shooting as promptly as they desired by the fact that their boats,
having lain up all winter, were not "plymmed." If you put a dried
apple, for instance, into water it "plymms"; so do beans, and so do
boats. When a boat is not "plymmed," it leaks in all its seams, and is
therefore looked upon as unsafe for these sub-Arctic waters by the
more conservative amongst us. To stop a boat leaking you "chinch" the
seams with oakum. Our fisherman sexton has just told me that "the
church was right chinched last night."
One by one our supplies are giving out or diminishing. Each week as I
send down an order to the store it is returned with some item crossed
off. These articles at home would be considered the indispensables.
Already potatoes have gone the way of all flesh; there is no more
butter (though that is less loss than it sounds, for it was packed on
the schooner directly next the kerosene barrels, and a liberal
quantity of that volatile liquid incorporated itself in each tub of
"oleo"). We are warned that the remaining amount of flour will not
hold out till the spring boat--our first possible chance of getting
reinforcements for our larder--unless we exercise the watchfulness of
the Sphinx. The year before I came the first boat did not reach St.
Antoine till the 28th of June.
More excitement has just been communicated to me by Topsy: much more.
A man from the Baie des Français has killed a huge polar bear. It
took ten men and six dogs to haul the beast home after he had been
finally dispatched. The man fired several shots at him, but did not
hit a vital spot. One bullet only remained to him, and the bear was
coming at him in a very purposeful manner. "Now or never," thought the
fisherman, and fired. The creature fell dead almost at his feet. When
they skinned him they found bullets in his legs and flank, but
searched and searched in vain for the fatal one which had been the
end of him. There was no mark on the skin in any vital spot. At last
they found it. The ball had penetrated exactly through the bear's ear
into his brain. All the countryside is now dining off bear steak; and
there is a splendid skin to be purchased if you are so minded. I have
eaten a bit of the steak, though I confess I did not sit down to the
feast with any pleasurable anticipation, as the men said that they
found the remains of a recently devoured seal in Bruin's "tum." I had
an agreeable surprise. The meat was fibrous and a little tough, but it
was quite good--a vast improvement on the sea-birds which are so
highly valued in the local commissariat.
[Illustration: IT WAS HIS LAST BULLET]
The Prophet has a vivid idea of the processes going on in the heads of
animals. He says that up to fifteen years ago there were bears
innumerable "in the country." "And one day, miss," he explained, "the
whole crew of them gets their anchors and leaves in a body." To hear
him one would imagine that at a concerted signal the bears came out
of their burrows and shook the dust of the land from their feet.
The Eskimos toll the seals. They lie on the ice and wave their legs in
the air, and the seals, curious animals, approach to discover the
nature of the phenomenon, and are forthwith dispatched. One Eskimo of
a histrionic temperament decided to "go one better." He went out to
the ice edge, climbed into his sealskin sleeping-bag, and waved his
legs, as per stage directions. We are not informed whether the device
would have proved a successful decoy to the seals, for before any had
been lured within range, another Innuit, having seen the sealskin legs
gesticulating on the ice edge, naturally mistook them for the real
thing, fired with regrettable accuracy, and went out to find a dead
cousin.
The story is the only deterrent I have from dressing in my white
Russian hareskin coat, and sitting in the graveyard some dusky
evening. The people claim that the place is haunted. I have never met
a "Yoho" and never expect to, but I would dearly love to see how
others act when they think they have. Only the suspicion that they
would "plump for safety," and fire the inevitable muzzle-loader at my
white garment, keeps me from making the experiment _in corpore vile_.
The birds and the seals and the bears and white foxes coming south on
the moving ice are signs of spring. There is a stir in the air as if
the people as well sensed that the back of the long winter was broken.
How it has flown! You cannot fancy my sensations of lonesomeness when
I think that I shall never spend another in this country. You cannot
describe or analyze the lure of the land and its people, but it is
there, and grips you. I have grown to love it, and you will welcome
home an uncomplimentary homesick comrade when September comes.
