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"The mail steamer Sonora left her berth promptly at ten minutes past nine o'clock and shortly thereafter proceeded to sea. She carried down four hundred and forty-four passengers, and $1,595,497.13 in treasure." - Alta California - August 21, 1857

On August 20th 1857, the SS Sonora, under the command of R.L. Whiting, steamed out of San Francisco bound for Panama City; the commercial shipment of gold in all forms, from dust to coin to bars, was valued at some $1,600,000, and was not at all unusual. Its consignees included some of the leading companies of the day: Wells, Fargo & Co.; American Exchange Bank; and Duncan, Sherman & Co.

The ship's passengers were the typical cross-section of society, as ticket prices ranging from $150 for steerage passage to $300 for first class would dictate. At one end of the spectrum were newlyweds Ansel and Adeline Easton, who had been married just that morning (Adeline had come west with her brother Darius Ogden Mills, whose banking interests eventually became the Bank of California); James Birch, whose California Stage Company, was a virtual monopoly; Judge Alonzo C. Monson, who, just retired from the bench, was returning to his home in New York (having lost his Sacramento house in a game of cards); and the minstrel Billy Birch, "a fattish little fellow with a merry twinkle in his eye," who was accompanied by his wife, Virginia.

Then there were the others; as fewer than a quarter of the berths were first or second class (three berths or more to a cabin), the majority of passengers traveled in steerage. These included tradesmen, newspapermen, engineers, and of course miners - some just visiting home , others returning - either flush with success, or broken by failure. Regardless, they boarded with a sense of excitement and trepidation, and their journey to Panama City was uneventful, arriving some two weeks later on September 2nd.

THE VOYAGE: Across Panama

The Central America arrived at Aspinwall, on the eastern side of the isthmus, on the same day the passengers arrived in Panama City, having left New York on August 20th as well. That day, Commander Herndon bade his wife and daughter goodbye; his daughter, Ellen, as a good luck gesture tossed a slipper at him, after which, according to The New York Times, "he turned and smiled at her, and waving his hand pleasantly, left his home."

The passengers and the heavily insured shipment of gold, boarded the Panama Railroad, and took a creaking, rattling, jarring three-and-a-half-hour ride through the jungle to the waiting Central America . The size of the treasure and the number of passengers required three separate trips by the miniature train. Still, it was an enormous improvement over the four or five day trek which travelers had to withstand before 1855.

Aspinwall's development of the Railroad ("...a little primitive but ... a lot better...than crossing by bongo and muleback") had not only shortened the journey, but greatly increased the comfort and safety of the passengers. Exposure to such diseases as malaria, dysentery, and cholera was greatly reduced, as was the possibility of attack by marauding bandits.

As the passengers, their possessions and the Treasure arrived in Chagres, the Central America was loaded, restocked with provisions, and took coal on board to feed the huge engines made by the Morgan Ironworks of New York.

THE VOYAGE: Panama to North Carolina

"It may appear a frivolous remark, but I never embarked on a voyage with such misgivings as I felt when the Central America steamed from Aspinwall. I did not like the Central America; I distrusted her when she bore the name of the George Law, and the change of name did not tend to increase my confidence in her seaworthiness. But after all, I had not the courage to be swayed by my fears." A Survivor's Account, Harper's Weekly, October 3, 1857

At 4:15 PM, September 3, 1857 the Central America left Chagres, for Havana; it was an uneventful, delightful crossing, with calm, nearly mirror-like seas, and four days later she anchored in Havana harbor, near the landmark Moro Castle. It was a short layover, to bring on additional coal and other supplies; lighters scurried round the ship, and passengers were able to purchase anything from the finest Havana cigars to oranges the size of grapefruits. The next morning, September 8, 1857, at about 9:30, the Central America slipped out of the harbor, "with clear weather and every prospect for a pleasant voyage."

Almost immediately the wind began to kickup; at midafternoon there was a stiff breeze blowing, as passengers milled about the deck watching a brilliantly sunny day disappear into the sea in a blazing red sunset.

That night as the seas began to increase there was no concern, and Captain Herndon was partnered at whist with the redoubtable Judge Monson. To be sure, that day the Captain had been in the position of having a few awkward moments: Ansel Easton on coming aboard had remarked how he thought the change of the ship's name was a bad omen; while at dinner, Mr. Easton's bride asked her dinner-mate, the Captain, about shipwrecks. To the first comment Herndon replied he was not superstitious; to the second he stated that, "If she goes down, I go under her keel."

On Wednesday morning, the weather worsened, first gradually; then, suddenly a squall blew up, and the passengers on deck beat a hasty retreat below. By that evening the ship was roiling in the deepening waves, and "the crying of children and the moans of those suffering seasickness," reported survivor Barney Lee to the New York Herald, was only exceeded by "the continued splashing and dashing of the waves against the side of the ship, and the howling of the storm as the wind surged through the steamer's rigging."

