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On an island where nine tenths of the men at one time or another had been mariners, many are the tales I heard in my youth of our schooners and adventures at sea. Mr. Peter Every, one of our former seamen who resided in Windwardside, recounted for the Saba Herald two adventures at sea which happened to him.

The first episode took place in 1921. He could not remember the exact date, but during the year in question he was sailing on a two-masted schooner by the name of 'Margie Turner'. At that time the vessel was under the command of David Hassell, and Clifford Johnson.

Peter stated that the 'Margie Turner' left Saba bound for Curacao under a fair breeze all the way. It was about forty-eight hours after their departure one afternoon that Captain David took a longitude sight and told them that towards midnight they would see the lighthouse in Bonaire. Exactly when eight bells were striking there was a thunderous crash and the 'Margie Turner' was ashore on a reef sixty miles to the east of Bonaire (A sailor who was striking the bell at the time of the incident, went headfirst down below to the cabin).

The Captain immediately ordered the lifeboat over the side, and the crew headed for what turned out to be a barren reef about thirty miles long. There was neither water nor food on the place.

The following day the Captain, the mate and the cook left with the lifeboat and started to row for the island of Bonaire, sixty miles away.

As the dawn of each succeeding day broke over the heads of those left behind, their hunger and thirst became unbearable. They drank sea water, which merely increased their thirst, and the only things they could find to eat were the raw whelks they picked from the reef.

One day they saw a schooner passing very close, and they tied a piece of cloth to a stick to attract attention. But the schooner did not stop. Later it was learned that it was Captain Lawrence Johnson from Saba, on his way from Curacao to Barbados.

After seven horrible days on the reef a fishing boat from the island of Bonaire came to their rescue when the disaster had been reported by the Captain. The fishing boat then took them to Curacao.

Peter Every lived to experience yet another tragedy, which happened during World War II. Here follows his story as related for the Saba Herald.

It was a sunny yet windy Saturday in mid-April 1943, when the ship I was sailing on eased out from the oil docks of the Esso refinery at Aruba, bound for Panama in the Canal Zone. Our ship "Valera", one of the lake tanker fleet that plied between Lake Maracaibo and Aruba, was deeply loaded with heavy fuel oil. The skipper, Captain Russell, and the other officers were British while the other crew members were from the Dutch Antilles. Also on board was a Norwegian sailor as passenger. The next day, Sunday, the weather worsened and our ship began taking waves over the bows. Sunday night at eight bells (midnight), I went to the bridge to relieve the quarter master at the wheel, who was also a Saban named Walter Woods. Shortly after Woods left to go aft, where the crew's sleeping quarters were located, there was a sudden thunderous explosion. The ship felt as if she had been lifted out of the sea by a tremendous force while the men on the bridge were flung to the deck.

We all knew at that moment that we had been torpedoed. The "Valera" now lay dead on the water, and took a heavy list to port as oil from her ruptured tanks poured overboard. Captain Russell ordered the life rafts thrown overboard and to abandon ship. There was the sound of tortured metal as the ship, her back broken, parted in two. As the two halves drifted apart, we could see the men in the stern section lowering the lifeboats. The Captain and myself were the last two left on the bridge, the others having taken to the rafts, which were still alongside. The Captain ordered me to the raft, saying: "The Captain is the last to leave." I tried to persuade him to come with me, but he refused to do so. The bow section of the ship was now so much listed, that it was necessary for me to climb down a pipe in order to gain the deck which at times was buried under water. I clung to the rail, waiting for a chance to jump to the raft, when I heard the Captain yell: "Look out Every!" Thinking it was something about to fall on me from aloft, I glanced up. At the same time I felt a terrific blow against my thigh, my hands were torn away from the rail, and I was flung overboard, landing asprawl on the raft. The men on the raft, realizing that I was injured tried to make me as comfortable as possible. Captain Russell was now clinging to the wing of the bridge and was in danger of falling. We called to him to jump. Unfortunately, when he did, he fell in the oil that was still pouring out of the ship. He went under and never surfaced again. There were now five the raft: the first and second mates, the chief steward, the Norwegian sailor and myself, The bow section of the "Valera" sank shortly afterward, but we could see the stern section still afloat in the distance. Just after daybreak, a huge wave struck the raft, washing me overboard. I surfaced partly under the raft and might have drowned. Luckily the Norwegian sailor saw me. He hauled me out and lifted me back on the raft. I am very thankful to that young giant who saved my life.

