CHAPTER XII

_CONCLUSION OF SECOND VOYAGE_

Our next meeting with the _Albert_ was arranged for Hopedale, the first station of the Moravian brethren. In the meanwhile we visited such harbours as Ironbound Island, Ragged Islands, Roger’s Harbour, Long Island, Ailik, Turnavik, and Winsor Harbour. Again we had one or two serious cases: one poor fellow with cancer of the gullet; one from whom it was necessary to amputate two fingers, and from another one finger. While at Winsor Harbour, we decided to visit an off-lying island, called “Double Island,” from which the Hopedale Eskimo had their summer fishery. Unfortunately it is not even indicated on the charts, and missing our way to it we got entangled among a series of reefs. At sundown a strong northerly wind arose, making the water boil in foaming breakers over the shallow patches. This however in reality assisted us, for we were thus able to avoid the hidden dangers, as any shallow likely to pick up the _Princess May_ was now a white seething mass; indeed, I have found places where we saw the water break as deep as five to fifteen fathoms. We had decided at last to “heave to” under the lee of an island, keeping steam all night for fear of a shift of wind, when through our glasses we descried against the horizon a ragged tent. Steering for this we soon descried figures of some of the little people skurrying to and fro after their fish as fast as they could go, for the sky looked threatening, and they did not wish the fish to get wet again. Our steam whistle at once caught their attention, and soon two of their little boats came shooting out through the surf.

With their help we were safely moored fore and aft in a little narrow creek, and a few minutes later saw us ashore. Amongst them we noticed many friends of last year, especially a dear old man, a sort of Christian father among them, named Daniel. A profuse hand-shaking and welcoming ensued, and then they intimated they wished me to come up to one of their tents. My Eskimo was exhausted, however, with Auchenai—How do you do? (or, literally, Be ye strong?), and Aila, yes, and a few other every-day expressions. When, therefore, I was set down on a low box in the tent, with a space in front of me for the patients to squat, and the rest of the ground available densely packed with Esquimaux, I was confronted with the difficulties of a veterinary surgeon. Among other things a toe, frost-bitten last winter, had to be removed; apparently not such a painful operation as one might have supposed at first, and one in which the patient appeared to take a personal interest, from the proud fact that she occupied on that account the position of most importance.

At Hopedale I left the _Albert_ again, and, joined by one of the Moravian Brethren—a Dane (Rev. P. Hansen), proceeded at once further north. Together we visited as far as Okkak, though the entire absence of charts, and the innumerable islands and labyrinths, made us more than once end up in a blind tickle. At Zoar we deposited our deck cargo of coal, piling up wood on our cabin top instead, and lashing a ladder against our foremast, from the top of which in the clear water it was possible to see rocks in time to avoid them. We passed on our way immense flocks of water-fowl. While in places the rocks shine with the beautiful blue or yellow sheen of the Labrador felspar, the trees get perceptibly fewer and smaller as Okkak is approached, the shrubs more stunted, and the berries more scarce, until north of Hebron no trees at all are found.

With much perseverance and labour the brethren at each station raise a few potatoes, cabbages and flowers, but when trees are cut down for wood they do not replace themselves in a man’s lifetime. It is impossible in these pages to recount all the incidents of this part of the trip. At each station I had numerous patients—Eskimo and white. In the former cases my dear friend and whilom companion, the Rev. P. Hansen, interpreted. At each station also we gathered daily for prayer and exhortation, and for me the time passed all too quickly. Now, however, the approach of winter was making itself felt. Schooners were flying south before every favourable breeze, and in so small a boat as the _Princess May_ no unnecessary delay was advisable. On the 8th of September we again reached Hopedale, and were surprised to find the _Albert_ still there.

A terrible tragedy had occurred in a neighbouring inlet. It appeared some men fishing, from an island called East Turnavik, had gone up to boil their tea-kettle at a solitary house on a promontory of Kipekok Bay. On entering they at first found no one at home, but during the process of tea-making came across two women lying on the floor of the passage covered over with a counterpane. At first they thought they were merely enjoying an afternoon sleep, but soon found both were dead; hereupon they at once beat a hasty retreat to their own island, and next day came back with half-a-dozen more men and the planter. A search revealed two more dead women in an inner room, while no trace of the two men who lived there could be found.

Next day, however, these returned with wood from the bay, saying they had been away making coffins for the last four days. The circumstances were so suspicious, and one of the men bore such an exceedingly bad character on the coast—having been suspected of deeds as dark before—that the two neighbouring planters advised an inquiry, and sent up their steam launch to Hopedale for Dr. Curwen to come and make an examination. From the evidence taken from the men, and the general appearances of the case, he was convinced they had died of poisoning. Eventually the head of the police was sent down from St. Johns, and, confessing to another crime, the worst of the two men was taken away and placed in Harbour Grace Jail for the winter.

