The 1868 Sea Bird Ferry Disaster & a Glenmore Native’s Amazing Survival

One of the difficulties of researching persons who emigrated from Glenmore in the early and mid nineteenth century was that surnames and indeed first names could be spelled in a variety of ways. Today, we are going to highlight Edmond/Edward Henebery who was baptized in Glenmore on 7 February 1844 to Nicholas Henebery (c. 1820-1891) and his wife Anastatia Dollard (c. 1820-1905). At the time of his baptism the family was residing in Aylwardstown, Glenmore. At some point between 15 June 1846 and 1858 the family moved to Sheboygan, Wisconsin, where Nicholas eventually became the bridge tender for the Eighth Street Bridge and his eldest son Edward became a sailor. Below is the account of Edward’s survival of what has been deemed the 10th worst maritime disaster on the Great Lakes (Underwater Archaeological Society of Chicago).

The Sea Bird

The Sea Bird was built in 1859 at Newport, Michigan. Her official number was 22368). The Sea Bird was a wood hull side steamer with 1 cylinder and a vertical beam (walking Beam). She was 191 feet and 6 inches in length with a 27 foot 9 inch beam and a depth of 12feet 6 inches. (Alpena County (Michigan) George N. Fletcher Public Library; Special Collections).   She had a 444 ton capacity and was made of riveted oak with two decks. The upper deck had two large cabins, each with about 50 staterooms for approximately 200 passengers. The lower deck was for freight. The sidewheels were 26 feet in diameter (Underwater Archaeological Society of Chicago)

On the morning of 9 April 1868 the Sea Bird caught fire and sank. The wreck is in Lake Michigan a mile off the shore at Waukegan, Illinois. The exact number of casualties is unknown, but it is believed that she carried 75 to over 100 passengers and crew. There were only 3 survivors. (Alpena County (Michigan) George N. Fletcher Public Library; Special Collections).  Passenger, Albert Chamberlain, a shop keeper from Sheboygan, Wisconsin, survived by hanging from the anchor chain. He never entered the cold water and was rescued by the schooner Cornelia. He identified some of the other Sheboygan passengers that boarded the ferry with him. Passenger James Leonard dove overboard to escape the fire and floated on debris all the way south to the Evanston, Illinois, shore. Edmund/Edward Hennebury (sic) was the only member of the crew to survive, and he managed by jumping overboard and floating on the gangplank for 3 hours until he too was rescued by the schooner Cornelia. Below is his account published in the Manitowac Tribune (Thu. 16 April 1868, p. 1). Any headings or explanations not in the original newspaper article has been placed in [square brackets].

Edward Henebery’s Survival Account

I got up early yesterday (Thursday) morning—about 5 o’clock. I had been up about and hour and a half, I should think, when I saw smoke arising on the main deck, in the port quarter, and just below the ladies cabin. The smoke I had hardly noticed when I saw a blaze springing up. The fire seemed to have been kindled right on the deck. There was a lot of tubs and some straw lying near, and the fire got among them right away. I at once cried out “Fire, fire!” Several of the crew who were up came hurrying to where the fire was, the bell was rung, and the passengers who  were not up before came tumbling out from their births and staterooms.

Instantly there was great confusion, and with this the fire increased so rapidly as made me convinced that it must have been burning a long time before I discovered it. The fire was a long way aft of the engine and boiler, in the port quarter. The flames sprung up, and spread al ost instantly into the ladies cabin overhead, though out the freight on the main deck; it did not seem to take 5 minutes before the after part of the boat was on fire. The fire spead into the ladies cabin so rapidly that I do not think all the women had time to leave it. I heard some one say that some of the ladies and children were burned.

[Lifeboats on Fire]

We all rushed into the forward part of the boat. Back of the engine the boats was all in flames. Some of the crew tried to get at the small boats which were aft. I went with them, but we did not get further than the smokestack. It was no use trying; the whole after part was burning up, and the boats themselves were on fire. I was perfectly cool all the time, I knew the boat was going up and somehow or other I felt that I was all right. So I waited about ten minutes, I think, before I, with the assistance of five or six others, shoved the gang plank overboard. During this times the flames were making great headway, and in five or six minutes after the fire was first seen by me, the engines stopped working. All the passengers had crowded into the bow, and some of them, the women and children especially, were crying and wringing their hands and moaning in a way pitiful to see and hear.

