Rev. Edward J. Dowling
This original watercolor of the Inkerman and Cerisoles, owned by Fred Stonehouse, was done by a Jesuit priest, the Rev. Edward J. Dowling.
An air of mystery drifts around all shipwrecks. The very word “shipwreck” evokes powerful images of crashing seas, screaming winds and desperate crews.
And beyond those images, the rare ships lost with all hands, without a word, somewhere in the Big Lake, generate questions of not only “where,” but “why.”
Circumstances surrounding the stories of some of the “disappeared” can bring understanding, like when the white hurricane of 1913 swallowed the Leafield, gone with all aboard in the western portion of the Lake.
But the 1918 disappearance of the Inkerman and Cerisoles, two French naval minesweepers – missing, not in action, but in transition across the deep waters perhaps somewhere off the Keweenaw Peninsula – left questions that have spanned a century.
How the two French warships ended up sailing into a crack in Lake Superior remains, for now at least, an inexplicable mystery of the Great Lakes.
It seems that this story ends with the last prayers of 79 men dragged under our Inland Sea and two more ships buried beneath its freshwater waves. The story begins far from Lake Superior, across the saltwater ocean during the height of World War I, “the Great War.”
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The Canada Car and Foundry Company’s shipyard in Fort William near the banks of the Kaministiquia River circa mid-1900s.
European shipyards churned full blast with war-driven construction. If additional ships were needed, they had to come from North American yards, including those on the Great Lakes. Both U.S. and Canadian shipyards worked overtime to meet those commissions.
Why more minesweepers would be required in the conflict was not part of this mystery.
The use of naval mines to sink enemy ships and to deny adversaries access to vast areas of the seas became an important part of wartime strategies. The doughty little minesweepers used to clear deadly mines were in short supply.
Initially the French government approached the Manitowoc Shipbuilding Company in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, to build a dozen minesweepers, but the company’s order books already overflowed. It declined the new work. The French instead gave the order to the Canadian Car and Foundry Company, nicknamed “Can Car,” with the understanding that the Manitowoc company would assist supervising construction.
While Can Car didn’t have a shipyard, it did have a site in Fort William, Ontario (part of the future Thunder Bay), that it could turn into a shipyard … kind of, anyway. The facility was 500 yards from water, in this case the Kaministiquia River, but that lack of waterfront access was overcome by building a marine railway from the assembly building to the river. While inconvenient, it worked.
Canadian Car and Foundry, founded in 1909 in Montréal, was no fly-by-night company, but rather a highly competent builder of railway equipment and rolling stock and operator of major foundries and steelworks.
Later it would expand to include aircraft factories, such as the famous A.V. Roe Canada. Fulfilling the minesweeper contract would not be a problem for Can Car, except for one not-so-minor thing: finding enough skilled labor.
Canada was largely an agricultural economy and its metalworkers, draftsmen, shop foremen and the like were in desperately short supply, especially with war at hand.
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The commissioned minesweepers being completed at the Can Car docks.
Given time, farmers could be made into shipbuilders, but there wasn’t time; Can Car needed workers immediately. Other yards were already using all readily available skilled workers.
The Fort William operation eventually did assemble a crew – a polyglot group with many workers from the United States.
Work started on the first minesweeper, the Naravin, in June 1918. The contract called for all of them to be finished in a fast six months, meeting specifications for vessels 143 feet in length, 22.5 feet in beam and 630 gross tons. Each steel hull had four watertight compartments, important for minimizing battle and storm damage. They would reach speeds of 12.5 knots (14.4 mph).
The ships would all be named for sites of historic French military victories: Naravin, Mantoue, St. Georges, Leoben, Palestro, Lutzen, Seneff, Malakoff, Bautzen, Sebastopol, Inkerman and Cerisoles.
As the minesweepers were completed, they were sent off to Montréal in batches of three. After the dozen were assembled in Montréal, they were to sail to France in a group.
“The tough little ships battled into the darkness against seas increasing in ferocity...”
The Inkerman, Cerisoles and Sebastopol – all named for battles in the 1854 Crimean War of France and Britain against Imperial Russia – were the last three built, all launching within eight days of each other. Cerisoles went down the rails September 25, 1918; Sebastopol on September 30 and Inkerman on October 3.
But the end of the war came before their delivery. Armistice was declared on November 11, 1918, putting an end to the war, though not to the contract terms requiring the last three ships be delivered to Montréal.
The Can Car crews quickly fitted out the ships, including the mounting of two 4-inch guns. After a short shakedown period and crew training, the trio departed for Montréal at about noon on November 23. Considering the fast approaching close of navigation, there was a rush to get the ships to Montréal before the various locks closed – at the Sault and Welland, to name two.
The Cerisoles was manned by 39 French sailors, the Inkerman by 38 and each had a Canadian pilot. To assist the French officers unfamiliar with Great Lakes navigation, both Inkerman and Cerisoles had one Canadian Great Lakes pilot while Sebastopol carried two. The officer in charge of the ad hoc flotilla, and commander of Sebastopol, was Lieutenant de Vaisseau (First Lieutenant) Marcel Adrien Jean Leclerc, a 14-year veteran of the French Navy.
