The Man From "Up Above": Schooner Days DCCL (750)

by C. H. J. Snider

His Name was Pat Canary and Under His Auspices Our Horseboy Hero Was in at the Death of the Wooden City of Chicago and Became Ambitious of Higher Life in the Lake Marine

IN October it got too cold and blew too hard to load timber on the open shore. The portsills and brows and skidways and the booms of timber themselves might get frozen up, or go adrift in the hard northerly winds. So the timber drogher Albatross, in which we are following the fortunes of James W. Baby, who was her only horseboy in 1871, was swept clean of chips and slivers and sawdust, and started for Chicago for her share of the gold of the west grain cargo. Her new sister, the Antelope, once got 27 cents a bushel, $6,000 freight, for one cargo from Chicago to Kingston; one-third of her whole cost to build.

LONG-VOYAGER 70 YEARS AGO

The Albatross started for Chicago. Upward bound, in the Welland Canal, there came aboard an Upper Lake sailor who had stopped off to visit relatives at Port Colborne and wished to work his way home. He was a big man, and a revelation to our abused but unbroken little horseboy.

He was groomed and dressed like a prince; broad-brimmed wide-awake hat, blue broadcloth coat, velvet vest, doeskin trousers, fine white shirt without collar or cravat, and shining leather boots, knee-high, with decorated panels of blue leather at the tops. A typical self-respecting and successful long voyager of the Great Lakes in the 70's, and as great a contract to the rag-a-muffin canal jumpers and tough guys of the timber trade as a mountie to a scarecrow. He carried two beautiful hand-sewn leather bags. When he emptied them in the forecastle he folded up his visiting clothes, packed them neatly and emerged decently dressed in blueberry smock and overalls, and ready for the hardest job mate or captain could set. And he left hanging handy as good an outfit of oilskins and seaboots as ever caught a codfish.

He carried himself with such assurance from the moment he threw his bags over the rail that all the petty bullies of the Albatross treated him with respect, recognizing a "big vessel man" from "Up Above." That meant the Upper Lakes, not heaven, but in some senses the same thing. That was right. He spent his seasons in the large carriers of the Upper Lakes, at good wages, and retired each fall for a snug winter at home in the west. Pat Canary was his name.

REVOLUTION

As they towed out from Port Colborne no one worked harder than Pat, at the long job of refitting after canalling and getting the Albatross' ten pieces of canvas set and drawing. When this was done the crowd sat themselves down on the fore-hatch and mopped their brows. They left to the unfortunate horseboy the endless task of coiling down and stowing the miles of rope which had descended to the deck as the might sails rose, "An' be dam' quick about it," Bucko Brennan added.

But Pat Canary had not sat down. He went on flaking the halliards faster than the horseboy had ever seen them coiled before.

"Why leave it all to the lad?" demanded Pat. "He's worked as hard as any of us and I'll bet he's just as tired. Let's all lend a hand."

"Aw, he's paid for that," growled Bucko. "He'll do it or get the toe of the boot."

"It's the toe of my boot will be ticklin' you first," said Pat cheerfully, hanging another coil on the belaying pin.

The droghermen shamefacedly got off the hatch and went to work.

"CHICAGO'S BURNING DOWN"

It was thick weather most of the way up the lakes, and when they got into Lake Michigan the smoke covered the sun by day. Off Milwaukee a tug came panting out, adding her woodsmoke to the pall.

"Chicago's on fire and burning to the ground!" hailed her skipper. "I've a wire for you to load in Milwaukee, and I'm out to tow you in." That was a bad fall for the west. After a hot dry summer. In Wisconsin and Michigan forest fires destroyed $3,000,000 worth of standing timber and 15,000 homes, and 1,000 settlers perished in the flames. This was the cause of the permanent fog that enveloped Lake Huron and Lake Michigan. Chicago, then a wooden city of 368,000, perched between the lake and the prairie, caught fire, not from the burning forests, but because Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked over the stable lantern on a Sunday night, October 8th, when the fire brigade was all tuckered out with its labors on a big blaze of the day before in the heart of the city. A strong west wind drove flames from the downtown lumber docks across the river and, burned out an area of 3 1/2 miles, which would be like all Toronto south of Bloor street from the Don to the Old Fort. This destroyed 17,450 buildings, and the homes of 98,500 persons. Two hundred people perished, and the property loss was $200,000,000. Vessels were burned at their wharves. Among them the American barquentine Fontanella and the new Canadian barquentine Valetta, of St. Catharines, one of Shickluna's building. The fire burned south till it was stopped by gunpowder, and north till it was quenched by rain on the prairie, on the morning of Oct. 10th, the fourth day from the original blaze.

A POWER IN THE LAND

So the Albatross put into Milwaukee, and every bridge they towed through someone hailed Pat Canary—"Hiya, Pat, how the blank d'ye get in a packet like that? How's all in the east? D'ye know Chicago's burned down?"

He was manifestly a great power wherever he went. He introduced the youngster to wieners and sauerkraut and pretzels and Pabst beer in judicious quantities but innumerable places ashore.

Everywhere he was popular and would be told: "You're money's no good here, Pat, you know that!"

And he would pay the shot and leave a quarter for the barman.

"Pat," asked the little lad, "why can't I ship in one of these fine big vessels up here?"

"B'y," said Pat. "Them vessels is big and heavy rigged, and they drive 'em like express trains. They're too heavy for a lad of your years, and they don't send b'ys to do men's work in 'em. Get some more beef on your bones, and in a year or two mebbe you can get a site in wan. Ye're a good lad, and you'll go far, but don't bite off more than ye can chew."

HOMEWARD BOUND

The Albatross loaded scupper deep with grain in Milwaukee, and left Pat there, and sailed for Kingston. Pat's approval of the horseboy had raised his standing on board. Bucko Brennan, the first mate, ceased to persecute him, and Charlie Staley, the little captain, showed himself somewhat kind. When they were coming down the river St. Clair he said: "We'll pay off in Kingston, three hundred miles away, but what you'll earn from now till then won't pay your fare home to Sarnia. If you like I'll drop you off at Port Huron as we pass, and you can ride across in the ferry and be home a week earlier."

So the kid left timber-droghing——for good. He sailed in many schooners, more happily for the next seven seasons. Realized that the despised steamkettles had come to stay, got a steamer of his own to command. Many steamers. His first trip to Chicago he sought Pat Canary. Found him—moored ashore, proprietor of a prosperous bar; and prosperous bars were prosperous in the newly risen Queen of the West.

GREAT CHICAGO FIRE OF 1871 LEAPING THE RIVER AT THE RANDOLPH STREET AND LAKE STREET BRIDGES AS CROWDS FLEE.— (From old Harper's Weekly Print by courtesy Chicago Historical Society.)