On October 14, 1891, Newfoundland was shaken by reports of a devastating shipwreck: the City of Rome had supposedly gone down off Marine Cove in St. Mary’s Bay. According to the story, all aboard had perished, save for one man: James Brennan.

Brennan relayed his harrowing account to the telegraph operator in Trepassey, who passed the story along to St. John’s. From there, the news spread rapidly via telegraph, creating concern across Europe and North America.

“A heart-rending tale,” declared the Evening Telegram, which described how the cargo ship sank in calm seas under strange circumstances.

The City of Rome was a well-known passenger liner, and many immediately recognized its name. The idea of such a prominent ship meeting its end, with so many lives lost to the icy waters of the North Atlantic, was almost too terrible to imagine.

Fortunately, none of it was true.

Brennan’s Tale

According to James Brennan he joined the City of Rome in Montreal on October 7, bound for Dundee. He described the ship as carrying flour, corn, and 575 head of cattle. The City of Rome, he claimed, was under the command of a Captain Kelly, with a crew of 43.

On the night of October 12, Brennan said, the ship struck rocks near Marine Cove. The weather was calm, the sea was smooth, and the coast was free of fog. Yet disaster unfolded in shocking fashion. Brennan claimed the captain, officers, engineers, and crew—all drunk—were in no state to save themselves or the cattle.

“The sight would terrify you,” Brennan said, describing men and cattle thrashing in the water, crying out for help that never came. In moments, the ship disappeared beneath the waves, leaving Brennan as the lone survivor.

The commissioner of wrecked property at Trepassey had heard the same report but messaged back that, due to illness, he had been unable to go to the scene.

Local newspapers rushed to print the gripping account, which was then wired to press offices on both sides of the Atlantic. Messages flooded into Newfoundland seeking updates. Journalists demanded details.

The Story Unravels

Within hours, however, Brennan’s tale began to crumble. Wires sent to Montreal revealed that The City of Rome hadn’t left their port on October 7, and it wasn’t a cattle ship. Requests for more information went back to Trepassey. Murphy, the telegraph operator reiterated:

“The story is authentic, as far as the man is to be believed. He says he was the only passenger. He says from fright, his head is going every way, and he may mistake in the steamer’s name. The man has told Father Borne the same story.”

By October 15, the story was fully debunked. The newspapers, which had shared Brennan’s account, now branded him a fraud. One editorial called it “an unmitigated fabrication” and Brennan according to the magistrate was “a half-witted cowboy of the steamer Mondego.”

A Borrowed Truth

While Brennan’s story was clearly false, it wasn’t entirely without basis in reality. Less than a month earlier, the cattle ship Mondego had wrecked near Marine Cove. The crew survived, but many of the cattle drowned. It seems likely that Brennan, who may have been aboard the Mondego, drew from his own traumatic experience to craft his tale.

Looking back, it’s hard to say whether Brennan was maliciously fabricating the story or confused, struggling with the aftermath of his ordeal. He clearly hadn’t attempted to make the world think a passenger liner had wrecked — he described a cattle ship in his report.

Whatever Brennan’s motivation, for one day in 1891, his words sparked panic and anxiety on both sides of the Atlantic, reminding us of the power—and peril—of storytelling.