William James Ebanks
Conroe, Texas, 1973

In March, 1927, at age sixteen with the approval of my parents, I, William James Ebanks, shipped out as apprentice seaman on the “Veta Louise”, an auxiliary two-masted schooner, on a voyage between Grand Cayman and Tampa, Florida, via the Maritime Islands off the Caribbean Coast of Spanish Honduras. My father, John Timothy Ebanks, was owner of this vessel. The Captain’s name was Thomas Cromwell, husband of my sister, Nella, a man of sterling qualities. My oldest sister, Grace, with her husband, Edison Ebanks, and three children, Ed, Arthur and Mary, were passengers on this voyage.

On the night of April 25, 1927, I was on duty during the 8 to 12 P.M., midnight watch as “lookout”. We were becalmed and located in the Gulf of Mexico at a position which put us directly in the path of steamships in east and west bound traffic. At about 11:30 P.M., I reported to the mate sighting a light off our port bow, which I considered a potential danger. At 12 P.M. midnight, as soon as my relief came on duty I called his attention to this particular light and retired to my bunk in the “foc’sil” and went to sleep.

At approximately 12:30 A.M. I was awakened by the sounds of timber being crushed and of rushing waters. I immediately sensed what had happened and proceeded to exit my bunk, which was the top bunk on the port side. Water was pouring into the “foc’sil” through a gaping hole near the bow. I could hear loud talking, and as I reached the deck I heard the Captain declaring complete destruction had occurred to the port side, including one of two lifeboats on board, and that none of the rigging from the masts was functional.

By now the vessel was already listing heavily to the starboard side, and the Captain ordered all hands to concentrate on getting the lifeboat on the starboard side into the water and moved over to the port side to permit loading of passengers and crew. I ran to the starboard side and joined other crew members in carrying out the Captain’s orders. By sheer brute strength we picked up the one remaining lifeboat and put it in the water, moved it around the stern, and brought it alongside on the port side. Immediately the loading of passengers and some of the crew began in rapid but orderly fashion under the direction of the Captain. Time had run out on us, however. Our vessel was sinking rapidly, and the Captain gave the order to move the lifeboat away from the vessel as soon as all passengers were in the lifeboat.

At that moment I heard my sister, Grace, give the alarm her son, Ed, was not in the lifeboat. Our vessel continued sinking rapidly and listing to starboard. By this time I was standing in water almost knee deep. Just then I felt a small hand pull on my clothing. I turned around and saw Ed practically floating behind me. I immediately shouted this good news. As the “Veta Louise” disappeared beneath us I encouraged Ed to hold on to an empty steel drum floating in front of us. I quickly recognized this to be an impossible undertaking. About this time, the Captain had joined me in the rescue and he proceeded to carry Ed on his back to the lifeboat.

The Captain, myself, and several other members of the crew remained in the water. At the moment of the sinking of our vessel, those of us in the water encountered great difficulty from the undertow created by the sinking vessel plus the eruption of empty air-tight fuel tanks returning to the atmosphere after being submerged for some distance aboard the broken hull of the “Veta Louise”. No one panicked; however, we all shared some very anxious minutes when it appeared likely the ship, which rammed and sank our vessel, would not turn around and rescue us. After several agonizing minutes the steamer changed its course 180 degrees, returned to the scene of the accident, and maneuvered alongside our lifeboat. A rope ladder was lowered to the water in front of me, and then it was determined it would be necessary that the gangway ladder be lowered to accommodate the women and children. I grabbed the rope ladder and climbed up it to the ship’s deck, in spite of the bruised and bloody knuckles caused by the rolling motion of the ship. When I arrived on deck clad only in shorts, I will always remember the expression on the faces of the many female passengers on the steamer, S.S. “Heredia”, United Fruit and S.S. Company of New Orleans, Louisiana. We were shortly furnished dry clothing and bedding by the ship’s personnel. No one experienced much sleep that night.

Next morning, April 28, 1927, we arrived in Havana, Cuba. Through the generosity of some of the passengers on the “Heredia” we were brought one full change of clothing and shoes. It was later disclosed to us by the Captain of our vessel that the one person responsible for this gesture was a female missionary bound for service in South America. She happened to be standing at the rail the night before at the moment of collision and saw the women and children on board the “Veta Louise”. She immediately went to the bridge of the “Heredia” and confronted the officer on the bridge and demanded that he turn his ship around and rescue the survivors of the collision. Perhaps, were it not for the action of this sober, kind, and compassionate lady, I would not be telling this story. Three days later were landed on the island of Grand Cayman. This experience convinced me I should pursue other fields of endeavor.

submitted to this site by
Jim Ebanks
April 6, 2004