Saving Seven From Augusta: Schooner Days DCLXXI (671)

by C. H. J. Snider

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THIS child," said Kitty Gill, wife of Michael Foley of Corktown-on-Credit-—Michael mended the split iron rails for the old Great Western-—"this child will have three things by the shape of his head. Hell never lose his mind, though his life will be long. He will never be drowned. And he'll always be lucky."

"True so far," laughed Capt. A E. Hare in his Port Credit home this week. He wasn't eight when she said it, and he is now eighty-two after a successful career as a sailor, vessel owner, baker and boat livery man.

Port Credit appreciated Mrs. Foley's appraisal of Al from the time she made it. He had a lucky way with him. So when the Conger Coal Co.'s schooner Augusta was discovered in the breakers on the snowy Sunday morning, Nov. 26th, 1900, with her crew crying for help, the first thing the first man who sighted her did was to run for Al Hare.

There was no lifesaving equipment at Port Credit, but he felt Al Hare could effect a rescue if anyone could.

The nearest thing to a surfboat in the harbor was Albert Block's square-sterned Goderich model, which had fished out of Winona for years; the same, if we mistake not, that had vainly chased the Lithophone the year before. She was small enough to be dragged from the harbor to the shore, and to be rowed by four men, but not big enough to take off all the crew in one trip.

Al picked Steve Peer, owner of the Barque Swallow; Jack Trotter, and Albert Block, every one like himself, a true and tried stone-hookerman from childhood, and they had the boat hauled to the beach through the snow. Capt. Miller, the lighthouse keeper, had telegraphed to Toronto for a tug and a lifeboat, and the word was that the Maggie Bennett was the only tug with steam up, and she couldn't be located, but the "Grace Darling" would come as soon as possible.

Toronto's only lifeboat was then a large rowboat, with bulkheaded turtle-back ends and two short masts, with lug sails and a jib. Her power for manoeuvring was the old "armstrong patent," strong men's arms on strong ash oars. Motorized lifeboats were still the daydream of monkey-wrench sailors. The Toronto lifeboat was the product of the Sons of England Benevolent Society and other Britons born, who had formed a cutlass company and gun crew in the 1890's, and provided this "Grace Darling." South African War, you know. They became known as the Britannia Naval Brigade, with a boathouse at the foot of York street. Capt. Nuttall was the coxwain of the lifeboat, and E. Nuttall and E. Wills were all the crew he could get together at the moment. Enough to sail the boat up to Port Credit, with the gale pushing behind, but not enough to move her against the wind under oars. This they found when they got there on in the afternoon and tried to come alongside the wreck. The waves tossed them past her, and when they threw out their anchor they were so much beyond her that they could not pull back to her. While they were dipping and diving like a gull their line parted and they had to hoist sail again to save themselves from being rolled ashore.

Meantime Al Hare had not been idly waiting. Time after time the little fishboat was pushed into the water and time after time Lake Ontario threw it back on the land. Perhaps the technique was wrong. Capt. John Miller, the lightkeeper, gave them a good line to take out to the wreck, with the double purpose of having something to haul themselves back on through the undertow, if capsized, and rigging a lifeline for the shipwrecked crew. But the weight of the line dragging astern made progress through the breakers impossible, and the little boat would fill up. Once she capsized and rolled over on her crew. When they came up she was between them and the shore. They dragged themselves out, drenched and shivering, and were going to make another try when neighbors intervened.

"Al," said Markie Blow, who feared only his God above him, "you can't take those boys out into the lake again. You'll only drown them and yourself. The Toronto lifeboat's here. Either she'll get those people off the wreck, or they'll be drowned, but they'll be drowned anyway if you try to take them off, and you'll be drowned, too.'

"Al," said his brother Walter, the butcher, "you're better in a boat than I am, but you've done your part. I can't stand by and see them drown, so I'll get a fresh gang together and take the boat out again."

"No you won't, Wal," said Al, "I'll take her out, with a fresh crew — you and Fred Block, and Steve Peer's brother Charlie and Harry Fowler."

Other neighbors urged Al to wait, but they could see the Augusta crew lining the rail imploring help, and throwing in pickle bottles which washed in on the beach with piteous messages calling on them to "do something."

