Chapter VI: Part 6

The joy and thankfulness of the young fisherman was beyond bounds. His wife was in agony and in a critical condition. Doctor Grenfell relieved her pain at once, and by skillful treatment in due time restored her to health. Had he hesitated to face the storm or had he been made of less heroic stuff and permitted himself to be driven back by the blizzard, she would have died. Indeed there are few men on the coast that would have ventured out in that storm. But he went and he saved the woman's life, and today that young fisherman's wife is as well and happy as ever she could be, and she and her husband will forever be grateful to Doctor Grenfell for his heroic struggle to reach them.

In a few days Doctor Grenfell was back again in St. Anthony, and then a telegram came calling him to a village to the south. The weather was fair. His own splendid team was at home, and he was going through a region where settlements were closer together than on the Cape Norman trail.

The first night was spent in his sleeping bag stretched on the floor of a small building kept open for the convenience of travelers with dog sledges. The next night he was comfortably housed in a little cabin in the woods, also used for the convenience of travelers, and generally each night he was quite as well housed.

He was going now to see a lad of fifteen whose thigh had been broken while steering a komatik down a steep hill. Dog driving, as we have seen, is frequently a dangerous occupation, and this young fellow had suffered.

In every settlement Doctor Grenfell was hailed by folk who needed a doctor. There was one broken leg that required attention, one man had a broken knee cap. In one house he found a young woman dying of consumption. There were many cases of Spanish influenza and several people dangerously ill with bronchial pneumonia. There was one little blind child later taken to the hospital at St. Anthony to undergo an operation to restore her sight. In the course of that single journey he treated eighty-six different cases, and but for his fortunate coming none of them could have had a doctor's care.

He found the lad Ambrose suffering intense pain. After his accident the lad had been carried home by a friend. His people did not know that the thigh was broken, and when it swelled they rubbed and bandaged it.

The pain grew almost too great for the boy to bear. A priest passing through the settlement advised them to put the leg in splints. This was done, but no padding was used, which, as every Boy Scout knows, was a serious omission. Boards were used as splints, extending from thigh to heel and they cut into the flesh, causing painful sores.

The priest had gone, and though Ambrose was suffering so intensely that he could not sleep at night no one dared remove the splints. The neighbors declared the lad's suffering was caused by the pain from the injured thigh coming out at the heel.

Ambrose was in a terrible condition when Doctor Grenfell arrived. The pain had been continuous and for a long time he had not slept. The broken thigh had knit in a bowed position, leaving that leg three inches shorter than the other.

It was necessary to re-break the thigh to straighten it. Doctor Grenfell could not do this without assistance. There was but one thing to do, take the lad to St. Anthony hospital.

A special team and komatik would be required for the journey, but the lad's father had no dogs, and with a family of ten children to support, in addition to Ambrose, no money with which to hire one. A friend came to the rescue and volunteered to haul the lad to the hospital.

It was a journey of sixty miles. The trail from the village where Ambrose lived rose over a high range of hills. The snow was deep and the traveling hard, and several men turned out to help the dogs haul the komatik to the summit. Then, with Doctor Grenfell's sledge ahead to break the trail, and the other following with the helpless lad packed in a box they set out, Ambrose's father on snowshoes walking by the side of the komatik to offer his boy any assistance the lad might need.

The next morning Doctor Grenfell was delayed with patients and the other komatik went ahead, only to be lost and to finally turn back on the trail until they met Grenfell's komatik, which was searching for them.

The cold was bitter and terrible that day. The men on snowshoes were comfortable enough with their hard exercise, but it was almost impossible to keep poor Ambrose from freezing in spite of heavy covering. Now and again his father had to remove the moccasins from Ambrose's feet and rub them briskly with bare hands to restore circulation. He even removed the warm mittens from his own hands and gave them to Ambrose to pull on over the ones he already wore.

At midday a halt was made to "boil the kettle," and by the side of the big fire that was built in the shelter of the forest Ambrose was restored to comparative comfort. On the trail again it was colder than ever in the afternoon, and they thought the lad, though he never once uttered a complaint, would freeze before they could reach the cabin that was to shelter them for the night. At last the cabin was reached. A fire was hurriedly built in the stove, and with much rubbing of hands and legs and feet, and a roaring fire, he was made so comfortable that he could eat, and a fine supper they had for him.

At the place where they stopped the previous night Doctor Grenfell had mentioned that the oven that sat on the stove in this cabin, was worn out. One of the men immediately went out, procured some corrugated iron, pounded it flat with the back of an ax and then proceeded to make an oven for Grenfell to take with him on his komatik. Upon opening the oven now it was found that the good friend who had made the oven had packed it full of rabbits and ptarmigans, the white partridge or grouse of the north. In a little while a delicious stew was sending forth its appetizing odors. A pan of nicely browned hot biscuits, freshly baked in the new oven and a kettle of steaming tea completed a feast that would have tempted anyone's appetite, and Ambrose, for the first time in many a day relieved of much of his pain, through Doctor Grenfell's ministrations, enjoyed it immensely, and for the first time in many a night, followed his meal with refreshing sleep.

