KITTY HAWK MYSTERY

________________

Captain Swain's Body Cast Up by the

Sea—No Light Thrown on the Affair

     Four lives were lost at the wreck of the three-masted schooner, M. and E. Henderson, on the coast of North Carolina, about a mile and a half south of Station No. 17, 6th District. The circumstances attending this disaster were singular. It appears from the evidence taken, that on the 30th of November, 1879, patrolman Tillett, who had the morning watch on the beat south, returned to the house a few minutes after five o'clock in the morning, lit a fire in the stove and called the cook, then went upstairs, and looking with the marine glass from the south window, perceived, at some distance in the clear moonlight which lay upon the beach, a man whom he at first thought was a fisherman. Presently noticing that the man was without a hat, it at once occurred to him that he might have been washed ashore from a wreck. He immediately aroused the keeper and the crew, and starting out in advance, soon came up to a haggard and dripping figure, a sailor, tottering along very much exhausted, and only able to feebly articulate, "captain drowned—masts gone." The patrolman's surmise had proved correct, and this man was one of the three survivors from the crew, seven in number, of the schooner M. and E. Henderson, which, as was subsequently ascertained to be probable, had struck and gone almost immediately to pieces within an hour before.
     The survivor come upon by patrolman Tillett was at once conducted to the station and put in charge of the cook, and the keeper and crew started for the beach. They had gone about a mile and a quarter south of the station when they came upon a great strew of debris from the wreck, and saw, at the same time, some part of the vessel rising and falling upon the sea in the moonlight, about 300 yards from shore. Continuing on three-quarters of a mile further, searching for bodies among the fragments of wreck stuff with which the beach was strewn, the arrived at New Inlet, where they met some fishermen who reported having found one of the sailors floating in the channel, whom they had rescued and taken to their camp on Jack's shoal, a small island back in the inlet. They were now looking for others, and were joined in the search by the life saving crew, except the keeper and two of his men who boated over to the camp on Jack's Shoal where they found the sailor rescued by the fishermen. In crossing the inlet to the camp they saw what appeared to be a sitting figure upon the beach behind them, and the keeper, upon reaching the island, sent back the twoo men to discover what this object was. They found it to be another sailor, the third survivor. He was quite insensible, but although far gone, still breathing, and no time was lost in conveying him to the camp, where restoratives from the station medicine chest gradually revived him. The man first found, nearly dead when taken from the water by the fishermen, having been given hot coffee and rubbed and wrapped in bedclothes by them, was already so far restored as to be out of danger.

[May be Metropolis wrecked on Outer Banks in 1878. Taken from "Shipwrecks are still seen on the North Carolina Outer Banks," by David Rolfe, Winston Salem Journal (Winston Salem, NC) 29 Nov 2015. https://www.journalnow.com/gallery/news/shipwrecks-are-still-seen-on-the-north-carolina-outer-banks/collection_9e4bedee-9544-11e5-a7c2-d32570d95cac.html ]

    Of the four men lost from this vessel, the bodies of two only were recovered. The first came ashore on the 16th of December, and was that of the master, Silas Swain. The hair and face were gone from the skull. The body was identified by certain marks upon it, and also by articles found in the clothing. On the 29th of December following, another body, much decomposed, came ashore and was buried, like the other, by one of the station keepers. This body could not be identified.

