Harbor Jim of Newfoundland

by Alden Eugene Bartlett

After that Jim was as keen as a boy to get ready the lines and the flies and to pack our little outfit. We went on the train to Deer Lake, crossed the lower end of the lake and went up the river. We fished near Steady Brook Falls and away up at Big Falls and the weather was all that could be desired. We caught more salmon and trout than we needed and we were bringing out all that the law would allow us to transport. It had been the best week's fishing I had ever had, and there had been some surprises. We had by chance fallen in with an old friend of mine from the States and another day we had seen a stag of great size following the birds down to a pool.

All had gone so well with us that I was at a loss to account for this sudden demonstration of feeling. It was not like Jim. I knew him and his way well enough, to know that he would not wish to be questioned, so we tramped on in silence over the carry, and it was not for an hour afterward that he ventured an explanation.

"There at the carry you may have thought it strange, the way I acted up. That little fellow we seed there playing with his father's canoe, made me think of little Peter. I've never mentioned him, I seldom do, but I think a good deal about him and often I believe he is with me. He made the carry and past over to Kingdom Come three years ago.

"Do you know sometimes when I used to watch my little Peter playing, and the light and shadows would be around him, I used to think, pardon me, he looked like the pictures I've seen of the carpenter's Son, His Son. He was our first child, born out of our first wonderful love, but he never was a strong child. I don't know why. I never could think of him as becomin' a fisherman. He used to like better'n the average child, to journey with us thru the land o' the springs during the evenings, and I thought mebbe the Lord would call him to be a preacher, though I never let on to him, what I was a thinkin'.

"When he was eight, he got kinder spindlin' and at the same time he wanted to go to the woods and to see the island. He had another hankering, too, that was to ride on the trains. He used to collect engine numbers any time he was in St. John's. His mother used to say that she believed he'd be an engine driver instead of a preacher.

"At first I didn't pay much attention when he asked to go, but as he got thinner and paler, I began to take trips with him on the railroad. We had great times together going to places and for a time they seemed to chuck him up a bit. We went down to old Placentia one time. Ever down there? It's a lovely old place; lies sprawled out on a sandy beach with arms reaching round it and the hills sending down beauty on to it. We climbed the hill across the gut from the town, Castle Hill, and saw the crumbling ruins of the old French Fort and we went across to Bradshaw's and saw the Communion set that was presented by King William the Fourth.

"Sometimes we would take mother along and go to Top-sails and look down the bay as we ate our lunch. Then one time we went over to Belle Isle and saw the men working in the iron mines under the sea and Peter talked about what he saw for weeks. I was worried a good deal about him, but we both felt better on the trips. There was always something to see. For miles our railroad gives you Conception Bay with now a frame of hills and now one of spruces. Then in the centre of the island are great lonesome barrens where the caribou come to feed and the little nameless lakes are clustered. Peter had 'em all named, but I think he used to change the names sometimes. There were so many his little mind forgot the long list.

"Then 'twas fun to be on our railroad. It's a road that throws you about some; makes an impression on you, and a good hard one, sometimes. But it's the only railroad we've got in the Dominion and without it our country wouldn't have the farms it has now, nor friends like you, coming and going.

"I remember when we took the sleeper, the kid and I. We didn't often do that; we couldn't afford it, but this time we were going over to the Codroys and I put the little fellow to bed and sat down for a spell of thinking, across the aisle from him. Suddenly the train gave a lurch. Guess the engineer got kinder hot stoppin' to drive cows off the track and we was a hittin' it up as much as thirty miles an hour. What do you think? Little Peter come a flyin' down from his berth right into my arms and he says, not hurt a bit, only tickled: