Jersey Shore Magazine

J e r s e y s h o r e • S p r i n g 2 0 1 7 68 wheel. She gave a silent nod to the pilot. Freeborne returned an admiring nod. Not many women of the day would choose to sail with their hus- bands; fewer would show such stead- fast resolve in these circumstances. The crew struggled to raise the tattered mainsail in hopes of coming about to make the run for the beach. The wind refused her, pushing the ship back to a course parallel to the shoreline. It shoved her further into the shallows until her keel slammed onto a sandbar, bringing her to a jar- ring halt. Down in the hold, the pas- sengers were flung hard against the ship's inner skeleton. Barrels flew like cannonballs, exploding into whatev- er and whomever lay in their path. Terrified and bloodied, they gathered the injured and waited for some news from above. The ship's timbers rested a brief moment before a giant wave wrestled her from the sandbar. It carried her a hundred feet further ashore before dropping her square onto the shoals, this time breaking her back. Freeborne called straightaway for the heavy masts to be severed. The timbers made her top heavy. If the ship started to roll, the hull would break up all the sooner. Wood chips flew as the sailors swung their axes in reply. The masts fell with a mighty crack. The great posts tore through the deck rails and slid off into the churning water. As the waves pound- ed the hull, the packet see-sawed and ground deeper into the sand's grip. Free of the masts, she managed to remain upright, at least for the time being. Now stuck fast, the packet ceased its rolling. Unsure of what had hap- pened, the first few passengers dared to venture up from the hold only to be met with the sight of the frozen ruins of the ship. In that instant, all hope evaporated. The John Minturn lay only one hundred and fifty yards from shore but it might as well have been as many miles. More passengers appeared on deck, frightened and confused. Water was seeping into the hold forcing everyone up and into the weather. As the wind and snow abated, the temperature dropped. Few of the pas- sengers had any clothing beyond what they wore when they came aboard in New Orleans. Teeth chattered, lips turned blue. The men and few women aboard huddled close inside the shel- ter of the poop deck for what little warmth they could find. Freeborne removed his own greatcoat and offered it to Captain Stark's wife. The crew- members seemed lethargic and con- fused, heads muddled by exhaustion. • The captain knew the situation was desperate. The packet had three small launches on deck. Under normal cir- cumstances, they were used as tenders or for supply runs. Stark decided their best hope lay in using the jolly boat to secure a line to shore. Two men were chosen to attempt the journey. They would remain tethered to the John Minturn. If they could make it to the mainland, the line could be used to effect a rescue. The crew held their breaths as the jolly boat was lowered into the turbulent water. Their hopes were crushed when the great masts still tossing about near the crippled wreck splintered the dinghy, sending the two unfortunate sailors to their deaths. A second launch proved more suc- cessful—the tender, used mostly by the ship's cook to haul supplies, was lowered carefully into the sea. Several crew and passengers made it safely into the craft. They rowed furiously, disappearing behind the crests of the waves then reappearing moments later. The stout hawser line connect- ing them to the crippled ship created a drag and threatened to swamp the overloaded launch. Its occupants had no choice but to cut away the tether or face drowning. They severed the line, and the little boat disappeared into the swells along with the ship's chance of rescue. Only the John Minturn's longboat remained. The hawser was fastened, and the longboat was lowered over the side. Grim looks exchanged between those on deck and the crew of the launch, but no words were necessary. Everyone knew this was the Minturn's last chance. The men struck the oars, making it safely beyond the debris, but the drag soon swamped the long- boat in the huge swells. Once again, the line had to be cut. Stark and the others looked through the mist as the launch bobbed in and out of sight, its occupants staring back at those left behind. The crew stared shore- ward long after the longboat had disappeared, their eyes fixed on the gray mist. They could hear the surf breaking on the beach, but had no idea whether anyone ashore was even aware of their plight. • The ship had, in fact, been seen by "wreckers," local men who vol- unteered for rescue and salvage. They had gathered on the beach as word spread that a packet had run aground. Several attempts had already been made to run a rescue boat out through the surf, but it was an impossible task in the stiff headwind and ten-foot waves crashing on shore. Some of the men had tried running out into the surf in order to make a connecting throw, but that too proved futile. There was no chance of getting a line to the ship. There was nothing to do but wait for the sea to calm. The waves continued to crash in, sometimes reaching as far as the base of the dunes. The townsfolk watched for the doomed ship from high up on the sand hills, but there was nothing to see, for the ship was a ghost. Only the wreckers braved the foreshore. They stood in small grape clusters, huddled against the wind, and shuffled up and down the beach en masse as the sea repeatedly swept in. Several signal fires burned high up the dunes, beyond the water's reach. Their feet danced to keep the blood from freezing in their veins. There was little they could do but wait, watch, and pray. The men on shore stared out into the waves, waiting for a sign of some- thing—anything—that might mean there was hope. A cry arose when the longboat was spotted beyond the whitewater. The wreckers followed every movement as she approached JERSEY SHORE HISTORICAL FICTION THE WRECK OF THE JOHN MINTURN, continued from page 66

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