The Wreck of the Thomas H. Smith

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Photo via Wisconsin Historical Society

Diver at the Thomas H. Smith Shipwreck - Wisconsin Historical Society

A diver examines the Thomas H. Smith Shipwreck in Lake Michigan off the coast Racine, Wisconsin.

They called her the Thomas H. Smith — a workboat with a stubborn streak and a knack for getting things done. Launched in 1881 from a small Manitowoc shipyard, she was built to haul lumber and tow barges while moving up and down Lake Michigan. For decades the Smith ran routes between Sturgeon Bay, Menominee and Chicago, fueled in part by sawdust and a new, efficient engine that made her cheap to. She was not glamorous; she was useful—and that’s why people still care about her more than a century after she sank.

Thomas H. Smith, the man, was a successful Wisconsin lumber baron. His company brought timber to Green Bay and the Lake Michigan towns that needed wood to grow. Naming a towboat after him made sense: the boat was an extension of the business, hauling the goods that kept communities and industries alive. The boat’s fate—insured only against fire, then partly paid for after a lawsuit—is a grim reminder of how rough business could be on the lake back then.

On a fog-choked morning in November 1893, the Smith was towing a schooner at half speed, horn blowing to warn other ships. Out of the impenetrable fog came a steel freighter, the Arthur Orr. The two ships saw each other too late. The Orr struck the Smith three feet into her port side. The little barge didn’t explode or vanish. Her stern tilted down, the bow rose, and within about 45 minutes she slipped below the waves. The twelve crew members climbed aboard the Orr and lived to tell the tale.

Searching for the Wreck

The sinking might have been the end of the story except for two things that kept interest alive. First, the Smith was unusual: a wooden steam barge with a giant boiler and a steeple-compound engine, machines solid enough to still show up today on sonar. Second, rumors and a few hopeful searches kept people looking for her for decades. Local writers, divers and historians argued about the exact spot, and scanned lake-floor maps like treasure hunters.

The records from the day in 1893 are fuzzy. Newspapers placed the wreck at “three miles NE of Racine Point,” “four miles off this port,” “nearly 100 feet of water,” and other versions that didn’t match. The ship’s captain wrote that they were four to five miles off Wind Point. Modern depth maps show the lake floor rising and falling in those spots: about 75 feet at five miles out and 150 feet at nine miles. Put that together and you get a messy search zone—a five-by-five-mile grid that could hide a broken wooden hull, or just a scatter of timbers buried in sand.

That uncertainty is part of the Smith’s charm. Unlike big, famous wrecks with exact GPS coordinates, she felt like a puzzle waiting for a solution. By narrowing the area of shipping lanes, fog behavior, and the debris reports from other ships, a multi-day side-scan sonar search could sweep the likely spots. That’s exactly the sort of method people used when modern survey vessels scoured the lake.

90 Feet Down

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Photo via Wisconsin Historical Society/National Register of Historic Places

Thomas H. Smith Shipwreck - Wisconsin Historical Society

The Thomas H. Smith Shipwreck (Steambarge) off the coast of Racine, Wisconsin, documented for the National Register of Historic Places.

And then, in recent years, the story took a happy turn. Survey teams and maritime archaeologists found a target off Racine that matched the Smith’s description: a steam barge lying on the bottom, partly broken, with the boiler and engine still upright. Divers later explored it and reported the deck lifted, sides opened forward of the boiler, and the engine and boiler intact consistent with a wooden steam barge that sank slowly after being cut by steel. Windlass, anchor, even some deck gear were still there.

Today the wreck sits in about 90 feet of water, mostly in one place but with parts buried under sand. The Wisconsin Historical Society documented the dive sites in 2024 and 2025. Maritime archaeologists have used the wreck to study how wooden steam barges were built and then altered over time for towing and wrecking work. In June 2026 the Smith got another honor: she was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. For a hard-working little barge that never meant to be famous, that’s truly an honor.

Part of the recent excitement comes from the wreck’s condition. The boilers and engine are big, dense things that show up clearly on sonar even if the hull is broken. In plain terms, those metal parts are like a name tag on the sea floor. Brendon Baillod, a consultant on Great Lakes shipwrecks, advised starting searches in the northeast part of the likely grid, then sweeping northwest, because those areas match both historical reports and the lake-floor map.

Science and Wonder

Diving on these old wrecks is part science and part wonder. Underwater photos show beams and plates coated in life, the hull’s ribs laid bare where sand has faded away, and the boiler and engine standing like industrial fossils. Divers describe pockets of artifacts in the cabin areas below deck—small pieces that speak to daily life on board: tools, a bit of hardware, maybe a cup or two. The wreck is broken, yes, but it’s also a time capsule that tells a clear, quiet story about how people lived and worked here more than a century ago.

For years the Smith was marginalized in newspapers of the 1880s. The steam barge became a cautionary tale about fog and steel hulls. As 21st century technology generated lake-floor maps, side-scan sonar, and better diving gear that made it possible to find things once thought to be lost forever. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s (NOAA) detailed information helped local researchers and volunteers turned rumor into fact.

For people along the Lake Michigan shore, the Thomas H. Smith is a reminder of the way the small Wisconsin towns were built up. The Smith discovery also provides valuable information on how the tough, well-constructed craft kept commerce moving forward, and of how easily a routine day can turn into a story worth telling. When divers swim through the open sides of the wreck and peek into the engine room, they’re not looking for treasure. They’re looking for connection—a piece of history that’s firm and true and somehow still personal.

There’s something gentle about this wreck’s survival. She didn’t go down in a dramatic whirlpool; there were no deaths, the engine and boilers were intact, and there were myriad artifacts left behind when the crew members were taken aboard the Arthur Orr. Now archaeologists can study how her hull was built, how deck gear was arranged, and ways wooden steam barges were modified to use cheap fuel and carry heavy loads. For divers allowed to swim through a lakefront legend, contributing to the discovery of the Thomas H. Smith steam barge was the journey few ever get to take.