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Updated: June 16, 2025
Thus, on that first day in this new land, in the Harbor of Domino Run, Doctor Grenfell's life work among the deep sea fishermen of The Labrador began in earnest. But even yet Doctor Grenfell's day's work was not to end. He was to witness a scene that would sicken his heart and excite his deepest pity.
The great surgeon, himself a lover of the sea and acquainted with Grenfell's inclinations toward an active outdoor life, was also aware that Grenfell was a good sailor. "Don't go in summer," admonished Sir Frederick. "Go in winter when you can see the life of the men at its hardest and when they have the greatest need of a doctor. Anyhow you'll have some rugged days at sea if you go in winter."
A half hour later I have seen the same women when stringy, dirty skirts had replaced the neat- fitting trousers, and Dr. Grenfell's description of them when thus clad invariably came to my mind: "A bedraggled kind of mop, soaked in oil and filth." This tendency to ape civilization by wearing civilized garments, is happily confined to their brief sojourns at the Post.
Grenfell has preached the Word, fed the hungry, clothed the naked, sheltered the homeless and righted many wrongs. He has fought disease and poverty, evil and oppression. Hardship, peril and prejudice have fallen to his lot, but he has met them with a courage and determination that never faltered, and he is still "up and at it." Grenfell's life has been a life of service to others.
And there was a little boy whose father was frozen to death at his trapping one winter, a bright little chap now in the home and going to school. These are but a few of the many, many children that have been made happy and have been trained at the Home and under Doctor Grenfell's care to useful lives. Some of them have worked their way through college.
"How long is it since you did anything worth counting?" asked the captain. One of Grenfell's companions pulled him down before he had a chance to reply. "Now you sit right down before you spoil things," he said. "You can't put up a bluff on that kind of man. You don't know enough." The miner glanced at them again, with a little grim smile.
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.
"Thank you, sir," and the grateful men left for the hospital kitchen. It was after dark that evening when the two men again appeared at Doctor Grenfell's house. They were troubled for the safety of their neighbor's sick wife, and could not rest. "Us were just gettin' another telegram sayin' to hurry, sir," announced the spokesman.
On the heads and shoulders of a thousand men the whole ship and the food of the party were carried past the rapids, over a thousand miles along narrow paths, in peril of snakes and leopards and enemy savages, over streams crossed by bridges of vine-creepers, through swamps, across ravines. Grenfell's engineer, who was to have put the ship together, died. At last they reached Stanley Pool.
Grenfell's tableaux, in April, when she had appeared as Circe, in an architectural frame especially designed by Mr. Farwell himself. There had been a moment of hushed astonishment, followed by an acclaim that sent the curtain up twice again. We must try to imagine, too, the logical continuation of that triumph in the Baiae of our modern republic and empire, Newport.
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