"We keeps un for you," said David. "The time was th' winter when we
has ne'er a bit o' grub but what we hunts, all of our flour and
molasses gone. But we don't take _he_ to the trade, _what_ever. We
keeps _he_ for you."
Out on a coast island Captain William Bartlett, of Brigus,
Newfoundland, kept a fishing station and a supply store. Captain Will
is a famous Arctic navigator. He is one of the best known and most
successful masters of the great sealing fleet. He is also a cod
fisherman of renown and he is the father of Captain "Bob" Bartlett,
master of explorer Peary's _Roosevelt_, and it was under Captain Will
Bartlett's instruction that Captain "Bob" learned seamanship and
navigation. Captain William Bartlett is as fine a man as ever trod a
deck. He is just and honest to a degree, and he has a big generous
heart.
Doctor Grenfell accepted the silver fox pelt, and as he steamed down
the coast he ran his vessel in at Captain Bartlett's station. He had
confidence in Captain Bartlett.
"Here's a silver fox skin that belongs to David Long's lads," said he,
depositing the pelt on the counter. "I wish you'd take it, and do the
best you can for David, Captain Will. I'll leave it with you."
Captain Bartlett shook the pelt out, and admired its lustrous beauty.
"It's a good one! David's lads were in luck when they caught _that_
fellow. I'll do the best I can with it," he promised.
"They'll take the pay in provisions and other necessaries," suggested
Grenfell.
"All right," agreed Captain Will. "I'll send the goods over to them."
On his way to the southward a month later Doctor Grenfell again cast
anchor at Big Bight. David Long and Mrs. Long, the two big lads, and
all the little Longs, were as beaming and happy as any family could be
in the whole wide world. Captain Bartlett's vessel had run in at Big
Bight one day, and paid for the silver fox pelt in merchandise.
The cabin was literally packed with provisions. The family were well
clothed. There was enough and to spare to keep them in affluence, as
affluence goes down on The Labrador, for a whole year and longer. Need
and poverty were vanished. Captain Will had, indeed, done well with
the silver fox pelt.
These are stories of life on The Labrador as Doctor Grenfell found
it. From the day he reached the coast and every day since his heart
has ached with the troubles and poverty existing among the liveyeres.
He has been thrilled again and again by incidents of heroic struggle
and sacrifice among them. He has done a vast deal to make them more
comfortable and happy, as in the case of David Long. Still, in spite
of it all, there are cases of desperate poverty and suffering there,
and doubtless will always be.
In every city and town and village of our great and prosperous country
people throw away clothing and many things that would help to make the
lives of the Longs and the hundreds of other liveyeres of the coast
who are toiling for bare existence easier to endure. Enough is wasted
every year, indeed, in any one of our cities to make the whole
population of Labrador happy and comfortable. And there's the pity. If
Grenfell could _only_ be given _some_ of this waste to take to them!
From the beginning this thought troubled Doctor Grenfell. And in
winter when the ice shuts the whole coast off from the rest of the
world, he turned his attention to efforts to secure the help of good
people the world over in his work. Making others happy is the greatest
happiness that any one can experience, and Grenfell wished others to
share his happiness with him. Nearly every winter for many years he
has lectured in the United States and Canada and Great Britain with
this in view. The Grenfell Association was organized with
headquarters in New York, where money and donations of clothing and
other necessaries might be sent.[B]
As we shall see, many great things have been accomplished by Doctor
Grenfell and this Association, organized by his friends several years
ago. Every year a great many boxes and barrels of clothing go to him
down on The Labrador, filled with good things for the needy ones. Boys
and girls, as well as men and women, send warm things for winter. Not
only clothing, but now and again toys for the Wee Tots find their way
into the boxes. Just like other children the world over, the Wee Tots
of The Labrador like toys to play with and they are made joyous with
toys discarded by the over-supplied youngsters of our land.
Of course there are foolish people who send useless things too.
Scattered through the boxes are now and again found evening clothes
for men and women, silk top hats, flimsy little women's bonnets,
dancing pumps, and even crepe-de-chene nighties. These serve as
playthings for the grown-ups, many of whom, especially the Indians and
Eskimos, are quite childlike with gimcracks. I recall once seeing an
Eskimo parading around on a warm day in the glory of a full dress coat
and silk hat, the coat drawn on over his ordinary clothing. He was the
envy of his friends.
