CHAPTER X

_OUR SECOND SEASON_

On Friday, July 7th, with a steward, an engineer, and Dr. Bobardt as my companion, the _Princess May_ left St. Johns for Labrador, the _Albert_ having left the previous day. It was not without some feelings of misdoubt that we first encountered the swell of the Atlantic, knowing we should not make harbour till night; and as we had two large bays to cross, none of us being familiar with the coast, we had hoped for a clear day to enable us to keep the land in sight; but here again we were disappointed, for the rebound from the cliffs forced us to stand out half a mile to sea, and a dense fog shut everything from view. Not having yet given the launch a trial ourselves, and she being six years of age, we were not surprised after the first five miles, when the engineer sang out, “Sprung a leak, sir; shall we put back?” An examination revealed the fact that we could stop the leak with a wood plug; and so to disappoint some few “croakers,” who had “told us so,” we settled to stand on. Our compass having only a card disc, and not being filled with spirit to steady it, proved very unsteady, our narrow width, of only eight feet, making us roll very rapidly. We adopted the method of endeavouring to steer midway between the extreme points the needle swung to, and then to keep one point inside our course so that we should not run out to sea. Very shortly this resulted in bringing us up straight before a perpendicular cliff. Evidently our compass was incorrect. An examination revealed that its box had been screwed on to the cabin with large iron screws, the proper binnacle having been broken on the voyage out, and being still at the optician’s in St. Johns. These we soon extracted, and making a fresh start to the nor’ard sighted Bacalhao Island, about forty miles from St. Johns, at mid-day.

Not having sighted any more land by 5 p.m., we began to think it was time to turn inshore, and after some time found ourselves suddenly amidst numbers of ragged rocks and small islands. Our chart book described on the north side of Trinity Bay some “Ragged Islands”; and we guessed we had struck among these, so once more we stood out into the fog. Shortly a weird noise attracted our attention. We stopped and listened. Yes, it was a fog-horn. This confirmed our recent diagnosis of “Ragged Islands,” and once more we knew where we were. Night saw us safely berthed in Catalina Harbour, where we managed to coal ship before going to rest. With no small feelings of satisfaction we went below that night. True the locker was hard to lie on, but the anxiety and subsequent success of that first day was a sure soporific, combined with the fact that the previous night had been none too restful, for we had then no confidence in the powers of the _Princess May_. Here we found our compass was still incorrect, so we unshipped it altogether and carried it forward, to be further from the magnetic influence of certain iron handles. Right gaily we left harbour next morning, but outside found a new experience. The wind had veered round and was blowing on shore, with a chilling drizzly rain to enhance the effect of the nasty lop of the sea. Our loose deck gear began to go overboard, and among it our boat-hook took leave of us. Being heavy at one end it disappeared from sight at once. It was gaily painted black and white, and we were sorry to lose it, being our only one. As I looked back it suddenly rose again, lifting its painted handle high out of water, as if to ask for help. We couldn’t well desert it after that, and so went round to pick it up. Our log has no record of the number of circles we completed; but if the reader has ever pursued a stick with one heavy end in a choppy sea, he will find it usually disappears just as the vessel has completed the tedious manœuvres necessary to come up to it. The next question was, should we venture further? The mail steamer was just coming out behind us, and it wouldn’t look well to give up. We would try for Cape Bonavista. By ten o’clock the Cape was safely rounded, and the wind increasing we determined to lay into the Bay, which is twenty-eight miles across. We should not have reached Greenspond, north of the bay, that night, had we steamed the course we intended; but after some hours steaming and seeing no land, we spied a fishing boat, and went alongside for information as to our locality. We found we were already across the bay to our great surprise and joy. It appeared that Dr. Bobardt, who had steered all day, had headed two points to the westward of his course.

[Illustration: Interior of Male Ward, Indian Harbour.]

We were loath to steam on Sunday, but our next run round Cape Freels was a most difficult one, from the numberless off-lying rocks and shoals. So when three a.m. showed a clear horizon and a calm sea, we started off. Alas, fog fell on us shortly, and left us threading our way through the labyrinth. Now and again we could see bottom, and at times some rock near the surface, over which at intervals the swell would break with a noise like thunder. The _Princess May_ did well this day—covering eighty miles—and the mail steamer, which had only just reached and was anchored for the night in Toulinguet Harbour, was surprised to see us come in and tie up alongside. The fourth day saw us on the French shore, as we rounded Cape John at mid-day. Here, however, we met a strong head wind, against which we had no alternative but to steam. Now, to provide some kind of cabin, a little house had been built into the fore-part of the launch, with a square glass front, being inside just about the size and shape of the ordinary ’bus. As we steamed into the head sea, it was just up to this part of the cabin, which projected a couple of feet above deck, that the launch dived, with the result that a sort of water spout was thrown up and then dropped on deck. Yet, as everything was closed up, no water got below, and we managed to make a harbour to the north side of the headland. The water, however, got everywhere but below, and we were glad of a change after dropping anchor.

