Read Ebook: A boy's-eye view of the Arctic by Rawson Kennett Longley MacMillan Donald Baxter Author Of Introduction Etc

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"Well," said the master, "some people do seem to have all the luck. Go to your room quietly, and remember that we're still keeping school around here."

"Yes, sir," I said, and I went out. He had forgotten all about the slip!

If I worked hard, I had a chance of getting exempt from my examinations at the end of the term. That meant I could go home seven days earlier than otherwise. When I had calmed down, I made up my mind that no dust was going to collect on my books from then on. Too much depended on my plugging; so I tried to put away the thoughts of nice arctic coolness on a hot June night and bury myself in my books.

The days went quickly by. They were happy days filled with hard work between which came rosy dreams of the future--the prelude to the great adventure. But at last came the important day--the day on which the list of exemptions from examinations was to be posted. I parked myself outside the Dean's office anxiously awaiting that list. No vacation ever had seemed so far away, and the minutes were ninety seconds long. At last a figure appeared from within, armed with the list and a handful of thumbtacks. There was a wild mob there by that time, but I was in the front row. I ran my eye down the alphabet. My fate was before me. It was there--my name. Exempt in everything! With a yelp of joy I rushed for my room feeling for my trunk key on the way. Somehow I got my trunk packed, did the things that had to be done before leaving, and that night at dinner I had everything ready for an early departure in the morning.

The next day, amid the good wishes of my somewhat envious school friends, I bade farewell to The Hill and started for home. There I would have a few days with my family and plenty of time to select my outfit before going on to Wiscasset, Maine, to join the expedition. On the train I did not buy any magazines. I just sat there and shot polar bears and dodged icebergs; and what a grand and glorious feeling it was!

The family were at the train to meet me, and we all had so much to say that nobody could wait for the other person to finish. Mother was so happy that I could go and so unhappy because I would not be home for the vacation, that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Father was so enthusiastic that he wanted to go himself.

I had about a week before joining the expedition; this time I employed in getting my equipment ready. I needed all manner of things, and without a list which the Commander had furnished, we should not have known what to get. Oilskins and rubber boots for wet weather were very necessary, as were all sorts of warm things such as knit socks, heavy underwear, flannel shirts, woolen trousers and a sheepskin coat, to name but a few of the items. I also laid in a big stock of five-and-ten-cent-store trinkets for trading with the Eskimos. The Commander had suggested rings, necklaces, beads, perfume, soap and various novelties, most of which certainly went like hot cakes with the Eskimos.

At last the day arrived on which I must leave home for the last time until my return from the north, probably in a few months, but very possibly not for several years, maybe never. The Arctic keeps one guessing if it does nothing else. One never can tell what successes or disasters the next day holds.

I took a look around. The deck was piled high with boxes and barrels; the running rigging was all askew on the deck--in short, chaos reigned everywhere. This was far different from what I had pictured, and I decided right then and there that when it comes to actual work, getting the ship north was no more of a job than loading it. I also saw several dishevelled workmen busily engaged in stowing the cargo in various parts of the ship. I inquired from the mate who they were, and my disillusionment was complete when he told me they were two scientific experts with national reputations. I had always thought of scientists as not quite human, people who sat around looking into instruments and writing elaborate reports. But seeing them pitch in and work like normal human beings did much to restore my confidence that they were real he-men.

UNDER WEIGH

The next day was to be a very interesting one. In the first place the Commander was coming in the evening, and secondly the cook was arriving. The time-honored tradition on shipboard is that next in importance to the captain comes the cook. My stomach was in full accord with this theory, and I was anxious to see the arbiter of its destiny. As soon as I got to know him I knew my trust had not been misplaced. Martin Vorce was the best cook and had the finest disposition I ever saw wrapped up in human form. There is no theory either about the cook's having the hardest work on the ship; it is straight fact. Mart was always on the job, "blow high, blow low." He had several bouts with refractory dishes in rough weather, but he always came out on top.

After work was over for the day I became painfully aware that loading gasolene had discovered a number of tender muscles of which school athletics had never made me aware. But this condition did not prevent my looking forward with zest to a dance that was to be given in honor of the High School Graduation. This was to be held that evening, and the outstanding feature of the graduation was that the graduates were to receive their diplomas from the hand of the Commander, who had especially cut short his stay in Boston in order to be present.

