THE END OF THE 'PINDOS'
The sailing ship Pindos was launched in 1890, under the name Eusemeri, having been built by Williamsons, for Fisher and Spratt. A four-masted barque, she was built of steel and had a length of 303 ft. 7 ins. and a beam of 42 ft. 2 ins. Gross tonnage was 2,512 tons.
In 1896, she was sold to B. Wencke and Sohne, of Hamburg, and re-named Pindos. She was a notable sailer, and Basil Lubbock refers to her in his famous book, The Last of the Windjammers. She sailed from Tocapilla, in Chile, in 61 days, and from Rangoon to the Lizard in 105 days, to mention but two of her more speedy voyages.
In 1912 she was wrecked off the coast of Cornwall, and the writer has received a letter from Paul Tessendorf, now of Redwood City, California, who was a member of the crew of the Pindos when she was wrecked. His letter gives a graphic account of this disaster. It is worth quoting infull, since it gives us an opportunity to see such a wreck from the point of view of those on board the ship at such a dreadful time:--
This is the story of the Pindos, a German four-mast barque, formerly of English registry and built in the British Isles. She was a well constructed vessel; one that could withstand the rigors of the Cape Horn frenzy of the elements.
The Pindos--former name unknown to me--left Hamburg, Germany, some time in late February or early March, 1911, under the tow of a sea tug to the port of Port Talbot, in Wales, to load coal brickets. After six weeks in port, we left on a Friday in April, and right away the bad luck started. We were hardly out of the Bristol Channel before a bad storm hit us. Later, around the equator, we were becalmed for days, and no sooner were we on our way again when we lost all our trade wind rags to the fury of a "pampero" off the coast of Argentina. it took us all of six weeks to get around Horn, and we almost drifted ashore near Taltal, on the coast of Chile. We arrived at Mejillones after 112 day on the way. The return trip was almost as "uneventful." For 24 hours we battled a hurricane at the rounding of the Horn, going 18 knots an hour before the wind and getting tons of water on the deck every 15 or 20 seconds. If you have ever been around that part of the world, you will understand. This is where the Pindos showed her well-built seaworthiness.
But we finally made it to Falmouth for orders on February 1st, 1912. It was cold and snowing, and the first made, who wanted to show us what German discipline was, had us four ordinary seamen in a boson’s chair scraping and then varnishing the wooden royal mast. On February 10th, 1912, a tug boat put a line on board and we were ready to be towed to Rotterdam. We must have left around 6 or 7 p. m., or maybe sooner. But as we got out into the Channel a "north-easter" came up and hit us right in the face. I was on the forecastle on look-out, and the third mate came to see how things were going.
By that time it was 8 p. m. Young that I was (18), I nevertheless kept my eyes and ears open and told the third mated that we were drifting backwards. He answered by saying that I should keep my mouth shut, and I, as an ordinary seaman, did not know what I was talking about. It just goes to show you that the men in authority don't know everything. It was then that the tug boat captain blew his stem whistle to tell us, as best as he could, that we should drop his tow line.
I told the third mate what was up, and that he should go aft and tell the captain or first mate. The stupid jackass just looked at me and slapped my face. I again told him to cap (let go) the line or cut it. his answer was; "And then what?" "Then we can set sail, leave the Channel, and ride out the storm in the Atlantic," I replied.
By then it was too late. The tug captain had severed the cable himself and there we were with perhaps 3.000 feet of cable hanging out of our bow, making it harder to maneuver.
We then received orders to set the fore and main lower top sails and the fore sail, but as you can see, it was too late. We did not have a chance. At approximately 9 p. m. wit hit the rocks.
I can still hear the grinding of the bottom of the ship as she was lifted twice, and that was it. i immediately, after sliding down the stays coming from the foresail yard, ran to the forecastle to get my life belt. The captain had told us to put the belts under our pillow and keep them there, which I did. When I got there, another sailor had hold of it just as I arrived, and was going to appropriate it. I told him to look for his own, but he never found it. We all collected on the poop deck and waited.
It was not long before we saw people there on shore, with lights, and very soon the first life buoy line caught in the rigging of the spanker mast. We pulled and pulled, but no success.
Pretty soon another line came over, but it was short, and then another, until they must have shot at least six or eight lines, but somehow they got tangled up somewhere. Perhaps by then it was 12 p. m. We were wishing, like Wellington, at Waterloo, that either it should be morning or the Germans should come (under Blucher). Well, this time it wasn't the Germans who were coming, but the brave Cornish men of the Coverack life boat.