The next morning the cold was more intense than ever. Ambrose was wrapped in every blanket they had and, as additional protection, Doctor Grenfell stowed him away in his own sleeping bag, and packed him on the sledge. Off they went on the trail again. Late that afternoon they crossed a big bay, and St. Anthony was but eighteen mile away.

When Ambrose was made comfortable in a settler's cottage, Doctor Grenfell directed that he was to be brought on to the hospital the following morning, and he himself much needed at the hospital pushed forward at once, arriving at St. Anthony long after night.

But before morning the worst storm of the winter broke upon them. The buildings at St. Anthony rocked in the gale until the maids on the top floor of the hospital said they were seasick. And when the storm was over the snow was so deep that men with snowshoes walked from the gigantic snow banks to some of the roofs which were on a level with the drifts. Tunnels had to be cut through the snow to doors.

The storm delayed Ambrose and his friends, but after the weather cleared their komatik appeared. The lad was put on the operating table, the thigh re-broken and properly set by Doctor Grenfell, and the leg brought down to its proper length. Presently the time came when Grenfell was able to tell the father that, after all their fears, Ambrose was not to be a cripple and that he would be as strong and nimble as ever he was. This was actually the case. Doctor Grenfell is a remarkably skillful surgeon and he had wrought a miracle. The thankful and relieved father shed tears of joy.

"When I gets un," said he, his voice choked by emotion, "I'll send five dollars for the hospital."

Five dollars, to Ambrose's father, was a lot of money.

Winter storms, as we have seen, never hold Doctor Grenfell back when he is called to the sick and injured. Many times he has broken through the sea ice, and many times he has narrowly escaped death. The story of a few of these experiences would fill a volume of rattling fine adventure. I am tempted to go on with them. One of these big adventures at least we must not pass by. As we shall see in the next chapter, it came dangerously near being his last one.

XX

LOST ON THE ICE FLOE

One day in April several years ago, Dr. Grenfell, who was at the time at St. Anthony Hospital, received an urgent call to visit a sick man two days' journey with dogs to the southward. The patient was dangerously ill. No time was to be lost, for delay might cost the man's life.

It is still winter in northern Newfoundland in April, though the days are growing long and at midday the sun, climbing high now in the heavens, sends forth a genial warmth that softens the snow. At this season winds spring up suddenly and unexpectedly, and blow with tremendous velocity. Sometimes the winds are accompanied by squalls of rain or snow, with a sudden fall in temperature, and an off-shore wind is quite certain to break up the ice that has covered the bays all winter, and to send it abroad in pans upon the wide Atlantic, to melt presently and disappear.

This breaking up of the ice sometimes comes so suddenly that traveling with dogs upon the frozen bays at this season is a hazardous undertaking. Scarcely a year passes that some one is not lost. Sometimes men are carried far to sea on ice pans and are never heard from again.

A man must know the trails to travel with dogs along this rough coast. Much better progress is made traveling upon sea ice than on land trails, for the latter are usually up and down over rocky hills and through entangling brush and forest, while the former is a smooth straight-away course. When the ice is rotted by the sun's heat, however, and is covered by deep slush, and is broken by dangerous holes and open leads that cannot safely be crossed, the driver keeps close to shore, and is sometimes forced to turn to the land and leave the ice altogether. When the ice is good and sound the dog traveler only leaves it to cross necks of land separating bays and inlets, where distance may be shortened, and makes as straight a course across the frozen bays as possible.

There is a great temptation always, even when the ice is in poor condition, to cross it and "take a chance," which usually means a considerable risk, rather than travel the long course around shore. Long experience at dog travel, instead of breeding greater caution in the men of the coast, leads them to take risks from which the less experienced man would shrink.

These were the conditions when the call came that April day to Dr. Grenfell. Traveling at this season was, at best, attended by risk. But this man's life depended upon his going, and no risk could be permitted to stand in the way of duty. Without delay he packed his komatik box with medicines, bandages and instruments. It was certain he would have many calls, both for medical and surgical attention, from the scattered cottages he should pass, and on these expeditions he always travels fully prepared to meet any ordinary emergency from administering pills to amputating a leg or an arm. He also packed in the box a supply of provisions and his usual cooking kit.

Only in cases of stress do men take long journeys with dogs alone, but there was no man about the hospital at this time that Grenfell could take with him as a traveling companion and to assist him, and no time to wait for any one, and so, quite alone and driving his own team, he set out upon his journey.

It was mid-afternoon when he "broke" his komatik loose, and his dogs, eager for the journey, turned down upon the trail at a run. The dogs were fresh and in the pink of condition, and many miles were behind him when he halted his team at dusk before a fisherman's cottage. Here he spent the night, and the following morning, bright and early, harnessed his dogs and was again hurrying forward.