With the big event of the evening in mind, we went below and holy-stoned our gasolene-soaked hides religiously. Then we turned to and attacked our first meal on shipboard, and we vowed that if all the other meals were as good, we should never have cause to complain.

After we had waded through our food, we started for the High School. A short walk landed us there, and we nosed our way through the mob gathered about the entrance. As we entered, the exercises were just beginning, and the Commander was on the point of entering into his presentation speech. We listened to his speech and the ones following with interest mingled with impatience. Finally the graduates were graduated, and the dance was on. Then came our long awaited opportunity to meet the Commander. The mate led us over and presented us. I had never before seen the Commander, but I had heard enough about him to whet my curiosity to a degree where I wanted to know the man from the myth. From the moment I met him I knew that I was serving under a Commander who was a real leader and a man among men. This impression has never left me, but has since been constantly strengthened.

After we had chatted together for a few minutes, with characteristic good humor, the Commander told the mate to see that we met all of the sweet young things and had plenty of dancing, for it would be some time before we danced again. We accepted the Commander's suggestion as a sacred duty, and obeyed it to the letter.

The first objects to attract our attention were the three navy airplanes on the after deck. On these three canvas-swathed forms hung all our hopes. If they failed, it would mean sure death for their intrepid occupants. In their undress condition they did not look very imposing, but in my imagination I already heard the roar of the mighty engines tuning up in the lee of some sheltering icepan. I visioned the flash of the white foam as they skimmed along for the take-off, and I saw them recede into the western sky with an ever-diminishing whirr of engines, outward bound on those flights from which we hoped so much. Again I saw these proud argosies of the air, this time returning triumphant with the secret of the ages disclosed. However, the cook's sudden cry for breakfast, mingled with the savory odors of bacon and coffee effectually dissipated all this sort of dreaming.

At last the great day came. The departure was an event of national importance. Town, state and nation were all officially represented. In addition to these were thousands of interested citizens and visitors come to wish us bon voyage. Among the latter were most of the families of the crew, including my own. Two o'clock was the zero hour, and after short exercises at the town hall, the Commander came aboard and gave the long awaited order: "Cast off."

IN THE LAND OF ADVENTURE

At noon the next day, Sunday, June 21st, we put to sea from the last outpost of the United States that we should see until our return. As we circled the islands, a fishing boat filled with enthusiastic members of the Civitan Club, who had come all the way from Minneapolis to see us off, came alongside and throwing huge codfish aboard shouted the last farewells we heard in home waters from fellow citizens.

In a few moments a Bay of Fundy fog had swallowed us up, and the curtain had dropped on the last home setting. The day was fairly calm, but there was a long, oily swell which rolled the boat like a lazy pendulum. Moreover, the smoke from the exhaust was carried forward across the deck by a light, following breeze. In a few hours I began to notice a greenish pallor overspreading the faces of my shipmates, and, guided by my own feelings amidships, I had an intuition that my face was experiencing the same change. Soon a disheveled figure sprang from the forecastle companionway and made a dash for the rail. In a few moments another appeared bound for the same destination. I thought this was very funny, when suddenly the ship fetched a great roll, and I meditated with melancholy on my liberal indulgence at the dinner of the night before. Without stopping for further speculations I too joined in the mad scramble for the rail. Under the suasion of an unstable equilibrium the gastric organs have certain generous periods when they won't keep a thing, and when they are in this mood they follow the example of time and tide and wait for no man. This lack of a sense of expediency on the part of these unfortunate organs caused several similar embarrassing situations from time to time. After completing my first session at the rail, I felt relieved--much relieved, and decided I was all through with such foolishness; so I sat down to await my trick at the wheel and to enjoy the adventures in mal de mer of the other unfortunates. But again my mirth ended in another dash for the rail. These upsets, however, did not permit of any laying off from regular duties, since the work had to be done and there were none too many of us to do it. Thus I stood my regular trick at the wheel, a task with which I was familiar from previous voyages, kept my regular watch and did whatever duties were assigned me despite a few protests on the part of my stomach. This state of affairs continued for the next three days until we reached Sydney, Nova Scotia.

Early on the morning of the second day out we rounded Cape Sable, the southernmost point in Nova Scotia, and laid a northerly course parallel to the coast heading for Cape Breton Island where Sydney is located. Here we were to take on water and fuel oil before squaring away for "The Labrador."

