Delaware's Many Shipwrecks


If you want to learn about someplace, you can always pick up a textbook. But if you want to get to know a place, you're going to have to dig a little deeper. And what you find there might be a little strange. The Strange States series will take you on a virtual tour of America to uncover the unusual people, places, things, and events that make this country such a unique place to call home.

Although Delaware is often called The First State because it was the first to ratify the Constitution back in 1787, it will never be accused of being a very strange state. There simply isn’t a lot of room for too many weird museums or crazy statues in 2500 square miles of land. But just off the coast is another thing: Over the years, many a ship has sunk off of Delaware. Here are the stories behind two of the wrecks.

The Story of Coin Beach

After a night of thunderstorms, it’s not unusual to find the beach near Delaware Seashore State Park invaded by people with metal detectors. This strip of sand, known as Coin Beach, has produced the occasional lucky find since an Irish ship, the Faithful Steward, sunk just offshore on September 1, 1785. 

The story goes that the Steward left Londonderry, Ireland on July 9 filled mostly with families coming to America in search of a better life. To celebrate the end of the long journey across the Atlantic, Captain Connolly McCausland and his crew threw a party.  Unfortunately, they partied a little too hard and many of them, including McCausland, passed out, leaving the ship at the mercy of the seas. The Steward ran aground less than 150 yards from shore and began to sink, forcing the passengers into the drink. Of the 249 souls on board, only 68 survived.

While the loss of human life is tragic, the Faithful Steward also lost all her cargo, including 400 barrels filled with British pennies and halfpennies. It’s these coins that have washed up ever since, giving Coin Beach its nickname. However, many local treasure hunters claim the coins are now becoming few and far between. It seems the most they find today are rusted shoe buckles and other, small personal belongings, which, while interesting, are not very lucrative finds.            

De Braak

Commander James Drew of the British Royal Navy and his ship, the 18-gun brig-sloop HMS De Braak, were having a pretty good run in May 1798. They had just captured the Don Francisco Xavier, an enemy Spanish ship, and were towing it into Delaware Bay to collect a $160,000 bounty. However, Drew’s good luck ran out as a freak storm created high winds, capsizing the boat before the crew could respond in time. Forty-seven men died as the ship sank, including Drew, his 35-man crew, and most of the Spanish prisoners that had been held in the hull. Only three prisoners survived, paddling to shore on the Commander’s wooden chest.  When they were rescued, they were reportedly carrying gold coins, which led many to speculate that the De Braak was filled with valuable treasure.

The rumors of sunken treasure persisted and more than 30 salvage operations were attempted over the years, but found little success. But luck finally struck for Sub-Sal, Inc., who used side-scan sonar to find the ship in 1984 and soon secured the rights to salvage the site. Over the course of two years, Sub-Sal recovered nearly 20,000 artifacts from the De Braak, but, because they were only interested in treasure, threw many items of historical value overboard. One of these items was a rare 18th Century Royal Navy stove, said to be one of only two known to be left in existence. There were even reports they disposed of human remains in the same manner, a clear violation of numerous state and federal laws. In the end, they only found a few gold coins that weren’t even valuable enough to justify the expense of the salvage. Worst of all, they did irreparable harm to the ship’s hull and the integrity of the archaeological site. 

The irresponsible salvage of the De Braak was the final straw for many in the underwater archaeology field. They had been fighting for more stringent federal laws to safeguard underwater historical sites after thousands of sunken ships were destroyed by treasure hunters in the 1970s. In response, the Abandoned Shipwrecks Act was passed in 1988, which made any historic or abandoned shipwrecks found in a state’s coastal waters the property of the state. The act makes public access to the shipwrecks legal, but taking any objects from the sites is against the law. This also brings the excavation of shipwrecks under the control of the state, who can hire private salvage teams to bring up artifacts if the state deems it’s in the public’s interest. 

The 20,000 “worthless” artifacts recovered from the De Braak site were sold to the State of Delaware for $300,000, and can now be seen in the Zwaanendael Museum in Lewes, Delware. The ship’s hull underwent a lengthy preservation process and can now viewed at Cape Henlopen State Park.  

Have the scoop on an unusual person, place or event in your state?  Tell me about it on Twitter (@spacemonkeyx) and maybe I’ll include it in a future edition of Freaky Fifty!   

See all the entries in the Strange State series here

Boston Public Library, Wikimedia Commons // CC BY 2.0
Is This the Most Mysterious Grave in Virginia?
Boston Public Library, Wikimedia Commons // CC BY 2.0
Boston Public Library, Wikimedia Commons // CC BY 2.0

In 1816, local legend has it that a ship dropped off an unknown couple in Alexandria, Virginia. The woman was extremely ill, possibly from typhoid fever, and couldn’t wait until their final destination to receive medical attention.

Alas, it was too late; she died a few weeks later while boarding at Gadsby’s Tavern. No one had spoken to her or, some say, even seen her face—any time anyone saw her, her features were hidden by a long, black veil. Her husband quickly arranged for a burial at St. Paul’s Cemetery, then borrowed money for a headstone from a local merchant named Lawrence Hill.