While Grenfell dispensed medical and surgical treatment, and at the
same time did what he could for the needy, he also turned his
attention to an attack upon the truck system. This system of barter
was responsible for the depths of poverty in which he found the
liveyeres. He was mightily wrought up against it, as well he might
have been, and still is, and he laid plans at once to relieve the
liveyeres and northern Newfoundlanders from its grip.
This was a great undertaking. It was a stroke for freedom, for the
truck system, as we have seen, is simply a species of slavery. He
realized that in attacking it he was to create powerful enemies who
would do their utmost to injure him and interfere with his work. Some
of these men he knew would go to any length to drive him off The
Labrador. It required courage, but Grenfell was never lacking in
courage. He rolled up his sleeves and went at it. He always did things
openly and fearlessly, first satisfying himself he was right.
FOOTNOTES:
[B] The address of the Grenfell Association is 156 Fifth Avenue, New
York.
XIII
SKIPPER TOM'S COD TRAP
Skipper Tom lived, and for aught I know still lives, at Red Bay, a
little settlement on the Straits of Belle Isle, some sixty miles to
the westward of Battle Harbor.
Along the southern coast of Labrador the cabins are much closer
together than on the east coast, and there are some small settlements
in the bays and harbors, with snug little painted cottages.
Red Bay, where Skipper Tom lived, is one of these settlements. It
boasts a neat little Methodist chapel, built by the fishermen and
trappers from lumber cut in the near-by forest, and laboriously sawn
into boards with the pit saw.
Skipper Tom lived in one of the snuggest and coziest of the cottages.
I remember the cottage and I remember Skipper Tom well. I happened
into the settlement one evening directly ahead of a winter blizzard,
and Skipper Tom and his good family opened their little home to me and
sheltered me with a hospitable cordial welcome for three days, until
the weather cleared and the dogs could travel again and I pushed
forward on my journey.
Skipper Tom stood an inch or two above six feet in his moccasins. He
was a broad-shouldered, strong-limbed man of the wilderness and the
sea. His face was kindly and gentle, but at the same time reflected
firmness, strength and thoughtfulness. When he spoke you were sure to
listen, for there was always the conviction that he was about to utter
some word of wisdom, or tell you something of importance. The moment
you looked at him and heard his voice you said to yourself: "Here is a
man upon whom I can rely and in whom I can place absolute confidence."
If Skipper Tom promised to do anything, he did it, unless Providence
intervened. If he said he would not do a thing, he would not do it,
and you could depend on it. He was a man of his word. That was Skipper
Tom--big, straight spoken, and as square as any man that ever lived.
That is what his neighbors said of him, and that is the way Doctor
Grenfell found him.
Now and again the Methodist missionary visited Red Bay in his circuit
of the settlements, and when he came he made his headquarters in the
home of Skipper Tom. On the occasion of these visits he conducted
services in the chapel on Sunday, and on week days visited every home
in Red Bay. Skipper Tom was class leader, and looked after the
religious welfare of the little community, presiding over his class in
the chapel, on the great majority of Sundays, when the missionary was
engaged elsewhere.
The people looked up to Skipper Tom. The folk of Red Bay, like most
people who live much in the open and close to nature, have a deep
religious reverence and a wholesome fear of God. As their class leader
Skipper Tom guided them in their worship, and they looked upon him as
an example of upright living. So it was that he had a great burden of
responsibility, with the morals of the community thrust upon him.
In one respect Skipper Tom was fortunate. He did not inherit a debt,
and all his life he had kept free from the truck system under which
his neighbors toiled hopelessly, year in and year out.
He had, in one way or another, picked up enough education to read and
write and figure. He could read and interpret his Bible and he could
calculate his accounts. He knew that two times two make four. If he
sold two hundred quintals[C] of fish at $2.25 a quintal, he knew that
$450.00 were due him. No trader had a mortgage upon the product of
_his_ labor, as they had upon that of his neighbors, and he was free
to sell his fur and fish to whoever would pay him the highest price.
