pans and drift abroad before the seal hunters can make their escape to
land. In that case a hunter may be driven to sea on an ice pan, and he
is fortunate if his neighbors discover him and rescue him in boats.
After the ice goes out, those who own seal nets set them, and a great
many seals are caught in this way. At this season the seals frequently
are seen sunning themselves on the shore rocks, and the hunters stalk
and shoot them.
Newfoundlanders carry on their sealing in steamers built for the
purpose. They go out to the great ice floe, far out to sea and quite
too far for the liveyeres to reach in small craft. Here the seals are
found in thousands. These vessels, depending upon the size, bring home
a cargo sometimes numbering as many as 20,000 to 30,000 seals in a
single ship, and there are about twenty-five ships in the fleet.
This terrible slaughter has seriously decreased the numbers. The
Labrador Eskimos used to depend upon them largely for their living.
They can do this no longer, for not every season, as formerly, are
there enough seals to supply needs. All of the five varieties of North
Atlantic seals are caught on the coast--harbor, jar, harp, hooded and
square flipper. The last named is also called the great bearded seal
and sometimes the sealion. The first named is the smallest of all.
Scarce a year passes that we do not hear of a serious disaster in the
Newfoundland sealing fleet. Sometimes severe snow storms arise when
the men are hunting on the floe, and then the men are often lost.
Sometimes the ships are crushed in the big floe and go to the bottom.
The latest of these disasters was the disappearance of the _Southern
Cross_, with a crew of one hundred seventy-five men.
One of my good friends, Captain Jacob Kean, used to command the
_Virginia Lake_, one of the largest of the sealers. She carried a crew
of about two hundred men. A few years before Captain Kean lost his
life in one of the awful sea disasters of the coast, he related to me
one of his experiences at the sealing.
Captain Kean was in luck that year, and found the seals early and in
great numbers. The crew had made a good hunt on the floe, and they are
loading them with about a third of a cargo aboard when suddenly the
ice closed in and the _Virginia Lake_ was "pinched," with the result
that a good sized hole was broken in her planking on the port side
forward below the water line. The sea rushed in, and it looked for a
time as though the vessel would sink, and there were not boats enough
to accommodate the crew even if boats could have been used, which was
hardly possible under the conditions, for the sea was clogged with
heaving ice pans.
The pumps were manned, and Captain Kean, and with every man not
working the pumps, with feverish haste shifted the cargo to the
starboard side and aft. Presently, with the weight shifted, the ship
lay over on her starboard side and her bow rose above the water until
the crushed planking and the hole were above the water line.
The hole now exposed, Captain Kean stuffed it with sea biscuit, or
hardtack. Over this he nailed a covering of canvas. Tubs of butter
were brought up, and the canvas thoroughly and thickly buttered. This
done, a sheathing of planking was spiked on over the buttered canvas.
Then the cargo was re-shifted into place, the vessel settled back upon
an even keel, and it was found that the leak was healed. The sea
biscuit, absorbing moisture, swelled, and this together with the
canvas, butter and planking proved effectual. Captain Kean loaded his
ship with seals and took her into St. John's harbor safely with a full
cargo.
The following year the _Virginia Lake_ was again pinched by the ice,
but this time was lost. Captain Kean and his crew took refuge on the
ice floe, and were fortunately rescued by another sealer. When Captain
Kean lost his life a few years later the sealing fleet lost one of its
most successful masters. He was a fine Christian gentleman and as able
a seaman as ever trod a bridge.
But this is the life of the sealer and the fisherman of the northern
sees. Terrible storms sometimes sweep down that rugged, barren coast
and leave behind them a harvest of wrecked vessels and drowned men and
destitute families that have lost their only support.
These were the conditions that Grenfell found in Labrador, and this
was the breed of men, these hunters and trappers, fishermen and
sealers--sturdy, honest, God-fearing folk--with whom Grenfell took up
his life. He had elected to share with them the hardships of their
desolate land and the perils of their ice-choked sea. They needed him,
and to them he offered a service that was Christ-like in its breadth
and devotion.
It was a peculiar field. No ordinary man could have entered it with
hope of success. Mere ability as a physician and surgeon of wide
experience was not enough. In addition to this, success demanded that
he be a Christian gentleman with high ideals, and freedom from
bigotry. Courage, moral as well as physical, was a necessity. Only a
man who was himself a fearless and capable navigator could make the
rounds of the coast and respond promptly to the hurried and urgent
calls to widely separated patients. Constant exposure to hardship and
peril demanded a strong body and a level head. Balanced judgment, high
executive and administrative ability, deep insight into human
character and unbounded sympathy for those who suffered or were in
trouble were indispensable characteristics. All of these attributes
Grenfell possessed.