The morning was fine and snappy. The snow, frozen and crisp, gave the dogs good footing. The komatik slid freely over the surface. Dr. Grenfell urged the animals forward that they might take all the advantage possible of the good sledging before the heat of the midday sun should soften the snow and make the hauling hard.

The fisherman's cottage where he had spent the night was on the shores of a deep inlet, and a few rods beyond the cottage the trail turned down upon the inlet ice, and here took a straight course across the ice to the opposite shore, some five miles distant, where it plunged into the forest to cross another neck of land.

A light breeze was coming in from the sea, the ice had every appearance of being solid and secure, and Dr. Grenfell dove out upon it for a straight line across. To have followed the shore would have increased the distance to nearly thirty miles.

Everything went well until perhaps half the distance had been covered. Then suddenly there came a shift of wind, and Grenfell discovered, with some apprehension, that a stiff breeze was rising, and now blowing from land toward the sea, instead of from the sea toward the land as it had done when he started early in the morning from the fisherman's cottage. Still the ice was firm enough, and in any case there was no advantage to be had by turning back, for he was as near one shore as the other.

Already the surface of the ice, which, with several warm days, had become more or less porous and rotten, was covered with deep slush. The western sky was now blackened by heavy wind clouds, and with scarce any warning the breeze developed into a gale. Forcing his dogs forward at their best pace, while he ran by the side of the komatik, he soon put another mile behind him. Before him the shore loomed up, and did not seem far away. But every minute counted. It was evident the ice could not stand the strain of the wind much longer.

Presently one of Grenfell's feet went through where slush covered an opening crack. He shouted at the dogs, but, buffeted by wind and floundering through slush, they could travel no faster though they made every effort to do so, for they, no less perhaps than their master, realized the danger that threatened them.

Then, suddenly, the ice went asunder, not in large pans as it would have done earlier in the winter when it was stout and hard, but in a mass of small pieces, with only now and again a small pan.

Grenfell and the dogs found themselves floundering in a sea of slush ice that would not bear their weight. The faithful dogs had done their best, but their best had not been good enough. With super-human effort Grenfell managed to cut their traces and set them free from the komatik, which was pulling them down. Even now, with his own life in the gravest peril, he thought of them.

When the dogs were freed, Grenfell succeeded in clambering upon a small ice pan that was scarce large enough to bear his weight, and for the moment was safe. But the poor dogs, much more frightened than their master, and looking to him for protection, climbed upon the pan with him, and with this added weight it sank from under him.

Swimming in the ice-clogged water must have been well nigh impossible. The shock of the ice-cold water itself, even had there been no ice, was enough to paralyze a man. But Grenfell, accustomed to cold, and with nerves of iron as a result of keeping his body always in the pink of physical condition, succeeded finally in reaching a pan that would support both himself and the dogs. The animals followed him and took refuge at his feet.

Standing upon the pan, with the dogs huddled about him, he scanned the naked shores, but no man or sign of human life was to be seen. How long his own pan would hold together was a question, for the broken ice, grinding against it, would steadily eat it away.

There was a steady drift of the ice toward the open sea. The wind was bitterly cold. There was nothing to eat for himself and nothing to feed the dogs, for the loaded komatik had long since disappeared beneath the surface of the sea.

Exposed to the frigid wind, wet to the skin, and with no other protection than the clothes upon his back, it seemed inevitable that the cold would presently benumb him and that he would perish from it even though his pan withstood the wearing effects of the water. The pan was too small to admit of sufficient exercise to keep up the circulation of blood, and though he slapped his arms around his shoulders and stamped his feet, a deadening numbness was crawling over him as the sun began to sink in the west and cold increased.

Though, in the end he might drown, Grenfell determined to live as long as he could. Perhaps this was a test of courage that God had given him! It is a man's duty, whatever befalls him, to fight for life to the last ditch, and live as long as he can. Most men, placed as Grenfell was placed, would have sunk down in despair, and said: "It's all over! I've done the best I could!" And there they would have waited for death to find them. When a man is driven to the wall, as Grenfell was, it is easier to die than live. When God brings a man face to face with death, He robs death of all its terrors, and when that time comes it is no harder for a man who has lived right with God to die than it is for him to lie down at night and sleep. But Grenfell was never a quitter. He was going to fight it out now with the elements as best he could with what he had at hand.

These northern dogs, when driven to desperation by hunger, will turn upon their best friend and master, and here was another danger. If he and the dogs survived the night and another day, what would the dogs do? Then it would be, as Grenfell knew full well, his life or theirs.

The dogs wore good warm coats of fur, and if he had a coat made of dog skins it would keep him warm enough to protect his life, at least, from the cold. Now the animals were docile enough. Clustered about his feet, they were looking up into his face expectantly and confidently. He loved them as a good man always loves the beasts that serve him. They had hauled him over many a weary mile of snow and ice, and had been his companions and shared with him the hardships of many a winter's storm.

But it was his life or theirs. If he were to survive the night, some of the dogs must be sacrificed. In all probability he and they would be drowned anyway before another night fell upon the world.