About midday a huge hammerhead shark bore down on the raft. For a moment it seemed that he was actually going to attack us on the raft, but at the last moment he dived under us. For hours afterward the monster circled the raft, while we watched and held on to ropes, in terror of being washed overboard to be eaten by the creature. suddenly the shark changed direction and headed for the raft and again dived underneath us, but this time he got stuck when halfway underneath. Our raft began to shake and heave, as the beast struggled frenziedly to free himself. For hours this continued, until eventually his movements lessened and then ceased entirely. Our raft now had a man-eating shark as passenger down there.

On the morning of the second day, the stern end of the ship disappeared, and neither raft nor life boats could be seen. The first mate rationed the food and water, saying it might be days or weeks before we could be rescued. Then on saturday morning, seven days or weeks before we could be rescued. Then on Saturday morning, seven days after our ship was sunk, a Catalina flying boat appeared, circled around us and dropped a flare, indicating that help was on the way. sure enough, three hours later an American cruiser came up with a bone in her teeth and stopped near us. A landing net was put over the side, by which means our men climbed on board with the assistance of the sailors. Because my hip was broken I had to be taken on board on a stretcher. One of the warship's officers asked: "what is that thing under your raft?" The first mate replied: "That thing is a hammerhead shark that has scared the hell out of us." A couple of minutes later there was a sound of rapid gunfire and shark and raft were chopped in pieces.

I was taken to Panama, where I was hospitalized for six months, and then sent on to Aruba, where I learned that two others of our crew had suffered broken bones. Our Captain, a fine man and a good seaman, was the only casualty.

Harry L. Johnson, who during his lifetime did much research for us on Sabans and the sea, lost his father when he was three months old in 1913. His father put out to sea on a ship called the 'Benjamin F. Pool'. The vessel ran into a gale off Cape Hatteras, which is known as the sailors burials ground, and never returned. All hands on board were lost.

The exact date of the following episode is not certain, but it happened either in the year 1900 or 1901 in the month of August.

Near the island of Trinidad, three brothers, Carl Hassell, Benjamin Hassell and John Hassell, all born on the island of Saba, sailed together on the schooner 'Columbia'. Benjamin Hassell was the Captain of the of the seventy-five foot schooner. According to Carl, they had been fishing one hundred miles east of Trinidad for red fish, and after catching five hundred pounds of these, they left the fishing grounds and headed for the island of Trinidad.

At midnight they entered the Gran Bocas and could hear the bell boy ringing. At that time there was a squall on. One of the crew went on the masthead in order to tie up the topsail, his name was Thomas.

While the man was tying up the sail, Carl heard the Captain shout: 'Do you see that light?' and ordered the man at the wheel to keep the vessel off.

Carl and his brother John were down below in the cabin at the time. Another of the crew, Adolph Every, also from Saba, was down below in the same cabin pulling on his trousers. Hearing the Captain shout, Carl and John rushed up the stairs to the deck, and while doing so a ship crashed into the 'Columbia's' mid section and cut her in two. It was a four-masted schooner.

Adolph Every, who was still below, was never heard of again. the other nine members of the crew were overboard as well as the ship's dog.

The mainsail of the 'Colombia was spread out on the water, keeping the nine men afloat until a skylight from the vessel drifted by, to which they clung for twelve terrifying hours. The four-masted schooner which had caused the disaster disappeared in the darkness of the night.

The following day around twelve noon they became so fatigued, and considered it such a hopeless case, they began bidding farewell to each other. Shortly afterward Carl heard his brother John shout: 'Look, a sail!' and sure enough, it was a sloop heading in their direction.

When the sloop was close enough, they could see a man clinging to her masthead. Not long afterwords, the vessel came alongside the skylight and all nine men were taken on board. At the time of the rescue the nine men were almost naked and the crew of the sloop gave them clothes. The Captain gave them some water and a little wine.

The next morning they entered the harbour of Trinidad. In the afternoon of the same day, the ship that had rammed the 'Colombia' also arrived in Trinidad. It was learned that the Captain of the four-masted schooner would not change course when advised to do so which caused the collision.

It is interesting to note that the female dog on board the 'Colombia' was also saved. The Captain had given orders, while they were in the water, to save the dog as he might be needed for food. The crew stayed in Trinidad for two weeks and then left for Barbados on board a steamboat. There they met Captain Barnes from Saba, who at that time was in command of the schooner 'Elma', and they returned with him to Saba.

Shortly after that Carl Hassell left for the United States on a large four-masted schooner, the 'Andrew Adams', under the command of twenty year old Will Simmons from the town of The Bottom. The entire crew of the 'Andrew Adams' hailed from Saba, namely Will Simmons (Captain), Rupert Hassell (Chief Mate), Rudolph Simmons (Second Mate), Dory Heyliger (Engineer), Peter Hassell (Sailor), Ronald Hassell (Stewart), Peter Every (Sailor) and Carl Hassell (Cabin Boy).

