The Sinking of the Iroquois: Fact & Fiction – Book Review

The Sinking of the Iroquois: Fact & Fiction, Joan Neudecker, Kolibri Press, 2011

Why was Canoe Pass renamed Iroquois Pass? The Iroquois nation, or Haudenosaunee, is far away on the other side of the continent in southeastern Ontario, southwestern Quebec, and upper New York State. I turned to local history to find out, and read The Sinking of the Iroquois: Fact & Fiction. It was after this tragedy, which occurred just south of the pass, that the pass was renamed.

Author Joan Neudecker weaves the true story of the ship’s foundering on April 10, 1911 with a fictional account of a young girl who takes the Victoria and Sidney (V&S) Railway up to Sidney dock at the start of the Easter holidays. I learnt quite a lot of local history and gained an understanding of some place names along the way. As for the Iroquois, it was due to steam over to Fulford Harbour, Saltspring Island on that fateful day. The weather was foul with winds that Captain A.A. Sears later told the subsequent inquest he estimated to be blowing at 50-60 mph. That’s strong gale to storm force! And it was blowing stiffly against a swift running ebb tide. Yet still he headed out, against all common sense and to the unease of onlookers.

We, as mariners, all know that a schedule is the worst thing to have on a vessel as it forces you to look at the calendar or clock instead of conditions, and take chances that shouldn’t be taken. Whenever someone wants to join you on some distant shore for a fun boating adventure, remember to tell them that they get to pick the time or the place, never both.

Getting back to the Iroquois, it was laden that day with heavy, bulky cargo like steel bars and hay bales up on deck, none of which was tied down. He was a seasoned captain so it’s surprising he didn’t have the cargo secured. Regulations weren’t what they are now, but even so, since days of yore sailors have tied gear down and battened down the hatches. Making sure everything is shipshape and tethered before untying the lines just seems like basic seamanship! Moreover, it is unknown exactly how much ballast the Iroquois had. Again, regulations of the day must not have specified the need to know a vessel’s weight and balance limits. (Personally I’ve never liked to see too many gas, fuel, and water cans tied on monohull decks along lifelines, as they bring far too much weight up high, affecting their center of gravity.)

The Captain struggled to maintain control even before the Iroquois was untied, with the bowline snapping under the force of the wind. Fewer than 20 minutes after leaving Sidney dock, her cargo irrevocably shifted, rapidly destabilizing her. Rolling in the rough seas, she keeled over and sank in unforgivingly cold dark water. Believe it or not, there was no passenger manifest, so no one knew for sure exactly how many were on board. To this day it is not certain how many died. There is even some ambiguity about how many survived. The best guess was that some 20 poor folks perished. They either drowned or died of exposure when they were not rescued promptly. Of all the women who were onboard, only one survived – Miss M. Barton, a teacher at St. Margaret’s School in Victoria. All the rest went down like stones due to the weight of their long sodden skirts and petticoats. There is a cairn on the school grounds in memory of two teachers who perished.

Heros and Heels

Of the dozen survivors, a shameful eight were crew. The Captain infamously made a beeline to shore in one of the two lifeboats, passing and ignoring passengers calling for help. The other lifeboat turtled. A. Ollason, one of the deckhands who did what he could to save others, is buried at Holy Trinity on Mills Road, corner of West Saanich Road. The heroes of the day were three Indigenous men in a dugout canoe who had been digging for clams on Piers Island (now home to some BCA members!). William Tzouhalem, Donat Charlie, and Bob Klutwhalem paddled over to and rescued three people, plucking them in turn from the freezing waters and taking them to shore, where locals had gathered to help. For their bravery they were later awarded gold medals.

There was a dive on the Iroquois some decades ago, and the vessel’s anchor now lies in Bevan Park, Sidney, while its propeller is in Iroquois Park, Sidney. These lumps of metal speak silently of the terror of that day.

Reading this book left me with a renewed appreciation for how safe both marine transportation — and women’s clothing — have become in the century since this tragedy!