THE MAID OF THE NORTH "The's no profit in this trade any more," said Captain Sam Hanks, as he sat down to supper with his mate, Jack Simmons, in the little cabin of his schooner, Maid of the North. "I won't get a seaman's wages out o' th' cruise, an' I'm sick o' workin' fer nothin'. Now there was a time before th' free traders done th' business t' death that a man could make good money on th' Labrador, but that time's past They pays so much fer th' fur they's spoiled it fer everybody, an' I'm goin' t' quit." "Th' free traders don't go north o' th' Straits much. Why don't ye try it there, sir?" suggested the mate. "Ice. Too much ice. I've been thinkin' it over. Th' trouble is we couldn't get through th' ice in th' spring until after th' Hudson's Bay people had gobbled up everything. Th' natives down that coast is poor as Job's turkey, an' they has t' sell their fur soon's th' furrin' season's over. I hears th' company gets th' fur from 'em fer a song. Them natives'll give ye a silver fox fer a jackknife an' a barrel o' flour, an' a marten fer a gallon o' molasses. But the's money in it if a feller could get there in time," he added thoughtfully. "What's th' matter with goin' down in th' fall before th' ice blocks th' coast? Th' Maid o' th' North is sheathed fer ice, an' we could freeze her in, some place down th' coast, an' be on hand t' sail when th' ice clears in th' spring, We could let th' folks know where we were t' freeze up, an' we'd pick up a lot o' fur before th' ice breaks, an' th' natives'd hold th' rest until we calls comin' south. The's a big chanct there," said the mate, conclusively. "I dunno but yer right. I hadn't thought o' goin' down in th' fall t' freeze up. We'd have t' be gettin' t' our anchorage by th' first o' October." "The's plenty o' time t' do that, sir. 'Twon't take more'n ten days t' fit out." "Then the's th' cost o' shippin' th' crew t' be taken into account, 'n havin' 'em doin' nothin' th' hull winter. I don't know's the'd be much in it after everythin's counted out." "That's easy 'nuff fixed. Take a lot o' traps an' let th' crew hunt in th' winter. Ye wouldn't have t' pay 'em then when ye wasn't afloat. Ye could give 'em their keep an' let 'em hunt with th' traps on shore an' make a little outen 'em. The's always fools 'nuff as thinks they'll get rich if they has a chanct t' try their hand doin' somethin' they ain't been doin' before, an' you kin get a crew o' fellers like that easy 'nuff." "I dunno. Maybe I kin an' maybe I can't. Sounds like it's worth tryin' an' I'll think about it." Every spring for ten years Captain Hanks--Skipper Sam he was generally called--had sailed out of Halifax Harbour with his schooner Maid of the North to work his way into the Gulf of St. Lawrence when the waters were clear of ice, and trade a general cargo of merchandise for furs with the Indians and white trappers along the north shore and the Straits of Belle Isle--the southern Labrador. At first he found the trade extremely lucrative, and during the first four or five years in which he was engaged in it accumulated a snug sum of money, the income of which would have been quite sufficient to keep him comfortably the remainder of his life in the modest way in which he lived. But Skipper Sam was much like other people, and the more he had the more he wanted, so he continued in the fur trade. The fact that he had purchased some city real estate for the purpose of speculation became known, and other skippers sailing schooners of their own, with an eye to lucrative, trade, decided that "Skipper Sam must be havin' a darn good thing on th' Labrador," and when the Maid of the North made her fifth voyage she had another schooner to keep her company, and another skipper was on hand to compete with Skipper Sam. Each year had brought additions to the trading fleet, and competition had raised the price of fur until now the trappers, with a ready market, were growing quite independent, and Skipper Sam, instead of paying what he pleased for the pelts, which, when he had a monopoly of the trade, was a merely nominal price as compared with their value, was forced in order to get them at all to pay more nearly their true worth. Even now he was making a fair profit, but his mind constantly reverted to the "good old days" when his returns were from five hundred to a thousand per cent. on his investment, and he felt injured and dissatisfied. At the end of every voyage he declared solemnly that he was no longer making more than seamen's wages and would quit the trade, and the mate, who was well aware of the captain's comfortable financial position, always believed he meant it. It should be said to Captain Hanks' credit that he paid his mate and crew of five men the highest going wages, and treated them well and kindly. So long as they attended strictly to their duties he was their friend. They were provided with the best of food and they appreciated the good treatment and were loyal to Captain Hanks' interest and very much attached to the Maid of the North, as seamen are to a good ship that for several voyages has been their home. So it was that the mate made his suggestions so freely. If Captain Hanks were to quit the trade he knew that it would be many a day before he secured another such berth, and his solicitude was therefore not alone in the captain's interests but was largely a matter of looking out for himself. The voyage just completed had not, in fact, been a very profitable one, for the previous winter had been a poor year for the trappers that they dealt with, just as it had been farther north in Eskimo Bay, and Skipper Sam had good reason for feeling discouraged. It was early in August now, and the Maid of the North was entering Halifax Harbour with the expectation of tying up at her berth the next morning. If she were to go north it would be necessary for her to be fitted out for the voyage immediately in order