The Doomed Steamship Lexington
By Roger Weston
On the evening of January 13, 1840, the paddle wheels of the steamship Lexington thrashed the icy waters of Long Island sound. Originally commissioned by Cornelius Vanderbilt, the ship was carrying approximately 147 passengers and a cargo of baled cotton, which was stacked on deck. Running a route between New York and Stonington, Connecticut, she was one of the most luxurious steamers of her time.
Midway through the ship's voyage, the casing around the ship's smokestack caught fire, igniting nearly 150 bales of cotton that were stored nearby. Crewmen reacted by rushing below decks to try and stop her engine. This failed mission gave the flames time to spread. Next, the crew made every effort to extinguish the flames. The neck muscles of crewmen bulged like ropes as they heaved buckets of water upon the flames. Unfortunately, the freezing wind fanned the blaze, and the crew fought a losing battle.
With the paddle-wheeler still underway, panic and anxiety increased among the unfortunates onboard who were seeing their joyful cruise turn into a nightmare. Passengers piled into lifeboats, promptly overloading them. The crew then lowered the boats too fast, and worse yet, the lowering ropes were improperly cut so that the boats hit the moving water at a tilt, turning them into the equivalent of big spoons dipped into a punch bowl. The lifeboats promptly filled with frothing ice water, and clutches of frigid death took hold. Immersed in the freezing drink, the poor souls fought off hypothermia as long as they could, but they lost the fight and sank into the cold depths of the January sea.
The remaining desperate passengers realized that death was closing in on them too. They began heaving furniture and cotton bales into the water. These would have to do as makeshift rafts no matter how perilous the option.
At 8:00 p.m., Passenger and experienced sea captain, a man called Captain Hillard, threw ten bales of cotton overboard and then jumped onto one of them. One of the ship’s firemen, a Mr. Cox, also gained hold on the same bale. Together these two men floated in the open waters on their substitute life raft. With a wind chill factor running below zero, they floated in the choppy sea as they valiantly tried to fight off the effects of hypothermia. The bale rose and fell in the pulsating waters of the dark night. Stinging cold waves continually splashed them, keeping their body temperatures at dangerously low levels. Around 4:00 a.m., Cox, overcome by hypothermia, slipped into the water and drowned. Hillard, also weakened, nonetheless, held on tight. At 11:00 a.m., a sloop named Merchant swung up alongside and rescued Hillard. The man they dragged out of the sea was insensible. He was clinging to life by a thread, but clinging fiercely.
At midnight, Stephen Manchester, the ship’s pilot, and several other passengers were driven off the Lexington by the terrifying approach of intense heat and flames. Manchester and the others put to sea on a makeshift raft but the overloaded craft sunk beneath them. Driven by knifing cold and the desperation that ran through his blood, Manchester, clawed at a bale of cotton and dragged himself out of the water like a wet dog. He and a passenger named Peter McKenna held on for dear life, but after a grueling three hours, McKenna gave up the ghost. Despite having death for company, death beckoning him to give up the fight, death taunting him with her torments,
Manchester held on. He clung to life for hours beyond what mortal man could hope for. He was rescued by the sloop Merchant at noon.
Charles Smith, the ship’s fireman, had every intention of outwitting the fire and saving his life. He and four other people clung to the Manchester’s rudder where they had safe distance from the raging fires above them. Finally, as the ship began to sink into her watery grave, Smith and his fellow passengers climbed onto a piece of the paddle-wheel, which was rising and falling in the choppy ice water. Death climbed onto the paddle-wheel with them, and during the night she claimed souls one-at-a-time. Only Smith held out against her temptations. She offered an end to his suffering, but Smith had a purpose. Something drove him to endure the misery and share the night with hypothermia’s oppressive company. The next day at 2:00 p.m., the sloop Merchant eased up by the paddle-wheel and fished the half-dead fireman off his floating debris.
Another man who spit in Death’s face was second mate David Crowley. On a bale of cotton, he drifted for 43 hours, pulling off the impossible, enduring beyond the accepted limits of human endurance, proving beyond all doubt that with grit and determination, man can accomplish far more than he realizes. Crowley also made a couple of key moves. He burrowed into his bale of hay and stuffed his clothes with cotton. After an amazing adventure, Crowley drifted ashore, 50 miles east, at Baiting Hollow, Long Island. Despite all weakness, despite the fragility of life, he’d hung on until Providence smiled on him. The torments of dehydration had failed to finish him off. Hypothermia had not finished her work. David Crowley crawled up the beach. Then he managed to stand on shaking joints. Breathing in gasps, he staggered down the beach for over a mile, collapsing several times along the way. At the home of Matthias and Mary Hutchinson, he knocked on the door and then fell against it, sinking to the porch floor, where he balled up and shook feverishly. The door was opened. The doctor was called.
In an ironic twist, it was reported that the celebrated poet Professor Henry Longfellow likely perished on the Lexington. Longfellow’s works included "Paul Revere's Ride." While his name was listed on the manifest, he in fact had backed out of the trip at the last minute to discuss a poem with his publisher, a poem about a shipwreck.
According to one report, the Lexington had been condemned several months before the fateful cruise, but the owners ignored this bad news and kept her in service. In fact, she’d had a fire on her last run, but that one had been put out. Interestingly, the captain of that cruise had called in sick for this trip, a move that most likely saved his life. That captain was the brother of Cornelius Vanderbilt, the man who had originally commissioned the Lexington.
The Lexington had small fortune in silver below her decks, some of which was later recovered. While those salvagers had reason to smile, the families of the over 140 lost souls carried the memories of their loss for a lifetime.
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