(Bonus) The Curious Case of the Glenesslin

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Today’s episode is The Curious Case of the Glenesslin, which wrecked on the coast of Oregon in 1913, with some puzzling circumstances.

The Glenesslin was a large, 3-masted, fully rigged steel ship built in Liverpool by Thomas Royden and Sons in 1885. She was built for C.E. De Wolf & Company, a successful shipping company out of Liverpool. The Glenesslin was a strong, modern, and well-built ship for her time. Following the launch of  the vessel, the July 1, 1885 edition of Marine Engineer wrote of her, “The vessel has been built under special survey of Lloyd’s surveyors and her scantling is considerably in excess of the requirements of that register. She is fitted with all modern improvements and will take the highest class at Lloyd’s.”

The Glenesslin was of clipper design, at 260 feet long, 39 feet wide, and just over 1645 registered tons. Large sailing ships of this time were referred to as “Windjammers” and she quickly gained a reputation as one of the fastest sailing ships on the water.  In 1900 she set the sailing speed record by making the run from Portland, Oregon to Port Elizabeth, South Africa in 74 days; a sailing record that has never been broken. In 1901, she and 7 other ships engaged in a trans-ocean race. The Glenesslin won by a whopping 17 days. It was big news in the Portland area, and over the years, journalists wrote about even the most trivial of events regarding the ship.

Unfortunately, the Glenesslin was built at the tail end of the usefulness of sailing ships. Steam-powered ships were faster, more efficient, could keep more reliable schedules, and could travel shipping routes regardless of the wind direction. She was a fine ship, but simply could not compete with the steam-ships as far as efficiency. At the turn of the century, it was breaking even at best, venturing from port to port just to pay the crew their wages. The transition from sail to steam was taking a toll on all the sailing ship lines,

In 1913, the Glenesslin was 28 years old, but still in excellent condition. On May 28, 1913, she departed Santos, Brazil having just unloaded a cargo of cement. She got underway carrying only 850 leftover ballast of cement in her hold, and was scheduled to pick up a load of grain in Portland, Oregon from the Portland Flouring Mill. In command was Captain Owen Williams, an experienced Captain of 26 years with a spotless record. He was joined by 20 crew, including First Mate F.W. Howard and Second Mate John Colefield. As the ship approached the Cape of Good Hope to round South America, violent storms prevented her progress to the west. Captain Owen Williams then took his ship east instead, and sailed the westerlies across the Indian Ocean, south of Australia, and across the Pacific Ocean. 

By late September, the Glenesslin was off the coast of Oregon, on its approach to Portland. The skies had been dark and cloudy for several days and Captain Williams had spent long hours overnight trying to get a position for his ship. He was forced to wait until there was a break in the clouds of the night sky. At 8:O0 PM of September 30th, the Tillamook Light was spotted. At 1:30 AM of October 1st, Williams changed West-South-West, to move the ship further offshore. By 8:00 AM, the course was changed again to head east, directly toward the coast. By 11 AM, land was spotted, and Captain Williams was aware of their position. Exhausted from a lack of sleep, Williams went to the chart room at 12:30 PM to get some sleep, leaving his 2nd Mate John Colefield in charge, with orders to hold the course, and to wake him at 2:00 PM.

On shore, Samuel and Beulah Reed spotted the ship approaching from their 30-room hotel, the Neahkahnie Tavern, just north of the town of Manzanita. The location offered spectacular views of the ocean, and they and their guests often enjoyed watching ships pass by. The tavern and its 5 cottages were located on the plain at the base of Neahkahnie Mountain, but it was closed for the season. However, the Reeds and some of their staff could see the majestic sails of the approaching ship.

The seas were calm, but a haze had settled in over the water, reducing visibility. The Glenesslin was approaching closer to shore, and Colefield called Captain Williams at 5 minutes before 2:00, and again at 5 minutes after 2. The Captain told Colefield to call him again at 2:30 PM. Colefield then asked the First Mate, L.W. Howard to come assess the situation. Howard went to the bridge, found nothing wrong, and went back to his room. After just a few more minutes, Colefield called the First Mate again, who then woke the Captain. When the Captain and First Mate joined Colefield on the bridge, the Glenesslin was dangerously approaching the rocks at the base of Neahkahnie Mountain. 