_April 1_
Last minute of Sunday, so here's to you. To-morrow I shall be
cheerfully immersed up to the eyes in work.
Oh! this Home. How little it deserves the name! Our English storms are
nothing but babies compared with the appalling blasts which sweep down
upon us from the north. In summer the furious seas dash against the
cliffs as if to protect them from the desecration of human
encroachment. The fine snow filters in between the roof and ceiling of
this building, and in a "mild," such as we are now experiencing, it
melts, and endless little rivulets trickle down in nearly every room.
The water comes in on my bed, on the kitchen range, and on the
dining-room table. It falls on the sewing-machine in one room, on the
piano and bookcase in another. Its catholicity of taste is plain
disheartening!
You ask whether these kiddies have the stuff in them to repay what
you are pleased to term "such an outlay of effort." My emphatic "yes"
should have been so insistent as to have reached you by telepathy when
the doubt first presented itself. The Home has been established now
long enough to have some of its "graduates" go out into life; and the
splendid manhood and womanhood of these young people are at once a
sufficient reward to us and a silencing response to you. Many of them
have been sent to the States and Canada for further education, and are
now not only writing a successful story for themselves, but helping
their less fortunate neighbours, in a way we from outside never can,
to turn over many a new leaf in their books.
Yesterday I attended the theatre, only it was the operating theatre.
The patient on this occasion was a doll, the surgeon a lad of seven,
himself a victim of infantile paralysis, and the head nurse assisting
was aged nine, and wears a brace on each leg. The stage was the
children's ward of the hospital. Here are several pathetic little
people, orthopedic cases, brought in for treatment during the winter,
and who must stay till the spring boat arrives, as their homes are now
cut off by interminable miles of snow wastes and icy sea. Nothing
escapes their notice. They tear up their Christmas picture books, and
when charged with the enormity of their offence, explain that they
"must have adhesive tape for their operative work." Dick, the surgeon,
was overheard the other day telling Margaret, the head nurse, as
together they amputated the legs of her doll, "This is the way Sir
Robert Jones does it."
Next to operating, the children love music; and they love it with a
repertoire varied to meet every mood, from "Keep the Home Fires
Burning" to "In the Courts of Belshazzar and a Hundred of his Lords."
One three-year-old scrap comes from a Salvation Army household, and
listens to all such melodies with marked disapproval. But when the
others finish, she "pipes up," shutting her eyes, clapping her hands
and swaying back and forth--
"Baby's left the cradle for the Golden Shore:
Now he floats, now he floats,
Happy as before."
Three of the kiddies are Roman Catholics and have taught their
companions to say their prayers properly of an evening. They all cross
themselves devoutly at the close; but this instruction has fallen on
fallow ground in the wee three-year-old. She sits with eyes tightly
screwed together lest she be forced even to witness such heresy and
schism.
Yesterday I was walking with Gabriel when we came upon a tiny bird
essaying his first spring song on a tree-top nearby. Gabriel looked at
the newcomer silently for several minutes, and finally, turning his
luminous brown eyes up to my face, asked, "Do he sing hymns,
Teacher?"
_April 19_
The village sale was held last week. This has become an annual
occurrence, and the proceeds are devoted to varying good objects. This
time the hospital was the beneficiary. For months the countryside, men
and women, have been making articles, and I can assure you it is a
relief to have it over and such a success to boot, and life's quiet
tone restored. We made large numbers of purchases, and consumed
unbelievable quantities of more than solid nourishment. The people
have shown the greatest ingenuity and diligence, and the display was a
credit to their talent. I was particularly struck with the really
clever carving representing local scenes which the fishermen had done
with no other tools than their jack-knives. The auction was the
keynote of the evening, due largely to the signal ability of the
auctioneer. His methods are effective, but strictly his own. Cakes,
made generally in graded layers and liberally coated with different
coloured sugar, were the favourites. As he held up the last teetering
mountain he "bawled": "What am I bid for this wonderful cake? 'Tis a
bargain at any price. Why, she's so heavy I can't hold her with one
hand." It fetched seven dollars!
