Lighthouse operator helped save 11 people over the years

Article content

Thomas Cartier, who for many years tended the lighthouse that was (and still is) located at the mouth of the Thames River near its confluence with Lake St. Clair, was a true hero.

But first, we have Bryan Prince to thank for finding and forwarding a copy of an article out of the Terre Haute Weekly Express from Indiana, issued Feb. 16, 1870. The editors had reprinted an article from the Chatham Planet, a common way at the time to fill space in newspapers.

We apologize, but this video has failed to load.

Try refreshing your browser, or
tap here to see other videos from our team.

Lighthouse operator helped save 11 people over the years Back to video

Cartier made a daring rescue the year before in December 1869.

The story started when George Snook – a fisherman from “Herson’s Island” (Harson’s most likely) and “Mitchell’s Bar” (Mitchell’s Bay today?) – took a skiff from Herson’s Island the first week of December and headed towards the mouth of the Thames to sell some wild ducks he had caught, and to get his winter supplies in Chatham.

On his return trip, when he reached the lighthouse, Snook found the lake frozen and rough, so he decided to leave his frail craft with Cartier. Snook took the train home – not an easy task, as he had to go back to Chatham, then to Detroit, then to Algonac, and then out to Harson’s Island. Snook’s supplies, however, were still with the skiff at the lighthouse.

So a few days later, the weather being milder, Snook, this time in a small sailboat, set out again for the Thames River light, a distance of about 32 kilometres. About halfway there, the weather changed, and a gale sprang up, with winds blowing very cold from the northwest. It was nearly dark when Thomas Cartier spotted his boat with his spyglass, about eight or nine kilometres out in the lake. He knew he couldn’t go out to help him that night since the weak and moving ice was too treacherous. Instead, he lit all the lamps in the lighthouse to let whoever was out there know that he had seen him, and next morning at dawn set out across the ice with a small skiff in tow.

Cartier walked and shoved his craft along for two hours, until he reached the edge of the solid ice mass. Then he half rode, half walked the boat over the moving, crashing ice until he reached Snook.

George Snook later said it was only the lights that kept him alive for 13 hours in his small sailboat, buffeted by the winds and frozen almost to death. I will quote directly from the Planet because I love the articulate way they wrote: “The great joy with which his chilly hand grasped the outstretched hand of the no less thoughtful than brave Cartier, can be better imagined than described.”

The two men then pushed and pulled the skiff back to the lighthouse, where Snook stayed for two days, subject to the ministrations of Mrs. Cartier, “who in her sphere is no less generous and thoughtful than her husband.”

When the weather turned mild again, the two men set back out on the ice to get to Snook’s boat, which he then successfully sailed back to a very relieved family on Harson’s Island.

But the article doesn’t end there. The Planet then goes on to recount the details of three other occasions when Cartier, this time with the help of his brother or brothers, was able to rescue people from the waters around the lighthouse.

The first story told about the scow China, which had filled with water in April 1858, and was drifting towards the shore in a wild storm. Cartier and his younger brother took a very small sailboat and managed to rescue Capt. Charles Parker and his crew of four men, who were floating on cordwood that had been swept from the ship.

On another occasion, a wood-scow disabled in a December 1857 storm was seen by Cartier, once again with his spyglass, drifting to the northwest off Tickeytackey Point. He put off immediately in his small sailboat, and managed to reach the scow, some 24 km away in a blinding snowstorm, and rescued two men from her just a few minutes before she broke up and went to pieces.

The final story concerned the schooner Wentzell (no date provided here), which had lost its main mast and capsized off the American shore of Lake St. Clair. Afterwards it lighted, but full of water, and drifted across to where it was within range of the Thames River light.

With a northwesterly gale blowing, Thomas and his brothers Charles and Frank put out to rescue anyone on that boat.

Once again, I’ll quote from the account in the Planet: “After considerable work, not unmixed with much personal danger,” they reached the schooner and rescued three men, all of them so frozen as to be almost completely helpless to save themselves.This time the men stayed for three weeks at the lighthouse, and even then, one month later, one of the men succumbed to his injuries.

The Planet article, which I read courtesy of the Terre Haute Weekly Express (and courtesy of Bryan Prince), concluded by recounting how the Royal Humane Society of England had recently awarded medals of bravery to two men who had saved some lives off Toronto Harbour. In their estimation, Thomas Cartier, the brave Thames River lighthouse keeper (and his brothers), who on four separate occasions had rescued a total of 11 people, deserved no less an accolade. One wonders if he ever got it.

Probably not, because he was toiling not in the big city, but in the hinterlands.

No matter – I’m sure he would say he didn’t do it for the accolade. He did it because it was the right thing to do. And now, 150 years later, we say “hear, hear.”