I is for the ill-fated Barque Isidore

Excerpt from Captain Leander Foss, as told by Hartley Lord

...The next four years found [Foss] searching for a new command and that is not easy for a captain who lost his last ship! It was not until the summer of 1842 that Robert Smith, Jr. of Summer Street, Kennebunk, engaged him to command his barque Isidore that was then building at the Bourne and Kingsbury Yards near the Wedding Cake House at the Landing. The vessel was to be named for the Smith's new baby daughter and around the late 1920s—as a lad of perhaps twelve—I can personally recall Miss “Izzy” Smith, a tall elderly spinster who lived in the house that still stands at 14 Summer Street and which in those days was The Greenleaf, a country inn. Fate decreed that she would outlive the proud ship that was to carry her name, by nearly one hundred years!

The day of the launching the crowd cheered as the Isidore started gently down the ways, but fell silent as she stopped before being water-borne. Any trouble with the launching is a bad omen and who wants to be aboard a ship that doesn't want to go into the water?! The following day when a second attempt was made, she careened so badly that some feared she would capsize. Sailors have always been a superstitious lot, but confidence in the ship began to return as her tall masts were stepped down river at the ‘Port and as she fitted out for her maiden voyage to New Orleans to load a cargo of cotton. The sailing date was fixed at November 30, 1842, with Leander Foss, master; Clement Stone, mate: John Crowder, second mate; John Tindall, cook; Thomas King, ship's carpenter; William J. Thompson: Charles Lord; George P. Lewis; George P. Davis; Joseph C. Murphy; Joseph Young; George T. Hutchins; Daniel H. Perkins; Alvin Huff; William B. Harding, seamen; and Captain Paul Grant, passenger. With the exception of Captain Grant, all good men, as their names still indicate!

King had helped build the ship but on two separate nights he had the same nightmare in which he saw a row of seven coffins. The second night, a voice spoke to him saying, “One of these is for you.” This, added to what he knew of Foss' luck, plus the troubles at the launching, were more than enough for King, who fled into the woods where he hid until the Isidore was long gone!

One of the sailors was late for the departure and had to be rowed out to the ship. As they came alongside, the rower commented, “You nearly missed your passage.” “And I wish I had,” was the man's glum response.

There was a light breeze from the north as she stood out from the river and with her new paint and snowy sails, she was a handsome sight! Within two hours, however, the wind swung to the northeast, a gale was starting to blow, the temperature dropped sharply, and she disappeared in snow squalls never to be seen again.

If any of you are sailors, you know the awful plight in which they found themselves so suddenly. Close to a leeshore in a storm, the ship light in ballast, all rigging new and stiff, so that doubtless many of the blocks jammed with snow—making adjusting the sails difficult, if not impossible—the wind screeching through the rigging, the sea getting steadily rougher, and darkness falling early on one of the shortest days of the year. In those days, remember, there were no light switches one could snap on, no floodlights on deck, and sailors had to memorize exact location of the myriad of lines and halyards so that they could be properly handled in total darkness-no easy task, especially on your first day out!

The Isidore was at the mercy of the storm and it was not long before the cry of the lookout who heard breakers ahead. The ship smashed with terrible force into the Bald Head Cliffs and soon broke up with all hands lost.

The weather cleared the next day and pieces of the wreck washed ashore to tell of the disaster. And true to Thomas King's dream, only seven bodies were ever recovered.