Death by Logging In Muskoka

THE TREACHEROUS LOGGING OPERATIONS IN MUSKOKA

HUNDREDS ARE KILLED AND SERIOUSLY INJURED BY MISADVENTURE

"Come to the land of rivers, and groves of goodly pine, a land to last forever, to be both yours and mine; our rulers now, God bless them, in wisdom they designed, Free Grants of land to give away, in this most favored clime."

The verse is from "The Backwood's Song," sung to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, and was published in the 1871 "Settlers' Guide," entitled properly, "Muskoka and Parry Sound," by Thomas McMurray. "One hundred acres every man, shall have on terms good, only to come and lead the van, to grand Muskoka's wood. Here are the falls of splendor, magnificent and grand; and here are nature's wonders, on these same free tracts of land."

"Here may the angler's wishes, be more than satisfied; a good shot may make riches, down by the Severn side. The Severn side in his grandeur, which dashes from rock to rock, reminds us of our native land, our fathers free tracts of land."

"Then come along, young men of sense, bring axes and bring hoes; begin your farms now to clear - the woods resound with blows. Your old friends and your comrades may wish to live at ease; take courage boys, and come along, it will your sweetheart please."

Homesteaders on this new frontier, of the 1860's and 70's, did profit from the fact their free grant allocations were forested. The trees felled were used for building the first cabins and out buildings, the remainders used to heat the abodes, and to sell off to others in need of fuel. Excess timber, being cleared from future agricultural plots, could be sold off to bring money in, at a time when there were no harvests…..because any open fields were full of stumps that had to be removed over many months if not years. As the soil in Muskoka is thin on top of rock, and the growing season was short, agriculture could not rival the logging enterprise as a parallel industry. The logging economy helped homesteaders, by employing the young men of the family over the winter months, into the spring. The unfortunate reality of logging, was that it took its toll on the work force. Many were killed by falling trees, axe mishaps, falls, crushed by rolling logs, and those river drivers who drowned in the lakes and rivers during the spring run. The story, as told by family historian, Bert Shea, in his second book, "History of The Sheas and the Paths of Adventure," looks at a later period in the lumber business, but none the less, the dangers were ever present. Many of those homesteaders and their sons, didn't come back after the spring drive, and others came back with serious injuries, without a lot of money to survive, but still facing the demands of isolated farmstead life. A missing arm or leg for a farmer, could kill the chances to successful cultivation and harvests on the rock strewn acreages. There was no government compensation or industry insurance, to cover death or injury. The ladies of the homestead, lost their men, husbands and sons, in increasing numbers, to the treacherous conditions of the logging industry.

Now we return to the Three Mile Lake area, the Dee River, and the falls of Dee Bank, near the Village of Windermere, on Lake Rosseau. (If you are just joining us, having missed yesterday's blog, please archive back to read the preamble to this logging tale).

The logs were going over the rapids. Earl Duboise was standing on a pier "in the middle of the river at the head of the spillway, with the wild water boiling all around him, the last of the plank dam at the rivermouth had been taken out to wash the river clear of logs. Dr. McGibbon (of Bracebridge, who had been in the area to visit a patient, was on the riverbank to watch), called to him (Earl) to get out of that place or get drowned. Earl laughed, jumped up and clicked his heels together, waved to the doctor, and continued to feed logs through the slide. The doctor shook his head and went away - gone on his medical duties," wrote Bert Shea.

The historian recorded of the incident, "The last of the logs had gone through and over, and the glance booms were about to be released from their anchor but someone hesitated to break them apart. But the drive had been cleaned off the lake and over the falls in record time. Thrilled by this, someone called 'Let them all go together.' Dubois stabbed his pike pole into the lot of the first boom and guided it to the slide; it entered, followed by another but for some reason they failed to keep a draw on the following members and the speed of the upper water swung the remaining timbers sideways to the current, driving them forcibly against the pier on which Dubois was standing. As Billie Crowder told me years after, 'I stood right there on the bank of the river and saw the whole affair. When the booms swung they came so fast sideways and hit the pier with such force, there never was such a report from a cannon. The pier completely disappeared. I saw Earl shoot up in the air and then he turned and headfirst, he struck the water right at the break over the falls, and the last I saw of him, was the caulked boots disappearing in the water and then what a roar as the water in the fore bay emptied as well."

According to Billie Crowder's account, "All the drivers heard the crash and saw he was gone. Some went down the river below the falls to catch him if he floated up but there was no sign of him. I could see there was only one thing to do and that was to shut the water off up at the dam at the lake, and I started up. Add Vetich was there and some other went with me. There were men all along the river below the falls searching for Earl but when we arrived at the dam, the whole channel was running free; there was a pile of two inch elm planks on the bank, fourteen feet long and twelve inches wide, green and heavy."

"Black Billie Crowder picked up the first plank and walked out on the pier, lifted the plank above his head, turned it in the air and brought it down into that fast water endways at an angle that when caught by the water, it was snapped into its place at the lower end, far below the the surface of the water, and held against the bottom timbers that held the bottom of the dam. We handed him another and another, setting their edges together one foot at a time, walking that trembling timber over that racing water till the last plank was in; that closed the flow of water. We who carried the planks to him had helped in amazement. We didn't know there was such a man among us. Of a hundred and twenty-five men, there was not another who had the strength or the nerve, or the knowledge of how to handle those heavy planks and in that fast water, to put them in so that each one snapped right into its place and not a miss," wrote Bert Shea of the effort to save Earl Dubois.