The yearly meet for sports was held in the afternoon before the sale,
and was voted by all to be a great success. It is a far cry from the
days when games were introduced here by the Mission. Then the people's
lives were so drab, and they had little idea of the sporting qualities
which every Englishman values so highly. In those early days if in a
game of football one side kicked a goal, they had to wait till the
other had done the same before the game could proceed, or the play
would have been turned into a battle. Now everything in trousers in
the place can be seen of an evening out on the harbour ice kicking a
ball about. The harbour is our very roomy athletic field.
Twenty-two teams had entered for the dog race, and the start, when the
whole number were ranged up in the line, was pandemonium unloosed. The
dogs were barking out threatenings and slaughter to the teams next
them, their masters were shouting unheeded words of command, the crowd
were cheering their favourites, and altogether you would never have
guessed from the racket and confusion that you were north of the
Roaring Forties.
The last event on the sports programme was a scramble for coloured
candies by all the children of the village. Our flock from the Home
participated. The proceeding was as unhygienic as it was alluring, and
our surprise was great when a universally healthy household greeted
the morrow morn.
When I heard the amount the poor folk had raised for charity out of
their meagre pittance, I felt reproached. It is a consistent fact here
that the people give and do more than their means justify, and it
must involve a hard pinch for them in some other quarter.
Coming from the sale at ten at night I looked for our "Yoho" in
passing the churchyard, but was unrewarded, though some of the harbour
people assured me in the morning that they had seen it plainly. Can
there be anything in the current belief that the men of the sea are
more psychic than we case-hardened products of civilization, or is it
merely superstition? There is a story here of a man called Gaulton,
which is vouched for by all the older men who can recall the incident.
It seems that in Savage Cove this old George Gaulton lived till he was
ninety. He died on December 4, 1883. On the 16th he appeared in the
flesh to a former acquaintance at Port au Choix, fifty miles from the
spot at which he had died. This man Shenicks gives the following
account of the curious visitation:
"I was in the woods cutting timber for a day and a half. During the
whole of that time I was sure I heard footsteps near me in the snow,
although I could see nothing. On the evening of the second day, in
consequence of heavy rain, I returned home early. I knew my cattle had
plenty of food, but something forced me to go to the hay-pook. While
there, in a few moments I stood face to face with old George Gaulton.
I was not frightened. We stood in the rain and talked for some time.
In the course of the conversation the old man gave me a message for
his eldest son, and begged me to deliver it to him myself before the
end of March. Immediately afterwards he disappeared, and then I was
terribly afraid."
A few weeks later Shenicks went all the way to Savage Cove and
delivered the message given to him in so strange a fashion.
A word of apology and I close. In an early letter to you I recall
judging harshly a concoction called "brewis." Experience here has
taught me that our own delicacies meet with a similar fate at the
hands of my present fellow countrymen. I offered Carmen on her arrival
a cup of cocoa for Sunday supper. After one sniff, biddable and polite
child though she was, I saw her surreptitiously pour the "hemlock cup"
out of the open window behind her.
_May 23_
Many miles over the hills from St. Antoine lies one of the wildest and
most beautiful harbours on this coast. Nestling within magnificently
high rocks, the picturesque colouring of which is reflected in the
quiet water beneath, lies the little village of Crémaillière. It is
only a small settlement of tiny cottages beside the edge of the sea,
but it has the unenviable reputation of being the worst village on the
coast. In winter only three families live there, but in the
summer-time a number of men come for the fishing, and they with their
wives and children exist in almost indescribable hovels. Some of these
huts are just rough board affairs, about six feet by ten, and resemble
cow sheds more than houses. If there is a window at all, it is merely
a small square of glass (not made to open) high up on one side of the
wall. In some there is not even the pretence of a window, but in cases
of severe sickness a hole is knocked through for ventilation on
hearing of the near approach of the Mission doctor. The walls have
only one thickness of board with no lining and the roofs are thatched
with sods. There is no flooring whatever. Not one person in
Crémaillière can either read or write.
