Tuesday, March 25th, 1913.

I HAVE just come back from Griquet and Noddy Bay, where there is still pneumonia. It is a fact, of which medicine should be ashamed, that I can do almost as much in these cases as a doctor. I remove surplus females (who have always convinced the patient that death is near); knock out glass, strap up chests, give medicine and advice and stay up with the delirious ones. It doesn't take much knowledge to do this, but it seems to work pretty well. I am getting to have many friends along this coast. I like these people more and more. I could write you reams of truck about their quaintness and queer ways. These people seem at first so different from other people I know and like that it is very easy to think of them almost as if they were inhabitants of another planet. (Dr. Armstrong must think they are.) But their differences are not as striking as their similarities. As I get to know individuals I find myself disliking a very few, not caring much one way or the other about some and liking a great many, very much as I do at home. They are all brothers of that great family, Failure. Somehow or other, this makes them rather closer to me than otherwise, for I have much in common with them. If I am to be a failure in life, I pray God I may meet some of the troubles they meet with their dignity, instead of pretending to be a success when I am not. I will pick out ------- as the most unattractive failure I know of; don't think for a moment that he doesn't realize his failure and that he doesn't suffer for it. He is only, with probably great trouble, keeping up a ridiculous pretence of being a success, when he knows he isn't. I will tell you the failures of this world have many temptations (which they seldom resist), but they do not have the most terrible temptation of all, namely, to have what is called an "Easy Conscience."

Wednesday.

THIS last week has been the most perfect weather I have ever seen. Glorious. I spent the morning in the Hospital. A baby five months old weighing four pounds, who had been fed entirely on oatmeal until we got him a week ago, died. I had named him Disraeli; he looked like an old man. Miss Bryce and Miss Cannon have been weeping behind doors all day. I have a fine time with all the children here and enjoy them, but I cannot get up enthusiasm about a baby.

.      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .

Friday, April 25th, 1913.

THE steamer Sagona, an ice-breaker, is reported due tonight, and, as a strong wind has blown the ice-fields off the land a few miles, I think she will get here. The mail has been terrible. The last letter I got left home in February, so I stopped sending any more letters. I will write regularly every day now if possible. The Prospero should get here about March 15th.

The last part of March and April have been too glorious for words. Until the last two weeks I have been away almost the entire time. I have been from Cape Bauld to Canada Bay on this side and pretty well all over the Straits and West Coast and straight across the country. With a few notable exceptions (which made me understand the last circle of the Inferno), I enjoyed travelling even in January, but I know of no objections to spring travel. One trip I drove my own team of dogs over one hundred miles. It beats any sport I have ever struck. I take off my hat to the komatik dog! He is the real King of Beasts. For speed, endurance, strength and intelligence he stands alone. I crossed Hare Bay in a storm when I couldn't see my leader and he went perfectly straight by compass to land eleven miles away. I am not a "nature fakir," but I have strong leanings that way. Tell Father I have tales enough to last a year about these uncanny dogs.

I spent a great three days with M. Romeo Fontaine et famille at the lighthouse at Cape Bauld. We left here the last afternoon of the Sports (about which more anon). About two hundred men in the Harbor having tug-o'-war. We went around a little point where his komatik (painted scarlet) was made fast. He then beat severely each of his twelve dogs until they were wild, then he cracked his long whip and I cut the back rope; we fairly leapt into space past the crowd, with Fontaine shouting, "Mush! Mush! mes braves." We were greeted with "Go it, Frenchie. Give 'em hell, Frenchie." We kept this up till out of sight when we went, oh, so slowly .... I had a great time at the lighthouse where I pulled teeth of Madame, opened an abscess and scraped her jaw. I gained great fame as a "doctor" and was presented with a "pipe très chic." I saw there a real storm. The solid ice going out at five or six miles an hour striking the rock cliff just under us was a really marvellous sight and the noise was terrific. I had never seen a sight to touch it for grandeur. It suggested some of Wagner's music.

By the way, I had to spend one night out in snow, as we lost our way in a storm. I was lying on two snowshoes completely surrounded by a circle of fire, with komatik dogs sleeping against my back and a large pure bred husky, with a breath like a buzzard, in the pit of my tummy, when I had a most peculiar thought. How did that Brunhilda woman get along without dogs? She certainly was a sleeper all right, for I am pretty good and, even with dogs, I didn't have much luck.

We had good fun at the Sports. All the men came and seemed to have a great time. I saw a new sight, namely, a large crowd of men having a glorious time without any liquor. I doubt if there are many people who have seen a similar sight among Anglo-Saxons. I refer to a crowd of normal, healthy men, not a small group.

I spent a night at Lock's Cove with the Reids (people of "ton" the Reids) in a vile closet. Over my head hung three silver foxes and about two hundred ermine (fifty cents an ermine skin). I could have bought the three silvers for $300, I think. . .

In short, I had a glorious time while away. I have made many real friends amongst these men. Whether I have done much good I don't know, but I have done a powerful lot of things which these men have asked me to for them, and I don't think I have once corrected anybody or helped to do something for a man when my help wasn't wanted. I have watched a man cut a dog's head in two with an axe, I have watched people who are T.B. suspects spit on the floors, I have slept in lousy beds without a word of protest unless I was asked to give my opinion. I have given this method a thorough trial and I believe it is OK .... The point is, that if you first become friends they almost invariably ask your advice about almost everything. . . .

Afternoon of March 26th, 1913.

No boat yet. I just found this picture which. Dr. Grenfell took one morning at Griquet where we took a lot of supplies. Xanthippe is breakfasting off a crack of harbor ice. The komatik just behind me was given Dr. G. by Peary and was within ninety miles of the Pole.

It is nearly May and I can't see that the snow is any less than it was, and the ice in the ponds is over four feet thick, as I found out the other day when trout fishing.

The Wascoppie, the H.B. Co. boat which goes every summer to Hudson's Bay, came in or rather anchored to the ice off the harbor. She had 27,000 seals aboard and about 150 men. A glue factory is perfume to a sealer. We were up all night treating scurvy, venereal troubles and other nice diseases; nice because a doctor can really cure them. They came in with a dying man, but he died of appendicitis just a few miles from here. I autopsied him and found his appendix rotted right in two. On board was a loud-mouthed guy from Cincinnati. I was pulling his tooth when he discovered I also was a native of the Queen City. He said, "Doc, how would you like to be sitting in People's Theatre with a swell Burlesque show going on and a glass of Wiederman's beer in your hand and a good stogie in your mouth?" I told him I wouldn't mind the glass of beer. I think the Captain of that boat one of the finest-looking men I ever saw. He is a real Kipling character; very little to say, but that little of great interest; the kind of man you would like to be with in any tight place.

A disease called "spring-grouch" is running riot here. Everybody except Dr. G. is touchy.

Grant lives in the same bedroom with me now and is a most desirable room-mate. I do like to sleep in the same room with a man I like. Evans I like more and more ....

Later.

Still no boat and ice blowing in.

As I telegraphed, I have exhausted the reading supply here. I hope you send some books by the first Prospero as I asked. I have learned while sick last year and this year how to be content and happy during the so-called lonely times if I have good books. I don't prefer reading to excitement, people, etc., but I can get along very well on it.

