EDMUND BURRY

Clinch

The Pillar of Trinity

Copyright © Edmund Burry, 2011

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Burry, Edmund

Clinch: The Pillar of Trinity / Edmund Burry

Original publication 2011

DRC PUBLISHING

3 Parliament Street

St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador

ISBN 978-1-926689-35-7

1.     Clinch, John, 1749-1819—Fiction. I. Title

PS8603.U7478C55 2011      C813’.6     C2011-902146-3

Dedication

To my mother, Margaret

I know how proud you would be.

Prologue

The sharp spade cut cleanly through the thin layer of sod. The boundary of the rectangular vegetable garden was defined with twine tied around wooden stakes at each corner. He had been planning this for some time, reading online about organic farming and carefully listing what would be best to grow in the short growing season, how to fertilize the sparse soil, and when to plant. He planned to use only organic fertilizer; seaweed readily available from the shoreline of the cove and manure from a nearby dairy farm.

Now, late in May the snow cover was long gone, the frost had left the ground and the air – still cooled by the offshore ice – was warm enough to encourage gardeners to prepare for planting. This was the first of several gardens he planned on the gentle slope of the hill facing southwest - to get the full benefit of the Newfoundland sun – and it was carefully measured to twenty feet by twelve feet. This should take no time at all, he decided, and considered doubling the plot, but anxious to dig in and get his hands dirty, he put expansion plans aside.

Frédéric Bartlett, who had grown nothing in his fifty years, energetically attacked the garden and in an hour had the sods cut in neat rectangular shapes. Prying the spade under the ends of each sod he ripped them from the topsoil with his hands, stacked them to one side and stopped to admire the garden, still concerned it might not be large enough. This was the part he had been looking forward to, where the spade sinks deeply into the dark soil with a thick, rich whoosh, the sound he had heard so many times on television gardening shows. He rested the arch of his foot on the top edge of the spade and drove the cutting blade into the soil. The tip of the blade penetrated the surface and came up solid with a sharp crack striking a rock hidden just below the surface of the thin layer of soil and sent a shockwave that rattled his spine.

Straightening his leg until the feeling returned to his foot he moved the spade to the side and again drove it into the soil with the same result. He was undeterred, but after three hours of digging, prying, and removing rocks of all shapes and sizes, he had cleared less than half of his garden plot.

Wiping the sweat from his brow he gazed from the hill that provided a vantage of the entire town of Trinity, took a deep breath, and again pushed the spade into the ground. The now familiar sound of iron striking rock was replaced with a ring of iron on iron. He dug around the object expecting to uncover something, perhaps an old stove that had been discarded in the meadow sometime over the past three hundred years. He could see the outline of the rectangular shaped object that appeared to be some sort of box. The front, where the lock would have been, had long ago rusted away and the cover came off easily revealing a leather pouch.  The garden would have to wait and welcoming a break from physical exertion he took his discovery into the house for closer observation.

Frédéric Bartlett was born and lived most of his life in France. The little he knew of Newfoundland was from stories his father had told him about his childhood home. His father and French mother met during the Second World War and settled in France where she was a doctor and he an airline pilot. They had often talked of returning to Newfoundland, but their hectic schedules had not allowed them to do so. Age and illness eventually restricted their travel. His father never got over the death of his wife after forty years of marriage and he died just three years later.

That was ten years ago and shortly after, while going through his father’s documents, Frédéric came across the letter from a lawyer in St. John’s, Newfoundland informing his father that he had inherited a piece of land from the estate of a distant relative.

Frédéric contacted the lawyer and made plans to visit his father’s homeland. When he saw the plot of land he now owned his father’s dream of building a cottage became his. Over the last five years he’d returned to Trinity several times to arrange construction and his cottage was finally complete. From his first visit Frédéric had felt a strange connection to this place that was so different from France. He and his wife, Monique, decided they would use it as a vacation retreat, for now.

Sitting at the kitchen table he removed from the leather pouch an unbound document protected by thick leather book covers. The edges of the paper were rotted and discoloured, but the words were surprisingly clear:

John Clinch - My Life

History may remember me for my service to the Church of England, my work as a surgeon, and other civic duties I have accepted throughout my life. Indeed, my life of service has followed the direction given to me by my closest and most articulate friend, Edward Jenner in one of his many letters that served to strengthen my resolve to push on through life’s challenges.

“Never aim, my friend, at being a public character, if you love domestic peace, but I will not repine, nay I do not repine, but cheerfully submit, as I look upon myself as the instrument in the hands and power which errs, of doing incalculable good to my fellow creatures.”

The purpose of this journal is to document a part of my life that cannot be disclosed until I am long gone from this world and I fear may be forever forgotten should I not record it on these pages.

I was born in Cirencester, England in 1749 and trained as a surgeon before my arrival in Newfoundland as a young man. My true calling in life began in 1775 upon my arrival on this island……

“A man must be guided by his own genius: indeed without a good portion of this, a physician must ever cut a poor figure, and if he should be a man of fine feelings he must often be subject to unpleasant sensations within himself.

Something new is ever presenting itself; neither books, lectures, nor the longest experience are sufficient to store the mind without the indescribable something a man of our profession should possess.”

Edward Jenner, in a letter to his friend and colleague, John Clinch - 1789

Chapter 1

Genilli Clinch got slowly and cautiously out of bed. Her pregnancy had been pure misery for the past few weeks and the thought of several more in this condition caused her to consider crawling back into bed, but there was too much work to be done before the baby arrived. Besides, she had to pee and hoped that emptying her bladder would relieve the pressure.  Reaching for the chamber pot she had used four times during the night Genilli was happy to find that Thomas had emptied it before leaving for school to prepare the day’s lessons.

Thomas, so excited to have fathered a child, was doing his best to help with the household work. More often than not his bumbling about caused more work for Genilli, but she welcomed her husband’s attempts to help anyway. They had been married ten years and had planned for many children, but that was not to be. Genilli was thirty-one on her last birthday and they had all but given up hope of starting a family. So, this pregnancy was very much a surprise and a blessing. For Genilli, this baby was a gift from the Lord who had seen fit to answer her prayers. Thomas felt there was a more logical reason as to why his wife was able to conceive their first child, so late in her childbearing years. However, he kept his questionable faith in the Almighty’s power to himself.

In this year of 1749 in the village of Cirencester, as in villages all over Britain, the Church of England and its doctrines were unquestionable. Thomas was ever mindful of the Church’s sacrosanct belief that the Lord had a hand in everything that happened in this world. Out of necessity Thomas abided closely to the Church-indoctrinated school curriculum overlooking his acknowledged hypocrisy in doing so. This did not prevent him from relishing in his students’ questions and searches for more than the answers the Church would deem acceptable to explain the many wonders of the world. Discreetly, Thomas would encourage students to seek their own answers over and above those he was compelled to provide.

Thomas had lived all his life in Cirencester, a village about fifty miles from the city of Bristol.  Thomas had never forgotten a school lesson when he was ten and a brief mention by a teacher that Cirencester was the location of a major Roman city. Known as Corinium Dobunnor, it was established shortly after the Roman conquest in AD 43. It was the second largest Roman city in the province of Britannia, second in size to Londinium, which became London centuries later. With the knowledge that Romans had lived there almost 2,000 years earlier Thomas would roam the streets of Cirencester and the surrounding hills in search of evidence of ancient Roman ruins.

Thomas often thought back to that day when he first saw Genilli and was taken by her olive complexion, and dark hair and eyes. His first sight of her aroused in him fantasies of a beautiful Roman princess.

As much as he loved Genilli, Thomas was often required to compromise his scientific beliefs and logical reasoning at home. If Genilli felt the Almighty was totally responsible for the child she would soon bring into this world, Thomas felt no need to suggest otherwise, knowing that her faith would never waver.

Genilli positioned the chamber pot beneath her when, she suddenly she felt a rush of liquid coursing down her inner thighs. Two days before, Mrs. Hartery, the midwife, had assured her the baby was not due for at least four more weeks. Genilli’s anxiety increased as she saw fluid pooling at her feet.

Looking toward the ceiling she prayed aloud, “Dear Lord, please don’t let the baby come now, as I am all alone.” Grasping the rail of the cradle positioned against the wall, she turned and attempted to walk slowly towards the open bedroom doorway and the narrow staircase, when the first contraction sent her to her knees.

Genilli was terrified and cried out, “My Lord I beg of you to help, if not for me, for the sake of the baby I carry!”

Twelve-year-old Patrick Ryan happened to be walking by the Clinch cottage on his way to school when he heard Genilli’s cries for help. As usual, he was late for school. He could be easily distracted by anything to keep him from the classroom. There would be no better excuse for his tardiness than to be summoned for assistance from someone in Schoolmaster Clinch’s house. Patrick stopped and listened closely.

“Dear Lord, you have seen fit to bless me with child, surely you can hear my pleas for your help!”

Patrick recognized Mrs. Clinch’s voice and ran back to his house to alert his mother. Within minutes the boy and his mother entered the Clinch cottage and hearing Genilli’s moans upstairs, rushed to her side. Genilli was deep in prayer, curled on her side on the bedroom floor.  Having delivered five babies of her own, Mrs. Ryan quickly recognized Genilli was in labour. She sent Patrick to find Midwife Hartery then to the school to get Schoolmaster Clinch.

Seeing Mrs. Ryan, Genilli whispered, “Thank you my Lord for heeding my prayers for help.”

“Genilli, t’was my youngest boy, Patrick, who heard your cries for help and sought me out - not the good Lord.”

“Patrick is an angel dispatched for my assistance by the Lord.”

“Me and Paddy have called that boy many names, but for the life of me, angel is not one of them.”

By the time Mrs. Hartery arrived Mrs. Ryan had managed to get Genilli back in bed. The midwife quickly took control of the situation. After examining Genilli, who was in much distress, Mrs. Hartery realized this would not be a normal delivery, but she was careful to veil her concerns that the possibility of saving both baby and mother was unlikely. “Now, Genilli, let’s take a look and see what your baby is up to,” she said calmly, hoping Genilli did not sense her grave concern.

Sometime later Thomas rushed into the house to hear a baby crying loudly, announcing its arrival to the whole world. Mrs. Ryan quickly intercepted Thomas at the bedroom door. The furrows on her brow and the set of her jaw told Thomas there was bad news. She quietly explained, “Thomas, you have a healthy son, but the second baby is proving to be much more of a problem.”

“Second baby!  We are having twins?”

“Yes, but the second child is not cooperating and your wife is not doing well. There is nothing we can do but wait until the baby decides it’s time to enter this world.”

While his firstborn wailed in the cradle Thomas had made, Mrs. Hartery, assisted by Mrs. Ryan, used all her experience and silent prayers to deliver the second child. As the baby finally appeared they could see the umbilical cord was around its neck.  They had no choice but to pull out the baby as quickly as possible. This baby, a girl, did not cry. Mrs. Hartery blew air into her lungs to try and start her breathing. It seemed forever before the tiny baby gurgled, gasped and took a few short breaths, but still did not cry. Breathing shallowly, she was placed in the cradle next to her brother as the women’s attention turned to Genilli.

Thomas was called into the room and he went directly to his wife. He held her hand while Mrs. Hartery explained that Genilli had lost a lot of blood and although she appeared no longer to be in pain, she was ghostly pale and her skin cold. The women wrapped her in blankets and all three stayed by her bedside as she fell into a deep sleep.

“What is to become of my wife?” asked Thomas.

“There is no more I can do for her. All we can do is keep her warm and have her drink when she awakens. If she can get through the next few hours then hopefully she will be out of danger and begin to regain some strength. Now we must tend to your babies.”

Thomas, who had not yet looked at his newborn children, turned toward the cradle. One, obviously bigger, looked to be healthy and full of life as he cried out for attention. His sister did not look at all like her twin. Her pallid colour, combined with her shallow breathing, gave Thomas cause to be concerned for the wellbeing of his second child. Her cheeks were not full and rosy, as Thomas expected, but were hollow and gaunt. The skin appeared to be stretched over her tiny nose giving a pointed appearance not unlike that of a wizened old woman. For a moment Thomas thought how many infants died at birth and such a fate for this baby may be a blessing. A feeling of guilt overcame him and he quickly dispelled any such notion. He would love and care equally for both his newborn children.

Mrs. Ryan touched her little finger to the lips of the crying firstborn child. The instinct to suckle took over as his lips encircled the finger tip and he sucked furiously.

“Mr. Clinch,” said Mrs. Hartery, “Genilli won’t have the strength to feed these babies for some time. They will need warm cow’s milk until she recovers. You’ll have your hands full. Is there someone who can come to help?”

“Genilli’s mother had offered to assist us after the baby arrived.  I will send for her immediately.”

“Once she is here, I’ll come to check on Genilli until she recovers, but if I am needed please send for me anytime,” said Mrs. Hartery.

It was several days before Genilli had the strength to sit up in bed. Her mother, Margaret, tended to her and the babies during the day and helped Thomas with their care throughout the night.

Early in the pregnancy, Thomas and Genilli had excitedly discussed names for their firstborn. If it was a boy, they had decided on John in memory of Genilli’s father who had died the previous year, and if it was a girl she would be named Sarah. It would be some time before the children would be christened, but Thomas took it on his own to name the babies John and Sarah.

John, a very demanding baby, cried most of the day and night, to be fed, to be changed, or just to be coddled. He did not appear to be in any sort of distress; he just demanded attention. Sarah never cried. Thomas and Margaret did not express their concerns for Sarah to Genilli. She would see that for herself when she had recovered sufficiently.  Thomas and Margaret agreed that whenever baby John demanded attention they would also provide the same to Sarah to ensure that she received sufficient nourishment and care.

A fortnight passed before Genilli had regained enough strength to get out of bed for short periods, to wash, change her night gown, and stretch her legs before exhaustion forced her back to bed. She took one baby at a time back to her bed for feeding. John suckled ravenously, but Sarah failed to feed from her mother’s breast. Until now both babies had been feeding together by bottle in their father’s or grandmother’s arms. Thomas and Margaret could not understand why Sarah would not take Genilli’s breast.

The next day Sarah was lying in Genilli’s arms. Her mother had done everything to coax Sarah to feed. John began to cry in a manner that Thomas recognized as a demand for feeding. He placed John at Genilli’s breast where he began to feed. Immediately, Sarah sought out her mother’s other breast that she had ignored until her brother began to feed.

Thomas realized that the connection between their two babies, so different in appearance, was more than he could explain. Sarah’s survival seemed to be inexplicably influenced by the stronger, firstborn baby.

After nearly two months Genilli regained her strength and was able to care for her babies and tend to the household work unassisted. John’s appetite was only surpassed by his need for attention and the constant care he demanded, while Sarah demanded nothing.

The cradle soon became too small for the two and Thomas built a small crib for John. When the two babies were separated, John wailed incessantly. No amount of feeding, attention, or coddling could satisfy the baby. Only when Sarah was returned to his side in the new crib did he cease his crying.

As the months passed John continued to demand most of his parent’s time while, the ever-pleasant Sarah, accepted whatever came her way.  Thomas and Genilli hoped it was only a matter of time before Sarah, with their tender love and care, would catch up to her twin brother in both her physical and mental development. They never talked about the differences in their children. They both knew there was nothing to be gained by acknowledging their concerns for Sarah. Only in her prayers would Genilli admit to her concerns and asked the Lord to provide special attention to Sarah.

By the babies’ second birthday both parents accepted that Sarah had serious health issues that the passage of time, their love, and Genilli’s prayers could not overcome. Sarah’s physical development was very slow and she was considerably undersized which seemed to be in keeping with her apparently delayed mental state. It appeared that John was growing daily and already developing into a robust little boy. But still, the two were inseparable with John insisting, through his tantrums, that Sarah be in his company at all times, as if she were both his responsibility and his comforter.

By their fifth birthday John had grown into a very active, inquisitive boy.  He constantly asked questions about everything around him. Sarah, feeble and very much smaller, accompanied John everywhere, although, she tired quickly. When play involved physical activity Sarah’s limitations forced her to sit back and watch. She walked with an unstable gait and appeared, with every step, she was about to topple - as she often did - flat onto her face. John became more active and involved with outdoor play as Sarah’s spills increased. Though she was constantly bruised and scraped, little Sarah never cried or complained.

The physical battering she took was the price she paid to be with John. Sarah could not speak clearly and most of her disjointed sentences began with a call to “Jah”.

Time was set aside every day by their mother for Bible reading to the children. John would constantly interrupt to ask for explanations. After some time Genilli’s response of, “It is the Lord’s wish,” failed to satisfy John’s lively mind. Sarah’s speech, on the other hand, had not developed from much more than that of a baby’s babbles, incomprehensible to all but John. As Genilli read aloud from her bible Sarah often blurted thick-tongued words and phrases.

“Hush, Sarah, I am reading to John,” would often be Genilli’s response.

“Mother, Sarah is asking you a question,” John would interject.

“She does not understand what I am reading and she is simply babbling and mimicking the sound of my voice,” was Genilli’s explanation.

“But she does understand, Mother,” John would answer, confused as to why Sarah’s speech was clear to his ears alone.

Sarah, shaking her head slowly would look at John and beginning with “Jah”, she would utter sounds only John could understand as she pleaded with him to say no more to upset their mother.

“Mother, if Sarah and I were born the same time, why is she so small and why does she not look and speak as I do?” asked John.

“I fear Sarah was unable to get sufficient nourishment before she was born. You became stronger and bigger and used up all the sustenance when you both were still inside my belly.”

John considered his mother’s explanation for some time. In his need to understand, he interpreted it to mean that he was responsible for his sister’s limitations.  With her words, his mother had not intended to lay blame or to have any meaningful impact on John. Nor did she realize that her answer confirmed for John what he had always suspected - he was in some way the cause of Sarah’s condition - and the feeling of guilt that overcame him would remain for the rest of his life.

“So, Sarah is small and I am bigger because I took her share?”

“Sarah is the way she is because it’s the Lord’s wish,” was his mother’s final comment, as it so often was when no other explanation clearly presented itself. Genilli mistakenly believed that putting her daughter’s condition in the hands of the Lord would purge her son of any sense of guilt or responsibility.

When the children reached the age of six it was arranged for John to attend school. Thomas, accepting that his two children were inseparable, realized that the other teachers would have concerns with Sarah as a student. Thomas convinced his children’s class teacher that Sarah would not be a disruption in the classroom and assured the teacher that he could be summoned quickly, if needed.

Sarah was allowed to attend school on a trial basis. John knew it would be his responsibility to ensure that Sarah did not cause a distraction if they wanted to remain together. Just as he had always done, he would speak on behalf of Sarah when the need arose. Sarah sat quietly in class next to her brother and looked attentively as the other students responded to the teacher’s questions.

They lived just a ten minute walk from the school yet the distance was too far for Sarah to walk without resting. The two children would stop at a small park between the school and their home. Sitting on a wooden bench John would read the school lessons to Sarah or they would look at the illustrations in a book their father had brought home. Once Sarah gathered her strength they would continue to or from home.

After church each Sunday Thomas Clinch and his two children would walk all over Cirencester in search of telltale signs of Roman buildings, roads, or open air theatres, long since buried under centuries of building, destruction, rebuilding and decay. Sarah would try to walk, but she soon tired and Thomas picked her up and sat her tiny body on his shoulders as they roamed the countryside.

They would sit on a knoll overlooking a grassy valley and Thomas would describe to his children the invisible city laid out before them, and the people that roamed its streets. Sarah and John could see the past just as their father described it in vivid detail.

“Remember, children, never accept things as they appear on the surface. There are many mysteries and wonders buried beneath. When you uncover the first hidden layer it is just the beginning of your search. Even if you feel you have found the answer, keep looking for there will still be wonders waiting for you to discover.” John, listening to his father’s every word would nod his head in acknowledgement of the lesson his father was imparting. Sarah, watching her brother’s every move, appeared to mimic John’s actions. But, John knew she also understood their father.

About a month before their tenth birthday, John came home from school, uncharacteristically, tired and lethargic. By early evening he had a high fever and complained of severe pain in his head and back. For the next two days the boy sweated and shivered through the fever as the pain subsided somewhat, much to the relief of his parents.

“It’s the grippe,” Thomas said to Ginelli to allay her fears. “He should be over the worst.” As much as he hoped his prognosis was correct, Thomas was very concerned that his son’s condition was about to take a turn. When Ginelli was not present Thomas pulled back the sheets and inspected John’s torso. On the fourth day Thomas saw the rash - a faint outline of deep reddish blotches just below the skin’s surface. Thomas gasped and covered the boy with the bed clothes hoping that his concern for his son was playing tricks on his eyes and when he would check later, the rash would be gone.

The rash did not disappear and the next time Thomas looked, it had deepened, as if it was moving up through the skin, spreading to the boy’s neck and face.