There was no time to be lost in vain regrets and indecision. Grenfell drew his sheath knife, and as hard as we know it was for him, slaughtered three of the animals. This done, he removed their pelts, and wrapping the skins about him, huddled down among the living dogs for a night of long, tedious hours of waiting and uncertainty, until another day should break.

That must have been a period of terrible suffering for Grenfell, but he had a stout heart and he survived it. He has said that the dog skins saved his life, and without them he certainly would have perished.

The ice pan still held together, and with a new day came fresh hope of the possibility of rescue. The coast was still well in sight, and there was a chance that a change of wind might drive the pan toward it on an incoming tide. At this season, too, the men of the coast were out scanning the sea for "signs" of seals, and some of them might see him.

This thought suggested that if he could erect a signal on a pole, it would attract attention more readily. He had no pole, and he thought at first no means of raising the signal, which was, indeed, necessary, for at that distance from shore only a moving signal would be likely to attract the attention of even the keenly observant fishermen.

Then his eyes fell upon the carcasses of the three dogs with their stiff legs sticking up. He drew his sheath knife and went at them immediately. In a little while he had severed the legs from the bodies and stripped the flesh from the bones. Now with pieces of dog harness he lashed the legs together, and presently had a serviceable pole, but one which must have been far from straight.

Elated with the result of his experiment, he hastily stripped the shirt from his back, fastened it to one end of his staff, and raising it over his head began moving it back and forth.

It was an ingenious idea to make a flagstaff from the bones of dogs' legs. Hardly one man in a thousand would have thought of it. It was an exemplification of Grenfell's resourcefulness, and in the end it saved his life.

As he had hoped, men were out upon the rocky bluffs scanning the sea for seals. The keen eyes of one of them discovered, far away, something dark and unusual. The men of this land never take anything for granted. It is a part of the training of the woodsman and seaman to identify any unusual movement or object, or to trace any unusual sound, before he is satisfied to let it pass unheeded. Centering his attention upon the distant object the man distinguished a movement back and forth. Nothing but a man could make such a movement he knew, and he also knew that any man out there was in grave danger. He called some other fishermen, manned a boat and Dr. Grenfell and his surviving dogs were rescued.

XXI

WRECKED AND ADRIFT

It happened that it was necessary for Dr. Grenfell to go to New York one spring three or four years ago. Men interested in raising funds to support the Labrador and Newfoundland hospitals were to hold a meeting, and it was essential that he attend the meeting and tell them of the work on the coast, and what he needed to carry it on.

This meeting was to have been held in May, and to reach New York in season to attend it Dr. Grenfell decided to leave St. Anthony Hospital, where he then was, toward the end of April, for in any case traveling would be slow.

It was his plan to travel northward, by dog team, to the Straits of Belle Isle, thence westward along the shores, and finally southward, down the western coast of Newfoundland, to Port Aux Basque, from which point a steamer would carry him over to North Sydney, in Nova Scotia. There he could get a train and direct railway connections to New York. There is an excellent, and ordinarily, at this season, an expeditious route for dog travel down the western coast of Newfoundland, and Grenfell anticipated no difficulties.

Just as he was ready to start a blizzard set in with a northeast gale, and smash! went the ice. This put an end to dog travel. There was but one alternative, and that was by boat. Traveling along the coast in a small boat is pretty exciting and sometimes perilous when you have to navigate the boat through narrow lanes of water, with land ice on one side and the big Arctic ice pack on the other, and a shift of wind is likely to send the pack driving in upon you before you can get out of the way. And if the ice pack catches you, that's the end of it, for your boat will be ground up like a grain of wheat between mill stones, and there you are, stranded upon the ice, and as like as not cut off from land, too.

But there was no other way to get to that meeting in New York, and Grenfell was determined to get there. And so, when the blizzard had passed he got out a small motor boat, and made ready for the journey. If he could reach a point several days' journey by boat to the southward, he could leave the boat and travel one hundred miles on foot overland to the railroad.

This hike of one hundred miles, with provisions and equipment on his back, was a tremendous journey in itself. It would not be on a beaten road, but through an unpopulated wilderness still lying deep under winter snows. To Grenfell, however, it would be but an incident in his active life. He was accustomed to following a dog team, and that hardens a man for nearly any physical effort. It requires that a man keep at a trot the livelong day, and it demands a good heart and good lungs and staying powers and plenty of grit, and Grenfell was well equipped with all of these.

The menacing Arctic ice pack lay a mile or so seaward when Grenfell and one companion turned their backs on St. Anthony, and the motor boat chugged southward, out of the harbor and along the coast. For a time all went well, and then an easterly wind sprang up and there followed a touch-and-go game between Dr. Grenfell and the ice.

In an attempt to dodge the ice the boat struck upon rocks. This caused some damage to her bottom, but not sufficient to incapacitate her, as it was found the hole could be plugged. The weather turned bitterly cold, and the circulating pipes of the motor froze and burst. This was a more serious accident, but it was temporarily repaired while Grenfell bivouaced ashore, sleeping at night under the stars with a bed of juniper boughs for a mattress and an open fire to keep him warm.

