04/23/2026
Today marks the 146th anniversary of the 1880 loss of the entire crew of the Pointe aux Barques Life-Saving Station--at the time, the worst disaster in the history of the U.S. Life-Saving Service. All six surfmen died of hypothermia in the extremely cold waters of Lake Huron. Below is Keeper Jerome Kiah's account of what happened:
A little before sunrise on the morning of the 23d, James Nantau, on watch on the lookout, reported a vessel showing signal. I got up, and saw a small vessel about three miles from the station, bearing about east and by south. She was flying signal-of-distress flag at half mast. I saw that she was at anchor close outside the reef. All hands were immediately called ; ran the boat out on the dock ; and, when ready to launch, surfman Deegan, on patrol north, came running to the station, having discovered the vessel from McGuire's Point, 1 1/2 miles north from the station. At this time, a warm cup of coffee was ready, of which we all hastily partook, and a little after sunrise (5:15 by our time) we launched the boat. Wind east, fresh, sea running northeast, surf moderately heavy. We pulled out northeast until clear of the shore surf, and then I headed to cross the reef where I knew there was sufficient water on it to cross without striking bottom. We crossed the reef handsomely, and found the sea outside heavier than we had expected, but still not so heavy as we had experienced on other occasions. After getting clear from the breakers of the reef, the boys were in excellent spirits, and we were all congratulating ourselves how nicely we got over. I then bore down towards the vessel, heading her up whenever I saw a heavy sea coming. When heading direct for the vessel, the sea was about two points of the compass forward of our port beam, and for the heaviest seas I had frequently to head the boat directly for, or dodge them. When about a quarter of a mile from the vessel, and half a mile outside the reef, and very nearly one mile from the nearest point of land, I saw a tremendous breaker coming for us . I had barely time to head her for it, when it broke over our stern and filled us. I ordered the boys to bail her out before the sea had got clear of her stern, but it became apparent at once that we could not free her from water, as the gunwales were considerably under water amidships, and two or three minutes after she was capsized. We then righted her, and again were as quickly capsized. We righted her a second time, but with the same result. I believe she several times capsized and righted herself after that, but I cannot distinctly remember. As near as I can judge, we filled about one hour after leaving the station. For about three-quarters of an hour we all clung to the boat, the seas occasionally washing us away, but having our cork jackets on, we easily got back again. At this time Pottenger gave out, perished from cold, dropped his face in the water, let go his hold, and we drifted slowly away from him. We were all either holding on the life-lines or upon the bottom of the boat, the latter position difficult to maintain owing to the seas washing us off. Had it been possible for us to remain on the bottom of the boat, we would all have been saved, for in this position she was buoyant enough to float us all clear from the water. My hope was that we would all hold out until we got inside the reef where the water was still. I encouraged the men all I could, reminded them that there were others ,their wives and children, that they should think of, and to strive for their sakes to keep up, but the cold was too much for them, and one after another each gave out as did the first. Very little was said by any of the men; it was very hard for any of us to speak at all. I attribute my own safety to the fact that I was not heated up when we filled. The men had been rowing hard and were very warm, and the sudden chill seemed to strike them to the heart. In corroboration of this theory I would say that Deegan, who did the least rowing, was the last to give out. All six perished before we had drifted to the reef. I have a faint recollection of the boat grating or striking the reef as she passed over it, and from that time until I was taken to the station, I have but little recollection of what transpired. I was conscious only at brief intervals. I was not suffering, had no pain, had no sense of feeling in my hands, felt tired , sleepy, and numb. At times I could scarcely see. I remember screeching several times, not to attract attention, but thought it would help the circulation of the blood. I would pound my hands and feet on the boat whenever I was conscious. I have a faint recollection of when I got on the bottom of the boat, which must have been after she crossed the reef. I remember too in the same dreamy way of when I reached shore; remember of falling down twice, and it seems as if I walked a long distance between the two falls, but I could not have done so, as I was found within thirty feet of the boat. I must have reached the shore about 9.30 a. m., so that I was about 3 hours in the water. I was helped to the station by Mr. Shaw, light-keeper, and Mr. McFarland; was given restoratives , dry clothes were put on, my limbs were dressed, and I was put to bed. I slept till noon (two hours), when my wife called me, saying that Deegan and Nantau had drifted ashore, and were in the boat room. My memory from this time is clear. I thought possibly these two men might be brought to life , and, under my instructions, had Mr. Shaw and Mr. Pethers work at Deegan for over an hour, while I worked over Nantau for the same time, but without success. I then telegraphed to the superintendent and the friends of the crew. The four other men were picked up between 1 and 2 p. m., all having come ashore within a quarter of a mile from the station. The surf-boat and myself came ashore about one mile south of the station, the bodies drifting in the direction of the wind, and the boat more with the sea. I ordered coffins for all. On the 24th, Hiram Walker, of Detroit, telegraphed to ship the bodies of Petherbridge and Nantau to Detroit, which I did, together with their effects. The other four men were delivered to their friends, all residents of this county.
The following are the names of the lost crew : William I. Sayres, Robert Morison, James Pottenger, Dennis Deegan, James Nantau, and Walter Petherbridge. Sayres and Morison were widowers. Sayres leaves five children, the youngest eight years old. Morison leaves three children, the youngest six years old. This would be the third season for these two men at the station. Pottenger and Deegan each leave a wife and four children, the youngest two months old each .This was the second season for these two men at the station. Nantau and Petherbridge were single men, and this was their first season at the station.
Sketch below by Robert McGreevy, maritime artist.
