I
THE CABIN AT THE JUG
The Jug, as Thomas Angus often remarked, was as snug and handy a placeto live as ever a man could wish. Ten miles up the Bay was the tradingpost of the Hudson's Bay Company, and at Wolf Bight, twelve milesdirectly across the Bay from the Jug, the trading post of Trowbridge &Gray, and then only five miles to the eastward, at Break Cove, livedDoctor Joe.
"Neighbors right handy all around," declared Thomas, "and no chance ofever gettin' lonesome."
The Jug was a well sheltered bight on the north side of Eskimo Bay,and here, in the edge of the forest, stood Thomas' cabin.
Near by the cabin Roaring Brook rushed down through a gorge in a vasthurry to empty its sparkling waters into the bight; and behind thecabin, shrouded in silence and mystery, stretching away intounmeasured distances, lay the great unpeopled wilderness.
"Room enough," said Thomas, "for a man to stretch himself."
The Angus home was much like every other trapper's home in the EskimoBay country, though somewhat larger and more commodious, perhaps, thanwas usual. Thomas believed in "comfort, and plenty o' room to stretch,indoors as well as out," and this sentiment led him to make no stintof timber or labor when he builded.
"The timber is here for the takin', and right handy," said he, "and abit more work don't matter."
The cabin was built of logs, and faced the south, with its entrancethrough an enclosed porch on the western gable. This porch served bothas a protection from winter storms and as a store room. Here were keptdog harness, fish nets, and innumerable odds and ends incident to thelife and occupation of a trapper and fisherman. And in one end of theporch, neatly piled in tiers, was an ever-ready supply of firewood.
A door from the porch led into a living room crudely and primitivelyfurnished, but possessed of an indescribable atmosphere of cozycomfort. The uncarpeted floor, the home-made table, the chests whichserved both as storage places for clothing and as seats, the threecrude but substantial home-made chairs, and the shelves for dishes,were scoured clean and white with sand and soap, for Margaret, throughher Scotch ancestry, had inherited a penchant for cleanliness andneatness.
"I likes to keep the house tidy," she said to Doctor Joe once, when hecomplimented her. "'Tis a wonderful comfort to have un tidy andclean."
There were three windows, draped with snow-white muslin--an unusualluxury. Two of these windows looked to the southward to catch the sunwith its cheer, and before them lay the wide vista of Eskimo Bay, andbeyond the Bay the grim, snow-capped peaks of the Mealy Mountains. Theother window was in the rear, but here the view was restricted by theforest, which sheltered the cabin from the frigid northern blasts ofthe sub-arctic winters.
A big box stove, which would accommodate great billets of wood, andcrackled cheerily, and a bunk built against the wall like a ship'sbunk, and which served Thomas as a bed, completed the furnishings.
Originally the cabin had contained no other rooms than the living roomand the porch, but when the children came, and grew, Thomas, with hisdesire for "plenty o' room to stretch," erected an addition on theeastern end, which he partitioned into two sleeping compartments, onefor Margaret and the other for the boys.
Mighty content were Thomas Angus and his family. A snug cabin, aneighbor "right handy," the trading posts near enough to visit now andagain on business or on pleasure, and enough to eat--what more couldbe desired?
Thomas Angus was a good hunter, and provided well for his family,which in Labrador means that for the most part his catch of fur wasgood in winter, his fish nets yielded well in summer, and thereforehis flour barrel was seldom empty.
Bread and pork, with no stint of tea, and a bit of molasses forsweetening, together with such game as he might kill, sat a table thatto Thomas Angus and his family was bountiful and varied enough, if notluxurious. There were no potatoes or other vegetables, to be sure, forgardens do not thrive in this far northern land; but they did not mindthat, for they had never eaten vegetables. We do not miss what we havenever had, and the more we have the more we demand. And so it was thatThomas Angus and his family were happy and content enough with what toyou and me would have been privation.
"'Tis a wonderful fine livin' we has here," said Thomas, "and we'rethankful to th' Lard for providin' it."
Mrs. Angus had been dead these five years. Her grave, marked by a rudewooden slab, was in a little fenced-in clearing behind the house. Herdeath was the greatest sorrow that had ever visited the Anguses.Thomas dug the grave himself, as a last service to his wife, and whenhe and the neighbors lowered Mrs. Angus into her deep, cold bed, andcovered her with frozen clods of earth, and he and the mourningchildren returned to the empty cabin, he comforted them with thephilosophy of his simple Christian faith.
"'Tis the Lard's will," he said. "The work He had for Mother to do onearth was ended, and He called her away. 'Tis a bit hard on us that'sleft behind, and we'll be missin' her sore, but we'll bear un withoutcomplaint because 'tis the Lard's will. We mustn't forget--thoughwe'll be like to forget sometimes--that Mother's still livin'. 'Twasonly the body that she was through usin' that we buried out there. Whocan know but she may be right with us now, though we can't see her?And maybe she's seein' us all the time, and knowin' all we does andtalks about."
