It Happened on Front Beach.

I was fond of my Uncle Lew. He would spend a lot of time out on the station when my Dad was the keeper there. Uncle Lew, was,  like my Dad and my other paternal Uncles, a raconteur. I very much enjoy hearing him and my Dad telling stories of when they were young and growing up in Seal Harbour. One story that fascinated me was the one I am now about to relate.

It was a fine day in late October, the wind a gentle breeze from the sou’west. Uncle Lew decided he would go on Goose Island and try for black ducks at the Bend Pond. So he collected his shotgun and shell bag, walked down to the landing, shoved down the flat, placed the gun and shells in the bow, but before doing so he loaded the gun, for he though he might get a shot on the way over to the island at a passing coot.

The bow of the flat struck the gravel of Front Beach and Uncle Lew jumped out, and pulled the little craft clear of the backwash, pulling her out past the high tide mark. He though the had better tie her, and started to pull the painter out from where he had thrown it when he left the Cove (Crooks) Somehow the rope snarled one of the hammers, coming free just before the hammer reached the fully cocked position; the firing pin hit the primer with enough force to detonate the load, and the discharged shot passed by my hapless Uncle’s nose and blew a fist sized hole in the brim of his old felt hat The shell was loaded with black powder with is slow burning, and Uncle Lew had severe powder burns to his face and the blast rendered him blind in both eyes.The shock of the discharge caused him to fall backward on the beach, where he lay, blinded and deafened in both ears, but giving fervent thanks that he was still alive.

He picked himself up, pushed the flat down until it was afloat, climbed on board, seated himself on the thwart, and gropingly put out the oars and started back towards Crooks’s Cove. Knowing the direction of the wind, he thought he could make the Cove with no trouble, so with the everlasting sou’west wind on his right cheek, he laid back on the oars and began the trip across the Sound.

My Great Aunt Lydia (Lyd) spotted the flat when Uncle Lew was about two thirds of the way across, and knew immediately by the course he was keeping and his unexpected early return, that something was drastically wrong with the rower. She raised the alarm and Dad and Uncle Bayfield who were eating an early dinner before heading over the Shingle Hill barrens to pick some late fox berries and maybe set a few rabbit snares, left the table and hied over to Andrew Chris and Dave Fanning’s landing where they grabbed the first rowboat that came to hand and rowed out to intercept Uncle Lew. One of them got in the flat and rowed in the Grandfather’s landing, and guided their blind brother up to the house.

His eye brows were singed, inside his nostrils were somewhat cooked by the blast. He was having a lot of pain from his eyes, which were by now swollen shut. But as with most emergencies, in that household Aunt Lyd arose to the occasion and started to ‘ doctor ‘ his eyes, with the aid of boric acid and tea leaf poultices to reduce the swelling and stem any infection. He got his vision back after about a week, but if the muzzle of that shot gun had had one more degree of angle, I would never have known my Uncle Lew.



Sydney, NS
June 26, 2008