To be sure there were seasons when Skipper Tom was hard put to it to
make ends meet, and a scant diet and a good many hardships fell to his
lot and to the lot of his family. And when he had enough and his
neighbors were in need, he denied himself to see others through, and
even pinched himself to do it.
But he saved bit by bit until, at the age of forty-five, he was able
to purchase a cod trap, which was valued at about $400.00. The
purchase of this cod trap had been the ambition of his life and we can
imagine his joy when finally the day came that brought it to him. It
made more certain his catch of cod, and therefore lessened the
possibility of winters of privation.
It is interesting to know how the fishermen of The Labrador catch cod.
It may be worth while also to explain that when the Labradorman or
Newfoundlander speaks of "fish" he means cod in his vocabulary. A
trout is a trout, a salmon is a salmon and a caplin is a caplin, but a
cod is a fish. He never thinks of anything as fish but cod.
Early in the season, directly the ice breaks up, a little fish called
the caplin, which is about the size of a smelt, runs inshore in great
schools of countless millions, to spawn. I have seen them lying in
windrows along the shore where the receding tide had left them high
and dry upon the land. This is a great time for the dogs, which feast
upon them and grow fat. It is a great time also for the cod, which
feed on the caplin, and for the fishermen who catch the cod. Cod
follow the caplin schools, and this is the season when the fisherman,
if he is so fortunate as to own a trap, reaps his greatest harvest.
The trap is a net with four sides and a bottom, but no top. It is like
a great room without a ceiling. On one side is a door or opening. The
trap is submerged a hundred yards or so from shore, at a point where
the caplin, with the cod at their heels, are likely to run in. A net
attached to the trap at the center of the door is stretched to the
nearest shore.
Like a flock of geese that follows the old gander cod follow their
leaders. When the leaders pilot the school in close to shore in
pursuit of the caplin, they encounter the obstructing net, then follow
along its side with the purpose of going around it. This leads them
into the trap. Once into the trap they remain there until the
fishermen haul their catch.
The fisherman who owns no trap must rely upon the hook and line.
Though sometimes hook and line fishermen meet with good fortune, the
results are much less certain than with the traps and the work much
slower and vastly more difficult.
When the water is not too deep jigging with unbaited hooks proves
successful when fish are plentiful. Two large hooks fastened back to
back, with lead to act as a sinker, serve the purpose. This double
hook at the end of the line is dropped over the side of the boat and
lowered until it touches bottom. Then it is raised about three feet,
and from this point "jigged," or raised and lowered continuously until
taken by a cod.
[Illustration: "THE TRAP IS SUBMERGED A HUNDRED YARDS OR SO FROM
SHORE"]
In deep water, however, bait is necessary and the squid is a favorite
bait. A squid is a baby octopus, or "devil fish." The squid is
caught by jigging up and down a lead weight filled with wire spikes
and painted bright red. It seizes the weight with its tentacles. When
raised into the boat it releases its hold and squirts a small stream
of black inky fluid. In the water, when attacked, this inky fluid
discolors the water and screens it from its enemy.
The octopus grows to immense size, with many long arms. Two
Newfoundlanders were once fishing in an open boat, when an octopus
attacked the boat, reaching for it with two enormous arms, with the
purpose of dragging it down. One of the fishermen seized an ax that
lay handy in the boat and chopped the arms off. The octopus sank and
all the sea about was made black with its screen of ink. The sections
of arms cut off were nineteen feet in length. They are still on
exhibition in the St. Johns Museum, where I have seen them many times.
Shortly afterward a dead octopus was found, measuring, with tentacles
spread, forty feet over all. It was not, however, the same octopus
which attacked the fishermen, for that must have been much larger.
We can understand, then, how much Skipper Tom's cod trap meant to him.
We can visualize his pleasure, and share his joy. The trap was, to a
large extent, insurance against privation and hardship. It was his
reward for the self-denial of himself and his family for years, and
represented his life's savings.
When at last the ice cleared from his fishing place and the trap was
set, there was no prouder or happier man on The Labrador than Skipper
Tom. The trap was in the water when the _Princess May_, one Saturday
afternoon, steamed into Red Bay and Doctor Grenfell accepted the
hospitable invitation of Skipper Tom to spend the night at his home.