The ships were equipped with all the normal navigational implements of the day’s seafaring, including radios and a dedicated radio operator.
With Sebastopol leading, they sailed over a calm Lake, reaching Passage Island at the north tip of Isle Royale, then taking a direct course for Sault Ste. Marie, some 230 miles distant. Leclerc’s pilots wanted to take the traditional fall northern route closer to the Ontario shore, but he overruled them, later saying in the official French investigation that they were “a timid lot.”
By 7 p.m. that first day of sailing, about midway between Isle Royale and the Keweenaw Peninsula, a southwest wind blew in and the sea blew up. The storm grew into a sharp gale. When the ships started to take water over their starboard rails, Leclerc turned his group on a southerly course toward Copper Harbor. He intended to shelter under the lee of the peninsula, making his way around the rocky point to refuge in Bete Grise.
The tough little ships battled into the darkness against seas increasing in ferocity, deluges of water surging over the decks and flooding in the boiler rooms from leaking decks and hatches, making even experienced crew members desperately seasick.
Marcel Adrien Jean Leclerc was commander over all three vessels on their way across Lake Superior.
Reaching a point off Copper Harbor, things went from bad to worse. About 11 p.m., the Sebastopol’s helmsman lost control. The ship fell off into a trough and only recovered with difficulty. Leclerc later claimed he personally took the helm when the crew panicked. Waves cresting 15 feet punished the small vessels unmercifully.
Around 1 a.m., the dim lights of the following ships disappeared. Leclerc assumed they were just obscured by the foul weather. Rounding the rocky point, Sebastopol lost helm control twice more, only regaining it with great effort.
Reaching Bete Grise, Leclerc expected to see the missing ships safely anchored, but the bay yawned empty. After looking around the small bay, one of the pilots turned to Leclerc telling him, “They are gone.”
Leclerc didn’t believe it. Clearly they had just continued on for the Sault. The radio operator attempted to contact them, but only heard crackling static in return, Leclerc would later report.
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The Navarin is the first of the minesweepers commissioned by the French for its navy.
After repairs and resting the gale-battered crew, Sebastopol resumed its trip about 8:30 a.m. on November 25.
When it reached the Canadian lock the following day, Leclerc was surprised the Inkerman and Cerisoles hadn’t already arrived. Seeing no reason to wait for them, however, he ordered the lockmaster to wire him at the Welland Canal when they finally arrived and the Sebastopol continued on for Montréal alone.
By the time Leclerc received a worrying telegram that the ships still hadn’t arrived at the Sault, he was already in Kingston at the eastern end of Lake Ontario. He immediately returned to the Sault to lead a search.
The effort was large with tugs scouring Isle Royale, the north and south shores of the Lake as well as Michipicoten and Caribou islands.
U.S. Coast Guard crews patrolled beaches, and freighters were urged to keep a lookout for flotsam – all to no avail.
Other than a yawl marked Cerisoles found on the desolate beach east of Grand Marais, Michigan, there were only questions. The old saying, “Lake Superior never gives up her dead” is true regarding the disappearance of the Inkerman and Cerisoles – mostly.
There is a story that 16 years later, in 1934, several fishermen on Michipicoten Island stumbled across two skeletons in the tattered remnants of French Navy uniforms on the shore of West Sand Bay. Supposedly both still had I.D. discs strung around their neck.
The men hurriedly buried the remains in an old wooden fish box. No cross or memorial marked the grave.
Reportedly the I.D. discs were sent to the “proper authorities,” but seem to have disappeared as completely as the vessels.
Did the fishermen find crew remains or were they just spinning another ghost ship tale?
So what did happen to the Inkerman and Cerisoles and the 79 or so on board?
Minesweepers being equipped after launching by the Canadian Car & Foundry Company in 1918.
Some folks claimed they were poorly built and crewed by untrained and inexperienced sailors simply unable to cope with the gale.
Some say they broached, off Keweenaw Point, where Leclerc last saw them. (Broaching occurs when a ship pitches too far to one side and capsizes.)
However a Coast Guardsmen in Grand Marais, Michigan, later reportedly sighted them in squally weather running close ashore eastward bound.
There is even a wild conspiracy theory (of course there is) floated on the Canadian side that the ships were intentionally scuttled to get the insurance money – needed more than the boats after the war had ended – and the crews merely existed on paper.
Or is it possible that one of the minesweepers became disabled and, rather than leave their friends to face certain death, the second ship attempted a rescue that went horribly wrong, sending both ships plunging to the bottom?
“Other than a yawl marked Cerisoles found on the desolate beach east of Grand Marais, Michigan, there were only questions.”
If the surviving Sebastopol was a valid exemplar, conditions on board the other vessels likely were desperate with engine rooms flooding, deck gear breaking loose from lashings, crews seasick and ballasting inadequate. Any of these problems could have caused disaster.