Margaret, then a little maid of twelve, took her mother's place ashousekeeper, and bravely did her best to mother the boys. In thesefive years she had grown into a handsome, rosy-cheeked lass ofseventeen, and as capable and fine a housekeeper as you could find onthe whole Labrador.
David and Andy, too, had developed with the years from energetic smallboys into broad-shouldered, bronze-faced, brawny lads. David, nearlysixteen, and Andy, fourteen, lent a hand at anything that was to bedone indoors and out. They kept the water barrel filled from RoaringBrook, they helped cut the firewood and haul it with the dogs, andsawed and split it into proper size for the big box stove. In summerthey did their part at the salmon and trout fishing and in winter theykept the house supplied with partridges and rabbits and other smallgame. In Labrador every one must do his part, and lads learn early tobear their share of the responsibilities of life, and so it was withDavid and Andy. And adventures, too, they had, for in that brave landadventures come often enough.
Jamie, the youngest of the family, was ten, and as cheerful and lustyand fine a little lad as ever lived. But Jamie's sight was failing.
"They's a smoke in the house," said Jamie when he awoke one morning.
"They's no smoke in the house," protested Andy.
"But I sees un! I sees un!" insisted Jamie.
"'Tis the sleep in your eyes yet," suggested David. "'Twill pass awaywhen you wakes."
And so Jamie said no more, believing it was the sleep in his eyes, andhe rubbed them to drive it away, and dressed, and looked out of thewindow toward the bay.
"They's a mist on the water," said Jamie.
"They's no mist," denied Andy. "'Tis fine and clear, and the sun shineswonderful bright."
"I sees the sunshine, but 'tis not bright. They's a mist," Jamieinsisted.
And the mist had remained, and thickened gradually with the passingweeks. It was in the beginning of July when the mist had firstappeared before Jamie's eyes, and before the month was ended hecomplained that he could no longer see the Mealy Mountains across thebay, with their glistening white snow-capped peaks. And this was toobad, for Jamie loved the mountains rising so brave and changeless likea row of great rugged giants guarding and holding the world firmbeyond the restless waters of the bay. Jamie always felt that he coulddepend upon the mountains, and he had a fancy, when of evenings thesetting sun tipped their white summits with its last glow, that it wasa bit of the dazzling light of heaven breaking through the sky whenGod reached down to kiss the world good night.
And it had been many days now since Jamie had seen his lovedmountains. Even the point, at the entrance to the bight, had becomeveiled in haze and seemed to have moved far out into the bay, as itused to do when the fog hung low on murky days
, and Jamie's sight wasas keen as David's and Andy's.
In the beginning Thomas gave little heed to Jamie's complaints of themist, for he was busy then at his fishing.
"'Tis a bit of a strain," said he, "and 'twill soon pass away. A bitof the burn and glare of the spring sun upon the snow, left in theeyes to shade un. 'Twill soon pass away."
One day in late August, when Doctor Joe was over at The Jug, as heoften was, he heard Jamie complain of the mist, and Doctor Joe askedJamie many questions, and looked long and hard into Jamie's eyes, andwhen he was going, and Thomas walked down to the beach to help himlaunch his boat, he told Thomas that the mist would not clear up ofitself.
"And is it a sickness, then, and a bad un?" asked Thomas, aroused togreat concern, for he had vast faith in Doctor Joe's opinion.
"I can't say yet for a certainty how bad it is, but 'tis a sickness,and may grow worse, if it's the kind of sickness I take it to be,"said Doctor Joe. "Don't worry about it yet, Thomas. I'll be up againsoon and look into the eyes again, and see how they're doing."
"Can't you mend un?" asked Thomas anxiously.
"We'll see. We'll see what we can do," and Doctor Joe's voice washearty and reassuring, as he launched his boat and pulled away downthe bight.
Thomas Angus and Doctor Joe were great friends. Margaret and the boyscalled Doctor Joe "Uncle," and they were as fond of him as they couldhave been had he really been their uncle; and he, on his part, wasmightily fond of them. He had come to the Bay three years before Mrs.Angus died, and had now lived at Break Cove and on the coast for eightyears.
It was on a blustery July evening that they had first seen him,driving up the bay in an old open boat with a ragged leg-o-muttonsail. Thomas hailed him and he turned in at The Jug in response toThomas's invitation to spend the night, for a Labradorman will neverpermit a stranger to pass his home without a hail and an invitation,and a cheering welcome, warmed with a cup of tea and a snack.
Doctor Joe was a nervous man, with the appearance of one who had beenill. His hand was unsteady, with a tremor--unlike the steady, stronghand of the Labradorman. Thomas saw at once that he was noLabradorman. Any one could have seen that with half an eye. His speechand manner, too, were not of the coast, his skin had not the deepbronze tan of the people, and his dress was not the dress of thenative.