He continues his recollection, noting that, "Down below were boulders and broken rocks; here we spread out to look and there he was, just below where Billie Crowder said he last saw him as he disappeared. He was driven head first in between two boulders. We had to pull on him to get him out - he was all smashed up. When free, Billie Crowder picked him up and put him on his shoulder, one hundred and eighty pounds, and carried him out of the riverbed, stepping from stone to stone and up the south bank and he laid him down on a rock, fell on his knees and looking into his face, he said, 'Earl, why didn't you come out of there when the doctor told you that you had been there too long then?' He straightened up slightly, put his hand on Earl and said, 'My cousin Caroline's little boy.' He then threw himself on the ground on his face and cried like a child. The men had all gathered around, not a word was spoken, silence reigned, even the mighty river that had for centuries flowed in freedom and might, and the falls whose voice even cause the earth to tremble in flood time, and had never known silence, after its desperate act, stood silent and subdued."

In conclusion Mr. Shea writes of the tragedy, "At length someone picked up an axe and slowly walked up the river to the dam and standing in a safe place, swung a few sharp blows with the cutting edge into the downstream edge of the pine timber that warped from the strain, then came the crackling of the timber, the shifting of the planks and the roar of the water as it broke free, carrying the wreckage of the dam before its flood. The tumbling of the river once more became alive; the voice of the falls returned to its thunder and spray. A light evening breeze caught a column of mist and bore it heavenward beyond our sight, as if in token of the life that gone from our midst."

(Taken from a poem in Mr. Shea's book, entitled "The Boom Chain's Lament." "I am hoping to hear me the sound of the river, in springtime when cataracts and rapids roll free, and the voices of men around me with pike poles, with the white water flying and the logs running free. I long for the surge of the booms in my linkage, that snugs me together to my toggle snub-tree, in the snow or the rain as it drops from the willows, and the cannon-like book of the logs running free. Or the days and the nights that I rode on the waters, and bound the boom of timbers that circled the logs, as we moved by the wind or the gales on high waters, or the throb of the piston that towed us along. For a life, for to work I was forged by my maker, as he welded each link so neat and so strong, with a toggle and ring that held me together, my strength unbounded and my years service was long."

The verses continues, "Could I go back to the days of my making, with the men and my fellows as we used to be, but the logs are all finished and the men have departed, and I'm alone in this place, just my memories and me. For years I have waited since he set my last toggle, the boss of the drivers, this is where he hung me, on this beam in this barn, I am here as a witness, of the days that have parted and ne'er more shall be. I have heard the voices of his loved ones in mourning, and the men of the river in silent groups standing around, the slow tread of the horses and wheels of the carriages, as they bore him away to the quiet burying ground."

I am told, there are many unmarked graves, holding the remains of fallen loggers, crushed or drowned during the river drive. You may find one yourself, along some local river bank, in proximity to a water fall, where the danger was always highest. It was generally acceptable, to hastily arranged funeral parties, that these graves could be pleasantly situated at the base of falls or rapids, where the loggers themselves would stop for river camps, and for food preparations. And to bury any logger who had perished in the vicinity. Someone in the group would say a few words, extend heartfelt wishes, praying their comrade would get to heaven, with "God-speed." Then it was back to work. As cut and dried as that! There were contracts to complete, wages to earn, loggers to pay.

I have often called upon Bert Shea's book, for early homesteading research and of course his many references to life in lumber camps, and during the winter cuts. Bert was Suzanne's uncle, and lived in close proximity to the family farm, established by her grandfather, John Shea, a former municipal clerk in the Township of Muskoka Lakes. Since the first time I used portions of the Earl Dubois story, back in the mid-to-late 1980's, (Muskoka Sun)I've never been able to look at a boom chain, pike pole or two-man saw, without thinking about the tragic event, that took a young logger's life.

There are lots of incredible Muskoka stories contained in the hundreds of locally written histories, kept in the "Muskoka Collections" of our regional libraries. As an antique dealer, and collector, with a home base in Gravenhurst, I have long made it a point to know the history of our community and our region. It may seem like a waste of time to some dealers, but you'd be surprised how many times I have drawn on my knowledge of local history, when dealing with long time citizens, and family, about cherished collections and artifacts they wish to sell. When they wish to talk about local heritage, and the role their families played, in most cases, I'm well aware of their place in community affairs…..and feel I can chat intelligently about the way it was……and the way it has since become. Trust is important. Being sensitive to history and having the knowledge to carry on a conversation about it, can't help but to facilitate an understanding…….an appreciation, that while on the open market, the items will have a money value. In the hands of the owners, the value isn't always about money. They would like to pass the items on, with a story…..and of this, I am an eager listener.

Thanks for joining today's blog. We had a bad weekend, as far as collecting Canadian Symbols goes (an ongoing project you can also archive back to early January), with nary an item being acquired. As it is March Break and Suzanne has some time to roam about the area, we will report back on any significant finds of iconic images of Beavers, Maple Leaves, or the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, we find over the next seven days.

Note: I have another story from the Ufford / Three Mile Lake area, as told by Bert Shea, included in his first book, "History of the Sheas and Birth of a Township," entitled "The Coming of the Lovelys - About 1865," a neat little paranormal tale you won't forget. Did I hear someone say our regional history is dull? I've got dozens of stories like this to bestow on the interested reader. Join me for this pioneer tale tomorrow.