Pigeon Point lighthouse was the private domain of Capt. Marner–a crusty white-haired sea captain who deeply loved ships. From his “white pinnacle” at Pigeon Point, he had spotted the Colombia before the wreck and thought it was the “tender Madrone”–an offical vessel carrying a lighthouse inspector for an impromptu visit.
“I hallooed to my boys,” Capt Marner said, “and they ran to put on their good clothes to recieve the inspector.”
But he soon realized his error as he witnessed the Colombia “lifted by the roll of the sea and dropped again crunching and grinding its nose on the rocks”.
It was a painful sight for Capt. Marner who talked like a man witnessing a good friend’s death.
“Do ya see how she fights for life? Ah, it’s too bad. She won’t let go of the rock,” Marner said. “She’s afraid of going down if she does. She thinks she’ll hold on and live a little longer. But it’s useless. She can’t live, a big rock sticking straight up in her bow and holding her there while the sea whips her tail and rolls her round like a piece of driftwood.”
By the time Lastreto arrived in Pescadero to wire San Francisco for help, the village was buzzing with excitement. While awaiting reply, he sauntered over to the Swanton House where Sarah Swanton, the inn’s famous hostess, insisted on cooking him breakfast.
Emerging from the hotel, Lastreto saw a stagecoach loaded with Pescaderans and city folks, guests at the Swanton House, all headed for the drama at the beach. They welcomed him abord, and when they arrived at the scene of the shipwreck, the fog had finally lifted.
The city folk passed the day picking up the limes that swept ashore and later in the afternoon, a trio of tugs arrived to transport the calm passengers to San Francisco.
The exact cause of the wreck stirred a contentious debate.
“That fog horn must be out of order,” one of the ship’s officers said, referring to the Pigeon Point lighthouse.
“My fog horn was blowing twice a minute all night,” dissented old Capt. Marner.
“It was as faint as if it were miles away,” the ship’s officer continued, “and it sounded far out at sea. The sound came from the west, not from the north. When she struck, Capt. Clark had no idea where he was. The shore could not be seen.”
“This is one of the queerest accidents I ever knew of,” Capt. Marner said, “and I’ve been 35 years at sea.”
Captain Clark said he confused the fog signal at New Year’s Island (Ano Nuevo) with that of Pigeon Point. The two signals stood not far apart and Clark maintained that he thought he was two miles offshore and some distance north of the lighthouse that marked the final resting place of his ship.
The Pescaderans took full advantage of the wreck as a reat quantity of eastern white lead, the prime element of paint, was recovered from the ocean bed. Shortly it was trading at four cents a pound–and according to legend, every house in Pescadero boasted a fresh coat of white paint.
Hundreds of feet of white and gold moulding stripped form the steamer’s staterooms were later fashioned into frames. The salvaged copper wire was used for clotheslines from which hung bolts of satin, blue eans, woolen blankets and quilts. Hat racks, writing desks and other furniture from the Colombia furnished nearby Coastside homes. Kitchen tables were weighted down with granite ware, pots, kettles and tin ware, all from the dead ship.
“The wreckage was so profitable,” a newspaper reported, “that one of the salvagers was able to buy a home in Spanishtown [Half Moon Bay].”
Three months later cases of olive oil still floated ashore. When the Colombia was finally dynamited, Pigeon Point lighthouse’s Capt. Marner grieved for the steamer, telling anyone who would listen: “She was too young to go.”
——————-
Story by John Vonderlin
Email John ([email protected])
Hi June,
You might want to add this story from the July 19th, 1896 Â issue of the San Francisco Call to your
Colombia shipwreck info collection. I’ve got a few others I’ll send along about the scavenging, sightseeing boat excursions, etc. I’m glad the name
Colombia Cove didn’t stick. Enjoy. John.
COLOMBIA Â COVE’S Â WRECK
The  Undoing  of  a  Stranded
Liner  Viewed  by  Crowds
of  Sightseers.
Souvenir-Hunters  Besiege  the  Vessel
in  Search  of  Relics  of  the
Disaster.