It was still early in the season and icebergs were plentiful enough,
as, indeed, they are the whole summer long. They are always a menace
to cod traps, for should a berg drift against a trap, that will be the
end of the trap forever. Fishermen watch their traps closely, and if
an iceberg comes so near as to threaten it the trap must be removed to
save it. A little lack of watchfulness leads to ruin.
"The trap's well set," said Skipper Tom, when Doctor Grenfell inquired
concerning it. "The ice is keepin' clear, but I watches close."
"What are the signs of fish?" asked the Doctor.
"Fine!" said Skipper Tom. "The signs be _wonderful_ fine."
"I hope you'll have a big year."
"There's a promise of un," Skipper Tom grinned happily. "The trap's
sure to do fine for us."
But nobody knows from one day to another what will happen on The
Labrador.
According to habit Skipper Tom was up bright and early on Sunday
morning and went for a look at the trap. When presently he returned
to join Doctor Grenfell at breakfast he was plainly worried.
"There's a berg driftin' down on the trap. We'll have to take her in,"
he announced.
"But 'tis Sunday," exclaimed his wife. "You'll never be workin' on
Sunday."
"Aye, 'tis Sunday and 'tis against my principles to fish on the
Sabbath day. I never did before, but 'tis to save our cod trap now.
The lads and I'll not fish. We'll just haul the trap."
"The Lard'll forgive _that, what_ever," agreed his wife.
Skipper Tom went out when he had eaten, but it was not long until he
returned.
"I'm not goin' to haul the trap today," he said quietly and
decisively. "There are those in this harbor," he added, turning to
Doctor Grenfell, "who would say, if I hauled that trap, that 'twould
be no worse for them to fish on Sunday than for me to haul my trap.
Then they'd go fishin' Sundays the same as other days, and none of un
would keep Sunday any more as a day of rest, as the Lard intends us to
keep un, and has told us in His own words we must keep un. I'll not
haul the trap this day, though 'tis sore hard to lose un."
For a principle, and because he was well aware of his influence upon
the folk of the settlement, Skipper Tom had made his decision to
sacrifice his cod trap and the earnings of his lifetime. His
conscience told him it would be wrong to do a thing that might lead
others to do wrong. When our conscience tells us it is wrong to do a
thing, it is wrong for us to do it. Conscience is the voice of God. If
we disobey our conscience God will soon cease to speak to us through
it. That is the way every criminal in the world began his downward
career. He disobeyed his conscience, and continued to disobey it until
he no longer heard it.
Skipper Tom never disobeyed his conscience. Now the temptation was
strong. His whole life's savings were threatened to be swept away.
There was still time to save the trap.
But Skipper Tom was strong. He turned his back upon the cod trap and
the iceberg and temptation, and as he and Doctor Grenfell climbed the
hill to the chapel he greeted his neighbors calmly and cheerily.
Every eye in Red Bay was on Skipper Tom that day. Every person knew of
the cod trap and its danger, and all that it meant to Skipper Tom, and
the temptation Skipper Tom was facing; but from all outward appearance
he had dismissed the cod trap and the iceberg from his mind.
When dusk fell that night the iceberg was almost upon the cod trap.
FOOTNOTES:
[C] Pronounced kentel in Labrador; 112 pounds.
XIV
THE SAVING OF RED BAY
At an early hour on Sunday evening Skipper Tom went to his bed as
usual, and it is quite probable that within a period of ten minutes
after his head rested upon his pillow he was sleeping peacefully.
There was nothing else to do. He had no doubt that his cod trap was
lying under the iceberg a hopeless wreck.
Well, what of it? In any case he had acted as his conscience had him
act. He knew that there were those who would say that his conscience
was over-sensitive. Perhaps it was, but it was _his_ conscience, not
theirs. He was class leader in the chapel. He never forgot that. And
he was the leading citizen of the settlement. At whatever cost, he
must needs prove a good example to his neighbors in his deeds. Worry
would not help the case in the least. Too much of it would
incapacitate him. He had lived forty-four years without a cod trap,
and he had not starved, and he could finish his days without one.
"The Lard'll take care of us," Skipper Tom often said when they were
in a tight pinch, but he always added, "if we does our best to make
the best of things and look after ourselves and the things the Lard
gives us to do with. He calls on us to do that."
