CHAPTER XVI

_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.