Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson

[132] In Captain Cook, who came ashore the next day, I recognized a familiar face, and I could safely congratulate my former townsman for his success in weathering the storm with only the loss of a bowsprit and topmast and some damage to the rudder. He was also favored above all the succeeding vessels by being admitted to quarantine. . . .

The poor barque was less fortunate, and when I went alongside of her in the customhouse boat on Saturday, she was certainly a sad spectacle. She was the Warren of Thomaston, Maine, Captain Condry, from Philadelphia, with flour and grain; and as we approached her she seemed like one of Herman Melville's ghostly ships. She lay deep in the water, her starboard bulwarks almost wholly broken away, no vestige left of bowsprit and foremast, only the lower mainmast and mizzenmast standing. . .. Two women and a baby were on the quarterdeck; and to crown all the sufferings, she had no bill of health and was refused quarantine.

All this I learned from the captain, questioning him in behalf of the customhouse officers. I shall never forget the quiet, rather dogged calmness with which the poor fellow told his losses, one by one, too inured to despair even to court sympathy. “Did you do anything to lighten ship?” “Threw overboard five hundred barrels of flour.” “Any water in hold?” “Four feet. Pumps choked.” “Cargo damaged?” “All of it.” “How many in your crew?” “Six left” (with a glance round), “three lost in the gale.” So we left him, at last, with an inward thrill of sympathy