     The names of the four men drowned, as reported to this office, are Silas Swain (the captain), Hess and Prentice (probably the two mates), and William (which would seem to be the first name of the cook). The names of the ship's company, excepting the captain, were unknown to the owners, and were obtained from the survivors in imperfect form given the three men being Spanish … .
     They constituted the crew, and this circumstance combined with their survival as a body when their officers all perished … gave rise to the belief, held particularly by some of the owners, that they had murdered the officers and run the vessel ashore. This suspicion of foul play subsequently caused their arrest and imprisonment in Baltimore, MD, but after a long detention they were released, no evidence of criminality having appeared.
     The cause of the loss of the vessel remains mysterious. She had been seen at sunset working along the coast in a northerly direction, and had attracted attention by her nearness to the shore. As the disaster involved loss of life, it was made, as is usual in such cases, the subject of special investigation, in the course of which the fact was established that the patrolman had left New Inlet on his return beat a little before four and reached the station a little after five o'clock, encountering no wreck upon his way. It is certain, therefore, that the vessel must have grounded on the bar where she went to pieces about the time when the patrolman reached the station, a mile and a half distant, and it is equally certain that she must have been almost immediately demolished by the surf, since a short time after the patrolman's return to the station she was found in pieces on the beach, the rottenness of her fragment also showing that a vessel in such condition of unsoundness, heavily laden beside with phosphate rock and pinioned on a bar, could not have held together under the blows of the breakers.
    Although the surf was heavy and a stiff breeze blew, it was a clear, moonlight night, and how a vessel could have stranded when the atmosphere was lit to the horizon is unaccountable, except upon the supposition that she was navigated with the grossest carelessness or purposely run ashore. The unintelligible English spoken by the three survivors made it impossible for the life saving crew to obtain from them any explanation of the disaster.

[Annual Report of the Operations of the United States Life-Saving Service for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1880; The Raleigh News, (Raleigh, NC) 2 Jan 1889]

Lifesaving Along the North Carolina Coast

"Imagine yourself patrolling a deserted open beach on a winter night with the sound of the surf pounding in your ears. Your job is to cast a weather eye upon the angry sea for any sign of a ship in distress. There is little light to guide you on your patrol. Suddenly, a sound makes you stop in your tracks. The cries of distress from a ship in danger is your call to action. As a United States Life-Saver it is your job to get back to your station and alert the rest of the surfmen. You and the rest of the crew will do everything possible to save those aboard the periled vessel. This was the mission of the United States Life-Saving Service."   [Taken from "Saints in Sou'westers," on the U.S. Life-Saving Service Living History Association web page at: www.lifesavingservice.org/]

Some efforts had been made to provide assistance to shipwrecks as early as 1847. Those efforts, however, were meager and ineffective. It was not until 1871 that the U. S. Life-Saving Service was established under the capable administration of Sumner Increase Kimball. Ten life-saving stations were added in 1874 including 7 along the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The North Carolina stations were: 1. Jones Hill (Whale Head/Currituck Beach); 2. Caffeys Inlet; 3. Kitty Hawk; 4. Nags Head; 5. Bodie Island (Oregon Inlet); 6. Chicamacomico; and 7. Little Kinnakeet. The Cape Hatteras Lifesaving Station was built in 1880. By 1905, there were 29 stations along the Outer Banks, all within 5 to 7 miles of each other. A list of these stations as well as the lighthouses along the NC coast can be found at: http://www.waywelivednc.com/maps/historical/lighthouses.pdf

Through the years, life-saving stations were established all along the U. S. coastline. An inventory determined that the US Life-Saving Service and Coast Guard established approximately 450 stations prior to 1961. Many of these are no longer active today.

Each of the life-saving stations along the Outer Banks has its own stories of bravery and heroism. The following rescue took place at the Cape Hatteras Life Saving Station. The story was taken from Coast Guard records of awards for bravery. The medals were presented on April 24, 1885 to Benjamin B. Daily, Patrick H. Etheridge, Isaac L. Jennett, Thomas Gray, John H. Midgett, Jabez B. Jennett, and Charles Fulcher.

Source: http://www.uscg.mil/history/awards/22DEC1884.asp

Wreck of the Barkentine Ephraim Williams, 1884 Cape Hatteras Life Saving Station, North Carolina

"On 22 December 1884 the crew of the Cape Hatteras (NC) Station (Sixth District), performed one of the most heroic feats in the annals of the Life-Saving Service. Under the leadership of Keeper Benjamin B. Dailey, assisted by Keeper Patrick H. Etheridge, they rescued the nine men composing the crew of the barkentine Ephraim Williams. Out of Providence, RI the vessel was bound home from Savannah, GA with a cargo of pine lumber. On 18 December, when to the northward of Frying Pan Shoals, she encountered heavy weather and became waterlogged and almost a complete wreck. In this condition she drifted helplessly before the southerly gale until near Cape Hatteras.

