The Alfred D. Snow Tragedy

The Wreck That Never Fades

Even now, the name Alfred D. Snow lingers like salt on the wind, whispered across the tides of Waterford Harbour. An American sailing ship, her belly full of California wheat, bound for Liverpool—until the storm took her. January 4, 1888. A day etched into the memory of Dunmore East and Duncannon alike, where the harbour’s waters turned cruel.

Had you walked into the Alfred D. Snow Bar at Dunmore’s Ocean Hotel up until the day it closed, you’d have felt it—the ghost of that wreck, clinging to the walls. Cross the harbour to the Strand Tavern in Duncannon, run your hand along the timber of the bar, and you’re touching bones of the ship herself, salvaged from the breakers. The past doesn’t die here. It settles.

And neither does the shadow of Captain Christopher Cherry, coxswain of the Henry Dodd. A man some called a coward for keeping his lifeboat ashore that day, while the Snow fought for her life. The Royal National Lifeboat Inquiry would dissect his choices, ink spilled over decisions made in the teeth of a gale.

The Alfred D. Snow’s end is seared into local lore. Dawn broke on January 4th to reveal her—battered, sails stripped—driving hard up the harbour with a south-southwest gale howling at her back. By two in the afternoon, she was matchwood on the Wexford shore near Broomhill, her 29 souls lost to the hungry sea. But her story didn’t begin there.

She was a Down Easter, three masts of Maine timber, 232 feet of Yankee craftsmanship. Six months earlier, on a July day so golden it hurt the eyes, she’d slipped into San Francisco Bay, one among a forest of masts and funnels. At anchor, her crew traded shouts and stories with the Joseph B. Thomas, another Maine vessel, her skipper one William Learmond. Men laughed, swapped news of home, unaware of the storm waiting for them—months and an ocean away.

A Captain’s Bearing, A Ship’s Doom

Captain William Willey stood tall on the Alfred D. Snow’s quarterdeck—a figure cut from seafaring legend. “Handsome,” they called him, with his jet-black hair, sweeping moustaches, and side whiskers that spoke of a man who commanded respect. His crew trusted him. The merchants of San Francisco did too. But the sea, as ever, played by its own rules.

She was 143 days out of New York when the storm took her, her hull still humming with the memory of Cape Horn’s howling winds. The voyage had been hard—as all Cape passages were—but death had stalked them long before the Irish coast rose on the horizon. On March 28th, Charles Lindgren, a 26-year-old Swede, lost his grip in the rigging. His skull cracked against the rail before his body hit the deck. Twelve days later, a block snapped free from the main topsail staysail, crushing 30-year-old Chas. Brown, a German seaman who clung to life for two agonising days before the deep took him. Both men were sewn into their hammocks, weighted with shot, and given to the waves. The ocean buries its own.

Below decks, the Snow carried the bones of railroads—1,000 tons of steel rails—and, once emptied in San Francisco, a new fortune was packed into her hold: 3,150 tons of California wheat, golden as a pirate’s hoard, and 36,000 feet of dunnage lumber. William Dresbach, the “Wheat King” himself, had chartered her. On August 31st, she slipped past the Golden Gate, her bows turning south toward the Horn. The passage, by most accounts, was uneventful. But the sea saves its cruelty for the home stretch.

By the time Ireland’s coast loomed through the spray, the gale was already upon them—a screaming south-easter, driving them toward the one refuge they could reach: Waterford Harbour. They rounded the Hook at dawn on January 4th, 1888, sails reefed to scraps, the ship fighting for steerage. Up the harbour she staggered, or maybe toward the lee of the Hook—no one would ever know for certain.

On shore, men scrambled. The coastguard mustered on the Wexford side, but the tide and the rocks held them back. The Henry Dodd, Dunmore East’s lifeboat, delayed—too late, too few hands aboard, a decision that would haunt coxswain Cherry long after. The paddle tug Dauntless tried. A telegram reached Captain Cotter at Passage East, and he drove his vessel into the storm, one paddle wheel crippled by the sea’s fists.