“Ginelli, I fear John has the pox.”

“No, no it cannot be that! You said it was the grippe!”

“I hoped and prayed as much as you that it was just that, but we must now accept the facts.”

It was not unknown for mothers, who had not contracted smallpox, to desert their infected babies, or for otherwise caring adults to put out their infected spouses to fend for themselves in a desperate attempt to avoid contracting the dreaded smallpox. It was often said that no mother could count her children until they had had smallpox and survived.

Many did not survive and those who did were often disfigured, blinded, or crippled. Every outbreak of smallpox had specific characteristics and degrees of severity, but such was the deadly nature of the disease it was commonly known that one in three of its victims died.  It was also understood that those who survived a bout of the disease would be immune from any future epidemic.

Within a few days John’s body was covered with the terrible rash. The initial site on his chest had turned into large pus-filled blisters that swelled and erupted, oozing sticky yellowish fluid and giving off a terrible stench of putrefying flesh. Within days the same would happen to the rash on his neck, face and even in his mouth and throat, making it very painful to swallow.

John understood he was very sick. During one of the brief periods of awareness, he overheard his parents speaking quietly at his bedside. “Genilli, we must keep the children apart until he recovers. John is very strong and will surely recover, but should Sarah contract the pox from him, I fear she will not be so lucky.”

“Sarah will stay with my mother until John recovers,” said Genilli.

After several days the pustules covering John’s body dried and scabs formed over the sores. The healing process followed the course of the rash as it moved up the boy’s body to his neck and head. John had become little more than a skeleton, as he was unable to eat for so long.

He could now drink liquids and eat small amounts of soft foods, as his hunger overshadowed the excruciating pain of each swallow. He would recover.

The only lasting evidence that would bear witness to John Clinch’s survival of the most feared of diseases, were the pitted scars on his face, recognized by many as a badge of survival.

John and Sarah had never been apart for more than a few minutes. When the sores in his throat had healed enough to permit him to speak a few painful words, John asked, “Where’s Sarah?”

His father, adjusting the blankets, and avoiding John’s stare, answered, “Sarah is staying at Gramma’s.”

“Why?”

“Your mother and I have been busy caring for you and thought it best for Sarah to stay with Gramma.”

“I must go see Sarah.” John tried to get out of bed but he was still too weak and he fell back.

“You rest and in a day or so Sarah will be back home.”

As the lesions healed John was able to eat and his strength was returning. He was now aware of his surroundings and sensed by his parent’s demeanour there was something they were not telling him. John refused to eat and insisted that he be reunited with Sarah.

Genilli and Thomas sat at John’s bedside. Genilli had her eyes closed and her hands clasped tightly as she prayed silently. Her husband spoke. “We thought it best that you have time to recover and it appears you are feeling much better. There is something we have to tell you. Sarah has come down with the pox and she is very ill.”

“I gave it to her didn’t I, Father?”

“No John, she caught it just as you did. There is no one to blame.”

“Was it God’s wish that Sarah catch the pox from me?” asked John. Thomas could not answer, and looking at his wife, deep in prayer, he knew what her answer would be if she had heard John.

His sister was finally returned to their home and John, filled with guilt for having caused her illness, sensed that his parents had given up hope for Sarah’s recovery. Sarah’s already weak constitution was unable to bear the extreme impact of the disease and her fever continued to worsen as the rash spread to cover her body.

John, still very weak, refused to leave Sarah’s bedside. As the rash covered her body and filled her throat she was unable to take any water. In just a few days Sarah’s vital organs began to fail and her breathing became shallow.

John held her small, limp hand, but try as he might to fight off sleep, his eyes became heavy and his head fell onto the bed. His eyes closed and then he heard Sarah’s voice speaking clearly to him.

“Jah, it’s time for me to go away.”

“If you are going away I must go with you, Sarah. You need me to speak for you and help you every day.”

“No Jah, you can’t go with me. Where I am going everyone will understand what I say and there will be many others to help me, as I will help them.”

“Sarah, may I visit you in that place?”

“Not for many years, you have much to do for us both before we can be together again.”

“But Sarah I need you as much as you need me. What will I do without you?”

“You will accomplish many wonderful things and I will always be with you, wherever you go. I will help you in times of need just as you have always helped me.”

With tears streaming down his face, Thomas Clinch watched as his brave little girl took her last breath, her hand still gripped by her twin brother fast asleep at her side. As Genilli prayed quietly, Thomas gently shook his son’s shoulders and whispered, “John, John, Sarah is gone.”

“Yes, Father, I know. Sarah told me she was leaving.”

Chapter 2

With time, John’s physical strength returned and he seemed to carry on as though the loss of his sister had no particular impact on his emotional state. John’s behaviour was disconcerting to his parents. The children had been inseparable since birth, but now John seemed to have forgotten Sarah. Thomas, fearing that John was hiding deep sorrow, festering inside only to surface much later, thought it best to speak with his son about the family’s loss. “John, your mother and I miss Sarah very much. Do you think of her often?”

“Yes Father, of course I think of her all the time and she knows that you miss her,” John replied matter-of-factly as if to console his grieving father.

“She knows?”

“Yes, Sarah is happy now. Happy that she can run and play, like all the other children and she no longer falls or gets sick. We read and study together as we always have, but now Sarah helps me with my studies as I used to help her.”

As John returned to reading his book Thomas stared at him trying to formulate a response that would dispel John’s childish notion that he could still communicate with his sister. Perhaps it was a way for the boy to avoid the terrible grief caused by the death of his twin sister. If so, it would be better for John to accept the harsh reality that Sarah was dead and gone, so that his young mind could begin to heal.

Thomas tried to gather the words to best explain this to his son, but quickly realized that since birth his two children had always behaved as if their bodies and souls were linked as one, defying any logical or rational explanation that Thomas could conjure. Now, looking at his son concentrating on the book in his lap, Thomas saw John as an active, healthy boy, normal in all obvious respects and decided it would be better to accept what was and leave well enough alone, without trying to explain why.

Thomas was constantly challenged to satisfy his son’s unending quest for knowledge and searched libraries throughout Gloucestershire for appropriate literature. By his twelfth year John was reading books well above his peers’ level of interest. Even at this young age John seemed to be driven to learn and he had a special interest in the physical sciences, a fact that pleased Thomas immensely.  John satisfied his mother’s insistence to study the Bible and he did not discourage her wish for him to consider a life in service with the church.

John, and another boy who had moved from the village of Berkeley to attend school in Cirencester, became close friends. Edward Jenner, the third son in the Jenner family was just five years of age when his father, a Church of England Vicar, died. Edward was raised by his eldest brother, Reverend Stephen Jenner, who had followed in the family tradition to become a clergyman.

Edward Jenner had been home-schooled at an early age in preparation for public school where he and John Clinch were always at the top of their class. They both took great interest in the humanities, but their common passion, which made them inseparable as schoolmates and friends, was the study of the sciences.

Such was their level of interest and commitment to their studies that they soon surpassed the level of the school science curriculum and they sought out science books well beyond their classmates’, or even their teachers’, level of comprehension.

The boys’ potential was soon recognized and at the age of thirteen they were offered an opportunity to apprentice under Mr. Daniel Ludlow, a well known pharmacist and surgeon, in Chipping, Sodbury, South Gloucestershire, not far from Bristol.

Thomas and Ginelli were at first hesitant to send their son away, but realizing that further study was in John’s best interest, soon relented and arrangements were finalized. Thomas’s salary as a school teacher did not allow for frivolous gifts or unnecessary expenditures, but he and Ginelli agreed that John would cherish a book.

After much searching, Thomas found in a used bookstore a rather unique book, small enough for John to carry on his person, and very relevant considering his and Ginelli’s differing hopes for their son’s career ambitions.

The prayer book, originally written in Latin by Thomas à Kempis, had been republished in English in 1714 with the addition of a section that Thomas and Ginelli agreed was very appropriate for the profession that John was about to pursue. The book’s title was, The Christian Pattern: or a Treatise of The Imitation of Jesus Christ with the addition of Meditation and Prayers for Sick Persons.

His parents gave John the book the night before he was to leave for Sodbury. He was so taken by the unexpected gift that he went to his father’s desk and wrote on the page opposite the dedication page:

John Clench is my name. Steal not this book for fear of Shame for underneath is the onear’s name.

John

Clench

When John showed his parents what he had written Thomas was overcome with mixed emotions – happy that the gift had such meaning for John but also concerned that the childlike poem suggested that John may be too young to handle the adult world he was about to enter.

At thirteen years of age, and bound by their common search for knowledge and genuine friendship, John Clinch and Edward Jenner could hardly have presented more contrasting physical characteristics. Edward was a short chubby boy with a round pink face framed with flaxen curls of shoulder-length hair. Such was his cherubic appearance that many of Mr. Ludlow’s female patients had to suppress the urge to pinch the cheek of the ‘little boy’ surgeon apprentice. Always impeccably dressed with a stiff-collared shirt under his waistcoat, Edward’s attempt to portray the learned-physician gave him the appearance of a child playing the part of a physician in a school play.

Since his bout with smallpox John had not regained the robust physique he had as a small child. Like a long, scraggly weed, he grew several inches in a year and was now head and shoulders above Edward. His straight black hair was always unkempt as if the boy never looked in a mirror. His arms stuck out from the sleeves of his coat, which appeared to be a size or two too small, exaggerating his lean and angular stature. John’s dark brown eyes were set deep into his scarred face, initially giving him an almost sinister look, although this was soon forgotten by patients who sensed in the surgeon apprentice a calm self-assurance and honest concern for their well-being.

Edward was always chattering on and expounding some new medical theory or scientific research he had read, with John listening attentively and interjecting a word here or there whenever Edward stopped to catch a breath.

As was customary, the two surgeon apprentices lived in Mr. Ludlow’s home that also served as his surgery. They worked with their mentor in any way required, from assisting with surgery, to cleaning up after medical procedures.

They worked all hours of the day and night and only after Mr. Ludlow retired did they have time to study. John and Edward spent countless hours studying anatomy, reading medical books, and learning of diseases and afflictions - many of which they would have observed Mr. Ludlow treating during the day.

Day-to-day procedures such as the lancing of boils and abscesses were often delayed to set broken bones, amputate crushed limbs, and suture knife wounds. For more serious afflictions, surgeons provided a treatment of last resort. Patients diagnosed by physicians with numerous problems causing discomfort or threatening death, ranging from haemorrhoids; kidney and bladder stones; to tumours and cancers, arrived at Mr. Ludlow’s surgery after their physicians were unsuccessful in alleviating their suffering.

Only the desperate and long-suffering considered the treatment offered by surgeons. Surgery was performed without any form of pain relief, other than warm wine or more powerful spirits. The only saving grace was the speed with which the surgeon performed the surgical procedure. Surgeons took great pride in performing major surgeries in minutes. One such surgeon claimed he could perform surgery to remove bladder stones in less than a minute. The need for speedy surgical techniques was for more than bragging rights. Without any effective method of pain control and the severe blood loss caused by many surgeries, it was felt the quicker the procedure was performed enhanced the patient’s chance of survival.

John and Edward learned very early in their apprenticeship the life of a surgeon was not for the faint of heart. As terrified as patients were in anticipation of the surgical knife slicing skin, or a saw cutting through bone, nothing could prepare them for the excruciating pain of surgery. Agonizing screams and pleas for the surgeon to stop the procedure had to be ignored as the patient fought against the restraints that bound them to the surgical table and the apprentices holding them down. The lucky patients passed out.

No study of human anatomy would be complete without hands-on experience and the boys anxiously looked forward to their occasional lecture sessions in the Dead Room. They would accompany Mr. Ludlow to a nearby hospital, where they were admitted to the basement by a rear door. Explanation as to why these sessions were always in the dead of night was not offered by Mr. Ludlow and was not questioned by the boys.

Entering the Dead Room, John and Edward saw two rows of five tables, spaced apart to allow standing at the sides of each. They tied cloths around their faces to somewhat subdue the overpowering stench of decaying flesh. The boys had learned after their first visit to forego meals for several hours before a Dead Room session or they would not be able to fight off the urge erupting from their stomachs.

The two apprentices, standing at opposite sides of the table, would stare in awe as the flesh parted from neck to navel following the course of Mr. Ludlow’s finely honed surgical knife. Then, with the rib spreader, an iron instrument resembling a medieval instrument of torture, the ribs were snapped like twigs exposing the wonders within. As each organ was excised from the cadaver it was handed to the apprentices for examination of its texture, colouring, weight and consistency. Healthy organs - hearts, livers, kidneys – were observed and compared to their diseased counterparts.

John and Edward would perform various surgical procedures on the cadavers under the direction of Mr. Ludlow who would time them. Holding his pocket watch in his hand he would make up a disease and say, “Mr. Clinch, this woman has a tumour in her right kidney. You must remove the tumour.” He would look down at his watch to note the time the procedure started.

Edward and John would pore over books in the library in search of descriptions of diseases or conditions they had observed and lay awake through the night after their Dead Room visits discussing what perplexing disease had killed the night’s subject and what treatment could possibly have saved the victim’s life.

As a renowned surgeon with a thriving practice, Mr. Ludlow and his wife often entertained the well-to-do of Bristol. His two apprentices were introduced to merchants, naval officers and merchant ship captains. The great wealth of these men and their fascinating seafaring adventures were, in some way always due to the Newfoundland fishery. John and Edward would listen in awe to stories of pirates and battles fought between the British and French for control of the shores of the distant island.

They learned how the seasonal fishery, where men were shipped out of Bristol, Poole, and numerous other ports in the spring to Newfoundland, and returned to England in the fall, had changed over the years with many staying on to establish homes and businesses on a  year-round basis. Mr. Ludlow’s guests knew well, the wealth their merchant interests had for generations harvested from the waters of Newfoundland as a result of their absolute power over the fishermen, would be negatively affected by permanent settlement.

The rush to establish plantations close to the fishing grounds and the problems associated with the labour intensive process of curing fish for the European markets, were common topics for discussion by Mr. Ludlow’s guests, and the boys took it all in.

Educated Englishmen willing and able to withstand the harsh environment of Newfoundland were a rare commodity and much sought after by these merchants. The guests welcomed the questions from the two boys under Mr. Ludlow’s charge and they were often told if it was adventure and wealth they were seeking, Newfoundland was the place to be.

Chapter 3

After several years under Mr. Ludlow’s tutelage, Edward Jenner and John Clinch, both twenty, were chosen to continue their professional studies in London under the guidance of Mr. John Hunter.

John and Edward were accepted from a long list of aspiring surgeons applying to study with the renowned surgeon.  Mr. Hunter was different than most surgeons in that he was not just a practitioner performing the accepted techniques he had learned as an apprentice. Mr. Hunter was first a scientist preaching the gospel of experimentation, observation and deduction. He pushed John and Edward to not simply accept existing surgical techniques but to search for ways to improve them and develop specialized instruments to enhance the probability of success.

Considering the highly competitive nature of the business of surgery, it was a testament to Mr. Hunter’s skill that he was often sought out to assist other London surgeons in previously untried surgical procedures, in particular surgeries concerning obstetrics. On several occasions Mr. Hunter was called on to assist with the new and untested procedure of caesarean sections. These procedures were considered successful if either the mother or baby survived the surgery.

Mr. Hunter relied on John and Edward to perform most of the day-to-day surgeries of his practice as he spent more time documenting his research and revolutionary surgical concepts while honouring commitments to speak before the numerous scientific societies in London. After their training was complete the young surgeons stayed in London for four years to work as surgeons and provide Mr. Hunter, their aging mentor, some relief from the demands of his practice until new apprentices could be trained.

It was with Mr. Hunter that John and Edward began to discover individual interests that would take them down different career paths. Edward planned to return to his country home in Berkeley to establish a surgical practice. Mr. Hunter had enhanced Edward’s love of scientific investigation and he had learned how his passion for science and medicine would guide his professional life.

John was more of a practitioner who relished the daily interaction with patients. The techniques and procedures he learned and practiced with Mr. Hunter gave him experience and skills that were in many ways revolutionary.  But, John realized he was called to serve not only as a physician. He wanted a more adventurous life, the life of a medical missionary far from England.

By the time John was twenty-five he was anxious to move on. His interest in the far off place called the New-Found-Land had been piqued since hearing the merchants’ stories at Mr. Ludlow’s house many years earlier. Upon inquiry at a lending library John obtained a valued copy of a publication titled “A Discourse and Discovery of New-Found-Land,” written by Captain Richard Whitbourne and published in 1620.

John returned to Cirencester to spend time with his parents and decide his future.  While he was at home, a visit by Samuel White, a Poole merchant who had a weekend cottage near the Clinch home, would prove to be fateful. Mr. White and John recognized each other from earlier meetings at Mr. Ludlow’s house. Before leaving Cirencester, Mr. White invited John to meet with him later at his home in Poole to discuss a business proposition.

Several days later John set out for Poole in a carriage arranged by Mr. White. Leaving his parent’s home at dawn he arrived by mid afternoon. As the carriage travelled along The Quay, John marvelled at the many ships of all sizes and descriptions at anchor or being loaded or unloaded at the numerous wharfs along the route.

The American Revolutionary War had begun four months earlier and the many merchant ships pursuing worldwide commercial interests were now escorted by Royal Navy ships and privateers, whose crews were anxious to get into the action and win their share of the spoils of war. Turning onto High Street the carriage passed rows of brick buildings with wooden signs stating the commercial nature of the businesses within.

John’s carriage stopped outside a well-maintained, but otherwise unpretentious three story building, nondescript except for a large oak door adorned with a brass plate bearing the name – Joseph White and Sons. John was welcomed by a clerk, awaiting the young physician’s arrival. Climbing an ornate wooden stairway to the second floor, John entered an ante room where he was handed over to another young man who advised that Mr. White was expecting him and would be available shortly. At precisely 4 pm, the second clerk knocked softly on the office door, waited for a response, then nodded to John to enter.

Upon entering the stately office John was struck by the richness of the room compared to the stark furnishings of the dingy work stations he had passed. Those were manned by clerks, with heads bowed to the work on their desks, ignoring the visitor as he was escorted past them. The walls of Mr. White’s office were covered with dark, rich wood, likely teakwood that had become very popular for furnishings and shipbuilding. An oversized stone fireplace with glowing coals adorned one wall. The room was oppressively hot and considering the recent spate of unseasonably warm spring weather, John surmised that Mr. White was a man of habit with the fire as much for atmosphere as for warmth.

Two ornately carved chairs sat in front of the desk, their seats covered with colourful, plush fabric. Several candles were placed strategically in the recesses of the office to supplement the limited daylight provided by two small windows. Three stacks of documents were piled neatly on the desk in front of the windows.

As John entered, the gentleman sitting behind the desk rose to offer his hand, but with the limited natural light at the man’s back, John did not recognize his host.

John recalled, from their first introduction, Mr. White was a short, stout, bald man of about 60 years of age wearing a low collared shirt and long coat, giving him the appearance of a country gentleman.  This Mr. White wore a thick curly white wig that covered his ears and flowed to his shoulders, framing his oval face and giving him a childlike, angelic appearance. Mr. White was dressed in a manner that was fashionable twenty years earlier, with a frilled silk shirt and a cravat covering the space between his neck and the high collars of his coat completing the formal business look. Not surprisingly, he dabbed a white handkerchief to the beads of sweat appearing on the narrow exposed part of his forehead as they swelled and ran along the horizontal furrows of his brow and down his temples.  John, unaccustomed to the business world, felt underdressed with his short - currently fashionable – tightly tied wig and a frill-less shirt with a simple scarf wound around his neck.

“Mr. Clinch, I appreciate you taking the time to visit me at my business establishment. I do try to keep my business affairs separate from my social life so I felt it best to invite you to my office.”

“I understand completely, Mr. White. The trip was quite pleasant. I never have the time to relax and enjoy the countryside as my practice and studies have all but consumed me.”

“Perhaps you can take some time to enjoy Poole while you are here. You may know our business is controlled from Poole but its wealth is derived from the fishery of Newfoundland. Are you familiar with Newfoundland?”

“Quite so sir, I have read about Newfoundland and find it a very intriguing place with abundant fishing resources and vast virgin forests inhabited only by tribes of savages. I believe they are called Beothuks.”

“Yes, Newfoundland is a land of beauty and opportunity but don’t be fooled, Mr. Clinch. It is a wild and foreboding island with extremely cold, snow-filled winters that test the mettle of the strongest of men. I have spent many winters there but I am no longer willing or able to suffer through another. I leave the oversight and management of my company’s assets in Newfoundland to younger, stronger men. That brings me to the proposition I would like to offer.” He hesitated to dab at his brow.