Cape Hatteras Life-Saving Station
 http://www.nps.gov/caha/historyculture/lifesaving-service.htm

 "On 21 December her anchors were let go to save her from driving onto the outlying shoals several miles from shore. The ill-fated craft dragged some distance further. Just before dark, she seemed to fetch up. The crews of the Durant’s (1878), Creed’s Hill (1878), and Cape Hatteras (1880) Stations saw her but it impossible for them to do anything. Experienced local surfmen swore that the surf was the heaviest and most dangerous they had seen for years. The aforementioned station crews, along with that of the Big Kinnakeet station (1878), maintained their vigilance through the night for any signal from the bark. Nothing was seen, however, during the night.

At daylight on 22 December, it was found she had made it past the shoals lay six or seven miles northeast of the Cape Hatteras Station, nearly opposite the Big Kinnakeet station. The Big Kinnakeet crew, nearly all of whom were at the Hatteras Station, set out at once for their own station to get their boat. Tired from loss of rest, they ate breakfast upon arriving at the station. Keeper Dailey came up with his horse-drawn boat. Keeper Patrick H. Etheridge of the Creed’s Hill station took the place of an absent member of the crew. It was then about 10:30 AM. Up to that time there was no sign of life on the bark, but as they stood watching her a flag was run up to the mast-head as a distress signal. That was enough for Dailey and his crew to launch their boat. The Cape Hatteras men were soon ready. They lashed all loose articles in the boat, stripped off clothing that might impede them (if) the boat capsized. Then, donning their cork belts, they shoved the boat in and gave way.

Benjamin Dailey in 1957

http://www.nps.gov/caha/historyculture/lifesaving-service.htmcaption

To those on the shore it seemed a forlorn hope. Few believed it would be successful. The breakers on the inner bar were safely crossed, but then came the infinitely more hazardous outer bar. The scene was enough to make even the most stout hearts quail. As Dailey neared the barrier, he held his boat in check for a brief period awaiting his chance. The chance soon came. Quick as a flash, the word was given to the rowers and a few powerful strokes carried the boat safely beyond the bar and through the greatest danger. Keeper Scarborough and the crew of the Big Kinnakeet Station attempted to follow in Dailey’s wake, but could not get through. They were compelled, very much against their inclination, to turn back and beach the boat.

There was still a pull of several miles for Dailey and his gallant fellows, they reached the bark about 12:30. It was impossible to lay the boat alongside for fear of being swamped. So it was anchored off the bark’s quarter by means (of) a line thrown to them by the captain. This allowed them to move close enough to take the men off one by one. This required the most skillful maneuver to avoid staving the boat. The rescued people were distraught with cold and hunger, as they had been battered by the weather for over ninety hours. As soon as they were seated and everything was ready, the anchor was weighed and a start made for the shore. Keeper Etheridge relieved Dailey at the steering-oar while the latter tended the drag. The boat, laden with sixteen souls, was almost gunwale deep, but it rode the seas like a duck.

 After safely passing the outer line of breakers, they reached the shore in good shape. Once there, they were met by the Big Kinnakeet crew and the others on the beach. A hearty meal had been prepared at the Big Kinnakeet Station by Keeper Scarborough’ s direction and the castaways were taken there to be revived. Thus was accomplished one of the most daring rescues by the Life-Saving Service since its organization.

The officer detailed to inquire into the circumstance of the gallant affair closes his report with the following remarks:

I do not believe that a greater act of heroism is recorded than that of Dailey and his crew on this momentous occasion. These poor, plain men, dwellers upon the lonely sands of Hatteras, took their lives in their hands and, at the most imminent risk, crossed the most tumultuous sea that any boat within the memory of living men had ever attempted on that bleak coast, and all for what. That others might live to see home and friends. The thought of reward or mercenary appeal never once entered their minds. Duty, their sense of obligation, and the credit of the Service impelled them to do their mighty best. The names of Benjamin B. Dailey and his comrades in this magnificent feat should never be forgotten. As long as the Life-Saving Service has the good fortune to number among its keepers and crews such men as these, no fear need ever be entertained for its good name or purposes.

