_THE DEEDS OF HEROES_
Some 18,000 people cluster around the shores of Trinity Bay, their
scattered villages and fishing hamlets nestling on its creeks and
coves. It was in February. The Ice King had laid his iron hand even
on the giant ocean, and the floe ice of the frozen sea stretched far
beyond the eye’s horizon. Yet these boldest among England’s sea-loving
sons were adding to their scanty stock of this world’s goods by
venturing far out among the treacherous ice in pursuit of seals.
The morning of the 27th broke bright and beautiful, enhanced by a
clear space of deep blue water between the shore and the inner edge
of the ice. The eager hunters were early astir, and snatching a hasty
breakfast, were soon off in their little boats, being but lightly clad,
to give their limbs freer play in the various vicissitudes of their
calling.
From Trinity, Green Bay, Ireland’s Eye, boat glided out after boat,
as the crack of the guns of those first afloat told of a prospect of
success, until over 220 men were out. “’Tis a strange and awful thing
to think, how often mortality stands on the brink of its grave without
any misgiving.”
Suddenly a dark cloud appeared in the north-east, with incredible
rapidity masses piled themselves together, and then in a moment,
from the heart of the black battalions, the tempest leaped in fury,
struck the now darkened waters, and converted the bay into a seething,
hissing cauldron. The temperature fell forty degrees, and the fierce
cold, with the piercing wind, seemed to freeze the very blood in the
veins. Gust followed gust, each more furious than the last, driving the
angry sea in foam-capped mountains on to the doomed fleet of boats.
Now began a desperate struggle for life, enough to appal the stoutest
hearts. Two alternatives only were possible—first to face the teeth
of the gale and row for their homes on the north shore; or, secondly,
run before it, and endeavour to clamber over the ice to the southern
side of the bay. Six boats tried the former. The spray, freezing as
it fell, drenched the men to their skin, covering both boats and men
with casings of solid ice. Slowly and painfully, in terrible danger
each moment of being swamped, they lessened the distance between
themselves and the shore. Suddenly a cry of despair arose from one of
the boats—the oars had snapped, and the boat was drifting to certain
destruction. Without a thought of the peril of the delay, and from the
increased burden they would have to carry, the nearest boat at once
went to their aid, and in that terrible sea took the perishing men on
board. One of the poor fellows, however, was soon dead from cold and
exhaustion. Ice began to form in thick masses on the bow and sides of
the deeply-laden boat, and as each wave struck her she rose more and
more heavily, until all saw the immediate need of lightening the boat.
With sad, mute faces the men looked at each other. The dead man lay at
the bottom of the boat, his white face and unclosed eyes turned towards
the sky. “Come, boys,” said the oldest man, “it can’t be helped; Isaac
must go overboard or we shall all be drowned.” Rapidly they raised the
body, now draped in its icy shroud. “In the name of God we commit this
body to the deep in sure, and certain hope of resurrection. Amen.” A
dull plash and the reverent funeral service was over. The boat seemed
now to float more buoyantly; but after another hour’s struggle for
life, the brother of him whose remains had already been given to the
sea, breathed his last. No doubt the horror of the scene had hastened
his end. The sad ceremonial had to be repeated at once, for the ice was
fast gaining and sinking the boat.
Benumbed and exhausted in this death battle, all hope was nearly over
when from the foremost boat a cry was raised which put fresh courage
in their hearts—Land, ho! It was the well known “Horse Chop” rocks.
Another desperate effort, and at last their keels touched the strand.
But, alas! for the poor fellows even then. Some, unable even to leave
the boats till helped by their companions, staggered feebly ashore,
and tried to crawl up the steep gulch from their landing place; but
strength failed them, and four more died after landing. It was a sad
ending to so brave a fight.
Deeds worthy of the highest praise were enacted in that gulch that
day, the stronger helping the weaker, and endeavouring to restore and
encourage those who were abandoning themselves to death. One tells
how “I saw Robert Bannister manage to crawl partly up the cliff on
his hands and knees. At last he just stopped, said, ‘God bless us,’
and died where he was. His son was lying dead near him.” The nearest
house was two miles away, but three men had now spied them. Hastily
making a fire of brushwood, they helped the still living up the cliff,
and putting some of their own garments on them, nursed some back to
life—but here two more poor fellows perished, while their rescuers
carried or helped them over that long two miles. Not one but suffered
terribly from frost-bite, especially one poor fellow who had given his
mittens to a lad without any.