“For years we have transported men from England to Newfoundland in the early spring to pursue the fishery and related businesses and then transported them back to England before the winter sets in. Times have changed. I will leave it to historians to determine if the changes are for the better.  I am a simple businessman and I must react to the changing ways - like them or not, they must be dealt with. The fishermen, my firm and other merchant families send to the seasonal fishery, are remaining in Newfoundland in ever-increasing numbers, to build homes and hopefully survive on the bounty of the sea and some sort of subsistence agriculture. I fear many of them will not survive their first winter.”

Mr. White hesitated with this thought, but quickly regained his professional composure. “We have established plantations in desirable coastal locations of particular value in our fishery enterprises. Our interests are concentrated in Trinity and Bonavista on the east coast. With permanent settlement we have need to protect and oversee our business interests on a year-round basis. Of course, the business of fishing and curing fish for the markets of Europe is a labour-intensive pursuit and we have as many as six hundred men working for us during the fishing season.”

As John shifted in his chair he could feel his shirt sticking to his already sweating back and he restrained himself from tugging at the scarf wound tightly around his neck.

Mr White continued, “My managers and overseers tend to labour issues but there is nothing we can do if a man is injured while working, frost-bitten, or stricken by any number of diseases. Mr. Clinch, being an educated man, you surely understand that my motives are not totally altruistic and I will not offend your sensibilities by misleading you with concerns for the well-being of my workers.  Indeed, with the American’s revolt against the King many of England’s soldiers and sailors will give their lives to protect the interests of merchants like me to the ultimate benefit of His Majesty. I do not relish the deaths of young Englishmen but, Mr. Clinch, this war presents a considerable business opportunity. The Americans will be excluded from the European fish markets through the might of the Royal Navy and with the increasing demand for our fish products to feed our army and naval forces I foresee our business growing significantly in the near-term. I intend to be fully prepared for that opportunity.”

Mr. White hesitated for a moment to wipe his temples and upper lip as John nodded to acknowledge he understood. “A sick or injured man, unable to work, is very costly to us. That is where I see how a vigorous, young physician with a lust for adventure would be extremely valuable to our business interests. We are willing to pay rather handsomely for someone such as you to tend to the medical needs of our workers in Newfoundland.  Currently we have need of a physician in the town of Bonavista. I understand, from discussions with your father that you may also have missionary aspirations. If it’s souls you are looking to save, Mr. Clinch, Newfoundland has more than its share of heathens who may not be abiding to the teachings of the Holy Gospel and would provide ample souls to satisfy your missionary zeal. If you accept my offer to begin in Bonavista, lodging will be provided in the home of my manager there for as long as you wish. I have presented much for your perusal, so please take some time to consider my offer and respond at your convenience.”  Mr. White sat back in his chair and looked at John to let the significance of his proposition sink in.

Having followed the situation in Newfoundland for some time John was not at all surprised by the offer. He hesitated a few seconds and responded, “Mr. White, your proposition is indeed fortuitous as I have been thinking for some time of pursuing an opportunity such as you have so graciously offered. Trusting that the details of my remuneration and travel arrangements can be worked out to our mutual satisfaction and if you agree that I shall need a month to arrange my affairs in London - I accept your offer.”

Not expecting such an immediate response, Mr. White was speechless. He paused for several seconds then responded heartily, “Very good Mr. Clinch! We shall have a long and fruitful relationship, I’m sure. But tonight you must dine with me and Mrs. White at our home.”

Chapter 4

“Jah, why must you leave England in pursuit of adventure and to practice as a physician? Surely there is sufficient sickness and disease in England to provide you a challenging career.”

“Indeed Sarah, with the filth and poverty in our overcrowded cities and towns I could have a very busy practice in England. However, I desire more than the opportunity to practice medicine. I have been interested in Newfoundland since I was lad of 13 and I feel a calling to live in that wild virgin land, to offer spiritual guidance, as well as my skills as a physician, to the souls who have no choice but to work on that island to survive.”

“Your desire to represent Christianity in such a wild land pleases Mother immensely. Whatever you do Jah, you must also seek the much-deserved happiness in your life. Leave the comfort of England with my blessing until we can be together again.”

“Sarah, wherever I go, or whatever I do, you shall always be with me. We shall walk on the shores of Newfoundland together.”

John and his sister, Sarah, watched the huge waves driven ashore by a fall nor’easter as they walked along the crest of a cliff overlooking a rocky beach. The waves crashed into the cliff face, reverberating through the rock and sending a shudder through the children’s bodies. As the water retreated, thousands of rocks were dragged out to sea noisily fighting a losing battle to cling to their beach home and each other. The rocks’ ceaseless, violent grinding of one against the other further enhanced their round, smooth shape making their attempts to cling to the shore more futile with each wave. As the sea regrouped to hurl its next assault, a fine salty mist floated over the cliff edge and fell softly on the heads of the children standing as close to the edge as their 10-year-old bravado would permit.

Licking out his tongue to taste the salt spray on his lips, John looked to his side to find that Sarah had vanished just as the recoil of another cannon blast sent a shudder through the ship. For an instant he had no idea where he was. He rubbed his eyes as the flash of cannon fire filled the cabin with light through its single window.

Startled, he looked around the dimly lit cabin and remembered he was aboard the 30-cannon frigate, H.M.S. Arundel. He glanced over at the empty bunk of Lieutenant John Lloyd, whose cabin he was sharing.

Now fully awake, John realized the ship was engaged in its first, much anticipated battle, since leaving Poole. The Arundel was patrolling the Atlantic route to Newfoundland in search of American naval ships and privateers that had been attacking English merchant ships on their annual westerly voyage with their cargo of men and supplies to prepare for the Newfoundland summer fishery.

In late spring of 1775, Mr. White had arranged for John to travel on the Arundel as the ships of the White Enterprises had left port by the time John’s travel arrangements could be finalized.

Lieutenant Lloyd graciously offered to share his cramped quarters with John Clinch who would act as the ship’s surgeon on the five week transatlantic voyage.

All John’s possessions, including a limited amount of medical supplies and surgical instruments, were packed in a single chest that filled much of the deck space of the cabin. They had been at sea for three weeks and as the Arundel got closer to the waters of the northwest Atlantic the anxiety of the officers and crew was palpable.

The Americans would be sailing north along the eastern seaboard from Boston in search of vessels loaded with months’ worth of provisions: food; muskets and powder; cannon; and all things required of the British army garrisons in North America. Ships not directly involved with the war effort were also targets as they were easy prey to be plundered for the valuable cargo in their holds. Many merchant ships could also be armed with cannon and conscripted as privateers to fight with the Americans. It was a dangerous time to be sailing the waters of the northwest Atlantic.

As John lifted his leg over the chest to reach the cabin door, he wondered if he would soon be called on to deploy his surgical skills.

Surgical techniques were vital in the treatment of war related injuries, but were not yet widely accepted as a respected branch of medicine by many physicians. Often, the only choices in the treatment of war wounds were limited to amputation and the excision of damaged tissue. John knew that approaching any wounded man on the Arundel would terrify the poor wretch as if the devil himself had appeared to carve him up with any sort of sharp, bloodstained instrument the ship’s surgeon was able to find in the galley or the carpenter’s toolbox.

John climbed the companionway to the quarterdeck and in the growing light of early dawn saw men running excitedly about as officers shouted orders. Looking to larboard he saw a ship pitching through the seas. It was square-rigged on the foremast, as Arundel was on all three of its masts, but had fore-and-aft rigging on the mainmast. The brigantine, more than two hundred yards from Arundel, did not appear to be a warship and with the American flag flying aft, John surmised it was one of the privateers commissioned by the Americans to supplement its limited naval resources.

American privateers, merchant vessels refitted with cannon, had been attacking British merchant ships in hopes of capturing those ships and the valuable cargo they carried.

The privateer, no match for a British Navy frigate, had been spotted and chased down by Arundel during the night. As Arundel continued its random firing of the fifteen cannon on its larboard side as soon as each could be reloaded, the American ship returned fire from its five starboard cannon. As two cannon balls struck the American brig, one above the waterline fore of the mainmast and the second below the quarterdeck, the ship keeled to larboard just as one of its own cannon fired. The cannon ball missed its target, Arundel’s hull. Rising high over the ship it sheared off the mizzen topmast above the yard and sail before falling into the sea. The mizzen topmast exploded, raining wood fragments to the deck where John was standing and crashed forward to the deck, aft of the mainmast.

Squinting down at the deck when the dust and smoke cleared, John could see that at least three men were trapped beneath the splintered mizzenmast and rigging.

The battle was over when the last strike by Arundel’s cannon proved fatal to the American ship. It was quickly sinking with its bow submerged and its rudder protruding from the water.

By the time John reached the injured men other crewmen had cut through the tangled rigging and were attempting to hoist the shattered mizenmast. One man had died instantly with a crushed skull. Another, with his eyes wide open in a terrified death stare, lay on his back bearing the full weight of the mast on his crumpled chest as his life’s blood was forced out of every orifice. The third man had narrowly escaped death, but his right leg was badly broken with splinters of bone protruding through the skin and the torn breeches of his officer’s uniform.  John, seeing only the injury, was unaware that the officer was his cabin mate, Lieutenant John Lloyd.

Lloyd managed to summon his remaining strength to rise on his elbows and look down at his shattered leg and the gentleman now kneeling beside it.

At twenty-two, Lloyd had been in the Royal Navy for nine years. He came from a family with a long history of naval service, so there was never another option for him. He started his naval career at the age of thirteen as a midshipman and served on five ships before his posting to Arundel just a year earlier when she was first commissioned. This, he had hoped, would be his last assignment before receiving his own command.

Injury, through accidents or battle, was commonplace on naval vessels, but Lloyd had been extremely lucky, until now. He immediately knew the consequences of his injury and the accepted medical treatment for a shattered limb. He had witnessed amputation by ship’s surgeons several times as they insisted it had to be done before gangrene set in to save the life of an injured man. He was also aware that even with amputation few men survived an open wound injury with shattered bones, such as this.

“Well, well if it isn’t the good surgeon, Mr. Clinch,” Lloyd spoke in a strained voice.  “I trust you didn’t happen to stop by the ship’s carpenter shop to gather surgical equipment you may need in my treatment.”

Hearing Lloyd’s voice John looked up to see the grey face of his friend. In the three weeks they had been at sea they had conversed for hours at length and developed a mutual respect and friendship. Lloyd had confided that on his next leave he planned to propose marriage to a young lady in Bristol he had known since childhood. John tried to put aside personal issues as he knew it could cloud his better judgement. He had to treat this man as a patient and not as a friend.

Feeling his head beginning to swim, Lloyd knew he was about to lose consciousness. Before he did, he had to make one thing clear. “You must not remove my leg, sir. There is no need for you to respond. I know that failing to do so could be the end of me. I demand of you to heed my request. My preference is to die here on Arundel rather than have the leg removed. Swear to me you will heed my wishes, Mr. Clinch!” Before John could respond Lloyd’s eyes rolled back as he passed out on the deck.

Lieutenant Lloyd was carried to his cabin and laid on the cot. As he retrieved his surgical instruments from his trunk, John directed a crewman to fetch several lanterns. He unrolled his surgical instruments from the oily rags used to protect them from the ravages of the damp, salty air and was pleased to see that rust had not yet appeared on his surgical knife.  He wiped the oil from the knife on the sleeve of his coat and put it on the foot of the cot. As he took out his bone saw, the cabin boy, sent to assist him, gasped in terror at the thought of what he was about to witness.

“Get four stout midshipmen to help restrain Mr. Lloyd and then go to the Quartermaster to acquire three daily rations of rum, and be quick about it,” directed John..

The cabin boy’s relief was evident as he ran from the cabin.  Minutes later John sized up the four midshipmen, the oldest no more than seventeen and the youngest perhaps fourteen, as they peered cautiously into the cabin. Lloyd was coming around and moaned loudly as he squirmed on the cot.

“You four may not be the hardiest lot but we don’t have time to summon others. Get in here and each take hold of a limb.”

The cabin boy reappeared, placed a small cask of rum on the deck, and hastily exited.

Pointing at the smallest midshipman, John ordered, “If Mr. Lloyd awakens you will pour as much rum into him as he is able to take.”

As John used his surgical knife to cut away Lloyd’s breeches he could see the bone penetrating the skin about at the midpoint of the shin. The four midshipmen averted their eyes from the wound. Lloyd was now awake, wide-eyed with terror as the four struggled to hold him down.

He was forcibly administered a large amount of rum and John, concerned that Lloyd would likely drown before surgery commenced, grasped the trembling wrist of the boy pouring the rum. “Enough!  Enough!  We need only to deaden the pain, not drown the patient!”

Lloyd moved his broken leg and howled in agony before he again passed out.

John sliced the taut, engorged skin of the leg to relieve the pressure and expose the wound for examination of the shattered bone. The break was cleaner than he expected, with only four small fragments separated completely from the bone. One of the midshipmen gagged and turned away to vomit as he chanced to glance as John’s fingers probed deeply into the oozing wound, to extract the bone fragments.  John was pleased there did not appear to be any serious damage to the blood vessels as the bleeding was not severe.

“Now lads, I have to reduce the broken bone. Brace yourselves and whatever happens you must hold Mr. Lloyd securely.”

John counted to three. Holding Lloyd’s foot, he pulled hard to straighten the leg and realign the broken bones as closely as possible. Luckily, and much to the relief of John’s assistants, Lloyd’s body tensed but he did not awaken. John quickly set about to close the wound with needle and thread from his surgical kit. He wrapped the leg in a clean cloth and encased it with a sheath of moistened leather that would serve as a cast to hold the bones in place as the leather dried.

Looking around the cabin he spotted a broom. As he picked up the bonesaw to saw off the broom handle to serve as two stout sticks for a splint, Lloyd’s eyes opened wide. Seeing John gripping the bonesaw, his arms covered in blood to his elbows, and blood spattered all over the front of his shirt, Lloyd went into a rage.  Swinging his right arm up off the cot and back over his head he struck one of his restrainers squarely between the eyes driving him back hard against the bulkhead. Lloyd came around with his right fist and struck the other boy holding his left arm, in the midsection. With a rush of air, the midshipman crumpled to the floor as Lloyd came up to a sitting position.

“Damn you, Clinch!  Whatever I do I will find my leg and beat you to death with it!”

As the three remaining members of the surgical team stood back, wondering what the patient would do next, Lloyd, overcome with the pain and rum, swayed and fell off the side of the cot onto the winded midshipman, who was still gasping for air.

“It appears that our patient has come through the surgery intact,” John said dryly as Lloyd was returned to the cot.

Lloyd was soon snoring loudly and John directed one of the midshipmen to stay and to summon him should Lloyd awaken. John returned to the quarterdeck where two Lieutenants were directing the clean-up and repairs below on the main deck. The bodies of the two dead men had been dragged out of the way. The sailmaker was finishing the sewing up of the canvas hammock containing one of the bodies with his last stitch piercing the nose of the dead man, as was customary to ensure the body would not escape its burial shroud. The sailmaker nodded to the quarterdeck officers affirming the bodies were securely enclosed in their eternal shrouds. Four sailors were ordered to proceed with the burial.

“Surely there shall be a divine ceremony performed for the deceased men?” John asked Lieutenant Blakey who was standing beside him and watching the burial team prepare to slide the bodies over the gunwale.

“Divine ceremony and prayers aboard His Majesty’s naval vessels are the responsibility of the Captain. Our Captain Slaunwhite is not at all pleased that we were unable to take the American as his trophy ship, Mr. Clinch,” explained Blakey. “Captain Slaunwhite has ordered the burial to proceed as he has seen fit to remain in his quarters until such time as his supply of claret has been significantly diminished to drown his displeasure.”

“Those men must have a proper Christian burial!” John declared as he strode defiantly down to the deck and reached into his breast pocket to find the prayer book his parents had given him years earlier. Standing over the two dead men he read a prayer. The crew on deck stopped working and moving closer bowed their heads, respectfully listening to the prayers for their deceased shipmates.

After the bodies were sent to their watery grave John returned to the cabin to find Lloyd coming out of his rum and injury-induced unconsciousness. The midshipman on watch was clearly relieved to be dismissed before Lloyd was fully awake.

“Clinch, I dreamt that you amputated my leg but I see that is not the case, said Lloyd.  “As a gentleman you have honoured my request and for that I will be forever grateful.”

“Mr. Lloyd, it is my duty to save your life and I assure you I will perform whatever surgical procedure is required to do so, regardless of any protest you may put forth to the contrary.” Clinch hesitated to ensure Lloyd understood. “Not only is it my duty but I am morally obligated to do so. Do you believe that young lady you intend to wed would look favourably on me should I let you perish for the sake of a leg?” Before Lloyd could answer, Clinch continued. “I will monitor your recovery until such time as I determine your life is no longer threatened by this injury.”

By mid-June 1775, Arundel entered the coastal waters of Newfoundland. Additional men were assigned to 24-hour watch for icebergs, a much more fearsome and respected adversary than enemy privateers. Those on their first voyage to the northwest Atlantic were awed by the number and size of the hundreds of icebergs passing on their relentless journey southward slowly crossing the westward route of Arundel.

The seasoned sailors who had made this trip many times before were gripped with a heightened sense of anxiety and tension, even more intense than the nervousness they felt before battle. The sailors knew full well that even slight contact with one of the ice monsters meant certain death. The days were clear and sunny but the sharp, cold wind reminded all that they were far from early summer in England.

As the wind shifted to southwest the speed of the ship quickened, but the fog banks forming along the coast of the island shrouded the icebergs in a thick coat of opaque, grey mist, making them invisible until the ship was virtually upon them. The shouting of men from the crow’s nests, marking the location of each iceberg as it appeared out of the haze, was relentless throughout the days and nights.

No one onboard could relax until the welcomed shout of “Land, Ho!” gave notice they had survived the transatlantic journey. Arundel herself seemed to relax as the wind astern faded to a slight breeze as she passed slowly through the narrow channel to enter the wide harbour of Trinity, filled with twenty ships of all sizes and shapes, laying at anchor, or tied up to the many wharves.

“A poor mortal on a bed of sickness will hardly look up to him with that eye of confidence and hope that might safely be placed in him. For it is by appearance my dear friend, not from a real knowledge of things that the world forms a judgment. A look of significance, a peculiar habit, and a very scanty acquaintance with the human frame, will make a man pass current for a great physician.

This, you and I know to be an unfortunate fact; while, without these auxiliaries, a man with the knowledge of the Hall and the College concentrated, will be looked upon as a mere pretender.”

Edward Jenner, in a letter to John Clinch, 1789

Chapter 5

Captain Slaunwhite and John Clinch boarded a longboat with six men manning the oars for the row to the Joseph White and Sons wharf. The shorelines of the three arms of Trinity harbour were ringed with rickety wooden platforms with spindly legs of long timbers that pierced the water at precarious angles. From the water, the design of these fish flakes made it appear that they would collapse in a jumble of sticks with the slightest breeze to return their precious load of fish back into the sea.

Men bent over the flakes, cleaning, splitting, and salting their catches of cod.  The smell of fish tempered with salt, mixed with smoke from the shacks near the shore and the houses further inland or atop the rocky cliffs in areas unsuitable for the curing of fish.

The clear blue sky, the bright sun bearing down on the green hills surrounding the harbour, and the sparkling clear water made it seem as though it was warm, but John shivered in the breeze wafting over the hills and through the harbour mouth carrying with it the cold of the north Atlantic waters and the late season icebergs drifting southerly just offshore.

The Whites’ operations were run from a wooden building sitting behind three much larger storage buildings. Captain Slaunwhite and John, setting foot on land for the first time in five weeks, strode clumsily with their sense of balance conditioned to expect the footing to pitch and roll. They entered the building in search of Mr Clarke, the plantation manager. Slaunwhite provided the manager with a list of supplies the Arundel needed to equip her for the three months the ship was to patrol the waters of the northeast coast. John waited until the Captain’s requirements had been tended to.

“Mr. Clarke, I am to be taken to Bonavista to take up residence in your associate’s home from where I am to administer to the medical requirements of your men in that town,” announced Clinch after Captain Slaunwhite left. “There has been an unexpected change in my situation and I have a patient I would like to accompany me on that journey, should it be acceptable to you.”

“I was informed of your expected arrival, Mr. Clinch, but not of a requirement to care for others,” answered Clarke in a disdainful tone revealing his contrary opinion to that of his superiors as to the business value of men not involved with the curing of fish.

“Lieutenant Lloyd was seriously injured during action that resulted in the sinking of an American privateer I understand was set on destroying the commercial operations of Mr. White,” replied Clinch. “I would expect Mr. White would choose to show his gratitude to the crew of the Arundel by making it possible for me to continue to treat Mr. Lloyd’s injuries until he has recovered sufficiently to rejoin his ship.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed as he studied the pock-marked face of the tall, gangly young Englishman unflinchingly glaring back at him. As much as he would enjoy meeting head-on the challenge to his authority by this new arrival, Clarke realized there was nothing for him to gain by taking a stand. “Of course,” he said, “we will do whatever we can to assist an officer of His Majesty’s Navy, Mr. Clinch.”