Under the circumstances, you might think the mysterious man would keep the epitaph simple, resulting in a more affordable stone and a smaller loan to repay. Instead, he went the opposite route, having a huge marker etched with this wordy tribute:

“To the memory of a Female Stranger, whose mortal sufferings terminated on the 14th day of October, 1816 Aged 23 years and 8 months. This stone is placed here by her disconsolate husband in whose arms she sighed out her latest breath, and who under God did his utmost even to soothe the cold dead ear of death."

It was followed by some verses adapted from Alexander Pope and a Bible quote, adding even more to the bill. The man spared no expense, and it’s no wonder—he apparently had no intention of paying back the loan. The female stranger’s husband skipped town without paying doctor bills, lodging bills, or funeral and burial fees (he did leave behind some currency, but it was forged). And when he left, he took more than his wallet with him—he also took his wife’s identity.

Rumors ran rampant, even 70 years later: In 1886, the Lawrence Gazette reported on several theories, including the popular notion that the woman was really Theodosia Burr Alston, the daughter of Aaron Burr. Alston had been lost at sea around 1812, but conspiracy theorists speculated that she faked her disappearance to escape a loveless marriage. “Why the stranger’s husband would permit no one to see her face after she was dead gives rise to the supposition that he may have feared its recognition by those who looked upon it,” the Gazette said.

Outlandish? Perhaps. But even more so is the tale that the woman was actually a man—Napoleon Bonaparte dressed in drag, to be exact, attempting to escape his exile.

Yet another story declared the woman was named Blanche Fordan, and the man claiming to be her husband had actually hypnotized her into marrying him, though she really loved another.

Sadly, if you're looking for answers, you're going to be disappointed—we still don't have any. The female stranger remains as mysterious today as she was 200 years ago, although her grave has since become a local tourist attraction.

The Greenbrier Bunker of West Virginia

If you want to learn about someplace, you can always pick up a textbook. But if you want to get to know a place, you're going to have to dig a little deeper. And what you find there might be a little strange. The Strange States series will take you on a virtual tour of America to uncover the unusual people, places, things, and events that make this country such a unique place to call home. This week, we head to West Virginia, the home of Star Wars VII co-writer, Lawrence Kasdan, Barney Fife himself, Don Knotts, and Morgan Spurlock, the guy who ate nothing but McDonald’s for 30 days. 

The Greenbrier Bunker of West Virginia

Nestled in the mountains of southeast West Virginia is White Sulphur Springs, a small town of just over 2000 people. The main attraction in White Sulphur Springs is The Greenbrier, a 157-year-old hotel for the rich and famous, with amenities like five golf courses, a casino, tennis courts, spa treatments—and a secret underground bunker built to provide a safe haven for the Legislative Branch of the U.S. Government in the event of all-out nuclear war.

Built between 1958 and 1962, under a covert project codenamed “Greek Island,” the two-story, 153-room, 112,554-square foot reinforced concrete bunker was built into a hillside around 60 feet under the West Virginia Wing of the hotel.  While it was never used as a secure location for Congress as intended, it was held at-the-ready until 1992, with 75,000 gallons of water reserves, and over 40,000 gallons of diesel fuel to run three generators that could power the facility if the main electrical grid went down. A large air conditioning unit kept the air contaminant-free and an incinerator would have been used to dispose of garbage and biological waste.

As technology advanced in the ensuing years, new equipment was brought in and installed. To keep the bunker at such a ready state, it was staffed 24/7 for 30 years by a team of government employees operating under the guise of TV repairmen for the hotel.

In order for the government to continue working after the evacuation of Washington D.C. in the event of nuclear war, the bunker was built with a professional studio for radio and television broadcasts, complete with a variety of background photos that gave the impression the speaker was still in Washington.

In addition, the House of Representatives and the Senate each had separate meeting rooms, as well as a large hall for joint assemblies. These conference rooms were hidden in plain sight—they could be booked by hotel guests for special events, under the belief that the rooms were just part of the West Virginia Wing. Little did they know there were secret wall panels that concealed blast doors as large as 18 tons that led to the rest of the compound. 

To accommodate the 1100 people that could potentially live there, bunk beds were installed in 18 dormitories, and a fully-stocked cafeteria was prepared to make meals for up to 60 days. If more food was needed, thousands of military-grade Meals Ready to Eat (MREs) were stocked along the 430-foot tunnel that led into the facility from the main entrance. Complete medical facilities were on-site, including an operating room, ICU, and an infirmary that could hold 14 people, all manned by a staff of 35.  

Every one of the four entrances to the bunker was protected by a set of blast doors, including the largest that was 12 feet by 15 feet of steel and concrete, and weighed 28 tons. However, the door was so well-balanced on its 1.5-ton hinges that it could be opened and closed by a single person.

Although the bunker remained secret for 30 years, there were whispers of its existence around White Sulphur Springs and among the staff at the hotel. Contractors involved in the construction were suspicious of the 50,000 tons of concrete that were poured at the site, and workers remember the blast doors being installed, but no one could ever confirm just what they were building. Many told their story, but it wasn’t until May 1992 when reporter Ted Gup of The Washington Post wrote about the Greenbrier Bunker that these stories were given legitimacy. Shortly after Gup’s story was published, the U.S. Government verified the existence of the bunker—then promptly shut it down. By July 1995, the facility had been turned over to the hotel, which now offers daily tours of the bunker for its guests. 

Peruse the whole Strange States series here.


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