The Loss of the Wilfred Snow

As Told by Captain Leonard Long Sr.

October 5, 1989

By

Floyd Priddle

The Loss of the Wilfred Snow

Launched from Shelburne, Nova Scotia in 1921, the Wilfred Snow served her crews well, before her death one stormy night in October of 1952. The last man to stand at her wheel, Captain and owner, Leonard Long Sr. bought the sixty-two foot schooner in 1941 for $1800.00, from John Penny and Sons Limited of Ramea, Newfoundland. New, the Wilfred Snow had brought her builders $8000.00. For nearly eleven years, Captain Long sailed from his home port of St. Alban's, Bay d'Espoir with a load of scrap metal purchased from local people, old stoves, broken gear and more. Bound for North Sydney. he would return with coal.

The final run began with the dawning of the bright sunny morning of Thursday, October 5, 1953, bound from North Sydney to Ramea, with fifty tonnes of coal. Though she had twin engines, an Atlantic and an Acadia, the Wilfred Snow that morning was powered by only one, and relied heavily on her sails. For the trip, Captain Long, then in his late forties, had brought two eager men in their early twenties, Joe Davis of St. Alban's and Aloysius Benoit of Conne River.

At about eight hours steam from Sydney, the schooner was about half way home, between forty and forty-five miles West South West of Channel Head, Port-Aux-Basques. Then, the fine day turned sour. The Wilfred Snow sprang a leak in the rudder casing, the packing box had worked loose. From the early afternoon, the light winds of the morning were picking up into a storm, the sky began to cloud over. With the quick discovery of the leak, the rotary pump, powered by the engine was engaged. It could not compensate for the ever rising water. The hull of the schooner settled lower and lower into the water, as the three fought to save her. By five that evening, the water swamped the engines, shutting down the pump. Now, they had only the hand pumps, and God on their side. The schooner dipped ever lower.

The winds were topping forty five miles an hour, when the twenty horsepower engines shut down. The rough seas. tossed by high winds, and illuminated by a lightening backdrop, rose to lick the rain that beat the three men. Leonard Long and his men fought fiercely to defend their ship from the devouring seas, but, they knew they were only delaying the inevitable abandoning of their schooner. In their tiny dory, they would not stand a chance against the six foot waves. Slaving desperately to save the schooner, they stuffed blankets into the hole, but. to no avail, these, soaked with seawater, dislodged, and were useless. Fighting for their own lives, as well as that of the old schooner, the three prayed the storm would die down. The waves began to wash across the deck, the Wilfred Snow was slowly settling to the port bow. The list did not hinder walking, but, it was a constant reminder that within hours, the Wilfred Snow would be resting on the bottom of the sea she had sailed for more than thirty years. The dead weight of the coal below dragged the schooner lower. As the list worsened, the two feet of coal on deck began to slide over the port side, taking with it, most of the port railing, two drums of fuel and a woodstove, the property of Leonard Long's brother, Lawrence, and almost the crew. Luckily, the dory had been lashed down and was saved. With the sudden loss of about five or ten tonnes of coal, the schooner righted herself, buying time for it's fateful crew of three drenched and storm battered men. Within minutes, the releaving lull gave way to a greater list, as incoming water took over once more. Again, the Wilfred Snow began to settle to the port bow, making the beginning of a long decent to the bottom.

With nothing more than a small radio, good of weather reports, they had no contact with the outside world.

The final hour was marked by a list that made walking dangerous. Access to the hold was cut off by the battoned hatches. They could not dump the coal. Their only resort was to pump by hand and hope for the best. The schooner gurgled and surged, she was sinking fast and would not be saved.

By seven PM, the hand pump was useless, the water rose fast, the bow was dipping below the waves, which washed the nearly swamped deck. Staying until the last minute, they untied the dory and made ready to abandon the Wilfred Snow. At eight PM, Thursday, October 5, 1952, Captain Leonard Long Sr. ordered the abandon of his schooner. He and his crew of two wet but not beaten men climbed into the dory, and shoved off, knowing that each minute they stayed aboard the schooner was a brush with death, at any moment she could slip beneath the waves.

In the darkness, they did not see the final demise of the schooner. But, they knew she went down by the bow, no more than fifteen minutes later. The deck was nearly under when they shoved off.

All charts, logs, maps and papers were lost with the old schooner. As the Wilfred Snow, in her thirty-first year slipped beneath the salty waves, Captain Long knew that it was taking more than his money with it, it was taking more than ten years of his life, a long time, there was more than physical and financial loss, irreplaceably more. The only thing salvaged from the schooner was a compass and a little canned water that was spoiled. In the darkness of the storm, the compass might as well have been an anchor, they had no light to read it by. That night in the storm, knowledge, prayers, blind luck and the high winds decided their destination.

