State

The Night the Crissy Wright Went Down Seventy-three years later, the sea finally yields the last evi¬ dence off her icy death. By PHIL ELLIS If you've done much knocking around ihc Cartcrci coast, this is not a new expression to you: "It's colder 'n the night the 'Crissy Wright' went down!" Up until the ninth of April, that was just a saying. Nobody thought much about it. When it was cold, the saying just popped out. People had been hear¬ ing it — and saying it since . . . since when? Well, let's sec. . . . On that April 9, 1952. Captain Johnny Pittman, skipper of the fishing boat "Reefer” out of Morehead City, was netting flounder off Shackleford Banks — just about two miles outside Beaufort Inlet. As the crew of the “Reefer" made a haul, the net hung on something. It wouldn’t budge. Cap’n Johnny, being curious by instinct, set about freeing the net — and finding out what it was that had it hung. In barely eighteen feet of water, it was quick work to discover that the object was an anchor. In less than an hour, the anchor was aboard the "Reefer." It was an odd anchor — eight and a half feet long and weighing around 2,500 pounds. Made of iron — not steel — it had obviously had a wooden stock. The slock — which is that part of an anchor which goes through the head or “eye" of the shaft, was gone, victim of many years’ attack by the worms of the sea. But the rest of it was there — even to the hemp-wrapped wire ring to which some ancient manila an¬ chor-line had been attached. The hemp on the ring had literally petrified in the salt water — but it was still hemp. Barnacles had formed an inch-thick coaling over the entire surface of the anchor — but there was no rust. The sea had proved the perfect rust pre¬ ventive. Cap'n Johnny brought the anchor back to Ottis Purifoy. who owns the "Reefer." And when Purifoy heard Note: Phil Ellis is sports commentator of Radio Station WPTF, Raleigh. whence it came, he knew. This was the anchor from the "Crissy Wright." It had been lifted from the exact spot where the old two-masted schoon¬ er had gone aground — and later yielded to the battering of the sea — in January of 1879. There arc a lot of the details missing in the story of the “Crissy Wright," . . . details which may never be brought to light. But Jacob Pincr, who cele¬ brated his 87th birthday in June, has filled in the facts we know. He was thirteen years old then — and he lived in Smyrna. And he remembers. "It was the coldest time I ever re¬ member," says Mr. Piner. "Must have been down to at least five above." The "Crissy Wright," according to the old timer, was hauling guano — probably out of South America. She was about a hundred and twenty feet long, and had a draft of eighteen feet. On the early January evening in 1879, she was making ready to put into the shelter of Beaufort Harbor for the night, before continuing on her way to Baltimore. At about dusk, the captain suggested to the mate that the evening meal be served. The mate objected. He tried to convince the captain that the ship should be safely anchored for the night before anyone ate. But the skip¬ per saw no reason to hurry. After all. it was a calm sea — and there was little wind. Of time, there was an abun¬ dance. No sooner had the crew of 22 men seated themselves for "coffee." as they called the evening meal on the old sailing vessels, than the wind and sea came up with dramatic suddenness. Be¬ fore a man could lay a hand to the braces, the "Crissy Wright" was car¬ ried in toward the banks — and was hard aground, a hundred and fifty yards from shore. To make matters worse, the sudden gale snapped the yawl boats from their davits and they were carried away in the now heavily- running seas. The water was icy — and Jacob Piner — he remembers. — (Photo by Dan Wade). no man dared try to swim ashore. The "Crissy Wright" and her crew were trapped. With the night, came the cold. The waves swept over the ship, drench¬ ing everything about her. Her fires were out. Her firewood was carried away. The decks were coated with ice — and the men aboard were faced with the problem: Keep warm, or freeze to death. So. to a man. the crew members began rolling themselves in the heavy canvas sails on the ship’s jib. For a while, the idea worked. The canvas stopped the bite of the wind, and there was hope. But the cold did not abate — and the wind and sea kept up their assault on the stricken schooner. Rescue parlies on shore were helpless to give aid to the men. For five days, the elements pounded the "Crissy Wright." During that time, the rolled-up sails on the jib became soaked with sea water — then became solid blocks of ice. Finally, when a rescue party, led by Garrison Willis, reached the ship, the battle had been lost. They found twen¬ ty-one dead men — and one man who had, somehow, miraculously escaped the frigid fate of his shipmates. The lone survivor, purple with cold, and barely able to tell his story, was rushed to Charleston, South Carolina, to a hospital. He lingered between ( Continued on page 17) THE STATE, JULY 26. 1952