She was the S.S. Idaho, and she called at Northport.

The ship was claimed by a storm in 1897 and all but two of her crew was lost.

It turned out to be the worst loss on the Great Lakes in that otherwise largely uneventful year.

But what is most extraordinary is how the two crew members who were saved were rescued.

“Marine-minded Buffalo, home of most of the men lost on the Idaho, hailed the rescue as a top act of bravery,” according to the late marine historian Dana Thomas Bowen.

“This idea quickly spread over the lake cities, and before he realized it, Captain Root (of the Mariposa) was a hero,” Bowen added. “All the world loves a daring rescue.”

But, to return to the beginning. The Idaho was built in Cleveland in 1863 and was a good sized vessel in her day at 220 feet.

Because of her size, huge wooden arches were built into each side of her hull to strengthen it. This was not an uncommon practice in those years and the City of Traverse, Fountain City and John R. Stirling, which also called at Northport, were of similar construction.

The Idaho was what was called a “line steamer” and carried package freight for rail lines the length of the lakes – between Chicago and Buffalo.

In its edition of May 31, 1879, the Leelanau Tribune ran the “season of 1879” schedule for the ship, which included 25 stops at Northport.

Passengers who wished to embark for Buffalo could choose from two stops each month in June, July, August, September, and November. Three stops were scheduled for October: the 2nd, 16th and 30th.

Stops for Chicago-bound passengers were very similar, except there were only two October sailings for the Windy City: the 10th and 24th.

“The fast and popular passenger propeller,” operated by the Western Transportation Company, was under the command of Captain B. Penny.

The advertisement for the steamer was apparently a new one for the newspaper, and the Idaho was “plugged” with a few sentences appearing in the “At Home” local briefs.

In that era, the distinction between advertising and “news” was rather blurred.

It is important to remember that small newspapers were also community printing plants and another brief read “We are about through with our rush of job work, and are prepared for more.”

In any event, the brief for the steamer read: “See the time card of the propeller Idaho in this issue. This boat is one of the best and fastest on the lakes. We bespeak for her a liberal patronage from the people of this county.”

The Idaho, incidentally, was referred to as a “propeller” because the earliest steamers on the Great Lakes were almost invariably sidewheel steamers, which, by 1879, had already been to a large degree phased out.

Fuel for the hungry boilers of the steamers of that era, cut by Leelanau residents and stacked along the shore or on docks, was commonly referred to as “propeller wood.”

By about 1900, the market for this product had largely evaporated. The newer, steel steamers, such as the familiar Illinois and palatial Manitou, invariably burned coal in their boilers.

The appearance of newer, more economical ships also meant less business for earlier wooden vessels such as Idaho – which were considered old at 20 years.

Accordingly, by the 1890s, the Idaho was used less and less, but nevertheless, still maintained in “standby” for possible use.

“So the ancient Idaho was relieved of her regular duties and for several seasons she lay idle at a dock in Buffalo,” Bowen tells us.

In 1897, “in anticipation of future sailings,” she received an overhaul and was then given an assignment as “flagship” for an encampment, at Buffalo, of the Grand Army of the Republic.

After that, she again, under the command of Capt. Alexander Gillies, was put into operation in the package freight trade.

At Buffalo, the ship was loaded with a cargo consigned to Milwaukee and departed the harbor on Nov. 5.

It was to be her last trip.

After the Idaho’s departure, shallow Lake Erie was quickly whipped into a fury by one of the infamous “gales of November.” Some consideration was given to sheltering behind Long Point, but the Idaho plowed on – to her doom.

Sailing into the teeth of the gale, the old ship began taking on water. For a time, the pumps did their job, but then one failed. A bucket brigade was formed by crewmen, but they could not remove enough water quickly enough.

The incoming water drowned the fires in the boiler room, disabling the ship. Anchors were dropped “but nothing the captain or crew could do would keep their ship afloat,” Bowen tells us.

The ship slipped beneath the waves in the middle of the night, taking all but two aboard down with it.

The second mate and another crewmen were near the mast and climbed up it. The Idaho settled on the bottom of the lake, but the exceptionally tall mast allowed the two to stay above the storm-tossed water, hoping assistance would come by.

After daybreak, a ship came in sight, but, not seeing the men or mast, continued on its way.

Then, however, the new steel steamer Mariposa came on the scene and saw the men.

An attempt was made to effect a rescue with one of the ship’s small boats, but it was wrecked.

The captain decided the only alternative was to bring his ship right up to the men. Two attempts to do this failed, but the third attempt was successful.

Crewmen on the Mariposa had to pry the two survivors from the mast they were clinging to – their arms were frozen to it.

Rescue had come none to soon.