The Balsam Lake War Canoe Accident, 1926

Originally Published in the Fenelon Falls Gazette, July 23, 1926

Eleven Youths Perish in Waters of Balsam Lake

News of Tragedy Shocks Entire Community

Drowned

A.R. Shea-Butcher, aged 26, 6 Parr Street Toronto

Oliver Mardall, aged 18, 1016 Mount Pleasant Road, Toronto

Jack Wigginson, Aged 16, 84 Queensbury Avenue, Toronto

Frank Burkitt, aged 14, 12 Wilmott Place, Toronto

Walter Burgess, aged 16, 99 Seaton Street, Toronto

Gordon Heale, aged 19, 384 Lumsden Avenue, Toronto

Vernon Clarke, aged 16, 106 Princefield Avenue, Toronto

Joe Edwards, aged 16, 168 Earlsdale Avenue, Toronto

Harold Bakewell, aged 16, 445 Oakwood Avenue, Toronto

Ray Allen, Peterborough

Harry Mills, Galt

Survivors

Arthur H. Lambden, Galt

George Waller, Toronto

William Wigginton, Toronto

Leonard O’Hara, Toronto

Balsam Lake claimed the lives of elven young men and boys, ranging in age from 16 to 28 years, when their war canoe capsized in a squall on Tuesday night [July 20, 1926]. Four of the party of fifteen survive. All were members of the annual boys’ training camp conducted by the Brotherhood of St. James’ Cathedral, Toronto. The camp was situated on Long Point, Balsam Lake. In other years it had been located on Clear Lake. There were about twenty-five in the party.

On Tuesday evening around 7:30 o’clock a party of fifteen started out for Coboconk to procure supplies and extra boats. Their war canoe was 30 feet in length and had eight thwarts. It was brought up from Chemong on Monday, manned by nine young men who spent a short time in town before proceeding to camp.

Shortly after the ill-fated canoe party set out a strong squall blew up, and in some unknown manner the canoe overturned, hurling the entire crew into the water. Clinging to the canoe, the boys tried to push it to shore, but one by one, they dropped off exhausted. No help was near, the craft being about three-quarters of a mile off land. With the exception of A.R. Shea-Butcher, all the boys could swim. The heroism of this young man is one of the outstanding features of the tragedy. He suffered from a broken knee-cap, and realizing, that he could not keep up with the others, is said to have cried: “I’m only in the way. I can’t be saved” and deliberately threw himself into the water, leaving his space on the canoe for another.

About two o’clock the next morning, the canoe drifted onto the shore of Grand Island, with but four survivors of the happy crew left. In a semi-conscious state, they lay on the shore until day break. Later one of them recovered sufficiently to go to the home of Mr. George Booth for food. He said nothing of what had occurred. Returning to his companions, he again collapsed. Later the four set out for camp which they reached about two o’clock in the afternoon. They passed Camp Kagawong, but did not stop to acquaint them there with the tragedy. Reaching camp, they told their sad story and word was immediately sent out for assistance.

The Lindsay Fire Department sent up grappling irons and Coroner F. A. Logan and Provincial Officer Storey set out for the lake. Dragging operations were commenced, but so far efforts have been futile. The water in the vicinity where the canoe capsized is about forty feet deep.

The camp at Long Point was disbanded on Wednesday night, the boys all returning to their homes. Owing to the proximity of Camp Kagawong to the Long Point Camp, rumour at first connected it with the tragedy.

When questioned in Toronto as to the cause of the boat upsetting the fact that all the crew were not expert paddlers and some may have missed their stroke. The canoe was tested out on Wednesday after eight ordinary sized men and capsized when they tried to operate it, throwing them all into the water.

July 21

Boys bronzed with outdoor life and glowing with health, but with spirits weighed under an almost unbearable load of tragedy, swing down from the Lindsay train as it pulled into Toronto at 10 o’clock last night and rushed into the arms of parents who had been waiting anxiously, prayerfully since the news of the drowning at the camp at St. Andrew’s had filtered into the city earlier in the evening.

Although they had borne with silent fortitude the sudden sweep of fate’s scythe that had cut off without warning their chums of yesterday, the sight of their people, the sight of home, released their pent-up feelings. Tears welled into the eyes of the boys. Some would force a smile of greeting—and then their frames would be shaken with uncontrollable sobs. They were the lads of St. Andrew’s Brotherhood Camp, which broke up after the appalling tragedy of Balsam Lake had cast its pall over their vacation.

Long before the train arrived, little knots of anxious relatives were waiting on the platform. So meagre was the news of the tragedy up to the time of the train’s arrival that some did not know whether or not one of their family would be on the train or among the tragic band of boys lost in the waters of Balsam Lake. There was no demonstration on the arrival of the train. A moment of silent scrutiny of the youngsters who swung down from the steps. Then a cry, a rush forward, an embrace. Automobiles were waiting for most of the boys to hurry them home.