Yesterday there was a funeral held in one of the little villages, and
the mingling of pathos and humour made one realize more vividly than
ever how "all the world's akin." A young mother had died who could
have been saved if her folk had realized the danger in time and sent
for the doctor. She was lying in a rude board coffin in the bare
kitchen. As space was at a premium the casket had been placed on the
top of the long box which serves as a residence for the family rooster
and chickens. They kept popping their heads, with their round, quick
eyes out through the slats, and emitting startled crows and clucks at
the visitors. The young woman was dressed in all her outdoor
clothing; a cherished lace curtain sought to hide the rough, unplaned
boards of the coffin--for it had been hewn from the forest the day
before. The depth of her husband's grief was evidenced by the fact
that he had spent his last and only two dollars in the purchase, at
the Nameless Cove general store, of the highly flowered hat which
surmounted his wife's young careworn but peaceful face as she lay at
rest.
I saw for the first time an old custom preserved on the coast. Before
the coffin was closed all the family passed by the head of the
deceased and kissed the face of their loved one for the last time,
while all the visitors followed and laid their hands reverently on the
forehead. Only when the master of ceremonies, who is always specially
appointed, had cried out in a sonorous voice, "Any more?" and met with
no response, was the ceremony of closing the lid permitted.
Surely the children are the one and only hope of this country. Through
them we may trust to raise the moral standard of the generations to
come, but it is going to be a very slow process to make any headway
against the ignorance and absence of desire for better things which
prevails so largely here.
I must tell you of the latest addition to our family. On the first
boat in the spring there arrived a family, brought by neighbours, to
say what the Mission could do for them. I think I have never seen a
more forlorn sight than this group presented when they stepped from
the steamer. There was the father (the mother is dead), an elderly
half-witted cripple capable neither of caring for himself nor for his
children, four boys of varying sizes, and a girl of fourteen in the
last stages of tuberculosis. The family were nearly frozen,
half-starved, and completely dazed at the hopelessness of their
situation. The girl was admitted to the hospital, where she has since
died, and the youngest boy, Israel, we took into the Home. Alas, we
had only room for the one. Israel was at first much overawed by the
standard of cleanliness required in this institution, and protested
vigorously when we tried to put him into the bathtub. He explained to
us that he never washed more than his face and hands at home, not even
his neck and ears, the limitation of territory being strictly defined
and scrupulously observed.
_June 20_
Unlike last year this summer promises to be hot, at least for this
country. I have felt one great lack this year. You have to pass the
long months of what would be lovely spring in England without a sign
of a living blade of flower, though a few little songbirds did their
best bravely to make it up to us. Already we are being driven almost
crazy with the mosquitoes and black flies, songsters of no mean
calibre, especially at night. In desperation our little ones yesterday
succeeded in killing an unusually large specimen, and after burying it
with great solemnity were heard singing around the grave in no
uncheerful tones, "Nearer, my God, to Thee."
I hate to think that these next few weeks will be the last I shall
spend in this country and with these children. The North seems to
weave over one a kind of spell and fascination all its own. I look
back sometimes and smile that I should ever have felt the year long
or dreary; it has passed so quickly that I can scarcely believe it
already time to be thinking of you and England again. I may emulate
the example of Mrs. Lot, but with the certainty that a similar fate to
hers does not await me.
I have just unpacked a barrel of clothing sent from home to the
Orphanage, and find to my disgust that it is almost entirely composed
of muslin blouses and old ladies' bonnets! What am I to do with them?
The blouses I can use as mosquito veiling, but these bonnets are not
the kind our babies wear. I shall present one to Topsy, who will look
adorable in it.