We made our way to a supply dock in the lower end of Sydney harbor and began loading fuel and other supplies. Inasmuch as Sydney was the most outlying stop on our journey to offer tonsorial and other luxurious civilized conveniences, we availed ourselves of all the facilities that the town afforded. For awhile the barber shop was the center of interest, with the soda counter at the drug store running a close second. It was while we were in a drug store that an unprecedented thing happened. Mr. Raycroft, a friend of the Commander's, who had accompanied us up to Sydney, entered the store, started to make a purchase, when suddenly he bolted into the street without a word of explanation. In a few moments he returned looking a few shades paler, and in reply to our anxious queries he told us that the unaccustomed steadiness of the building had made him feel sick, and he felt an urgent need of fresh air. That was the only case of "land sickness" in the memory of the oldest inhabitant.

After a voyage of general exploration about the town, we discovered the product for which Sydney is famous, and that is lobsters. Under the leadership of Ben Rigg, an ardent enthusiast on the subject of shellfish, we raided every lobster joint in town. One may easily imagine after our hollow days at sea that there was plenty of room for food. After visiting about five places and exhausting their limited supplies, we ended up about eleven o'clock in a Chinaman's, where we gorged on more of these luscious crustaceans and on chop suey. None of us had nightmare, strange to say.

We set sail for the Labrador with a feeling that we were at last entering the great unknown. From what we had heard and read concerning this region, none of us knew what to expect. But we had the best possible person on board to enlighten us; namely, Doctor Wilfred Grenfell, the famous Labrador missionary doctor. He was just returning from a trip around the world and had arrived in Sydney preparatory to going on to Battle Harbor. Being acquainted with the Commander, he came down, and as the Doctor was planning to leave on the next steamer, the Commander invited him to accompany us instead. In addition to Doctor Grenfell we were accompanied by another distinguished guest, Dr. Gilbert Grosvenor, President of the National Geographic Society, under whose auspices we sailed. Having voyaged with us to Sydney, he was so charmed with the life aboard ship that he continued with us to Battle Harbor. Thus we were well equipped with celebrities, come what might.

After sailing for several days through the placid waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, we found ourselves at the entrance of the Straits of Belle Isle. Here we realized for the first time that we were really getting north, when the word was passed around to look out for bergs. I had heard much of the danger of icebergs, and an apprehensive shudder spread over my frame as I imagined what would happen if we should run on one unawares, for we were shrouded in one of the usual Straits fogs. In a short while our straining eyes discerned a dark object loom out of the fog on the starboard bow. At the time, I was at the wheel, and Dick Salmon was on the lookout. I gripped the spokes at the thought of how close this chill apparition was, but we were well to port, and in a few moments it melted into the mist.

A short time later after the excitement fomented by the berg had subsided, we began to notice signs of the proximity of land. Robbie clambered aloft into the crow's nest to watch for shoal water, and the rest of us clustered into the bow for the same purpose. Suddenly out of the fog appeared a white line. It was breakers rolling across a long point. A hasty chorus of shouts to the helmsman resulted in an immediate altering of the course to parallel the land, instead of heading straight at it as we were when we first sighted it. It was in this dramatic manner that we made our acquaintance with The Labrador, and it was in a setting typical of this rugged country. One usually becomes acquainted with The Labrador by nearly running on it every time one approaches it during the early summer months, for at that time the land is almost perpetually shrouded in fog. Not long afterwards another line of breakers indicated the presence of a new exponent of terra firma. This disturber of the mariners' peace was named Blanc Sablon, a reminder of the old days of the French domination. This entire south coast is sprinkled with French names and with French speaking people.

As the fog was still too thick for safe navigating along this treacherous coast, we put into the little settlement of Forteau. This is one of Doctor Grenfell's stations, and he made us very welcome there. He also recommended the splendid trout fishing and issued us honorary fishing licenses for the neighboring creeks, since he was an honorary magistrate. Armed with this legal protection and also with rods and gear, we sallied forth to a likely looking brook to try conclusions with the wily denizens of the stream. It certainly seemed good to get our sea legs straightened out as we strolled up and down whipping the stream. After a few casts I felt a sudden tightening on my line, and the reel began to sing. For a minute I let it run; then I checked it abruptly in order to drive the hook well home. Then the fight was on. The fish threshed wildly in a vain endeavor to free himself, but I had him fast. There was about five minutes of play, and then I reeled him in. He was a fine specimen, weighing very nearly two pounds, and my hopes were high that we might obtain enough for all hands. In a moment I heard a yell from Mart, and looking in his direction I saw that he was holding aloft a trout fully as large as my own. Then we went at it with all our might, but the God of Fortune smiled no further, and at last tired and discomfited, we returned to the ship.