A short time before Mr. Moody's death, Grenfell met Moody and told him
of the inspiration he had received from that sermon, delivered in
London many years before by the great evangelist.
"What have you been doing since?" asked Moody.
What has Grenfell been doing since? He has established hospitals at
Battle Harbor, Indian Harbor, Harrington and Northwest River in
Labrador, and at St. Anthony in northeastern Newfoundland. He has
established schools and nursing stations both in Labrador and
Newfoundland. He has built and maintains two orphanages. He founded
the Seamen's Institute in St. Johns.
Year after year, since that summer's day when the _Albert_ anchored in
Domino Run and Grenfell first met the men of the Newfoundland fishing
fleet and the liveyeres of the Labrador coast, winter and summer,
Grenfell himself and the doctors that assist him have patrolled that
long desolate coast giving the best that was in them to the people
that lived there. Grenfell has preached the Word, fed the hungry,
clothed the naked, sheltered the homeless and righted many wrongs. He
has fought disease and poverty, evil and oppression. Hardship, peril
and prejudice have fallen to his lot, but he has met them with a
courage and determination that never faltered, and he is still "up and
at it."
Grenfell's life has been a life of service to others. Freely and
joyfully he has given himself and all that was in him to the work of
making others happier, and the people of the coast love and trust him.
With pathetic confidence they lean upon him and call him in their
need, as children lean upon their father, and he has never failed to
respond. When a man who had lost a leg felt the need for an artificial
one, he appealed to Grenfell:
Docter plase I whant to see you. Docter sir have you got a
leg if you have Will you plase send him Down Praps he may
fet and you would oblig.
One who wished clothing for his family wrote:
To Dr. Gransfield
Dear honrabel Sir,
I would be pleased to ask you Sir if you would be pleased to
give me and my wife a littel poor close. I was going in the
Bay to cut some wood. But I am all amost blind and cant Do
much so if you would spear me some Sir I would Be very
thankful to you Sir.
Calls to visit the sick are continuously received. The following are
genuine examples:
Reverance dr. Grandfell. Dear sir we are expecting you hup
and we would like for you to come so quick as you can for my
dater is very sick with a very large sore under her left
harm we emenangin that the old is two enchis deep and two
enches wide plase com as quick as you can to save life I
remains yours truely.
Docker--Please wel you send me somting for the pain in my
feet and what you proismed to send my little boy. Docker I
am almost cripple, it is up my hips, I can hardly walk. This
is my housban is gaining you this note.
doctor--i have a compleant i ham weak with wind on the
chest, weakness all over me up in my harm.
Dear Dr. Grenfell.
I would like for you to Have time to come Down to my House
Before you leaves to go to St. Anthony. My little Girl is
very Bad. it seems all in Her neck. Cant Ply her Neck
forward if do she nearly goes in the fits. i dont know what
it is the matter with Her myself. But if you would see Her
you would know what the matter with Her. Please send a word
by the Bearer what gives you this note and let me know where
you will have time to come down to my House, i lives down
the Bay a Place called Berry Head.
These people are made of the same clay as you and I. They are moved by
the same human emotions. They love those who are near and dear to them
no less than we love those who are near and dear to us. The same
heights or depths of joy and sorrow, hopes and disappointments enter
into their lives. In the following chapters let us meet some of them,
and travel with Doctor Grenfell as he goes about his work among them.
XI
UNCLE WILLIE WOLFREY
One bitterly cold day in winter our dog team halted before a cabin. We
had been hailed as we were passing by the man of the house. He gave us
a hearty hand shake and invitation to have "a drop o' tea and a bit to
eat," adding, "you'd never ha' been passin' without stoppin' for a cup
o' tea to warm you up, whatever." It was early, and we had intended to
stop farther on to boil our kettle in the edge of the woods with as
little loss of time as possible, but there was no getting away from
the hospitality of the liveyere.