Al rearranged his forces. He had plenty of room in the sternsheets to steer now, being no longer cumbered with a hundred fathoms of rope. Charlie Peer pulled the port bow oar and Fred Block the next one on the starboard side. Harry Fowler pulled the starboard oar aft, and Walter Hare had the port one. The division of weight was better, and allowed i the boat to rise in meeting a sea.

Al pushed with a pike pole, and used this all the way out, to steer her, for he could usually get bottom. They reached the lee of the wreck. One man. was astride the quarter rail yelling, "Take me! Take me!" They didn't. The brave woman cook, wanted to know if it was safe before she could be persuaded to leave the wreck. She had her bag packed and wasn't going to have her good clothes wet. "You'll have to leave the bag till next trip, ma'am," said Al Hare. "Too much weight in the boat. You just sit here by me and we'll have you safe ashore in five minutes But whatever happens don't you move, and don't you touch me for I've got a lot of work to do."

Three of the sailors made enough of a load for the boat, so they cast off, leaving the captain and mate and the man who had been yelling. He volunteered to stay. The first sea that broke spilled over Al Hare and the cook impartially and she flung both arms around his knees and clung to him in a death grip.

"That's right, ma'am, hold tight that way and we'll drown together nice and comfortable," said he. She flung herself free and released him for his vital job of steering. As the next wave rushed them towards the beach Al got his pike firmly into the shingle and gave the boat a good shove, and she landed high. People dashed into the water and held her and got the rescued crew out. They were, in all, Capt. Alex Ure, Mate Tames Young, Mrs. Anna Craig and Alexander Martin, George Martin, William Thorne and M. C. Chillon, of Port Colborne. The others were Toronto men.

Someone thrust a $5 bill into Al Hare's hands, and another a bottle of whisky. "Need warming?" asked Al politely of his crew.

Some were TT, others not, but before they had a chance to hold a plebiscite a hand was thrust out Tom the crowd trembling equally from the temperature of the morning after and the temptations of the night before. Al recognized the poor chap and his condition. He was only trying to raise a cheer for the rescuers.

"Here," he said, "I guess you're the one that needs this most."

"You've saved my life as much as theirs," gasped the hangover victim, and he was so far gone that he was telling the truth,

"Al Hare," said the local preacher's wife, "you should be ashamed of yourself making that man drunk, and on Sunday, too."

"Ma'am," said Al, respectfully, "I've been so busy I didn't know it was Sunday, but if I knew you felt as bad as that man did I'd give you liquor, too."

The Conger Coal Co. and the Royal Humane Society took a more lenient view of Al's activities, however. The coal company gave him a fine watch, "suitably engraved" in the phrase of the times, and $25 for the crew, and the society gave medals for him and his brother and Harry Fowler and Charlie Peer and Fred Block.

"They should have given medals to Steve Peer and the boys who worked with me all morning" commented AL as we talked it all over at Port Credit last week, "for they had a harder time. Anyway, give the boys the credit, not me. They all deserve it."

Sometime soon we shall tell what Al did next. Also how the Augusta got into her predicament, and what became of her.

WATCHED FATHER PULL FOR THE WRECK

Left to right—Millie Hare, now Mrs. James Coulter, Toronto; Capt. A. E. Hare, in his late thirties; Charlie Hare, now an architect in the United States—he commanded a sweeper flotilla in the Great War, and almost lost his life when dragged overboard by some gear parting in the English Channel; Agnes Lenora, now Mrs. R. E. McCall, Toronto; the late Mrs. Hare, nee Elizabeth Sarah Block, happily married for sixty-two years. She died two years ago. Mrs. Hare and Minnie stood on the snowy beach watching "Al" put out again and again to save the Augusta's crew.

"Awarded to A. E. Hare for conspicuous bravery in saving the crew of the schooner Augusta at Port Credit November 26th, 1900" reads the inscription on the medal. Other members of the volunteer crew were given similar medals and the owners of the vessel gave Capt. Hare $25 for them and a watch for himself.

"THAT'S JUST THE WAY IT HAPPENED"

Telegram Photo by NELSON QUARRINGTON

Four surviving members of the Port Credit volunteer lifesaving crew of 1900 to-day talk over the wreck of the Augusta that year. Left to right they are. Fred Block, starboard bowman; Steve Peer, who went out in the morning attempt; his brother Charlie Peer, port bowman in the afternoon, and Capt. A. E. Hare, coxswain in all the attempts which finally saved all seven of the crew of the wrecked schooner.