From the deck of the Dauntless, they saw it all. The Snow, heeled over, waves chewing her timbers. The crew’s last gamble—a boat lowered into the surf, men tumbling aboard before the sea swallowed it whole. The rest climbed the rigging, clinging like spiders in a burning web, until the masts themselves gave way. One by one, the waves plucked them loose.

It’s the cruelty that lingers. They’d survived the Roaring Forties, the Horn’s fury, the Atlantic’s endless grind. Had they cleared Tuskar that night, the Irish Sea might have spared them. But the tide had other plans.

And what of the crew of twenty-nine? Did all of them even make it to Ireland’s doorstep? Some answers, like the men of the Alfred D. Snow, are lost to the depths.

 Following the tragedy, the RNLI immediately established an Inquiry and on January 21, 1888, less than three weeks after the tragic event, the details of the findings were printed in the Munster Express.  It is indicative of the efficiency of Lieutenant Tipping RN to conduct his business so promptly and without procrastination.

THE LATE WRECK IN WATERFORD HARBOUR

THE JUDGEMENT

The Inspector's judgement is as follows: -

"We gathered from the evidence generally that on the morning of 4th inst., a furious gale from the south was blowing, attended with heavy squalls of rain, and at times thick weather. Soon after 9 a.m., it then being high water, a large fully-rigged ship floating very low in the water was observed on the west side of Waterford Harbour, about two miles distant, standing to the east-south-east, under lower topsails and storm staysails.

About 10 a.m., or soon after, she was observed, when bearing down south from Dunmore and 3 miles distant from Hook Point, to bear up for the harbour. Her progress through the water appeared to be very slow, in consequence of the small sail she was under, and because she was so deep in the water. The general impression among the men acquainted with the harbour was that the vessel was in danger, although no signal of distress was shown - first, because she was too far to the eastward, and second, as the tide was now ebbing, she would not be able to cross the bar in time unless more sail was made.

About 11 a.m., when off Harrylock, it was noticed she became stationary, and her head turned to westward. At first it was supposed that she was at anchor and she was slowly swinging head to wind, but when they saw her stop in that position and the sea break clear over her, it became apparent that she was ashore on the Broomhill shoal, and a flag in the rigging was seen shortly after.

The vessel slowly and gradually fell over on her port side, with her deck exposed to the sea, probably owing to the bilge on that side giving way and from being ground on the edge of the bank. About 1 p.m. she finally appeared to be on beam ends. It was the general opinion that she would break up before low water from the action of the heavy sea and the nature of the bottom, which is hard sand.

The tug Dauntless of Waterford, on receipt of telegrams from Dunmore, proceeded to the scene of the wreck but was unable to approach nearer than from a half to a quarter of a mile to the westward of her. Her paddle box on the port side was badly stove in by seas crossing the bar, but fortunately the floats of the wheel were not damaged. The master of the tug saw the crew take to their boat and remain under the lee of the vessel, which was lying across the sea and formed an excellent breakwater for them."

At about 12.30 p.m., he saw them quit the wreck and attempt to pull through the breakers for Broomhill, which lay dead to leeward of them. Directly they were clear of the shelter afforded by the wreck, the first heavy sea completely swamped the boat, and he never saw them again. The body of the captain, which had a lifebelt on (the ship's papers in his pocket), and the bodies of five of the crew were recovered, but the remainder are still missing. The wreck now lies from half to three-quarters of a mile east of the Duncannon light.

We now proceed to consider what steps were taken to launch the lifeboat and to examine the evidence given by several witnesses. We were told by the Rev. W.G. Gillmor, the hon. Secretary, who read out the copy of the official wreck service return, that he received no report that morning of any vessel being in distress, but learned casually before he left his house at 11 a.m. that a vessel was drifting up the harbour, probably in distress. He immediately went down to the coastguard station, where he met the coxswain of the lifeboat, who was also watching the Alfred Snow, and asked him to look through his spyglass and see if she was showing signals of distress. There was some dispute among the men as to whether she was or not. When the flag was observed in the rigging, Mr Gillmor said, "Won't you launch the lifeboat?" The coxswain replied, "No; I must think of myself," and walked away.