You hint it is hard to get up interest in Labrador because we are
neither heathen nor black. I can imagine your sewing circle of dear
old ladies (perhaps they sent the bonnets) discussing the relative
merits of working to send aeroplanes to the Arabs, bicycles to the
Bedouins, comforters to the Chinese, jumpers to the Japanese,
handkerchiefs to the Hottentots, hair nets to the Hindoos, mouth
organs to the Mohammedans, pinafores to the Parsees, pyjamas to the
Papuans, prayer-books to the Pigmies, sandwiches to the South Sea
Islanders, or zithers to the Zulus. Just wait till I can talk to your
dear old ladies!
A few days ago we had a very narrow escape from fire; indeed, it
seemed for some time as if the whole of the Mission would be wiped
out. It was a half-holiday and our boys had gone fishing to the
Devil's Pond, a favourite spot of theirs, about a mile away.
Unfortunately Noah was seized with the idea of lighting a fire by
which to cook the trout, the matches having been stolen from my room.
It had been dry for several days, there was quite a wind, and the
fire, catching the furze, quickly got beyond the one required for
culinary purposes. The boys first tried to smother it with their
coats, but finding that of no avail ran home to give the alarm. By
the time the men could get to the spot the fire had spread so rapidly
that attention had to be turned towards trying to save the houses. The
doctor's house was the one most directly threatened at first, and we
proceeded to strip it of all furniture, carrying everything to the
fore-shore to be ready to be taken off if necessary. The doctor was
away on a medical call, and you can imagine my feelings when I
expected every moment to see the Northern Light come round the point,
the doctor's house in flames and his household goods scattered to the
winds! Then we dismantled this place--the children having been sent at
the outset to a place of safety--and removed the patients from the
hospital. Every man in the place was hard at work, and there were few
of us who dared to hope that we should have a roof over our heads that
night. Happily the wind suddenly dropped, the fire died down, and late
that night we were able to return and endeavour to sort out babies
and furniture. The goddess of disorder reigned supreme, and it was
only after many weary hours that we were able to find beds for the
babies and babies for the beds. And it was our boys who started the
fire! I am covered with confusion every second when I stop to think of
it, and wonder if this is not the psychological moment to make my exit
from this Mission.
_July 11_
By invitation of the doctor I am off for a trip on the Northern Light
next week. He offers me thus the chance to see other portions of the
Shore before he drops me at the Iron Bound Islands, where I can
connect with the southern-going coastal steamer. The Prophet has
encouraged me with the observation that "nearly all the female ladies
what comes aboard her do be wonderful sick," but I am not to be
deterred. So:
"Now, Brothers, for the icebergs of frozen Labrador,
Floating spectral in the moonshine along the low, black shore.
Where in the mist the rock is hiding, and the sharp reef lurks below;
And the white squall smites in summer, and the autumn tempests blow."
This is a mere scrap of a greeting, for the day of departure is so
near that I feel I want to spend every minute with the kiddies. I
count on your forbearance, and your knowledge that though my pen is
quiet, my heart still holds you without rival.
_On board the Northern Light
July 16_
Is to-day as lovely in your part of the world as it is in mine, and do
you greet it with a background of as exciting a night as the one that
has just passed over us? I wonder. I came across some old forms of
bills of lading sent out to this country from England. They always
closed with this most appropriate expression, "And so God send the
good ship to her desired port in safety." It has fallen into disuse
long ago, but about break of early day the idea took a very compelling
shape in my mind. We put out from Bonne Espérance just as night was
falling, and there was no moon to aid us. The doctor had decided on
the outside run, and brief as is my acquaintance with the "lonely
Labrador," I knew what that meant. I therefore betook myself betimes
to bed as the best spot for an unseasoned mariner. Twelve o'clock
found us barely holding our own against a furious head wind and
sea--"An awful night for a sinner," as our cheery Prophet remarked as
he lurched past my cabin door. Icebergs were dotted about. Great
combers were pouring over our bow and the floods came sweeping down
the decks sounding like the roar of a thousand cataracts.