There were three of us, and we were as hungry as bears, for there is
nothing like snowshoe traveling in thirty and forty degrees below zero
weather to give one an appetite. As we entered we sniffed a delicious
odor of roasting meat, and that one sniff made us glad we had stopped,
and made us equally certain we had never before in our lives been so
hungry for a good meal. For days we had been subsisting on hardtack
and jerked venison, two articles of food that will not freeze for they
contain no moisture, and tea; or, when we stopped at a cabin, on bread
and tea. The man's wife was already placing plates, cups and saucers
on the bare table for us, and two little boys were helping with hungry
eagerness.
"Hang your adikeys on the pegs there and get warmed up," our host
invited. "Dinner's a'most ready. 'Tis a wonderful frosty day to be
cruisin'."
We did as he directed, and then seated ourselves on chests that he
pulled forward for seats. He had many questions to ask concerning the
folk to the northward, their health and their luck at the winter's
trapping, until, presently, the woman brought forth from the oven and
placed upon the table a pan of deliciously browned, smoking meat.
"Set in! Set in!" beamed our host. "'Tis fine you comes today and not
yesterday," adding as we drew up to the table: "All we'd been havin'
to give you yesterday and all th' winter, were bread and tea. Game's
been wonderful scarce, and this is the first bit o' meat we has th'
whole winter, barrin' a pa'tridge or two in November. But this marnin'
I finds a lynx in one o' my traps, and a fine prime skin he has. I'll
show un to you after we eats, though he's on the dryin' board and you
can't see the fur of he."
We bowed our heads while the host asked the blessing. The Labradorman
rarely omits the blessing, and often the meal is closed with a final
thanks, for men of the wilderness live near to God. He is very near to
them and they reverence Him.
"Help yourself, sir! Help yourself!"
Each of us helped himself sparingly to the cat meat. There was bread,
but no butter, and there was hot tea with black molasses for
sweetening.
"Take more o' th' meat now! Help yourselves! Don't be afraid of un,"
our hospitable host urged, and we did help ourselves again, for it was
good.
Whenever we passed within hailing distance of a cabin, we had to stop
for a "cup o' hot tea, whatever." Otherwise the people would have felt
sorely hurt. We seldom found more elaborate meals than bread, tea and
molasses, rarely butter, and of course never any vegetables.
We soon discovered that we could not pay the head of the family for
our entertainment, but where there were children we left money with
the mother with which to buy something for the little ones, which
doubtless would be clothing or provisions for the family. If there
were no children we left the money on the table or somewhere where it
surely would be discovered after our departure.
I remember one of this fine breed of men well. I met him on this
journey, and he once drove dog team for me--Uncle Willie Wolfrey.
Doctor Grenfell says of him:
"Uncle Willie isn't a scholar, a social light, or a capitalist
magnate, but all the same ten minutes' visit to Uncle Willie Wolfrey
is worth five dollars of any man's investment."
It requires a lot of physical energy for any man to tramp the trails
day after day through a frigid, snow-covered wilderness, and months
of it at a stretch. It is a big job for a young and hearty man, and a
tremendous one for a man of Uncle Willie's years. And it is a man's
job, too, to handle a boat in all weather, in calm and in gale, in
clear and in fog, sixteen to twenty hours a day, and the fisherman's
day is seldom shorter than that. The fish must be caught when they are
there to be caught, and they must be split and salted the day they are
caught, and then there's the work of spreading them on the "flakes,"
and turning them, and piling and covering them when rain threatens.
A cataract began to form on Uncle Willie's eyes, and every day he
could see just a little less plainly than the day before. The
prospects were that he would soon be blind, and without his eyesight
he could neither hunt nor fish.
But with his growing age and misfortune Uncle Willie was never a whit
less cheerful. He had to earn his living and he kept at his work.
"'Tis the way of the Lard," said he. "He's blessed me with fine health
all my life, and kept the house warm, and we've always had a bit to
eat, whatever. The Lard has been wonderful good to us, and I'll never
be complainin'."
It was never Uncle Willie's way to complain about hard luck. He always
did his best, and somehow, no matter how hard a pinch in which he
found himself, it always came out right in the end.
Finally Uncle Willie's eyesight became so poor that it was difficult
for him to see sufficiently to get around, and one day last summer
(1921) he stepped off his fish stage where he was at work, and the
fall broke his thigh. This happened at the very beginning of the
fishing season, and put an end to the summer's fishing for Uncle
Willie, and, of course, to all hope of hunting and trapping during
last winter.