I can't read Scott any more. Also, I tried "David Copperfield" again, but had to give it up. It bores me to tears. I wanted the books I wired for to give to Miss Bryce ("Bab Ballads") and Dr. Armstrong (Drummond). I have read "Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained"; glorious as poetry, but uncongenial. Add a lot of Milk of Human Kindness and Humor to Milton and I believe these would be the perfect epic poems of all time.

The poverty here is beyond belief; hardly anybody has anything but flour and tea left. Scurvy, ber-ber and starving babies everywhere. By the way, I saw Caspar Henry Patey the other day. He is very unattractive, but healthy with not a scar (the age of miracles has not passed). I wish you would send me some little present for him, baby clothes preferred. Send something pretty with blue ribbons.

Why don't you and Father blow yourselves to a fine time this summer? A house in England or on the North Shore. It seems to me as if, with the exception of your health, you have nothing to stop you doing just whatever you want to, and there are very few people in the world who have both freedom and money. Do go and have a really good time.

Good-bye, for I hear the boat has left Conche and will be here any moment, and then I will be on duty for a long time I fancy.

Please tell Mary G. that a long letter to her is guaranteed to leave on the Prospero. I have only written to you, Monk Jones and Jim Marvin(17) so far. I certainly loathe to write.

Thursday, March 27th, 1913.

TAKING stock all day. Miss Cannon has helped me all day, for which I am deeply grateful. Miss Bryce and Dr. Armstrong have pretended we were taking stock in our "draper's shop" and made many thin jokes at us. I called Miss Bryce, who was emptying slops, a tweeny, and Dr. Armstrong, who was filling a tooth, a dentist, which rather cramped their style. I pulled my fiftieth tooth today. I am a regular little demon with forceps.

Friday.

STILL taking stock. How I hate that sort of work.

I have tried a new scheme. You remember "The Passing of the Third Floor Back." I have tried out this scheme on Miss -------, all other means having failed. At great personal inconvenience I have been just as nice to her for several days, as I possibly could. I have really made a Herculean effort; offered to do all sorts of things for her, complimented her, asked her specially to take a walk with me, etc. Well, it worked!!! She thrives on that sort of treatment and really seems perfectly possible. It is a marvellous discovery, for if I can do this with Miss --------- there must be something in this theory of being consciously decent to people you don't like. However, the game wasn't worth the candle; too great an effort with too little returns. I shall return to the old method; polite (if possible) when she is around, but keeping out of her way as much as possible. I am going to try this out on Parson Dahl; if it works with him, I have verified this theory and really proved more, for I am, of course, not the "Third Floor Back." Anybody can be the Third Floor Back who wants to be.

Saturday.

FINISHED stock! Hew!!

We were operating all morning. Dr. A. is certainly a beautiful surgeon. He is as skilled with his instruments as a violinist. Both his hands and his brain are beautifully trained. Precision and decision describe his work; genius and inspiration Dr. Grenfell's. I must stop to catch the mail team.

May 3, 1913.

WELL, the noble attempts of the Government to get the Sagona here and so win votes failed. She got stuck in the ice about one hundred miles south of here for four days and went back with all mail, supplies and patients to St. John's. This has given everybody the "spring-grouch." I went off on a little trip to Lock's Cove, twenty-two miles away, and have just returned. The trip back took eleven hours through the slush and was the hardest day's work I ever put in. I was wet to the skin, as there was deep water on top of the ice everywhere, but I had to work so hard that I never was cold. If I had waited another day I would have had fine going. . .

May 5.

I WAS delighted to hear about Scho(18) and have opened up negotiations with him. I can imagine nothing I would like better than to be able to go off with him for the summer. Of course I can't do this without money, and I don't think I should go, anyway, as Dr. Grenfell says he will need me badly as he expects to be short of medical help. Still Scho could come wherever I am, pay board, go with me on trips and take numerous trips by himself. I have put it up to him squarely, I think, but it was a great temptation to show him only the rosy side. My, won't I enjoy being with a person with a sense of humor again? Dr. Grenfell and a man named Rube Sims are the only two human beings at present in North Newfoundland with a real sense of humor.

May 6.

WE had an operation which lasted from eleven until three, cancer of rectum. I etherized and got so much myself that I am positively drunk. Let me tell you that anybody could have had my job for a nickel. The old boy, sixty-six years, stopped breathing twice and I brought him to with artificial respiration both times. Dr. Grenfell, particularly, has repeatedly given me responsibilities beyond my skill. I haven't killed anybody yet, but I will some fine day, and in the meantime I have had a good many anxious moments, for I don't fancy the idea of somebody being killed by me.

May 7.

SOME letters finally came by dog mail. I shall not regularly answer your letters, but I will say that I am glad you have gone home. It is a false idea that I will never be content to live in Cincinnati. To spend the next ten years at home with only a two weeks' vacation in the summer, such as I would get if I had a "job" in some big office, would be loathsome to me. I would rather infinitely spend ten years cut off from all civilization up here and I believe at the end of ten years I would not be so narrow. If I had something to work at where I would not be confined to an office every day, where I was being thrown into contact with many people, I don't care of what class, for all people are interesting; where I would sometimes be sent away or where at least 1 would not be a mere cog in a great money-making machine I would like it. I don't see any reason why you should have confidence in my ability to do anything well, for I never have. Even here I am not sure that I have done very well. In fact I sometimes think I am doomed to be a failure. I often try to analyze the causes of this and I can assure you that there are more than one. I lack ideals, ambition, or imagination, or whatever you want to call it. I drift; I swim around in circles; sometimes I swim hard and even fairly well, but I never get any nearer the land, for I never swim twice in the same direction and most of the time I just float. Result; at twenty-six years of age I have done nothing and am still drifting.

Here is the bright side, however. I have gone through long periods, two years at one time, when I did not believe in Christianity, either as a fact or as a good working basis. You and I will never be able to take our religion in the same way. Yours is the best way, perhaps; you know what real love is in a way that I probably never will. Well, I had to find another method. I said to myself, I may not be able to love people, as you, Spence and Father do, but I believe Christ showed another way for me. I consciously tried to be kind to people, I tried to do what they wanted me to do for them and I tried not to judge other people; I have often failed, but I have tried and I believe been rewarded. I may not be a better man than I was, but I believe both in Christ's Divinity and in the need of following His teaching. I believe in trying things which we can't do. I believe in being helped and trying to help others, I believe in trying to be humble, I believe in admitting it to yourself when you know you have done wrong; some day, perhaps, I will soften and know what love means; that hasn't come yet. Working by the side of a man like Wilfred Grenfell and having the education and brains to reject practically all his fancy ideas (none of which he lives) and at the same time reading G. K. Chesterton and the Bible has affected me intellectually. Leading Chesterton's life and reading W. T. G.'s books would jar anybody's faith. If I am going to change let me start by asking your forgiveness .... I can't say more and have never said as much to any soul before.

CAP.

June 4, 1913.