The secretary then proceeded to the boathouse and requested the second coxswain to fire the answer by signal. One sound rocket was fired, and some men came down. Volunteers were called for, and the names of fourteen men taken. The secretary asked Jones, the second coxswain, to take charge of the boat. He refused to take the responsibility, but said he would go under Mr G.R. Wood, of Tenby, the owner of three smacks lying in the harbour, who had formerly been coxswain of the Tenby lifeboat, but if Mr Wood refused, he would then take charge. Mr Wood was sent for, and he accepted the responsibility, though anxious about the safety of his vessels in the harbour, as most of their crews had volunteered to go with him. Mr Gillmor then again called over the names, and only nine answered, the others having left the house. Mr Wood told the secretary he would not take the boat out without a proper crew. The boathouse was then locked up without any further attempt to form a crew, and the men went to their dinners.

Mr Gillmor then went to the coastguard station and consulted with Mr Lowry, the coastguard officer. Finding there was no immediate prospect of manning the boat, he returned to his house. Soon after, he received by a messenger a note from Mr Cherry, the coxswain, enclosing his resignation. About 2.30 p.m. he again went to the boathouse and was informed by the harbour master that the vessel's masts were going by the board, and that he had received a telegram stating the crew had taken to the rigging of the mast still standing. On receipt of this news, and it having become known, several men made for the boathouse, and life-belts were put on by 17 of them, who manned and launched the life-boat under the command of Mr Wood, who, finding that he had too many men in the boat, landed one and then proceeded to the vessel under sail, leaving the harbour about 3 p.m. It being now low water, the sea had gone down, and the wind had somewhat abated. On reaching the wreck, and finding no signs of anyone on board, they followed up the wreckage in the hope of finding someone clinging to the spars, but without success. They proceeded to Passage.

The coxswain, Mr Cherry, retired master of the pilot cutter, did not consider the vessel in danger until she entered the harbour. When he first saw her outside standing to the E.S.E., he expected she would make sail and stand off the land. The second coxswain (Jones) came to him on the look-out, where he was watching the vessel, and said they had better go out to that ship. Mr Cherry replied, "The weather is too bad and too risky for the boat to go. If you are a better man than me, now is the time for you to take the keys." Jones replied that he would not take charge of the boat, but if Cherry would go, so would he. In the opinion of the coxswain, the ship had not sail enough to save the tide on the bar, and she was hugging the east shore too much for safety. He took no steps to unlock the boathouse to fire the signal of assembly for his crew, to prepare the boat for launching. Neither did he seek the opinion of any of those about qualified to judge of the situation

When asked by the hon. secretary to go, he replied, "It is too risky; the boat would live, but the men would be washed out." A little before 2 p.m. he received a telegram from Mr. Allingham, secretary of the Harbour Commissioners, asking whether the lifeboat would go out if the tug was sent for. Cherry replied that the weather was too bad for the lifeboat. During the afternoon he sent by messenger his resignation as coxswain of the lifeboat, together with the keys of the boathouse to the secretary. The second coxswain (Jones) corroborates in a great measure the evidence given by the previous witness. After a careful consideration of the evidence produced and with an earnest wish to arrive at a right conclusion, we are of the opinion: -

1. "That the Hon. Secretary, the Rev. W.G. Gillmor, and Mr. Dunne, the Harbour Master, who is also a member of the committee, on learning that a vessel was ashore, and requiring assistance, did everything in their power to induce the coxswain to proceed to her assistance, and we believe that Mr. Dunne would have been quite ready to take charge of the boat if Mr. Woods had been unable to do so. It was owing to Mr. Dunne's exertions that the lifeboat finally proceeded to the wreck."

2. "That the conduct of the coxswain Mr. Cherry, cannot be too strongly condemned. He was considered a man peculiarly well adapted for the post of coxswain having been a pilot and was also Captain of the pilot cutter. He also possessed the confidence of the men, but he simply did nothing from beginning to end. Although appealed to successively by the second coxswain, Hon. Sec. and Harbour Master, he positively refused to assemble his crew, or prepare his boat for launching, and he took no steps to ascertain the opinions of those around him, who were well qualified to assist him in arriving at the best course to pursue.
   
