A Drowning

When the coastal communities that we grew up in were still vibrant, filled with life and the smells associated with fishing, when multi-coloured boats swung on their mooring in the coves, and physical activities for young men were centred around the woods and water, boys learned to row at a very early age.

I first grasped the oars at the age of seven. My dad took me out one Sunday afternoon in June 1941 in the brand new thirteen foot skiff he had built by the master of all skiff builders,  Charlie O' Hara. We launch the skiff down the cove beach; I got in the stern while dad shoved off', 

He rowed out Corkum's Channel, baited a few of his traps, with fresh mackeral gibbs, then he looked at me and said, " I' m tired right out;  you row her in. "

So we traded places, and I took the oars, and it must have been some comical for him to watch my first time on the oars. It was calm, and I finally got her in to the landing. From that day on I was a rower. I revelled in it.

We moved ashore in '45, and dad made me a present of that skiff. I was eleven, just about every kid in DH, had a skiff or punt, or something that could be propelled with oars. Those who weren't fortunate enough to be owners crewed for those who were. My cousin Gerald (Burke) not being content with grandfather's 18 foot skiff, to which he had free access, built himself a punt from rough lumber when he was 13 and numbered her 103, after the crashboat that was stationed in Isaac's Harbour.

Our parents didn't have any worrys or misgivings about our seagoing escapades; all that mine ever said was a truism " You fall overboard; you'll drown" so it was over to Country Harbour Head after mackeral, to Island Harbour every day, and to Goose Island at least once a week all summer. When there was no where else to go, we just devilled around the cove spearing flatfish, sculpins or whatever other bottom dwellers happened along.

The urge was always there to try some skiff that was off limits, or out of bounds, Ralph Burke's for example, or Cliff Burke's. The only way to get on the rowers thwart of these skiffs was to steal them, try to get outside the old breakwater before the owner realized his skiff was missing.

I well remember the day that Gerald and I stole Harry's skiff; took her off her outhaul in broad daylight, and went to Goose Island. We landed in Boat Cove, hauled her up what we thought was far enough, and went around the Island.

During the time elapsed while we were travelling around the Island, it breezed up from the sou'west; hard, and we arrived back at Boat Cove to find Harry's skiff overturned in the kelp bank, with the sea breaking against her.

That skiff was as heavy as lead..........literally; she was old, and painted with countless coats of lead based paint, and although we were two able bodied kids, we couldn't upright her.

As the afternoon wore on we looked up toward the DH breakwater, and saw a sight to chill the heart of any skiff boat thief. We saw Miss Drum Head , a bone in her teeth, heading straight for Boat Cove, my little skiff coming along on a tow line in her wake. Harry was coming to claim his skiff.

Someone with a telescope, ( they were called spy-glasses then) had seen the goings on at Boat Cove and got in touch with Harry. He and Carl took my skiff rowed out to his boat and come down the Sound to straighten things out.

Carl landed in my skiff, and was he wild; what a rant ! After he wound down the three of us uprighted HHS      ( Harry's Heavy Skiff ) we rowed her out to Miss Drum Head, where Harry was waiting, Carl following in my skiff.

" Well", said Harry, " Breezed up some, didn't it ?" Then he added, " Any time you want my skiff you're welcome to her, if I'm not using her, just ask me first." 

I often thought in later years, if Harry's mild reaction to our thievery, was motivated by the fact that he too, was a rower when he was a boy.

***************************************************************************************************************************

In May 1911, an American yacht sailed into Drum Head. Her owner was single handing, and was on his way to Northern Newfoundland and the Ladbrador coast. I can't recall the exact purpose of his voyage, but I think it was related to the Grenfell Mission.

His tender, a mere clam shell, about seven feet long was towed astern and was bobbing prettily astern of the yacht a she lay at the north side of the old breakwater.

As I mentioned before, strange row boats were a challenge, and this tender was certainly a challenge to twelve year old Harry Hodgson. Harry went on board talked up the American yachtsman and asked him if he could have a lend of his tender.

The American was loathe to comply with the boys request, for he knew his tender was much more unforgiving than the skiffs used in the coastal villages, but he agreed to loan the little boat with the proviso that Harry was to be extremely careful.

Harry boarded the tender, the smallest boat he had ever seen, let alone rowed, and rowed into the cove, and made a couple of circuits of it and.............upset the tender !

The American, working in the cockpit of his yacht, had been keeping a close eye on Harry and was watching when he over turned. Harry, being a non-swimmer, never resurfaced.

The American must have been an Olympic class swimmer, for he instantly  stripped and dove over the side. The distance he had to go was about one hundred yards, for Harry's upset occurred near the shore, just in front of his father's house.

Others had seen the accident as well and made haste to launch a boat and head to the scene. By the time they had accomplished this task the American was there, winded;  he caught his breathe and made his first dive. Nothing. He dove again and just as his air was running out, he spotted Harry, motionless in the eel grass. He took a deep breathe and dove the third time seized Harry by the hair and brought him to the surface, and immediately started to tow him to the beach  where eager hands were there to assist the rescuer and the rescued.

Think of the anguish as the limp body was carried up the beach to the roadside. It is hard to envision the loss felt by Harry's father so recently widowed, ( by two months; his wife Sadie having died while giving birth to their second daugther, Lulu. ) when he saw the lifeless body of his only son.

In 1911, artificial respiration was an inexact science, The Silvester method may not even have been known then; and although mouth to mouth resusitation was known since the days of the Old Testament, and in scientific circles, it wasn't on the radar screen for the residents of Drum Head.

They did what was thought to be the best way to get the water out of a drowning victim......roll them over a barrel. Someone got a mackeral barrel and they commenced rolling Harry' s lifeless body. In the meantime they sent for the doctor, whom I believe may have been MacRitchie?, who arrived on his black mare, and she had been ridden so hard that her flanks were covered with lather.

The doctor could find no heart beat, but they didn't give up, they kept on rolling the inert form back and forward on the barrel, all the while applying pressure to the back.  After many hours, someone asked Ab if they could try a little brandy. He agreed; Harry retched and expelled water and slowly regained consciousness. It was haled as a miracle at the time, for it was estimated that Harry was under the waters of the cove for at least ten minutes, perhaps longer.

Maybe it was, but we know today of dramatic neurological recovery after prolonged immersion in icy water, but miracle or hibernation phenomemon, Harry lived to tell the tale, and do some rescueing of his own off Flying Point, years later.

Seanchai