Continuing on up the coast, sometimes in fog and sometimes in beautiful clear weather, we were encompassed by a magnificent vista. On one hand the bleak and rugged hills of the shore-line, and on the seaward side a matchless panorama of schooners, dancing waves and icebergs. The schooners tacking in and out under full sail among the glistening bergs; the tall, majestic spires and turrets of the larger bergs dwarfing the tallest mast into insignificance; the dancing wavelets curtsying to the graceful schooners whose black hulls contrasted sharply against the whiteness and marvellous shades of ultramarine blue of the glacial ice, all combined to make an unforgettable picture.

Just as the shadows of evening had begun to creep up from the west and merge the glories of a perfect day into a matchless sunset, the rugged outline of Battle Island appeared bathed in a purple glow that made the hard unyielding rock look like rich dyed velvet. It was not long before we dropped anchor between the sheer rock walls of Battle Harbor.

A TRULY GLORIOUS FOURTH AND SOME VERY REAL FISHING

Dr. Grenfell's staff were down at the dock to welcome us, and they soon made us realize that American hospitality is the same the world around. Although Labrador is English territory, the hospital is manned and, to improvise an expression, "womanned" by Americans. A doctor, three nurses and three college men, all of whom had volunteered to serve for the summer, made up the staff of the hospital. In every way possible they strove to make our stay in Battle Harbor an enjoyable one, and they certainly succeeded.

While in this port we celebrated the glorious Fourth of July. The day previous we had remembered with a start that the following day was the Fourth! Dick Salmon suggested that we inaugurate the festivities with a snowball fight, since there was a large deposit on the opposite side of the tickle, so-called by the Newfoundlanders in speaking of a narrow channel which indicates ticklish navigating. Dick's cool suggestion did not meet with a warm reception for obvious reasons, and we turned in with our plans for the observance of the day somewhat nebulous.

The next morning at an early hour I was awakened from a sound sleep by the explosion of a firecracker uncomfortably close to my ear. I made a nose dive for the floor muttering imprecations against the authors of the outrage. Then realizing that the great day had come, I hurriedly dressed and made my way to the deck where the celebrants greeted me with such a penitent air that I did not engage in the retaliations I had determined to employ.

After clearing away the breakfast wreckage, the cook began making the pots fly in a business-like manner, and soon savory odors ascending from the galleys gave notice that a culinary masterpiece was in the process of preparation. To the accompaniment of these welcome sounds and odors, we swabbed down the deck and coiled down the lines with despatch, and then sat back in the crisp sunlight in languid anticipation of the approaching feast. At twelve-thirty the cook's warcry resounded through the vessel, and we tumbled down the companionway to make the first table. Since there was not room for us all at one sitting, our meals were served in two shifts. As "first come, first served" was the order of the day, the competition was keen indeed for the coveted places. I was fortunate enough to slide into the last remaining seat much to the disgust of Melkon who had been keeping his eye on the food all morning. Then came on the grub, and what grub it was! Fish chowder flavored with onions, a magnificent roast of beef--the last domestic meat we were to taste until our return--a profusion of vegetables, plum duff and candy, with coffee and fruit punch to wash it all down. Then there were cigars for those who desired them; a pleasure in which several of us did not indulge.

All along the Commander had held forth on the delicacy of the Labrador trout and salmon, and therefore great was our delight when one day the mission people proposed a trip to the head of St. Louis Bay, where was located a fine trout stream not far from the winter hospital. It is necessary to maintain a winter station in addition to the summer station at Battle Harbor, as the outer islands are untenable in winter owing to their exposed position. The heavy pack ice comes in from the sea, and savage winter gales lash the bleak and desolate islands, rendering them impracticable for winter habitation. Every one moves inland to the head of the great bays and settles down in a well sheltered log cabin in close proximity to a forest of good firewood. The hospital is no exception to this rule, and by the time the last schooner has winged its way southward, the Battle Harbor station is closed, and the winter hospital is put into service. We were all very anxious to see the back country and looked forward to the trip with keen expectancy, whetted by what we had heard from the Commander.