John and Lieutenant Lloyd were taken to Bonavista by a schooner used as a fish collector sailing between the many White fishing stations around the northeast coast. Much like Trinity, Bonavista, originally a seasonal fishing station, had grown considerably in recent years with more fishermen choosing to build permanent homes and live there year round. Their dream was to find a better life far from the abject poverty they had left behind in England.

Commercial premises were clustered around the harbour with the houses of the merchants, or their agents, within a short walking distance from their commercial enterprises.

It had been arranged for John to live with Alfred Marsh and his wife, Gladys. Marsh was the manager of the Whites’ Bonavista operation. The Marshes had built their home years earlier to accommodate the large family they hoped to produce. That was not to be and their home, fitting for the manager of a growing business, was a lonely reminder to Gladys of her childless life.

Like his grandfather and father, Alfred had come to Newfoundland from Gorey, a town on Jersey, one of the Channel Islands, as a seasonal fisherman when he was thirteen. After five years of returning to Europe in the fall he decided a better life could be had far from his ancestral home so he became one of the growing numbers of year-round residents of Newfoundland. Overcoming his lack of education Marsh demonstrated to his employer an eager desire to learn more about the fish business than simply the physical work of curing fish. He soon became a valuable commodity to the Whites and willingly accepted his posting to Bonavista where, at twenty, he met Gladys, a Bonavista-born girl.

The arrival of the young physician had been anticipated for months and Gladys had prepared a bedroom on the second floor and the front parlour where Mr. Clinch could attend to patients. One evening Gladys saw a schooner tie up to the wharf and begin to unload. Two men disembarked carrying between them, what appeared to be a pallet of goods. Another two men carrying a large sea chest were followed by the fourth passenger, a man dressed as a gentleman.

Looking out the front window of her house - scrubbed clean every few days in anticipation of the arrival of her gentleman lodger - Gladys watched as the men from the schooner walked up to her front door. She turned to inspect the front room as she had done a hundred times in the last month, distraught that she wouldn’t have time to scrub it one last time, just as there was a knock on the door.

“Good evening, Mrs. Marsh. I am John Clinch,” said the well-dressed gentleman.

“Good evening Mr. Clinch. I am Gladys Marsh. Welcome to Bonavista. Alfred and I have been expecting your arrival for weeks.”

“As you can see I have brought my first patient with me. I trust that my friend, Lieutenant Lloyd, can be accommodated in your home so that I may treat his injuries until he has recovered sufficiently to return to his ship.”  Gladys turned to look at the gurney being carried by the two sailors.

“Of course, he is welcome in my home,” Gladys said as she noticed the naval officer on the gurney. “Quickly, get him inside to the front room. Then you must all come to my kitchen for a meal.” Without waiting for an answer she turned and walked quickly to her kitchen. Her home was her domain and the men realized that their refusal of her invitation was an unacceptable option.

Word spread quickly that the doctor had arrived. Beginning the next morning there was a constant stream of patients - mostly young men - seeking medical assistance at the Marsh’s door. Work-related injuries were the most common afflictions: broken bones from falls, fingers cut off, or deep cuts - accidents common to the chore of gutting and splitting fish brought a continuous supply of patients to Mrs. Marsh’s front parlour. Under Clinch’s supervision, Mrs. Marsh took on the role of physician’s assistant with a vengeance.

Within two weeks of his arrival Lieutenant Lloyd’s condition had improved such that he was able to be removed to the second floor, much to his delight to get a break from Mrs. Marsh’s constant hovering care, as her first patient.

Most people did not seek help in the treatment of many illnesses causing discomfort and fever, knowing all too well from experience that most afflictions simply ran their course and nothing could be done to alter that course. They did not seek medical assistance until such time as the victim was too sick to work. Typhus, cholera, dysentery and other infections and diseases seemed to sweep through the community in waves and only the sickest were brought to Surgeon Clinch for treatment, often too late to save the patient.

The dreaded smallpox had not been evident for some time but all knew that the arrival of a ship from Europe with just a single crew member afflicted with that disease could spread unchecked throughout the community with devastating results. Only those lucky enough to have lived through an earlier bout of smallpox, with their scars or deformities to show for it, were immune.

The never-ending stream of young male patients was occasionally broken with the arrival of a woman in the late stages of pregnancy suffering from some distressful condition beyond a midwife’s experience or abilities. Mrs. Marsh took a great interest in the care of those young mothers and their babies and soon became a capable midwife with as much skill in childbirth as her mentor.

Patient care occupied the days from dawn to dark. Many nights were interrupted by a distraught mother carrying a feverish child or a husband seeking help for an early delivery of a baby. Clinch’s employers had clearly specified that he was to care for the men under their employ but he had no intention of sending away anyone requiring his medical attention. The entire community was involved with the business of the fishery. A man with a sick child or wife to care for could not produce at capacity, much to the financial detriment of his employer. Such was the rationale that John relied on to explain his actions should he be brought to task.

Late in the evening when all the work was done, Alfred Marsh, John Clinch, and John Lloyd - now able to walk with the assistance of a crutch - would sit around the fire and talk. Lloyd would return to the Arundel to assume his duties when she next returned from her coastal patrols to Trinity Bay.

The discussion would come around to Marsh’s early days in Newfoundland. His stories about the indigenous people who inhabited the coastal areas for most of the year, then migrated inland to escape the bitter coastal winds and to find protection in the heavily snowed inland valleys in the winter, were of particular interest to John Clinch who hoped to one day see the people who had inhabited this island long before any Europeans arrived.

He was also increasingly being called on to read scripture or to lead Sunday worship when the elderly pastor was ill or delayed at one of the other remote churches for which he was responsible.

Sunday afternoons provided the only free time in John’s life and he often hiked inland with Alfred Marsh, following river beds and rough trails through the dense forest. Coming upon small clearings in the deeply forested valleys, Marsh explained how they had been, many years earlier, villages inhabited by the Indians that had now retreated deeper into the wilderness of the Bonavista Peninsula interior, far from the English coastal villages.

Over time, with Alfred’s guidance and instruction as to the geography, landmarks and ability to navigate through the dense forest, John became very comfortable in the woods. He explored alone on the many Sunday afternoons when Alfred was busy.

On one of these solo hikes late in August, he ventured in a southwest direction, deeper into the interior of the Bonavista Peninsula. Rough man-made trails were concentrated along the coast connecting the small coves and bays where fishing stations had been established.  Europeans had little interest in the interior of the island as all their needs - from firewood to timber for the construction of boats and ships - were available close to the coast. The dense forest wiped out any indication of a trail the further from the coast John ventured.  He climbed the hills to get his bearings then set out across another valley stretched out below.

He broke out of the deep forest beside a lake. This was a perfect spot to get break from the mosquitoes, to relax for a while and eat. Sitting on a rock he untied his leather bag and took out the bread and cheese Mrs. Marsh had prepared for him.

As he looked out over the lake, awed with the thought he was likely the first European to view the scene before him, he heard a voice approaching from the woods behind. The voice was clear, but the words were of a language unlike anything he had heard before. The voice was that of a woman, soft and soothing with every word spoken in a lilting manner, as a mother would recite a poem or nursery rhyme to her child. The sound of the water lapping at the shore and the wind licking at the lake surface to draw up waves now fell silent, as if to listen to the approaching voice.

With his eyes locked in a gaze toward the shadowy tree line John held his breath and was as still as the rock on which he sat as the woman slipped out of the forest and headed towards the lake. In one hand she held an empty bag made of animal skin, suitable for carrying water. She was dressed in a loosely fitting smock made of red-tinged skins that reached her knees, exposing her lower legs and moccasin-clad feet.  In the hood of the garment she carried a baby.

John looked at the Beothuk woman and child, noting the mother’s skin colouring, darker than most Europeans, but not as swarthy as John had expected, giving her more of a Spanish appearance. Her arms were bare to her shoulders and her silky black hair was tied back.  The child’s head was visible above the woman’s shoulder.  By the length of the thick blond hair on the head bouncing along with each of the woman’s steps, John estimated the child to be two years of age.

The child’s eyes adjusted to the glare of the bright sun first and a tiny, bare arm reached over the woman’s shoulder to point in John’s direction. For a few seconds the woman seemed to think her child was pointing at the lake and without stopping her mesmerizing tune, she continued towards John.

He wanted to speak, to bring his presence to the woman’s attention, but thought it was better not to scare her. Suddenly, she stopped, about twenty feet short of the rock where he sat. Her singing halted abruptly. There was absolute silence as she stared directly at the strangely-clad white man sitting before her.

Startled, her eyes widened as she stared, appearing to not comprehend what she saw. John turned to face her as he broke of a piece of his bread and reached out to offer it to the child.

Seeing the child’s outstretched hand reaching over her shoulder for the offering, the woman’s surprised, wide-eyed look disappeared. Her jaw clenched and her dark eyes narrowed giving the appearance of an animal ready to strike. Reaching up, she pushed the child’s arm down and spat out, with obvious disdain, a single word, “Hingishaman!”

John could see by the hatred and scorn in the woman’s glare that if she had not been carrying the child, she would not have hesitated to attack him. He withdrew the bread and let his arms fall to his side as he turned and looked out over the lake. When he turned back the woman and child had vanished back into the forest.

The wind, now blowing from a northeast direction, had picked up and there was a chill in the air. Clinch made a mental note of the location so as to avoid it on any future excursion. He left the lake and retraced his route back to Bonavista.

As he followed the route home, ever more conscious of his surroundings he thought how a man, travelling alone, would be easy prey for the savages he had so wished to meet before this outing. He realized that his reason for coming to this island - the missionary zeal to bring Christianity to its inhabitants - was born of ignorance and the self-serving search for adventure and fame. These natives had no need to be saved. The Beothuk woman’s love and nurturing for her child showed him that these people, who had lived here perhaps for a thousand years, might suffer more harm than good from the European invaders.

He recalled earlier discussions when Alfred Marsh had explained how many of their countrymen took great pleasure in hunting these people. Stories had circulated as to how Beothuk villages had been raided by drunken men set on killing the males and having their way with the females under the guise of revenge for allegations that the natives vandalized and pilfered the English villages and fishing stations.

Memory of the incident, particularly the unfettered hatred in the woman’s eyes, would stay with Clinch but he told no one of the encounter when he arrived back in Bonavista. To tell any living soul of the chance meeting would expose the woman, her child, and her people to the possibility of harm and he could never accept that responsibility.

“Sarah, I fear I have made a dreadful mistake in coming to this island. I now realize my hopes of spreading the word of God and to help the people that have lived here long before any Englishman arrived, are no more than the romantic fantasies of a schoolboy-a schoolboy who has lived most of his life through books written by men justifying their greed and savagery in the interest of the spread of Christianity to save the souls of those who do not need saving.”

“Jah, you cannot undo what has been done. Be it Christianity or mercantile interests – whatever the justification for Europeans to be in that land, they are there and they will never leave.”

“But, by my staying here to assist the merchants such that their profits are enhanced will only encourage more to come to push these people - the rightful owners of this land - deeper into the wilderness, away from their homes.”

“Jah, the reasons to occupy that land have been established long before your arrival. There is nothing anyone can do to slow the movement of our people to its shores. A missionary, understanding and accepting that reality, can accomplish more by staying and working with the people that need him. You may turn a blind eye to what you have learned and return to England to a comfortable life as a gentleman physician and devoted Christian, but could you live with that decision?”

The John Clinch who remained in Bonavista was no longer committed to spreading Christianity to the supposed heathens of the world. He continued to play an active role in the church, often called on to replace the Anglican priest in both Sunday services and community functions. He was quite willing to help people seeking Christian guidance or otherwise seeking assistance to somehow make their meagre existence in this harsh environment more bearable.

John Lloyd recovered from his wounds to a degree that enabled him to return to active duty. The severe limp he suffered for the rest of his life was a small price to pay for the ability to walk unassisted. Lloyd would forever be grateful to John Clinch for his return to the Royal Navy to continue his climb through the officer ranks to eventually command his own vessel.

John’s plan to seek adventure in the new world and then return to the peaceful, comfortable life of an English country physician was soon forgotten. He worked tirelessly, tending to the physical and spiritual wellbeing of the people.

Many of the missionaries gracing the shores of Newfoundland took a pious approach to extol the virtues of unquestioning compliance with the gospel.  John took a more pragmatic approach by simply being available to assist the people when required. Most of the working people were illiterate, unable to understand the simplest documents required to purchase or lease a small plot of land on which to build their modest homes. They depended on Mr. Clinch to read and explain those documents to them before their mark or “X” was made to be witnessed by him.

John’s medical practice required him to travel to many of the small villages scattered along the coast between Bonavista and Trinity. When in English Harbour, he stayed with James and Mary Hart. The only one of the Hart children still living at home was Hannah, the youngest.

At twenty-nine Hannah Hart was a quiet young woman who derived more pleasure in reading her Bible than in socializing or offering a welcoming smile to any of the eligible bachelors in the village.  To potential suitors Hannah was aloof and somewhat intimidating. She had no interest in marrying a fisherman and the young men sensed that she looked down on them.

Hannah, the only person in the community known to be able to read, other than the merchant’s agent, had taken on the temporary role as school teacher when the teacher failed to show up one September.  That was five years ago and the search for a teacher had since been abandoned.

John enjoyed his stays at the Hart home. Away from the demands of his practice after the day’s work was done he would sit near the stove reading by candlelight. As Mrs. Hart went about her household chores Clinch furtively glanced at Hannah across the kitchen who was concentrating on her knitting. He was taken by the dexterity of her hands, not unlike those of a well-trained surgeon performing an intricate operation. Her fingers seemed to dance with the steady rhythm of her clicking knitting needles as she passed the evening away.

Hannah had brown hair, shorter than most young women preferred and it was tied back with a string for the practical purpose of keeping it out of her face as she looked down at a book, always open in her lap as she knitted. Unconcerned with fashion she wore the same style of dress as worn by her mother. Taller than most men and with a long, angular face she could have been anywhere from twenty to forty, depending on her mood. It did not cross Hannah’s mind that having an eligible bachelor with the education and training of a gentleman surgeon stay in her parents’ home, would be seen as a once in a lifetime opportunity by most unmarried women getting up in years.

At thirty-four, John hadn’t thought of taking a wife for fear that a family would restrict him in his professional life. But despite his commitment to bachelorhood he looked forward to his visits to English Harbour and often found an excuse to stay overnight when he could have returned to Bonavista, or gone on to the larger town of Trinity.  He found himself starting conversations with Hannah who continued to knit, uninterrupted by his questions or reflections on the day’s activities.  He began to see Hannah as a friend and confidant, someone he could have an informed conversation with and not worry about any underlying motive.

And know he was being asked to move to Trinity to continue his work as a surgeon. Clinch welcomed the move to Trinity for no other reason than he would be able to see more of Hannah. From Bonavista it took a full day to sail to English Harbour or two days to walk. The walk from Trinity to English Harbour was no more than three or four hours.

The White enterprises had dominated the Trinity and Bonavista Bay fishery over sixty years, but as other merchant families established their operations, competition increased.

During the eight years the American Revolutionary war raged on, the Whites’ enterprises and wealth had grown substantially due to the foresight of Samuel White, the visionary head of the family business, who had correctly anticipated the enormous opportunity war would offer. Samuel had turned over the day-to-day operations of his business to his two sons, but he realized they did not have the business acumen to continue to grow his empire.

Gauging public opinion in England and the increasing distaste to continue to fight a war that could not be won, Samuel White foresaw lean years ahead. The end to the war would result in a decline in demand for fish to feed the British army and navy, but more significantly, the world market would be reopened to American fish merchants. Samuel White had never been to America. Newfoundland was as far west as he ever hoped to venture, but he realized the new republic would be an economic force in the years to come like no other the world had ever seen. The challenge of expanding his empire to America to take advantage of that business potential would be so exciting, he thought, if only he were thirty years younger.

He had to look at practical options to ensure his wealth would continue to care for his family for generations after his departure. With the demand for the White Enterprises’ products still increasing, Samuel White astutely negotiated a merger of his business with Jeffrey and Street, another Poole-based firm.

The Jeffrey and Street operations would be consolidated and concentrated in Trinity. With the relocation of its operations and much of its workforce, John Clinch was requested to move to Trinity.

John had little experience in the art of wooing women and really had no idea how to determine if Hannah would welcome his clumsy advances.

He had spent time in the company of young women in London, under the careful watch of their hovering chaperones, and he had taken a fancy to one young lady, but she had made it clear that as much as a life with a physician would be acceptable, the idea of visiting a colony, let alone live there, would never be a consideration.

With Hannah, Clinch felt he could be himself. There was no need to impress her. Similarly, she seemed to be quite at ease in his presence and she enjoyed the things he enjoyed.

Hannah hadn’t displayed any particular excitement with his visits to her parents’ home. She was always pleasant, but perhaps she was that way with everyone. She did seem quite comfortable with her life as it was. What if Hannah simply spurned him? John decided he had to be subtle, cunning, to determine how she felt about him before he revealed his intentions.

“Hannah, I am moving to Trinity and my visits to English Harbour will be more frequent,” he said, hoping Hannah might show she looked forward to spending more time with him. “Trinity is a very nice town and someday I hope to build a great home there, near the water. I love to hear the waves rolling ashore at night.”  Clinch hesitated to watch Hannah to see if his news had a positive impact. The steady rhythm of the knitting needles was interrupted with a short pause.

“I have thought of moving to Trinity,” said Hannah, as she paused in her knitting and her ball of wool rolled to the floor. She pulled on the wool to unravel several feet from the ball and her knitting started again. John was sure the pace of her knitting picked up and the clicking of the needles seemed louder. Was the pace of Hannah’s heart beat increasing, as his surely was? Clinch hoped so and took it as an opportunity to take it a step further.

“Trinity would be a nice place to settle down, to……” He was about to say raise a family. He hesitated, flushed, and said, “To set down roots.”

“Oh, so you like to farm do you? What vegetables do you plan to grow in your garden behind the great house you will build in Trinity?” Hannah was smiling.   John had not experienced her sense of humour before and was beginning to enjoy this encounter.

“Spinach, I think, and perhaps some corn, and of course, tomatoes, I do enjoy a challenge.”

“Indeed you do enjoy a challenge, if you plan to grow fruit as well as vegetables in Newfoundland. That will be a first. I would like to see that.”

John made his final, clumsy appeal, “Gardening is so much more enjoyable if you have someone to share it with. Would you like to help?”

“I would love to grow vegetables with you in Trinity.”

Soon, after finding appropriate family accommodations in Trinity, John set out, with Mr. Hart’s permission, to court his daughter. In the spring of 1784 Hannah accepted his proposal of marriage.

Chapter 6

The Third Report From the Committee, Appointed to Enquire Into the State of the Trade to Newfoundland.

Reported by Michael Angelo Taylor, Esq. 17th June 1793. (British Parliamentary Committee Minutes, Excerpt - Page 440)

Mr. Thomas Street, being then examined, said He is a merchant, resident at Poole, trading to Newfoundland, and has been for many years. And being asked, of what advantage to the trade is the Custom-house and its fees?

He said, The advantage of the Custom-house is to prevent smuggling. He has never stated that the fees are an advantage.

And being desired to state to your Committee, What smuggling would take place, or what revenue would be lost to this country, if the Custom-house was abolished?

He said, Smuggling from America of different goods, the importation of which is at present prohibited. He does not know of anything of what revenue may be lost.

And being asked, Who is the Collector and Comptroller at Trinity?

He said, Mr. John Clinch.

And being asked, Whether he has any other capacity?

He said, He is a Clergyman.

And being asked, if a ship was to have on board prohibited goods, could she not discharge such goods in many other harbours and creeks besides the harbour of Trinity; and could not a ship, even in the harbour of Trinity, discharge prohibited goods in many parts without being near the Collector?

He said, she could.

And being asked, Whether it is not a grievance upon the trade, for ships to pay fees that are cleared out with a certificate?

He said, He cannot say how far it is a grievance, but it certainly is a tax upon the trade, as far as the amount of the fees.

And being asked, who did the duty before the Custom-house was established?

He said, It was done by a Naval Officer.

And being asked, Whether they pay more now than they did before?

He said, Certainly.

The large, protected harbour of Trinity had been established as a summer station in the migratory fishery since the early 16th century. Through years of war with the French, and recently the Americans, it had often been the target of attack. Now in a peaceful period, Trinity’s importance in the Newfoundland fishery had grown substantially and it had become a dominant business centre on the east coast of the island.