THE Prospero arrived a week ago "leaking like a lobster pot; steering like a dray," as Mr. Kipling has it. The ice blew offshore a bit and she made a dash for it alongshore. I don't know the proper nautical term for it, but had the wind changed there would have been a Prospero sandwich with ice on one side and Nfld. on the other. The coast needed her; scurvy in every house and the conditions generally pretty grewsome even to me. We had given out every single fresh vegetable we had months ago, and to tell you the truth a fresh potato tasted pretty good to me, for drinking lime juice is a poor way to keep off the scurvy.

We got forty patients and lost Dr. G., who has gone to St. John's. I won't go into details, but I hope I don't often have to put in a harder week's work and I am still at it. I am sitting up all night tonight. It was four days before I read a letter ....

Do come up here in the fall, if you are able to. Why not sail from England to St. John's, or else go home and take either the Cluett or an Allan liner from Philadelphia to St. John's. Don't go by rail. Personally I think it would do you good to come by the Cluett. I would love to have you, but don't come until the last of September or October when this mob of summer volunteers has ceased to litter up the place ....

Good night, my patient is trying to die on me, and even I don't dare shoot any more nitroglycerine and strychnine into him. I have nursed twenty-six pneumonia patients, eighteen alone away from here without a death, but I think this fellow is going.

St. Anthony's, Newfoundland,
June 23, 1913.

DEAR MOTHER,

I HAVE been having it (work) come thick and fast since last I wrote you. I went across the Straits to open up Battle, got iced in and was head over heels in work. Then I returned and for twelve nights sat up all night with Israel Dean who was trying his best to die. As I came on duty again at noon and had my regular work to do, I have really been all in. But now two medical students have come and I am taking things easier.

It is curious that, when money means so much to me, I deliberately side-step all paths which lead to it. I know the reason for this; --- I wonder if you do?

I have no desire for lots of money; I don't care to marry (knowing I should be a hopeless failure in this state); I don't care about running a big establishment, a motor, etc. Nor do I care about giving away large sums of money to organized charities. I hold very strong views on this latter subject, and my views are those expressed in the Bible (as I read it). Without you give love "charity" will be barren. I would rather give a quarter to a bum to buy whiskey with, than to pay the wages of a clerk to run a card catalogue in an organized Charity. "Charity" seems to me to have two objects; (besides being pleasing to God) permanently to help the person to whom it is given, and to help the person who gives it. Organized Charity may do the former (in spite of all statistics I am dubious of this); it rarely helps the giver. See St. Paul. You can't organize love ---and you can't buy it (you can buy popularity which is a cheap imitation). To take a concrete case------! If she knew shop girls, gave them pleasures, advice (when they asked for it), took them off somewhere to a boarding house for a holiday (without advertising the fact), she would become a saint and do good, instead of being a prig. I don't blame her, she does what she thinks is fine. Or take this place: I could take any report of the work of this place and pick it into shreds. But Dr. Grenfell's love, as well as to a smaller extent that of others, does not appear on the report. This I may add he seems totally unconscious of. The other day when Miss Bryce and Miss Cannon left, all the women in the hospital were crying, and a big man gulping away said: "It's hell to have them sisters go." This is Charity. Dr. A. gives "Imperial Philanthropy," and he is like many Americans as a result; almost every day somebody brings a salmon to Dr. Grenfell, and another one to somebody or another, but never one for him, which sours him on life.

It is a far, far better thing to go through life without any definite scheme and help people as they come along. You have always done this; as the result of this there are many people, from your servants up, who you have given real Charity to. For this side of your life I take my hat off to you. For all your work in the Maternity Society, Exchange, etc., I don't give a damn. There are other aggressive females willing to do this sort of thing who are not made of tine enough texture to do the other. If I was to give away large sums of money I would give them to music, etc, as Major Higginson has done. I do not believe that the "dregs of society" can be "lifted up" by the "froth" (and you and I are froth); they must be dissolved by the body of the liquor from which (in America) they have both just come. Here endeth this priggish sermon.

I wired you that the Strathcona was condemned; her boilers blew out at seventy-three pounds!! Rather lucky we didn't start in her, wasn't it?

We go North in the Floradel, which is a pretty yawl about six feet shorter on the water line than the Zara. The crew is Captain Grenfell, Wilson Jock (a dusky gentleman of uncertain extraction) to run the motor, and C. H. Burton, Jr., who is able seaman, medical assistant, purser, commissary, general cook and private secretary. We are loading the boat now and have got the engine running. I am very pleased that the Doctor still wants me. He said the other day, "Burton, I hope I am not mistaken in the estimation of your grit, which I made this winter. You will want most of it." This is the first compliment I have ever received from him, and I am very proud of it.

I don't think there is any danger in this trip, but unless Dr. Grenfell weakens and crowds us still more, I fancy I will be on the jump. We shan't leave till Dr. Little comes.

You keep speaking of my writing, I did consider it. My answer is furnished by Dr. Johnson, "Why, Sir, if a man would abandon himself to it, he could write such stuff ad infinitum." The public likes such stuff, but even if I could write it, I won't.

Unless strong reasons are presented I want to stay here another winter at least. This being the case you will want to see me, I know. Will you come here, or shall I come home for a couple of months in the fall? As to your coming here, these are the facts: By rail it's a terrible trip. On the Prospero, unless you have rare luck Father would be seasick most of the time, and you could not eat the salt meat, bean, prune diet. You could get a good stateroom, fairly clean, and when you could be on deck, which would be much of the time, you would have one of the most glorious trips you ever had. You would also be greatly interested, I know. Coming by the Cluett would be luck. You would love Captain Pickels, and love the voyage, if good. If bad, you would have altogether a devilish time. The food in any case would be terrible. But you might manage it some way. To take a maid would not do for several reasons. The easiest way might be to sail from England to St. John's, and then come on the Prospero. After you once got here you would be very happy, and I will guarantee to have you stay at either the Grenfells' house, which you might even run for a time, or at the Littles'. The food is heavy and nearly all canned, with fresh meat once a week, and very few eggs or milk if we have T.B. patients, who get first call on that. There is constant wind, but I know you would be comfortable and very happy. Father would love it. He and I might go off after caribou for a week. I have not painted anything either dark or over-rosy, except that Father would have the time of his life. I don't know whether you could stand the trip. About this I am very dubious. I am used to the food, but realize that it is bad. The other alternative is for me to go home for a visit. This is simple, as I don't care where you are, how long I stay, or what I do. It would be no hardship for me to give up both of these schemes and stay right on alone, but I know you want to see me, and I should like to see you.

I should like to go home, I should like to have you come here. I won't take the responsibility of the latter course, except in saying that I think you would be comfortable once you got here, and I know you would be happy. But I have seen some husky nurses come up both ways, and even they were pretty well done up when they got here.

The Cluett was twenty-one days on her first trip.

Give my love to Alberta, George,(19) Cousin Betty,(20) Cousin Jo,(21) Mrs. Harris(22) and Mrs. Lewis(23).

Love,                
CAP.

This letter reached Mother in England.

August 20, 1913.