At almost all the places we called at along the French shore, we found the people very poor and but little educated. Unfortunately in Newfoundland the Sectarian School system prevails, with a most disastrous result among these poor and scattered communities. In all we found some who were anxious to avail themselves of the visit of a doctor. In many no qualified medical man ever goes; and on the part known to us, that is the east coast, there are none at all resident. In the lonely harbour we were now in, called Pacquet, a man soon emerged from the woods and came off to us in a boat. He was ill-clad and looked equally ill-fed, and his boy, who was with him, was suffering from a pustular disease of the skin, for which we prescribed. Though it was warm where we were anchored the inlet was still partially choked by two large icebergs, and our friend told us that want of a net, and indeed any proper fishing gear, as yet prevented their getting any fish. The mosquitos were here very numerous and very busy. It was impossible almost to go ashore even for fresh water from the river at the head of the inlet, and indeed when the dingey came back, a cloud of these bloodthirsty pests followed her to the launch, and invited themselves to spend the night in our already sufficiently crowded cabin. Professor Hind narrates an Indian tradition that mosquitos were created for the benefit of a saint, who, for disobedience, had been banished from heaven to a desert part of the earth. In her solitude she prayed for even flies as companions, whereupon mosquitos and black flies were created. This gave her plenty of employment till it was time for her to return, but the flies remained in order to teach men the folly of trying to divert their attention from the consequences of their sins by seeking amusement. Captain Whitbourne says they are of great use to make the idle work.

We were early astir next morning, and took a course for the St. Barbe Islands. But a breeze rising towards the land, we made a detour in order to cross White Bay, which is eighteen miles at its narrowest point, and so lay across till we were seven or eight miles only from land. Then we again headed north, and by nine o’clock, with a good breeze behind us, crossed Hare Bay and ran into St. Anthony Harbour. During the day a curious mirage had for some time kept us under the impression that we were hedged in by floe ice. We could see the vertical edge, the gleaming white top, and what appeared to be even cracks, fissures, and hummocks. It turned out to be only an optical illusion, and we found that it kept retreating before us all the afternoon like a will-of-the-wisp. At St. Anthony we were among friends of last year, so were soon ashore, and the day closed with a hearty service in the kitchen of the largest house.

The breeze increasing, delayed us a day in this port, but before daylight on the 13th we left for an attempt to cross the Straits of Belle Isle. As we rounded Cape Bauld a most magnificent crimson light lit up the whole horizon. Against it stood out many stately icebergs, rising weird and ghostly from the deep purple of the sea. One of immense height looked just like some gigantic cathedral, its gabled roof in the red glow shining like burnished gold, while ever and anon the stillness preceding dawn was broken by the deep boom of the Atlantic swell reverberating from some hollow chasm at its base, suggesting a mighty organ played in its vast recesses. No sooner had we passed it in silence than the engineer touched me on the arm and pointed back at its lordly summit. “Look, sir! isn’t that some one on the berg?” And there, sure enough, plain and sharp against the sky, on the crest, stood the figure of a man. But our glasses soon dispelled the illusion. It was but a pinnacle with a thin base, which, when thus seen edgeways, so closely resembled a human figure.

From here we headed for the Sacred Islands, and a breeze making up the straits, we ran in behind Cape Onion to see what sort of a day it was going to be, before we ventured to cross the straits. I was surprised, on landing, at the quantity and variety of wild flowers here. There were represented among many others, saxifrages, umbellifers, composites, ranunculi, primulas, and gentians. The insectivorous “Drosera” is common on the heights, and the beautiful “Linnæus borealis” nestles in among the scrub.

The country, viewed from the head, is very peculiar, being, as far as the eye could range, one immense flat plain, with quite as much water as dry land, from the innumerable winding ponds or lakes of fresh water.

By mid-day we ventured to make a start, and headed direct for Cape Charles, close inside the island of Belle Isle. As we brought the hills and steep cliffs of Labrador into view, we found there was still much snow in the gulfs and crevices; while it was necessary carefully to thread our way among the numbers of icebergs, which up to this very week had been blocking the straits. By sundown we sighted the flag-staff on Battle Island, and at 7.30 were once more alongside the _Albert_. A crowded gathering below decks closed the day, all being full of joy and hope at the prospect of another season’s work.

Next day the house given by Mr. Baine Grieve was inspected, and we found that Mr. Hall, the agent for the fishery, had already placed it almost in a condition for occupation. The _Albert’s_ crew also had been at work—carpentering, painting, and landing heavy goods, such as bedsteads, bedding, food, drugs, and furniture.

Meanwhile, the hospital for Indian Harbour, at the mouth of Hamilton inlet, had been sent north, ready cut in sections in the coastal steamer, _Winsor Lake_. Two carpenters had also been sent north to work at its erection. Next day, therefore, our party divided again, the _Albert_ going north to help with the second hospital, having on board Dr. Curwen and Sister Williams, while I, in the _Princess May_, went south along the straits of Belle Isle, Dr. Bobart and Sister Carwardine remaining at Battle. This arrangement was rendered possible by the agent extending his generous hospitality to the nurse and doctor indefinitely.

Our first run took us to Red Bay, where we at once were among friends of last year. Alas, poverty and want had laid their hands heavily on this place, and some families had been nearly naked and next door to starving all winter. Not only had 1892 been a poor fishery, but now the best chance for 1893, viz. the caplin school of cod, had come and gone, while densely packed ice, held in by persistent easterly winds, had prevented the men getting their nets out.

[Illustration: A Newfoundlander’s Hut, Labrador.]