John’s arrival at Trinity was preceded by the reputation he had established in Bonavista as a surgeon, medical practitioner, and lay minister of the Church of England. His eight years in that town exceeded the stay of other missionaries and demonstrated his commitment to make Newfoundland a long-term, if not permanent, home. Now with a wife, born and raised in Newfoundland, his commitment to stay on was enhanced and he and Hannah soon became integral members of Trinity society.

As the Newfoundland fishery continued to add vast wealth to the Poole merchants and the British treasury, the British government became increasingly concerned it was not receiving its fair share of the excise taxes from its distant colony. To oversee its interests in the larger towns and fishery centres, the government appointed Custom-House Officers to assess taxation and act as a deterrent against the smuggling of goods - rum in particular - to Newfoundland. The merchants were not always receptive to the inferences that their enterprises were unable to control illegal behaviour, or worse, that the merchants themselves may be profiting from smuggling. However, smuggling was generally accepted to be detrimental to law-abiding merchants and if Custom-house Officers could decrease smuggling they would publicly be afforded the merchants’ full support.

The collection of taxes on the merchants’ fishery production was another issue as they were very much opposed to what they viewed as an unfair and unnecessary tax. The merchants were forced to accept the appointment of Customs-House Officers and hoped that the appointees would be so overwhelmed with the vast territories they were required to oversee they would be unable to accomplish anything of consequence.

Soon after John’s arrival in Trinity he was appointed to the position of Custom-House Officer. The stipend from the appointment was welcomed as he and Hannah were eager to start a family.

The merchants were initially quite pleased with John’s appointment as they knew him to be an honourable, educated, man of the church and a respected physician. Perhaps the merchants felt the newly appointed crown representative would be so consumed with his other interests he would be no more than a bureaucratic figurehead.

“Mr. Clinch, I understand the Crown has seen fit to appoint you to the position of Custom-House Officer for Trinity,” said Mr. Thomas Street as he shook John’s hand outside St. Paul’s church after Sunday services. With Reverend McKillop again confined to bed with the fever, John was called on to conduct services, as he had been for the fourth Sunday in a row.

Reverend McKillop had arrived from Dorset the previous spring and took on his new posting with vigour throughout the summer. Since late September, when a severe gale lashed Trinity for two days with heavy rain and wind so high that three ships at anchor in the harbour were damaged on the rocks off Taverner’s Point, the town had been engulfed in a grey, cold mist. Now, in late October, there would be no reprieve from the miserable fall weather before the ice and snow of winter engulfed the town and Reverend McKillop, a sickly, thin man with translucently pale skin, spent his days huddled in blankets in front of a blazing fireplace. He could not, or would not, accept that the autumn weather he had been hibernating from was nothing compared to his first Newfoundland winter that would soon descend on Trinity for several months.

“Thank-you Mr. Street. I am indeed honoured by the appointment and with the grace of God I hope to represent the Crown in a fashion that will do the position justice.”

Thomas Street, residing most of the year in Poole, spent a week or two in Trinity each fall to inspect his business interests. John had received notice of his appointment just two days earlier and had told no one, but he was not surprised that Mr. Street knew about it.

“I have often said, Mr. Clinch, to have a job done well, have it done by a busy man. Surely, the King and his loyal subjects would be most agreeable to your priorities of tending to the physical and spiritual well-being of the people before resorting to the relatively petty task of tax collector.  I have directed my managers to offer you their full support. Please don’t hesitate to call on them should their business acumen - a man of your medical background is likely unaccustomed to - be of assistance in your new role.”

Thomas Street sorely underestimated John’s energy and commitment to duty. If he was paid to do a job he would do it to the best of his ability. From the clinic window at the front of his cottage, overlooking Trinity Harbour, he observed all the ships that entered and left port. After all his patients had been tended to for the day, he would roam the wharves and warehouses around the harbour taking note of the cargo arriving or being loaded. He ensured that the appropriate levy was charged to the shippers and any possibility of smuggled goods was brought to the attention of the ranking British Naval officer stationed at Fort Point, the fortification standing high above the narrows of Trinity Harbour. Whether the British officers took action, was of no concern. John could rest after his long day knowing he had done his duty to the best of his ability.

December 15, 1782

Mr. John Clinch

Trinity, Newfoundland

My Dear Friend:

Since departing Newfoundland some eight years ago and returning to my duties aboard HMS Arundel, I have followed your career through enquiries of my naval counterparts assigned to patrol the icy shores of that island.  The Arundel has been assigned to Southern climes and I have not been able to return to Newfoundland. My progress through the naval ranks has continued since our memorable trans-Atlantic voyage. I assumed command of the Arundel this past year. I will be forever grateful for your ministrations in caring for my injuries to allow me to return to duty.

The Admiralty requested from its Captains, with some familiarity of Newfoundland, the names of men who would represent the crown and the people of Newfoundland in an honourable and just manner as a Justice of the Peace. Without hesitation, I submitted your name and I understand others have also seen fit to recommend you for the post.

I trust you will have been informed of your appointment by the time you receive this letter and I would like to be one of the first to congratulate you on your much-deserved appointment.

Until we meet again – I remain your forever grateful friend,

Captain John Lloyd

HMS Arundel

For decades the administration of justice in Newfoundland was under the domain of the British Admiralty. It designated fishing admirals or subordinate naval officers to ensure that the business of the fishery was administered justly to the benefit of the crown and its loyal subjects.

During the migratory fishery years, men arrived in the spring on the merchants’ ships and returned to England in the fall when the summer fishery was over. Seasonal workers were under the absolute control of the fish merchants, who relied on annually appointed fishing admirals to dispense justice. Any behaviour by workers, not conducive to the processing of fish, was cause enough to banish the offender from the colony. Petty thievery and violence between workers was not a major concern if the work was done and merchants were not financially harmed. Justice by naval officers would often only be imposed if the merchants’ business interests were threatened.

In the eighteenth century, as more people became year-round residents, there was an increasing requirement for permanent justice administration. A formal justice system was badly needed in the larger centres of Newfoundland, and it was becoming commonplace for educated, respected men from the civilian population to be appointed as Justices.

Trinity had grown considerably and now had a population approaching 2,000 in the summer and over 800 year-round. With its increasing prominence in the Newfoundland fishery now pursued by permanent residents, the year-round administration by a Justice of the Peace was required.

A courthouse and gaol had been constructed in Trinity in 1778 and now, five years later, John Clinch was charged with the day-to-day administration of justice in the town and surrounding areas. More serious crimes and major civil suits would remain under the jurisdiction of regional Surrogate Judges still under the control of the British Navy.

For years, those convicted of petty crimes were subjected to corporal punishment, ranging from time in the stocks for common drunkenness and Sabbath-breaking, to lashes and floggings for physical assault and theft.

With a gaol providing a facility for the incarceration of the convicted for various periods of time, the need for corporal punishment had fallen out of favour in recent years, but it was still demanded by merchants in many instances involving insubordinate or thieving servants and employees. The threat of a lashing or flogging was often sufficient to keep servants in line, but with the more humane punishment of a period of time in the gaol being used more often – too often in the opinion of the Trinity elite - the changes in the justice system were not universally welcomed.

In the past, a worker found guilty of petty theft from his employer could be flogged one day and be back to work the next. Now, in more civil times a servant sentenced to several days in the gaol would not be sufficiently punished to satisfy his master and would be further indebted, due to the lost work time, when he returned to work. A man accused of stealing from his employer would as likely admit guilt preferring a punishment of a whipping so that he could return to work as quickly as possible, rather than argue his innocence to offend the accusing master. Such a public display of insolence would surely result in the accused man’s loss of employment and return to a life of certain poverty in England.

It was within this justice system that John found himself playing an integral role upon his appointment as Justice of the Peace.

***

Michael Dunphy roamed the docks of the southern Ireland port city of Waterford, in search of employment to help support his family. Dunphy, like so many aimless youths, felt the only hope he had for a future was to leave Ireland for the New World. Ships belonging to Poole merchants often stopped at Waterford to recruit servants for work in Newfoundland and it was on one of these ships Dunphy obtained passage. The cost of the trip would be repaid to the merchant owning the ship once Michael found work in Newfoundland, but the young Irishman was not only indebted for the westerly passage. It was assumed that all who sought employment in Newfoundland were seasonal workers. To ensure they returned home when the fishery finished each fall, the merchant’s were also required to provide return passage which was also charged in advance to the worker.

Arriving in Trinity in the spring of 1780, Dunphy discovered the promise of employment was not as easy to fulfill as he had been led to believe. He roamed the waterfront in search of work unloading and loading ships. Michael Dunphy was what was known as a shoreman.  He was not directly involved with the fishery so his value to the fish merchant was little more than the cost of the Atlantic passage to and from Newfoundland.

There were many shoremen in Trinity, some lucky enough to find lodging with a family, while many others lived in hastily constructed shacks in the forest far back from the harbour. The residents of Trinity welcomed these young men when they required cheap labour, but were also quick to assume they were responsible for any criminal activity.

After several months living in a hut made of sail canvas and boughs Dunphy was lucky to find lodgings before his first winter in Newfoundland. He never refused the most menial jobs, worked hard and stayed out of trouble.

In his third year in Newfoundland, Dunphy was grateful to find permanent work in Thomas Street’s plantation warehouse and he would soon have enough money to pay off his debt for his passage from and back to Ireland.

Forty-year-old Richard Curtain had worked for Mr. Street for twenty years. He had reported to many of Street’s managers, young, educated sons of the merchant’s friends and business partners, anxious to complete a short stint in Newfoundland to enhance their futures back in England. Curtain was born in Trinity and his ability to read had gotten him his job. In the early years he saw a bright future with Mr. Street but he had come to realize he did not have the lineage or family connections to advance from his position as storekeeper.

Curtain knew more about this business than all of the young English dandies he was required to kowtow to year after year and he felt his work had greatly increased the wealth of Thomas Street.

He started with pilferage of insignificant items: a ball of twine, a pocket full of nails, a cast net used in the caplin fishery, and with him being the last employee to leave each day, it was so easy. Curtain reported to the plantation manager, Albert Waterman, who was more concerned with his social life than examining inventory records. Waterman would never discover the storekeeper’s scheme. No one would ever be the wiser, or so Curtain thought.  Before long he was stealing more than he could use and selling the stolen goods to his closest friends. Curtain felt Street owed him far more than he could steal.

Thomas Street usually visited Trinity to review his plantation’s operation late each fall after the fishery was completed.  Uncharacteristically, in 1783 he arrived in Trinity in mid-July and immediately called his senior managers together and demanded that an inventory be completed the next morning. Nothing was to be removed from the warehouses until then.

Knowing what the inventory would reveal, Curtain was desperate to save his job and his life of relative comfort. He set out to devise a plan and put it into action during the night.

The inventory was completed by mid-afternoon and Thomas Street had quickly reviewed the records.

“Mr. Curtain, as storekeeper is there anything untoward or suspicious that you have discovered?” Curtain’s answer was hesitant. “No - not really, sir - There’s nothing definite that I could put me finger on.”

“We will get to the bottom of this, Mr. Curtain. If you have any suspicions you had better spit it out now!” Street was not a patient man used to cajoling employees to answer his direct questions. “If no one else is of suspicion then the responsibility falls on you. Mr. Waterman, have the Constable summoned.”

“Sir, some things have happened since that young fella started to work in the warehouse, but I don’t want to get him in trouble,” Curtain said hesitantly, as if he had no choice but to turn in the culprit.

“Who is that?” demanded Waterman.

“That Paddy shoreman you hired, sir – eh, Dunphy’s his name.”

“Curtain, we have no more time to squeeze the truth out of you – tells us what you know NOW!” demanded Street.

“Well sir, I’m the last to leave and lock up the warehouse every day. I always check out back just to be sure all is secure and on occasion I have seen things left outside, a couple of saltfish, a handful of nails, a piece of sail canvas, items of that nature. I didn’t think much of it, suspecting that the items were left outside by mistake by one of the men loading a wagon for delivery. I would bring it back into the warehouse and return it to stock.”

“Whoever left those things out behind the warehouse was planning to come back, in the dead of night, to retrieve them,” said Waterman, quick to impress Mr. Street with his intuitive mind. Mr. Street’s glare told Waterman he had better keep out of this discussion.

“By God - you’re right, Mr. Waterman, that ‘adn’t crossed me mind!” said Curtain feigning admiration of the pompous, young dandy.

Street, shaking his head and looking from one man to the other wondering how he ever managed to amass such wealth with his business empire in the hands of such idiots, asked, “Why do you think this Dunphy lad is responsible?”

“It-it’s just that these things started to happen around the time he started to work in the warehouse.  He seems like a good young fella - I don’t want to accuse him of anything.”

“I’ve heard more than enough. Waterman, summon the Constable,” said Street as he stormed out of the room.

The Constable was informed of the details and he was dispatched to inspect Mrs. McGrath’s lodging house where Michael Dunphy had a room. Not surprisingly, nothing was found in the room so the search expanded out to the yard. The root cellar was near empty with just a few potatoes remaining in a wooden bin at the far corner, well away from the light of the doorway. Buried in the potato bin the Constable uncovered a small rum cask. He took it outside and in the light of day, the words Thomas Street and Sons were clearly discernible on the cask.

***

Justice of the Peace Clinch had a full docket to deal with in his weekly court session. Lesser offences, ranging from, public drunkenness and disorderly conduct to, allowing a cow to roam free to destroy a vegetable garden, were dealt with quickly before the more serious case of theft from Mr. Street was called.

Thomas Street sat near the back of the courtroom, preferring to leave such unpleasant duties to his subordinates. He accepted that the young Irishman would be found guilty of the offence but he was not convinced the truth had been uncovered. Curtain had worked for him for over twenty years and to suggest that the Irish lad could concoct a scheme that Curtain could not quickly discover was, to say the least, implausible.

Waterman would be shipped back to England as soon as a replacement could be hired from the long list of the sons of Street’s business associates eager to seek their fortune on this God-forbidden island.

Of one thing Street was confident, the thieving would cease and he would direct his bookkeepers to maintain a diligent watch on the inventory.

Whether or not Michael Dunphy was guilty was irrelevant. Someone would be punished. Then Street could return to Poole to oversee his growing wealth. Street had insisted to both Curtain and Waterman that the young Irishman was not to be fired for his alleged indiscretion of stealing from the hand that fed him. Street knew that Dunphy would be forever grateful for allowing him to keep his job and this incident would also serve as proof to other workers of their employer’s benevolence.

The Constable set out the case against Michael Dunphy. The accused was then called to plead.

“Michael Dunphy, you have heard the evidence against you, how do you plead?” asked Clinch.

“I ‘ave nuttin to say sir - your Worship.”

“You have nothing to say – so I take it you are pleading guilty – is that correct young man?”

“S’pose it is, sir.”

“You realize you will be found guilty of stealing from your employer, a very serious offence. Do you understand?” Clinch looked at the faces in the courtroom and his eyes met Thomas Street’s. It was becoming clear to John this had all been discussed with the lad and a deal had been struck.

“Yes,” answered Dunphy.

“Very well, I find you guilty of the theft of a cask of rum from Mr. Thomas Street. I sentence you to a fortnight in the gaol. Do you have anything to say?”

“Yes sir – could I be lashed instead?”

John understood. Dunphy would suffer the physical pain of a severe lashing in return for keeping his job and Street would have the pleasure of knowing that the lad would bear the scars of his indiscretion for the rest of his life, as proof that no one gets away with stealing from the merchant.

Magistrate Clinch was not in the practice of sentencing the convicted to severe physical capital punishment, but it appeared he had no choice in this situation.

“As you wish – the sentence is two dozen lashes to be administered at 9 am tomorrow. I assume the victims of this criminal’s deeds are in agreement with this sentence?” John, not wanting to see the confirming nods of Street or his subordinates, looked down at the papers on his desk.

Shortly after nine the next morning an unconscious Michael Dunphy was delivered in a cart to John’s surgery. The flogging he had received appeared to be extremely harsh and many of the long raised welts coursing across the young man’s back had been ripped open leaving a bloody pulp of torn and shredded flesh.  Dunphy was carried into John’s clinic and laid face down on a cot just as Mrs. McGrath burst through the door pushing her way past the two men leaving the clinic after delivering the convicted criminal.

“How could you let this happen to this lad?” demanded Mrs. McGrath of John.  “He’s lived with me for five years and I know this boy better than I do my own sons. He wouldn’t steal from Street or anyone else and whoever said he did is a liar! And you - a man of the cloth - ordering this poor boy to be tortured like this, should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Mrs. McGrath, Michael Dunphy pleaded guilty to the charges against him. I had no choice but to find him guilty.”

“Michael pleaded guilty! Of course, he pleaded guilty! He had no other choice but to plead guilty or he would have been fired from his job, and rendered untouchable by any employers in this town. What else could he do, but plead guilty?”

As Mrs. McGrath berated John he was administering to the wounds on Dunphy’s back, gently washing the cuts before applying a balm to seal the open wounds and to allow healing. The woman moved to the side of the cot, pushed the sleeves of her dress up over her generous forearms, and wrung out a cloth in the pan of bloodied water and began to assist the surgeon. Her rage was subsiding.  No more was said between John and Mrs. McGrath as the two of them worked together to treat the patient and bind his wounds in clean bandages. Mrs. McGrath stayed in the Clinch home by Michael’s side for two days until he had recovered sufficiently to walk back to her home.

Chapter 7

Trinity, Newfoundland

10 January, 1786

Edward Jenner

Berkeley, England

My Dear Friend:

I have the great pleasure to inform you that my dear wife Hannah has given birth to our son. Hannah was for some time in distress after a long and arduous labour period and difficult delivery that challenged my medical training and knowledge of childbirth. However, her strength of body and of mind has served her well and she is slowly recovering from her ordeal.

Hannah, since early in the pregnancy, graciously ceded her choice of names for our first son upon my insistence that only one name would be worthy of our consideration. Edward Jenner Clinch came into this world on the first of January 1786. My only regret is that you cannot be present to witness his christening.

With Trinity under a deep blanket of snow we have settled in for a long and cold winter. In her weakened state Hannah is constantly chilled but I take solace in the fact that we have a sufficient quantity of firewood to keep our fireplace burning fiercely throughout the frigid days we face until spring.

My thoughts and prayers are with you. I look forward to your next correspondence.

Sincerely,

John Clinch

On January 1, 1786, John and Hannah Clinch were blessed with their first child, a boy who would be christened Edward Jenner Clinch in honour of John Clinch’s childhood companion and friend with whom he continued to correspond with regularly.

Since John’s departure from England, Edward Jenner’s career had flourished, not only as a physician, but as a scientist. When Captain Cook returned from his scientific voyage to Australia, Dr. Hunter recommended that Jenner arrange and prepare the specimens from Captain Cook’s expedition. Jenner performed these duties with such skill that he was offered the post of naturalist on Cook’s second expedition, but Jenner could not be enticed away from his childhood home in Berkeley by this, or many other attractive offers.  Edward Jenner had established a successful practice and enjoyed immensely his life as a country physician in the village where he had been born.

***

“John,” said Richard Hiscock, “As you are aware, the congregation of St. Paul’s has been without a clergyman since the departure of Reverend McKillop on the first ship to break through the harbour ice in April.” Hiscock, a senior member of the vestry of St. Paul’s church, had taken on much of the non-spiritual business of the parish. He and John had become friends who often met to discuss church issues. “You have performed the wretched Reverend’s duties since his departure as you did often since his arrival just a year ago. Many in our church have concerns that Methodists have made significant inroads into our community and have persuaded many of the less devout members of our congregation to convert to their ministry.”

“Indeed,” replied John.  “Trinity Bay was entirely Church of England, until just recently and it has now become a nursery of itinerant, fanatic preachers.”

“Ah John, so you understand why I took it upon myself - with the support of the church elders of course - to petition the Society of the Propagation of the Gospel to appoint you as our minister. With your education, knowledge of church matters and demonstrated commitment to the spiritual needs of the congregation, we felt there was no need for your ordination. The SPG, after much consideration, has denied our request and is insistent that Church of England clergymen must be ordained and ordination can only take place after a period of study in England. As outrageous as this request appears to be on first blush, we have no other option if we are to stop the migration of our flock to what they see as greener pastures. The church needs you John. I ask only that you consider our request. Whatever you decide, I will support your decision.”

John could not consider leaving his wife and young child to travel to England for a year, but that night as Hannah fed the baby, he told her of the outrageous request his friend had made.

“But John, you came to this island, not only as a physician, but equally as a missionary. You have given of your time and your commitment to spread the gospel and carry out the work of the church.”

As John listened to his wife’s reaction he felt that she was totally in support of his decision to decline the offer. He quickly realized, however, as Hannah continued to express her opinion that he had underestimated his wife’s religious conviction.