Six or seven of us shoved the gang plank over, just forward of the paddle boxes. I waited until the gangplank had floated past, and then I jumped. I was the first man overboard. I swam to the gang plank, and ten or fifteen others followed me. So many of us on the plank caused it to sink, and we all had hard work to keep it and ourselves up. I got along pretty well, until three or four others, seeing that I was holding my own, got around me and took hold of me. I shook them all off, except a coloured boy, the cook’s helper. He put both arms around my neck, and I could not shake him off.

[Clinging to Debris]

I then helped to get him onto the plank, and one man who was about twenty-five years old, and wore a moustache and whiskers, caught hold of my wrist and drew me on the plank. Johnnie O’Brien I helped on the plank two or three times. He was washed off almost as fast as I could get him on. We all struggled very hard, but there wasn’t a man said a word. I got a hold of one of the gang plank ropes, and I stuck to it until I was picked off. I could see men about me having hold of boxes, chairs, fender, and two men I saw clinging to a bag of wool. We boated past the bag and one of the men said to me—he wasn’t more than ten feet away—“You’re going pretty fast.”

There was a heavy sea, and after we had been in the water fifteen or twenty minutes, a swell lifted the plank and capsized it. All who had hold of it, except me, were washed away, and I did not see any of them anymore. I was chilled through. The water was almost at freezing point. I was just able to climb onto the gangplank after the rest had gone, and I knew that if I stayed in the water I could not last long. So I stood up on the gang plank and steadied myself by the ropes.

I had on all my clothes and these were soon frozen so they were stiff. As I stood on the gang plank by myself , I had no thought of death; the same confidence I had felt in being saved, from the first, still clung to me. I looked around me and though the sea was rolling heavily, I could see the lake’s surface dotted here and there with pieces of the wreck, to many of which men were clinging. About half a mile away I saw one of the boat fenders and a woman was clinging to it. As I was watching her I saw her disappear under a swell I saw the fender afterwards bit she was gone.

[The Quiet Freezing Water]

The boat drifted to the leeward in shore much faster than I on the gang plank. About twenty minutes after I left her I saw a crowd of passengers all gathered on the hurricane deck. Many of the men were stripped to their shirts. Nearly all of them had life preservers or were lashed to doors, table, planks and boxes. This was about the last I saw of the wreck. I did not hear any screaming or cries; the sea made a noise that drowned all that. The last I noticed about the wreck she was burned almost to the water’s edge and the walking beam was just falling in.

I was chilled through and felt myself freezing. I did not dare let go the ropes for if I did I should be washed away. I changed hands although my fingers were soon frozen stiff. About 9 o’clock I saw a schooner bearing south about two miles away under full sail. I know they saw me from on board, and I know they must have seen the burning wreck; but they did not bear down on me. It was freezing just like the winter and I could not have held out much longer, when about 10 o’clock I saw a schooner which had been four or five miles to windward tack about and bear down on me.

[Rescue]

This proved to be the Cornelia. She passed me first and went to the wreck; to the leeward. She sent out her small boat and took off Chamberlain from the forward netting, and then came for me. About 11 o’clock they took me off. I was pretty near frozen I went into the cabin where I took off my clothes and dried them. We arrived in Chicago about a quarter past 4 and I went at once to a doctor who gave me something to take, and something for my hands which were frozen.

Death

Although Edward Henebery beat the odds and survived the fire and sinking of the Sea Bird according to a 1926 newspaper article “Ed Henneberry (sic) of Sheboygan was rescued from the water after many hours of exposure and suffering. He lingered for three years after the disaster and finally died from the effects of the exposure. He frequently gave an account of the burning of the Sea Bird and the icy waters he found himself in on that cold April morning in 1868. Ed Henneberry was buried in the north side Catholic cemetery” (Sheboygan Press, Mon. 12 April 1926, p. 3).

Please send any corrections, additional information or photographs to glenmore.history@gmail.com .

For further information on other local families who emigrated to Wisconsin, see, our posts of 29 Sept. 2026 and 17 February 2025.

Dr. Kathleen Moore Walsh