Ice now blocked the way to the southward, though open leads of water to the northward offered opportunity to retreat, and, with the motor boat in a crippled condition, it was decided to return to St. Anthony and make an attempt, with fresh equipment, to try a route through the Straits of Belle Isle.

They were still some miles from St. Anthony when they found it necessary to abandon the motor boat in one of the small harbor settlements. Leaving it in charge of the people, Grenfell borrowed a small rowboat. Rowing the small boat through open lanes and hauling it over obstructing ice pans they made slow progress and the month of May was nearing its close when one day the pack suddenly drove in upon them.

They were fairly caught. Ice surrounded them on every side. The boat was in imminent danger of being crushed before they realized their danger. Grenfell and his companion sprang from the boat to a pan, and seizing the prow of the boat hauled upon it with the energy of desperation. They succeeded in raising the prow upon the ice, but they were too late. The edge of the ice was high and the pans were moving rapidly, and to their chagrin they heard a smashing and splintering of wood, and the next instant were aware that the stern of the boat had been completely bitten off and that they were adrift on an ice pan, cut off from the land by open water.

An inspection of the boat proved that it was wrecked beyond repair. All of the after part had been cut off and ground to pulp between the ice pans. In the distance, to the westward, rose the coast, a grim outline of rocky bluffs. Between them and the shore the sea was dotted with pans and pieces of ice, separated by canals of black water. The men looked at each other in consternation as they realized that they had no means of reaching land and safety, and that a few hours might find them far out on the Atlantic.

In the hope of attracting attention, Dr. Grenfell and William Taylor, his companion, fired their guns at regular intervals. Expectantly they waited, but there was no answering signal from shore and no sign of life anywhere within their vision.

For a long while they waited and watched and signalled. With a turn in the tide it became evident, finally, that the pan on which they were marooned was drifting slowly seaward. If this continued they would soon be out of sight of land, and then all hope of rescue would vanish.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, now," suggested Taylor. "I'll copy toward shore. I'll try to get close enough for some one to see me."

To "copy" is to jump from one pan or piece of ice to another. The gaps of water separating them are sometimes wide, and a man must be a good jumper who lands. Some of the pieces of ice are quite too small to bear a man's weight, and he must leap instantly to the next or he will sink with the ice. It is perilous work at best, and much too dangerous for any one to attempt without much practice and experience.

They had a boat hook with them, and taking it to assist in the long leaps, Taylor started shore-ward. Dr. Grenfell watched him anxiously as he sprang from pan to pan making a zigzag course toward shore, now and again taking hair-raising risks, sometimes resting for a moment on a substantial pan while he looked ahead to select his route, then running, and using the boat hook as a vaulting pole, spanning a wide chasm. Then, suddenly, Dr. Grenfell saw him totter, throw up his hands and disappear beneath the surface of the water. In a hazardous leap he had missed his footing, or a small cake of ice had turned under his weight.

XXII

SAVING A LIFE

It was a terrible moment for Grenfell when he saw his friend disappear beneath the icy waves. Would the cold so paralyze him as to render him helpless? Would he be caught under an ice pan? A hundred such thoughts flashed through Grenfell's mind as he stood, impotent to help because of the distance between them. Then to his great joy he saw Taylor rise to the surface and scramble out upon a pan in safety.

The ice was too far separated now for Taylor either to advance or retreat, and the pan upon which he had taken refuge began a rapid drift seaward. He had made a valiant effort, but the attempt had failed.

Grenfell resumed firing his gun, still hoping that some one might hear it and come to their rescue. Time passed and Taylor drifted abreast of Grenfell and finally drifted past him. Then, in the far distance, Grenfell glimpsed the flash of an oar. The flash was repeated with rhythmic regularity. The outlines of a boat came into view. The men shouted the good news to each other. Help was coming!

The signals had been heard, and in due time, and with much thankfulness, Dr. Grenfell and William Taylor were safely in the boat and on their way to St. Anthony.

Not long after his return to St. Anthony, the ice drifted eastward and an open strip of sea appeared leading northward toward the Straits of Belle Isle. The ice was now a full mile off shore, it was the beginning of June, and Dr. Grenfell, expecting that at this late season the Straits would be open for navigation, had the _Strathcona_ made ready for sea at once, and with high hopes, stowed the anchor and steamed northward. It was his plan to have the vessel carry him westward through the Straits and land him at some port on the west coast of Newfoundland where he could take passage on the regular mail boat, which he had been advised had begun its summer service. Thence he could continue his trip to New York, where the important meeting had been adjourned several times in expectation of his coming.

But again he was doomed to disappointment. The Straits were found to be packed from shore to shore with heavy floe ice and clogged with icebergs. Before the _Strathcona_ could make her escape she was surrounded by ice and frozen tight and fast into the floe.

Grenfell was determined to reach New York and attend that meeting. It was supremely important that he do so. Now there was but one way to reach the mail boat, and that was to walk. The distance to the nearest port of call was ninety miles.

