Two broken lifeboats were repaired and launched. He made a number of round trips, swimming to shore with a passenger or two on his back each time.įinally a lifeboat was lowered, and women, children and many men, including the ship’s surgeon, who would be needed on land, packed in and were rowed to shore. Depositing Collins and Freeborn on the beach, Sawyer swam back to the burning steamer. As they clung to his back, he swam for the shore a hundred yards away, a feat of amazing strength and stamina. Sawyer, a powerful swimmer, dove into the water, caught both men by their hair and pulled them to the surface. Freeborn, the purser, jumped overboard, lost consciousness and sank. “Men, women and children, screeching, crying and drowning.”Ĭollins and James L. “The scene was perfectly horrible,” Sampson recalled later. Steam and flames blasted up from the hatch and ventilators. Loss of the blowers drove the flames out the furnace doors and ignited woodwork in the fire room and around the smokestack. Sawyer heard Collins cry, “The blowers are useless!” After the coal bunkers flooded, the men began tossing slats from stateroom berths into the furnaces. Chief Engineer Jason Collins and his men were fighting to keep steam up to reach shore. Through a huge rent, the sea was filling up overheated boilers below the waterline, cooling them rapidly. Sawyer raced below deck and dropped into two feet of water.

In the raging surf the vessel swung around broadside. “You’ll all get to shore safely.” He pointed the ship head-on toward the sand, intending to beach it. Heading to San Francisco via San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua and Acapulco, with 359 passengers aboard, the ship struck a reef off Baja, shuddered like a leaf and caught against jagged rocks. Sawyer had proved his heroism February 16, 1853, while serving as the fire engineer aboard the steamer Independence. Twain well knew that an engineer typically stood between two rows of furnaces that “glare like the fires of hell” and “shovels coal for four hours at a stretch in an unvarying temperature of 148 degrees Fahrenheit!” Twain perked up when Sawyer mentioned that he had also toiled as a steamboat engineer plying the Mexican sea trade. Sawyer, 32, who was born in Brooklyn, had been a torch boy in New York for Columbia Hook and Ladder Company Number 14, and in San Francisco he had battled fire for Broderick 1, the city’s first volunteer fire company, under Chief David Broderick, the first fire chief. It was his career on the Mississippi, of course, that led Samuel Clemens to his pen name, “mark twain” being the minimum river depth of two fathoms, or roughly 12 feet, that a steamboat needed under its keel. Twain slumped as he played poker, studying his cards, hefting a bottle of dark beer and chain-smoking cigars, to which he had become addicted during his stint as a pilot for steamboats on the Mississippi River from 1859 until the Civil War disrupted river traffic in April 1861. Just returned from firefighting duties, he was covered in soot. In contrast to the lanky Twain, Sawyer, three years older, was stocky and round-faced. At the baths he played penny ante with Stahle, the proprietor, and Tom Sawyer, the recently appointed customs inspector, volunteer fireman, special policeman and bona fide local hero. On a rainy afternoon in June 1863, Mark Twain was nursing a bad hangover inside Ed Stahle’s fashionable Montgomery Street steam rooms, halfway through a two-month visit to San Francisco that would ultimately stretch to three years.

Adventures of a false hero