enticing as the buoyancy rafts secured to the roof of the officersâ quarters. Enveloped in total darkness and with the jagged rocks of Vanderbilt Reef immediately below the hull of the still-twisting ship, it was quickly becoming apparent that abandoning the Princess Sophia was not really an option at all.
On land, Frank Lowle, Canadian Pacificâs agent in Juneau, was one of the first people to learn of the tragedy when his phone rang at 2:15 a.m. At first he almost didnât quite believe what he was hearing; a quick look outside his window revealed the weather in Juneau to be overcast but fair. The conditions that the Princess Sophia had been battling all night had yet to reach the city.
Hanging up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and mentally steeled himself for the start of a very long day. With over three hundred souls stranded on board the stricken vessel, Lowle knew that any rescue attempts would have to be mounted by a flotilla of smaller vessels. At this time of year the largest steamers that could have rendered assistance had the accident happened during the summer months had all gone south for the winter. There was one ship, however, that Lowle realized could help: the eighty-five -foot Peterson . She had just left Juneau the previous evening bound for Haines, Alaska, a small village on the western side of Lynn Canal just south of Skagway. Lowle picked the receiver back up and rang the up the cable office. He requested the operator immediately telegraph the cable office in Haines. Despite the early hour, Lowle had heard a rumour that the Marconi operator there frequently slept in the office, not far from his set.
This innocuous action created yet another bizarre twist in what was already becoming an eventful Thursday morning. As it turned out the Marconi operator in Haines did not spend the night at the cable office, which was completely empty when the message from Juneau started to come in. For some inexplicable reason, at 2:45 a.m. in the morning on a cold October day, a passerby happened to be walking near the Marconi office when the telegraph from Juneau came through. The message coming through was bleak: â Princess Sophia ashore on Vanderbilt Reef, calling help; hasten Peterson to oblige Canadian Pacific Railway.â [3] Only twenty-five minutes after Lowle passed the message along from Juneau, the word was out. Princess Sophia was in danger of sinking.
As if on cue, the Peterson came alongside in Haines. Her captain, Cornelius Stidham, immediately recruited two more crew members to help his existing complement of eight men, and had fifty extra blankets placed on board. History doesnât record how exactly the good captain procured these items during these small hours of the day, but by 4:00 a.m. Peterson was manoeuvring away from the dock in Haines and back out into the turbulent waters of Lynn Canal. The operator in Haines wired back the news to Frank Lowle in Juneau: the Peterson was coming.
Around the same time the Peterson set sail from Haines, help was also on the way from Juneau in the form of a small, sixty-five -foot mail boat called the Estebeth . Manned by Captain James Davis, the Estebeth was just four months old when she began her journey out of Juneau Harbor. She normally stuck to short mail and passenger runs between Juneau, Skagway, and the village of Sitka, located on the eastern side of Baranof Island near the Pacific Ocean. But if Captain Davis had qualms about pushing his new ship to her limits in a rescue attempt in bad weather, he kept his misgivings to himself. Although only licensed for thirty-five passengers, she could fit two hundred souls on board in a pinch. She would be the first of many vessels to leave Juneau Harbor in the hours before dawn that day.
Much like Frank Lowle when he looked out his window earlier that morning, Captain Davis only saw softly falling snow on his departure from Juneau. The weather the Princess Sophia was being punished with
On land, Frank Lowle, Canadian Pacificâs agent in Juneau, was one of the first people to learn of the tragedy when his phone rang at 2:15 a.m. At first he almost didnât quite believe what he was hearing; a quick look outside his window revealed the weather in Juneau to be overcast but fair. The conditions that the Princess Sophia had been battling all night had yet to reach the city.
Hanging up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and mentally steeled himself for the start of a very long day. With over three hundred souls stranded on board the stricken vessel, Lowle knew that any rescue attempts would have to be mounted by a flotilla of smaller vessels. At this time of year the largest steamers that could have rendered assistance had the accident happened during the summer months had all gone south for the winter. There was one ship, however, that Lowle realized could help: the eighty-five -foot Peterson . She had just left Juneau the previous evening bound for Haines, Alaska, a small village on the western side of Lynn Canal just south of Skagway. Lowle picked the receiver back up and rang the up the cable office. He requested the operator immediately telegraph the cable office in Haines. Despite the early hour, Lowle had heard a rumour that the Marconi operator there frequently slept in the office, not far from his set.
This innocuous action created yet another bizarre twist in what was already becoming an eventful Thursday morning. As it turned out the Marconi operator in Haines did not spend the night at the cable office, which was completely empty when the message from Juneau started to come in. For some inexplicable reason, at 2:45 a.m. in the morning on a cold October day, a passerby happened to be walking near the Marconi office when the telegraph from Juneau came through. The message coming through was bleak: â Princess Sophia ashore on Vanderbilt Reef, calling help; hasten Peterson to oblige Canadian Pacific Railway.â [3] Only twenty-five minutes after Lowle passed the message along from Juneau, the word was out. Princess Sophia was in danger of sinking.
As if on cue, the Peterson came alongside in Haines. Her captain, Cornelius Stidham, immediately recruited two more crew members to help his existing complement of eight men, and had fifty extra blankets placed on board. History doesnât record how exactly the good captain procured these items during these small hours of the day, but by 4:00 a.m. Peterson was manoeuvring away from the dock in Haines and back out into the turbulent waters of Lynn Canal. The operator in Haines wired back the news to Frank Lowle in Juneau: the Peterson was coming.
Around the same time the Peterson set sail from Haines, help was also on the way from Juneau in the form of a small, sixty-five -foot mail boat called the Estebeth . Manned by Captain James Davis, the Estebeth was just four months old when she began her journey out of Juneau Harbor. She normally stuck to short mail and passenger runs between Juneau, Skagway, and the village of Sitka, located on the eastern side of Baranof Island near the Pacific Ocean. But if Captain Davis had qualms about pushing his new ship to her limits in a rescue attempt in bad weather, he kept his misgivings to himself. Although only licensed for thirty-five passengers, she could fit two hundred souls on board in a pinch. She would be the first of many vessels to leave Juneau Harbor in the hours before dawn that day.
Much like Frank Lowle when he looked out his window earlier that morning, Captain Davis only saw softly falling snow on his departure from Juneau. The weather the Princess Sophia was being punished with
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