As those in the tavern looked on, they could not help but wonder what was happening. There was no reason whatsoever for a ship of that size to come so close to shore. They became increasingly concerned as the ship continued toward the cliffs of Neahkahnie Mountain, with its sails still at full. They could do nothing but watch as the Glenesslin plowed bow first into the rocks at the base of the mountain.

The jarring crash punched gaping holes into the Glenesslin’s hull, and the ship came to rest with a list to starboard, wedged in the rocks. Still at full sail, it was pinned against the rocks, with no chance of getting free. Despite the relatively calm seas, the surf was still powerful and was punishing the hull of the vessel. The crew attempted to launch one of its boats, but it was immediately swamped. Thankfully, nobody was injured and all made it safely back on board the Glenesslin.

A breeches buoy line was shot onto the rocks, and it was secured by the rescuers on the scene.  One by one, all 21 men aboard the Glenesslin made it safely to shore. Captain Williams, as is proper, was the last to leave the ship. However, something seemed off about the captain and crew. All of them were remarkably calm given the circumstances, and many of them had taken the time to gather their baggage before departing. To those on shore, it seemed as if the crew were performing a routine exercise. It was also observed that Captain Williams, the officers, and several crew were inebriated, and they could smell the alcohol on their breath. 

Strangely, Williams and his crew were tight lipped about the accident. None of them offered any explanation whatsoever, which raised some suspicions. When the captain was asked about the crash, Williams simply replied, “All I can say is that the boat is ashore and is a total loss.” When asked who was at the wheel at the time of the crash he only said “One of the seamen. I don’t remember his name.” Further interviews were ended abruptly by Williams if questions were asked about the accident.

The day after the wreck, Lloyd’s of London insurance surveyor Captain Versey visited the wreck and inspected the damage. He found the hull had been pierced by rocks in multiple locations, with water throughout, making it impossible to refloat. Versey declared the ship a total loss, and advised Lloyd’s to put the ship up for sale immediately. Fearing the ship would be pillaged and picked apart by locals, armed guards were placed at the site. 

News of the large sailing ship on the rocks spread quickly. And indeed, many locals came out to get a look at the ship. The guards prevented anyone from getting too close, but allowed photos to be taken of the stricken ship. Some even used the opportunity to paint a depiction of the dramatic scene. Many photos of the Glenesslin were taken, and they can often be seen in shops and restaurants around the area. 

On October 7th, A. Bremmer and John Caavinen of Astoria purchased the vessel for $560, hoping to salvage at least some of the ship. However, when they arrived at the wreck and saw the condition of the ship, they immediately resold it for $100.

On October 9th, a Court of Inquiry was convened consisting of British Consul Thomas Erskine, Captain Davidson of the ship Lord Templeton, and Captain Dalton of the steamer British Knight. They questioned officers and crew, and heard testimony about the events on board the vessel leading up to the crash. 

The testimony of 2nd Mate John Colefield was summarized by the Oregon Daily Journal, “The [Second] Mate insisted he called the Captain at 1:55 and told him the ship was nearing shore. Later Colefield said he notified the [First] Mate, who in turn notified the Captain. At that time, the ship could have been saved, but by the time the Captain came on deck, the vessel was too near the rocks and a short time later was in the breakers.”

Captain Williams claimed he was never called by the Second Mate, and was only made aware of the ship’s position when the First Mate came to wake him. He explained to the Board that he had been up the previous two nights and was trying to get a bit of sleep.

The ship’s cook, a Chinese man, testified that he went to the poop deck and asked Colefield to stand offshore. But Colefield dismissed him, and told him to mind his own business.

The Court determined that the Captain and First Mate were below when the ship ran into the breakers, with the Second Mate in charge. At a previous hearing it was determined that the course was never changed without orders from the Captain.

Colefield, seeing the narrative of blame pointing to him, blurted out, “They’ve got me hung. I see that I shall have to appeal because I see that I am to be made the one to blame.”

The Board of Inquiry issued the following conclusions on October 11th, 1913:

• That the master, Owen Williams, was negligent in his duty, and the Court orders that his certificate as master be suspended for 3 months.

• That the First Mate, L.W. Howard, be reprimanded for not acting immediately on his being notified of the threatened danger, but was not notified in time to save the ship.

• That the Second Mate was acting under orders, but showed great negligence in running so close to shore without insisting that the master come on deck, and negligence in not taking matters into his own hands. The Court therefore orders his certificate as second mate be suspended for a term of 6 months.

