Inside and Out of the "Pioneer's" Passing: Schooner Days CCCLIX (359)

_______

SIXTY-SEVEN years ago the schooner Pioneer of went down very suddenly off Presqu'isle. On Feb. 15th, 1936, Schooner Days carried an "inside" account of the sinking, from a little girl who was on board at the time. Although it was only the tail-end of a talk about pioneers in general (sinfully punning upon the poor schooner's name) it was copied by papers in Cobourg, Brighton, Ottawa and elsewhere, and Mr. Maxwell Tobey has done it the honor of including it, by permission, in the History of Brighton he has compiled.

In the copying it became, alas, rather badly garbled. Only this spring the compiler of Schooner Days had the good fortune to hear the "outside story" of the Pioneer's sinking from that veteran Presqu'isle mariner, Bobby Dale, of Brighton, who will be eighty this August. So in the interests of accuracy his birthday seems an opportune occasion to repeat the account inside and out, if it can be done without boring readers of retentive memory.

"We were fishing off the Bluff," said Bobby Dale, "another fellow and I, in the days when those high-sheered, clinker-built fishboats flourished around Presqu'isle. Sailboats they were, of course, and good boats, too. It was forty years before the motor came into the business. We were miles out in the lake, and a good breeze was blowing. About a mile away from us another boat was working, and in her was the father of the fellow I was with, and another hand.

"We saw a smart schooner working up the lake. She stood in for the land and then came up into the wind, with her fore gafftopsail shaking, as though she was coming around for an offshore tack. She was between us and the other fishboat. We were both busy hauling the net, and paid little attention to her, for schooners were a common sight, but, when I next looked in her direction, there was nothing to see at all—nothing, that is, but a small triangle of loosened sail slatting in the breeze.

"'By Christopher, your old man's been dumped,' I yelled, for it looked just like the sail of a capsized fish boat, lying on her beam-ends, and I could not see the other boat, nor the schooner.

" 'Cut the net adrift and get sail on!' yelled the other fellow back. 'The old man can't swim in this cold water, and she may not float with all that stone ballast in her!"

"So with oars and sails we lathered along towards that shrinking triangle of wet canvas. It vanished, and we felt sick inside. Then we passed a water barrel floating, and a couple of fenders, and some gratings and gear, and a bucket. We knew they didn't belong to the fishboat. Then to our big relief we saw the fishboat herself, pulling to windward under sweeps. Her sails were down and she was coming right in the wind's eye. That was why we didn't see her before. And close to her we saw a yawlboat full of people. So we knew why we didn't see the schooner. She had plumped down like a stone, and the fenders and planks we had passed had washed from her deck as she went.

"That was how the Pioneer of Newcastle passed out. Just like that."

So much for the "outside" story. The "inside" story was related by Miss Ida E. Guy, sister of Mr. E. J. Guy, of Havelock street, Toronto, the "little girl" of the narrative two years ago, and here it is:

On the twelfth of June, 1871, Capt. John Allen of Whitby was bringing the Pioneer up the lake with a load of coal for Cobourg, from Oswego or Fairhaven. They were well out in the lake, off Presqu'isle, and coming along with a fine breeze. Mrs. Mary Pement, the cook, put dinner on the table and rang the bell. Capt. Allen, whose watch it had been on deck, started down the companion steps to take his place at the head of the cabin table, his hungry crew following. As he did so the Pioneer heeled a little more under a puff. "Don't come to the table till you've been to the pumps, captain,"called back Mrs. Paquet, "that puff brought water up on the corner of the cabin floor."

"Good God, woman," cried Capt. Allen, "come up out of that yourself then, and bring the little girl with you." The little girl was twelve-year-old Ida Guy, of Oshawa, who was making the trip as Capt. Allen's guest. He had the sounding rod down the pump-well before they reached the deck. There was seven feet of water in her; she was only seven feet deep in the hold amidships.

"Bring her to the wind," called Capt. Allen to the man at the wheel. "Clear the yawlboat and lower away. Into her, everybody."

The Pioneer, loggy and sailing very slowly with her great load of water, lay down wearily on her side as the yawlboat tackles creaked. Fortunately they did not foul, and they unhooked promptly. Mrs. Paquet and the little girl were tossed in, then the four sailors, and the mate. As Capt. Allen jumped off the rail the Pioneer vanished, taking their dinner with her.

She must have opened up unexpectedly and filled almost to the hatches, since the previous sounding of the pumps. As the weather was so moderate nothing was noticed until the angle of heel brought the lowest corner of the cabin floor down below the level of the rising water. Mrs. Paquet's coolness and promptness had saved the lives all, for if they had come down to dinner they would have been trapped in the dining room of the cabin.

The eight of them filled the little yawlboat. They were all day dinner-less in her, toiling for the shore. They made the land at Presqu'isle, and Capt. George, the lighthouse-keeper, gave them food and shelter.

Capt. Allen was a widower. Mrs. Pement was a widow. He married her. He was drowned, along with his son and first mate, Alfred Allen, who tried to rescue him, when he was swept off the cabin top by the mainboom of the Ida Walker, ten years later. Nero, the captain's dog, tried to save the father and son, but he alone was picked up by the boat the crew lowered. Mrs. Pement had a daughter, Cecilia, and a son who is living In Detroit.

The Pioneer was a smart schooner, 99 feet long and 18 feet wide, built in the forgotten harbor of Newcastle or Bond Head in 1860, and so was comparatively new when she took the final plunge.

The late Magistrate J. J. O'Connor of Port Arthur knew her well, and once described her as "narrow, shoal, crank, and fast, looking like a yacht, and sailing better than most of them." She was commanded by his hero, Capt. John Allen of Whitby, with whom he sailed several seasons.

Capt. Allen kept her painted white above and green below the load-line, with green trimmings, and was very proud of her. She only registered 125 tons and could not carry 300 tons deadweight, but she was so fast she made up for lack of capacity.

"SHORTENING HER"

Little Lake Huron hooker making Kincardine harbor. Perhaps the SARAH. Has anyone a better guess?