Early Bird on the Lake: Schooner Days MXXXIV (1034)

by C. H. J. Snider

LAST ARRIVAL for the navigation season of 1889, according to extant records of Toronto harbor, was a little Port Nelson stonehooker which, did not come in until next year, on the 6th of January, with building stone frozen to her snow-filled deck. Her painted name was "Una" on the flat starboard bow and "Anu" on the equally flat port one, showing how hard it must have been freezing in the lake. Fact. Saw this myself when a boy.

Instead of being acclaimed as the first arrival of the new season she was entered by the harbormaster as the last arrival of the old one, after paying her 15 cents harbor dues. This saved $3 for the "harbormaster's hat" still customary for the first arrival with cargo, and it stretched out the days of navigation for 1889 to 290, to the greater glory of the port.

Right away everything froze up tight. The ice-cutters shook mustard into their boots to keep their feet warm and soon teams were hauling their product from the middle of harbor, sparkling blocks, a foot thick. B. coli and other bacilli were unknown to the laity at this time, although a German scientist named Koch had been talking about microbes and so on for fifteen years. In Toronto we had to drink bay water whenever the conduit from the lake broke or froze. We considered ice from the bay "purer" than the unfrozen water if we could not see dirt in it, and quaffed accordingly.

SPRING, GENTLE SPRING

On in February the crows began to caw and Toronto harbor ice broke sufficiently to show black water from the Eastern Gap, not then cribbed, to the old sugar refinery at the foot of Princess street. Ice harvesters began to fear for their crop, and ice users became anxious for supplies. At this time iceless refrigeration was unknown. Old timers said this was no sign of spring, that a months or more of bitter winter weather was in prospect for the groundhog hadn't seen his shadow at Candlemas and had gone back to bed. The groundhog knew as much about the future as anyone else. This time he was right. It stayed cold.

But Capt. Johnny Williams, recent purchaser of the blocky schooner Speedwell, lying stripped near the old refinery, received a telegram from Rochester, N.Y. offering $1.50 a ton for Presqu'ile ice delivered at Charlotte, Rochester's port at the mouth of the Genesee river. This port was connected with the city by brass rails and cuspidors for a stretch of nine miles. There were more bars then along the river road to Rochester then than there are sot factories in Toronto now. The bars were supplied by local breweries and the breweries were anxious about their ice supply.

A dollar and a half a ton was a $600 freight for the Speedwell, more than she might clear in a whole season's work. Capt. Williams did not hesitate. He bent the Speedwell's lower sails at once, bought and borrowed some cross-cut saws, and axes, pikepoles, tongs, and rough lumber, for skids, slides and staging and steered forth into the frigid lake. He was the less disposed to loiter because he knew Capt. John Corson, who had bought the W. J. Suffel, had laid her up at Presqu'Ile and probably had the same offer.

GRIM WELCOME

To reach the great clean natural harbor of Presqu'Ile, with its acres of uncontaminated ice required voyage of 90 miles eastward along the north shore of Lake Ontario, and then 70 miles back-tracking, south and by west, across the lake, to Charlotte.

Sixty-two years ago old Ontario looked just as bleak and cold in winter as it does today. Leafless black trees and equally dark evergreens stood out against the snow-mantled fields and hills along the dreary shores, and ice banks were piled as high as the little lighthouses which marked entrances to frozen harbors. Not a light shone on either shore all winter long, once the farmers had put the cows to bed, except the gas lamps on Toronto streets, and the flare of the blast furnaces at Charlotte. Sometimes it worked at night. There were no aids to navigation in winter time; no radio, radar, echo sounding or ship-to-shore telephone at any time.

Capt, Williams pondered these things in his heart as the early twilight showed him Port Whitby abeam, 70 miles from Presqu'ile. The harbor looked to be open. So he hauled the Speedwell up for where he knew the piers were, under their snowbanks. He sailed her in while it was still light enough to see that the piers were open, but the harbor icebound—a very large pond of clear blue ice, 14 inches thick. He trudged a mile in the dark to the railway office, and sent a telegram; "Can deliver good ice from here sooner than Presqu'Ile." Twenty-four hours later he got the answer back—"Load and come."

He had not waited in idleness meantime. At daylight that morning he had hired a horse and six woolen mitted, felt-booted ice-cutters, and, with his own crew of five helping, had begun loading the schooner. By dinner time he had the ground tier of choice blue-white crystal blocks laid along the Speedwell's floor-ceiling. Fourteen inches at a time it rose to the height of the centreboard box. All the ice was 14 inches thick.

Then he filled each hatch to the coamings with some extra choice samples, and laid a tier of these along the deck. In the fourth week in February he made a night run of it for Charlotte. He found the river open, and pushed in as far as he could, through the shell ice. Then, carefully dressed for the part, he presented himself at the XYZ brewery office.

IN COSTUME

He was wearing his ice-cutting clothes, an old fur cap on his head with a wisp of hair showing through one of its holes, his tallowed knee-boots, woolen mittens, and an old, overcoat girt about him with a heavy-weather lashing. Under his arm he had a stone jar.

"What have you there?" asked the manager.

"Ice, for you sir, the finest Canadian ice. This is just a sample." Glasses were produced. The sample was pronounced excellent.

So's the whole cargo, ye'll find," said Johnny. "Can ye have a look at it now, so's we can unload?"

The cargo proved as acceptable as the sample, which by this time was at low ebb. Johnny thriftly pushed the unloading so as to lose nothing by the precious tonnage running to gallonage and running away, and next day he had his cheque for $628, in U.S. funds, and the promise of the acceptance of another load at a bonus.

"Anything else, captain?" inquired the manager genially.

"Well, now," said the wily John, "I hate, to mention it, but perhaps it's something ye'd want to know. In my country the first ship of the year into port with a cargo is given a new hat for the master to wear. The harbormaster's hat it's called."

He said this bashfully, twirling his worn fur schooner-cap in his hands so the holes would show.

The brewery management roared. "Here, wait," said the superintendent "we don't aim to be behind anybody, either Canada-way or any ways. You take this uptown, and, see what you get, before you start for home."

"Thankee kindly," said John. He was a born comedian and enjoyed the part he was playing, whatever the stage. How this part came out we shall tell next week.

THE SPEEDWELL

"Capt. Williams had recently purchased the blocky schooner Speedwell." --This is the noble craft when she carried a square sale and raffle, in addition to the usual fore-and-aft canvas.