to reach her winter quarters before the ice began to form in the bays. The two men ate their supper and both went on deck to smoke their pipes. Skipper Sam had no more to say about the proposed undertaking until late in the evening, when he called the mate to his cabin, where he had retired after his smoke, and there the mate found him poring over a chart. "D'ye know anything about this coast?" the skipper asked, without looking up. The mate glanced over his shoulder. "Not much, sir. I was down on a fishin' cruise once when I was a lad." "Well, how far down ought we t' go, d' ye think, before we lays up?" "I think, sir, we should go north o' Indian Harbour. Th' farther north we gets, th' more fur we'll pick up." "Well," said the skipper, standing up, "I'm goin' t' sail just as quick as I can fit out. Ship th' crew on th' best terms ye can. We got t' move smart, fer I wants time t' run well down before th' ice catches us." "All right, sir." Thus it happened that the Maid of the North, spick and span, with a new coat of paint on the outside, and a good stock of provisions and articles of trade in her hold, sailed out of Halifax Harbour and turned her prow to the northward on the first day of September, and was plowing her way to the Labrador at the very time that Bob Gray with his mother and Emily were returning so disconsolate to Wolf Bight after hearing the verdict of the mail boat doctor, and Bob was making the plans that carried him into the interior. The Maid of the North called at many harbours by the way and the fame of Captain Hanks spread amongst the livyeres, as the native Labradormen are called. He told them what fabulous prices he would pay them for their furs in the spring when he came south, with open water, and they promised him to a man to reserve the bulk of their catch for him, and all had visions of coming wealth. It was decided that they winter in the Harbour of God's Hope, just north of Cape Harrigan, and after passing Indian Harbour the natives were notified that if they wished any supplies during the winter they could bring their furs there and get what they needed. The Harbour of God's Hope was found to be a deep, narrow inlet, not as well protected from the sea as might be desired, but still comparatively well sheltered, and particularly advantageous from the fact that the shores of the upper end of the inlet were wooded, an essential feature, as it provided an abundance of good fuel, and the supply on board was far from adequate for their needs. The Maid of the North was made as snug as possible for the freeze-up, but could not be brought as close to shore as desirable, because of shoals. However, her position was deemed quite safe, and Skipper Sam experienced a sense of supreme satisfaction at his achievements and the prospects for a profitable trade in the spring. The crew were put at work immediately to build a log shack for shore quarters, which was shortly accomplished. This shack was of ample size and was furnished with a stove brought from Halifax for the purpose, some chairs, a table and a kitchen outfit. The skipper, the mate and the cook remained on board at first, but the crew were given permission to go ashore and hunt and trap in the hills back of the harbour, an opportunity of which they promptly took advantage. As the cold weather came on and the ice formed thick and hard around the vessel it seemed unnecessary to keep a watch aboard, and as the shack was much more roomy than the cabin, and therefore more comfortable, all hands finally took up their quarters in it. As the winter wore on livyeres began to pay frequent visits to Skipper Sam from up and down the coast, and they all brought furs to trade. With the approach of spring the skipper found to his satisfaction that he had already collected more pelts than he had been able to purchase on his previous spring's voyage in the South, and at prices that even to him seemed ridiculously low. These furs were duly stored aboard the Maid of the North, and by the first of May she had a cargo that could have been disposed of in Halifax or Montreal for several thousand dollars. It was at this time that the skipper suggested to the mate one evening, "Jack, les go caribou huntin' t'-morrer. I'm gettin' stiff hangin' 'round here." "All right, sir," acquiesced the mate, "but," he asked, "th' crew's all away exceptin' th' cook, an' who'll look after things here if we both goes t' once?" "We kin leave the cook alone fer one day I guess. If any o' th' livyeres come he kin keep 'em till we comes back in th' evenin'." The arrangements were therefore made for the hunt, and the following morning bright and early they were off. At sunrise there was a slight westerly breeze blowing, and the skipper suggested, "Th' wind might stiffen up a bit an' we better keep an eye to it." They were well back in the hills before the predicted stiffening came to such an extent that they decided it was wise to return to the shack. Skipper Sam and his mate were not accustomed to land travelling and the hurried retreat soon winded them and they were held down to so slow a walk that the afternoon was half spent and the wind had grown to a gale when they finally came in view of the harbour. Skipper Sam was ahead, and when he looked towards the place where the Maid of the North had been snugly held in the ice in the morning he rubbed his eyes. Then he looked again, and exclaimed: "By gum!" The harbour was clear of ice and nowhere on the horizon was the Maid of the North to be seen. The gale had swept the ice to sea and carried with it the Maid of the North and all her valuable cargo. The cook, asleep in his bunk in the shack, was quite unconscious of the calamity when the skipper roused him to demand explanations. But there were no explanations to be given. The schooner was gone, that was all, and Captain Sam Hanks and his crew were stranded upon the coast of Labrador.