Thursday, September 10th was a day of utter misery for the passengers of the doomed vessel. Most were confined to their cramped quarters, the effects of seasickness taking a fearful toll. Some later recalled their rising fear as the hurricane grew in intensity while others felt certain the danger would pass:

"...we passed another fearful day, the vessel rocking and pitching violently." Virginia Birch, Baltimore American, September 22, 1857

"I felt alarmed, however, on account of the high waves, and believed there was danger." Lucy Thayer, New York Herald, September 21, 1857

"...the storm increased in fury, but everything, as far as passengers were aware, was well with the ship." Barney Lee, New York Herald, September 21, 1857

All was not well with the ship. As Friday, September 11 dawned through the sheets of rain and mountainous waves, it became obvious to all that the Central America was in critical danger. She had begun to list, having taken on water from the incessant battering of the waves. As the ship settled to one side, it became impossible to get coal to the engine room to fire the boilers. If the machinery failed, not only would the ship lose her ability to maneuver, but the bilge pumps would cease, flooding would worsen, and the Central America would be little more than a storm-tossed hulk, helpless.

Captain Herndon, having been alerted to the emergency by Chief Engineer Ashby, at first sent a crew of waiters to start bailing; an hour later, at ten in the morning, Third Officer Myers was ordered to set the massive storm spanker, but "the sail blew to pieces." The ship could no longer make way and was losing its battle with the sea.

"All hands, passengers and crew were ordered to go to work bailing, as none of the steam pumps would work....We were by these means, enabled to keep the steamer afloat. All of us knew how desperate our situation was, and everyone worked with a will." Frank Jones, New York Tribune, September 9, 1857

Through day and night the passengers and crew labored together to save the crippled ship; some ladies offered to take their places in the bailing gangs, but they were gently rebuffed by exhausted, but nevertheless grateful men. Some men began to give up hope and shirk their duty, only to be pulled from their cabins and offered the choice of being tossed overboard or set back to bailing. Most, however, carried on, uncomplaining. As Ada Hawley recounted a month later in Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, when she asked her husband if he were not wearied by his arduous task, he replied, "Yes, I am tired; but I can work forty-eight hours in the same way if necessary. I am working for your life - for you and my children."

September 12, 1857: Even as the clouds parted briefly, Captain Herndon had the ensign hoisted upside down at half-mast to indicate a ship in distress. If, he reasoned, the storm abated slightly, and they could keep the ship afloat for but a few more hours, in these busy sea lanes a vessel would soon come to their aid. He shared these thoughts with his passengers at one point reminding them that the stricken SS San Francisco had remained afloat for eleven days before sinking.

His hopes were justified and somewhat after noon, the brig Marine of Boston, was sighted. Through the monstrous seas Captain Hiram Burt tacked his ship closer, and eventually hove to. On board the Central America Herndon's first concern was for the women and children.

Herndon's worries that there might be a rush to the lifeboats were never realized, and the effort to save the most vulnerable was carried out smoothly. The first two lifeboats set into the sea were lost, but eventually the children and women were lowered on ropes into the remaining three lifeboats, a harrowing task. The physical transfer with vast waves waiting to pluck them away was terrifying; "I was swung hither and thither over the waves by the tossing of the ship, until the boat came under me." And the emotional parting from their fathers and husbands was wrenching.

The Marine began to drift away from the Central America , but the lifeboats had taken all the women, all but one of the children, and a handful of men. The boats' crews had pulled across nearly three miles of turbulent seas, and with great danger transferred their charges aboard the storm-damaged Marine. At last there was to be no return to the steamer, and no more help from the Marine, which had saved a hundred people.

As night fell, the last hope, a small schooner, the El Dorado, passed near the grievously damaged ship; but she had only one lifeboat, and no transfer was attempted.

"The dangerous, heroic and almost superhuman effort in transferring the women and children in safety to the brig Marine, can scarcely have a parallel." Dr. Obed Harvey, Mountain Democrat, November 14, 1857

"After it became apparent that the ship must, sooner or later, surrender to the angry elements, the scene among the passengers on deck, and throughout the vessel was one | of the most indescribable confusion and alarm." William Chase, Detroit Free Press, September 23, 1857.

The gallant aplomb exhibited by the majority of male passengers as they had helped save their wives and children wilted in the realization that the ship could not survive the night.

Commander Herndon continued to try and calm his terrified passengers, many of whom scrambled around looking for life preservers or anything else that might keep them afloat. Herndon had himself come to grips with his fate, and now as the ship slipped lower into the waves, he changed into his dress uniform, and mounted the paddle-box and at about 8 PM, the Central America lurched and succumbed.

"There will never be as many die as coolly. Boys, let us all die like true Californians!" twenty year old Willard Fletcher cried as, "He heard no shriek, nothing but the seething rush and hiss of waters that closed above her as she hurried, almost with the speed of an arrow, to her ocean bed. Night had closed before the vessel sank, and he was sucked in by the whirlpool caused by her swift descent, to a depth that in its seeming was unfathomable, and into darkness that he had never dreamed of. Compared with it, the blackest night, without moon or star, was as the broad noonday." New York Times, September 21, 1857

Many men were taken down by the great suction as the ship slid down at a forty-five degree angle. Some came up a distance away, clinging to bits of debris or bobbing, like so many apples, in their tin life preservers, helpless.

Some five hours later the Norwegian bark Ellen fortuitously sailed into view. Her captain, a superstitious man, had changed course after an encounter with an unknown bird. She searched the area for nearly twelve hours and was able to save fifty men from the wreck; only three more would be discovered, half-dead, nine days later.