DEAR MOTHER,

I HAVE not got a letter in well over a month and have had almost no chance of getting one off. I gather from rather garbled Marconis that you and Father are coming to St. A., and so wired, "Splendid." Until then I had a scheme for going home to meet you in Boston on your arrival and possibly coming back with you in case you were coming. But Dr. G. said he wanted me (by wire) and that you were coming. He also wired me to take the Floradel here. Our engine gave out, so Wilson Jock and I alone brought her here. Just between you and me we had a bad time of it, as neither of us knew the coast and our charts are very vague. Some time, while alone, I will tell you about the trip. Don't let any one know we had any trouble, but between you and me, I was more or less nervous for quite a time and I find that now that it is all over I am having trouble sleeping (the last few nights). But somehow or other we got her here without a scratch and I can tell you she won't leave here until Dr. G. comes, which will be the next mail steamer. Then, of course, we will be O.K., for he is the best pilot of this coast and a marvellous hand with a boat. Besides, we may have our engine fixed and I have already fixed our compass which was three-fourths of a point off. When I will be in St. A., I don't know. In fact, I know nothing about anything. I can't get mail or discover what anybody wants or is planning.

I only spent one day in St. A., in the last two months.

I did see the Littles and so got some news of you. Just what my plans are, I don't know at all. I have not had a talk with either Dr. G. or Dr. L. about next winter. If they seem to want me badly and if they will agree to one or two conditions, I will stay. I want to go home this fall for a spell, but if they need me badly I might give up even this. All this, however, we can talk over at St. A.

In case we get home early I might be able to get to St. John's and come up with you, but don't count on this.

Good-bye until St. A. I don't see how you can reach me until then. Heaven only knows where we will be.

The Duchess went down off Battle Harbor with Miss Bryce aboard, but nobody was hurt. She was a beast of a boat. Don't let Father talk you into going to St. John's by train. Go by either the Stephano or Florizel from N.Y. to St. J.

We have a tame wild goose aboard the boat. It lives in a soap box and is a delightful pet. It hasn't the slightest desire to leave us and struts about so chic that I have named her Mimi.

I have just taken a little trip North to Hopedale, on the steamer. Never have I seen happier looking humans than the Eskimos are. They are all tiny. (I saw several hundred of them and I was a large man amongst them.) Good-bye till St. A.

That autumn Caspar returned home for a few months. All his plans for Father and Mother joining him in Newfoundland miscarried. This was due largely to not getting letters from Mother. Fifty-three of her letters were finally returned to her. They had tracked him for months up and down The Labrador, but never overtook him.

During his visit with us he talked all the time of his year in the North and of his new friends there. One story he told stands out in my memory. A company of movie stars arrived on The Labrador that summer to "film" one of Sir Gilbert Parker's Canadian romances. As Caspar happened to be at Red Bay, where they landed, he acted in the picture. In order to keep the village people out of the range of the camera he had to use the strong language they understood. That night, in the hut, where they were all sleeping, he heard the leading lady say to her husband, "The little Doc may be a missionary and he may be a good one, but believe me, Kiddo, he ain't always been one."

He certainly by that time was more of a missionary than a medical student. He would not even consider returning to the Harvard Medical School then. He was keen to return to the Mission. The work there obviously needed doing. He said that, of course, there was plenty of good work to do everywhere, but that in cities he always thought that if he did not do it some one else would and do it better than he could, so he let "some one else" do it. In the North he knew that if he did not do it, it would not be done. He was glad to go back to where he saw he was useful. Also he was glad to return to his new friends there, and above all to the wilderness.

Government House,
St. John's, Newfoundland,
Thursday, Dec. 18th, 1913.

DEAR MOTHER,

I HAD a safe trip up; more than that I do not care to say.

On arrival I was met by such a distinguished military gentleman (who turned out to be an orderly) that I almost called him General! Mrs. Davidson(1) had me come right here where the Jones'(2) and Millie Fowler already were. Wasn't it kind? Olga had fixed it all.

Curious work this keeping up the dignity of the Crown (very costly too). His Excellency, the Governor, is charming and very interesting. A.D.C. (see Price Collier) just suggested a game of billiards to me. During it I thought, "It's that man's job to be agreeable to you; he's paid for it." Ugh!! More about this later.

Here's the other side. On the train I talked (in the second class) to four guides. One of them (a famous guide) has been guide for about every distinguished man you ever heard of both English and American. He (as did they all) held forth; he said, "Well, I has guided for Mr. Elihu Root (and dozens of other names) and I never saw an American yet who wasn't sociable-like. But damn the English aristocrat, I never saw one yet who would sit down and smoke a pipe with a fellow." This lasted for hours and finally about ten more joined in and spoke as one man.

Curious thing this ability to govern and govern well people who don't like you. I think much about this and will write more.

Mary and Maury are even more delightful than I imagined. Maury and I hit it off splendidly. Mary has a real sense of humor. She keeps me in roars of laughter. She is a lady's edition of Monk, which is a delightful combination...

But what amuses me is Miss Fowler thinking she was too young to run the Guest House!!! Why, she could run the Tennis and Racquet Club and make it really hum!

And Monk! Why, Mary Jones has forgotten more about Monk than I ever knew! What's more, I fancy she has got me very nearly pigeon-holed. How I don't know. She said, "I got a telegram. It said, 'Monk sends love to Cap,' but it was signed 'Mother' and that just made fifty words."

Tell Father I just gave his check to Mr. Sheard. I told him to use it for the Strathcona's boilers and that I wanted to give it anonymously. I hope you don't mind.

We won't get to St. A. for Christmas.

Bear Cove, Christmas, 1913.

WELL, here we are. St. A. tomorrow. This is the most glorious Christmas morning I have ever seen. This part of White Bay is heavily wooded. The evergreens covered with snow are glorious in the warm sunshine. The saloon is heavily decorated; at meals you feel as if you were sitting in a kaleidoscope. The girls have a Christmas tree; a turkey has been reported; I have on a collar and a sprig of holly. But the real joy of Christmas is that all the men left on the boat are so Christmasy. I hoped we wouldn't get to St. A! Festas there are ghastly.

As it happened, about twenty-five of the men I like best on the shore are aboard. It does seem rather nice to be treated as an old friend in such a simple way. I have had a great time with everybody from Father Thibault to Skipper Bill Pilgrim. The former is a wonder, even the Methodists and Church people like him and joke with him. He told Captain Kane that it was no wonder he could run at night. He said, "Protestants are good at that, because they live in darkness." McKinley has just brought the "Terra Nova" home to St. John's from England. He is rich on the subject of it. He said, "Mon, I was na in command of a ship but a ----- dime museum." He has Lauder beaten easily.

I have had a poor time with one man; he has had five epileptic fits, and gets rough.

All the boxes got to St. John's O.K.. . .

St. Anthony, Jan. 12, 1914.

WELL, here goes for a long letter, as the Prospero ought to be in soon. We had a lovely Christmas on the Prospero, as I wrote, and got in here the next day, where we were met by everybody.

I am living in a very nice room in the hospital. It really looks attractive with my books, of which I am getting quite a collection, your pictures, etc.

Now as to the personnel! Good and bad! First for good! Joneses and Millie of course. Millie is even more donative than Dr. Armstrong; she has endless crates of good things which she distributes very freely. Also they get on beautifully with Miss Spaulding. I have had many meals at the Orphanage. It is delightful there. Millie also has a fairly good dog team with a driver ....

