_WE GO TO LABRADOR AND START WORK_
ON June 15, 1892, the good ship _Albert_, 97 tons register, and 151
displacement, was towed out of Great Yarmouth Harbour, and amidst many
farewells from wharves, quays and piers, spread her canvas for her
first transatlantic voyage. Trimmer ship never left port bound on such
a journey. Stout timbers, teakwood decks, iron hatches, new running
gear—nothing had been forgotten—and in light airs of summer or whole
gales in winter, I want no snugger vessel. The four voyages made by her
at present, under the care of Captain Trezise and his crew of eight
men, certainly deserve notice here.
1892. Bound out. From Fastnet Rock to St. Johns, Nineteen days.
Bound home. From St. Johns to Start Lighthouse. Twelve days.
1893. Bound out. From Fastnet Rock to St. Johns. Seventeen days.
Bound home. From St. Johns to Great Yarmouth. Twelve and a half days.
Our best twenty-four hours’ work was 240 miles, registered on two
harpoon logs. The fact that we registered under 100 tons, allowed us
to carry an uncertificated mate—Skipper Joe White, so well known
in the North Sea. It also made my certificate as a competent master
of some practical use. After visiting the mission vessel _Edward
Birkbeck_, at work among Manx and Irish fishermen off the south-west
coast of Ireland, we followed the course taken by Cabot in his caravel,
the _Matthew_, nearly 400 years ago, and made a landfall directly
opposite St. Johns Harbour. Here a scene of the wildest confusion
greeted us. The prosperous city we expected to see had been almost
blotted out by fire; and still amidst the ruins of churches, public
buildings and private dwellings, smoke and flames arose in all parts
of the city exultant and unsubdued, looking at night-time like glutted
vultures over their helpless prey. Warehouses, wharves, and even
vessels at anchor, had shared the same fate, so that landing at all
was a difficult matter at first. In the streets, here and there, were
disconsolate groups of men, excavating from tons of fallen masonry,
safes which had proved none too safe, and which, lying burnt,
battered, and discarded at intervals, served to enhance the sense of
general desolation.
From the harbour the first appearance suggested the ruins of Pompeii,
for the wooden houses of 12,000 people had gone up in smoke, leaving
only rows of blackened and scorched pillars rising from the charred
debris. On closer inspection, however, the illusion was dispelled, for
the pillars proved to be tottering brick chimneys, with two or three
half-destroyed fire-grates above one another, the whole being topped
by most prosaic cracked chimney-pots. Queer things had happened in
the general panic. Patients who had lain in bed for years “arose and
walked.” Barrels of dry goods were rolled pell-mell into the harbour,
whence they were subsequently fished out. Merchants gave general leave
to bystanders to save what they liked from their shops. Church pews
were packed with heterogeneous goods and chattels, which only served
to add to the conflagration when the sanctuary itself fell a victim to
the all-devouring flames. Title deeds, recent enactments of parliament,
ledgers, valuable manuscripts, were destroyed in scores; while, as
the fire occurred just before tea-time, thousands found themselves
houseless, hungry, dusty and “smoke-dried” by morning. To meet these
sudden needs every available building was thrown open for shelter,
while weak tea and light refreshments were served out, in every variety
of pot, kettle, and cauldron available, by cabinet ministers from the
steps of the Government buildings. The respected premier was to have
been seen at an early hour of the morning with a background of blazing
houses, in a most precarious position astride an angular roof, putting
out burning embers as they fell. Nor did the flames cry “Quarter” to
the episcopal apron, even his lordship escaping coatless. It was said
that a jeweller, who had at the last moment sent his assistant to put
valuables in the safe, found on opening it afterward a dust brush and
an old matchbox only. One man was noticed skurrying up the hill with a
feather mattress on his back, all unconscious it was brightly burning;
while one, like another Nero over another Rome, was seen playing a
piano in the open street, that had been hastily deposited there by its
flying owner. The musical tastes of the community were impressively
brought out by the fact that some dozen “borrowed” pianos were rescued
from houses in neighbouring villages, when authority was once more able
to cope with disorder.
Forest fires continued to rage in every direction for days and weeks
after, till the greater part of the peninsula of Avalon was treeless,
many country homesteads sharing the same fate as the city. In some
planter cottages I visited, I found men who had been fighting for their
lives, homes, and possessions for days with these forest fires. In some
cases the women, children, and goods had been carried out and deposited
for safety for two or three days on the edges of the great “ponds,” as
the huge lakes all over the country are called.
