The Mast-Head: Shipwrecks and Sea Worms
March storms are hard on the ocean beach. The month was also hard on ships in the long age of sail, many of which ran aground on the shore here on their way to and from the Port of New York.
The Mars was among them. Part of its heavy timber frame was exposed to view this week at Georgica if you happened to look during low tide. Dark ribs like jagged tea-stained teeth showed as the waves receded, then disappeared as they surged again.
In all my years walking this beach I have only seen the Mars a handful of times. The most recent until this week, if I recall, was five years ago almost to the day, when enough of the ship was laid bare to make out the rough shape of its hull. That it has survived hurricanes and sea worms for nearly 200 years is something of a miracle.
In her book “Ship Ashore,” my grandmother Jeannette Edwards Rattray recounted that the Mars had run aground at night in 1828, been declared a total loss, and sold to two men, a Sherrill and an Osborn, who set about removing all its furnishings, trim, spars, and copper sheathing.
Midway through their work, a storm blew up and covered the ship with sand. The Mars was not reported to have been seen again until 1931, after another March storm. It was front-page news in The Star on March 13, 1931. A brief account noted that the seas and tide that had ripped under the summer houses of Ring Lardner and Grantland Rice had dislodged thousands of yards of sand so that the vessel stood out clearly. The Mars was seen again in 1956, 1958, 1961, and 1965, The Star reported.
I had not thought about the Mars recently until I noticed a familiar bit of wood in a photograph that a friend posted on Instagram.
Shipwrecks have always interested East Hampton people, and I am no exception. In the old days, a shipwreck might represent a sudden windfall, as in the case of the Sherrill and Osborn men. Today, such remains are objects of wonder and reverie. Robert Wilson’s Watermill Center is said to be working on an operatic staging of the Circassian disaster of 1876 at Mecox.
Why the Mars met its end off East Hampton was something of a mystery. In a contemporary account by Henry Parsons Hedges, the suggestion was made that its captain, a man named Ring, might not have taken depth readings frequently enough. The captain responded testily to a question from locals on the beach the morning after the grounding, according to Hedges, who recounted that Capt. Jonathan Osborn of Wainscott led the questioning, inquiring about the wind and weather and if Captain Ring had taken soundings and how often.
“Old fellow, what do you know about a ship? If I should tell you, do you think you would know any more than you do now?” Captain Ring is reported to have said.
Let it never be said that Wainscott folks were a retiring lot. Captain Osborn looked Captain Ring in the eye and replied, “I have commanded a ship, larger than your brig, and never ran her ashore, either.”
If the tides are low and you have a moment in the next week or so, I suggest you go have a look at the Mars and think for a moment about times gone by.