Then Doctor Grenfell happened along with his brave old hospital ship
_Strathcona_. Dr. Grenfell has a way of happening along just when
people are desperately in need of him. With Dr. Grenfell was Dr.
Morlan, a skillful and well-known eye and throat specialist from
Chicago. Dr. Morlan was spending his holiday with Dr. Grenfell,
helping heal the sick down on The Labrador, giving free his services
and his great skill.
Dr. Grenfell set and dressed Uncle Willie Wolfrey's broken thigh. Dr.
Morlan was to remain but a few days. If he were to help Uncle Willie's
eyes there could be no time given for a recovery from the operation on
the thigh. Uncle Willie was game for it.
They had settled Uncle Willie comfortably at Indian Harbor Hospital,
and immediately the thigh was set Dr. Morlan operated upon one of the
eyes. The operation was successful, and when the freeze-up came with
the beginning of winter, Uncle Willie, hobbling about on crutches and
with one good eye was home again in his cabin.
Uncle Willie lives in a lonely place, and for many miles north and
south he has but one neighbor. The outlook for the winter was dismal
indeed. His flour barrel was empty. He had no money.
But that stout old heart could not be discouraged or subdued. Uncle
Willie was as full of grit as ever he was in his life. He was still a
fountain of cheery optimism and hope. He could see with one eye now,
and out of that eye the world looked like a pretty good place in which
to live, and he was decided to make the best of it.
Dr. Grenfell, passing down the coast, called in to see the crippled
old fisherman and hunter, and in commenting on that visit he said:
"There are certain men it always does one good to meet. Uncle Willie
is a channel of blessing. His sincerity and faith do one good. There
is always a merry glint in his eye. Even with one eye out, and his
crutches on, and his prospect of hunger, Uncle Willie was just the
same."
Dr. Grenfell left some money, donated by the Doctor's friends, and
made other provisions for the comfort of Uncle Willie Wolfrey during
the winter. If all goes well he will be at his fishing again, when the
ice clears away; and the snows of another winter will see him again on
his trapping path setting traps for martens and foxes. And with his
rifle and one good eye, who knows but he may knock over a silver fox
or a bear or two?
Good luck to Uncle Willie Wolfrey and his spirit, which cannot be
downed.
As Dr. Grenfell has often said, the Labradorman is a fountain of faith
and hope and inspiration. If the fishing season is a failure he turns
to his winter's trapping with unwavering faith that it will yield him
well. If his trapping fails his hope and faith are none the less when
he sets out in the spring to hunt seals. Seals may be scarce and the
reward poor, but never mind! The summer fishing is at hand, and _this_
year it will certainly bring a good catch! "The Lard be wonderful good
to us, _what_ever."
XII
A DOZEN FOX TRAPS
On that same voyage along the coast when Uncle Willie Wolfrey was
found with a broken thigh, Dr. Grenfell, after he had operated upon
Uncle Willie, in the course of his voyage, stopping at many harbors to
give medical assistance to the needy ones, ran in one day to Kaipokok
Bay, at Turnavik Islands.
As the vessel dropped her anchor he observed a man sitting on the
rocks eagerly watching the ship. The jolly boat was launched, and as
it approached the land the man arose and coming down to the water's
edge, shouted:
"Be that you, Doctor?"
"Yes, Uncle Tom, it is I?" the Doctor shouted back, for he had already
recognized Uncle Tom, one of the fine old men of the coast.
When Grenfell stepped ashore and took Uncle Tom's hand in a hearty
grasp, the old man broke down and cried like a child. Uncle Tom was
evidently in keen distress.
"Oh, Doctor, I'm so glad you comes. I were lookin' for you, Doctor,"
said the old man in a voice broken by emotion. "I were watchin' and
watchin' out here on the rocks, not knowin' whether you'd be comin'
this way, but hopin', and prayin' the Lard to send you. He sends you,
Doctor. 'Twere the Lard sends you when I'm needin' you, sir, sorely
needin' you."
Uncle Tom is seventy years of age. He was born and bred on The
Labrador, but he has not spent all his life there. In his younger days
he shipped as a sailor, and as a seaman saw many parts of the world.
But long ago he returned to his home to settle down as a fisherman and
a trapper.
When the war came, the brave old soul, stirred by patriotism, paid his
own passage and expenses on the mail boat to St. Johns, and offered to
volunteer for service. Of course he was too old and was rejected
because of his age.
