Tragedy at Chesuncook

While visiting Greenville Cemetery one day about forty-five years ago, I noticed two long rows of small headstones “side by each.” Curious, I strolled over for a closer look. To my surprise, some of the stones were marked “Unknown,” and most of the deceased had died the same day: November 18, 1920. I asked my dad about it. He’d been just five years old in 1920 but knew exactly what I was talking about.

    “The Chesuncook boat fire,” he said. “Killed sixteen woodsmen.”

    Dad went on to explain that the men--lumberjacks for Great Northern Paper Company--had been crossing the lake to a lumber camp when a backfiring engine ignited their boat. Of the sixteen who attempted to swim to shore, none survived. The remaining seventeen passengers clung to wreckage and were eventually rescued.

    In preparation for this column, I revisited this section of the cemetery and began to wonder about the several people who died on dates other than the aforementioned 11/18/1920. What did these men have in common with the Chesuncook victims? Suspecting that they, too, must have worked for Great Northern, I reached out to local historian (and accountant extraordinaire)Durward Ferland for more information. Durward confirmed my suspicion. In fact, he said, both Great Northern Paper and Hollingsworth & Whitney owned cemetery lots for workers who lost their lives on the job. Woodsmen from that period often hailed from places like Canada and Poland and, having no local family to claim their bodies, often went to their eternal rest in company-owned burial plots. Language barriers and lack of identifying documents meant burying many as “Unknown.” Still others were relegated to unmarked graves in the woods.

    Dangerous work, that logging.

    Below you’ll find lyrics to a song I wrote about the Chesuncook boat fire. Iinvoked some literary license but the tune’s spirit, I believe, hits its mark.

The Chesuncook Sixteen

(Spoken Word)

The old timers 'round here still remember

That gray afternoon from a long-ago November

They remember that locomotive coming down the tracks

The tears in the children's eyes, their mothers dressed in black

Aboard that train were sixteen men

And a fresh pine coffin for each of them

(The following is sung.)

They'd been steaming 'cross Chesuncook Lake for Cuxabexis Bay

Big burly logger men, headin' off to earn their pay

Into those winds and waves they’d happily set sail

They joked and laughed and spat as they stood along the rail

Tryin' to keep warm in that cold November gale

They'd been workin' for The Northern, cuttin' timber their whole lives

Spent their days swinging axes, eatin' beans and working drives

They were among the toughest the north woods has ever seen

Earned their pay with strong backs, spiked boots and two-horse teams

and the next stop was death for the Chesuncook Sixteen

It happened without a warning; that old engine began to flame

Brave men tried to save the boat, their efforts all in vain

They found themselves confronted with two dangers unforeseen

Hell's fire and ice water, they were caught in-between

and the Reaper was knockin' for the Chesuncook Sixteen

(Spoken Word)

I wonder what goes through a man's mind

When he is forced to choose which way he wants to die

Does he worry for his wife who'll have to carry on

Does he wonder who will feed his family when he's gone

Or who will be there to teach his children right from wrong

Does that grown man yearn for his mother's embrace

Does he clasp his hands together and pray for his god's grace

Or does he simply stand there, tears streaming down his face

(The following is sung.)

Those men went over the side into November waves

Each had made a desperate bet that his life might be saved

But those icy winter waters turned their strong bodies numb

And folks on shore could only watch as the men were overcome

Their cacophony of screams quickly fading one-by-one

After all these generations, men still work the woods

The methods have progressed, but the danger's understood

Like a widow maker lurking high atop a maple tree

There are many ways to die; always dangers unforeseen

And the loggers still remember The Chesuncook Sixteen