“The Royal Tar, she went too far,
Her boiler got too hot;
She’ll never see Saint John again,
Because she’s gone to pot.”
The dark story behind that catchy rhyme was explained to readers of New Brunswick Magazine by W. K. Reynolds, who commented in 1898: “how, in the face of such a calamity, such a rhyme could ever have found popular acceptance is not clear…”
The then-popular playground rhyme referred to the 1836 sinking of the Royal Tar steamship, which according to Reynolds, was “one of the most remarkable marine disasters in the annals of the Maritimes Provinces.”
The Royal Tar had been constructed only one year before the disaster, in Saint John. It established an important trade route linking the city with Boston and Portland, Maine.
She was “equipped in unusually fine style for those days” and “there was great rejoicing in St. John when this fine steamer was completed,” Reynolds wrote.
The “tar” in its name is an old reference to sailors, while “royal” referred to the newly crowned British King, William IV. He had been far down the line of succession and had spent much of his youth as a sailor, which included visits to what is now Canada. However, several heirs’ untimely deaths led to his unlikely coronation at age 64.
At the Royal Tar‘s launch, toasts were made to “the patriotic and beloved sovereign from whom the Royal Tar is named The Sailor King.” She completed her maiden voyage to Eastport, Maine in a record-breaking five hours.
Only one year later, she departed Peter’s Wharf at the foot of Duke Street in Saint John with an unusually large passenger list: 72 passengers, largely women and children; 21 crew; and a travelling circus. This included six horses, “an elephant, two camels, and the usual variety of captive birds and beasts which go to make up the stock of a menagerie,” wrote Reynolds. He commented: “When The Royal Tar left St. John it … must have appeared like a modern Noah’s ark.”
The ship had scarcely departed the Bay of Fundy when a fierce gale hit. The Royal Tar took refuge in a sheltered cove in the isolated Maine coast for the next three days.
Observing that the storm was finally dying down, Captain Thomas Reed ordered the ship to resume its trip. However, the storm picked up again, leading the ship to find another safe cove to hide in.
On October 25th the Royal Tar set off again. At 1:30 in the afternoon, the ship’s engineer told Captain Reed that the water in the boiler was too low. “This appears to have been a case of carelessness on the part of the second engineer,” Reynolds commented.
The Captain ordered water to be pumped into the overheating boilers, but it was already too late – the deck was on fire.
“The fire spread rapidly and it was plain the steamer was doomed,” Reynolds wrote.
Flames roared up the middle of the boat, immediately causing panic to the 93 human passengers and numerous large animals aboard. There were only two lifeboats: one large one and one small one. Together they could hold fewer than a third of the passengers.
Henry Fuller, the owner of the circus, later explained to the Saint John Courier newspaper: “Being sick in my berth, it was some time before I was aware of the [fire]; when I came on deck, the flames reached from the quarter-deck to the foremast, – both boats filled and gone, – the Long Boat, with 16 heartless fellows, had rowed off and was soon out of sight.”
Captain Reed and two crew got in the remaining, smaller boat, staying near the ship and organising the construction and lowering of rafts.
Aboard the ship chaos reigned, with First Mate Alexander Black from Pugwash, Nova Scotia seizing control of the stricken steamship and piloting it towards land. Meanwhile, the animals broke free of their cages and ran around the deck in a panic.
Saint Johner Stinson Patten later told the Courier newspaper: “It is impossible to describe the appalling spectacle which the whole scene presented – the Boat wrapped in flames, with nearly 100 souls on board without any hope of relief, rending the air with their shrieks for help – and what rendered the scene still more distressing, the caravan of wild Beasts were on deck, ready to […].” (The final word of that quote is indecipherable.)
As the fire drew nearer, passengers began to leap overboard. Captain Reed in his tiny rowboat hauled them onto the rudimentary rafts made from debris.
The six horses jumped overboard and swam towards the shore. Only two made it.
An American revenue-cutter ship named the Veto arrived to help. However, the tiny sailing ship was built for speedily intercepting slave smuggling ships, not rescuing people. The Veto could only hold a few passengers, but she was able to rapidly sail back and forth to a nearby little island. In between runs, Captain Reed rounded up the life rafts; forty people were saved this way.
Amidst the chaos, the elephant jumped from the burning ship’s deck, right on top of the rudimentary life rafts, sinking them and drowning several people aboard.
In the end, 29 passengers and 3 crew perished in the Royal Tar calamity.
Stinson Patten told the Courier newspaper: “Captain Reed took charge of the stern boat, with two men, and kept her off the steam boat, which was a very fortunate circumstance, as it was the means of saving from 40 to 50 persons, and to him all credit is due for his deliberate and manly perseverance throughout the whole calamity.”
After his return home to Saint John, the Captain Thomas Reed would be feted as the hero of the day, and later become the city’s harbourmaster.
Each year, on October 25th, the survivors gathered in Saint John to have dinner together to remember the tragedy of the Royal Tar.
