a few hours after our departure. After the storm had abated his dog
team appeared at Davis Inlet, but he and his wife and child were not
heard from. A searching party set out, but could find no trace of the
missing ones.
In the spring, when the snow had begun to melt, the komatik was found
and scattered about it were human bones. It was supposed that the man
had halted to camp and await the passing of the storm. Benumbed by the
cold he had probably fallen among his dogs, and they had torn him to
pieces, and with whetted appetite had then attacked and killed his
wife and child.
These great wolf dogs of the north are quite different from those of
the south. It is doubtful if today a true Eskimo dog is to be found
south of Sandwich Bay, and here and for a long distance north of
Sandwich Bay many of the animals have mongrel blood in their veins.
They are smaller and inferior. But from Sandwich Bay southward the
difference is marked.
These southern dogs are faster, in a spurt of half a day or so, than
the big wolf dog, but they lack size and strength, and therefore the
staying powers that will carry them forward tirelessly day after day.
The strain of wolf in their blood often makes them vicious, but in
general they respond to kindly treatment and may be petted like dogs
the world over, and sometimes the natives make house dogs of their
leaders.
The dogs of Newfoundland, such as Doctor Grenfell uses in his winter
journeys in going out from St. Anthony to visit patients, are still a
different type. These are usually big lop-eared kindly fellows, and
just as friendly as any dog in the world. The laws of Newfoundland
provide a heavy fine upon any one bringing upon the island a Labrador
dog that is related even remotely to the husky wolf dog.
The leader of the dog team is the best disciplined dog in the team but
not always by any means the "boss" dog, or bully, of the pack. Every
pack has its bully and generally, also, its under dog that all the
others pick upon. Eskimo dogs fight among themselves, but the packs
hold together as a gang against strange packs, and when sledges meet
each other on the trail the drivers must exert their utmost effort and
caution, and wield the whip freely, or there will be a fine mix-up,
resulting often in crippled animals.
The komatik or sledge used in dog travel is from ten to fourteen feet
in length, though in the far north I have seen them a full eighteen
feet long. In the extreme north of Labrador, where the largest ones
are found, they are but sixteen inches wide. Further south, in the
region where the mission hospitals are situated, from ten to twelve
feet is the usual length and about two feet the breadth.
In Alaska and the Northwest dogs are harnessed tandem, that is one in
front of another in a straight line. This is a white man's method, and
a fine method too when driving through timbered regions.
But in Labrador dog travel is usually on the naked coast and seldom in
timbered country, and here the old Eskimo method is used. Each dog has
its individual trace, which is fastened to the end of a single line
of walrus skin leading from the komatik and called the bridle. The
leading dog, which is especially trained to answer the driver's
direction, has the longest trace, the next two dogs nearer the komatik
shorter ones, the next two still shorter, and so on. Thus, when they
travel the leader is in advance with the pack spread out behind him on
either side, fan-shaped. Dogs follow the leader like a pack of wolves.
When the driver wishes the dogs to go forward he shouts "oo-isht," and
to hurry "oksuit."[E] If he wishes them to turn to the right he calls
"ouk!", to the left "rah-der!", and to stop "Ah!"
In Newfoundland "Hist!" means "Go on"; "Keep off!" "to the right";
"Hold on!" "to the left." The dogs are harnessed in a similar manner
to that used in Labrador, and the sledges are of the same form, though
of the widest type.
When the dogs are put in harness in preparation for a journey they are
always keen for the start. They will leap and howl in eagerness to be
off unless the menace of a whip compels them to lie down. When the
driver is ready he shouts "oo-isht!" to the dogs, as he pulls the nose
of the komatik sharply to one side to "break" it loose from the snow.
Immediately the dogs are away at a mad gallop, with the komatik
swinging wildly from side to side. Quickly enough the animals settle
down to a slow pace, only to spurt if game is scented or on
approaching a building.
The usual dog whip is thirty or thirty-five feet in length, though I
have seen them nearly fifty feet long. Eskimo drivers are exceedingly
expert in handling the long whip, and in the hands of a cruel driver
it is an instrument of torture. In southeastern and southern Labrador
and in Newfoundland the dog whip is used much less freely than in the
north, and the people are less expert in its manipulation than are the
Eskimos. The different species of dogs renders the use of the whip
less necessary.