Early the next day with the Commander's permission, all hands, with the exception of one or two who unfortunately had to keep the ship, gaily sallied forth in the capacious mission boat. After traversing a space of rough water, which caused embarrassment to several of the ladies, hospital nurses who accompanied us, we entered the great bay and sailed past shores at first barren of vegetation but growing progressively greener as we penetrated inland. It was interesting to observe this increase in plant life as we drew away from the blighting influence of the frigid Labrador current, which makes this coast the bleak and barren land it is.

We arrived at the winter station a short time before noon and gave it a thorough inspection. It seemed so nice and cosy tucked away in the midst of a beautiful grove of pines on a picturesque arm of the bay, that I almost wished I was a patient there.

As the sun mounted higher and higher towards the zenith, I began to wonder where lunch fitted into the program. This also seemed to be in the minds of our hosts and Doctor Grenfell soon suggested that we have lunch on the banks of St. Mary's Creek and do our fishing afterwards. The lunch was to be cooked "on location," as they say in the movies, and the pi?ce de r?sistance was to be a real old New England fish chowder. To one who has never experienced a fish chowder--for it is an experience--words are inadequate to describe it; and to one who has experienced it any attempt at description is superfluous. Suffice it to say we gorged ourselves to repletion.

Even this heavy cargo of chowder did not hinder our getting under weigh for the trout basin, and we were soon off with rod and gear. Williams, however, who looked down on fishing with sophisticated contempt, remained behind to amuse the ladies. As we moved off we last saw him feverishly tossing dishes aloft, and only on our return did we learn much to our relief that his brain had not been affected by the heavy meal and that he was merely giving an exhibition of Bagdad juggling.

A short distance up the stream we found a small series of rapids between which were dark, enticing pools. Mart, our mentor in such matters, declared the location favorable, and we were soon casting our flies into the swirling eddies. Every now and then we could see the silver flash of a fish break the white water of the rapids, but for a considerable time no welcome tug at the line ensued. We were on the point of moving farther upstream when suddenly I felt a violent jerk, my reel sang and my rod assumed an excessive arc. I stood my ground and watched the line pay out until I could see the nickel core of the reel. I was on the point of dashing into the stream to relieve the danger of having the line unreeve, when slowly the rod came straight and the reel ceased to revolve. One of father's old fishing axioms came to me: "A slack line spells disaster." I began reeling furiously, and for a minute I felt that my fish was off. I was on the point of giving up when again came a taut jerk. Away sped the fish with another thirty feet of my line. I played him with all the cunning I could command, until at last his silver scales sparkled in the shallow pool at my feet. Just as I was about to draw him to shore, he flipped his tail and was gone again. Once more I gave him his head. This time he dashed towards a jagged clump of rocks, and I realized with dismay that unless I took extreme measures I should soon have my line inextricably tangled around the rocks. Taking a desperate chance I added a few more pounds tension to the reel. The rod bent dangerously, and my breath came hard with the suspense, but the rod held. He came short of the rocks by several inches; then, exhausted by this desperate sally, he slackened his efforts, and I began to reel him in. This time the struggle was short, and in a few minutes he was gasping on the rocks at my feet, as fine a specimen of brook trout as I ever saw!

In my excitement I had not noticed that success had crowned the efforts of my companions, and there were three or four other speckled beauties divided among them. For a while longer we fished with signal good fortune, but at last the dipping sun warned us that it was time to think of returning to the ship. Gathering up our trophies we hastened down to the shore where we rejoined the others, and in a short time we were chugging along towards the ship, at the close of one of the finest days we ever had in Labrador.

THROUGH THE PACK TO DISASTER

It was with regret that at dawn on the day following we bade farewell to Battle Harbor and the hospitable Grenfell workers and squared away for Hopedale whence we would make the long leg to Greenland. While on the way to Hopedale we crossed the mouth of Hamilton Inlet, a great fiord or arm of the sea that penetrates the land for a hundred miles. From this fiord extends a river containing one of the largest waterfalls in the world, the Grand Falls of the Hamilton River.

