Reports of what happened next on the Whitney were vague. While the men were going down and dying, no one seemed to know anything. There was no panic; there was no excitement. Michael Menus, one of the wrecking crew, apparently followed Bjorklund to see if anything was wrong, and died as he reached the bottom of the hold, falling unconscious from the ladder he descended. Then Herman Fabricius went down, and he, too, died almost at once.
John Hanson was the next man to go down, with a rope and some caution this time, for it was beginning to be realized that something was amiss. Hanson came back alive, but unconscious. Captain Kivlin having realized that a disaster had come upon the ship, divers went down and saved Hanson’s life, bringing up the bodies of the three dead men besides.
That account of the tragedy is as much as could be gleaned with any certainty yesterday. It was hard enough to get aboard the Whitney at all, and no one there seemed to know much. The coroner’s office made a brief investigation yesterday afternoon, and the bodies were removed to an undertaking establishment in West 24th street. The police found out little more than the casual spectators who thronged the pier.
The H. M. Whitney went aground in Hell Gate on Middle Four Reef just a month ago yesterday, and in the early morning she was floated after long and hard efforts. It had been a hard job, and those who had accomplished it were more than happy. The ship had been brought down to East 102d street, and about all the work that was being done was to keep the pumps working. The lighters with the huge derricks lay alongside, and when the tragedy occurred many of the men in charge of the work were at luncheon.
None of the men who died had orders to go down into the hold. This was dwelt on with much emphasis by the officials of the wrecking company. Captain Kivlin, who was in charge of the work, was arrested and taken to the Harlem court, where Magistrate Herrman refused to do more than remand him to the coroner. Apparently no one in charge of the work could have foreseen the accident and no one could be held responsible.
Both Bjorklund and Fabricius lived at Stapleton, Staten Island, and Menus lived at 1 Atlantic avenue, Brooklyn. Supt. Kivlin said that Bjorklund was one of the most experienced divers in the company’s employ and he couldn’t understand how the man happened to venture into the gas-ridden hold without testing it for the poisonous vapors. “With such a mixed cargo as the Whitney is carrying submerged for thirty-one days, it was certain to be almost fatal for any one to go into the hold until it had been thoroughly ventilated,” he said. “He should have taken the precaution to drop down a lantern before he went down himself.”