Harbor Lights at the Saugeen Mouth: Schooner Days CCCCIV (404)

By C. H. J. Snider

LAST WEEK was a big one in the life of Southampton, Ont., as a lakeport. The range lights into the Saugeen River, which enters Lake Huron here, and the fog signal apparatus on the north pier at the river mouth have been electrified, and were tested out most satisfactorily. It was a big occasion for the town, and a particularly big one in the life of Capt. Joseph Granville, the Saugeen lightkeeper.

Boy and man since ’63 he has seen those lights winking and listened for that horn. Seventy-six years of looking for them, with baby stare and through lakefaring eyes puckered by fog and spray and snow and hail. Seventy-six years of peering for the big basswood tree that still looms above the bank, as sure a mark as many a lighthouse. Seventy-six years of listening to catch the crash of the breakers on the shingle and the peculiar back-suck of Saugeen River water meeting the lake rollers, when fog veiled the shore.

Seventy-six years of relying on oil lamps, and a man climbing the ladders to the lantern after wading waist-deep to get on to the pier; Captain Joe has had to do that himself sometimes since he has been lightkeeper.

But now—nothing to it but walk to the post—pull one switch, and the lights come on, both in the back light away up the river and the lighthouse on the pier end, sending a cheery red gleam across Lake Huron through the great magnifying lens. Pull another switch, and the compressor in the lake lighthouse lets a roar out of the horn that boosts the gulls to windward as though they were shot from a catapult. Captain Joe justly feels that we live in great times. Long may he share them with his fellow-townsmen.

Southampton, like its English namesake, is blest with more than one harbor. There is the fine big haven south and west of the town, sheltered from west winds by Chantry Island, with its tall lighthouse and outlying gasbuoy, and from the winds that sweep up and down Lake Huron by breakwaters. The entrance is from the north, through the Gap, which has a smaller lighthouse on the westerly breakwater.

Then there is the Saugeen River mouth, just north of the town, with a buoyed channel with 13 feet of water, two concrete piers, the one to the north with a lighthouse on it, and a back light far up the river bank. On the south side of the river is a large wharf mooring modern fish tugs, with turtle-back bows like dolphins’ noses. Southampton does a big fish business in lake trout, perch, herring and blue-fins— the local variety of whitefish— and is becoming a yachting centre. Seventeen American yachts visited the safe, snug port in one cruise recently. More will be in this summer. There is twelve to fourteen I feet of water now in the river.

But it wasn’t so much of yachts the grizzled lightkeeper was thinking as he fondled the switches which have transformed light-keeping and horn blowing. It was schooner days out of Southampton, when five hundred teams waited in line with grain to be shovelled into the big scow with the raised sides, and lightered out to the schooners that had already loaded to their draft limit at the wharves. Detroit was being paved with cedar blocks by the billion, cut in the Bruce Peninsula; lumber, cordwood, tanbark and shingles were flowing southward in everything that would float. Seventeen vessels could be counted at one time in the harbor of refuge. Grainsheds lined the wharves. The long dock was filled with ships greedy for cargo. Southampton was a lively port, building its own schooners, big and little, like the Rob Roy and Britannia and Caledonia for Capt. George Macaulay; and the Katie Pringle, called after Capt. Pringle’s sister, and the Alliance, that became the second Caledonia, and the Abeona, and the Lily Smith, a small steam barge. Capt. Hackett, who came from Detroit, built the most of them, and there were many others, built by Henry Marlton of Goderich, or brought up from Lake Ontario, that nursery of sailing vessels. Joseph Granville went over their names. They read like the rollcall of all the lakes, for Southampton attracted them from Skillagalee to Wellington Square.

Southampton called them from everywhere and treated them rough. The harborage is good now, when the schooners that needed it are all gone. There is a good gasbuoy away out in the lake, to keep you well clear of Chantry Island reef, the channel across the bar is buoyed, the river mouth well lighted, and there are good lights on Chantry Island and the Gap into the harbor of refuge.