Schooner "Three Sisters" belonging to Captain William Benjamin Hassell, in Curacao harbour - 1929.

Shipping was very important to Saba in days gone by. When the 'Three Sister's was lost, the Roman Catholic Priest made the following entry into the Church diary: 'October 19th, 1931. The schooner "The three Sisters" went ashore on St. Croix. There were no lives lost. All the cargo was saved...'

On the island of Bermuda in 1932, Austin Barnes, one of Saba's navigating officers, related the following:

On the 11th of October 1917, the American steamer "S.S. Louis Luchenbacht" with a load of ammunition and other supplies, sailed from Brest, bound for Le Havre. Among her crew were four men from Saba, namely Wallace Peterson, George Hassell, James Simmons and Austin Barnes, the narrator. At 1 p.m. the alarm was given: "A submarine to starboard!"

At that instant every man on board was ordered to his post. Some took their positions at the guns, others to the life boats. It was not very long thereafter that the steamer and the submarine were exchanging shots, but neither of them made any direct hits.

Finally the submarine disappeared; some thought that she had been hit, others that she had given up the job. But they were all wrong.

It was not until eight o'clock that night that the fatal torpedo was launched. The night was dark and stormy, with a wind velocity of approximately sixty miles per hour, and the sea was running high. At the aforementioned hour there was a thunderous crash, the ship lurched and swayed. She had been hit amidships and was sinking.

James Simmons and Austin Barnes were at their boat stations at lee side; Wallace Peterson and George Hassell went to the windward side. The boat on the port side was then launched. A total of thirty-two men, including Austin Barnes and James Simmons, climbed into the boat.

The ship's gunners also launched a boat. Then cries could be heard from the windward side; evidently their boats had been smashed alongside the ship. Soon their cries ceased. Two of the boats from the lee side tried to get to their rescue, but to no avail, as the sea was too rough.

The boat which Austin and James were in started to drift away from the ship, and as it did so one of the men shouted: "There's the submarine!" They could see men going on board. Their stay on board was very short. The submarine pulled away and disappeared into the night.

About forty-five minutes had elapsed when the "S.S.-Luchenbacht" plunged to her resting place in the depths of the ocean. Wallace Peterson and George Hassell had bid farewell to their comrades. Thirteen members of the crew were missing, including the Captain, Chief Officer, Third Officer, Wireless Operator, and Pilot.

The lifeboat with Austin and James drifted about in the English Channel all that night, along with another boat. Several ships passed but did not see them. Austin stated that they could see a light on the coast of France, but they were unable to reach the shore.

It was not until forty-eight hours had elapsed that Providence directed their rescue. A Norwegian steamer bound from Africa to France with a load of iron ore, picked them up. The ship took them to France and from there they went to the United States.

A unique sea saga involving a Saban Captain took place off the coast of the U.S.A. just after World War I.

During the month of August 1920, the 'S.S. Atlanthus', under the command of Captain Ernest Alfred Johnson, and the S-5 submarine were in Boston Harbour. At that time the S-5, 231 feet in length, was the largest submarine in the United States Navy.

As the dawn of that fateful morning broke, the submarine started on her journey to Baltimore. While she was closing in on Delaware's Cape Henlopen in 170 feet of water, her commander decided to dive. The S-5 began to descend to the dark waters below.

Slowly she went down to 50 feer, and at 60 feet she tried to level off, but was unable to do so. She continued to plunge in the dark depths. An air induction valve which had been opened, was unable to close.

The submarine was going deeper all the time, and the sea began to rush in the forward torpedo room, causing the bow of the submarine to sink and the stern to rise. Her bow finally struck the bottom of the ocean, and her stern rose to a 70 degree angle. The men were trapped and there was no way to escape.

Part of her stern was out of water. One of her engineers decided to cut a hole in her stern. The crew took turns until a hole was cut. Her commander tied a white undershirt to a length of pipe, and shoved it through the hole which they had cut.

At that time Captain Johnson was on his way to Hampton Roads, Virginia. The Wireless Operator had been left on shore, and due to the fact that he had a skeleton crew, Captain Johnson had to work overtime. During the night he had some trouble with the steering gear, and had to remain up most of the night correcting that.

At dawn, just around the time he had decided to get some sleep, as he was looking through his binoculars he saw what he believed to be a seagull hovering close to the water, Later it was disclosed to be the white undershirt fluttering above the stern of the submarine.

