Disaster on the East River: When the General Slocum Caught Fire
On June 15, 1904, the East River was loud with the sounds of tugboats, steamships, barges, and ferries plying the New York Harbor. In a hospital on North Brother Island, fourteen-year-old Mary McCann was in bed with the measles.
“One, two, three,” — Mary counted the blasts from a ship’s whistle in the distance — “four.” Four! The Standard Nautical Warning! Mary sprang to her feet and bounded to a window.
She peered out at the harbor. Not 200 yards away, a steamship jerked to a stop. Its bow lodged on rocks just off the shore.
“It’s the General Slocum! It’s on fire!” Mary shouted as she saw orange flames leaping about the three open decks. Passengers were screaming. Many jumped into the river while others were trapped by the blaze.
Mary didn’t hesitate. She was in her nightdress, barefoot and feverish. But those people needed help. She darted from her room. The hallway was flooded with patients terrified by the nearness of the fire. As nurses tried to calm them, Mary pushed through and ran along the retaining wall to the river.
Passengers in the bow, able to jump into the shallow water near the shore, were landing on rocks, bruised and bleeding, many with broken bones. Most of the passengers were at the stern of the large steamer, and that was out in 30 feet of water, 250 feet from shore. As they crowded and pushed, the railings gave way, and men, women, and children spilled overboard. Encumbered by heavy clothing, they fought frantically to stay afloat.
Mary saw a woman on the second deck of the ship trying to fasten a life jacket onto her small boy. The old rotted jacket crumbled to dust in her hands. In desperation the woman dropped the child overboard and screamed, “Someone, please, HELP!”
Mary was horrified. She dived into the water and fought her way through.
The boy’s knickers and double-breasted jacket acted as a weight around his body, and he began to sink. He saw Mary and flung out his arms in a last attempt to stay above water. Mary managed to grasp him and tow him to safety.
Now Mary saw tugboats, barges, and many other vessels swarming around the General Slocum. People were using anything possible to reach out to drowning victims, even harpoons.
Behind Mary a doctor yelled out, “Bring them here. We’ll get them to the shore!” A line was forming with doctors, nurses, orderlies, and able-bodied patients from the hospital.
A piercing cry cut through the air. Another child floundered in the waves, holding onto a piece of charred wood. Mary swam to her and hauled her to the rescue line.
Mary called out constantly to victims, “Don’t give up! Keep fighting! We’ll help you!”
In only a few minutes the beach was lined with distraught General Slocum passengers. There had been fourteen hundred on board, members of St. Mark’s Lutheran Church on their annual picnic.
Mary did not give up until she had rescued twenty people, nine of them children. Then, trembling from exhaustion, she collapsed on the sand.
After a few more days in the hospital Mary was well again, her bout with the measles was over, and she was on her way home.
Over a thousand passengers on the General Slocum had drowned. There would have been twenty more without Mary. With eight other people she was awarded by the United States Congress the Silver Lifesaving Medal for her outstanding courage.