The loss of the steamer City of Columbus excited a thrill of horror in this community almost equal to the shock inflicted by the loss of the steamboat Lexington, on Long Island Sound, some twenty years ago, and, by the way, there is an episode in the early history of the ill-starred Lexington which is of intense, because heroic, and of almost miraculous interest.
At the time of the episode I refer to, the Lexington was commanded by a New Yorker called Dustan–a tip-top man and a first-class sailor. The boat was makin’ her trip from Providence to New York and had got considerably more than halfway when a terrific squall overtook her–just such a gale as the steamboat Atlantic went down in afterwards.
The vessel beat about for a while and struggled with the tempest, and the panic which had at first broken out on board among the passengers was gettin’ allayed by the skill and coolness of the crew and captain, when, right in the midst of the tempest, the very worst thing, perhaps, that could just then have occurred happened. The ship unshipped her rudder, that is, the rudder got loose from its fastenin’s and thus became utterly useless.
It didn’t need bein’ a sailor to know what such an accident as this meant at such a time. Every woman on board understood it just as well as the men, and a cry, a sort of wild, despairin’ shriek went up which meant “We are lost, we are lost!”
The gale now had full power of the helpless, the utterly helpless ship, which lay like a log in the trough of the sea, literally the creature of circumstances–literally at the mercy of the wind and waves, which had no mercy. The gale drove the ship nearer and nearer every moment to the shore, against which she would soon have been dashed to pieces. Destruction was inevitable unless the ship could be headed from shore, and that was impossible unless the rudder was restored, and that could only be done by some man or men leapin’ into the sea and lashin’ a rope to the rudder, so that by the united strength of all the crew tuggin’ at the rope, the rudder might be reshipped or restored to its place, or temporarily held in position. Captain Dustan called his men together and asked which of ‘em would be brave enough to do the necessary deed; but brave as they all were, there were none of them bold enough to attempt what under the circumstances seemed equivalent to suicide. He offered one hundred dollars to anyone who would attempt to fasten a rope to the rudder. But a hundred dollars was no inducement. Then he doubled the reward–trebled it–then raised it to five hundred dollars. But every man on board the Lexington that night seemed to think that a whole life was worth more than half a thousand dollars. Time passed on with terrible rapidity. They were getting near the coast every minute. Fifteen or twenty minutes more and the Lexington would be a battered wreck among the breakers. The suspense and the situation were terrific. The passengers, huddled together in the darkness, awaited death. One old man who clung to life with as much tenacity as the youngest there offered to increase the captain’s reward of five hundred dollars to one thousand dollars if a man would only try to save the ship in this the eleventh hour by restorin’ the use of her rudder.
It was a temptin’ offer to the poor men of the ship’s crew, and two or three of ‘em were attempted for a moment to think and to talk of makin’ the attempt. But when they looked at the raging sea and calculated their chances of life they didn’t even think and talk of doin’ anythin’ further. No, the ship was lost. All any man could do now was to save himself!
The women began to pray and men to prepare for the inevitable; children clung to their parents; husbands and wives clung to each other. It was a supreme moment.
When suddenly a cry went up. “A man overboard!” At this cry the affrightened passengers drew closer to each other. Some shuddered violently. It was a harbinger of their own comin’ doom–a foretaste of what awaited ‘em in a few moments.
But imagine the terror, the despair, that seized the passengers and crew alike for a moment, when it was ascertained that the man overboard was the one man to whom alone all looked up to now in their peril, the commander of the steamer, Captain Dustan himself.
“Now, indeed, we are lost,” said one of the sailors. Then peerin’ out intently into the sea, he suddenly exclaimed, “By heavens, only look there! The captain has jumped overboard on purpose. He is goin’ to help ship that rudder himself.” And such was the case.
Captain Dustan had undertaken to do the job which no other man would undertake for a thousand dollars. He had fastened a rope round his body, had stationed some trusty men at the stern post to hold the rope, and had leaped into the ragin’ sea with another rope in his hand.
As soon as those on board understood the situation a cheer went up that came from the very hearts of some two hundred people. And all eyes watched the brave captain as seldom eyes strained to watch a man. Two or three times in the next ten terrible minutes a shriek or a groan was to be heard among the crowd on the steamboat as the brave captain seemed to be swallowed up by some monster wave. But he was never quite devoured or destroyed. He was buffeted and bruised and sore beset. But his courage and his will held out, and the rope around him held out, and through the storm-tossed sea he made his way to the storm-tossed rudder.
He gained it at last. He lashed part of his rope to it at last. And, with the rudder fastened to the rope, and the rope in his hold, he was dragged on board at last. Oh, what a shout of gladness and gratitude ascended to the heavens from the deck of the saved steamer. For the steamer was saved. Heaven helps those who helps ‘emselves, and it helped the brave captain now, and his crew. By the joint efforts of crew, captain and passengers, all workin’ with a will, all pullin’ for life and land and home at that rope, the huge rudder was retained in place, till finally in God’s good providence the sea itself did what the sea had undone, and a huge wave knocked the rudder into its place, just as the wave had previously knocked it out. Thus a magnificent steamer and two hundred lives were rescued from destruction.
[Editor’s notes: The City of Columbus was a coastal passenger steamer that was wrecked in a gale on Jan. 18, 1884, near Martha’s Vineyard. 103 lives were lost. The incident on the Lexington described in the above column took place in October, 1836. Captain Dustan was a nephew of Commodore Vanderbilt, the shipping magnate owner of the Lexington.
The Lexington was destroyed by fire while in the middle of Long Island Sound in January, 1840, killing over 130 people. It was the worst maritime disaster in America to that date. However, Captain Dustan was not commanding the ship on that journey.
Captain Dustan met his fate as captain of the steamer Atlantic, wrecked on Long Island Sound, near Fishers Island, in November 1846. This was one of several ships named Atlantic that met bad ends.
The column above accurately dramatizes the heroism of Captain Dustan, as evidenced by the token of appreciation he received:]