You have to see Dr. Little here to appreciate him. He is gorgeous. Altogether the best man I ever saw to work for. The morning I got here he said, "I am giving Levi Luff a general anæsthetic. I want you to fix him up." This meant that I had to take out nine teeth, open up an enormous abscess under the jaw bone, scrape it out and chisel out a lot of dead bone, insert the proper drain and sew up. He came into the operating-room from time to time, but did not offer any suggestion. I later had a long talk with him about my work. It was like talking to his classmate, Edgar Wells. After it was over I knew just exactly where I stood; what I could do and what I couldn't. I knew that he would back me up on the former and come down like a sledge-hammer on me if I tried the latter. He has and will put more responsibility on me than I had last year.

But this is only one side of him. He is a thorough gentleman, knows how to do things, and is very witty. I sat up all night with him on an obstetrical case; there is no way really to know a man unless you sit up all night with him. We had a delightful time. He is two men; J. Mason Little, M.D., sharp, exact, dignified, businesslike, and Johnny Little, the soul of geniality, with whom I can talk freely as with my own friends. It is remarkable how we seem to agree on life in general. Mrs. Little is charming.

Dr. Hamerick, the house officer here, I like very much. He is younger than I. What is very dear of him is that he has never given me an order yet. He always says, "Will you please do," or "Let's us do." Incidentally he is clever in handling me this way. He insists that he is not my boss; of course he is and knows it, but isn't it decent of him to handle the situation this way?

He is an excellent doctor and very keen on it. He is bright and jolly and lets nobody run over him. Anything connected with medicine interests him, nothing else does. That will come later, 1 suppose. So far, fine.

Miss ------ is the most improved person I have ever seen. She has actually become pleasant, efficient, and has, thank goodness, almost lost the "missionary spirit."

Somebody has made me out to be the professional funny man of the Mission. Ugh! You can imagine how this leads to verbal activity on my part.

Miss McElderry, who is head nurse here, broke down under the work and is in charge of the guest house. I knew her at Battle last summer. She is one of the most charming ladies I have ever known. I see a good deal of her, and the more I see her the better I like her. More of her later.

There is also a chap named Bisbee who teaches school; very nice apparently. There is also a very earnest Eli, named Parsons. In his favor be it said that he plays the 'cello nicely, but he does even that a little too earnestly.

John Evans is back in form again. I am more fond of him than ever...

I saw Booth(3) at Englée. He told me that he will he well after this winter. Again Dr. Grenfell was right when all reason seemed against him. I hope that he will be up soon.

Maury Jones has gone to Flower's Cove with Dr. Little to see Parson Richards.

By the way, we have a clergyman here, a Mr. Vivian,(4) who seems fine! He has been away on a trip!!!(5) He is young and looks a gentleman. Like all Newfoundland clergymen he is very "high," which, as near as I can make out, means that they wear habits. Curious thing about Newfoundland's High Church. They go in very strong for being called "Father," for all the little catchwords which so annoy Low Churchmen, and then they only have Holy Communion once a month at 11 o'clock. It seems about like Mozart opera with the music left out.

Gov. Davidson sent us a lovely telegram. "Merry Christmas. You are all the right sort. You deserve to be Britishers, but bear up under the handicap."

Prospero coming. I must stop.

Jan. 25, 1914.

WELL, as the mail goes out here goes for a good long letter and I shall now try to write more, as the mail should be fairly regular now.

Things go on much the same here. Hospital work, trips, reading, chess, etc.

As Kipling says (roughly):

"The Lord knows where we may go, dear lass,
The deuce knows what we may do;
But we're back once more on our own trail, the old trail,
We're down, hull down on the Long Trail,
The trail that is always new."

Do you like this? L'Envoi, it is called.. I have been either away on short trips, or here while Dr. Hamerick took long trips in which case I have been in charge here. You may laugh at this, but it is a fact. I have real ability for one thing, I can keep nurses and other good people from scrapping if I am boss. Here is the trouble, ambition. Now Dr. G. or Dr. L. want to be head, but why? Because they feel that there is work to be done which they can do better than anybody available. If a better surgeon were to, come along, willing to do the work, either one of them would gladly play second fiddle. But this is not the case with most ambition here. Why, what sort of a man would I be if I resented the fact that some new medical student will come here next summer and do the jobs which I am doing now better than I do them? Any fellow who has this work at heart would feel grateful, and do something else which he can do better than anybody else or do nothing and still feel grateful. Seeing all this as I do, I have the key to all the brawls which constantly come up. Most of them amuse me.

I have read lately "Pride and Prejudice," "Emma," "Jane Eyre," "Les Dieux ont Soif," "Life of Benvenuto Cellini," that book of six plays of Beaumont and Fletcher's, two books of Ben Jonson's plays, Marlowe's plays, Life of Alexander Hamilton, General John Regan and, for the thousandth time, "Tartarin de Tarascon" (how I love it). Will you get me a catalogue of that Everyman's Library, and I can get you to bring me up some more books when you come? Get Judith(6) to suggest some French books, not on the sex problem. I run towards books which are called "smutty," but am bored with these degenerate attempts to solve serious problems. I read "Les Avaries" (Damaged Goods), but it isn't nearly as good as Osler's "Syphilis" or nearly as entertaining.

Isn't France producing any Tartarins, Cyranos, Molières, or even Rabelais? Tell Judith she must produce them somehow. I know she reads a great deal of French. Henri Bergson is the man of the hour in French thought, I fancy, but I have all his things here. He is fine. He is a modern and yet he misses all this muddle-headed thinking called Pragmatism. Royce in his new "Philosophy of Loyalty" misses it also.

There is not one case of sickness where there were ten last year, but it may only be the calm before the storm.

I will try to write often now that the mail is started regularly.

Feb. 22, 1914.

I HAVE just come back from a long trip. I had a delightful time, but very dirty weather, quite cold with a southerly gale. What do you mean by sending us cold weather? You must be having it at home. I don't think I ever saw it really cold before with such a wind.

I see by the papers (daily telegraph news which we are supposed to get) that Lord Strathcona is dead. Tom Bromfield's father used to sell him furs at the following prices: Prime mink or fisher, one sewing needle; otter, one axe; silver foxes, two barrels of flour. I suppose the Strathcona has helped even things up a bit, but!!.

I play a great deal of chess. It is far better than any game of cards. Just between you and me I seemed to have found something (unprofitable) at which I have talent ....

I bought a very fine silver fox; a prime skin with almost no silver hairs, about as near a black fox as they come. For that, three fine reds and a patch fox (a beauty) I gave $500.00. Had I more money left I would give this to you.

I am too stingy for that, but you may have it or them for what it cost. Should you not care to keep it I feel sure that they will bring double that figure, probably much more. Understand I am not hinting that I want the fox myself. I won't take it, but you are welcome to it yourself and sell it by all means if you don't feel like keeping such a valuable thing. It is pretty generally admitted that it is the finest bit of fur caught in North Newfoundland in years. Incidentally Cy Grenham, from whom I bought it, was down to flour and tea (no butter, milk, sugar, meat or anything). I gave him what cash I have here and shall wire Father to send me post-office money orders for the rest of it, as he needs the money, and as I can't cash such a check here.

