  A Thrilling Incident, and a Gallant Rescue off Leamington, Ontario, in the Winter of 1895. Bitterly all day the north-east gale Swept with a wild roaring moan, Hurling particles of glist’ning ice That cut to the very bone; And a leaden and lowering sky Threatened the frozen world; The storm king was sternly approaching With frosted banners unfurled. Ever darker and denser it grew As the day wore on apace, And the swirl of the merciless winds Tore on in a fierce, wild race. It was a day to seek the shelter Of home by the warm fireside; God help the homeless at such a time That wander far and wide! Suddenly in hushed tones through the town Ran the word from Pigeon Bay, That the harvesters of ice were drifting Helplessly out and away— On an ice-floe helplessly drifting, Detached from the wind-rifted shore, Out over the bosom of Erie ’Mid the tempest’s ruthless roar. “To the rescue! the rescue!” was shouted, And we paused with bated breath, Close beside the rage of the waters, Black and menacing with death. And many a stern face grew whiter As we saw thro’ the deadly gloom Our friends drifting out, swiftly drifting, Helplessly to their doom. “Launch the ‘lighter’! quick, launch the ‘lighter’! And drift to the floe away, O’er the swirling, desolate waters, Out over wide Pigeon Bay.” Thus cried the dauntless Robinson, And instantly to his side Sprang Conover, Miller and Cullen, And Frank Ives in manly pride. “Pay out the long shore-line now swiftly, We’ll save them at any cost; Pay out till we reach the ice-floe, They must not, shall not be lost.” And they drifted before the tempest, And gained the edge of the floe, But the very last inch of the shore-line Could let them no farther go. And before the rescuers could reach them They drifted swiftly away, While the gallant crew of the “lighter” Were now helpless on the bay, With the black waves leaping over them, Icy, and cold as death, Stiffening their garments about them, And congealing the very breath. We knew that their efforts were futile, And looked in each other’s face, And scanned the wild waste of waters, As the gloom of night grew apace. “Launch the sail-boat! launch the gallant Davie!” The hero Johnston cried, And Ives and Ralph and Herman Robson Instantly stood by his side. And they hoisted their ice-cold canvas, Spread their wings and swept away, Full three miles through the wild tempest, Engulfed in a deadly spray. They reached and saved the perishing, Landed them safe on shore— At the imminent risk of their own lives, Gave them to their friends once more. And we hauled away on the shore line, Hauled the “lighter” back through the gloom Of the storm and approach of night-time, Saving all from a dreadful doom. Some cheered, and others were weeping, And through the old town there ran The news of the intrepid rescue— Man’s venture for fellowman. The Humane Society awarded A medal for each manly breast, And we pinned their badges of honor On proudly, for such a test Of stern endurance and heroism Is seldom, aye, seldom seen; And we cheered for them as ne’er before, For our country and our Queen. |
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