The wind, North-north West, blowing at forty-five miles an hour. A major hinderance, blowing them nearly parallel to the coast, it pulled them back, for every two miles they rowed, the wind blew them back one. The night's battle was long and hard, the wind nearly rolled the dory countless times. As they were tossed about, waves breaking over the dory made constant bailing essential to staying afloat. Between the bailing and the rowing, there was no time for anything else.

Sometime after two AM, Friday morning the weather began to clear. The storm clouds were breaking up and the strong seas calmed, leaving the air still and cold. During the storm, they had to drug the dory, stantions brought from the schooner were lashed together and dragged behind the dory in an effort to dull the wind's effect and keep the head of the dory pointed into the wind. Without this, the waves striking the dory broadside would have capsized it, sending it's three occupants to their deaths.

Aside from the dory, the three had the clothes on their backs, (soaked, even under oilskins.) Nothing else remained from the Wilfred Snow which now lay at the bottom of the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

Neither had eaten since noon of Thursday, not long before the leak and storm.

On Friday, the moderate weather was an aid to the ever worsening situation. All three were beginning to complain of blisters on hands and buttocks. By morning of the first sleepless night, the cold of wearing wet clothes seemed even to penetrate their thoughts. There were no dry to change into. Though neither would have gotten sea sick in a year of storm, fatigue was setting in. None has slept since Thursday morning.

With the setting of the sun, the exhaustion, fed by constant rowing, dehydration and starvation, brought on hallucination. Captain Long saw elephants floating in the sky. Cloud formations and mist on the water were being mistaken for real objects. All three spotted many pseudo-ships floating in the air and sailing on the water. At first, they tried to summon one, but in desperation, realizing that their "ships" were false, they gave up and kept on rowing.

By morning of Saturday, cramped muscles tore at their spirits. Blisters on hands, feet and buttocks grew and broke, sitting and rowing was a growing agony. They persisted, not wanting to wash up on the shore, dead in the bottom of the dory, but, rather stepping ashore proudly and alive. Mouths dry as dust and with lips chapped and bleeding, they suffered. Their stomachs churning in hunger, crying for mercy. So disorientated and fatigued were they, that they could not talk.

At dusk Saturday night, Aloysius Benoit dropped his oar and jumped to the bottom of the dory, hollering for the other two to duck, the dory was passing under a bridge suspended in the air.

Sunday morning, dehydrated, starved, stiff, soaked with seawater, sweat and vomit, no more able to row, they lay in the bottom of the dory and waited. But, for what? Fate was with them, the winds were blowing the dory toward the shore, they could see nearly twelve miles, through blurred vision and dulled senses. Shortly before nightfall. the dory beached itself on the sandbanks of Burgeo, Newfoundland. Somehow, after seventy-two hours in the dory, they were able to climb out and pull it up. They struggled out of their rubber clothes and collapsed in the sand. Just before they passed out, Joe Davis mistook a large boulder for a giant clothes line, hung out with clothes.

Darkness had fallen when the late George Barter of Burgeo, then in his mid-sixties, passed by in his dory (equipped with a 'make an' break' engine). He had been hunting up around Conne Nor. Alone, but for his dog, Crackie, Barter was hugging the shore, using the land for navigation. As he slowly passed the sand banks, his dog, standing in the head of the dory began to bark furiously, it had caught scent of something. Not having a successful hunt and hoping the dog had smelled game on the shore, he pulled up to the beach to investigate. There, he was shocked to find a weatherbeaten dory and three men lying on the damp sand. This was between eight and eight-thirty Sunday night.

Listening in amazement to their mumblings, George learned of what they had endured.

As he lifted the men into his own dory, George could tell that they were in ill health. So disorientated were the three, that, when George asked Aloysius Benoit to pass him his rubber clothes, so that he could stow them in the head of his own dory, he picked up the dog. With the three sick sailors in his own craft, George Barter took their dory in tow and headed for the wharf in Burgeo, some two or three miles distant. Forty-five minutes to an hour later, George tied up at the public wharf. Some of the local men carried the three men up onto the wharf, while another went for the police. The Rcmp carried them to the Burgeo Hospital.

After being bathed and given clean clothes and medication, their blisters were lanced. For three days, they were fed a teaspoon of water and a little food every two hours. This amount was slowly increased until Wednesday October 11, when they were eating regular solid meals. But after so long without food or water, if they had beached near a brook and drank to quench their thirst, they would have died.

Treatment was administered repeatedly for their many cramps and sores. Several needles were injected into their buttocks, to prevent further infection in their numerous blisters.

Friday, October 13,1953, a little more than a week after the sinking of the Wilfred Snow, they were released and came home to Bay d'Espoir on the Baccalieu. The following spring the dory was brought back to St. Alban's by Wilson Riggs of McCallum.

Captain Leonard Long Sr. and Joe Davis are both retired and living in St. Alban's, Bay d'Espoir. Aloysius Benoit is living in Conne River.

This story is used with the kind permission of Mr. Floyd Priddle.