 For their conspicuous bravery the boat's crew was awarded medals of the first class. Those receiving awards included Keeper Benjamin B. Dailey and Surfmen Isaac L. Jennett, Thomas Gray, John H. Midgett, Jabez B. Jennett, and Charles Fulcher of the Cape Hatteras Station and Keeper Patrick H. Etheridge of the Creed's Hill Station."

SOURCE: U.S. Coast Guard: http://www.nps.gov/caha/historyculture/lifesaving-service.htm

How the Dunes
Got Their Names

Following the Virginia Dare Trail from Elizabeth City through the fertile fields of Pasquotank, Camden and Currituck [Countiesk North Carolina], the, first of the great dunes heaped upon the shores of Dare rises to view … . Just a pale creamy cloud it seems at first, shore, hill and sky all of one color; but drawing nearer, it separates from beach and sky, and rises a mound of gold against the blue of the heavens. Paul Gamiel Hill, as this dune is called, received its name from a family of Gamewells once numerous in Dare and Currituck … . These Gamewells, the name now shortened to Gamiels, were prominent people in the early days of Dare and Currituck, and gave or sold the land on which the Paul Gamiel station stands to the Government.

Curles Hill, also named for an old family of that region, stands near the Paul Gamiel Hill, between the station and Kitty Hawk. Crossing the Wright Memorial Bridge that connects Currituck and Dare, and speeding through the Kitty Hawk woods past the station of that name, the traveler passes by Virginia Dare Shores, once known as Moore's Shores. A small hill to the right of the highway called Pryors Hill, the origin of its name lost and forgotten, is seen, before the green slopes of the larger of the two Kill Devil Hills is reached. …

The origin of the name of these historic hills has never been fully determined, though each of the following four stories concerning its queer cognomen [nickname] has its adherents.
"The Ballad of Kill Devil Hills" or "The Ballad of Medford Rum" as it was sometimes called, the words of which are now forgotten, but were once well known on our sand banks, gave rise to the following story:
In the olden days when the two hills were covered with verdure planted by nature, not man, one of the natives of that region ran a barroom in the woods on the higher of the two hills, where a brand of Medford rum, brought by enterprising Yankee traders from Medford, Massachusetts, was sold. This liquor was of such strength and potency that a saying arose; "That thar rum is powerful enough to kill the devil."

Kill Devil Hill, early 1900s

————

Another story accredits the name of the hills to the cry of the killdeer, a bird once numerous among the woods that then covered the dunes, and that nested in the grassy plains at their base. … Killdeer in the course of time became "Kill Devil," and so the hills were known. But the story is too tame for the giant dune and its accompanying mound: a dune that for centuries has known the rage of mountainous billows, the fierce glare of a sun tropical in its noontide heat, and the angry onslaught of the hurricane when the gigantic storm winds of the equinox descend upon the Atlantic.

There are sterner tales told of the origin of the name "Kill Devil," one of which is the following: Some hundred years or more ago there lived in one of the little homes on the sound shore near the hills, a native, who growing weary of the hard life of a fisherman and the ceaseless warfare against poverty, determined to try to find the ease brought by wealth that dwellers in other regions enjoyed. Tales strange and uncanny handed down from father to son he had heard told around the, fireside of those lonely homes, and they haunted his memory. Tales of men who, by secret and diabolical bargaining with the Prince of Evil suddenly came into possession of the gold that promised to bring them all that their hearts desired.

Consulting an old hag whose but was hidden deep in the dense woods of the sound shore, and who it was believed held converse with the Devil, the fisherman learning for a price her unholy rite, summoned to his aid the Evil Spirit who gladly answered his call, and an agreement between the two was reached. In the waning of the then full moon when, its silver light quenched, sea and shore and sands were left in the darkness of a winter night, the two were to meet on the higher of the two hills. There the fisherman was to receive the coveted wealth and confirm his awful promise that at his death the Devil was to receive his soul.