   Absolute inactivity prevailed, and he appeared to be incapable of action. His example entirely demoralized the crew and threw them into a state of confusion. It is true a heavy gale of wind was blowing and that a treacherous hollow sea created by the action of the ebb tide against the wind, but when we consider what a powerful sailing lifeboat Dunmore is provided with, that there was smooth water in the harbour to launch it, and that wind was fair, we have no hesitation in saying that an attempt to reach the vessel ought to have been made without hesitation. Not content, however, with the demoralization he had caused, he must further aggravate his conduct by making out his resignation and sending it with the keys of the boat-house by messenger to the Hon. Sec. at the very time the vessel was breaking up and the men were drowning. He thoroughly merits the severe censure accompanied by his dismissal passed upon him by the local committee at their special meeting on the 7th to consider his conduct."

3. "That the second coxswain, Jones, did honestly endeavour to the best of his ability to obtain a crew for the lifeboat. The fatal delay in launching her was through no fault of his. Finding that he did not possess the confidence of the men, and that he could not induce the coxswain to go, he at once appealed to Mr. Wood, with whose merits he was well acquainted, to take charge of the boat, and to remain at his post as second coxswain throughout the day."

4. "That there is every reason to believe that, had the coxswain done his duty, he would have had no difficulty in obtaining a crew, as the men appeared to have every confidence in his ability. Although utterly demoralized by his example, we cannot help expressing our astonishment that among such a fine body of Dunmore and Tenby seamen as were present on the occasion there was not one of them to come forward and take the lead in forming a crew and take possession of the lifeboat."

Finally, that our best thanks are due to Mr. G.R. Wood, of Tenby, for taking command of the lifeboat when asked to do so, and to the men who consented to go with him. He was quite justified in refusing to proceed to the wreck earlier in the day when he found there were not more than nine men willing to accompany him. It did not seem to be known that he had ever been coxswain of a lifeboat and understood their management. It must be a source of the greatest regret to him and his men, as well as to the public, that their efforts to save the crew were made too late."

St. Vincent Nepean,

Deputy Chief Inspector of Lifeboats

H.T.G. Tipping,

District Inspector of Lifeboats

The Waterford Standard reported that following an adjournment at the Inquest, Lieutenant Tipping made a statement. It gives us information on the establishment of the lifeboat station five years earlier and the Henry Dodd.

Lieutenant Tipping said that he desired to make a reference to the lifeboat service at Dunmore, and he wished to know if he could then be heard.

The Coroner said they would be very happy to hear Lieutenant Tipping at that time.

Lieutenant Tipping said that some reference had been made to the fact that the lifeboat had been previously stationed at Duncannon after the loss of the schooner Dayspring. The lifeboat stationed at Duncannon was not successful in reaching the scene of the wreck on that occasion. She did not reach the vessel until after it had gone to pieces, and all the crew, apart from the master, were drowned.

The Coroner: "What did the Lifeboat Committee do then?"

Lieutenant Tipping: "The Managing Committee of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution went very carefully into the question. They considered whether Duncannon, as it then was the station, would not be more advantageously displaced by Dunmore or any other station on the coast. As a result of this inquiry, Dunmore was selected. It was found that that place possessed peculiar advantages for a lifeboat. It was to windward of the shoals off Broomhill and the bar, on which ships were most likely to strike. Besides that, there was a good harbour, with smooth water, to launch a lifeboat into at all times of tide, and in gales of wind during winter months, the fine fleet of trawlers belonging to the port, as well as the strange vessels fishing from it, were sure to run in there for shelter. It was considered that a splendid crew of trawler men could always be obtained there if the necessity arose for manning the lifeboat."

"The latter was accordingly placed there in the month of July 1884, after the slip and boat house had been built. A committee was formed to take charge of the boat, Sir Robert J. Paul, Bart., vice-lieutenant of the county being chairman. The Rev. Mr. Gillmor undertook to act as honorary secretary and both gentlemen and committee, assisted by nautical advisers, looked after the interest of the new station."

"The Dunmore boat was the second largest on the coast of Ireland and was fitted for the important work which she might have to perform. Her dimensions were as follows: Length, 37 feet; beam, 9 feet; draught of water (ballast tanks full), 2 feet 3 inches. The ballast tanks held one ton of water. When the tank was empty, the boat weighed six tons; when full, seven tons. The boat was considered by the lifeboat authorities well fitted to contend against the heavy sea that runs in Waterford harbour during onshore or southerly gales."