Making up a pack of food, cooking utensils, bedding and a suit of clothes that would permit him to present a civilized and respectable appearance when he reached New York, he made ready for the long overland journey. Shouldering his big pack, he bade goodbye to Mrs. Grenfell, who was with him on the _Strathcona_, and to the crew, and set out over the ice pack to the land.

Three days later Dr. Grenfell reached the harbor where he was to board the mail boat upon her arrival. He was wearied and stiff in his joints after the hard overland hike with a heavy pack on his back, and looking forward to rest and a good meal, he went directly to the home of a mission clergyman living in the little village.

His welcome was hearty, as a welcome always is on this coast. The clergyman showered him with kindnesses. A pot of steaming tea and an appetizing meal was on the table in a jiffy. It was luxury after the long days on the trail and Grenfell sat down with anticipation of keen enjoyment.

At the moment that Grenfell seated himself the door opened unceremoniously, and an excited fisherman burst into the room with the exclamation:

"For God's sake, some one come! Come and save my brother's life! He's bleeding to death!"

Dr. Grenfell learned in a few hurried inquiries that the man's brother had accidentally shot his leg nearly off an hour before and was already in a comatose condition from loss of blood. The family lived five miles distant, and the only way to reach the cabin where the wounded man lay was on foot.

Grenfell forgot all about the steaming tea, the good meal and rest. A moment's delay might cost the man his life. Grenfell ran. Over that five miles of broken country he ran as he had never run before, with the half-frenzied fisherman leading the way.

The wounded man was a young fellow of twenty. Dr. Grenfell knew him well. He was a hero of the world war. He had volunteered when a mere boy, served bravely through four years of the terrible conflict and though he had taken part in many of the great battles he had lived to return to his home and his fishing.

"I never knew a better cure for stiffness than a splendid chance for serving," said Grenfell in referring to that run from the missionary's home to the fisherman's cottage. All his stiff joints and weary muscles were forgotten as he ran.

When Dr. Grenfell entered the room where the man lay, he found the young fisherman soaked with blood and sea water, lying stretched upon a hard table. The remnant of his shattered leg rested upon a feather pillow and was strung up to the ceiling in an effort to stop the flow of blood. He was moaning, but was practically unconscious, and barely alive.

The room was crowded to suffocation with weeping relatives and sympathetic neighbors. Dr. Grenfell cleared it at once. The place was small and the light poor and a difficult place in which to treat so critical a case or to operate successfully. He had no surgical instruments or medicines, and even for him, accustomed as he was to work under handicaps and difficulties, a serious problem confronted him.

The man was so far gone that an operation seemed hopeless, but nevertheless it was worth trying. Grenfell sent messengers far and near for reserve supplies that he had left at various points to be drawn upon in cases of emergency, and in a little while had at his command some opiates, a small amount of ether, some silk for ligatures, some crude substitutes for instruments, and the supply of communal wine from the missionary's little church, five miles away.

While these things had been gathered in, the flow of blood had been abated by the use of a tourniquet. There was scarcely enough ether to be of use, but with the assistance of two men Dr. Grenfell applied it and operated.

One of the assistants fainted, but the other stuck faithfully to his post, and with a cool head and steady hand did Dr. Grenfell's bidding. The operation was performed successfully, and the young soldier's life was saved through Dr. Grenfell's skillful treatment. Today this fisherman has but one leg, but he is well and happy and a useful man in the world.

Fate takes a hand in our lives sometimes, and plays strange pranks with us. In New York a group of gentlemen were impatiently awaiting the arrival of Dr. Grenfell, while he, in an isolated cottage on the rugged coast of Northern Newfoundland was saving a fisherman's life, and in the importance and joy of this service had perhaps for the time quite forgotten the gentlemen and the meeting and even New York.

Perhaps Providence had a hand in it all. If the water lanes had not closed, and the motor boat had not been damaged, and Dr. Grenfell and William Taylor had not been sent adrift on the ice, and no obstacles had stood in the way of Dr. Grenfell's journey to New York, and the _Strathcona_ had not been frozen into the ice pack, in all probability this brave young soldier and fisherman would have died. There is no doubt that _he_ believes God set the stage to send Dr. Grenfell on that ninety-mile hike.

XXIII

REINDEER AND OTHER THINGS

Hunting in a northern wilderness is never to be depended upon. Sometimes game is plentiful, and sometimes it is scarcely to be had at all. This is the case both with fur bearing animals and food game. So it is in Labrador. When I have been in that country I have depended upon my gun to get my living, just as the Indians do. One year I all but starved to death, because caribou and other game was scarce. Other years I have lived in plenty, with a caribou to shoot whenever I needed meat.

In Labrador the Eskimos and liveyeres rely upon the seals to supply them with the greater part of their dog feed, supplemented by fish, cod heads and nearly any offal. The Eskimos eat seal meat, too, with a fine relish, both cooked and raw, and when the seals are not too old their meat, properly cooked, is very good eating indeed for anybody.