“Could you live with yourself if you turn your back on the church now when it needs you more than it has ever needed you?”

“I have given more than any one man could but now I have responsibilities to you and our son. To leave you for months is too much to ask of any man.”

“I can live with Mother and Father in English Harbour while you are gone. They would cherish the opportunity to spoil our son. If you decide to decline the opportunity to serve the Church in the manner that you were born to serve, you mustn’t use me and Edward as a reason to do so. You have a calling, John. Answer that call.”

***

John Clinch had left England 12 years earlier. For years after his arrival in Newfoundland he had pined for England and planned to eventually return. Now, in the spring of 1787, he was finally returning to the island of his birth, but he felt an even greater yearning for the home and the life he was leaving behind in Newfoundland. He would remain in England for the absolute minimum time necessary. He resolved that he must return to Trinity before the winter set in.

He was directed to go to Hamworthy, a small village across Holes Bay from the town of Poole where he would reside with Reverend Carlyle, an elderly theologian and retired Church of England Clergyman.  A housekeeper tended to the needs of Reverend Carlyle, whose sharp mind and acute knowledge of theology were in sharp contrast to his feeble body. He could only teach John for short periods of time before retiring for rests, but the teacher and his student soon established a mutual respect of the other’s knowledge and commitment to the church.

John had more free time than he had since his childhood and being used to a very demanding lifestyle soon found himself looking for things to occupy his time. He took to wandering the streets of the village and discovered that Hamworthy was inhabited by many poor families. There was no school and children received no education or spiritual guidance.

With the blessing of his tutor, John gathered together the poor children of the village and began to teach them to read and write and introduced them to the Bible. He knew that in his short stay in Hamworthy he could not accomplish much, but if he could plant the seed, perhaps their interest in learning would be piqued.

There was no church in Hamworthy so each Sunday he rowed across Holes Bay with a boat full of young children eager to attend Skinner Street Anglican church for worship and the Sunday school held in the church after services.

The irony of the circumstances in which he found himself was not lost on John. He had left the civility of England to seek adventure and to satisfy his missionary zeal with the conversion of savages and heathens in faraway lands and yet, what he had done in just a few months in this small village in England was as meaningful as any of his missionary accomplishments in Newfoundland.

Reverend Carlyle soon realized his student’s practice of demonstrating through action the true meaning of the Church doctrines was stronger, and more meaningful, than anything he could teach.

Reverend Carlyle sent word that John Clinch was ready. John travelled to London for ordination by the Bishop. He had no time to waste as he was anxious to arrange passage and return to Newfoundland well before the winter of 1787 took hold. There was one thing he had to do before leaving for home.

Before departing London, he arranged to meet with his good friend, Edward Jenner who rearranged his schedule so they could have an afternoon together. They walked the streets of London for hours enjoying their short reprieve from patients and responsibilities.

They were looking for a place to eat and relax when they came upon an alehouse. Edward looked up at the old weather-warn, faded sign of the Brown Cow. “This is a very appropriate establishment for something I would like to discuss with you.”

The few mid-afternoon patrons sitting at the bar stopped chattering to look at the two well-dressed gentlemen entering the alehouse. The room was lit by two small windows in the door and a window high up on one wall. But, entering from the sunlit street John and Edward had to stop inside the door until their sight adjusted to the dingy interior.

The Brown Cow was a popular place for well-to-do gentlemen to discretely meet a lady friend or to spend an hour with a street girl in one of the two upstairs bedrooms. Seeing the two men standing inside the door, one wearing the collar of a vicar, the men at the bar quickly lost interest and resumed their chatter. John and Edward sat at a table to the side as the barmaid, a short rotund woman, waddled around the end of the bar wiping her hands on a dirty apron.  “Sadie‘s me name.  What can I get for you two gents?”

“My friend is about to embark on a lengthy sea voyage and we may never see each other again. We need your best ale, if you please Miss Sadie.”

They drank slowly, savouring their anonymity as much as the drink as they watched the antics at the bar and the bantering between the men and Sadie, who was more than capable of holding her own in any argument.

When Sadie brought them a second mug of ale the two friends realized their time together was running short.

“John,” said Jenner as he leaned closer with his elbows on the table, “You recall when we were young lads, no more than fourteen, apprenticed under Mr. Ludlow?”

“Yes, indeed we were but children, exposed to the wonders of the human body but yet too naive to be intimidated.”

“I am - one may say - obsessed with an occurrence during that time that never seems to be far from my thoughts. One day a young country woman visited Mr. Ludlow. I cannot recall her affliction or the treatment she was seeking, but there is one comment she made that has inspired my work for years.” Jenner hesitated to see if the incident so long ago had also stayed with John and not seeing any recognition in his friend’s eyes, continued. “At that time there was an outbreak of smallpox spreading quickly and the woman was asked by Mr. Ludlow if she was experiencing any symptoms that might indicate her exposure to that disease.” Jenner hesitated to take a drink and looking at John he could see his friend was hanging on every word.

“The woman’s answer to Mr. Ludlow’s question was not particularly significant. She was a simple, uneducated, country woman, in no way extraordinary. But still, her answer was inspirational, not the words she uttered as such, but the absolute conviction with which she spoke these words.  She said, ‘I cannot catch small-pox for I have had cow-pox.’ Years later, when we studied under Mr. Hunter, I mentioned this incident to him. All he said was, ‘Don’t think, but try; be patient, be accurate.’  My friend, these simple words of direction set a course for me to dedicate much of my energy to research. I am now convinced that I am on the verge of a major medical breakthrough, a procedure that will someday eradicate smallpox.”

There was silence as they both thought about the disease that had caused so much suffering over the years. They had both witnessed the effects of smallpox, how people watched loved ones suffer and die a horrible death from that dreadful disease. They knew how contagious a disease it was, spread simply by a cough or through contact with the matter from pustules on a victim’s body. They knew, as men of science, that smallpox had been around for perhaps a thousand years. It had claimed the lives of millions, blinded and maimed millions more, and had been responsible for the defeat of armies and the downfall of empires.

All manner of treatment had been tried over the centuries, from inducement of vomiting by having the sick drink many different concoctions, to wrapping a patient in warm blankets before a roaring fire to draw out the fever. The treatments often weakened the patients and hastened the progression of the disease.

They also knew the medical profession had for decades been fighting smallpox with inoculation of variolous - smallpox matter of less-virulent strains of the disease. They learned, in their apprenticeship, how the Chinese, five hundred years earlier, developed a method of inoculation by grounding the scabs of encrusted smallpox lesions into powder and blowing this powder into the nostrils of healthy children in hopes that this would defend them from smallpox. They knew that variolation had many serious limitations. The inoculation with smallpox matter, and the disease it brought on, often caused the scarring, deformities, blindness and even death, that the inoculation was intended to prevent. Further, the inoculated person could spread the disease to family members and others who may not have otherwise been exposed. Variolation had done little to eradicate smallpox and often encouraged the spread of epidemics.

They were aware that smallpox was not restricted to the poor, the hungry, or the weak, as it ravaged all classes of society. Queen Elizabeth I contracted it at the age of twenty-nine in 1562 and although she survived, the disease left her nearly bald, without eyebrows and her face pitted with deep pockmarks.

“John, I have always known by your face that you have personally suffered from smallpox.”

“Yes Edward, there was no reason to tell you what was so obvious. If only we had more time to discuss your work as we did so many nights during our training.” The two friends looked deeply into each other’s eyes with silent acknowledgement and understanding of the magnitude of Edward Jenner’s discovery. “More than your reputation may be at risk to suggest that you, a mere country surgeon from Berkeley, have made a discovery that will purge the world of smallpox. A discovery that has evaded learned medical men for hundreds of years. If there is any doubt that you are wrong it would be best to continue your work with the utmost caution, my friend.”

“I am convinced of it. I just need to demonstrate through scientific experimentation what I have observed. John, I have a great battle ahead of me and if you, my dearest friend, do not trust my word on this, I fear I am surely doomed to fail.” John Clinch stared intensely into Edward Jenner’s eyes and saw in them unwavering conviction. He also saw a question, as if Jenner knew John’s caution was based on more than concern for his friend’s reputation and safety.

John looked away. “Edward, there is something I never told you that I now feel compelled to say in explanation as to why I am having difficulty in accepting your theory. As you have observed, I survived a childhood bout with smallpox. My scarred face provides slight evidence of the open wounds that disease has left festering within me. I had a twin sister. Sarah had many physical limitations that made it difficult for her to walk, to speak, or to otherwise function. For those things Sarah depended on me. I was her protector, her voice. But, she was so much more to me that no amount of study of science could ever explain.” John had never told anyone about the burden of guilt he had carried with him since Sarah’s death. Speaking of it now the despair he felt as a boy of ten returned.

Edward reached out to hold his trembling hand as he waited for his friend to gather himself. “Sarah died at the age of ten from smallpox. I brought the disease home to her. I was responsible for her protection. She needed me and trusted me and I let her down. Edward, if what you are saying is true then your discovery would have saved sweet, innocent Sarah. To believe your work will succeed to save the lives of so many young, innocent children, like Sarah, only to have it fail would be too much for me to live with.”

“John, we all must live with the emotional pain of our childhood that no matter of reason or science can dispel and I can only offer you my friendship as support. But, I assure you, with all my heart, I have absolutely no doubt that my work will be successful and our children’s children will not have to suffer or die from smallpox. I need your support.”

“Then, I am behind you, Edward. What will you name your method?”

“The matter I am proposing to use in inoculation will not be from smallpox. I will use cowpox matter, the pustules from the sores of a cow infected with cowpox. The word for cow in Latin is “vaca” so my process will be called “vaccine” meaning, pox taken from a cow.”

As Edward Jenner described in detail his theory and research, John listened intently, realizing how much he missed his closest friend and colleague.

Edward Jenner was suggesting a much less virulent disease common to cows and transmitted to humans through contact with the sores the cowpox caused on infected cows’ udders, could be used in inoculation instead of smallpox matter.

A person contracting cowpox - usually milk-maids who milked the infected cows - would completely recover from the disease after just a few days with a slight fever and thereafter be immune, to not only cowpox, but smallpox as well.

Edward Jenner was convinced he was on the verge of proving, through scientific methods, as being factual what had previously been discounted by the medical profession as an ‘Old Wives Tale’.

“I know full well, my friend, that you have followed our learned and esteemed colleague’s advice and you will be successful in proving the theory you have put forth and mankind will be better for it,” said John.

“Yes, John, I have followed Mr. Hunter’s advice, and I am convinced that I shall very soon uncover the secret that was so obvious to that country woman whose simple words have inspired me for so many years.”

“You must keep me informed of any developments in your work,” said John understanding full well the significance of his friend’s research to the people of his adopted home.

The two friends stood and embraced. Neither needed to express the appreciation they felt for the other’s support and friendship. Not expecting to ever meet face-to-face again, they parted and returned to their careers and families.

“Sarah, my dear friend, Edward, has discovered a way to prevent you from catching the smallpox from me. You will no longer need to stay away.  Soon we will be together again. Mother and Father will be so happy, they will forgive me for the pain I caused when you got sick and went away.”

“No Jah, no one, not even your friend, can change what has been done.”

“But we can start again Sarah, attending school together, reading our books and listening to Mother’s bible readings.  There is no longer a reason for you to leave me.”

“But, I have never left you, Jah. I will always be with you, as if we were one; your physical being and my soul will see us through anything that any world can throw at us.”

***

A shooting pain in his left temple woke John from a deep sleep. He had experienced these attacks since childhood.  The attacks struck at any time and their frequency had increased over the years. Now, he was having them on a monthly basis. Through blurred vision he could see Hannah beside him in their bed, sleeping soundly. The early morning light filling the room was unbearable. He buried his face in the feather pillow in a futile attempt to block out all rays of light. Feeling nauseous, he buried his face in the pillw, breathing slowly to delay the knife-like wave of pain that penetrated his head each time he inhaled. It will go away soon, it always has, he repeated over and over to himself.

Hannah would soon awaken and he mustn’t worry her. Their second child would arrive soon. They expected that Hannah would deliver the baby in January. If John had known she was pregnant before he left for England he would never have listened to her insistence that he go. Edward would be one when the baby arrived and their cottage would soon be too small for the growing Clinch family.

His pay as Rector of the Parish of Trinity, combined with his earnings as a physician, customs officer and justice, would soon enable him to acquire a larger home, but all of these duties would come at a cost. He would have less time to spend with his family.

“I don’t urge your speedily relinquishing the situation you are placed in, but only to have in contemplation to be, one day or another, my companion as well as my friend.”

Edward Jenner, in a letter to his friend and colleague, John Clinch - 1789

Chapter 8

Berkeley, England

7 February, 1789

Reverend John Clinch

Trinity, Newfoundland

My Dearest Friend:

Your rebuke on account of my not answering the long and affectionate letter I received from you in the autumn is far milder than I deserve; you whip me with a feather when the severest lash might with all justice be applied as a punishment due to me.

In the first place I must tell you I have a son!!!  I ardently hope there may be as much affection subsist between the young Edward Jenners as between their fathers. Do you not think one of these days to send him to England for his education? I should be happy taking him entirely under my own inspection, and would do by him exactly the same as if he were my own.

I sincerely lament your having been again beset by that dreadful fever, the typhus, and as sincerely congratulate you on your recovery.

There is no laying down, I believe, any general mode of treatment in this disease.  A man must be guided by his own genius: indeed without a good portion of this, a physician must ever cut a poor figure, and if he should be a man of fine feelings he must often be subject to unpleasant sensations within himself. Something new is ever presenting itself; neither books, lectures, nor the longest experience are sufficient to store the mind without the indescribable something a man of our profession should possess.

George has at length left us to take leave of his friends elsewhere before he departs for your snowy shores. Your offer was in every respect so liberal that it would have been unjust in me to have said anything to have damped his ardour for catching at so good an opportunity of improving his fortune. You will find him a youth of extraordinary talents; his penetration and discernment not limited to his profession only, but in general. As a medical character we shall one day or another see him shine.

During his absence Henry and myself must jog on as well as we can. Henry is much as you left him, the same simple inoffensive lad, and though his mind is stored with ideas that do him the greatest credit, yet his general appearance and manner is so very fifteenish, that a poor mortal on a bed of sickness will hardly look up to him with that eye of confidence and hope that might safely be placed in him. For it is by appearance my dear friend, not from a real knowledge of things that the world forms a judgment. A look of significance, a peculiar habit, and a very scanty acquaintance with the human frame, will make a man pass current for a physician. This, you and I know to be an unfortunate fact; while, without these auxiliaries, a man with the knowledge of the Hall and the College concentrated, will be looked upon as a mere pretender.

How is your head? By your description of the complaint that at times forces you to bed, it would seem to arise from blood vessels, carrying blood to the brain, over-acting their part,

Mrs Jenner begs Mrs. Clinch to accept her thanks for her civilities, to which I beg leave to add mine. You know you are too often in my thoughts to be forgotten. Pray send me the catalogue of your books that I may know what medical works may at any time be useful to you. But must this monstrous piece of water forever stand betwixt us? Are we to have no intercourse but with pens and ink?

Among your numerous callings, is there not one that would enable you to find ample succour for your family, breathing at the same time the balmy air of your native Isle?

With an urgent request that you will seriously ponder over these questions, I shall conclude this long epistle. I don’t urge your speedily relinquishing the situation you are placed in, but only to have in contemplation to be, one day or another, my companion as well as my friend.

Till this time arrives, and to the latest period of your existence, may every comfort be your portion.

No one more ardently writes happiness to you and yours than, your ever faithful and affectionate friend,

EDWARD JENNER

The Clinch family, with two small children, had grown out of the cottage John and Hannah acquired after their move to Trinity. The thought of setting down permanent roots in Newfoundland was never an option John had considered. His demanding schedule did not provide time for musing about the future.

The Clinch cottage was no longer large enough for the family and John’s medical practice, and perhaps more significantly, it was not an appropriate home for a man of his growing stature in the community.

On a recent visit to Trinity for resupply of the Arundel, Captain John Lloyd had offered to sell John a parcel of land on a knoll overlooking Harvey’s Cove. Lloyd’s naval career had flourished with his capture of two French warships that were re-commissioned into the Royal Navy. As a reward for his service to the King, Lloyd had been granted a plantation in Trinity.

The Crown had claimed what was once the Pittman plantation for unpaid debt. With waterfront property of great value to merchants, forever in need of additional space for their fish processing enterprises, Captain Lloyd’s vacant plantation was a much sought after property.

Lloyd would consider no other offers until first offering the property to John Clinch at a price far below its market value. John lay awake late into the night thinking of Lloyd’s offer. He knew full well that to acquire the land and build a house for his family would make his stay in Trinity permanent.

A sharp knocking on the front door cut short John’s thoughts and disturbed yet another sleepless night.

“Mr. Clinch, my little girl, Martha, is burning up with the fever. Can you please come and see to her?” said Benjamin Archer, a fisherman who lived in a small house in an area known as Hog’s Nose near the flakes and buildings that comprised the Thomas Street plantation. Without hesitation John dressed and walked the short distance to Archer house.

The house sat precariously on a rocky outcrop protruding into the harbour where northwest and southwest arms met. Both arms were ringed with fish flakes. The wind constantly battered the point from all directions and merchants had long ago given up rebuilding flakes on Hog’s Nose only to be destroyed in winter northwesters or summer southwesters.

Entering the squalid, draughty house, the smell of dirty clothing, several chickens, and a pig was overpowering. Archer and his wife, Mary, had five children, all sharing a single room. The sick child lay in her parents’ bed.

Martha had a tight grip on the frayed end of what was once a bright and colourful patchwork quilt pulled up to cover her face. John slid the quilt down and Martha squeezed her closed eyes tighter as light from the oil lantern struck her pale eyelids.

“Extreme sensitivity to light,” John muttered under his breath as he observed that she was flushed from a high fever. Martha mumbled something incomprehensible and in her delirious state turned her head from side to side to avoid the light source. When John examined her chest he discovered a dull red rash and questioned her parents for more information to confirm his diagnosis.

“Has she vomited?”

“Yes, she couldn’t keep anything down for the last two days,” answered Mary.

“Have you or your other children been sick?”

“No,” answered Benjamin.

“You will,” John said with a resolved tone. He had seen this condition many times before and he himself had suffered from the disease just months earlier.

“She has typhus. You must ensure she drinks plenty of water. Clean her as best you can and wash all the bedding in boiling water. The rest of your family may escape this, but it would be unlikely.”

Typhus, a disease common to people living in confined quarters, was most prevalent in the winter months when people often bundled their children into layers of clothing to fend off the damp and cold without washing for weeks. To tell these people that their lifestyle was a breeding ground for typhus would be of no benefit. They had no choice but to survive as best they could in these squalid conditions.

“Martha appears to be a strong girl and with the grace of God she will recover in several days. Try as best as you can to keep her fever at bay with the application of cool wet cloths. The disease must run its course.”

Looking at the rest of the family John noted that Mrs. Archer and one of her other children were very frail, not at all like Martha and her robust father. Their survival after a bout of typhus would be unlikely, but he put the thought out of his mind.

John had recently found himself looking down at the faces of Sunday worshippers and evaluating the health of the people looking up at him in the pulpit.

A mother in the congregation had recently given birth to her tenth child. Her pale face told John that with her family demands, she had not fully recovered from childbirth. He could see from week to week her health was declining. What disease was waiting patiently for the opportunity to invade her body?

An elderly man, until recently always alert and attentive, now dozed fitfully through most of the service. When jolted awake with an elbow to his ribs, he would stare at his wife and the people around him as if they were total strangers. Who would go first, the old man, or his wife unable to meet the demands of her husband’s increasing dementia?

Another worshipper, a young man with his eyes heavily bandaged, sat between his wife and three young children. A top-sail brace on a ship returning to Trinity had snapped. Like a whip, the brace lashed at the deckhand cutting deeply into his face across his eyes. When the injured sailor was brought to him, all John could do was bandage the destroyed eyes and send the man home. John didn’t tell him that his sight would never return. He would know soon enough. Being totally dependent on his wife and unable to earn a living, how long would it take before the sailor realized his very survival was detrimental to the survival of his children. Ws he even now plotting his own demise, not out of self-pity, but out of love?

As hard as he tried to dispel these thoughts, John Clinch the Clergyman hearing his mother’s words, “It is God’s will”, and John Clinch the physician, knowing his father would encourage him to use science to search for ways to fix the wrongs in the world, was in a never ending struggle. If only he could accept everything as God’s responsibility he could forget the faces of the sick, the dying and the injured who stared at him from the church pews and sleep soundly at night.

John decided to accept Captain Lloyd’s generous offer. He would build a house he and his family would be proud of. The design would include a clinic, separate from the house to keep his children away from exposure to the many diseases he saw daily.