Most wise enactments on the part of the authorities prevented what
might have led to serious riots. All public-houses and liquor shops
were promptly closed, and several attempts at incendiarism were nipped
in the bud. Yet, amidst all their own troubles, the Newfoundlanders
found time to show us the greatest of kindnesses. So much so that it
would be invidious here to particularize one more than another. While
in St. Johns we visited every ship in harbour, giving away “readin’,”
and finding out all we could about the fishermen and fisheries. The
Hospital Mission ship, with her cargo of warm clothing, some of which
was at once in demand, her medicines, and her stores of healthy
literature, spoke practically of warm hearts in the old country,
still dear to all her distant children, and served to prove to this,
her oldest colony, that England is still a mother in more than name.
Hundreds of all classes and denominations poured down to see the
_Albert_ when once her mission was understood, for it took time to
realize that the lovely ship, with such admirable equipment, was
really free for the poor and sick of bleak Labrador. A pilot having
been provided for us in the person of Captain Nicholas Fitzgerald, the
_Albert_ sailed for Labrador.
[Illustration: The _Albert_ in Bateaux Harbour.—Flags up for Service.]
Dense fog prevailed for four days, so that the end even of our own
bowsprit was scarcely visible, the _Albert_ standing accordingly well
out to sea, “Brother Foghorn” having it all his own way. On the
fourth day we caught a glimpse of Cape Bauld, the north-east corner
of Newfoundland, and then the impenetrable veil dropped again. Our
only occupation had been our deep sea thermometer, which registered
generally from 28-30° Fahren. in two to three hundred fathoms. On
Sunday we once more sighted land. The foe had gone, and was replaced
by a bright clear day—not a cloud in the sky, not a ripple on the
dark blue water. Innumerable rocky islands and lofty headlands were
visible away on the port bow—some showing a bright yellow from the
mosses and lichens on them. Around us we could count thirty magnificent
icebergs—chips from the eternal Arctic ice. A school of whales were
sporting under our lee, every now and again throwing jets of glistening
water high into the air. The scene to our eager eyes was one indeed of
surpassing interest and beauty.
Our pilot’s experience was at once on trial, for only a very imperfect
survey exists of the coast. And not one single landmark, lightship,
buoy, or distinguishing mark exists to aid the mariner anywhere along
this dreary coast, a lack not remedied by the luxuriance of fogs and
icebergs. It stood the test well. He pronounced the spot “Roundhill
Island.”
After passing through a precipitous rocky entrance, half closed by a
stranded mountain of ice, on which the long swell of the Atlantic was
thundering, we dropped anchor off a long narrow creek, round which
our glasses revealed rude fishing stages and mud huts. The name of the
harbour was Domino.
Five minutes was long enough to bring several small boats alongside,
with eager inquiries as to who this strange vessel might be! Where
was it bound? what was its errand? while a few more minutes saw us
being swiftly rowed ashore to come and see G—— who had been “bad all
summer.”
Soon I was sitting in a tiny, dark mud hut, with neither glass in the
hole that served for light and air, nor a chimney to carry up the
smoke from the fire on the floor, through the large hole in the roof
intended for its escape. A groaning man sat doubled up on a rude bench
in a dark corner of the room, while his wife endeavoured to restrain
the super-abundant energy of a crowd of children. “Been ill long?”
I asked, after the usual greetings had been exchanged. “About three
weeks. Wish I could get home. There’s no chance for a sick man up
here.” Evidently he did not yet grasp the idea of our hospital ship.
“Well, we’ll see what can be done,” and the case was inquired into, and
found to my joy to be one for which relief could, by care, be obtained.
After some further talk, in which one or two fishermen joined, who
had entered during the examination, we had a few words of prayer for
God’s blessing on the means used, and left for the ship, leaving behind
us, for the _Albert’s_ first evening in Labrador, at least one poor
heart grateful—and thoughtful. A hearty service aboard and many minor
cases of sickness closed the day. Daylight again saw boats alongside
the _Albert_, and we were called to visit a poor Eskimo dying from
consumption. He had been brought from an island four days before, and
was lying in a lonely hut, hoping some day that he would be well enough
to get aboard the mail steamer for advice.
The poor house was indeed ill-calculated for a dying
man—ill-ventilated, ill-lighted, and dirty—with little clothing, and
still less food, semi-starvation was rapidly hastening on the end. Oh,
for a clean bed, a nurse, a hospital, to put such cases in, was the
whole talk over tea that evening. All was done that could be. Food,
medicine, and some warm clothing were taken him; but ere the _Albert_
came south again, death had claimed the poor fellow for its victim, and
closed the sad scene of human suffering; and the valley of shadows had
been crossed without the knowledge of a Saviour, who takes away all its
sting. At whose door will this fault be laid? Not more than once a year
does the sound of the glad tidings of God’s grace reach Spotted Island,
the home still of some fifty persons.
To avoid repetition, I must now content myself by giving a general
description of the people of this coast and their methods of earning a
living.
[Illustration: Hudson Bay Company’s Post, Rigolette.]