One Froze on the Shores of Michigan: Schooner Days CMXIII (913)

by C. H. J. Snider

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Three Antelopes

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HENRY McCONNELL, now in his ninetieth year, and still known as Harry-out-of-Picton to a select company of lake lovers, was a great chanteyman in his time.

Seventy years ago it was the custom in the waterfront bars of Chicago to demand of a newcomer that he either treat the crowd or give them a song or a story good enough for drinks for everybody "on the house." Harry didn't drink and didn't like saloons, but he was sociable, and went ashore with his shipmates to keep them out of trouble if he could. As he was a strapping six-footer and two hundred pounds of hard bone and muscle, he had some hopes of success. He has a grand tenor voice and a grand repertoire—and seldom had to buy. But his efforts at temperance were sometimes nullified by his success as an artiste, for when he sang, more than one broad-beamed barkeep rendered the verdict to the sawdust audience:

"Boys, this ain't no beer song. It's a whiskey song, and it's on the house for all hands!"

When Harry would modestly request a glass of milk for himself strong men fainted and strong ladies wept. It should be remembered that Chicago had burned because Mrs O'Leary was milking her cow of a Sabbath evening and the cow kicked over the stable lantern.

One of the songs Harry sings yet with a sweet, high, mournful quaver, concerns the loss of one schooner called Antelope on the east shore of Lake Michigan, near Point Betsey. He never learned when, nor more particulars than the nine fragmentary verses given. Something has been lost in the passage of time. Subject to corrections, which will be gladly received, our recollections of what he rings is this:

I

"You all may bless your happy lot

That dwell safe on the shore,

Safe from the billows and the blasts

That round poor sailors roar.

Little do you think of the hardships

Nor do you understand

The stormy nights we did endure

On the Lake of Michigan,

II.

On the seventeenth of November

From Chicago we sot sail

The sun shone bright, the breeze was light

With no signs of a gale.

With our canvas sot unto the wind

And our hearts as light as air

We left Chicago far behind,

Our colors flying fair.

III.

On the very next morning

As we all on deck did stand,

Each man he stood beside his post

And he done his duty grand.

Little did he think in twelve short hours,

Or twelve more hours to come

That some of us would be froze to death

And more of us be drowned.

IV.

On the eighteenth in the evening,

A storm there did arise,

The billows raged around us

And dismal was the skies,

We reefed her down, made all things fast

And then contrived a plan

To try and save the Antelope

From the shores of Michigan.

V.

On the very next morning,

Between the hours of four and five,

Our ship just like a sea bird

On those angry waves did ride.

The water had its roily look

Caused by the clay and sand,

That lines the shores for many's the mile

On the Lake of Michigan.

VI.

On that very same morning,

And what I say is true,

Our cook in the fore rigging froze

By the fiercest wind that blew.

Our ship had sprung a leak, my boys,

At the pumps was every man,

To try and save the Antelope

From the shores of Michigan.

VII.

On the very same morning

As they on deck did stand

The captain says to his brother, John:

'I think I see the land!'

'Oh, yes,' says John, 'I see the trees,

And I see the people stand,

But there's only One can save us now

From the shores of Michigan.'

VIII.

The very same morning

Our ship she struck stem on,

Our mainmast by the deck did break,

Our yawl-boat it was gone.

Our captain tried to swim ashore,

His brother's life to save,

And through his bold and manful work

He met a watery grave.

IX.

Besides our captain and our mate

There was eight of us on board.

Two lads we shipped in Chicago,

Their names was never heard;

But they were two gay and lively lads

As from Ireland ever came,

Their friends may weep them in the deep,

For they'll never see them again."

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STILL AT THE WHEEL

"HARRY-OUT-OF-PICTON" sailing the yacht KINGARVIE in the Bay of Quinte recently in his 90th year.