"It was remarkable to observe that no self-righting boat of the Dunmore boat's size had ever yet been known to capsize on service. Boats of smaller size have capsized generally through carelessness or reckless handling, and on several occasions some of the small class of old fashioned boats have not righted as they should have done, but these accidents were exceptional and were generally accounted for by the fact of the crews either clinging to both gunwales, and holding their bottoms up or the thwarts underneath. The combined weight of the crew on one side would have always righted the boat."

"Since the sad accident at Southport in December 1886, the committee had greatly improved the stability and self-righting qualities of the fleet of boats. Since then over sixty boats had been built and replaced those of older pattern. Thirty more boats were now in process of construction. These boats were all carefully tested as to self-righting qualities if capsized even under sail. The experiments were conducted with weights representing the crews lashed to the thwarts."

"The boat stationed at Dunmore was tested last year after the Southport accident. This was done at the request of the coxswain and crew and was conducted in the harbour. A derrick was rigged from the quay, and by means of a tackle the boat was hove bottom up with all her gear about her. She righted immediately each time this test was applied without the least hesitation, overhauling the tackle-fall herself. Mr. Cherry, who was then coxswain, expressed himself well satisfied with the test. The other members of the crew and the fishermen present expressed a similar opinion."

"In the opinion of the lifeboat inspectors, who held a most impartial and careful inquiry into the conduct of their later coxswain, the boat was quite capable of performing the work for which she was placed at Dunmore on January 4th. That work was the rescuing of the crew of the Alfred D. Snow."

At this point, Lieutenant Tipping was cross-examined by the Coroner and other witnesses were called upon.

The newspaper report in the Waterford News concludes:

After prolonged deliberation, the jury found the following verdict:

1. "We censure the conduct of Christopher Cherry, ex-coxswain and captain of the Dunmore Lifeboat, for his cowardice in refusing to take out the lifeboat to go to the assistance of the crew of the Alfred D. Snow, on which occasion 29 lives were lost."

2. "We consider the pilot boat should have left Passage before she did, and that she did not do her duty on that occasion."

3. "We cannot find language strong enough to censure the Waterford Harbour Commissioners for not having a second pilot boat on No. 1 station. Had they the second pilot boat at Dunmore, the lives of the crew of the Alfred D. Snow would have been saved, according to evidence given."

James Neill, Foreman

The Weight of Judgment & the Tide of Time

For his courage that fateful January day, Acting Coxswain G.R. Wood received the RNLI's highest honour - the Thanks on Vellum - while Second Coxswain William Jones was granted £5 for his service. In time, Wood would take permanent command of the lifeboat, with George Elliott as his steadfast Second. The sea rewards its own in mysterious ways. (1)

But what of Captain Cherry, the man history judged harshly?

The condemned coxswain returned to his public house and grocery in Dunmore East, where the salt-stained regulars still spoke in hushed tones of that January storm. He served pints to fishermen who'd stood by him when others hadn't, the weight of their silent support heavier than any official censure. In 1905, he sold the business to William Power, unknowingly tying another knot in the Alfred D. Snow's strange legacy.

For the ship's sole survivor had been Dash, a red setter who'd fought through the tempest to reach Woodstown's shore. He became a much-loved pet at the farm on the top of Falloon Hill, near Belle Lake, owned by the Ivie family. It was a red setter called ‘Dash’. Later, William Power purchased this farm to supply his butcher’s shop in Dunmore East. The sea, it seemed, would have its ironies. (2)

Dunmore's fishermen never wavered in their support. Walter Power, who'd become a local hero for his 1914 rescue, stood firm at the Arthurstown Inquest: "Had I been coxswain that day," he declared, "I'd have done as Cherry did." (3) When the Tenby men departed, the lifeboat often sat unmanned - a quiet rebellion against those who'd condemned one of their own.