Dog travel is seldom over smooth unobstructed ice fields. Sometimes it
is over frozen bays where the tide has thrown up rough hummocks and
ridges. I have been, under such conditions, nearly half a day crossing
the mouth of a river one mile wide. Often the trail leads over high
hills, with long hard steep climbs to be made and sometimes dangerous
descents. In traveling over sea ice, especially in the late winter and
spring, and always when an off shore wind prevails, there is danger of
encountering bad ice, and breaking through, or having the ice "go
abroad," and cutting you off from shore. When the tide has smashed the
ice, it is often necessary to drive the team on the "ballicaders," or
ice barricade, a narrow strip of ice clinging to the rocky shore. This
is sometimes scarce wide enough for the komatik, and the greatest
skill is necessary on the part of the driver to keep the komatik from
slipping off the ballicader and falling and pulling the dogs into the
sea.
When the snow is soft some one on snowshoes must go in advance of the
dogs and pack the trail for them. Where traveling is rough, and in
up-hill work, it is more than often necessary to pull with the dogs,
and lift the komatik over obstructions.
In descending steep slopes the driver has a thick hoop of woven walrus
hide, which he throws over the nose of one of the runners to serve as
a drag. Even then, the descent may be rapid and exciting, and not a
little dangerous for dogs and men. The driver throws himself on his
side on the komatik clinging to it with both hands. His legs extend
forward at the side of the sledge, he sticks his heels into the snow
ahead to retard the progress, in imminent danger of a broken leg.
Winter settles early in Labrador and northern Newfoundland. Snow
comes, the sea smokes, and then one morning men wake up to find a
field of ice where waves were lapping the day before and where boats
have sailed all summer.
Then it is that Doctor Grenfell sets out with his dogs and komatik
over the great silent snow waste to visit his far scattered patients.
Adventures meet him at every turn and some exciting experiences he has
had, as we shall see.
FOOTNOTES:
[D] Afternoon is referred to as "evening" by Labradormen.
[E] In Alaska they say "Mush," but this is never heard in Labrador.
XVIII
FACING AN ARCTIC BLIZZARD
The leader of Doctor Grenfell's dog team at St. Anthony, Newfoundland,
is Gypsy, a big black and white fellow, friendly as ever a good dog
can be, and trained to a nicety, always obedient and prompt in
responding to the driver's commands. Running next behind Gypsy, and
pulling side by side, are Tiger and Spider. Tiger is a large,
good-natured red and white fellow, and Spider, his brother, is black
and white. The next is Spot, a great white fellow with a black spot on
his neck, which gives him his name. His mate in harness is a tawny
yellow dog called Scotty. Then come Rover and Shaver. Rover is a
small, black, lop-eared dog, about half the size of Shaver, who looks
upon Rover as an inconsequent attachment, and though he thinks that
Rover is of small assistance, he takes upon himself the responsibility
of making this little working mate of his keep busy when in harness.
Tad and Eric, the rear dogs, are the largest and heaviest of the pack,
and perhaps the best haulers. Their traces are never slack, and they
attend strictly to business.
This is the team that hauls Doctor Grenfell in long winter journeys,
when he visits the coast settlements of northern Newfoundland, in
every one of which he finds no end of eager folk welcoming him and
calling him to their homes to heal their sick.
In the scattered hamlets and sparsely settled coast of northern
Newfoundland the folk have no doctor to call upon at a moment's notice
when they are sick, as we have. They live apart and isolated from many
of the conveniences of life that we look upon as necessities.
It was this condition that led Doctor Grenfell to build his fine
mission hospital at St. Anthony, and from St. Anthony, to brave the
bitter storms of winter, traveling over hundreds of miles of dreary
frozen storm-swept sea and land to help the needy, often to save life.
He never charges a fee, but the Newfoundlander is independent and
self-respecting, and when he is able to do so he pays. All that comes
to Doctor Grenfell in this way he gives to the mission to help support
the hospitals. Those who cannot pay receive from him and his
assistants the same skilled and careful treatment as those who do pay.
Money makes no difference. Doctor Grenfell is giving his life to the
people because they need him, and he never keeps for his own use any
part of the small fees paid him. He is never so happy as when he is
helping others, and to help others who are in trouble is his one great
object in life.