I am going off to the bungalow on the southern side of Hare Bay with Maury for a holiday, during which we hope to snare several hundred rabbits for food. Short cuts here are short cuts. If you can cross the bay you save fifty miles, more or less. I have been doing most of my own dog driving. As I am very light, travel with an axe, medicine box and toothbrush, I am well liked by the Mission team, which is very fine this year.

I went to Griquet and back, eighteen miles each way, and saw three patients before lunch the other day. There is not one case of sickness where there were ten last year, so that I am not hard worked.

Mary Jones got a startling letter from some friend, who had conceived the scheme that she and I were in love with each other. The friend asked Mrs. Nourse(7) about it, and Mrs. Nourse said, "It seems very probable." I wonder what Monk would have said; but, my word, if Monk is eligible I am. We have had great fun over it. Mary said, "I told you of this engagement because I thought it was something you really ought to know about." . . .

I reason along into thinking very well of the Roman Church and then, bang, I come upon some policy of theirs which makes me shout, "Go it, Luther."

By the way, if you can put your hands on any statement of the High Church position about this African Communion squabble send it to me. I have read the Bishop of Oxford's and Lord Somebody's speeches; I admire them for not trimming, but really I absolutely side with the other side, but surely the clever High Churchmen have some point to make. Send it to me, I am willing to be changed, but it will take something sound (not spiritual) to do it. I feel that G. K. can clear this up, if he will.

March, 1914.

I HAVEN'T written for a long time because this will get to you before my letter would have. Dr. Little is taking this to you. He is going out for his sister's wedding, but really because his ears are still bad (I think). At any rate he will see you and give you the news..

Dr. Little will see Dr. G. in the States and will tell you what I am to do this summer. I have not the vaguest idea what they will want me to do. Certainly it will be arranged for me to be here when you come, but I can't arrange things here .... Tell Kitty(8) I have set Dr. Little on her trail, but to arrange matters with Mrs. G. I am going part way out with Dr. Little, returning slowly doing medical work.

I must tell you that I was vaguely considering joining an expedition to Baffin Land with Captain Pickels, but his wife won't let him go. Fancy Pickels having a wife who can boss him! I don't suppose he sees her once in two years. At any rate it is all off. Dr. Little will tell you about it, if you are interested.

I hope you can realize sometime what John Little has been to me. Taken all in all, day in and day out (except about twice a month when he is grouchy), he commands my admiration more than anybody I have ever known. He has never once praised me or my work, except to tell me one day that I had medical ability. What you might miss in him is his fun. It lies deep, but is there. We talk at each other like two old cronies. He has not always taken life seriously, and still has the point of view of a somewhat wild undergraduate. He looks ugly facts about himself and others in the face and calls a spade a spade. He looks at things curiously as I do at my best.

Did I write you that the "swiles" (seals) struck in for the first time in fifteen years? Esau Hillier made about a thousand dollars in three days, and everybody made fifty dollars at least. I went out among them. I suppose I saw at one time 5,000 baby seals. They cry just like a baby. You walk out and biff them over the head with a gaff, then tow them in after skinning them. Of all dangerous jobs this is the worst. Only one man was lost, but why only one is a mystery to me. If I never see it again I have once seen real adventure. I of course was only where it wasn't really dangerous. Tell Dad that when I see him I think I can beat Jack London. You rush out on the ice, jumping from piece to piece, some of them went four miles out, get your seals in tow and start back. Now the ice moves along faster than you can walk and if it got past the Cape before you hit land you went out to sea on it and before you could be rescued you were a mere dot. Men went out here and tried to hit land at the Cape, but many of them had to be rescued with row boats at the edge of the ice.

I have since been treating a case of violent mania at Griquet, caused by a combination of exhaustion and fright. The poor man keeps shouting, "Slip your swiles, byes! Jump! Jump! Open waters to leeward! Why in hell don't the skipper get me?" I was told it was a case of pneumonia and I made a diagnosis of an absolutely normal man, outside of brain. Sealitis was a new disease for me, but I made the diagnosis just the same and curiously enough was right. Everybody has fresh meat now, no scurvy this spring, I fancy. My, but those young seal are good to eat.

I of course saw all this merely as a spectator and only went out a short way on the ice. Of course all the sealers are off here. Captain Kane has 20,000 already ....

The seals are all gone now and we had our sports last week. I was very much touched by the fact that I had a dozen and a half seals brought to me as presents.

I am leaving here at four tomorrow morning, so will try to get a few hours' sleep. We have a dying man here, who I am specialing. That is the worst sign, when I am put on to special anybody it is all over but the shouting. This fellow still has a chance, however.

We hope to get to Flower's Cove (sixty-five miles) and possibly Brig Bay (eighty-three miles) in one day, and, as I am driving the Mission team, I will have somewhat of a day. I am taking Mr. Redpath, who weighs 190 and has asthma, to Brig Bay, where he gets a team to take him to the railroad. The dogs are rested and simply wild to go, because they are stuffed with new seal.

Saturday, June 1st, 1914.

IT has been a long time since the last, but there has been no boat here as yet, except the Sagona which finally got here, three weeks out from St. John's. The Prospero got to Lock's Cove, twenty miles from here, but couldn't get through. Dr. Little got off there and walked in. He gave me all the news of you as well as your letters. It is a pleasure to see him looking so well. I have been travelling all spring and have been having a glorious time. On the 28th of April I struck one of the nastiest days I ever hope to see, as bad as February weather. I had a lovely visit with Booth in Canada Bay .... He is one of my very best friends. You ought to see us coming over a hill with a dog team. (I have been travelling without a driver.) He weighs about 250 pounds stripped, without one ounce of fat, and I may remark that for me to steer him down hill between trees is exciting. I put in two days' medical work. One fellow drove the breech block of a Winchester, entering just under his right eye, clear through the bone into the mouth. He picked it out and walked home and isn't going even to lose his eye. Then I went trouting. Booth says, "I don't think it bad that you don't shave or dress, but it is time to change when you will fish for trout with pork." Tell Father I got sixteen dozen one day.

By the way, I do think that I have real ability to get work out of dogs. The delicate art of "having good hands" is nothing compared to the skill of getting dogs to work. There is only one man out of a hundred who can drive dogs and I fancy if I was to drive dogs for ten years I could rank with them, certainly not in less time.

Life in the Hospital has been hell on earth .... The more I see of people who want to improve others (not love them), the more I think there is to be said in favor of the good-natured or even the good-for-nothing gentlemen.

But one thing is apparent to me now, and it is real. It is the poor people who are going to heaven. This is the great fact; and very, very few of our friends really believe it. With this fact stowed away I see things, all life in fact, a bit differently. Christianity is the doctrine of hope for the unsuccessful. I hear people say," Honesty is the best policy," "Whatever good I do I get my reward for it." My word, but this is exactly the opposite of "The first shall be last and the last first." Moreover, I maintain that if you or I or anybody was in the eyes of God doing His will we wouldn't be successful, we wouldn't get recognition ....

