Episode Transcript
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This is the end of the road in Michigan.
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Tonight we tell the story of the schooner Augusta,
a vessel once called the Houdou Ship,
the spookcraft of the Inland Seas.
For decades she was whispered about in waterfront taverns
feared by sailors and finally abandoned to rot
on Docks near Detroit.
But her darkest legacy is tied to one of the worst disasters
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in Great Lakes history, the sinking of the Lady Elgin in 1860.
Along the Canadian side of the Detroit River,
between Amherstburg and Lake Erie,
lies a stretch of shoreline where the shifting sands
cover the bones of many old sailing ships.
Among these forgotten hulks is the Augusta.
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She was launched in the 1860s,
a schooner built for trade across the Inland Seas.
But from the beginning sailors claimed she carried a curse.
Her voyages were marred by misfortune,
rigging broke in calm weather,
a sailor fell from her spars and was killed.
Cargo spoiled in her hold.
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Captains resigned rather than take her out again.
She became known in Dockside Talk as the Spookship,
the flying Dutchman of the Great Lakes,
insurance companies charged higher premiums
when her name was written on a policy.
Doc workers muttered when she tied up.
Sailors refused to sign on,
but her worst night came on September 8, 1860.
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The Augusta was sailing from Milwaukee towards Chicago
with a load of lumber.
Off-racing Wisconsin in the darkness of that night,
she collided with the excursion steamer Lady Elgin.
The Lady Elgin was a palatial side-wheeler,
crowded with nearly 400 passengers,
men, women, and children bound for Chicago.
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When the Augusta struck, the whole torn in the steamer's side
was said to be large enough to drive a span of oxen through.
In less than five minutes, the Lady Elgin was gone,
swallowed by 20 fathoms of water.
Out of 366 people aboard, only 38 reached the shore alive.
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Survivors later formed the Lady Elgin Survivors Society.
The last living member, Mrs. Marion Gray of Milwaukee,
died in the early 1920s.
For decades afterward, the disaster was remembered
as one of the darkest nights on the lakes.
But sailors told another version of the story,
one darker than an accident at sea.
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They said the collision was no mistake.
It was sabotage, born of jealousy and revenge.
The tale begins with a man named Mortimer Horton.
Horton was wealthy, worth $50,000, a fortune in the 1860s.
He had married Claudia van P., but in truth, he loved her sister, Dorothy.
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When Dorothy spurned him, calling him contemptible,
his wounded pride turned to obsession.
When Dorothy announced her engagement to Lieutenant Tom,
of the Illinois Infantry, Horton's jealousy deepened.
The young couple planned to make their honeymoon aboard the excursion steamer, Lady Elgin.
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Horton, in the sailor's version of the tale, determined to ruin them.
On the night of September 8,
Captain Peter Larson of the Augusta handed over command to a man he introduced as Captain Russell.
Tall, broad, used to giving orders.
He was accompanied by a young woman with dark eyes and striking looks.
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Sailors suspected this Captain Russell was none other than Mortimer Horton, under an assumed name.
Judd, Larson told his mate, shake hands with Captain Russell.
He'll take the Augusta up to Chicago for me.
His orders are the same as mine.
By nightfall the Augusta was under full canvas, main sail, foresail, mishon, top sails, jibs,
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even her big rafi, catching the offshore breeze as she steered south by east for Chicago.
An old sailor named Charlie Backstays later told what happened next.
"The moon was up about an hour when we sighted the lights of the excursion boat," he said.
"The Augusta was slipping through the water like a greased eel."
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Charlie was forward when he realized a collision was imminent.
He shouted for the helm to be thrown over, but Captain Russell did not move.
The schooner struck the lady Elgin just forward of her gangway, tearing through her side.
Charlie heard pounding from the forecastle, the rest of the crew, locked below with a padlock.
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Only Horton and Charlie were left on deck.
At once Charlie knew the crash was no accident.
The steamer was sinking fast, passengers leaping into the lake.
Charlie rushed to lower the Augusta's yawl to rescue survivors.
But Horton stopped him, pressing the muzzle of a pistol into his ribs.
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"Get forward, you swab," Horton barked.
Get a hole to the downhalls on them jibs, leave the stasel alone, let her rip.
Charlie obeyed.
The lady Elgin vanished beneath the waves.
More than three hundred souls went down with her.
And the Augusta, damaged but still afloat, sailed on into the night.
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From that night forward the Augusta was doomed in reputation.
She was called the "Jona of the Lakes."
Insurance premiums rose.
Sailors swore they would never step aboard her again.
Stories grew with the telling.
Charlie lights were said to flicker in her cabins when no one was aboard.
Figures were seen pacing her deck in the moonlight.
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Even when she was finally abandoned, rotting in the shallows at Shaboygan, lake men avoided
her wreck as if it carried death itself.
For more than twenty-five years she was spoken of as the flying Dutchman of the Great Lakes,
the Spookship.
Like the Plague Ship on Saltwater, she was shunned.
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Two Sailors, she was living proof that a vessel could be cursed.
Was the disaster of the Lady Elgin truly an act of sabotage?
Was Mortimer Horton really at the wheel of the Augusta that night?
Historians point to conflicting evidence and the official record called it an accident.
But Sailors were never convinced.
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Their stories gave the tragedy a human villain and gave the Augusta her enduring reputation
as a "who-do" ship.
And now in the taverns of Duluth, Chicago and Buffalo her name lingers.
To some she was unlucky, to others haunted.
But all agreed the Augusta was the unholy ship of the inland seas.
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The Augusta is long gone, her timbers dissolved into the waters of Lake Erie and Lake Huron.
But her story remains, a warning, a mystery, and perhaps a ghost story.
This has been The End of the Road in Michigan.
Join us next time as we bring to life another story from the haunted past of the Great Lakes.