THE PASSENGER SHIP HAMONIC BURNS IN THE RIVER
by Wayne Kadar

Dr. Green, his wife and niece, Susan, sat having breakfast in the dining room of the passenger liner, Hamonic. They had left Detroit just the day before, July 16, 1945, aboard the 349-foot ship with over 200 other passengers. Their journey would take them from Detroit up through Lake St. Clair and the St. Clair River, over the length of Lake Huron, then up the St. Mary's River, through the famous Soo Locks into Lake Superior. Then they would return by the same course.

The Hamonic, now in her 36th season, was still a beautiful ship. In demand for a summer cruise, the Greens had to purchase the tickets more than four months earlier to reserve a cabin. The cabins were of a generous size. The dining room could rival any of the luxury ships sailing the Atlantic, and the ship offered many forms of shipboard entertainment.

The ship, having completed its first leg of the cruise, was now tied up at the Point Edward wharf of the Canadian Steamship Lines just north of Sarnia, Ontario, across the St. Clair River from Port Huron, Michigan.

The Green family looked out the port side window at the United States side of the river and Port Huron. The river was busy with vessels of all sizes: kids in small home-built row boats, commercial fishing boats heading out into Lake Huron for their catch and the huge freighters passing with their loads of iron ore, wheat or coal. There were also the beautiful sailboats making practice runs in preparation for the Port Huron to Mackinaw race.

Susan, a typical 10-year-old, picked at her eggs and ham while watching the excitement on the river. Soon she went to the starboard windows to watch the stevedores loading supplies into the hold of the Hamonic.

"Look Uncle, there's some smoke coming from the dock. It looks like a fire." Looking out the window, they could see flames leaping from the top of one of the sheds on the dock.

The family went forward to the bow to better see the small fire, but within minutes, the fire jumped to other buildings and soon all of the sheds on the dock were ablaze.

The officers on the bridge watched as the blaze grew from the fire in the first shop. The First Officer signaled the engine room for power. He wanted to move the ship away from the wharf so fire and Coast Guard boats could get near to spray the flames, and to prevent errant amber flames blown by the wind from igniting the Hamonic.

The report came back that the boilers were down, and it would take some time to develop steam to move the ship. They would make haste in bringing up steam.

Susan and her aunt and uncle watched the building on the dock burn and collapse, thick black smoke rising above the dock, the slight wind blowing it towards the ship.

Rail cars, filled with supplies for the ship's week-long cruise, were afire and several other box cars nearby were in jeopardy of igniting.

Susan turned towards her uncle to ask a question, but her jaw dropped open as she stared over his shoulder in disbelief. "The boat is on fire!" she screamed.

Dr. Green turned to see flames leaping from the upper deck of the ship.

The ships of the day were constructed of steel hulls and main bulkheads, but most of the deckwork was made of wood. The Hamonic's wood deckwork, coated with highly flammable paint, ignited, supporting the flame: And the fire quickly spread.

Passenger ships with long narrow hallways and many stairwells act as channels for the flames to spread. Within minutes the Hamonic was fully engulfed.

Captain Beaton raced for the bridge, pushing his way through groups of panicking passengers. The boilers had developed sufficient power to move the ship from the wharf, away from the fully engulfed dock. He yelled to deckhands to release the cables holding the ship to the wharf. Deckhands on the dock braved the heat of the fire as they pulled the heavy steel cables over the bollards and dropped them over the side. They ran for the bow, but the heat was too great for them to get near enough to release the ship.

The captain ordered the telegraph to reverse full, and hollered into the phone to the engine room to give it all they had. The huge propeller started to turn, churning the river into a frothing foam. The Hamonic backed off, ripping loose the mooring lines at the bow.

The crowds lining the Port Huron riverbank watched as the burning ship was backed into the middle of the St. Clair River.

"Full ahead!" Captain Beaton ordered the wheelsman. "But, Captain…,?" the First Officer began in protest. Full ahead would run the ship into the river bank.

"The passengers have a better chance to survive if the ship is closer to shore," the Captain responded, not waiting for the First Mate to finish his question.

The current of the St. Clair River is about seven miles per hour. The Captain knew many passengers jumping into the river would be swept downstream only to perish.

The telegraph clanged with the order, and the big ship slowed its backward movement, and began to move forward slowly, gradually gaining speed in the narrow river. With a jolt, the Hamonic's bow plowed almost 12 feet into the river's bank.

Doctor Green grabbed a life preserver and tied it around Susan. He looked for a way to escape. They ran to the nearest stairway leading below to the gangway but were met by a screaming group running up. "We can't get down! The smoke is too thick!" a passenger yelled to them.

They ran aft; but heat, smoke and fire blocked any chance for their escape. Dr. Green looked over the rail, thinking of jumping. He saw a small rowboat below. He lifted Susan over the rail and dropped her into the St. Clair River near a rowboat. He watched as Susan was pulled aboard the boat.

