing fine — no signs whatever of previous bad weather. But afterward it became very rough. During the latter half of our passage we were beset by a most ugly tempestuous sea — such a one as, in four previous passages across the Atlantic, I had not known. The wind was ahead, and continued so up to the port of Liverpool. We were constantly shipping the most tremendous seas, and our noble vessel, strong and steady and magnificent as she is, seemed yet put to her utmost resources to hold her position: It was indeed a stormy time, and instead of making the passage in nine days, as is usual with the Russia, we were eleven. We were all grateful enough, however, to get through as we did. I have no doubt that this was the weather from which the City of Boston suffered. Indeed, we heard apprehensions expressed for her safety the first moment of our arrival at Liverpool. She probably encountered the storm several days before we did, and it may then have been even yet more violent. I cannot imagine how a vessel could make her way through such a sea without being very strong and perfect in all her parts. If there was any weak spot in her machinery it must inevitably have succumbed. If, therefore, the steering apparatus of the City of Boston was defective, as is alleged, she was no doubt disabled by this weather, and may be lost.

From Mitchell's Marine Register:

April 2, 1870.

The City of Boston, on the 29th of January was off Nova Scotia, and on that night a hurricane set in from the south-east to south-west. As already mentioned in this journal, Capt. Bulmer, of the Helene Marion, on arrival at Spithead, reported that he left New-York with the City of Boston, that his ship fell in with the hurricane, and while hove to, lost his ship's foretopmast and jibboom, although no canvas was on her at the time, and his new sails were blown away out of the gaskets. This hurricane was felt more or less severely in that part of the Atlantic for several days, so that the City of Boston could not have escaped it. In the Shipping and Mercantile Gazette of February 23 the following appeared in the maritime intelligence:

"Halifax Feb. 11. — The Master (Hackett) of the Charles Tupper schooner, arrived here, has just reported that on 31st January he saw to the southward of Sable Island a steamer, which threw up rockets three times and shifted her position round all points of the compass so that he could not make out the position; at 5 p.m. it was a lat. 43.30."

On the 11th of February the City of Boston was behind time, but the terrific weather alone was enough to account for a few days over-due. When fears began to be entertained, the paragraph just quoted was canvassed; and so confident were all parties that the steamer in distress could not have been the City of Boston, that the report was discredited. It was stated that search had been made for wreck between Sable Island and the main land, but none could be discovered. Capt. Hackett however, it will be seen, speaks of the southward, which would be to seaward of the island. Bearing in view the fact that the gale veered round to north-west, the steamer in distress would be about where the City of Boston might have been expected to be fallen in with on the 31st, particularly if the machinery broke down, and the Captain determined to put back. We have not seen any statement tending to clear up the doubts as to the steam-ship in distress seen by the Master of the Charles Tupper; and to discredit is not to disprove. The Master of this schooner, we must suppose, did not invent the tale, and his crew could confirm or contradict the report. If this steamship from which rockets were thrown up was the City of Boston, she, no doubt, foundered on the night of the 31st January; and if no tidings are heard of any of the crew, it would be owing to her boats having been destroyed by the fury of the elements previous to her sinking. This is the only incident reported in any way bearing to her loss. If we discard it, we must speculate upon other causes. The first is — was she in a seaworthy state? The ships of this line are uninsured, and have the reputation of being well found, and kept in a sound state of repair. What the waves might do during a hurricane it is beyond any human power to predict. Machinery is liable to break from excessive strains, and it is a common occurrence for the blades of screws to break off, or the shaft to meet with accident. Granted, therefore, that her hull and equipment were in an efficient state, we come to the question of her lading. The City of Boston called at Halifax after leaving New-York, and Mr. Inman's agent there wrote to say that, on steaming out of that port, she drew twenty-one feet seven inches. This, it is said, is less by seven to ten inches than she had been loaded on previous voyages; and the professional Officers of the Board of Trade have pronounced an opinion that it was quite impossible that, with the declared weights of the cargo put on board, and the great accommodations set apart for passengers, she could have been overloaded. There is, after this authoritative opinion, but one theory left to discuss. We discard altogether fire and ordinary leakage; when either of these takes place there is usually time to get boats into the water.

…

The only theory, therefore, that we can revert to as a last resort, is that of a collision with ice in heavy weather. Larger quantities of drift ice and bergs have been encountered in the Atlantic this season than for many years past, and the ice has got detached, and thus fetched away to the southward and westward much earlier than usual. The steamship Aleppo, which arrived at Boston on the 20th February from Liverpool, reported that "on the 15th she passed south of some immense fields extending about 100 miles east and west; her position at noon that day was, by dead reckoning, latitude 48°, longitude 46°." The City of Baltimore, (steam-ship) from New-York on Feb. 19, "passed several small icebergs on Feb. 23, in lat. 44 N., lon. 49 W. and subsequently spoke the Euxene (ship), bound east, lat. 51 N. lon. 14 W." There were a few arrivals, also, of sailing ships, during February, which brought still earlier intelligence of the disruption of ice from the Polar regions. The America (steam-ship), which arrived at New-York on the 13th March, reported passing, in lat. 40.05 N., lon. 48 W., two immense icebergs; and the Nebraska (steam-ship) which reached New-York about the same time, reported heavy ice in lat. 44 N., lon. 48 W. The master of the Etna (steam-ship) on his last voyage, also reported that a considerable amount of field ice was seen. We could extend this list to the reports of between seventy and eighty vessels arriving in Europe or America during the past two months. The New York steamship had much difficulty in working out of the mass of ice, and for security the steamers are ordered to be kept to the southward of their tracks. There is no great stretch of the imagination required to conceive that the City of Boston may have received such injury from the ice as to cause her to founder rapidly. She was certainly one of the first vessels this season to cross when the ice appeared, and may have been caught in a dangerous position for ships and boats. As to the ship being in such a high latitude as to be out of the drift or eastward recurvation of the Gulf Stream and where she would find but little if any current to carry her toward Ireland or the Azores, we give no credence to it. If the City of Boston did not go down in the hurricane of the 31st of January, or founder from contact with ice, she would have been heard of before this; and her passengers and crew are, we fear, beyond human aid.