Two or three years ago the Newfoundland Government extended a
telegraph line to St. Anthony. This offers the people an opportunity
to call upon Doctor Grenfell when they are in need of him, though
sometimes they live so far away that in the storms of winter and
uncertainty of dog travel several days may pass before he can reach
the sick ones in answer to the calls. But let the weather be what it
may, he always responds, for there is no other doctor than Doctor
Grenfell and his assistant, the surgeon at St. Anthony Hospital,
within several hundred miles, north and west of St. Anthony.
Late one January afternoon in 1919 such a telegram came from a young
fisherman living at Cape Norman, urging Doctor Grenfell to come to his
home at once, and stating that the fisherman's wife was seriously ill.
Grenfell's assistant had taken the dog team the previous day to answer
a call, and had not returned, and if he were to go before his
assistant's return there would be no doctor at the hospital. He
therefore answered the man, stating these facts. During the evening
another wire was received urging him to find a team somewhere and come
at all costs.
It was evidently indeed a serious case. Cape Norman lies thirty miles
to the northward of St. Anthony, and the trail is a rough one. The
night was moonless and pitchy black, but Grenfell set out at once to
look for dogs. He borrowed four from one man, hired one from another,
and arranged with a man, named Walter, to furnish four additional
ones and to drive the team. Walter was to report at the hospital at
4:30 in the morning prepared to start, though it would still be long
before daybreak.
Having made these arrangements Grenfell went back to the hospital and
with the head nurse called upon every patient in the wards, providing
so far as possible for any contingency that might arise during his
absence. It was midnight when he had finished. Snow had set in, and
the wind was rising with the promise of bad weather ahead.
At 4:30 he was dressed and ready for the journey. He looked out into
the darkness. The air was thick with swirling clouds of snow driven
before a gale. He made out a dim figure battling its way to the door,
and as the figure approached he discovered it was Walter, but without
the dogs.
"Where are the dogs, Walter?" he asked.
"I didn't bring un, sir," Walter stepped inside and shook the
accumulation of snow from his garments. "'Tis a wonderful nasty
mornin', and I'm thinkin' 'tis too bad to try un before daylight. I've
been watchin' the weather all night, sir. 'Tis growin' worse. We has
only a scratch team and the dog'll not work together right 'till they
gets used to each other. I'm thinkin' we'll have to wait 'till it
comes light."
"You've the team to drive and you know best," conceded the Doctor.
"Under the circumstances I suppose we'll save time by waiting."
"That we will, sir. We'd be wastin' the dogs' strength and ours and
losin' time goin' now. We couldn't get on at all, sir."
"Very well; at daylight."
Walter returned home and Doctor Grenfell to his room to make the most
of the two hours' rest.
It was scarce daylight and Walter had not yet appeared when another
telegram was clicked in over the wires:
"Come along soon. Wife worse."
The storm had increased in fury since Walter's early visit. It was now
blowing a living gale, and the snow was so thick one could scarce
breathe in it. The trail lay directly in the teeth of the storm. No
dogs on earth could face and stem it and certainly not the picked up,
or "scratch" team as Walter called it, for strange dogs never work
well together, and will never do their best by any means for a strange
driver, and Walter had never driven any of these except his own four.
With visions of the suffering woman whose life might depend upon his
presence, the Doctor chafed the forenoon through. Then at midday came
another telegram:
"Come immediately if you can. Wife still holding out."
He had but just read this telegram when, to his astonishment, two
snow-enveloped, bedraggled men limped up to the door.
"Where did you come from in this storm?" he asked, hardly believing
his eyes that men could travel in that drift and gale.
"We comes from Cape Norman, sir, to fetch you," answered one of the
men.
"Fetch me!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Do you believe dogs can travel
against this gale?"
"No, sir, they never could stem it, not 'till the wind shifts,
whatever," said the man. "Us comes with un drivin' from behind. The
gale blows us here."
That was literally true. Ten miles of their journey had been over
partially protected land, but for twenty miles it lay over
unobstructed sea ice where the gale blew with all its force. Only the
deep snow prevented them being carried at a pace that would have
wrecked their sledge, in which case they would certainly have
perished.
