Up the Gatineau! Article
This article was first published in Up the Gatineau! Volume 23.
The Gatineau Tank Mystery
Archie M. Pennie
As the old Hull-Maniwaki railroad right-of-way snakes its way north of Gracefield, at mile 62 it cuts between two small lakes, Castor and Trout. Just at this point there is a disused flag stop which at one time served the Billings family, who owned a considerable tract of land at this location. The flag stop is called Clemow, after the late Senator Clemow, well-known in Ottawa at the turn of the century.
A few hundred yards from this stop, a trail leads to Trout Lake, and just off that trail there is a clearing in the bush. The unusual thing about this clearing is the fact that, tucked away inside and practically hidden by the poplar trees, were three large galvanized metal tanks. The tanks looked so out of place in this quiet secluded location that they immediately aroused attention and interest.
At first I imagined that these were the remains of a large moonshine operation that served the upper Gatineau with a local brand of fire water. The tanks appeared to be quite old, but had survived apparently many years in the open air. They were of stout galvanized iron construction, 8 ft. high and 4 ft. in diameter, with entry ports and flanges on the conical and flat ends. They were obviously professionally made, and to the practised eye appeared to be part of some large chemical plant.
The question was, what sort of chemical plant would be operating in this remote and unpopulated area of the Gatineau Valley? My second thoughts were that since this part of the country was for many years the centre of an extensive red and white pine industry, these tanks could be the remains of a local turpentine refinery. Turpentine is recovered from pine roots and stumps by a relatively simple process of steam distillation, and on first inspection it appeared sensible and feasible to assume that the tanks had been used for this purpose. In fact, everything to this point seemed to indicate that I had uncovered the site of a modest turpentine industry.
A search around the immediate area of the clearing failed to disclose any remains or traces of other equipment such as a boiler or condenser that might have been part of such an operation. There were, however, stacks of rotting slab wood which seemed to be cut up for firewood.
A check with many of Ottawa’s well-informed historical sources failed to give support to the theory of a turpentine distillery. Apparently such an industry on a small or large scale was never practised in this part of the country. Local area maps and documents likewise did not show the location or sale of land for such a commercial operation.
A diligent search in the local community provided most of the answers and ended the speculation concerning the origin and use of the tanks. The solution was far from as romantic or dramatic as I had first imagined. The tanks were not used for large-scale moonshining, neither were they part of a small local turpentine industry. One thing, however, was true: the tanks were units of a professional chemical plant. They had been part of an ammunition manufacturing line in World War I, and had been purchased in the early 1920s from the equivalent of a Crown Assets Corporation of that period. Like the traditional swords turned into ploughshares, the tanks had found a use which was much more peaceful and simple, that of storing grain.
Mr. Harry Johnson, who lived in that part of the Valley, provided a great deal of the information. Just after World War I, he and Bill Powell, one-time Chief of the Ottawa Police, entered into a farming operation near Clemow. They cleared a few acres of bush, kept several horses and cattle, and of course grew oats for feeding purposes. The tanks, mounted on platforms, served as excellent storage bins, and in their heyday were housed in a large wooden barn.
Harry recalled that the tanks were sold as “free from explosives.” Theoretically, this might have been true, but he recovered a considerable quantity of highly combustible or explosive material from all three tanks. He said, with a twinkle in his eye, that he found it very useful for lighting his stove on a cold winter morning— rather a risky and dangerous way of starting off the day! The farming venture did not last very long. The barn was eventually pulled down and the tanks have remained derelict in the clearing for many years.
In my working career I had spent many years in the field of explosives and propellants, and I was fascinated to discover that Harry's stove-lighting material was actually some World War I propellant which consisted of small chopped grains of nitrocellulose, manufactured by O'Brien’s Munitions Limited, in Renfrew. The product was made for the 6- and 8-inch mortars and the old faithful eighteen-pounder field gun. The records of the explosives plant indicated that tanks such as these were used for air-drying the propellant at one stage of its manufacture. Sixty of these tanks were employed in the process and each tank contained 1,425 pounds of propellant. The ones located at Clemow bear the serial numbers 25, 26 and 27.
In the manufacture of nitrocellulose powder, a mixture of ether and ethyl alcohol is used as the solvent to produce the gel or colloid which is then extruded in the desired shape and size from a press. After pressing and cutting, the solvent is then removed by air drying and this .is where the Gatineau tanks came into play. The tanks were closed with a water seal and each vessel held 1,425 pounds of powder. A perforated cone false bottom was arranged in such a way that it allowed a draft of warm air under positive pressure of two pounds to the square inch to enter and filter upwards through the grains. The off-take at the top was connected to a condenser system and the complete cycle required three days. The solvent, of course, was recovered.
To the naked eye, when I examined them, the propellant grains appeared to have survived their storage remarkably well. It was possible to identify clearly the seven longitudinal perforations in each grain. The perforations were only 14/1000t of an inch in diameter. I then took samples and arranged for them to be tested by the Defence Research Board at Val Cartier, Quebec. All propellants have to undergo a rigorous series of tests at the time of manufacture to ensure that they are safe and stable for use. The material I had salvaged from the tanks was subjected to the same standard laboratory tests in 1966 that it had passed in 1917. To the surprise and delight of all those involved in this venture, it passed with flying colours. Remarkably, instructions for conserving propellants stress the importance of maintaining them at a constant temperature, and the Gatineau sample had remained stable despite the annual cycle of temperature changes over many years. This propellant is, without a doubt, the oldest sample extant in Canada. Its stability is a great tribute to all those involved in its production over fifty years ago.