Sawmills Ringing, Grist Mills Singing, Night and Day, — in Burwell Port: Schooner Days CLXXXVI (186)

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“AT one time,” T. H. Mason says, "Port Burwell was the great ship-building establishment on the north side of Lake Erie, with three shipyards at work. One, at the foot of the hill below the brick hotel on the east side of the Otter Creek, was run by Capt. David Foster; another, on the west side, just below the bridge, was controlled by Dan Freeman; and the third, on the east side, north of the bridge, was most of the time under the firm of Youell and Emery who also operated a flour and grist mill.

“Ship-building was a task for experts and specialists. Alex McDonald was the first mechanic. Before a new ship was undertaken a complete model was built, upon which she was to be fashioned. He did all this work, and when the hull was complete he supervised all the rigging and fitting of sails. Capt. Sam Arnold was an expert in timber superstructure—spars, yards, booms and top masts. George Pontine was a master builder for Youell and Emery. Pontine also built vessels for himself. The Lowland Lass of Catfish Creek, as Port Bruce used to be called, was a Pontine product.

Nearly all the schooners which were built in the ’60's and ’70’s were “full-canal” size—as large as could pass through the Welland Canal after its first enlargement and deepening, they could carry up to 750 tons dead-weight, but many smaller vessels around 300 tons were built in Port Burwell. The time required for the construction of a full-canal sized ship usually ran from eight to ten months.

First the keel was laid—customarily from only best quality white oak. Then the floors and ribs forming the skeleton of the ship were bolted to the keel, and strengthened by natural crooks bolted along the keel and running up the inside of the ribs. These "knees” were made from oaks found growing on sidehills. By utilizing part of the lower trunk and part of the root the builder secured a naturally curved timber, with the fibre of the wood unbroken. Similar knees were also used at the upper ends of the ribs to give union and strength to the deck structure.

The lower part of the hull was built very strongly, not only to stand the wracking of hundreds of tons in such loads as coal, stone, grindstones, etc., but to carry the rest of the heavy structure of the ship.

Some Port Burwell vessels, such as the W. Y. Emery, were “doubled on the bottom,” as the expression went. That is, that floor frames and timbers were very close together in an almost solid mass, instead of spread out on the room-and-space principle. The object of "doubling in the bottom” was to provide a vessel which would escape serious damage if she grounded. Many of the earlier schooners were built to load staves, lumber, and cordwood off the beach instead of entering harbor, and when so engaged they sometimes dragged their anchors and were driven ashore.

The outer sheathing was all white oak, whipsawn by hand. The timber was lifted on gins eight or ten feet high; one man stood above and one beneath, and with a very long whipsaw sawed it into planks. These were taken and steamed in wooden boxes stuffed with straw to render them pliable enough to bend to fit the curve of the hull. The inside sheathing or ceiling was usually of oak fashioned in the same manner. The decks were of best quality white pine.

All seams everywhere were made watertight by caulking with oakum and then covered with pitch. The forecastle, the men’s quarters, naturally was “up forrard” the cabin, for the captain, two mates, and cook, was near the stern. Here all cooking was done and meals set for all hands. The crew of a “full-sized canaller” usually consisted of six to eight men.

Choicest pine went into the spars, yards and deck. The cost of this super-structure and rigging was usually from one-half to two-thirds that of the hull.

Launching was a great day for the school children—and everyone else. The ship rested snugly in her cradle, a framework of timber, with her stern toward the water; and two long ways of smooth timber, thoroughly greased with a composition of tallow and soft soap, leading from well beneath her down into the water, formed the track down which she was to move. She was gaily decorated with all the flags available.

“The brass band is there in uniform. All the clergy and prominent men of the district are there, many of them upon her deck. For the last half hour 40 or 50 men have been busy beneath her with mauls, driving great wooden wedges under to lift her out of the cradle on to the ways. As she slowly lifts, sections of the cradle are removed. The din of the mauls increases, the band plays lustily, the children yell, 'There she goes!’ But she doesn't go - not yet. The band begins again, a lady christens her by breaking a bottle of wine over the bow, and calling her name aloud. The children yell louder, dogs bark, and she actually does move, slowly at first, then faster and faster; and with cracking and roaring of breaking planks, ways smoking, crowds cheering, she sweeps majestically into the water, lifting a great wave before her and drenching a group of spectators who have never been at a launching before, but will know better next time.

The ships of the upper yard in Port Burwell were launched sideways, as there was not room enough for them to go stern first into the water.

Most of the artisans in the shipyards were Nova Scotians, as Nova Scotians were the founders and first builders in Port Burwell. They were good citizens, usually had good wages, and owned their own comfortable homes. Then there were all the crews and men for loading and unloading. There were lumber mills at the village of Vienna, three miles up the Otter, and at Port Burwell during the ’60’s three great sawmills ran night and day for eight months in the year.

North, east and west in addition, teams were hauling lumber to Vienna, where it was usually transferred to flat-bottomed scow’s, 50 to 60 feet in length; and these were hauled by horses down the Otter to Port Burwell, where the lumber was again unloaded and piled ready for the schooners.

Those great piles of lumber in Port Burwell, seventy years ago, made excellent diving stands for small boys; and the boomed logs in the creek were fine for playing tag and follow-my-leader — although our mothers did not think so. There were often three to ten schooners loading lumber at one time. Then, too, until the near approach of the railroad, the lake ports handled nearly all the grain grown for sale within 20 miles of the front. I remember seeing, on fine days in the fall, the streets lined with loaded wagons for a quarter of a mile or more. Youell and Emery’s grist and flour mill—I remember years when it too, ran night and day—bought large quantities of yellow Flint corn from the Nova Scotia street farmers, kiln dried it, and shipped its corn meal to the Maritimes via Buffalo and the U.S. seaboard.