Whilst endeavouring one night to navigate a narrow passage known as “the Rattle,” the _Princess May_ had been suddenly caught by the current, and at full speed taken a rocky bottom. The tide was falling at the time, and all hopes of getting off before morning had to be abandoned. Our ladder and some large blocks of wood lashed together were therefore placed under her port bilge, and she was listed over on to them by all the moveable weights we had. After a very uneasy night, which fortunately held calm, we got safely off. It was necessary now to inspect the launch’s bottom. We therefore grounded her in Hopedale Harbour, and at low tide examined her outer casing. She proved to be nastily dinted in one or two places: a bit of her keel was gone, and a few inches of copper torn off here and there, but her hull was still as sound as a drum. Not so her shaft. We found that it had worn very considerably inside the propeller, and the outer end had so dropped that another two inches and the screw would be unable to rotate. For this we had no remedy, and had nothing for it but to “Go ahead.” Sunday, the 10th of September, we spent in Hopedale, the harbour of which was now crowded with no less than 100 schooners; and though the Brethren put at our disposal their large chapel, capable of holding some 400 people, Captain Trezise found it necessary in the evening to hold an overflow service on the _Albert_.

[Illustration: An Eskimo Family, Hopedale.]

It was with no ordinary feelings of sorrow that we heard at Emily Harbour that the _Albert_ had been ashore. To think of her splendid frame and delicate lines the sport of these cruel jagged rocks was heartrending. The beautiful little ship which had smiled at so many storms, and carried those entrusted to her so many thousands of miles so faithfully and safely. It appears she was trying to make West Turnavik Harbour at night, and the pilot who came off from shore mistook the blind entrance for the real one. Both anchors were at the time ready for letting go, and the moment the mistake was noticed were run out. But as the vessel swung to, her stern came down on the rocks, and for nearly three hours bumped heavily. By the help of Captain Bartlett and some sixty men she was eventually warped safely off; but it was found necessary, in the dry dock at St. Johns, to replace 35 feet of her keel.

Rough weather characterized our journey south, and, indeed, often rendered it very difficult getting round the great capes at all. We revisited, where possible, all the places we visited going north, and also others we had been obliged to pass by. Thus we saw again many of our former patients, distributed to many the clothing we were able to allot them, and also had the joy of seeing once again, before winter set in, some of those who were commencing in earnest to live consecrated lives. When the weather kept us longer than we intended in a harbour, we brought into use our magic lantern, for which we had some beautiful slides of the life of Christ, Bible lands, and some simple stories. This never failed to bring a crowd together, even if sleeping the night in the building became necessary for those who came from too far to return; and, indeed, we eventually often preceded our services with the views through the magic lantern.

On Thursday, October 19th, we once more steamed into Battle Harbour, where we found the _Albert_ had preceded us by a couple of days. Dr. Bobardt and the sisters were still busy and in good health. Hospital had been full all the time, and thirty-nine in-patients had been treated. Only one other death had occurred in hospital—a young girl from a schooner, who had died of cellulitis from neglected sores, which had assumed the characteristics of erysipelas. We were delighted to hear that the fishery here had been good. Mr. Hall, the agent, had again been first away with a steamer loaded for market. After all the time and attention he had so generously bestowed on our work, by lending the launch when it could be spared, by loan of men for the hospital, by entertaining nurses, doctors, and others, we could but rejoice that his fishery had been a really successful one. Our only regret now was that no hospital could be kept open during this winter.

Bad weather prevailed during our journey to St. Johns. The _Albert_, in a gale, lost her boom, and blew away some canvas, while the delays to the _Princess May_ on that coast, where no telegraphic communication exists, gave rise to the impression that she was lost with all hands, an impression heightened by the fact that the mail steamer, which had encountered the same gale in the Straits of Belle Isle, had noticed in the sea a small boat’s flag and flagpole resembling ours. Unfortunately, therefore, it appeared in the English dailies that we were missing. Except losing a good spirit compass and loose deck paraphernalia, we had suffered no inconveniences. Indeed, being forced to shelter in so many of the small harbours along the French shore, gave us a valuable insight into the lives of the out-harbour people of Newfoundland, and also the opportunities of helping many who need it quite as much as do some on the Labrador.

At Toulinguet, on November 3rd, we met our old friend Captain Taylor, of the mail steamer _Virginia Lake_, who showed us a written commission to search all the islands for us between certain latitudes. Thence we wired our whereabouts to St. Johns, but we heard subsequently that that kindly office had been performed for us the day previously by the captain of a schooner, who had passed us on his way south. The sealing steamer _Neptune_ gave us a line across Trinity and Conception Bays, and so, on the 7th, we ended our cruise for 1893 in St. Johns Harbour.

We found St. Johns in the excitement of a general election, and it seemed as if there was little likelihood of our getting an audience to listen to a report of the season’s work. However, Sir William Whiteway kindly placed at our disposal the “Star-of-the-Sea” Hall, and His Excellency Sir Terence O’Brien consented to preside at an evening meeting. By the help of some good friends in St. Johns, some of our most successful photographic plates were turned into lantern slides; and not only was the large hall filled with friends and sympathisers, but one hundred and fifty dollars were realized for the funds.

The _Albert_ sailed for home, having on board Dr. Curwen and the two nurses, on Tuesday, December 28th, and after a wonderful passage, entered Great Yarmouth Harbour on the thirteenth day, having accomplished the long run at an average pace of nine English miles or 7·5 knots per hour.

[Illustration: A Team of Dogs in Harness.]