ON Â BOARD Â STEAMSHIP Â COLOMBIA,
ashore  off  Pigeon  Point  Light  (via  Pesca –
dero,  Cal.),  July  18.―The  wrecking  of  the
steamer  goes  on,  though  tbe  bay  (they
call  it  Colombia  Cove  now)  is  calm  and
the  breakers  stilled.  The  ship’s  people
know  that  at  any  time  the  waves  from  a
local  blow,  or  a  mountainous  swell  boating
in  from  some  far  off  gale  will  drive  tbe
crew  ashore  and  finish  the  work  of  the
reef.
Everything  that  can  be  moved  and  re –
moved  to  the  schooners  alongside  is
wrenched  and  torn  from  its  fastenings  and
hoisted  over  tbe  rail  with  the  still  useful
donkey-engine.
That  donkey-machine  has  immortalized
itself.  While  the  great  main  engines  of
the  ship  lie  dead  and  corroding  under
water,  the  donkey-boiler,  perched  above
the  sea,  is  in  action,  and  Fireman  Collins
is  the  sooty  Casablanca  who  stays  by  the
furnace.
When  the  tide  registers  high  on  the
liter-marks  on  the  bulkhead  and  his  fire
sizzles  out  he  drops  his  shovel,  washes  his
face  in  the  flood  that  chases  him  from  his
post  and  goes  up  the  ladder.  Though  Col –
lins  is  a  king  in  a  small  way.  he  can  stay
the  sea  no  more  than  did  Canute  ages  ago;
but  he  gets  a  good  head  of  steam  on  before
the  water  laps  over  the  gratebars  and  the
faithful  “donkey”  runs  until  the  tide  falls.
Then  Collins  again  starts  his  fire  and  lor
a  season  defies  the  waves.
One  of  the  foremost  laborers  in  the  work
of  stripping  the  steamer  is  Ship-Carpenter
Wheaton.  He  assisted  in  building  the
Colombia  and  is  now  engaged  in  undoing
his  work.  With  chisel  and  crowbar  he
ruthlessly  wrenches  mirrors,  desks,  wash –
stands,  racks  and  lamps  from  their  places
and  tosses  them  out  onto  the  deck  to  be
hoisted  aboard  the  awaiting  schooners.
He  removed  the  piano  from  the  saloon
yesterday,  but  with  more  care  than  he  be –
stows  on  his  other  plunder.  There  are
three  other  pianos  down  in  the  flooded
hold.
The  only  idle  person  aboard  the  Colom –
bia  is  Customs  Inspector  O’Leary,  who  is
here  to  see  that  nothing  dutiable  washes
out  through  the  holes  in  tie  hulk  without
his  chalkmarks  thereon.  As  he  has  no
diving  suit  he  is  unable  to  get  down  into
the  hold  and  prevent  the  landing  of  the
cargo,  and  consequently  he  is  in  a  quan –
dary.  He  trusts  that  Deputy  Collector
Bam  Rudell  will  understand  the  situation.
The  only  foreign  importations  that  have
escaped  him  thus  far  are  about  40,000,000
limes  that  have  gone  bobbing  merrily  one
by  one  through  the  breakers  to  the  beach
without  permission  lrom  the  Treasury
Department.  Inspector  O’Leary  has  missed
several  cases  of  men’s  trousers  from  the
ship,  which  have  gone  out  through  the
shattered  bottom  and  have  disappeared.
The  souvenir  fiend  has  come  down  upon
the  helpless  ship.  Every  article  worthless
for  practical  uses  has  been  picked  up,
whether  floating  or  beached,  and  borne
away  to  be  exhibited  in  after  years  as  a
memento  of  Colombia  Cove’s  last  victim.
One  woman  tourist  from  Boston  found  on
the  beach  a  sardine  can  which  Joe  Levy  of
Pescadeo  had  thrown  away  after  eating  its
contents  on  the  bluff  the  day  before.
An  old  gentleman  hailing  from  Belve –
dere  secured  a  driftinc  beer-bottle  and
carried  it  away  in  triumph,  nor  recogniz –
ing  it  as  having  accompanied  him  to  the
locality  that  morning.  A  sweet  Stanford
co-ed  risked  her  life  snatching  from  the
salt  sea  waves  a  pocket-comb  which  her
escort,  a  football  savage,  had  lost.  He
had  been  combing  his  long,  Samsonian
tresses  behind  a  rock  a  la  mermaid  and
had  dropped  it  overboard.
