Schoonerman in Steam Wins Merry Christmas: Schooner Days DVI (506)

by C. H. J. Snider

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WHEN, after forty years in sail, most of it as master, Capt. John Williams went into steam, he said, diffidently: "It's a well-known proverb that old standing-rigging makes poor running gear"; or as landsmen would put it, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." This was just natural modesty on his part, for he was not so foolish as to try to provide pillows to fall on. If you fall afloat you hit either the deck or the water, and no pillow yet invented will save you from either. Remember our old Golden Text:

"The sailor from the topmast head

Leapt down on to the deck.

The cursing captain said he was

An * his neck."

*, asterisk, in land talk.

Capt. Williams risked his seagoing neck, when he changed to steam, but he was not the kind of a punctuation mark the captain referred to, and the old standing-rigging of his schooner career proved excellent running gear. We've already told how he replaced a rivet in the Algonquin's forefoot from the outside, without using a diver, by using schooner methods of sweeping for a lost centreboard pennant. He also brought with him his own peculiar aptitude for making late trips, just before the final freezeup. They had been profitable for him in schooners, with their extra freights, and he made them profitable for his owners when he went into steam, though he often had their hearts in their mouths when two or three hundred thousand dollars worth of their marine property plus as much more cargo-value would disappear into the December snows and remain unheard of for a week.

Another little trick he brought with him from schoonerdom was what the severe might call overloading, but what the understanding would say was just using good judgment when conditions were favorable. After his first trip in the Algonquin, when he came in with over 100,000 bushels—and rather pleased with himself to float her with the big load, for he had rooted out a few hundred tons of forgotten bunker coal, that may have come out from Scotland with her—he got the following frigid letter from his managing owner Mr. Hagarty:

"The Algonquin's load is 93,000 bushels of wheat. It is our usual custom to notify our captains in the fall of the cargo limits of their respective commands, but noting your unusually large cargo on your present voyage I have thought fit to inform you at once of her capacity, in the expectation that you will govern yourself accordingly."

When the Algonquin next got her wheat under hatches at the Goderich elevator the weighmaster asked Capt. Williams how they liked the previous big load.

"You can see for yourself," said Capt. Williams, quoting his instructions.

"Whew!" said the weighmaster. "I should say you were in Dutch with your new command. And the worst of it is I've booked you for 95,000 bushels this trip, and it's all in your hold by now. Want me to dip a couple of thousand bushels?"

"No," said Capt. Williams. "I guess I'll have to take what's coming to me."

When he reported on arrival Mr. Hagarty looked very grave.

"I got your letter, sir," said Capt. Williams hastily, "but the extra 2,000 bushels were necessary to trim the ship properly-"

"Captain Williams," said Mr. Hagarty, "this firm requires its masters always to take their ships out of port properly trimmed." He had as much appetite for the extra freight the Algonquin was earning as had his partner, Capt. Crangle. He went on: "Now tell me, captain, as a favor—how do you ever manage to get more than 93,000 bushels of wheat into the Algonquin without getting her below her draft marks?"

Then Capt. Williams told him about the "fossilized" coal he had dug out, a hidden reserve she had been carrying up and down the lakes for years. Mr. Hagarty chuckled his quiet chuckle. "You always have an answer," said he.

The St. Lawrence and Chicago Steam Navigation Cov was a happy combination of daring and caution. With their new skipper they were very careful at first. He was told to take no chances, not to canal at night, and do nothing that he would not do were the vessel his own. This last was his saving clause, and when he reached Port Colborne, bound down, the first time, late in the evening, he steamed on down the "long level" of fourteen miles. His mate, expecting him to have moored at Port Colborne, was all ready next to moor for the night above the first of the twenty-six locks which then formed a stairway down to Lake Ontario. But the night was clear, the weather quiet, and Capt. Williams blew for the lock and entered. Then canalled all night, got through without mishap, and escaped a scolding from headquarters.

In 1912 he took the W. D. Matthews up to the head of the lakes to load a last cargo of grain at a good freight. It was on in December; insurance had run out. At Pointe aux Pins, leaving the Sault for Lake Superior, it was 22 below zero and Capt. Williams had his ears frozen on—but not on to—the bridge. This was on December 16. On the 17th he got into Fort William and loaded. Morning of the next day, on the way down, the log and engine revolutions showed they should be abreast of White Fish. It was still dark as a wolf's throat. The mate said the light must be out, for there was nothing visible. They held on, and fifteen minutes later caught a glimpse of the light over the quarter. It had been hidden in snow, and it soon vanished in more snow.

The Sault canal had not yet frozen and they were able to lock through. Two tugs were sent ahead to break the ice down to Detour and keep the channel open. They had a good run down Lake Huron and the St. Clair River, but when they got into Lake St. Clair it was calm and cold and thick fog. For forty hours the Matthews lay at the end of the St. Clair stakes; the lights were out and most of the buoys were up. Saturday night a sand sucker, which had been working all week in the lake, anchored alongside. Capt. Williams passed the time of day and the sandman said he would go ahead in the morning and grope the way across the lake to the Detroit River. This he did and on Sunday the Matthews got as far as Murton's coal dock in Windsor and Capt. Williams telephoned A. A. Wright, the manager for the company, in Toronto.

"Thought you were lost," said Mr. Wright. "We've had Reid's tug from Sarnia searching for you for five days, at a hundred dollars a day."

"Well, don't pay him more than $500," said Capt. Williams, "and we'll still be home for Christmas."

Christmas Eve he telephoned from the elevator at Port Colborne, whither the cargo was consigned.

"Leave her there with a good Christmas dinner for the crew," said the office, "but come home yourself for Christmas and go back to lay her up where she is, after she's unloaded. The winter's all yours and we hope you'll enjoy it."

The bonus cheque which awaited him left no doubt on this score.

A FOUR-STRIPER

CAPTAIN JOHN WILLIAMS, after leaving the schooner's quarterdeck for a steamer's bridge.