Dr. Green, content that his niece was safe, looked for an escape route for him and his wife, as did the other 200 passengers. Some were able to leave the vessel from the gangways before the fire grew too intense. Others elected to jump from the burning ship into the river, choosing the several story fall into the rapidly moving current of the river, where small craft rushing to their aid picked them from the water.

Dr. Green and his wife saw people sliding down the heavy steel cables that once held the ship to the dock. It was their only chance for survival; they got in line to slide to safety.

The cables were hot from the intense heat of the fire, but burned hands were a small price to pay for your life. They slid down the cable until the pain was too great and let go, falling into the river near the riverbank where they were pulled to shore and taken to Sarnia General Hospital for care of their burns and smoke inhalation.

The ship lay almost perpendicular to the shore near the Century Coal Company docks. A quick-thinking crane operator swung his bucket over to the bow of the ship. Passengers trapped on board ran for the bucket. Passengers climbed into the bucket, black with coal dust, for a ride to safety. Once his load was onshore, the crane operator raised the bucket up and quickly swung it over to the screaming people on the bow of the burning ship. The operator removed over 100 frantic passengers from the ship, eight to 10 at a time, in the coal bucket.

Vessels of all types worked the water around the burning Hamonic. Fishing boats, rowboats, race boats, anything that could be employed were used to pull the scared passengers from the river.

Harold Simpson, manager of the J. Wescott Marine Reporting Service, observed the ship catch fire from his office on the river. He and another man went to one of the company boats to help. While underway for the ship, they watched frightened passengers jump from the ship, a fall of 30 or more feet.

They came near a woman who held out her baby to them to be saved. Mr. Simpson found a towel to dry and bundle the baby, while the mother was lifted aboard. They continued picking passengers from the river. His boat full with survivors backed away to the screams of those still in the river. He begged them to move away from his boat so he could take his human cargo to shore. He promised to return.

Onlookers and other survivors of the ship ran to help unload Simpson's boat. "The river is alive with screaming people," Simpson said as they turned back for more.

A thick blanket of smoke hung over the surface of the river, adding to the panic of those floating in life preservers or hugging debris floating around the wreck. Screams of men, women and children haunted Simpson as the frantic passengers disappeared in the smoke. True to his word Simpson returned. In all, he made four trips, taking more than 50 people to safety.

The ship's nurse, Dorthy Dure, was on the main deck helping frantic passengers over the rail to slide down one of the mooring cables. She spoke calmly to the frightened passengers, although, finding it sometimes necessary to raise her voice to keep the evacuation orderly. Standing not too far away she noticed a young boy looking all around and crying. He had become separated from his parents.

Dorothy went to him and reassured him that his parents were safe and that she would make sure he got to shore as well. She searched for a life preserver for him but all were taken. He stood by Dorothy until the last passenger had slid down the cable. Knowing the boy was not strong enough to hold onto the cable she had him climb onto her back for a piggy back ride. She stepped over the railing, tightly grasping the cable, and they began sliding down the cable to the water. The boy lost his grip on Dorothy and fell 15 to 20 feet to the river below. Dorothy splashed into the river and quickly swam to the surface to find the little boy. He was nowhere in site. Dorothy enlisted the boats who went to her assistance to look for the boy. They looked but could not find him.

"Maybe he was picked up by another boat and is already on shore," one of the rescuers said. Dorothy, now frantic, searched the dock area but didn't find the boy. She reluctantly got in a car to be taken to the hospital. The boy was later found, wandering the wharf, crying, looking for his parents and the lady who helped him escape the fire.

In the following days, the extent of the damage became apparent. The fire was started by a faulty generator in the machine shop at the Canadian Steamship Lines' dock. All buildings at the wharf were destroyed as well as 30 railroad cars and their contents. The Hamonic, valued at $1,500,000, was beyond repair and salvage of the steel in her hull and machinery the only recourse.

Through the bravery and heroics of many, the 220 passengers and 130 member crew were removed from the burning Hamonic, averting an almost certain catastrophe. One hundred and fifty people were taken to the hospital for burns, mostly to their hands and faces. Twenty-three were hospitalized, 13 in critical condition. Through the holocaust there was only one fatality, a dockhand, who was killed as he fought to help others.

Wayne "Skip" Kadar's book titled, Great Lakes Passenger Ship Disasters can be purchased at the Corner Store in Harbor Beach, the General Store in Lexington or by calling the publisher, Avery Color Studios, Inc. at 1-800-722-9925. Avery Color Studios is the publisher of an extensive list of Great Lakes books. Be sure to also look for Skip's latest book at these locations titled, Great Lakes Freighters, Tankers and Tug Boat Disasters.