The Indians rely on the caribou, or wild reindeer, to furnish their chief food supply, and to a large extent the caribou is also the chief meat animal of the liveyeres.

Sometimes caribou are plentiful enough on certain sections of the coast north of Hamilton Inlet. I remember that in January, 1903, an immense herd came out to the coast north of Hamilton Inlet, They passed in thousands in front of a liveyere's cabin, and standing in his door the liveyere shot with his rifle more than one hundred of them, only stopping his slaughter when his last cartridge was used. From up and down the coast for a hundred miles Eskimos and liveyeres came with dogs and komatik to haul the carcasses to their homes, for the liveyere who killed the animals gave to those who had killed none all that he could not use himself, and none was wasted.

That was a year of plenty. Oftener than not no caribou come within reach of the folk that live on the coast, and in these frequent seasons of scarcity the only meat they have in winter is the salt pork they buy at the trading posts, if they have the means to buy it, together with the rabbits and grouse they hunt, and, in the wooded districts, an occasional porcupine. Now and again, to be sure, a polar bear is killed, but this is seldom. Owls are eaten with no less relish than partridges, and lynx meat is excellent, as I can testify from experience.

But the smaller game is not sufficient to supply the needs and it occurred to Doctor Grenfell that, if the Lapland reindeer could be introduced, this animal would not only prove superior to the dog for driving, but would also furnish a regular supply of meat to the people, and also milk for the babies.

The domestic reindeer is a species of caribou. In other words, the caribou is the wild reindeer. The domestic and the wild animals eat the same food, the gray caribou moss, which carpets northern Newfoundland and the whole of Labrador, furnishing an inexhaustible supply of forage everywhere in forest and in barrens. The Lapland reindeer had been introduced into Alaska and northwestern Canada with great success. They would thrive equally well in Labrador and Newfoundland.

With this in mind Doctor Grenfell learned all he could about reindeer and reindeer raising. The more he studied the subject the better convinced he was that domesticated reindeer introduced into Labrador would prove a boon to the people. He appealed to some of his generous friends and they subscribed sufficient money to undertake the experiment.

In 1907 three hundred reindeer were purchased and landed safely at St. Anthony, Newfoundland. With experienced Lapland herders to care for them they were turned loose in the open country. For a time the herd grew and thrived and the prospects for complete success of the experiment were bright.

It was Doctor Grenfell's policy to first demonstrate the usefulness of reindeer in Newfoundland, and finally transfer a part of the herd to Labrador. The great difficulty that stood in the way of rearing the animals in eastern Labrador was the vicious wolf dogs. It was obvious that dogs and reindeer could not live together, for the dogs would hunt and kill the inoffensive reindeer just as their primitive progenitors, the wolves, hunt and kill the wild caribou.

Because of the dogs, no domestic animals can be kept in eastern Labrador. Once Malcolm MacLean, a Scotch settler at Carter's Basin, in Hamilton Inlet, imported a cow. He built a strong stable for it adjoining his cabin. Twelve miles away, at Northwest River, the dogs one winter night when the Inlet had frozen sniffed the air blowing across the ice. They smelled the cow. Like a pack of wolves they were off. They trailed the scent those twelve miles over the ice to the door of the stable where Malcolm's cow was munching wild hay. They broke down the stable door, and before Malcolm was aware of what was taking place the cow was killed and partly devoured.

For generations untold, Labradormen have kept dogs for hauling their loads and the dogs have served them well. They were not willing to substitute reindeer. They knew their dogs and they did not know the reindeer, and they refused to kill their dogs. To educate them to the change it was evident would be a long process.

In the meantime the herd in Newfoundland was growing. In 1911 it numbered one thousand head, and in 1912 approximated thirteen hundred. Then an epidemic attacked them and numbers died. Following this, illegitimate hunting of the animals began, and without proper means of guarding them Doctor Grenfell decided to turn them over to the Canadian Government.

During those strenuous years of war, when food was so scarce, a good many of the herd had been killed by poachers. Perhaps we cannot blame the poachers, for when a man's family is hungry he will go to lengths to get food for his children, and Doctor Grenfell recognized the stress of circumstances that led men to kill his animals and carry off the meat. The epidemic, as stated, had proved fatal to a considerable number of the animals, and the herd therefore was much reduced in size. The remnant were corralled in 1918, and shipped to the Canadian Government at St. Augustine, in southern Labrador, where they are now thriving and promise marvelous results.

Some day Doctor Grenfell's efforts with reindeer will prove a great success at least in southern Labrador, where the dogs are less vicious, and play a less important part in the life of the people than on the eastern coast. Upon these thousands of acres of uncultivated and otherwise useless land the reindeer will multiply until they will not only feed the people of Labrador but will become no small part of the meat supply of eastern Canada. His introduction of reindeer into southern Labrador will be remembered as one of the great acts of his great life of activity. Their introduction was the introduction of an industry that will in time place the people of this section in a position of thrifty independence.

