The Wreck of the Mail Steamer

by Sir Wilfred Thomason Grenfell

“A full hundred pounds,” and a gleam of joy that endures lit his eyes—that joy that assures us of the real significance of life.

I was admiring the church at Wild Bight this fall—having blown in—in one of our periodical medical rounds. Nothing was further from my mind than the wreck of the previous winter when suddenly I noticed the familiar features of old Uncle Joe peering at me from behind a pillar. In a moment I saw him again, leaving the harbor with his precious baby, and I wondered how it had all ended.

“Well you see, Doctor, about daylight the ladies’ cabin got flooded out and they were all driven out of that; all the passengers that could crowded into the little saloon on deck. The baby did not seem to mind it at all and as there was no use going on deck, even if we had been able, that’s where I took it. After we struck, however, and the seas were washing partly over the ship I went out to see if there were any chance for us. The captain, who had never left the bridge, was there. His cheeks were all frostbitten. He had already launched a boat and was trying to get some men landed.

“It was broad daylight, a little after midday, and we were right under a big cliff, so close that you could almost touch it. The projecting head of the cliff sheltered the forepart of the vessel fairly well, but a thundering surf was beating on the beach. The boat was soon glad to be hauled in again. She was smashed and filled, and the men had nearly been lost. So we all fell to it, and tried to get a line ashore.

“There were men there now from the shore who had seen us. They were watching us from above the breakers, and evidently understood what we were doing. For when at last we flung the line into the water, they rushed down and tried to get it. But the backwash carried it always beyond their reach. One of them ran up to a cottage near-by and came back with a jigger, and as the seas washed the rope along, tried to fling it over, and hook the line. But they somehow couldn’t do it.

“Then I suddenly saw there was a big dog with them, rushing up and down, and barking as they tried for the line. All of a sudden, after they seemed to have done their best and failed, the dog rushed down into the sea, held the rope in his teeth till the tide ran out, and then backed with it till the men grabbed it. They took the line up the cliff, and I helped rig a chair on it in which we tied the passengers, and so sent them every one ashore safely. No, I didn’t even get my feet wet myself. You see I had my rubbers on. The baby? Oh, I tied the baby up in a mail bag and sent him ashore by himself. They told me when they opened the bag to see what was in it, the baby just smiled at them, as if it had only been having a bit of a rock in the cradle of the deep.

After they seemed to have failed, the dog rushed down into the sea, held the rope in his teeth....

“We were home for Christmas after all. And somehow, Doctor, I had my mind made up to how it would be about that when I said good-bye to them that morning at Wild Bight.

“The folks all got together and gave that dog a hundred dollar collar but the poor owner had to sell the dog, collar and all, a little later to get food.”