"When did you leave Cape Norman?" asked the Doctor.
"Eight o'clock last evenin', sir," said the man.
All night these brave men, with no thought of reward, had been
enduring that terrible storm to bring assistance to a neighbor! After
the manner of the Newfoundlanders they had already fed and cared for
the comfort of their wearied dogs, before giving thought to
themselves, staggering with fatigue as they were.
"Go into the hospital and get your dinner," directed the Doctor. "When
you've eaten, go to bed. We'll call you when we think it's safe to
start."
"Thank you, sir," and the grateful men left for the hospital kitchen.
It was after dark that evening when the two men again appeared at
Doctor Grenfell's house. They were troubled for the safety of their
neighbor's sick wife, and could not rest.
"Us were just gettin' another telegram sayin' to hurry, sir,"
announced the spokesman. "The storm has eased up a bit, and we're
thinkin' to make a try for un if you're ready."
"Call Walter, and I'll be right with you," directed the Doctor.
"Us has been and called he, sir," said the man. "He's gettin' the dogs
together and he'll be right here."
A lull in a winter storm in this north country, with the clouds still
hanging low and no change of wind, does not promise the end of the
storm. It indicates that this is the center, that it is working in a
circle and will soon break upon the world again with even increased
fury.
Doctor Grenfell knew this and the men knew it full well, but their
anxiety for the suffering woman at Cape Norman would not permit them
to sleep. Anything was better than sitting still. The decision to
start was a source of vast relief to Doctor Grenfell, even though it
were to venture into the face of the terrible storm and bitter cold.
Grenfell will venture anything with any man, and if those men could
face the wind and snow and cold he could.
In half an hour they were off. Before them lay the harbor of St.
Anthony, and the ice must be crossed. Through the darkness of night
and swirling snow they floundered down to it. The men were immediately
knee-deep in slush and the two teams of dogs were nearly swimming.
Their feet could not reach the solid bed of ice below. The immense
weight of snow had pushed the ice down with the falling tide and the
rising tide had flooded it.
The team from Cape Norman took the lead to break the way. Every one
put on his snowshoes, for traveling without them was impossible. One
of those with the advance team went ahead of the dogs to tramp the
path for the sledge and make the work easier for the poor animals,
while the other remained with the team to drive. In like manner Walter
tramped ahead of the rear dogs and Doctor Grenfell drove them.
At length they reached the opposite shore, fighting against the gale
at every step. Now there was a hill to cross.
Here on the lee side of the hill they met mighty drifts of feathery
snow into which the dogs wallowed to their backs and the snowshoes of
the men sunk deep. They were compelled to haul on the traces with the
dogs. They had to lift and manipulate the sledges with tremendous
effort. Up the grade they toiled and strained, yard by yard, foot by
foot. Sometimes it seemed to them they were making no appreciable
progress, but on they fought through the black night and the driving
snow, sweating in spite of the Arctic blasts and clouds of drift that
sometimes nearly stopped their breath and carried them off their feet.
The life of the young fisherman's wife at Cape Norman hung in the
balance. The toiling men visualized her lying on a bed of pain and
perhaps dying for the need of a doctor. They saw the agonized husband
by her side, tortured by his helplessness to save her. They forgot
themselves and the risk they were taking in their desire to bring to
the fisherman's wife the help her husband was beseeching God to send.
This is true heroism.
As the saying on the coast goes, "'tis dogged as does it," and as
Grenfell himself says, "not inspiration, but perspiration wins the
prizes of life." They finally reached the crest of the hill.
On the opposite or weather side of the hill the gale met them with
full force. It had swept the slope clean and left it a glade of ice.
They slid down at a dangerous speed, taking all sorts of chances,
colliding in the darkness with stumps and ice-coated rocks and other
snags, in imminent danger of having their brains knocked out or limbs
broken.
The open places below were little better. Everything was ice-coated.
They slipped and slid about, falling and rising with every dozen
steps. If they threw themselves on the sledges to ride the dogs came
to a stop, for they could not haul them. If they walked they could not
keep their feet. Their course took them along the bed of Bartlett
River, and twice Grenfell and some of the others broke through into
the icy rapids.
At half past one in the morning they reached the mouth of Bartlett
River where it empties into the sea and between them and Cape Norman
lay twenty miles of unobstructed sea ice. They had been traveling for
nearly six hours and had covered but ten miles of the journey. The
temporary lull in the storm had long since passed, and now, beating
down upon the world with redoubled fury, it met them squarely in the
face. No dog could stem it. The men could scarce stand upright. The
clouds of snow suffocated them, and the cold was withering.
Far out they could hear the thunder of smashing ice. It was a threat
that the still firm ice lying before them might be broken into
fragments at any time. Sea water had already driven over it, forming a
thick coating of half-frozen slush. Even though the gale that swept
the ice field had not been too fierce to face, any attempt to cross
would obviously have been a foolhardy undertaking.
XIX
HOW AMBROSE WAS MADE TO WALK
One of the men from Cape Norman had been acting as leader on the trail
from St. Anthony. His name was Will, and he was a big broad-shouldered
man, a giant of a fellow. He knew all the trappers on this part of the
coast, and where their trapping grounds lay. One of his neighbors,
whom he spoke of as "Si," trapped in the neighborhood where the
baffled men now found themselves.
"I'm rememberin', now, Si built a tilt handy by here," he suddenly
exclaimed.
"A tilt!" Grenfell was sceptical. "I've been going up and down this
coast for twenty years and I never heard of a tilt near here."
"He built un last fall. I thinks, now, I could find un," Will
suggested.
"Find it if you can," urged Grenfell hopefully. "Where is it?"
"'Tis in a bunch of trees, somewheres handy."
"Is there a stove in it?"
"I'm not knowin' that. I'll try to find un and see."
They had retreated to the edge of the forest. Will disappeared among
the trees, and Grenfell and the others waited. It was still six hours
to daylight, and to stand inactive for six hours in the storm and
biting cold would have been perilous if not fatal.
Presently Will's shout came out of the forest, rising above the road
of wind:
"Ti-l-t and St-o-ve!"
They followed Will's voice, bumping against trees, groping through
flying snow and darkness, and quickly came upon Will and the tilt.
There was indeed, to their great joy, a stove in it. There was also a
supply of dry wood, all cut and piled ready for use. In one end of the
tilt was a bench covered with spruce boughs which Si used as a bed.
There was nothing to feed the exhausted dogs, but they were
unharnessed and were glad enough to curl up in the snow, where the
drift would cover them, after the manner of northern dogs.
Then a fire was lighted in the stove. Will went out with the ax and
kettle, and presently returned with the kettle filled with water
dipped from Bartlett River after he had cut a hole through the ice.
Setting the kettle on the stove, Will, standing by the stove,
proceeded to fill and light his pipe while Doctor Grenfell opened his
dunnage bag to get the tea and sugar. Suddenly Will's pipe clattered
to the floor. Will, standing like a statue, did not stoop to pick it
up and Grenfell rescued it and rising offered it to him, when, to his
vast astonishment, he discovered that the man, standing erect upon
his feet was fast asleep. He had been nearly sixty hours without sleep
and forty-eight hours of this had been spent on the trail.
They aroused Will and had him sit down on the bench. He re-lighted his
pipe but in a moment it fell from his teeth again. He rolled over on
the bench and was too soundly asleep to be interested in pipe or tea
or anything to eat.
Daylight brought no abatement in the storm. The ice was deep under a
coating of slush, and quite impassable for dogs and men, and the sea
was pounding and battering at the outer edge, as the roar of smashing
ice testified, though quite shut out from view by driving snow. There
was nothing to do but follow the shore, a long way around, and off
they started.
Here and there was an opportunity to cut across small coves and inlets
where the ice was safe enough, and at two o'clock in the afternoon
they reached Crow Island, a small island three-quarters of a mile from
the mainland.
Under the shelter of scraggly fir trees on Crow Island an attempt was
made to light a fire and boil the kettle for tea. But there was no
protection from the blizzard. They failed to get the fire, and finally
compelled by the elements to give it up they took a compass course for
a small settlement on the mainland. The instinct of the dogs led them
straight, and when the men had almost despaired of locating the
settlement they suddenly drew up before a snug cottage.
A cup of steaming tea, a bit to eat, and Grenfell and his men were off
again. Cape Norman was not far away, and that evening they reached the
fisherman's home.