But Thomas liked the stranger, and urged him to "'bide for a time atThe Jug," and for several days he remained as Thomas's guest, askingmany questions about the country and manner of life of the folk wholived there, and of the methods of trapping and hunting, and barteringfur and fish.
He introduced himself to Thomas as Joseph Carver, and explained thathe had come from the South as a passenger on the mail boat, which hehad left at Fort Pelican, eighty miles down the bay, and her nearestport of call. And at length he announced that he had decided to settlehere and build a cabin, and turn hunter and trapper, and make TheLabrador his home.
"'Twill be a strange life for you," said Thomas.
"Yes," said Doctor Joe, "a strange life."
Then Doctor Joe turned his attention to the selection of a suitableplace to build his cabin, and cruising along the shore one day fellupon Break Cove, which he liked immensely, and here he declared hishome should be. Thomas, after the manner of the country, and becausehe was glad to have so near a neighbor, turned to and helped DoctorJoe, and presently they had as snug a little cabin built and furnishedas a man could wish for, and here Doctor Joe began his new life in anew land.
He was a mystery to the Bay folk at first, coming as he had, and amystery to Thomas, too. Sometimes he seemed as gay and happy as ever aman could be, but there were days when he was silent and grave andtroubled, like a man with a great load of sorrow upon his soul.
There was one autumn evening, a fortnight after Doctor Joe hadestablished himself in the new cabin, when Thomas, who had been downthe bay hunting geese, ran his boat into Break Cove to pay hisneighbor a call, and to leave with him one of the fine fat geese hehad shot. The candle was lighted and the cabin door stood open. AsThomas approached with the goose he saw Doctor Joe, a wild, huntedlook upon his face, pacing up and down the room, and Thomas heard himexclaim:
"I can't endure it! I cannot, cannot endure it! Another month and I'dbe safe! But I can't hold out! I must give up! Oh, God, have mercy onme!"
Thomas withdrew silently. He had never seen Doctor Joe, or any oneelse for that matter, act so strangely. His kindly heart was troubled.Then light broke. His neighbor was ill and in pain, or was troubled,and he must help him. He turned back to the cabin door, and called outcheerily:
"Evenin', Sir!"
Doctor Joe ceased his pacing, as he beheld Thomas in the open doorway.
"Good evening," he greeted, sitting limply down, and wipingperspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief. And within himselfThomas marveled that Doctor Joe should be so warm, for the air waschill enough, and the fire in the box stove had been neglected and wasnone too good. "Come in, Thomas."
"I was passin'," said Thomas, coming within, "and I thought I'd stopfor a bit t' smoke a pipe with you. But you're ailin', sir?"
"No--yes--just a little out of sorts," admitted Doctor Joe. "But I'mglad to see you, neighbor! I'm glad you came! I thank God you came!"he added fervently. "Perhaps I was lonely. I know that I need yourcompany, Thomas."
"There's a goose I brought you, sir," and Thomas laid the game uponthe table, "but 'twill not be right for you to 'bide here alone,ailin' as you are. Come along to The Jug and 'bide a day or two withus, till you feels mended, _what_ever."
"Thank you, Thomas, you're a good friend and neighbor," assentedDoctor Joe, with evident relief. "I'll go with you. The pull over inyour boat will do me good, and I need your company."
"And bring your cures so you'll have un to take, an' you needs un,"suggested Thomas solicitously, as Doctor Joe arose and took his adikyfrom a peg.
"Your company will be the best remedy, Thomas," remarked Doctor Joe,drawing the adiky over his head. "There are some disorders medicinewill not cure--only change and good comradeship, and sweet,sympathetic friendship, such as you are giving me."
"You're always welcome at The Jug, _what_ever!" Thomas assuredheartily, though he did not in the least understand the import of whatDoctor Joe had said.
But as the weeks passed, and the cold of the long winter settled uponthe land, Doctor Joe adapted himself to the life of the Bay, andentered heartily into his business of trapper, and soon it wasdiscovered that he was a jolly neighbor, and the Bay folk as well asThomas accepted him as one of them, and forgot the mystery, and wereever ready to lend him a hand, and give him hints that helped himvastly in learning his new trade, for he was clumsy enough at settingtraps at first.
In return Doctor Joe was always on hand with a well-filled medicinecase when he heard that any one was sick, and he displayed wonderfulskill. He had supplied himself with medicines, he explained, becausethey were always handy, where there was no doctor to call. And whenBill Campbell's boy laid the calf of his leg open with an ax, andDoctor Joe sewed it up, and bound it, as the folk had never seen awound bound before, it was agreed he was the cleverest man in thatline on the whole coast.
Then it was that they had begun to call him "Doctor Joe," and he hadaccepted the new name as a compliment, and with rare good nature, andsoon he was "Doctor Joe" to every one, and a welcome visitor whereverhe went.