In high spirits at the prospect of gaining possession of the bag of gold that, so the Devil promised, would never be empty, the fisherman returned to his home. But during the week that must elapse before the time appointed for the next meeting with Satan, awful fears began to grip his heart. Pictures of flaming fires and grinning demons with their toasting forks waiting to receive his cowering soul, tormented him; but unwilling, in spite of his fears, to forego the promised gold, he began to plan how to get the fortune and yet to cheat Satan of his bargain.

The night following his first meeting with the Evil Spirit, the fisherman took his spade, stole from his hut in the dead of night, climbed to the top of the hill and began to dig. Down and down, deeper and deeper he dug, and every night until the one appointed for the dread interview he kept at his task. Reaching at last the base of the hill, quicksand was struck; and his work nearly done, he joyfully climbed out of the cavity, covered over the entrance with leaves and brittle branches of nearby growing shrubs, and went home.
The night of his rendezvous with the Devil fell dark and stormy, and at midnight, in the midst of a crashing thunderstorm, the fisherman again crept silently from his but and hastened to keep his appointment with Satan. He climbed up the dune from the west side of the hill to the mouth of the cavity. The Devil approached from the seaward slope and halted at a horse cry from the fisherman: "Throw me the bag of gold and come shake hands on our bargain!"
The Devil, strangely unaware of the plot, threw the gold into the fisherman's hands, then rushed to place on his brow the sign and seal that would insure for his own the fisherman's soul. The brittle twigs broke beneath his tread, and down into the deep cavity, into the treacherous quicksand at its depths, while fierce lightning flashed and awful rolls of thunder resounded o'er land and sea, the Prince of Darkness plunged. "I have killed the Devil!" joyfully the fisherman cried; and so proud of his clever trick was that he could not refrain from spreading the news far and wide.

So, it is said by some, Kill Devil Hills, the great dune and the little mound adjoining it, have been called from that time. But whether the Devil still reposes in the quicksand grave, or whether his spirit is yet abroad in the world, let saint and sinner decide.

————

The fourth legend connected with the Kill Devil Hills was published in a pamphlet written by Captain Tate in 1928, when the twenty-fifth anniversary of the first successful airplane flight was celebrated near the hills.

"The flotsam and jetsam cast up by the ocean along this fringe of coast constituted in the olden days of Kitty Hawk and Nag's Head a large part of the income of many families living on these banks. In fact, watching the shores was an occupation which sometimes paid good dividends.

"Time passed, and as the years rolled round, the practice of insuring the cargoes was instituted. An insurance system known as The Underwriters was first in the field.

"About 1804, so the story goes, a vessel was cast up by the storm very near Kill Devil Hills, and this ship was beached so high that when the storm had subsided, it could be unloaded of its cargo. Right here was the first instance where the native coast man came in contact with an insurance agent. The agent thought that the cargo could be trans-shipped, and bring more money than to sell it at a regular wreck-rate sale, which was then the custom. The cargo was then unloaded and piled up on the beach above the reach of high water, and guards were put on to protect it.

"The bales and bundles of goods began to disappear. The agent taxed the guards with disloyalty. The guards told him that the Devil was getting the goods; that bundles were disappearing right before their eyes, with no one around to help them. The agent heard of a man named Devil Ike, who lived nearby, who feared neither God nor the Devil, and who, if he were hired as guard would put a stop to the goods disappearing. Devil Ike was made head guard. That night he noticed a bundle start off seemingly of its own volition. He followed it, and getting in front of it, found a line attached. Following the line, he found a pony with a man on his back.

"Now Devil Ike was torn between his loyalty to his employer and to his native people. He cut the line, fired his old blunderbuss, and told the offender to get to hell away and never come back. The man knew Devil Ike and paid heed. In his report to the insurance agent, Devil Ike said, `I killed the Devil when you heard me shoot last night.' This happened right at the foot of Kill Devil Hill, and thus the hills got their name."

Source: Albertson, Catherine, ed. Wings over Kill Devil...and Legends of the Dunes of Dare. Wings Over Kill Devil, by Capt. William Tate. 1936


http://www.killdevilhills.com/history/kdhhistory2.shtml pictures 1 and 2
http://www.twiddy.com/history/photos.aspx  great pictures