But in the old days, when the big basswood tree on the river bank was the best day mark, Southampton was hard to take. Reefs to the north and south of Chantry Island claimed many, trying to round it before squaring away for the harbor, or trusting to their anchors to hold them against Lake Huron’s gales. And the great timber breakwaters, built to enclose shelter abreast of Chantry Island, were the death of more than one vessel that failed to make the Gap, yawing and lurching before the strong norther.

That’s what happened the Erie Stewart, Capt. Granville’s former command, when Capt. James Depew, of Sarnia, had her. And the Gladstone, who pounded herself to pieces half-way out along the Long Dock, unable to get around it into shelter. Chantry Island reefs claimed the little Greyhound, an American vessel with a round stern like a tug, owned by Capt. Marlton of Goderich. She struck the pier when laden with fish and drifted on to the reef. And the schooner Ontario and steamer Kaloolah, as recently told; and the Cavalier, from Port Hope; and the Mary and Lucy, whose crew came ashore on rafts, while two intending rescuers, Ross Lambert and Jim Murray, were drowned from the steamer Manitoba’s lifeboat, which

Perhaps the worst wreck was that of the Nettie Woodward, an Ontario-built two-master, probably from Picton way. She was running for shelter from a northerly gale on the night of Wednesday, Aug. 31st, 1892, and tripped on the reef. There were seven men aboard the Woodward when she struck that night, and five were taken off next morning before she broke up. Two of her crew were drowned. The story persists in Southampton yet that the man at the wheel when the Nettie Woodward struck was hurled overboard by the captain. Jos. Greathead, the mate, caught a hatch cover which had been washed away and clung to it. Mahon, a sailor, was apparently drowned at once. The thundering seas washed Greathead, like Ulysses on his raft, towards the breakwater, and just when it seemed inevitable that he would be dashed against it the backwash whirled him into and through the Gap. Then the wind drove him on down the harbor. Vessels were riding at anchor inside, their riding lights dancing in the dark. They were sheltered from the gale and ignorant of the Nettie Woodward’s plight; among them the three-masted schooner Bavaria.

Greathead was so benumbed and exhausted with his struggle that he could not swim to her, but he hailed again and again as he drifted by. Old Capt. Mahoney, honest Irishman, heard him, and thought it was some of his own wild crew raising ructions ashore, and demanding to be taken back on board. His yawlboat was down, hanging astern by her painter. "They can spend the night on the lumber piles and come aboard sober in the morning, ” said the old man. and turned in. In the morning, When he learned what had happened, he was heartbroken. Poor Greathead, unheeded, had drifted the length of the harbor, till his hatch washed ashore in front of the old Neebing Hotel. But he was too far gone to free himself from the lashings which had held him, and he died of exposure on the planks which had borne him to the verge of safety. His son, born after his death, is to-day one of Southampton’s prosperous merchants.

The Woodward's captain became a diver. The steamer Pewabic was sunk in Saginaw Bay and no diver was able to reach her. A Sarnia wrecker engaged the captain. "Boys, ” said he, as they screwed down the bolts of his helmet, "it’s hell or the Pewabic!” and down he went through the dark water. No jerk came from his lifeline to tell how he was faring. His helper, concerned, gave the hoisting signal, and still no answer came. In haste they hove him to the surface in his suit. When they unscrewed the helmet he was dead.

More next week.

Captions

"SOUTHAMPTON does a big fish business... with modern tugs with turtleback bows like dolphins’ noses.”

CAPT. JOSEPH GRANVILLE, HIS SAUGEEN LIGHT AND HORN—The new electric foghorn which is such a boon to mariners is in the lighthouse on the end of the north pier. The backlight, giving the range into the harbor, is too far inland to be shown. In the offing is Chantry Island, with its tall lighthouse, and if your eyes are good you may make out the breakwater, the Gap, and the lighthouse marking the entrance to the harbor of refuge, which is south of the mouth of the Saugeen.

"THE BIG BASSWOOD TREE, long a day-mark, still looms above the bank."