Though Skipper Tom could scarce see how his trap might have escaped
destruction he had no intention of resting upon that supposition and
perhaps he still entertained a lingering hope that it had escaped.
There is no doubt he prayed for its preservation, and he had strong
faith in prayer. At any rate, at half past eleven o'clock that night
he was up and dressed, and routed his two sons out of their beds. At
the stroke of midnight, waiting a tick longer perhaps, to be quite
sure that Sunday had gone and Monday morning had arrived, he and his
sons pushed out in their big boat.
Skipper Tom would not be doing his best if he did not make certain of
what had actually happened to the cod trap. Every one in Red Bay said
it had been destroyed, and no doubt of that. But no one knew for a
certainty, and there _might_ have been an intervention of Divine
Providence.
"The Lard helped us to get that trap," said Skipper Tom, "and 'tis
hard to believe he'll take un away from us so soon, for I tried not to
be vain about un, only just a bit proud of un and glad I has un. If
He's took un from me I'll know 'twere to try my faith, and I'll never
complain."
Down they rowed toward the iceberg, whose polished surface gleamed
white in the starlight.
"She's right over where the trap were set! The trap's gone," said one
of the sons.
"I'm doubtin'," Skipper Tom was measuring the distance critically with
his eye.
"The trap's tore to pieces," insisted the son with discouragement in
his voice.
"The berg's to the lee'ard of she," declared Skipper Tom finally.
"Tis too close t' shore."
"'Tis to the lee'ard!"
"Is you sure, now, Pop?"
"The trap's safe and sound! The berg _is_ t' the lee'ard!"
Tom was right. A shift of tide had come at the right moment to save
the trap.
"The Lard is good to us," breathed Skipper Tom. "He've saved our trap!
He always takes care of them that does what they feels is right. We'll
thank the Lard, lads."
In the trap was a fine haul of cod, and when they had removed the fish
the trap was transferred to a new position where it would be quite
safe until the menacing iceberg had drifted away.
There were seventeen families living in Red Bay. As settlements go,
down on The Labrador, seventeen cabins, each housing a family, is
deemed a pretty good sized place.
At Red Bay, as elsewhere on the coast, bad seasons for fishing came
now and again. These occur when the ice holds inshore so long that the
best run of cod has passed before the men can get at them; or because
for some unexplained reason the cod do not appear at all along certain
sections of the coast. When two bad seasons come in succession,
starvation looms on the horizon.
Seasons when the ice held in, Skipper Tom could not set his cod trap.
When this happened he was as badly off as any of his neighbors. In a
season when there were no fish to catch, it goes without saying that
his trap brought him no harvest. Fishing and trapping is a gamble at
best, and Skipper Tom, like his neighbors, had to take his chance, and
sometimes lost. If he accumulated anything in the good seasons, he
used his accumulation to assist the needy ones when the bad seasons
came, and, in the end, though he kept out of debt, he could not get
ahead, try as he would.
The seasons of 1904 and 1905 were both poor seasons, and when, in the
fall of 1905, Doctor Grenfell's vessel anchored in Red Bay Harbor he
found that several of the seventeen families had packed their
belongings and were expectantly awaiting his arrival in the hope that
he would take them to some place where they might find better
opportunities. They were destitute and desperate.
There was nowhere to take them where their condition would be better.
Grenfell, already aware of their desperate poverty, had been giving
the problem much consideration. The truck system was directly
responsible for the conditions at Red Bay and for similar conditions
at every other harbor along the coast. Something had to be done, and
done at once.
With the assistance of Skipper Tom and one or two others, Doctor
Grenfell called a meeting of the people of the settlement that
evening, to talk the matter over. The men and women were despondent
and discouraged, but nearly all of them believed they could get on
well enough if they could sell their fish and fur at a fair valuation,
and could buy their supplies at reasonable prices.
All of them declared they could no longer subsist at Red Bay upon the
restricted outfits allowed them by the traders, which amounted to
little or nothing when the fishing failed. They preferred to go
somewhere else and try their luck where perhaps the traders would be
more liberal. If they remained at Red Bay under the old conditions
they would all starve, and they might as well starve somewhere else.