There were still twenty-four boats missing. What of them? Ice-covered,
frost-bitten, and exhausted, some had reached harbours in the great
bay, situated not so directly in the teeth of the storm; but of those
who made for Bonaventure, Deer Harbour, Thoroughfare, and Ireland’s
Eye, only one had died in the boat. But now deeds of even greater
heroism were called for and performed. The men from Ireland’s Eye
found that far out in the storm were men from English Harbour and
Salmon Cove, who could not possibly reach home, and who might be
sheltering on some off-lying uninhabited island, certain to perish
during the night unless help were forthcoming. Food was partaken of,
a brief rest snatched, God’s protecting care besought, and once more
these heroes of the sea went out silently into that raging storm, from
which they had but just escaped with their lives. “Inasmuch as ye did
unto the least of these, My brethren, ye did it unto Me.” Two boats
were manned, and after fruitless search one returned safely, but empty
handed, to the shelter of the harbour. The other, through the darkness
of the falling night, saw at length a small light on a desolate spot
near Thoroughfare. Fierce joy burnt in those noble hearts, as they
strained every sinew to drive their stubborn craft through the now
almost forgotten dangers. Alas, a sorrowful sight awaited them. There
in their boat on the beach, amidst the roar of the storm, and the
thunder of the surf, lay two poor fellows silent in death—swathed
in their winding sheet of ice, and fast frozen to their boat. By the
fire were three fishermen, half dead themselves, trying to rekindle
the spark of life in two of their fast dying comrades. All were taken
back by the rescue party, and the living nursed back to life at the
nearest cottage. It was enough to move the most cynical to tears—wives
and mothers wildly wringing their hands in agony of heart; and those
strong men, with nerves of iron, wept like children.
The storm raged all Saturday night, and from many a little home the men
were still missing. During the long hours hope and despair alternated
in many anxious hearts, for all knew they had drifted across the bay,
and none knew what their fate might be.
At noon on Sunday a woman, at Heart’s Content, on the southern
side, happened to notice, far out in the bay, a small boat drifting
helplessly about. But for this all must have perished. Rescue parties
were at once formed, and soon five boats, with seventeen men, some in
the last stage of exhaustion from the exposure of that awful night,
were brought ashore. These men had spent the night on the ice; they
had broken up and burnt two boats, which, with the fat of two seals
they had killed, had kept off the worst of the cold, while some of the
fresh meat, roasted in the flames, had helped to assuage the pangs
of hunger and maintain the bodily heat. All these were more or less
severely frost-bitten, but, with the loss of fingers, toes, or heels,
all recovered. Later in the day the rest of the boats were seen, and
twenty-seven more men rescued. One of these men, Patrick Hanlan, thus
described his experiences:—
“The spray was continually going over us, and freezing, and we soon
saw it was impossible to reach land on the north side of the bay
without running the risk of freezing to death. After a time we gave
her a little sheet, and ran her for a pan of ice. Got out on the pan
and made a fire to get something to eat and drink. Just as we were
doing this, a sea broke over the pan, and washed everything off except
ourselves. We had to jump in our boat and run her before the gale
until about four in the afternoon. Just before dusk we caught up four
other boats with twelve men in them. We all hauled up our boats on a
large pan of ice, turned up the largest boats to make a shelter from
the wind, and made a fire. I had two seals in my boat, and we pelted
(_i.e._ skinned) them to burn the fat, breaking up one of the smaller
boats, also, to use as fuel. We were on the ice drifting up the bay
all night. It was bitterly cold, in spite of the big fire, and we had
to keep dancing and jumping to keep up our spirits, and to keep from
freezing. At dawn we were about five miles from Heart’s Delight. We
hauled our boats over some ice, and then rowed for land, which we
reached at nine o’clock. The people treated us with wonderful kindness,
doing all in their power to relieve us. Under Providence they saved our
lives, and we shall never forget their kindness.”[18]
[Footnote 18: For the above account of this Trinity Bay disaster I am
indebted to the Rev. Dr. Moses Harvey, LL.D., F.R.C.S., one of the
truest friends the fishermen ever had.—W. T. G.]
Enough has been said to show the stuff these men are made of, and there
is not space here to multiply stories that point to the same traits
of character, and that show the same self-sacrificing courage. Yet
with such the history of these perilous fisheries abounds. With which
statement of fact, gentle reader, I shall say adieu, thanking God if in
any way I may still be of service to these toilers of the sea.