The  country  swarms  with  midsummer
campers  and  the  shipwreck  is  an  addi –
tional  attraction  for  them.  They  come
down  tbe  beach,  sit  on  the  rocks  and  take
in  the  marine  drama,  with  the  poor  Colom –
bia  occupying  the  center  of  the  stage.  A
bright  sun  lights  the  scene,  and  the  or –
chestral  breakers  play  an  eternal  mono –
chord.  Other  ships  pass  and  repass  tbe
little  bay.  gliding  smoothly  over  the  quiet
sea,  and  their  freedom  makes  the  condi –
tion  of  their  luckless  sister,  bound  as  she
in  to  a  rock,  all  the  more  pitiable.
“I  was  listening  to  the  Ano  Nuevo  fog
signal  sounding  off  the  starboard  quarter,
and  had  not  the  slightest  idea  ol  danger,”
said  Captain  Clark  to-day,  in  discussing
the  recent  disaster.  “I  was  sure  that  it
was  the  Pigeon  Point  warning,  and  as  it
sounded  so  indistinct  in  the  thick  fog  I
believed  it  was  miles  astern,  and  so  kept
on,  with  this  result.  What  was  my  sensa –
tions  when  I  felt  the  reef?
“Well,  it  was  as  if  a  knife  was  going
through  me.  I  did  not  know  where  I  was,
and  the  shock  of  finding  myself  on  the
rocks,  when  I  thought  myself  well  at  sea,
bewildered  me  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  I
thought  of  the  passengers  and  crew;  of
myself  I  had  no  thought,  except  that  I
desired  to  go  down  on  those  rocks  and  be
ground  to  fragments  with  my  ship.
“I  have  sailed  probably  six  times  a  year
for  six  years  out  yonder,  going  up  and
down  this  coast.  I  knew  that  this  was  a
spot  to  shun,  and  that  it  was  the  burial
place  of  several  vessels  that  had  wandered
in  too  near  the  reefs.  Can  you  not  im –
agine  how  anxious  I  was  when  the  fog
came  down  upon  me,  and  a  danger  signal
horn  on  shore  was  sounding?  I  never
THE Â SAN Â FRANCISCO Â CALL, Â SUNDAY, Â JULY Â 19, Â 1896.
heard  the  Pigeon  Point  signal,  though  it
was  so  near.  If  I  had  caught  a  note  of
that  whistle,  how  quickly  I  would  have
steered  for  the  open  ocean,  and  have  pre –
vented  this,”  and  the  captain  motioned
toward  the  hull  that  reeled  uneasily
beneath  our  feet.
“This  is  my  first  mishap  and  no  one  can
know  how  it  takes  me,”  he  continued.
“My  wife  and  my  daughter,  the  latter  of
whom  has  just  graduated  from  the  uni –
versity,  are  in  Massachusetts.  They  will
immediately  return;  their  pleasant  visit –
ing  is  quickly  brought  to  an  end.
But  I  have  one  consolation,  and  that
is  that  no  lives  were  lost.  There  is  no  sad –
ness  in  any  home  but  my  own.  I  wish
this  vessel  could  be  saved.  She  is  too
good  a  ship  to  be  lost.  She  was  so  perfect
in  every  way  that  every  one  who  sailed  in
her  became  attached  to  her.
“Even  now  the  Colombia  could  be  saved
if  the  proper  appliances  were  at  hand.
The  water  is  deep  around  the  narrow  ledge
of  rocks  on  which  she  lies  so  easily.  Ves –
sels,  lighters,  pontoons  of  any  draught
could  be  moored  alongside  of  her  and  her
hull  lifted  clear.  If  she  had  gone  ashore
within  forty  miles  of  New  York  or  any
large  Atlantic  seaport  she  would  not  have
been  abandoned  to  become  a  scrap-iron
heap  on  the  beach.  When  somebody  pro –
vides  a  modern  and  effective  wrecking
outfit  the  Pacific  coast  will  cease  to  be  a
graveyard  for  ships.”
