Glacial Errata, No. 91

One: Maria J. Smith

In 1870, the Maria J. Smith, a clipper ship that was carrying a load of lumber from Port Townsend, Washington, hit a storm near Vancouver Island. In the gale, the ship’s sails were torn away and the vessel lost control, eventually coming ashore on a reef in the mouth of Barkley Sound. Its crew rescued and its remaining cargo unloaded, the Maria J. Smith was refloated, and was being towed by another ship on her way back to dock to be refurbished, when another storm hit and she was cut loose. The crew onboard was once again rescued, but the Maria J. Smith blew out to sea, a derelict ghost ship.

Soon, the Maria J. Smith began reappearing—and disappearing—off the coast of Washington, emerging out of the fog at a distance, promising “to rival the Flying Dutchman in its wanderings,” as Lewis & Dryden’s Maritime History has it. Repeatedly sighted, she never came near enough to land or another vessel to be boarded or salvaged. After two months, her odyssey ended, hundreds of miles north of Washington, when she wrecked against the rocks for a third and final time.

Two: Laura Pike

Over three decades later, the Laura Pike suffered a similar fate. Abandoned off Cape Blanco, on the Oregon-California border in early February of 1901, she remained seaworthy, and became a curious object of fascination as she was repeatedly sighted, sailing on her own along the Pacific Coast.

Making thirty-five miles a day, the Laura Pike began to vex local shipping concerns, who fretted that her lawless wanderings posed a hazard to maritime shipping lanes. At the same time, though, her legend as a ghost ship began to grow, and one local paper, the Colonist, had to assure readers that “she has no corpses lashed to her rigging….” At one point, the crew of another ship boarded her and attempted to set her on fire with kerosene, ending her ghostly menace, but the waterlogged timbers refused to light.

By the end of March, the sightings had ended, and the Laura Pike was presumed lost at sea.

Three: SV Twenty-One Friends

Built by Samuel Gaskill in 1872 and financed by a group of twenty-one Quaker merchants from Philadelphia (hence, the name), the SV Twenty-One Friends was returning from Georgia with a load of lumber in 1885 when she was struck by the John D. May off Cape Hatteras. As the Twenty-One Friends began to take on water, she was abandoned by the crew, but somehow the ship did not sink.

For two years, the Twenty-One Friends was spotted on both sides of the Atlantic, proving the enduring quality of Gaskill’s handiwork, until finally it washed ashore in Ireland, where it was salvaged and repurposed as a fishing vessel, remaining in service until 1914.

Four: SS Baychimo

The SS Baychimo, meanwhile, may still be out there. Launched in 1914 as the Ångermanelfven, the Swedish-built, German-owned cruiser was given to Canada after World War I as part of Germany’s war reparations, when it was renamed the Baychimo and put in service in the Arctic. After several years in service, the Baychimo became trapped in pack ice in October of 1931; most of the crew was picked up by the Hudseon Bay Company, but 15 people stayed behind, living in a makeshift wooden shelter, attempting to wait until the ship was loose and they could pilot it out into open water.

But on November 24, a powerful storm dislodged the Baychimo, which was set adrift. Abandoned, it continued to traverse the waters of Northern Canada. Repeatedly sighted, it was boarded several times by people hoping to salvage the vessel, but none could do so successfully. Its last sighting was 1969, but there’s been no conclusive evidence that it ever sank.

Five: HMS Resolute

But no ghost ship is as storied as the HMS Resolute (save, of course, the Mary Celeste, but that’s for a different newsletter). In 1850, the Resolute, along with three other ships, were sent to the Canadian Arctic in search of Sir John Franklin’s lost expedition. After finding evidence of their camp on Beecher Island, the flotilla eventually returned home in 1851, but was sent out again the following summer, this time augmented with a fifth ship. In August of 1853, the Resolute was bound in ice; after a brutal winter, the ship was abandoned the following spring.

The ship was presumed lost, but in 1855, the American whaler George Henry, captained by James Buddington, was near Baffin Island when it encountered a strange, ghostly shape emerging from the fog. The Resolute had come loose from its icy grave and was set loose on the seas. Buddington divided his crew and boarded the Resolute, captaining it back to his home in Connecticut.

By the laws of maritime salvage, the Resolute now belonged to Buddington, but the US Congress, in a gesture of friendship, bought the ship, refurbished, and returned it to England. That might have been the end of the story, but in 1880, a massive package arrived on the doorstep of the White House. Inside was a giant partner’s desk built from the timbers of the ship, which has since become an icon of the Office of the Presidency: the Resolute Desk.