One day, when cruising north in the
_Strathcona_, he was told that a family living in an isolated and
lonely spot on the Labrador coast required the attention of a doctor.
He answered the call at once.
When he approached the bleak headland where the cabin stood, and his
vessel hove her anchor, he was quite astonished that no one came out
of the cabin to offer welcome, as is the custom with Labradormen
everywhere when vessels anchor near their homes. He and his mate were
put ashore in a boat, and as they walked up the trail to the cabin
still no one appeared and no smoke issued from the stovepipe, which,
rising through the roof, served as a chimney. When he lifted the latch
he was quite decided no one, after all, was at home.
Upon entering the cabin a shocking scene presented itself. The mother
of the family lay upon the bed with wide-open stare. Doctor Grenfell's
practiced eye told him she was dead. The father, a Scotch fisherman
and trapper, was stretched upon the floor, helplessly ill, and a hasty
examination proved that he was dying. Five frightened, hungry, cold
little children were huddled in a corner.
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