Meanwhile, the surviving minesweepers never served their missions, either. The Armistice put and end to the war and a hold on sailing the ships from Montréal to France. Eventually they were all sold as war surplus for government or private (fishing) use.
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A view of the wheelhouse of one of the minesweepers just before they departed.
Numerous modern-day efforts with the latest search technology have failed up to now to solve the riddle of this century-old disaster, but intriguing materials have come to light, especially with the work being done by the Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical Society based in Sault Ste. Marie and Whitefish Point, Michigan.
While doing research at the National Archives in Chicago last year, Bruce Lynn, executive director of the society, and Rick Elliot, who crews on the society’s research vessel, David Boyd, stumbled onto a December 10, 1918, report by Harry Miller, keeper of the U.S. Coast Guard Two-Hearted River Station west of Whitefish Point, Michigan. According to a story in the society’s Shipwreck Journal, the report verified the finding of that small yawl boat with the oars unused and the name Cerisoles on the bow.
Just this summer, the shipwreck historical society has been searching near Copper Harbor for the wreck on the David Boyd.
This is not the first search for the minesweepers on the Boyd, and I have had the privilege on occasion to join the crew and Darryl Ertel Jr., captain of the Boyd and the society’s director of marine operations.
Even if the ships are found, we may not know the ultimate cause of their plunge to the bottom.
In the end, all that can be said with certainty is that both ships and crews sailed bravely into legend, becoming part of the Big Lake’s ghostly fleet of the lost.
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Sweeping a Mine
Minesweepers of World War I were unique ships with a highly specialized mission: Remove or destroy mines to permit the safe passage of friendly ships. The basic design was taken from North Sea fishing trawlers, making them good seaworthy workboats.
A sea mine, detonated when struck by a ship, usually was cylindrical with metallic “horns” projecting outward. It was anchored to the bottom with a heavy weight and kept in place just below the surface with a wire cable to the anchor. It lurked unseen just below the surface waiting patiently for an unsuspecting victim.
Minesweepers used simplistic mechanical systems to clear mines, thus coining the term “mine sweeping.”
The sweep was a saw-toothed wire cable, dragged through the water at an angle off both sides of the vessel until it snagged a mine anchor cable. As the minesweeper continued, the friction of the sweep cable cut through the mine cable releasing the mine to float to the surface. The minesweeping crews then exploded the mines by rifle fire.
Alternatively, the anchor cable may slide down the sweep wire until it reached a special angled cutter, which, parting the anchor wire, again sent the mine to the surface. A planing device kept the sweep wire and cutter at a set distance and angle from the vessel, similar to the “doors” used to keep fishing trawl nets open or sport-fishing planing boards.
Crew of Inkerman
François Mezou, captain
Menhew, 2nd officer
Henri Jacob, chief wireless operator
Armand Nicol, master gunner
Meneec, chief engineer
Seaman: Francis Qullievere, Leon LeGuen, Paul Giraud, Leon Hamon, Rene Vachin, Francis Domaiain, Valère Pally, Clet Le Morgne, Paul Berthelet, Jacques Cabon, François le Noan, Adrieu Brault, François Quay, Vincent le Soleu, Martial Chauviere, Gregoire Palliard, Gregoire Goascox, Vincent Helias, Louis Vallee, le Pape, Maurice Hermenler, Roger Proger, Jean Guisiec
Engine room: François Geasou, Raoul Houssard, Thomas le Bris, Jean le Guernios, Georges Ducellier, Barthelemy Beaube, Auguste Bouchare, Henri Boaser, François Cariou, Eugene Danigou
Canadian pilot: Capt. R. Wilson
SOURCE: GREAT LAKES SHIPWRECK HISTORICAL SOCIETY
Crew of Cerisoles
Étienne Deude, captain
Jean Perennes, 2nd officer
François le Buan, chief wireless operator
Jean Vigoroux, master gunner
Migadel, chief engineer
Seaman: Clet Louarn, Leon Gulliou, Louis Madizo, Jacques Henaff, Robert Colvez, Yves Medec, Georges Raison, Napoléon Remond, André Merigoux, Jacques Saman, Honoré Angeze,
Joseph le Gall, François Moysan, Jean Batalle,
Jean le Jean, Jean Leminant, Eugene Huet, Françios le Cog, Emmanuel Oliver, Emmanuel le Gros, Emmanuel Bohic,
Yves Hamon
Engine room: Henri Jacob, Gaston Bolleaux, François Boyer, Marce, Pierre Baire, Allan Herve,
Jenri le Martret, Goulven Gullierin, Marius Armand, Henri Jukel
Canadian pilot: Capt. W.J. Murphy
SOURCE: GREAT LAKES SHIPWRECK HISTORICAL SOCIETY
Fred Stonehouse is the author of more than 30 books on maritime history and ghostly tales, including a half dozen for us and the highly popular Haunted Lakes series. He is also this year’s recipient of our Lake Superior Magazine Achievement Award.