It took a year to find a builder and complete construction of a grand Georgian-style home, not nearly as opulent as the merchants’ homes, but substantial in comparison with most homes in Trinity. The Clinch house sat at the base of Harvey’s Hill facing Cape Nuddick across Harvey’s Cove.

“I have charity enough to suppose, it is the maniac and not the man who draws the fatal trigger.”

Edward Jenner, in a letter to his friend, John Clinch - 1800

Chapter 9

The First Report From the Committee, Appointed to Enquire Into the State of the Trade to Newfoundland.

Reported by The Right Honourable Dudley Ryder 26th March 1793. (British Parliamentary Committee Minutes, Excerpt - Page 402)

George Cartwright, Esquire, being examined, informed Your Committee that he was an Officer of Foot in His Majesty’s Service. And being asked, Whether he has been in Newfoundland?

He said, Yes, several times.

And being asked, In what capacity?

He said, Twice on pleasure and five time on business, in his way backwards and forwards to Labrador; the last time he was there was in 1786; he has been much in that part of Newfoundland inhabited by the native Indians.

And being asked, How near to any of our settlements do the Indians come?

He said, They frequently come in the night into the harbour to pilfer what they can get, to supply their necessities.

And being asked, What are the articles which they mostly steal?

He said, seals, hatchets, boat kettles, and such other things they think will be of use; they use the seals as covering for their wigwams or tents.

And being asked, Could he state any particulars respecting the condition of the Indians in Newfoundland?

He said, He thinks their condition is very wretched and forlorn indeed; our fishermen and furriers murder and plunder them whenever an opportunity offers; he has heard many of them boast of the murders they had committed.

And being asked, Did he ever hear of the Fishermen or Furriers shooting at the Indians for their amusement?

He said, He has heard many say they had rather have a shot at an Indian, than at a deer.

The Witness having stated, that the Indians sometimes come down into the ports where our cod fishery is carried on, and steal various articles, he was asked, Whether he believes that that was in consequence of any provocation or molestation they might have received from the Fishermen and Furriers?

He said, Most certainly, and also from the impossibility of their ever getting anything they want by any other means; he has been well assured, that formerly a very beneficial barter was carried on between our people and the Indians, somewhere near the port of Bonavista, by our people leaving goods at a certain place, and the Indians taking what they wanted, and leaving furs in return; but that barter was at length put a stop to by one of our Fishermen hiding himself near the place of deposit, and shooting a woman dead on the spot as she was suiting herself with what she wanted.

***

Joseph Hart enjoyed the long walk along the coastal path to Trinity, a bustling metropolis in comparison to the tiny fishing village of English Harbour where he lived with his parents and five younger siblings. He’d made the three hour trek many times with his father. Now fourteen, he was setting out alone, on a welcomed reprieve from the constant bickering with his three younger brothers who shared his tiny bedroom.  Aunt Hannah and Uncle John had asked Joseph to come and spend a few days with them in Trinity to assist with the household chores and to help Aunt Hannah care for her two boys.

Joseph had previously spent time at the Clinch home with his father when the weather closed in, or it was too late to walk back home after their business at one of the many merchant establishments was finished.

This time, he would have a room to himself and he would be the man around the house working under Aunt Hannah’s direction at whatever chores she needed done.  Joseph was a big boy, as tall and robust as many seventeen year olds, and being the eldest son of a fisherman, he was accustomed to physical work.

Uncle John worked from morning till dark in a small clinic next to the house. Aunt Hannah would bring dinner and often supper to the clinic for him. Joseph looked forward to taking on that chore.  He liked Uncle John, who was very different from other men Joseph had encountered. In many ways Joseph was awed by the respect the people of Trinity held for his uncle. As Uncle John’s oldest nephew he somehow felt more important with a heightened sense of responsibility to live up to when he was in Trinity.

Despite Uncle John’s high level of education and worldly knowledge, Joseph never felt intimidated in his presence. He welcomed any of Joseph’s questions about medicine or his childhood in England, with his answers as detailed and complete as they would be in response to an adult’s questions. Often Joseph had no idea what Uncle John was saying, but relishing the way the explanations were offered, he would nod his head knowingly to encourage the conversation to continue.

The afternoon sun was getting lower and the dying wind brought mosquitoes to life. Joseph picked up his pace and before long, as he rounded a high knoll overlooking Trinity Bay, he could see Skerwink Head marking the entrance to Trinity Harbour, across the harbour mouth from Fort Point.

He estimated he had another hour to walk. Suddenly, a strange sound caught his attention. He stopped to listen and heard a soft whimpering like an animal in distress. The sound was unlike any he heard before and Joseph had the urge to hurry past, but his curiosity got the better of him. He listened closely but could hear only the beating of his heart and the buzz of mosquitoes.

He started to creep away as quietly as possible so as not to bring his presence to the attention of the unknown creature. Then, a different sound, like a child’s crying, stopped him in his tracks.

With his father’s rule, to never leave the path when travelling in the woods, in mind, Joseph knew he should continue on towards Trinity. But, as frightened as he was, he couldn’t just walk away without investigating. “I’ll just go off the path for a few feet,” he said out loud as if to ask for approval to break his father’s rule. He peered through the trees bordering the path to the west to get his bearings from the setting sun then turned and entered the thicket.

He crawled to get under many of the branches. He became entangled and the branches scratched his face and caught his wool shirt. After several minutes he had made little progress.

He turned and crawled around the trees until he became disoriented, unable to determine the direction back to the path. He was increasingly anxious, fearing he was lost, when he saw the light of a clearing just ahead. If he could reach it he would be able to gather himself and find the way back to the path.

Breaking out of the thick woods, he stopped to take a deep breath. He knew how easy it was to become disoriented in the woods and to rush on haphazardly could be disastrous. The sun was at his back when he left the path. All he had to do was to head back towards the sun before it set and he would be all right.

Still panting, he sat on a fallen tree and looked around. Scattered throughout the clearing he saw colours like none he had ever seen in the forest before. In the centre of the clearing was a heap of colours and he realized it was old clothes, blankets, dirty, worn, and riddled with holes but still so obvious against the green of the bushes.

He stood up and cautiously approached. About ten feet beyond the clothes was a woman’s body lying face up. Flies were swarming around the body and as Joseph crept closer he could see the woman was dressed in animal skins. Held tightly in one hand was a dirty, well-worn, old blanket. The woman’s eyes stared vacantly at the sky and her gaping mouth was full of flies, crawling in and out as if awaiting their turn to feast. Joseph could see a large wound in the woman’s chest that he instantly knew could only have been caused by the blast of a musket at close range.

Terrified, he stumbled back, tripped and fell on his arse. He had seen dead people before but they were laid out in caskets and dressed in their best Sunday clothing as if they were taking a nap after church.  He turned toward the woods to find an escape route when he heard the whimpering again. Dear God, he thought, she can’t still be alive!

Joseph could not bring himself to go back and look at the woman again. He started in the direction of the path. The crying got louder and he realized it was coming from the woods, not from the dead woman. What if it’s even worse than the woman, he thought?  What if it’s someone else with their head shot off, or the woman’s killer trying to lure him into the sights of a reloaded musket?

He wanted to run as fast as he could, far away from this. Under his breath he mumbled, “What would Father do?  What would Uncle John do - if they were here with me?”

He couldn’t just run away so he inched towards the sound. Reaching the edge of the woods he crouched and peered through the dark tangle of underbrush into a child’s face - wide-eyed with terror - staring at him as if he was the devil himself. Joseph inched closer to discover it was a girl about the size of his thirteen-year-old sister. She was clutching her thigh with both her hands covered in blood. As Joseph got nearer she dug the heel of her uninjured leg into the ground, as if she was trying to skitter off into the woods, but she was unable to make any progress with the impenetrable wall of tangled trees at her back.

Joseph held out his hand saying softly, “I won’t hurt you. I just want to help.” The dark-skinned girl stopped struggling as Joseph reached her side. He ripped a long strip from his shirttail and said, “I have to wrap this around your leg to stop the bleeding. You need to move your hands.”

Sensing that he meant no harm, she released her grip and allowed Joseph to wrap the rag around the wound on her leg and tie it tightly.

“I have to bring you to Uncle John. He will make you better.”

He reached out his hand for hers, but the terrified child shook her head from side to side.

“You’re badly hurt and if I don’t get you to Uncle John you might die. Don’t you understand, I mean you no harm?”

The girl appeared to be tiring. Her eyes fluttered and she no longer had the energy to fight. Joseph, moving behind her, put his arms under hers and dragged her slowly through the underbrush. Reaching the path he stopped to rest, but realizing the evening was setting in, concluded he had no choice but to carry the girl to Trinity. He picked up her limp body, so thin and fragile, he was afraid her bones would break in his hands. Carefully, he positioned her over his shoulder as a man would carry a caribou quarter out of the woods after a successful hunt.

He had to stop and rest many times, but he was finally nearing Trinity. The long trek and emotional impact of the day’s events had sapped his energy and he was stumbling, falling to his knees, using all his remaining strength to keep from dropping the girl to the rocky ground. His battered legs were bleeding and bruised and sweat burned the scratches on his face.

Joseph continued until he reached the steep hill leading down to the beach at the base of Skerwink Head. It was almost dark with the remaining light outlining the narrow cut of the path winding through the woods ahead, but not providing enough illumination to see the uneven ground.

He couldn’t carry the girl any longer. Setting her down gently, he checked to see that she was still breathing and dragged her under the low branches of a fir tree beside the path. “I promise I’ll come back to get you,” he said, knowing the girl would not respond. “I’ll bring Uncle John back with me.”

The light of the moon rising above the horizon reflected off the water, providing enough light for Joseph to run along the well travelled coastal section of the path nearer to Trinity. He considered knocking on a door of one of the houses near the trail but decided against it - only Uncle John could help.

Finally, he reached the Clinch home. Seeing the faint light of a candle through the clinic window, he barrelled in through the door, startling Uncle John who was working at his desk.

“Uncle John, Uncle John! I need your help! The girl is going to die! You have to come with me to Skerwink Head!”

John Clinch looked up to see his nephew, his clothes torn and tattered and his face bloodied.  “My Lord, Joseph! What happened to you?”

“We have to hurry Uncle John, she’s been shot in the leg - you must come to care for her!”

“Joseph, slow down and let me tend to your injuries.”

“You don’t understand, she’s gonna die, just like the woman, if we don’t get back to her right away!”

“Who are you talking about, Joseph?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” blurted Joseph, as he ran out through the door.

John carried a lantern to light the way along the path from Trinity and around the harbour to the east side. Joseph excitedly told him what he had discovered. From Joseph’s description of the woman and the girl, John concluded they were Beothuks. He considered gathering a few men to make the trek with them but decided against it knowing that many of the local people did not welcome the thought of Beothuks near their homes.

The natives had long been accused of pilferage and destruction of valuable supplies. John refused to be responsible for alarming the community that Indians may be so close to their homes. Such news could result in a wholesale slaughter of more of the savages out of fear, or just for sport. In any event, Clinch feared, based on Joseph’s description of the amount of blood the girl had loss and her unconsciousness, their attempt to save her life would prove to be futile.

They reached the girl, still lying under the tree. Her breathing was regular, and shallow. She was so small and emaciated John felt there was not much he could do for the child. Wondering how someone could take sport from shooting such an innocent creature, he wrapped her in his coat and prepared to carry her back to his home. As they walked, with Joseph in front holding the lantern, he thought about how he would care for the child and how he would be able to keep her presence at his home a secret.

Beothuk children had been stolen away from their parents in the past to be treated as novelties to be gawked at or to be sold as servants for the well-to-do.

John recalled the hate he’d seen in the woman’s eyes years earlier in his first encounter with the Beothuks near Bonavista. He had come to understand the threat he unknowingly posed to that woman and her child. He would not let curiosity nor fear harm the small child he now cradled in his arms.

“Joseph, you have to understand something very important before we get back to Trinity.”

“Yes, Uncle John,” by his Uncle’s tone Joseph understood the seriousness of what he was about to hear.

“This child is not likely to survive her wounds, but with the grace of God, if she does, I’m afraid she will not have much of a life to look forward to away from her people. We must keep her existence, and the circumstances by which you found her, a secret from all but the most trusted. In helping this child and hopefully saving her life you have been very brave. But, you must understand, by your actions you have taken on a responsibility that will often test your resolve. Joseph, are you up to the challenge fate has bestowed on you?”

“I understand, Uncle John. Only you can save her life and when she is better she must be returned to her family. I will do whatever is needed to make that happen.” Joseph fell silent for a moment, thinking about the person who shot the girl, then asked, “Why would anyone shoot her and leave her to crawl off into the woods to die?”

“Ignorance and fear cause people to do terrible things. Whoever did this sees the Beothuk people only as savages and thieves, not as human beings. One cannot change what people fear. One can only accept and understand people for what they are. You must follow your conscience as to what is right, Joseph, understanding that you must forever live with the consequences of your actions. Whatever happens to this girl you can be assured you did everything you could to save her life. And for that I am very proud of you.”

By the time they reached Trinity it was well past the bed time of most people who would rise at dawn to begin their long day of labour. Douting the lantern so as not to draw the attention of any late-night visitors to the outhouses behind each house, or a drunk staggering home, they walked the narrow lanes winding through the village - just a man carrying a bundle with a boy by his side.

Hannah, accustomed to her husband’s sudden departure from his clinic at any hour when summoned to the bedside of a sick person, was not alarmed to find he was not in the clinic when she looked in on him before retiring for the night.  Hours later, hearing the latch of the front door, and the whispering of at least two people entering her home, she got up and went downstairs.

“We have a patient who needs to be cared for in our house,” John said as he saw Hannah coming down the stairs. “Joseph is with me and needs some looking after as well.” Seeing the state of her brother’s son, with his clothes torn and the blood from the scratches on his face dried and caked with dirt, Hannah took him to the kitchen to clean him up and tend to his injuries. She did not ask the boy what had happened as she could see he was exhausted. John would explain later.

It was dawn before John completed the surgery needed to remove the musket ball from the girl’s leg and to close the wound.  Hannah assisted him during the night and understood the necessity of keeping the Indian girl’s presence a secret.

Joseph spent the next day at the bedside of the girl as she slept soundly. He would only leave her side when Aunt Hannah took his place. The Clinch household carried on as normal as possible with John tending to his patients, coming and going throughout the day. Hannah cared for their two young boys and the household chores, while keeping watch on the Indian girl.

On the third day the girl awoke.  She was very frightened as she looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings of the bedroom and tried to get up, but the pain in her leg kept her still. Looking at the unfamiliar face of the boy sitting beside the bed, she remembered the blast from the woods then witnessing her grandmother staggering back and falling to the ground. She didn’t remember the second blast that let fly a musket ball tearing into her leg, or her crawling into the woods, away from the clearing and her mortally wounded grandmother.

“Hello, I’m Joseph.”

As scared and confused as she was, the sound of Joseph’s voice was somehow familiar. She knew he meant her no harm. She did not speak, staring into the boy’s strange blue eyes - a colour unlike anything she had seen in her young life. She looked at Joseph while trying to piece together the bits of recent memories now flooding back until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

She fell into a fitful sleep and Joseph watched, and held her hand in his, as her head turned from side to side and she whispered strange words.

In her dream she wanted to get up and walk into the forest, back into the trees where she always felt safe. She imagined her mother searching for her, calling her name over and over – “Ounermish! Ounermish! Ounermish! Ounermish!”  With each shout, she sensed the increasing panic in her mother’s voice, but still the voice faded away as her mother moved deeper and deeper into the forest. Ounermish tried to scream for her mother but her voice was just a whimper as her screams were blocked in her throat by the terrifying realization that she would never again see her mother. Then, the forest fell quiet, so quiet Ounermish could hear the beating of her heart.

Joseph ran downstairs to tell Uncle John the girl had awakened. They both returned to the room to find her fast asleep.

“Joseph, now that the child has come around we must find a way to communicate. We need to assure her that we mean her no harm and we will return her to her people when she is able to travel. There’s only one man who can help us and I pray that he can be entrusted with our secret. You must seek out John August, but raise no suspicion. Tell him only that I have need of his labour to repair a leak in the roof of my house.”

John August was a Beothuk who had been stolen from his mother as a child, somewhere in Central Newfoundland. His Beothuk name had been long forgotten, if indeed he ever knew what it was, and he had been given a name indicating the month he was captured. The details of August’s childhood were unknown to John Clinch but the fact he was a full-blooded Beothuk was acknowledged by all.

Contrary to the generally accepted belief that Beothuk men were tall and lean, August was no taller than the average Englishman, with bowed legs disproportionately shorter than his torso. With the English diet he had grown up on, he was very solid, his physical strength and stamina enabling him to do the work of two men. With a head of thick, straight, black hair, deep brown eyes and a dark, beardless face he stood out from the sun-baked, red-faced men he worked with.

August had arrived in Trinity in early manhood and in recent years was entrusted with the command of a fishing smack owned by the Whites. August’s small vessel was used as a coaster, sailing between settlements collecting fish to be returned to Trinity for shipment in larger ships to European ports. August lived alone on the smack, keeping to himself. He had often supplemented his income by tending to repairs of the Clinch home so this new request was not unusual.

John respected John August as a hard-working, lonely man who did not appear to have any close friends or social life. It was unlikely that August was fluent in the Beothuk language but John felt the man’s appearance at the girl’s side would have a calming effect.

Rumours had it that the Whites had given August leave to go into the country from time to time where he likely communicated with local Beothuk tribes. John felt, if August was able to recall any words from childhood memories with his people, he could be invaluable in gaining the child’s trust.

Joseph returned to the house with John August and the two were met at the door by John Clinch. It was early afternoon and August thought it unusual that Mr. Clinch was in the house at a time of day that he normally would be attending to patients.

August had always felt mistrust of most educated Englishmen, except for Mr. White and a few others who treated him with a degree of respect equal to that extended to any workers under their employ. August liked and trusted Mr. Clinch having known the missionary physician since his arrival in Trinity some years earlier.

Previous missionaries, living for short periods in Trinity, had taken on the Beothuk heathen’s conversion to Christianity as a personal challenge, hoping to make him a trophy convert for all to see as proof of the missionary’s commitment to his calling. Clinch was different. He treated August with respect without trying to impose his religious beliefs on the disinterested man.

“Mr. August, my nephew Joseph and I have need of your experience, not as a carpenter, but as a man with a past quite different than any other person residing in Trinity.” Clinch hesitated, allowing time for August to process his words, and understand the inference he had made to August’s Beothuk heritage. “I’m going to tell you something for which I will ask your oath of secrecy. If you would rather not get involved please feel free to take your leave.”

“Mr. Clinch, you have always treated me fairly. If you feel I have a skill or knowledge of benefit to you - in what must be a very serious matter - I am quite happy to help.”

John explained the situation to August who did not speak, looking increasingly downhearted, as he had heard similar stories all too often in his life.

August turned to Joseph and reached out his hand, grasping the boy’s in a vise-like grip to seal their secret pact with respect, and said, “I will take care of having the Beothuk woman’s body returned to her people.”

When the two men and the boy entered the bedroom, the girl’s expression softened when she saw Joseph. Her gaze then moved to the stranger, stepping out from behind the tall man. Her eyes brightened. Even though he was wearing the clothing of an Englishman, she recognized him as one of her people and felt safer. She didn’t know him, but was convinced he had come to take her home. She spoke rapidly in an excited, happy tone, holding out her hand to August.

August responded in a slow deliberate manner as if searching for each word from his limited Beothuk vocabulary. Her eyes shifted nervously to John and then to Joseph.

August said, “She may be more comfortable if we could speak alone.” Joseph and John left the room and closed the door.

A few minutes later August exited the room. “The girl was with her grandmother when the shots were fired. She saw the woman fall to the ground but she does not remember being shot. I tried to tell her how you have saved her life and you want to return her to her people as soon as she can travel. I think she understood, but my memory of the language is limited.”

“What is her name?” asked Joseph.

“Her name is Ounermish. It means Little Bird.  Mr. Clinch, I would be honoured if you would allow me to help return the child to her family when she is able to travel.”

“Your assistance will be invaluable, Mr. August. Of course, in the interest of the child’s wellbeing I know you will not disclose her presence in my home to anyone.”

Chapter 10

British Parliamentary Committee Minutes 1793

Excerpt - Page 402

George Cartwright, Esquire, being examined.

And being asked, From what he has seen of the Indians did they seem to be of a more sanguinary and savage disposition than the people in that state of society generally are?