Captain Johnson brought the 'Alanthus' in as close as he could to the S-5, and he could hear the sound of jubilant voices from the men inside who had been trapped for thirty hours.

He then tied a heavy rope to the submarine propellers, and brought the two ships close together. He ordered the crew to rig up a stage, and lowered it besides the hole in the stern, and let in a hose through which they pumped in fresh water.

Having no radio operator on board, Captain Johnson hoisted his distress flags. Two hours later, a freight ship, the 'General Goethels', hove to. Her Captain alerted the Navy Department in Washington. The crew from this ship, along with the men from the 'Alanthus', began to enlarge the hole in S-5.

The following morning, under a blazing beam of searchlights from the 'Alanthus', a section of the submarine's steel plate was ripped off, and her 38 officers and men hauled to safety. That same morning the cruiser 'Ohio' from the U.S. Navy came on the scene, and the crew of the S-5 was transferred to Hampton Roads.

Captain 'Freddy' Johnson in the garden of his home on Booby Hill.

Later Captain Johnson attended a ceremony in Washington, where he received a gold watch from the Secretary of the Navy in the presence of four Admirals. The watch was engraved to commemorate the historic event. Captain Johnson later retired on Saba. He died and was buried close to his home on Booby Hill.

On a visit to Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia, just outside of Washington, D.C., I saw a monument with the names of those who had lost their lives on the U.S.S. 'MAINE'. On the monument was the name of Charles F. Hassell. Interestingly enough the thought crossed my mind: 'I wonder if he has any Saba connection?'

Upon enquiry on Saba I found out that he was a brother of Isaac Hassell, and uncle of Phoebius Hassell and Fred Hassell. Some years later, Mr. Lenny Hassell, sent me from the Navy Department all of the documents relating to the death of Charles F. Hassell, as well as to the subsequent pension of $12 per month which his mother Johannah used to receive from the United States Government. The house Over-the-Peak, known as 'Issac's House' was actually built from the money Johannah received when her pension was regulated.

The report of death contains the following information, which should be of interest to our readers.

Name of deceased: Charles Ferius Hassell

Born on Saba July 1st, 1863 (the same day as the emancipation of the slaves. A freedom child, he later lost his life in an event which caused the Spanish-American war)

Rank: Gunners Mate, 3rd class

Date of death: February 15th, 1898

Place of death: Havana

Cause of death: Asphyxia ex submersione

It states further:

I hereby certify that charles F. Hassell, Gun Mate 3rd class, U.S. Navy, died while attached to the U.S.S. 'MAINE'. Death occurred in the harbour of Havana, Cuba, on the night of February 15th, 1898, as the result of an explosion and the sinking of the U.S.S. 'MAINE'

Record of deceased: Native of Saba, West Indies, Age 34 years, 7 months. Height 5 feet 10 inches

Complexion: Negro

Where enlisted: New York

When enlisted: April 25th, 1895

Previous naval service, about 6 2/12 years

First enlisted January 21st, 1889

His mother, Johannah, was 70 at the time of his death. That same year an application was made on her behalf by the local Kings Council and Notary, Engle Heyliger Simmons for a pension. Also the Government schoolmaster Mr. R.L. Hassell, wrote a letter on her behalf to the Commissioner of Pension. A general affidavit had the following information: Moses Johnson and Lovelock Hassell had appeared before the Notary and declared the following: that they had been personally acquainted with the person Charles Hassell, native of the island, son of Johanna Hassell, late Gunners Mate on the U.S. ship 'MAINE', from his earliest youth, that he never married on this island, and that to the best of their knowledge and belief was never married in any other place, and that at his death he left no widow nor minor child.

Mrs. Johanna Hassell, was taken care of by Henry Johnson Hassell ('Henny Plunkie') a Captain and owner of the house which is now the main building of Captain's Quarters Hotel. She died on April 30th, 1913, and was around 85 years of age.

The sinking of the U.S.S. 'MAINE' was the cause of the 'Spanish American' War, in which the United States captured the then Spanish colonies of Cuba, Puerto Rico and the Philippines, and was the first step towards the United States becoming a world power. also taking part in the Spanish American War from Saba were Capt. Lawrence Johnson, who was in the U.S. Navy, and Waldron E.R.O.P. Simmons, of The Bottom.

There may have been others as well. Once in an old National Geographic Magazine I saw where the 'MAINE' had been dredged up out of Havanna Harbour. Little did I know at that time that a Saban had been on board when she sank. This brief note from our island's history shows how our people got around even in the past century.

This page was last updated on 06/29/2008