Cherry died with winter's grip tightening on Dunmore in 1912, laid to rest in St. Andrew's churchyard where the gulls still circle. His sons, Tom and Sam, carved their own legends across the oceans - Sam circling the globe forty-five times, saving a shipmate at Barry Docks in '93 with a leap as bold as his father's caution had been calculated. Elizabeth, Cherry's daughter, married into British shipping aristocracy, her memory preserved as mother-in-law to Arthur Westcott-Pitt.

Epilogue: The Sea's Long Memory

The Alfred D. Snow still whispers in the shoals off Broomhill. In Dunmore's ‘Butcher Powers’, old fishermen still argue over what might have been had the lifeboat launched sooner. The RNLI's vellum commendation hangs somewhere, brittle with age, while Cherry's headstone weathers slowly in the salt air.

Two families - the Powers and the Ivies - remain bound by a shipwreck and a red setter's miraculous swim. The lifeboat station still stands watch, though the men who made those fateful decisions are long gone. And the sea, as always, keeps its own counsel.

Sources:

1 The Story of the Dunmore East Lifeboats, Jeff Morris, 2003
2 Transcript from Billy Power of an interview given by Jane Campbell (Nee Ivie) in 1970
3 Waterford News and General Advertiser, February 3, 1888

Final Note:

Captain Cherry rests at St. Andrew's, his story caught between the official record and the living memory of those who knew the weight of a coxswain's decision. His sons sailed the world, his daughter married into shipping nobility, and his pub still stands - though the hands that poured the pints are dust. The sea gives, and the sea takes. And in Dunmore East, the tides still turn.

The Ballad of the Alfred D. Snow

From the port of San Francisco she sailed across the main,
Bound for the port of Liverpool, her cargo it was grain.
On a happy day she sailed away to cross the stormy foam:
There's not a soul alive to-day to bring the tidings home.

If you'll attention pay to me, I won't detain you long,
As I recall the mournful facts in this most feeling song.
My feeble pen can scarce begin these verses for to write;
No poet's brain can e'er explain the horrors of that night.

The day before our ship was lost—most painful for to tell—
She was like a feather in the wind, tossed up on every swell.
She tried to make the harbour for the shelter of the land,
When our good ship went to fragments next morning on the strand.

The signals of distress were hoist by Captain Willie's hand:
Heart-rending cries then rent the skies; no succour was at hand;
The clouds they darken o'er us, the foaming billows roar.
Oh God! is there no assistance coming from Dunmore?

Hark! What a splash amid the wind; our spars are broke in two!
The yards are floating by her side, she's sinking in our view.
Oh Heavens! there are human beings now floating in the tide.
Just look at that small fragile boat that's bumping at her side.

Is there any heart of sympathy now watching from the shore?
Oh yes, there are brave and gallant boys now watching at Dunmore;
They're willing for to risk their lives, to the Coast-guards' house they go:
They ask the Captain for the boat, but he quickly tells them "No!"

At last, we're told, he gave consent to this noble-hearted crew;
In spite of storm and wind and sea, to the sinking ship they flew.
Just as they reached the doomed ship, the crew in hopes to save,
They saw the last let go the mast and sink beneath the wave.

Poor fellows, it was hard on them, just as their voyage was o'er;
After four long months and twenty days, to perish on our shore.
Within our sight they sank that night, in spite of all our skill;
And their ship to-day lies cast away on the sand banks of Broomhill.

The dauntless Captain Cotter, boys, of the Dauntless ship by name,
With courage brave he faced the wave, to their assistance came.
'Twas like a thing that was to be, for when close by her side,
The engine stopped, the paddle broke and she drifted with the tide.

There's only seven bodies found of twenty-nine in all;
In consecrated clay they lie to await St. Michael's call;
To take a trip in the Saviour's ship, down along Jehova's shore,
Where they'll meet the other twenty-two and part from them no more.

The following provided the words and music for the ballad of "The Alfred D. Snow": Jack Murphy of Broadway, Pat Lambert of Harrylock, Temple-town, Matthew Barden of Grange, Fethard, Dick Crosbie, Carcur, Wexford. Jack Murphy and Pat Lambert, who had both a wonderful collection of ballads, have since gone to their eternal rest.

The air was taken down from the singing of Jos. White of Ballyhack, by Kathleen Hammil. The author was Michael O'Brien, the famous ballad-maker.