I can't write this, but let me tell you I have had many a long think about this sort of thing. It seems to me that you must be either a Christian or a Socialist. I am down on Socialism because I believe that God picks out for the good things of the world to come the people who haven't had the gilt of this world. 1f f wasn't a coward I'd act on my belief; as it is, I would gladly take all the money I could lay my hands on. But we will talk this all over.

Now as to plans: I go to Indian Harbor when the ice goes off the coast. I am to stay there until Dr. Grenfell goes North, when he is to pick me up in the Strathcona. I will be back some time about the first of September, not before. I will wire you or rather wireless you when to start for here and we ought to get here about the same time. Dr. Little wants you to stay with him. But as the Grenfells have invited you you will probably stay with them.

Indian Harbor,
July 10th, 1914.

I HAD a long wait in St. A. for the ice to go out. During that time I took a trip South to Harbor Deep. About fifty people live there; twenty-seven had ber-ber. One died just as I got there and another later, twins, fourteen children, all under eight years, in debt, leaky house, dry flour only. I carried provisions. Shipped most of the sick ones to St. A. and generally tore things up. At Conche my engine broke down (Clip Sturgis' old boat). I came to St. A. on the Prospero; spent twelve hours there, working with about seventy patients ; went back to Conche, started North, got pinched by ice in Croe Harbor; left the boat there. Went through about thirty-five miles of ice in Norris trading schooner to Goose Cove and walked from there home. Navigating a ninety-ton clumsy schooner behind a forty-mile breeze, through pan ice, comes very near being exciting.

I found Grenfell just arrived at St. A. . . . He is just as fascinating as ever .... He put me in as skipper of the Floradel. Will Sims is engineer. The engine never could be even started. Harry Parker(9) is cook. He is a delight. I picked him out because he didn't seem "earnest." I had enough of earnest Yale boys last summer. Harry just stayed in Harvard long enough to get into the Porc. I don't think I ever took more of a liking to a young chap. We had a fine trip North in spite of ice. Find it very wearing work being in charge of a boat in ice. I had forty-eight hours on watch, only going below for meals. I don't care for much of this. It is very cold. We finally got through the ice into Hawke's, July 4th. We couldn't furl our mainsail because it was frozen stiff. I didn't kick on the cold this winter, in fact I didn't mind it, but really it does seem as if this is overdoing it a bit. Tell Father I caught a string of brook trout standing on a dead whale at Hawke's Harbor. A whale factory is there. I start back tomorrow with the "Yale." Thank goodness the ice is offshore now.

When I get to St. A. I don't know what I shall do. If there is real work for me to do, which won't be done unless I do it, I shall stay right on. If there isn't, I shall probably come home. I won't stay here just for the sake of staying here .... If they set me a useful job when I get to St. A. I shall stay right on until you come anyway, whether I like the job or not. I won't ask for the jobs I know I can do and want to do.

I shan't squeal, but I have been having pretty near my full capacity of work lately. I have only had my clothes off twice in three weeks and I find it hard to keep pleasant. I know I should murder one or two of those earnest summer missionaries in St. A. I am going to board across the Harbor with Noah Sims when I get to St. A. I can't bear that mob, particularly the kodak girls. Did I tell you that I have been reading Shakespeare from A to Z?

July 27th, 1914.

JUST after I wrote my last rather blue letter to you the old "Invermore" went down seven miles from Indian. I had just been talking to Jacob Kean, her skipper, about an hour before she hit. We had rather a bad trip of it coming back, as the ice was bad. We were held up two days at Domino, which I spent on the "Senator" and "Maxine Elliot," two Gloucestermen. My word, but they have good food there! I will tell you all about them when you come. Old Axel Lager, a Dane, the skipper of the "Senator," would have delighted Kipling. They can't get through the ice. We kept between the ice and the land, and their comments on this country are gems.

I found the Strathcona here. These are my sailing orders: "Take Yale to Indian Harbor when engine is installed. Bring back Floradel. When Dr. Morgan leaves (he leaves Sept. 15th) I want you on Strathcona until she stops running (about Nov. 1st)." . . . I figure on getting back here about the 20th of August, but this is guesswork, pure and simple. At any rate you come as you plan to. I will wire you from Indian if I think you had better come sooner. Whether you will stay at Grenfell's, Little's or the Guest House I can't figure out; at any rate come. Also whether I will be able to go home the 1st of November and come back on the last boat I can't figure out. But it will have to work itself out somehow.

If you come on the Prospero you will love Captain Kean, and if you can make him talk you will hear talk, far more interesting to me, at any rate, than any talk I ever heard in a drawing room. Also get to know John Field the mate, and above all McKinley the Chief Engineer. Harry Lauder is a poor imitation of Mac. Get to know him if you have to go below and pull him out of an oil cup. One time he had a peripheral neuritis. I told him it came either from lead or alcohol poisoning. With that wonderful Scotch twinkle in his eye he said, "Mon, I'd be gettin' that I suppose from oilin' so much Babbit metal."

Don't go to Battle Harbor unless I should telegraph you to, as no steamer has yet been to Battle. Possibly I might meet you somewhere on the way down here. At any rate, come.

Directly after this date War was declared. The following telegram from Caspar made Father and Mother abandon all their plans to join him in Newfoundland:

St. Anthony, N.F.
Aug. 4, '14.

UNLESS situation Europe changes inadvisable coming here. You might get held up either going or coming. Wireless communication Labrador stopped today. Unless change I shall probably come home on Gloucesterman or some American vessel, but may be held up myself. Wire if you can get it through. Will be here some time probably. Everything in tumult.

Late in the autumn he escaped from the tumult, but not on a Gloucesterman. From some harbor on the Gulf of St. Lawrence he telegraphed:

Aboard Canadian lighthouse tender. Headed Quebec. Valet to reindeer.

He was more than a valet to those reindeer; he was resident physician, day nurse and night nurse to them. They were seasick. He did not want to lose them, for he was going to be well paid for them by a department store in Toronto. They were to be the chief advertisement of the store for Christmas.

His voyage, with two nauseated reindeer, on that tiny steamer from The Labrador to Quebec, stopping at every lighthouse on the coast, should have been put in a letter. We got only telegrams, for he delivered his reindeer in Toronto, and went from there directly to Cincinnati.

He was full of the War. He talked of little else. Even then he saw clearly that it was not a fight about European boundaries. He talked constantly, intelligently and earnestly about this being a War for Right, a war that concerned Americans just as truly as Belgians, French or English. Not many Americans in those days had the vision to agree with him. They thought he had become "pro-British" by living and working two years with Englishmen. As a matter of fact his attention and his interest were as completely diverted from The Labrador and The Mission as if that were a closed chapter of his life.

While he was in New York, Mr. Robert Bacon offered him the position of a dresser in the first American Flying Ambulance Corps. He longed to accept. We urged him to do so, or at least to telegraph Dr. Grenfell asking to be released from his promise to return to St. Anthony for the winter of 1914-15. Practically all the English doctors and nurses had left The Mission for war work. Dr. Grenfell had begged Caspar, as an American, to carry on at St. Anthony. He had agreed to do so. He wanted to get into the War, but he simply said, "I have promised Dr. Grenfell to return to St. Anthony and I will not treat my promise as a scrap of paper."