There never was yet a man with any degree of self-respect who did not wish to pay his own way in the world. Every real man wishes to stand squarely upon his own feet, and pay for what he receives. To accept charity from others always makes a man feel that he has lost out in the battle of life. It robs him of ambition for future effort and of self-reliance and self-respect.

Doctor Grenfell has always recognized this human characteristic. It was evident to him when he entered the mission field in Labrador that in seasons when the fisheries failed and no fur could be trapped a great many of the people in Labrador and some in northern Newfoundland would be left without a means of earning their living. There are no factories there and no work to be had except at the fisheries in the summer, trapping in winter and the brief seal hunt in the spring and fall. When any of these fail, the pantries are empty and the men and their families must suffer. But most of the people are too proud to admit their poverty when a season of poverty comes to them. They are eager for work and willing and ready always to turn their hand to anything that offers a chance to earn a dollar.

To provide for such emergencies Grenfell, many years ago, established a lumber camp in the north of Newfoundland, and at Canada Bay in the extreme northeast a ship building yard where schooners and other small craft could be built, and nearly everyone out of work could find employment.

In southern and eastern Labrador, where wood is to be had for the cutting, he arranged to purchase such wood as the people might deliver to his vessels. In return for the wood he gave clothing and other supplies.

Then came mat and rug weaving, spinning and knitting and basket making. Through Grenfell's efforts volunteer teachers went north in summers to teach the people these useful arts. He supplied looms. Every one was eager to learn and today Labrador women are making rugs, baskets and various saleable articles in their homes, and Grenfell sells for them in the "States" and Canada all they make. Thus a new means of earning a livelihood was opened to the women, where formerly there was nothing to which they could turn their hand to earn money when the men were away at the hunting and trapping.

Mrs. Grenfell has more recently introduced the art of making artificial flowers. The women learned it readily, and their product is quite equal to that of the French makers.

Doctor Grenfell had been many years on the coast before he was married. Mrs. Grenfell was Miss Anna MacCalahan, of Chicago. Upon her marriage to Doctor Grenfell, Mrs. Grenfell went with him to his northern field. She cruises with him on his hospital ship, the _Strathcona_, acting as his secretary, braving stormy seas, and working for the people with all his own self-sacrificing devotion. She is a noble inspiration in his great work, and the "mother of the coast."

Doctor Grenfell has established a school at St. Anthony open not only to the orphans of the children's home but to all the children of the coast. There are schools on the Labrador also, connected with the mission. It is a fine thing to see the eagerness of the Labrador boys and girls to learn. They are offered an opportunity through Doctor Grenfell's thoughtfulness that their parents never had and they appreciate it. It is no exaggeration to say that they enjoy their schools quite as much as our boys and girls enjoy moving pictures, and they give as close attention to their books and to the instruction as any of us would give to a picture. They look upon the school as a fine gift, as indeed it is. The teachers are giving them something every day--a much finer thing than a new sled or a new doll--knowledge that they will carry with them all their lives and that they can use constantly. And so it happens that study is not work to them.

How much Doctor Grenfell has done for the Labrador! How much he is doing every day! How much more he would do if those who have in abundance would give but a little more to aid him! How much happiness he has spread and is spreading in that northland!

XXIV

THE SAME GRENFELL

Doctor Grenfell is not alone the doctor of the coast. He is also a duly appointed magistrate, and wherever he happens to be on Sundays, where there is no preacher to conduct religious services, and it rarely happens there is one, for preachers are scarce on the coast, he takes the preacher's place. It does not matter whether it is a Church of England, a Presbyterian, a Methodist, or a Baptist congregation, he speaks to the people and conducts the service with fine unsectarian religious devotion. Grenfell is a deeply religious man, and in his religious life there is no buncomb or humbug. He lives what he preaches. In his audiences at his Sunday services are Protestants and Roman Catholics alike, and they all love him and will travel far to hear him.

Norman Duncan, in that splendid book, "Doctor Grenfell's Parish," tells the story of a man who had committed a great wrong, amounting to a crime. The man was brought before Grenfell, as Labrador magistrate. He acknowledged his crime, but was defiant. The man cursed the doctor.

"You will do as I tell you," said the Doctor, "or I will put you under arrest, and lock you up."

The man laughed, and called Doctor Grenfell's attention to the fact that he was outside his judicial district, and had no power to make the arrest.

"Never mind," warned the Doctor quietly. "I have a crew strong enough to take you into my district."

The man retorted that he, also, had a crew.

"Are the men of your crew loyal enough to fight for you?" asked the Doctor. "There's going to be a fight if you don't submit without it. This is what you must do," he continued. "You will come to the church service at seven o'clock on Sunday evening, and before the whole congregation you will confess your crime."

Again the man cursed the Doctor and defied him. It happened that this man was a rich trader and felt his power.

The man did not appear at the church on Sunday evening. Doctor Grenfell announced to the congregation that the man was to appear to confess and receive judgment, and he asked every one to keep his seat while he went to fetch the fellow.