The following stories are taken with permission from the book, “The South Manitou Story” by Gerald E. Crowner, who was a surfman at the island Coast Guard station from 1926-28.
The book is available to purchase from the Manitou Islands Memorial Society, 15150 E. Michigan Ave., Galesburg, MI 49053. Call 269-492-8063 for further information.
*** The Swallow was Ben Johnson’s prides and joy. She was a staunch craft, around 30 foot in length and framed up heavily with prime oak. Her planking was heavy, too, being an inch and a half in thickness from stem to stern. She would have been a good icebreaker, but Ben never used her for those tasks. She was always pulled high and dry before winter struck the Manitous. Planks and rollers, heavy tackle and a strong Coast Guard and Lighthouse crew helped Ben pull her out each fall. The launching, each spring, was an easier task, but against help was needed by the C.G. and Lighthouse crews.
Ben was always grateful for all the manpower provided by those able crews, and during his fishing season provided us with ample supplies of those good Lake Michigan fish.
Each spring, usually in April after the ice masses had melted into the chill waters of the bay, was launching time for the Swallow. Planking was relaid to the waters edge and again the heavy tackle and manpower was on hand to ease the Swallow back into the bay waters. Heavy shoring timbers had to be moved along the Swallow’s sides to prevent her from listing and the rollers had to be moved from forward to aft positions as she moved slowly to the waters edge.
After the Swallow’s length was a good third or more into the lake, with her stern buoyed in four or five feet of water, it was time to cut her loose and let her slide into those cold bay waters. A thirty-foot line was always attached to her bow and manned by two crew members who could pull her along side of Ben’s dock after she was fully launched.
On this particular day, for some unknown reason, no one manned that bow line, and the Swallow was sliding gracefully into the bay with the bow line trailing in the lake. I was on the dock. Something had to be done quickly, so without any thought of the consequences, I leaped off the dock, hip boots and all, into over three feet of ice, cold water and seized that bow line. I dug my boot heels into the gravel and slowly stopped the Swallow.
I was standing in four feet of water. My hip boots were full and my legs getting numb when I reached the dock and was pulled out by the crew. I headed for the station without draining my boots. All I could think was getting into the station and near the warmth of that kitchen range. I made it OK but it was a long 600-foot run that day. How good it felt when I got thawed out and into some dry clothes. My boots were a long while drying out. It was a hilarious experience for me that cold April day when we launched Ben’s Swallow.
But once again Ben was happy with his boat moored safely at his dock. Now he could start setting gill nets again. *** The M.H Stewart was small steamer, with pilot house, crew’s quarters and engine aft. She was sighted many times in the passage, steaming merrily along to her destination.
Captain Anderson, whose family moved off the island in 1926, was her owner and skipper.
Several times, while I was stationed at South Island, the Stewart entered our harbor and paid us a visit. Captain Anderson enjoyed visiting with his old friend, Ben Johnson.
I remember one time in particular, when the Stewart entered the bay loaded with cement, enroute to a west shore harbor. She was loaded heavily, with the water awash on her main deck!
A quick squall or any kind of rough weather would have put the Stewart in a precarious position, but Cap Anderson said he watched the weather closely. Even so, squalls formed quickly during the summer months, and I am included to believe that the Stewart may have been hit by a few, but survived due to Cap Anderson’s skill as a skipper. He knew and understood every move of that little steamer and nothing excels experience, when a skipper runs into foul weather. *** SOUTH ISLAND LIGHT
Gone are her glory days When her bright beam Guided sail and steam, Through the Passage. Gone are her Keepers Who faithfully kept Her light shining bright, Through all the seasons. The fog still creeps in As in other years, And blots out the stars And her lightless form.
Then we, who remember, Can still hear the sound Of that measured blast, From the Fog Signal Station.