He induced Bruce Graydon to go North with him for the winter, and arranged to take the last boat that would be able to get to St. Anthony before the harbor was frozen until spring.

He returned to keep his word to Dr. Grenfell. His heart was in the War.

Just before he left Boston for the North he said to me, "As soon as the ice breaks next spring I am going to leave, and I'm not going to fight the battles of the Allies from a leather chair at the Harvard Club."

Jan. 12, 1915.

DEAR MOTHER,

WE had a better trip than usual to St. John's, but it is pretty bad at that.

The first bit of news which greeted me was that not in forty years has this country known such ice at this time of year. I was also told that the Prospero could not possibly reach St. A. . . . It was worth taking a chance on, however, so off we came. More of this later.

Now for a sort of log of the trip. Anybody except Bruce and I would be mad by now. Every day it has first looked as though we would get there and then as if we wouldn't.

Tuesday.

LEFT wharf 2 P.M. Harbor covered thin ice. Coming out through Narrows solid field of heavy Northern slob ice about three miles off coast, but wind W.S.W. driving it out. Straight course to Bay de Verde, beautiful crisp day, loose sish ice. At Bay de Verde Bruce saw his first fishing village and fishermen; his remark on the latter was, "My God, Cap, they are a different kind of animal."

7 P.M. Old Perlican Bight filled up, couldn't get in.

8 P.M. Put across bay for Trinity; slob ice, heavy, went through it full speed about as fast as a man can walk. About eleven picked up schooner, tight in ice; towed her Trinity. Looked very bad for St. A.

Wednesday.

WIND light N.N.W. Just barely able to get around Cape Bonavista. Thick snow, stopped, and way out at sea saw schooner frozen in ice flying distress flag. Spent whole day getting within two miles of her. Two of our crew walked to schooner and rescued skipper of schooner (his crew had deserted several days before) after which they set schooner on fire. Flames of schooner very beautiful on ice. Whole day lost. St. A. looks out of question.

Thursday.

FINE S.W. wind driving all ice away from coast. Quite warm. St. A. looks near. Made Wesleyville for night. Bruce the perfect travelling companion, but hasn't "got the hang" of these people yet.

Friday.

SAME wind, made Seldom-Come-By, a very good run. One of the days when things look bright.

Saturday.

W. WIND. All day butting ice; running into a few hundred yards, then backing and getting a fresh start and making a few hundred more. Captain Kean talked for about two hours in the evening about seals, very interesting. Bruce nearly dies over everybody calling me Doctor, particularly today when I had to take a few stitches in a sailor's hand where he had cut it. Sunday all day covering a few miles to Nippers Harbor. We are only passengers left. Even chance St. A.

Monday.

WHEN we got to Cape John solid jamb of Arctic ice. Went back to Little Bay where I telegraphed you. All hope about gone.

Tuesday.

THANK God. A strong S.W. wind, ice going out again. Just able slip around the Cape, but could not get into any of next ports of call. In loose ice all day. Made Jackson Arm last night. Very fortunate, people had all their winter flour on board. Went ashore with Bruce; saw several sick people and many old friends, amongst them a small boy who we have apparently cured of T.B. of hip. Bought two hind quarters of caribou, one 38 lbs., other 47 lbs., for $3.60. Oh, this high cost of living! Today conditions here perfect --- strong W. wind. We really should reach St. A. or Conche today. I can get to St. A. from the latter by dogs. I will add a line to this when I find out where we will reach. I won't be able to write you after I get to St. A. by this boat, as she will let us out on the ice probably a mile or so from the wharf and will leave right away.

The dog mail has started earlier, I believe. Just left Harbor Deep. Straight St. Anthony. Lots of luck. Lots of love. I am going to try to write often. -

St. Anthony, Jan. 27th, 1915.

THE first mail goes out tonight, which is much earlier than it has ever started before.

It seems very strange here. The hospital is closed, all except the out-patient department. This, however, we keep heated and have fitted up as a sort of operating-room, where we can do about anything which can't wait until spring. I thought at first that this was going to give me very little to do, but the opposite is the case. It simply means that people who would have been in the hospital before come here and board outside in the Harbor ....

Dr. Grenfell has been in Canada Bay trying to fix up a strike at the mill ever since I have been here. I haven't seen him yet.

We are very comfortably settled. Bruce and John Evans, as well as Bowditch live in Alec Sims' (Dr. Little's dog driver's) house. I live, or rather sleep, in Uncle Joe Pilley's house, near by, and eat with them. We have a room fitted up very nicely, and I have never been so comfortable since I have been here.

Bruce is a joy, and he and John Evans hit it off beautifully. He likes it very much, but Dr. G. hasn't seized on him yet. He has done nothing so far, as Dr. Little refuses to take hold of things at all.

Bowditch plays chess which is very good fun and cards are now being played, but I won't; I can't play for fun.

I brought a son into the world for Will Sims the other night, and it is named Burton Sims. Graydon nearly died over this. Miss Dove, one of the two nurses here, helped me. She is very nice and tactful. She worked for a year with a big obstetrician in New York and you never could have told but that she thought I was doing a perfect job (it was a forceps case too).

I have to hurry to catch the mail. Will write a longer letter next week.

During that winter he wrote very few letters. Life there had become an old story to him; also he was not interested in it. His frequent telegrams showed enthusiasm only when they were about the possibilities of leaving St. Anthony and getting into the War. We proposed several Red Cross jobs to him. The following telegram is characteristic of his attitude toward such proposals:

St. Anthony, N.F., May 5, 1915.

WOULD go France or anywhere if needed, but do not feel call to pull wires for job. Nothing doing in Newfoundland along this line. Under height limit here.

He had tried to enlist in a Newfoundland regiment. He knew that was really getting into the War. His spirit was not "under height limit," even if his body was. That was always the case. His big spirit always made his little body undertake and put through things beyond its power. That he was turned down the first time he tried to enlist did not give him the comfortable idea, "Well, I have offered myself. No man can do more than that." He knew he could do more than that and he proceeded to do it.

Before steamer could get through the ice that summer to St. Anthony Caspar and Bruce had set out in an open boat for The Labrador in order to be picked up by any passing steamer. That was his way of getting into the War. With him he carried this letter from Dr. Grenfell. It is the connecting link between Caspar's life on The Labrador and in the War:

St. Anthony, Newfoundland June, 1915.

THIS IS to certify that Caspar Burton has served with us as volunteer assistant for three years. His early education and a year and a half at the Harvard Medical School prepared him to take full advantage of the unusual responsibilities essential to our work. He has frequently administered anesthetics for our operations --- has done any quantity of minor surgery --- knows about bandaging, splinting, restoratives, stimulants, hæmostases, and the full ritual of antiseptics and asepticism. He should be an admirable man for the flying ambulance work. He is brave and unselfish. His entire work here has been freely given for the sake of others only --- a better, tenderer, better qualified non-registered man you couldn't find.

(Signed) WILFRED T. GRENFELL.