SS Daniel J. Morrell

Wikipedia wrote:Making the last run of the season with her sister ship the SS Edward Y. Townsend, the Morrell became caught in winds exceeding 70 mph (110 km/h) and swells that topped the height of the ship (20–to-25-foot (6.1-to-7.6-meter) waves).[4] During the early morning hours, the Townsend made the decision to take shelter in the St. Clair River, leaving the Morrell alone on the waters north of Pointe Aux Barques, Michigan, heading for the protection of Thunder Bay. At 2 am, the ship began its death throes, forcing the crew onto the deck, where many jumped to their deaths in the 34 degree Lake Huron waters. At 2:15 am, the ship broke in two, and the remaining crewmen loaded into a raft on the forward section of the vessel. While they waited for the bow section to sink and the raft to be thrown into the lake, there were shouts that a ship had been spotted off the port bow. Moments later, it was discovered that the looming object was not another ship, but in fact the Morrell's aft section, barreling towards them under the power of the ship's engines. The two sections collided, with the aft section continuing into the distance. In the words of writer William Ratigan, the remnants of the vessel disappeared into the darkness "like a great wounded beast with its head shot off".[5]

Wikipedia wrote:At around 4:00 pm on 30 November a Coast Guard helicopter located the lone survivor, 26-year-old Watchman Dennis Hale, near frozen and floating in a life raft with the bodies of three of his crewmates. Hale had survived the nearly 40-hour ordeal in frigid temperatures wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, a lifejacket, and a pea coat.[6]

https://themorningnews.org/article/the-gales-of-november wrote:
The Morrell was peeling apart. Invisible hands ripped the deck like a sheet of cardboard.

Hale saw a truly horrible sight — the center of the ship was higher than the stern, a condition known as hogging, which indicated that the vessel’s back was broken. Rivets were popping out of steel plates and metal groaned, cracked and tore under the tremendous pressures of the waves. As the stern of the ship raised, the crew knew she was doomed.

The 60-year-old boat ran on coal, so severed steam pipes billowed into the cold air. Sparks crackled from snapped wires. Since the propeller was still churning, the stern didn’t sink, but slid around in a blind half-circle, slamming into the bow, where Hale and his shipmates were waiting for their dangling raft to reach water. The impact vaulted all of them overboard.

When Hale surfaced, he saw a carbide lamp, glowing from the raft. The light flashed in and out of sight as dunes of water gathered up and collapsed. Hale swam toward the shifting beacon, clawing handfuls of wave. The remnants of the vessel disappeared into the darkness "like a great wounded beast with its head shot off"

The men talked about their children, about going home for Christmas. But they shrieked piteously when waves swamped the boat, followed by autumn-sharpened winds.

At dawn, Hale noticed white foam on Cleary’s lips and poked him, asking “Hey, are you all right?” He didn’t respond. Neither did Stojek.

“John and Art are dead,” Hale told Fosbender.

Fosbender lasted until late that afternoon. By then, the boat had drifted to within 200 yards from the beach, snagging on a sandbar. The raft had oars, but the men were too weak to row.

[...]

On the afternoon of the 30th, after 34 hours in the water, Hale began to experience visions. A white-haired, white-robed man hovered in the air, told him “Stop eating the ice off your pea coat,” and then dissolved.

Then he was in a meadow, where he hugged the mother who’d died after giving birth to him. He walked over a hill, and climbed a ladder, to the deck of the Morrell.

“Dennis, what are you doing here?” the third mate asked him. “It’s not your time yet.”

[...]

Frostbite took his little toe, and the edge of his foot, but those 34 hours had frozen into his brain a sliver of ice that never melted. Hale was afraid to take a bath after that. The home he’d always wanted was at the bottom of Lake Huron. But now he had an identity: “I’m the only lone survivor of a Great Lakes shipwreck.”

Melville wrote that the Great Lakes “have sunk many a midnight ship, with all her shrieking crew.” But there hasn’t been a Great Lakes shipwreck since the Edmund Fitzgerald sank. There may never be another. The decline of the steel industry means fewer ships ply the Lakes. Doppler radar alerts sailors to the violent storms that sank the Morrell and the Fitz. No longer paid tonnage bonuses, captains have no motivation to persist through rough seas, risking the lives of their crews.

The Morrell was the next-to-last boat to go down. Instead of a song, she has only a survivor to sing the tale.

Sources
http://www.apg-wi.com/ashland_daily_press/news/hale-survivor-of-ss-daniel-j-morrell-wreck-dies/article_8e42947e-5b43-11e5-a1c9-0ffa5cc1f59e.html

https://themorningnews.org/article/the-gales-of-november