Testimony of Mary Nettleton, from the 1898 Annual Report of the United States Life-Saving Service, chapter heading “Log of the Park Point, Duluth Station” (Lake Superior Maritime Museum archives):

I sailed for a year aboard a sunken ship, the wooden schooner-barge Ophelia. She sank on October 15, 1897 in Canadian waters, downbound for Duluth from Thunder Bay. I was finally rescued from the air pocket in her drowned saloon on October 12, 1898, having drifted 150 miles underwater to Duluth. The Ophelia arrived a year behind schedule, crossing the open border between the living and the dead. As to my miraculous survival, doctors and scientists set upon me to solve it. I have become an object of curiosity; fear also.

Sinking

I first encountered the Ophelia on a dock in Buffalo where I signed to be the ship’s cook. I was the only woman aboard. Originally a passenger ship, she couldn’t compete against steam power, so her owners ripped out the passenger suites in favor of three large cargo holds. The windjammer-turned-barge retained classy touches like her oversized saloon. We sailed three of the five Great Lakes in tow of the wooden steamer Harlow, who rode heavy before the gale that snapped the towline and drove us apart. The blow ripped away what rigging could be raised and then downed both our masts. But it wasn’t the mountainous seas that sank us. It was a spar snapped off the deck of the Harlow that staved a hole in our bow. The pumps couldn’t keep up.

The discovery of a scale model of Duluth, carved from black coral on a desert island in the South Pacific, sent shockwaves through the scientific community. The miniature cityscape lay in a hand-excavated chamber under the sand, on an uninhabited, unnamed island only half the size of a city block. The flat, round expanse of sand, if noticed at all by distant ships, seems featureless. At twenty feet above sea level, it fully submerges in some storm surges, and might not survive climate change’s rising seas. First appearing on maps in 1941 with a numerical designation, it was not explored until 2015. That’s when a team of American biologists, following a tagged sea turtle, navigated a black reef and set foot on what is now known as Duluth Island.

Sea turtles and sea birds liked the island well enough. It had no trees or flora visible from off its tiny shores, but up close it was seen to support beach grass and some shrubs. The thought of human habitation was so impossible it didn’t cross anyone’s mind until one of the team noticed a square slab of black coral in the island’s dead center. It measured thirty inches by thirty inches and was at least a few inches thick, set into the sand. It was either subsuming into the sand or emerging from it. The object, obviously the product of human labor, remained unexplained as the biologists departed.