Early the next morning we were off Cape Harrison at the northern end of the inlet. Here we began to notice scattered cakes of ice drifting out to sea--"Gone abroad," as the Newfoundlanders say. Soon the scattered fragments became thicker, and a full-fledged field of pack ice presented itself to our vision.

THE HEROES OF HOPEDALE

Hopedale, with the exception of Makkovik, which harbors only two families, is the southernmost settlement of the Eskimos and one of the principal posts of the Moravian missions. Unknown to the world at large, the Moravians have been carrying on a wonderful missionary work on this desolate coast and great have been their services. In the first place they have formed the one barrier between the primitive Eskimo and the ruin which has been the inevitable accompaniment of contact with the white race. Had it not been for these good Samaritans there would not be a single Eskimo in Labrador to-day! For when all the rest of the people who have dealings with the natives have striven to encourage their destruction, these brave missionaries, and they alone, have held firm for the right, have waged a never-ceasing fight against all who threatened the welfare of their wards. No obstacle has proved too great; no effort has been too tiring; not even a lack of funds has deterred these indomitable evangelists from doing their duty where they found it. They have converted the Eskimos to Christianity and endowed them with the priceless gift of the true Christian spirit of brotherly love. Aside from their religious work, they are the only agency for carrying on education in Northern Labrador, both among Eskimos and whites. Owing to their untiring efforts the Eskimos have been uplifted from a state of complete ignorance and savagery to a status of civilization and education.

At their Makkovik station the Moravians maintain a boarding school for boys, up there education being considered the heritage of the male alone. At this school the children are given board and lodging and as much education as their untrained minds can assimilate. This board, lodging and education they receive for fifty cents a week! Yet such is the poverty of these people that most of the families find it well-nigh impossible to pay even this modest sum.

The school consisted of one bare classroom furnished with a few rough desks and chairs, while across the hall a room comprised the dormitory. I could not help comparing it to the elaborately equipped plant which I had so recently left. At this primitive school there were no spacious athletic fields, no huge, airy dormitories, no stately towers, no gymnasium of any description. We, in this country, can hardly conceive of a crack school, for that is what this one is considered, not having at least a gymnasium. The children came to learn and for no other reason. There were no dances, no gay parties or entertainments and no competitive sports--in short, education was reduced to terms of severest simplicity. None the less it is, I dare say, more appreciated and more highly respected than it is in many other places.

The fearless regard of these missionaries for justice and impartiality has been the shield and buckler of the simple aborigine against the unscrupulous avarice of the trader and the demoralizing influence of the depraved white. Much also have they done for the poverty-stricken white settler, educating the children, bringing relief to the bereaved, and keeping alive in the breasts of all the spirit of honesty and idealism. In addition to their care for the things of the spirit, they were the first to introduce medical aid to The Labrador. Truly have they carried out in the broadest sense the words of the Master when he said, "Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel unto every creature."

What a glorious epic of Christian service has been their ministry on this coast! Clear and strong as to the apostles of old came the call of duty--that inspiring lodestone which has drawn forth the noblest and best from the men of all ages. Home and kindred, material rewards, ease and luxury were as naught before it. The stern dictates of conscience to them comprised the sole path to joy and happiness. But how little we realize the trials and deprivations that their self-imposed exile necessitates; how many of the little things that to us seem so necessary they must perforce do without. A prized possession of one of the missionaries was an old camera dating back to 1870. This he displayed with great pride one afternoon while we were taking tea at the mission. It consisted of a cumbersome old box on a tripod, of which the only method of regulating the diaphragm opening was by inserting brass plugs with a proper sized hole bored in them. He handled this venerable machine with the affection born of long years of association. While we were examining it, his kindly wife brought forth with pride several bulky albums filled with the results of her husband's efforts. We opened these and great was our surprise to see the beautiful quality and real artistry of these pictures. He was an artist to the soul, and with proper equipment what pictures he might have taken!

No one better realized the strict economy under which these people perforce must labor, than did the Commander, and it was at his suggestion that the Zenith Radio Corporation, which had supplied us with our radio equipment, donated several receiving sets for distribution among the worthy missionaries. One of these we presented to Mr. Perrit, the minister at Hopedale, and when he heard the music, his gratitude and delight were so touching that we wished we might do infinitely more for him and his cause.

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