August 26, 1870, p. 2.

Philip H. Warner, a machinist, who was in the habit of visiting the steamers almost every time she came to Halifax, went on board to see the Chief Engineer the day before she sailed. He went into the engine-room with that officer. He saw that her shaft had been heated, and had some conversation in regard to that fact. As the statements made to him by the Chief Engineer were admitted by the Judge subject to the objection of the plaintiff's counsel, we quote that portion of the evidence:

"The Chief Engineer said the main shaft had heated, and that it was not running true, the same as it had done with the three-winged fan, and that he had to drive the engine faster and the shafting faster, which was the cause of the heating; he said the steamer had been over-driven in her last trip from New-York to Halifax, and still she was not doing the same amount of work she had been doing; and he never approved of a two-winged fan, and never ran a boat with one all the time he had been an engineer; he helped to put on the two-winged fan in New-York; he told me the two-winged fan would heat her, and be likely to set her on fire; he was not very willing to go home in her with the two-winged fan."

So the City of Boston may or may not have been overloaded. She may or may not have hit an iceberg. There's even an outside chance she was dynamited for the insurance money.

But what we know is that her three-winged screw had been replaced with a two-winged screw, which was less effective. Thus, engine and shaft had to be driven faster, overheating the shaft.

The storm the City of Boston must have encountered was so severe that there would be no margin of error and all parts of the ship would have been subjected to extreme stress. If the report of overheating is true, the shaft broke, disabling the ship in one of the worst storms imaginable, so that she was sure to sink, or the overheated shaft set her on fire.

What's more, while the City of Boston is sometimes listed as lost in the Bermuda Triangle, she was definitely lost outside the Triangle. The icy seas off Halifax surely do not belong to the Bermuda Triangle.

City of Glasgow

City of Glasgow, January 1854.

The City of Glasgow, 1,080 tons [sic], black iron hull with sails and a steam engine, owned by the Liverpool and Philadelphia Steamship Company, sailed from Liverpool for America on March [sic] 1, 1854, with 399 passengers, mostly emigrants, and 81 crewmen. She vanished without a trace. (Winer, Devil's Triangle, pp. 86.)

When she became overdue, her owner's agents, Richardson Brothers and Company, suggested engine trouble. Later, the papers printed rumors about her having become icebound, been taken by pirates, been wrecked off Africa, and been seen near the Bahamas.

With that, Winer informs us that this North Atlantic mystery should indeed be chalked up to the Bermuda Triangle, as she would have taken a southerly course to avoid icebergs and storms. From the Irish Sea, she would have sailed southwest past the Azores to at least latitude thirty-five degrees north, then west to at least longitude sixty-five degrees west. This would put her in the vicinity of the Bermudas, from where she would proceed northwest to Delaware Bay.

Yet even if you assume that the Bermuda Triangle extends some distance north of Bermuda or that the City of Glasgow ended up passing south of Bermuda through the Triangle proper, only a tiny part of her course would have been in or only near the Bermuda Triangle.

With his narrative sleight of hand, Winer, at other times one of the more reasonable Bermuda Triangle writers, succeeds in placing another mystery ship in or near the Triangle. But if he were to get away with it, each and every loss of a ship crossing the Atlantic could be blamed on the Bermuda Triangle, as long as it is not proven that that specific ship was on a northerly course or met her end outside the Triangle.

Thus, as far as the subject of this blog is concerned, we have a solution for the mystery of the City of Glasgow. As she was very probably lost outside the Bermuda Triangle, whatever mystery she is, she is not a Bermuda Triangle mystery.

As for the solution of that mystery, the loss of an early steamship is as unsurprising as that of a sailing ship. There was no radio, and any number of things might have happened without anyone ever hearing of it. Apart from the usual suspects like icebergs and storms, the novel iron hull may have been faulty and broken in two, or the propeller shaft may have broken and pierced the hull.

First ocean going iron steamship.

…

The Glasgow shipbuilding firm of Tod and Macgregor had the idea that an iron screwship would pay and accordingly built as a speculation the steamer City of Glasgow which they intended to run on a new service between the Broomielaw, in Glasgow, and New York.

Her dimensions were 227 feet in length by 32 in beam, giving her a tonnage of 1,610 by builder's measurement, while she had 2 beam engines totaling 350 nominal horsepower geared to a single shaft with a propeller 12 feet in diameter by 18 feet pitch. The arrangement was peculiar. The engines were on one side of the ship and a beam crossed the keel line. On the other side of the ship was gearing which reduced the engine speed 3 to 1. With her 3 flue boilers, working up to 10 lbs. pressure, the machinery was heavy for its type, 428 tons, and with the coal it accounted for 42 per cent of her displacement.

For what it's worth:

City of Glasgow left Liverpool on 1 January, New Year's Day, 1854, with an estimated 480 passengers and crew, but was never heard of again. Her fate remains a mystery to this day. Some official registries mark her final date of departure as 1 March 1854; the reason for the discrepancy is unknown. It was reported that a portion of the bow of a ship, bearing the name City of Glasgow in gilded letters, washed ashore at Ballochgair near Campbeltown on 25 October 1854.