Uncle Tom, his patriotism not in the least dampened, returned to his
Labrador home and divided all the fur of his winter's hunt into two
equal piles. To one pile he added a ten dollar bill, and that pile,
with the ten dollars added, he shipped at once to the "Patriotic Fund"
in St. Johns. He had offered himself, and they would not take him, and
this was all he could do to help win the war, and he did it freely and
wistfully, out of his noble, generous patriotic soul.
"What is the trouble, Uncle Tom?" asked Grenfell, when Uncle Tom had
to some extent regained his composure, and the old man told his
story.
He was in hard luck. Late the previous fall (1920) or early in the
winter he had met with a severe accident that had resulted in several
broken ribs. Navigation had closed, and he was cut off from all
surgical assistance, and his broken ribs had never had attention and
had not healed. He could scarcely draw a breath without pain, or even
rest without pain at night, and he could not go to his trapping path.
He depended upon his winter's hunt mainly for support, and with no fur
to sell he was, for the first time in his life, compelled to contract
a debt. Then, suddenly, the trader with whom he dealt discontinued
giving credit. Uncle Tom was stranded high and dry, and when the
fishing season came he had no outfit or means of purchasing one, and
could not go fishing.
Besides his wife there were six children in Uncle Tom's family, though
none of them was his own or related to him. When the "flu" came to the
coast in 1918, and one out of every five of the people around Turnavik
Islands died, several little ones were left homeless and orphans. The
generous hearts of Uncle Tom and his wife opened to them and they took
these six children into their home as their own. And so it happened
that Uncle Tom had, and still has, a large family depending upon him.
"As we neared the cottage," said Doctor Grenfell, "his good wife,
beaming from head to foot as usual, came out to greet us. Optimist to
the last ditch, she _knew_ that somehow provision would be made. She,
too, had had her troubles, for twice she had been operated on at
Indian Harbor for cancer."
Uncle Tom must have suffered severely during all those months that he
had lived with his broken ribs uncared for. Now Dr. Grenfell, without
loss of time, strapped them up good and tight. Mrs. Grenfell supplied
the six youngsters with a fine outfit of good warm clothes, and when
Dr. Grenfell sailed out of Kaipokok Bay Uncle Tom and Mrs. Tom had no
further cause for worry concerning the source from which provisions
would come for themselves and the six orphans they had adopted.
These are but a few incidents in the life of the people to whom Dr.
Grenfell is devoting his skill and his sympathy year in and year out.
I could relate enough of them to fill a dozen volumes like this, but
space is limited.
There is always hardship and always will be in a frontier land like
Labrador, and Labrador north of Cape Charles is the most primitive of
frontier lands. Dr. Grenfell and his helpers find plenty to do in
addition to giving out medicines and dressing wounds. A little boost
sometimes puts a family on its feet, raising it from abject poverty to
independence and self-respect. Just a little momentum to push them
over the line. Grenfell knows how to do this.
Several years ago Dr. Grenfell anchored his vessel in Big Bight, and
went ashore to visit David Long. David had had a hard winter, and
among other kindnesses to the family, Dr. Grenfell presented David's
two oldest boys, lads of fifteen or sixteen or thereabouts, with a
dozen steel fox traps. Lack of traps had prevented the boys taking
part in trapping during the previous winter.
The next year after giving the boys the traps, Grenfell again cast
anchor in Big Bight, and, as usual, rowed ashore to visit the Longs.
There was great excitement in their joyous greeting. Something
important had happened. There was no doubt of that! David and Mrs.
Long and the two lads and all the little Longs were exuding mystery,
but particularly the two lads. Whatever this mysterious secret was
they could scarce keep it until they had led Dr. Grenfell into the
cabin, and he was comfortably seated.
Then, with vast importance and some show of deliberate dignity, David
opened a chest. From its depths he drew forth a pelt. Dr. Grenfell
watched with interest while David shook it to make the fur stand out
to best advantage, and then held up to his admiring gaze the skin of a
beautiful silver fox! The lads had caught it in one of the dozen traps
he had given them.
"We keeps un for you," announced David exultantly.
"It's a prime one, too!" exclaimed the Doctor, duly impressed, as he
examined it.
"She _be_ that," emphasized David proudly. "No finer were caught on
the coast the winter."
"It was a good winter's work," said the Doctor.
"'Twere _that_ now! 'Twere a _wonder_ful good winter's work--just
t'cotch that un!" enthused Mrs. Long.