"Big Money" 66 Years Ago: Schooner Days MLXXXI (1081)

by C. H. J. Snider

"A DOLLAR a day, with layoffs in port, was regular pay in the summer months, when I was sailing Lake Ontario," said Marsh Spafford, of Point Traverse, now hale and hearty at 83. "But sometimes we did better."

"Hardest trip I ever made was in the Two Brothers, in November, 1886. Capt. Nate McCrimmon Was master of her, and his son Will was mate. We were all young and in our twenties except the captain. His nephew 'Let' or Lester McCrimmon, who was drowned off the Fleetwing one black April morning seven years later, was in the forecastle with me and Steve Vandusen. The cook was Jenny Brown of Port Hope, a sister-in-law of Jack Wright, the owner of the Brothers. Will McCrimmon married her afterwards.

HARDEST WORK IN PORT

The Two Brothers was a smart little fore-and-after, and could carry 10,000 bushels of barley. We loaded for Oswego, N.Y., in Consecon, in Weller's Bay, and that loading was harder than a week's battle with the lake. The rough old dock where we had to load, chewed up our lines and fenders whenever it blew hard and it was blowing hard all the time we were at Consecon.

"We had no sleep, for we worked day and night tending lines and carrying fence rails and posts for fenders to keep her from tearing the dock down.

"We tried to carry an anchor out, to heave her off from the dock, but we had to give it up. We nearly lost the anchor and the yawlboat with all hands, for it swamped in the rough water of the tossing bay.

"Bushel by bushel the cargo filled our hold at last through all this clamjamfray. After six days and nights of it we got our hatches on and away from that cursed dock, and out into the lake. The Old Man stood her across to Presqu'ile, six miles away, and put in for the night. It was an easy place to get away from, which Consecon wasn't.

FIRST NIGHT'S SLEEP

"We had supper and turned in for the first night's sleep in a week, when along came the Annie Falconer athwart our hawse, and caught her mainboom topping lift on the end of our jibboom as she passed.

"This snapped off our horn at the flying jib stay and made quite a mess forward. It was pitch dark and cold, and we worked by lantern light setting up rigging, knotting and splicing. Before we could turn in, it was another day, or at least after midnight of the one before — and at 5 o'clock that Tuesday morning, Nov. 29th, we had to turn out again and heave up. The wind was fair for Oswego.

"It was still black and bitter cold, you may well believe, as we single-reefed her all around. By the time it was graying for morning we were skimming past Presqu'ile light, headed for Nicholson Island, inside of the Scotch Bonnet. We went through the passage between Nicholson's and the mainland, shaving the shore to hold the smooth water. The sun came up above our old Prince Edward home.

"Off Wellington we commenced to get the vapor which rises as zero air flows over warmer water. We could just make out Wicked Point, and cleared it.

WINTER IN THE LAKE

"Then we lost the lee of the land, and were in the open lake and rough water. It came on to snow, one great blank wall of white, vanishing into the rolling lake. We could see neither land nor sky, just snow and lake. It seemed to be snowing only on us. We caught it. The lake swallowed it.

"Steer small, Marsh," said Nate McCrimmon when my trick came and he gave me my course. "Everything depends on hitting the nail on the head, and we've just one shot."

The Brothers was smart, but tricky with a leading wind and the sheets broad off. I had been in her before and knew her tricks. I buckled in to give him a straight course.

It snowed so hard we saw nothing beyond the broken end of our jibboom. The water was coming over the rail every time she rolled. Each splash froze where it fell. The snow drifted our decks and filled our sails.

"We had two barrels of coarse salt ready, but we used them up in one watch, trying to keep our scuppers and the pump-wells clear, and to keep the coils of gear from freezing solid on the pins. In spite of the salt and the pounding and continuous work, each rope built up as thick as your arm, with snow frozen in the flying spray. We had a six-inch casing of solid ice forward.

"The Old Man kept a lookout aloft all the time, but we couldn't stand it for more than ten minute spells, it was so piercing cold. The wind froze the snow on our schooner caps and ice on our eyelashes blinded us. In spite of mitts and heavy wool clothes and oilskins over all the wind went through you like a knife.

"Nate watched his clock, and when our running time was near up he said, to me: 'If we don't see nothing in ten minutes I'll run her off up or down the lake. Ye can't play blind man's buff with Oswego breakwater. Git aloft and see if ye can see anything. I'll take the wheel.'

"I started up the main rigging. As soon as I did Steve Vandusen, perishing with cold in the fore cross-trees, started down to get thawed out. I hadn't climbed far when I thought there was something dark in the white wall to leeward. I called to Steve, who was yet higher than I had got, and pointed. He cleared his frost-rimmed eyes, and sang out, 'Looks like steamboat smoke!"

"Tell us when we're right on it,' called the captain from below, swinging her off for where we pointed.

"Soon we made out a propeller, coming for us, steering north. So we knew Oswego piers were south. She vanished in a jiffy, and right ahead we saw the loom of the breakwater. And then 'Hunky' Scott. came snorting, with the John Navagh's stem-fender a mass of frozen spray, and ranged alongside.

"We couldn't get our canvas off until he had towed us head to wind, inside, at the Northwestern elevator. It did take a lot of pounding and punching with handspikes to get the gear rendering, for, besides the halliards' being frozen, the sails full of snow were stiff as corrugated iron.

ANOTHER LAST-TRIPPER

"When we got things straightened away we climbed out to look for the schooner Ariadne, for we figured she'd be following us, as she hadn't arrived. She had made three tries before, and had to run back to South Bay Point, all the way across the lake. It was getting dark now, and blowing harder than ever. The wind had gone to the westward and the sea was roaring down the lake.

"We saw a starboard light, and knew she was to leeward of the piers. Then, a port light, and knew she was trying to tack out. Then her starboard light again, but further to leeward. She was showing a torch, and blowing her horn for a tug. We didn't know she had blown out her sails when she came around, Then we lost the lights. The tugs in the harbor kept blowing their whistles to guide her in, but not one dared go outside to get her.

"Next day we learned she was a complete wreck on Stony Point, 30 miles down the lake. Her captain, 23-year-old Hughie McKay, of Toronto, and his father, Capt. Sutherland McKay—he owned the vessel, and they lived on Berryman street — and Ed. Mulligan, of Greenbush, in Prince Edward, and Charlie Dean, of Shannonville, where she had loaded, were all drowned or frozen to death. Tommy Cox and Maurice 'Dutchy' Young, both of Toronto, had been taken off by the Stony Point lifeboat, frozen but living.

"Sometimes we got as much as $2.50 a day for fall trips like this."