No mention during the inquiry was made regarding the accusations of drunkenness. In the October 2, 1913 edition of the Oregon Daily Journal, Samuel Reed was quoted as saying, “When Captain Williams came ashore, he was so drunk that he could hardly stand up. He was the last man to leave the ship, and, climbing over the rail, got into the boatswain’s chair unassisted. I understand that it was the Captain’s watch on deck, but I am told that the Second Mate, Collifield, was in charge.” For reasons unknown, the Board of Inquiry chose not to entertain any testimony regarding this issue.

Captain Williams later denied the accusations of his drunkenness, telling the Morning Oregonian, “I was not intoxicated at the time the ship was nearing shore or after, and further, I have never been under the influence of liquor.”

Despite the inquiry, many questions still remained. Rumors swirled of the vessel being intentionally grounded as part of an insurance fraud scheme. The Glenesslin had been profitable for some time, and the era of the sailing ship was at an end. It seemed plausible that the company could have wrecked the ship for the insurance money, and this indeed may be what happened. However, no hard evidence existed for this, and Lloyd’s of London paid out the $30,000 insurance claim.

And what of the accusations that the Captain and crew were intoxicated? It doesn’t seem likely the local people would simply fabricate this story, as they would have nothing to gain from it. Quite likely the men on board the Glenesslin had enjoyed a drink or two. Perhaps the Captain took a slug of whiskey before he lied down for a nap. On the other hand, all of the men were sober enough to climb over the rail of the ship, get themselves into the boatswain’s chair, and make it safely to shore. If they had been drinking, it is doubtful they were significantly impaired.

And why was the crew so incredibly silent? Most likely, they were under orders of the captain not to speak of it. He was an experienced captain, and knew full well that the loss of a ship would result in an inquiry, and he didn’t want any off-the-cuff remarks complicating the issue.

Another conflict in the story were the weather conditions. According to the captain and crew, they had been navigating in a thick haze. But locals claim it was a clear, beautiful day, and visibility was excellent. Weather reports from the time indicate there was probably at least a light haze, in addition to a storm brewing farther offshore. Perhaps it was hazy for a time, and cleared up later in the day, which created the contradiction. 

Why couldn’t the Glenesslin turn to avoid hitting the rocks? It is believed the ship had entered what is called a Wind Shadow; an area where the wind has been obstructed. Navigators familiar with the area claimed the rocky promontory of Cape Falcon shields the cove, and creates a Wind Shadow. With no wind, the ship could not turn, and it drifted helplessly straight toward the rocks. This seems plausible as well, but does not explain why the ship had already steered so close to shore in the first place.

We won’t ever know the answers to these questions. All we can do is conjecture about what is more likely than not. It is my opinion, and only an opinion, that the Glenesslin was wrecked due to a series of errors, negligence, physics, and a bit of bad luck. Weather conditions had caused the Captain to stay up late the previous couple of nights, prompting him to take a nap, quite understandably. His first mate and second mate were very inexperienced, both being only 22 years of age. Their inexperience, perhaps lack of confidence, or even fear, prevented them from taking any action on their own accord. 

I came upon a quote that is relevant to the events and consequences of the Glenesslin. Following the infamous wreck of the Costa Concordia in 2012, retired U.S. Coast Guard Admiral James M. Loy explained the unique command structure on board a ship: ‘The captain of a ship at sea is one of the last bastions of total authority in this world. … But with that absolute authority comes absolute responsibility. …it is a captain’s responsibility to err on the side of safety …’ .”

Ultimately, the Glenesslin was battered and bruised by wind and surf for several weeks, until it rolled over and broke apart on November 15th, 1913. Remnants of the ship were salvaged and can be seen today at the Columbia River Maritime Museum in Astoria, Oregon. Some of the items in their collection include scrapbooks made from the canvas sails of the Glenesslin, a medical scale, lifering, clock, and lantern. At the wreck site itself, rusted metal scraps can be seen strewn among the rocks below Neahkahnie Mountain.

That’s going to do it for the Curious Case of the Glenesslin. I hope you enjoyed this bonus episode, and thank you so much for being a supporter of the podcast. Shipwrecks and Sea Dogs is written, edited, and produced by me, Rich Napolitano. Original theme music is by Sean Sigfried. All episodes, merchandise, and more can be found at shipwrecksandseadogs.com.

Please join me again next time, but until then…don’t forget…to wear…your…lifejackets!