By Dorothy Bowering Robinson
In 2003, my husband Francis and I flew from Boston to St John’s to see where both my grandparents had been born and lived until they emigrated to the U.S. in the 1920s. My grandmother and her family lived at French’s Cove, Bay Roberts while my grandfather was across the causeway at Coley’s Point. It was a long-held wish to trace where they had lived, visit cemeteries, and gather genealogy information. While I personally didn’t know anyone there before our trip, I received a few names of distant cousins whom others had provided. When I knocked on doors, even though I was unexpected, I was warmly welcomed, served cups of tea and heard stories – all exceeding expectations.
One distant cousin, whom we met, was Clayton Menchions and his delightful wife Hilda Batten Menchions, known as the “baby in the mailbag.” She happily related her story, with the caution that we don’t tell her age. She was very modest and reluctant to be the centre of attention, although agreed to talk to us about the harrowing event.
Her mailbag tale began on 10 December 1919, when the ferry that she and her mother were on became caught in one of the worst blizzards recorded on the western coast of Newfoundland. The S. S. Ethie, a fully laden steamboat, was trapped in the sudden storm as it was making its way between Cow Head and Bonne Bay. The seas rolled over the ship and ice accumulated rapidly on all surfaces. Captain Edward English Jr. and crew worked gallantly to keep the engines going to prevent the ship from crashing into the rocky coastline. Most of the coal supply was burned trying to stay out at sea. Empty barrels stored on the upper deck, heavy with ice, were tossed overboard. The thick coating of ice covered everything on deck including livestock.
The Ethie was 155 feet long with a gross tonnage of 440 tons and a steel hull, but no match for the forces of nature. Ice was building up quickly and water poured into the stoke hole and engine room. Even with the valiant efforts of the men, the storm was winning the battle and the ship faced certain destruction on the rocks.
Huddled in a stateroom below deck were Elizabeth Caine Batten, who was pregnant and her 18-month-old daughter Hilda Batten. Traveling with them was her father-in-law, Joseph Batten, who anticipated spending Christmas together with the family at their home.
The next morning, December 11, the unrelenting winds seemed fiercer with heavy seas and blinding snow. In the daylight, blurred glimpses of land were sighted and declared to be Martin’s Point. When the ship appeared destined to crash on the rocky coast, passengers were fitted with life belts and remained calm, according to reports. The captain realized that nothing short of a miracle was going to save the ship and the ninety-two passengers and crew.
The captain and crew studied the coastline and in desperation steered towards the cove. At noon, the ship was thrust on the sharp-ridged reef known as the Whaleback, about 100 yards from shore and plans for abandoning the ship were put into action. The ship struck with a terrific force, listing heavily to the port side and lying solidly wedged amongst the rocks.
Residents of the nearby settlement had seen the ship in trouble and prepared a rope line. The western coast of Newfoundland, with its rocky coastline and tempestuous waters, was no stranger to shipwrecks and daring rescues. The crew of the Ethie sent out a life buoy with a line attached to empty kegs. Then a larger line was fastened to the smaller one and pulled ashore with a rigged bosun’s chair attached. One 60-fathom line stretched from bridge to shore. Men on land secured ropes and a cable hauled from the ship was fastened to the cliff above.
The ship’s purser went first to test the rope. Next off were six women. The dilemma was how to get baby Hilda to shore. Her mother could not hold her and grasp the ropes of the bosun’s chair simultaneously. The transfer of passengers was not an easy feat with gale winds and sharp sleet attacking both them and the rescuers.
In desperation, her mother wrapped Hilda in blankets and placed her in a mailbag that was then strapped to the chair and the “mailbag baby” was pulled across the tumultuous water. How fearful her mother must have been to release the bag and watch its slow progress over the stretched frozen rope with turbulent waters below. By dark, all had safely made it and a tragedy was averted.
Who was the baby? Hilda Vera Batten was born on 22 June 1918 in Norris Point, the oldest of four children born to Elizabeth and John C. Batten. She attended a one-room schoolhouse and finished grade 11 at age 16. Too young to attend the university, she began teaching at Bear Cove, near Flower’s Cove, attaining her degree later. In 1946, she met Clayton Menchions who was a fellow teacher at St James High School in Channel-Port Aux Basques. In the 1950s they were employed in the same school system where Hilda taught eighth grade and Clayton was the principal. They dated for several years while Clayton finished his degree and became an Anglican minister, marrying on 23 December 1953 in St John’s. Hilda taught for 31 years, mostly seventh and eighth grade English and math in different towns where she was a beloved teacher.
Little did Hilda or her parents know that her mailbag rescue would become a famous shipwreck story. As word spread, newspapers picked up the tale and dozens of books, poems, songs, paintings, and a play would be written about it. The long-running performance at the Gros Morne Theater Festival has been playing since 1996.
Her mother saved the mailbag where she had placed her baby. The bag had bans of red and white on the outside and Hilda remembered that her mother kept it folded and clean for the rest of her life. Later, her mother Elizabeth said it was the worst thing she had ever felt. Every year on the anniversary, her mother would bring out the bag, reluctant though to talk about the emotional event.
When Hilda inherited the mailbag, she too continued to preserve the artifact and eventually donated it to the Gros Morne National Park. Appropriately the remnants of the ship Effie are visible from the shore of the park; rusty pieces of the hull, boilers and engine poking out of the sea as a reminder of its fortune that fateful day.
Hilda Batten Menchions died on 6 October 2007 at age 89. We were fortunate to meet her and hear her story firsthand.