He said, By no means, for he has heard many instances of their saving the lives of our people, when they might very easily have put them to death; he heard one man tell his master, that a few days before he left the Bay of Exploits, as he was going to land out his boat to look at a trap he had left for an otter, he was surprised by the voice of an Indian; and on turning his head, saw an Indian standing on the shore with an arrow in his bow ready to shoot him; that the Indian made a motion with his head for him to retire; he was then not above four or five yards from the Indian; he immediately pulled his boat round, and rowed off as fast as he could; that the Indian remained in the same posture until he had got some distance from the shore, and then retired into the woods, that the fisherman then added, that he regretted not having his gun with him as he would have shot him dead upon the spot.

John August’s visit had the calming effect on Ounermish John had hoped for. He had not considered how they would find the Beothuk village to return the girl to her family, but now realized August would be crucial to his plan.

With Joseph spending all his free time at her bedside, having to be shooed away long enough for Hannah to wash and tend to her wound, Ounermish’s fears diminished as she accepted that these people wanted only to care for her. As her leg healed Joseph’s determination to stay with her was surpassed only by her appetite. As strange and unfamiliar the food they brought her was, she ate ravenously and her strength soon returned. Joseph talked endlessly but Ounermish would just stare expressionless at him.

Early one morning a small bird landed on the sill of the open window. Joseph pointed and said, “Little bird – Ounermish.” Joseph’s words brought back a cherished memory of her father to the girl.

Ounermish remembered when they would walk to a favourite spot by the river where they would sit on the shore and he would tell her stories. She would always ask him to tell the story about when she was born.

Never varying in the detail, her father would tell her of that day. Her mother, lying in a mossy spot beneath a tree, had just given birth to their baby when a small bird landed on a branch above her head and began to sing a beautiful song. The parents looked into each other’s eyes and without needing to speak, knew the name they would choose for their beautiful baby girl - their first child.

Ounermish remembered every detail of her father’s story especially how quiet the forest was except for the singing of the little bird, welcoming the baby into the world.

She so missed her father, how could she not remember his face, or the sound of his voice?

Many winters had passed since that day when the crazy men came into her village. She was in her grandmother’s house when she heard the screams of their people and the angry voices of the strange men. Her grandmother took her by the hand and together they ran far away into the forest. They returned much later to find her father and most of the other young men dead, their bodies scattered around the village where they had been shot.

Ounermish and her grandmother found her mother lying on the floor of her house. She was naked, bloodied and beaten. Ounermish would never forget her mother’s mournful sobbing, followed by her screams as she begged her long-gone attackers to return and kill her as well.

As the tears streamed down Ounermish’s face and her sobs shook her body, Joseph, thinking it was the pain in her leg causing her to cry, put his hand on her shoulder and softly said, “It’s okay Ounermish – the pain will go way soon - I won’t leave til it’s gone.”

With Joseph keeping a constant vigil by her side, Ounermish felt safe and secure. Soon, she began to respond to her protector’s constant chatter. As he pointed out things in the room and said the English word, she would repeat his words and what she thought its Beothuk word was, laughing all the while at Joseph’s attempts to speak her language. As her leg wound improved, Joseph would encourage her to stand and helped her walk around the room, then down the hallway and finally, if there were no visitors in the house, up and down the stairs.

As her strength improved she became more anxious to return to her family. Her mother would need her to help care for her little brother, now that her grandmother was gone.

Each morning, using the few English words she had remembered she would ask, “Ounermish go home today?”

“Soon,” Joseph would reply, not looking forward to that inevitable day.

The steady flow of patients passing daily through John’s clinic was a never ending source of news and rumours. Increasingly, there were hearsay reports of Beothuk sightings in the area. Reports of such sightings were always followed by an increase in pilferage of fishing gear and other small items throughout Trinity Bight.

The random damage of boats, fishing stages and personal property, of no use to the Beothuks, was cause for some to wonder if the increase in criminal activity could be acts of revenge or payback for long brewing disputes between settlers. Rational thinking gave way to demands for retribution.

The community was working itself into a rage and there was talk among the men of forming a hunting party to rid the area of the band of savages that must be responsible for the spate of thefts.

John knew that Ounermish must now be returned to her people, before they were driven far inland.

“You must go to Mr. August’s boat to tell him tonight we are to take the child back to her people. Ask him to meet me at our stable at midnight,” John directed Joseph.

“Uncle John, I must go with you and Mr. August!”

“No, I don’t know how long it will take to find her people and when we do what reaction our appearance with the child may cause.”

“But Uncle John I have to go! I can speak to her and she needs me. Ounermish doesn’t trust you, or even Mr. August. If I don’t go with you she will not understand where you are taking her or what you are to do with her!”

Having seen the relationship that had been developing between his nephew and the Indian girl John conceded to his nephew’s demand, realizing that Joseph would surely follow them even without his approval.

Joseph waited until dark for fear that something would delay the night’s plan, before telling Ounermish. “Tonight, Joseph-take-Ounermish-home,” he said to her slowly.

She didn’t realize what he was saying until she repeated each of his words to herself. Her face lit up with a smile and she threw her arms around Joseph’s neck and hugged him tightly.

John and August agreed that by walking to the forested area would be quieter and draw less attention than going by horse and cart. They set out at midnight with the men taking turns carrying the girl in their arms. They carried enough food for several days and if needed they could snare rabbits and fish for trout.

John’s absence from Trinity for days at a time was not uncommon as he was often called away to any of the villages or fishing stations on the north coast of Trinity Bay to tend to the injured and sick. If the patients’ afflictions were untreatable, or if they succumbed before his arrival, he would also be called upon to perform the funeral ceremony. A wedding ceremony or two would often be hastily arranged for him to perform while he was in a settlement.

They travelled through the night, distancing themselves from the coastal settlements and turning inland, traversing bogs and hills as they moved towards the central area of the Bonavista Peninsula. It was late September and the nights were cool. The heat of the summer had dried many streams and marshes enabling them to travel fast through regions that would have been impassable in the spring or early summer. They rested for a few hours at a time and moved on with August leading the way on a route that appeared to have no discernable paths or markers to guide them.

After two nights and a day of travel they came to a lake where they set up camp as instructed by August to await their discovery by the Beothuks. They built bough lean-tos, started a fire and sat to wait.

The Beothuks were not known to initiate violence towards European settlers. They chose to avoid confrontations and to remove themselves from situations that could result in attacks on their people. Often the Indians’ curiosity and desire to trade with the strangers resulted in uninitiated attacks leading to a vast decline in their numbers over the years.

John was aware of the Indians’ non-aggressive demeanour but he was very concerned for the safety of his party considering they had a Beothuk child with them. Observing August’s relaxed and seemingly unconcerned attitude was somewhat comforting to John, but the crack of a tree swaying with the wind, or a bird calling out in the forest, made him hold his breath.

At dusk on the second day as they sat around the fire eating their evening meal they were startled by six Beothuk men who walked quietly out of the woods and stood at the edge of the clearing. They were spaced well apart, covering all escape routes with the lake at the campers’ backs.

Ounermish, recognizing some of the Indian men, shouted out happily. Only one of the Indians, who looked to be the elder, entered the encampment. He walked towards Ounermish who was lying on a bed of boughs in a lean-to. The other Indians stood quietly, watching with their bows at their side. They had been watching the Clinch party for some time and did not consider the two men and boy to be a threat.

Ounermish spoke quickly and excitedly to the Indian as she pointed to Joseph and John explaining what had happened to her.  Joseph listened closely but her speech was much too fast for him to make any sense of what she was saying. Ounermish finally motioned him over and indicated with a few words and gestures that the Indian men would take all of them to her village.

It was dark when they broke camp and headed back into the forest. They travelled fast through thick brush with one of the Indians leading the way followed by the older one carrying the child, then the three visitors and behind them the other four Indians. It was apparent they were taking a circuitous route that the Englishmen would not be able to retrace. They travelled without stopping to rest or to take their bearings.

After more than an hour they came to a clearing, perhaps three hundred feet in diameter. The forest, encircling the clearing, looked liked an impenetrable dark wall. As their eyes adjusted they could see the shadows of twelve or more mamateeks of different sizes located randomly throughout the clearing. There was no fire to be seen but the smell of charred wood and animal fat hung in the air.

One of their companions disappeared into a mamateek and seconds later a woman came out walking fast and babbling excitedly. She held out her arms as she rushed towards Onermish.

Ounermish cried out happily as the woman grabbed her in her arms and weeping uncontrollably repeated over and over, “Ounermish! Ounermish! Ounermish!”

John’s party was taken to a mamateek. Stooping they entered by parting the strips of fur used as a door. The mamateek’s residents had vacated their home for the guests to their village. In the centre was a shallow pit containing embers of a dying fire, providing enough light for the three visitors to see the mamateek’s interior.

Five long logs, tied together at the top and spread out at the ground formed the skeleton of the structure which was covered in several layers of birch bark. The dirt floor was covered with boughs and furs for bedding. Two iron cooking pots were stacked on a small log shelf and various items of skin clothing hung from the support logs.

It was early morning by the time the three visitors lay down to rest. August’s deep breathing and intermittent snoring was comforting and reassured John and Joseph they had nothing to fear from their hosts.

As the light of early dawn penetrated the small opening above the fire pit, John felt a cool breeze on the side of his face towards the doorway. Opening his eyes he was surprised to see a child sitting motionless at his side, staring at him.

John Clinch was unaccustomed to be being stared down by anyone. He often wondered if the way most of the people in Newfoundland diverted their eyes from his was due to his status in society, or his appearance. With his tall slender frame he looked down at most but he felt people saw only the scars on his face from his childhood bout with smallpox. He sensed people diverting their eyes when talking with him, so as not to stare at his face.

“Coor-a-e!” The familiar sound of Ounermish’s voice from just outside the mamateek woke Joseph who looked around wondering for a moment where he was. In the dim light he could see his uncle was trying to suppress a smile as he looked at someone sitting beside him. Joseph could see the child’s light-coloured, shoulder length hair, but not his face.

“Coor-a-e!” Coor-a-e!” This time a woman called out in more of a scolding tone that any child would recognize as their mother about to lose her patience. Crawling backwards out through the doorway the boy continued to stare at John. Seeing the child emerge from the mamateek, the mother spoke excitedly to him in the Beothuk language, her voice expressing both anger and relief.

Joseph looked out the doorway to see the village bustling with activity. In the centre of the clearing he saw two women with furs wrapped around their shoulders, chatting quietly while poking the embers to bring back to life a fire pit in the centre of the clearing.

Ounermish was sitting on a log in front of a mamateek across the clearing. She saw Joseph looking out and hobbled over. Taking Joseph by the hand she took him to her mother’s mamateek and beckoned to her. A woman exited the mamateek followed by the blond-haired boy. Ounermish spoke excitedly to her mother as she explained who Joseph was and what he had done for her. The mother listened carefully as she looked at Joseph, embarrassed with all the attention.

Tears were streaming down her mother’s face when Ounermish finally ran out of breath and stopped speaking. Unexpectedly, the woman reached out her arms and hugged Joseph tightly. Uncomfortable with the open display of appreciation, Joseph’s arms hung limply by his side as the woman rested her head on his shoulder and wept tears of happiness.

The village fell silent as John and August emerged from their mamateek. John stared at the Beothuk woman as she released Joseph from her arms and gathered herself to stand tall, proud and content that her daughter was finally safely home. Her long, straight black hair framed her face and she brushed it behind her ears to let it hang at her back. Her eyes met John’s and for an instant her intense stare was somehow familiar. The blond-haired, light-skinned boy had the same intense, knowing stare as his mother.

John suddenly remembered the woman and child he had encountered near Bonavista six years earlier and he realized that this was the same woman and child he’d seen in his unforgettable first encounter with natives.

With Ounermish walking between Joseph and her mother and holding both their hands, the three approached John and August. Ounermish spoke rapidly as she gestured to the two men. Her mother’s stare moved from August to John as she listened to her daughter’s tale. The woman did not appear to remember John.

Ounermish pointed to August and slowly said, “Ah-gus.” She then pointed at John and said, “Unc-jon.”

The mother bowed slightly acknowledging the men as Ounermish pointed to her and said her name, “Sus-utee.”

“Sus-utee,” John repeated the woman’s name as he bowed respectfully, happy that he still could not detect any recognition in the woman’s eyes. She walked back to her mamateek as the village returned to life, just another morning with plenty to be done.

There were no guards posted to keep watch over the visitors as the Beothuks carried on their daily activities. Men were leaving the village with bows and arrows to hunt. Ounermish’s brother, Coorae was among the children running around laughing and playing as they were shooed away by the women gathered around cooking fires or working on fur garments. Joseph roamed around the village with Ounermish while she introduced him to everyone, young and old.

John and August sat on the ground outside the mamateek watching the activity around them. It was apparent that the Beothuks accepted that by their saving and caring for Ounermish, these visitors were no longer a threat and were incapable of doing them harm. Surely, thought John, they realized that disclosure of their village’s existence to other white settlers could result in their annihilation. But yet, their child-like trust that a single good deed foretold someone’s future actions was unwavering.

Sensing August’s stare, John turned and their eyes met. He expected to see a look of contentment, like a man relaxing at a family reunion after a long separation. Instead, what he saw in August’s dark eyes was a deep sorrow. Clinch began to understand the foundation of his companion’s grief. The expectation of these simple, honourable people that visitors to their land had no reason to cause them harm would eventually lead to their demise.

As dusk fell over the village the three visitors prepared to be escorted back to the lake where they had been discovered by the Beothuk hunting party. From there they would find their way back to Trinity.

Sus-utee approached John. She looked directly into his eyes and said slowly, as if she had practiced by sounding each word repeatedly, “Unc-jon no Hingishaman.”

John realized that Sus-utee did remember him and was apologizing for her actions when they first met, on the day when she showed her hate - not for the man - but for the people he represented.

John felt guilty with the realization that their actions to save Ounermish and return her to her home could result in the removal of the cloak of fear and wariness of white men that had allowed this small band to survive, when hundreds of other Beothuks had not.

So many educated, God-fearing, well-meaning men had turned a blind eye to the Beothuks’ treatment by the English settlers, choosing to take the path of ignorance. John’s curiosity and inquisitive nature now forced upon him a responsibility for these people that he feared he could never meet.

***

After four days away John was looking forward to returning home. He entered his house anticipating the frenzied excitement of the two boys. The house was unusually quiet as he climbed the stairs. Reaching the third step he looked up to see Hannah with her arms crossed on her chest as she looked down at him from the second floor. John’s initial happiness of seeing his wife quickly dissipated. Her red eyes and expressionless stare told him there was bad news. He thought it must be concerning Hannah’s mother who had been ill recently.

“What is it, Hannah?”

Hannah didn’t answer. Her mouth started to quiver and it appeared she was about to topple over the stairs as John ran up to catch her.

“Hannah, what is it?”

“It’s Thomas, he’s dead.”

John was familiar with several men christened Thomas and for a moment the faces of these men flashed through his mind as he tried to recall who had been ill. But why was Hannah so affected by the death of an acquaintance? As he held his sobbing wife the truth hit him. She was speaking of Thomas, their second born child, not yet two.

“He was fussy the night you left and the next day he had a fever. It worsened and he wouldn’t lie down. He would pull his legs up to his belly and cry in pain. I tried to pick him up and when I put my hand on the right side of his belly it caused him much discomfort. After the third day he didn’t cry anymore. He was burning up with the fever and then he just stopped breathing. I didn’t know what to do!” Hannah blurted this out with a single breath and collapsed into her husband’s arms as the strength in her legs was not enough to carry the weight of her grief.

“Cramp colic,” John said under his breath as if he had arrived at an elusive diagnosis of one of his patient’s illnesses. He had first seen the often fatal condition when performing the dissection of cadavers in the early days of his study of anatomy.

***

“Gentlemen, to what affliction do we owe the generous donation of this poor soul to our pursuit of knowledge?” Mr. Hunter would ask his two apprentices. They would engage in a friendly competition to see who would be first to discover the cause of death.

John remembered studying the corpse of a young man. Edward Jenner saw it first, the small finger-like appendage attached to the large intestine had filled with pus and swelled until it burst, spilling its poisonous contents into the abdomen. After several days of agonizing pain and sickness - death was inevitable.

Quickly, before John could make the diagnosis, Jenner pushed back from the autopsy table and savouring victory over his friendly foe, blurted out, “Cause of death – cramp colic.”

***

John had thought often of those heady days of discovery and long nights examining the inanimate bodies splayed before them in the Dead Room - all in the interest of science and medicine. Now the vision of his little boy lying pale and cold on the autopsy table awaiting Mr. Hunter’s finely-honed surgical knife, played on John’s mind. The memory of the stench of death that would linger in their nostrils and permeate their clothes long after they left the Dead Room now returned to John.

As Hannah sobbed in his arms he thought, if only he was there, he would have known what was making his boy sick. He could have done something to save him.

In these thoughts he ignored the fact that physicians had not yet developed a surgical technique to treat cramp colic and it was almost always fatal – there was nothing he could have done.

“Sarah, what I convinced myself to be a well-meaning desire to assist the savages that occupy this island I now see as no more than a facade to justify my childish curiosity. I have come to the realization that my actions are worse than even the despicable practice of the stealing of Beothuk children for the sole purpose of satisfying the curiosity of London’s elite.  God has seen the selfishness of my behaviour and for that He has seen fit to take my son.”

“God is not punishing you Jah. You have seen the affliction that took Thomas many times and you know there is nothing you could have done to save the child. A God punishing you for saving the life of a young girl and returning her to her family would be unworthy of your worship.  You cannot regret past actions that were undertaken to help another, regardless of the consequences of that action. The Beothuk people have need of your skill and compassion. You know that, Jah and to turn your back on them now is not a possibility for a man of your character.”

Chapter 11

The Third Report From the Committee, Appointed to Enquire Into the State of the Trade to Newfoundland.

Reported by Michael Angelo Taylor, Esq. 17th June 1793. (British Parliamentary Committee Minutes, Excerpt - Page 439)

Mr. Thomas Street, being then examined, said He is a merchant, resident at Poole, trading to Newfoundland, and has been for many years. And being asked, What is his opinion respecting the appointment of Officers of the Customs at Newfoundland to be Magistrates?

He said, From his knowledge of the district of Trinity, the inhabitants there complained last year, that from the Deputy Collector of the Customs-house being debarred from acting as a Magistrate, they had materially suffered; and that it is their wish that the same gentleman, who has before in the Commission of the Peace, might be reinstated in that office; and the Witness has authority to say from the majority of the gentlemen in the trade, of the town of Poole, that it is their wish that the Officers of the Customs at St. John’s should again act as Magistrates.

And being asked, What Fishery do the Poole people carry on at St. John’s?

He said, None; but they are generally concerned in the administration of Justice in St. John’s, as the inhabitants there.

And being asked, Whether they go to St. John’s for justice?

He said, Frequently.

And being asked, Did they so disapprove of the Customs-house Officer of Trinity being a Justice that they preferred going to St. John’s to get justice done them?

He said, No; They approved of the Customs-house Officer being a Justice, but circumstances oftentimes, led them, and will always lead them to St. John’s for justice.

And being asked, Whether anything that has happened at Trinity can come before a Justice at St. John’s which is cognizable by the Justice of Trinity?

He said, Frequently their servants take opportunities of running away, and going to St. John’s; the Magistrates there of courts take cognizance of it.

And being asked, Whether he meant to say, that the Justices at St. John’s can take cognizance of what is done in Trinity?

He said, Not of what is done in Trinity, but of such complaints as are laid before them at St. John’s.

And being desired to state, How a Justice at St. John’s can take cognizance of any affairs that have happened at Trinity?

He said, He does not know an instance of it, and does not suppose it is legal for them to do it.

The death of baby Thomas filled Hannah with remorse and John with guilt. Hannah kept busy caring for Edward and her home while John sought solace in his work. He worked from early morning until well after dark and most nights did not return home until Hannah and Edward were long asleep. There was much tension and uneasiness between John and Hannah that both avoided discussing.

John had no idle time as his various duties and responsibilities all but consumed his waking hours and sleepless nights. He would slip into bed next to Hannah and lay awake concentrating his thoughts on anything to keep his mind from slipping back to the one thing he could not control, the vivid dream that reoccurred whenever he allowed sleep to overtake him:

The Beothuk village was deserted of all its residents, but for the two of them. He was sitting on the log in front of the mamateek wrapped in the furs that kept him warm despite the fog that drifted in over the trees and fell softly on the village. He had never before felt so relaxed, yet his senses were so alert to everything around him - the softness of the grass beneath his bare feet, the complete silence except for the steady rhythm of his heart, the sweet smell of pine. His mind was completely purged of all responsibilities, concerns, memories, inhibitions, or guilt for anything he had done, or would do. Only the anticipation of what was about to happen - enhanced with every second he waited – occupied his mind.

Through the mist he could see her head of straight black hair parting the strips of animal skins hanging as a door to her mamateek. Sus-utee came out and stood straight and tall looking across the clearing to see him waiting. She made no attempt to cover her naked body and stood for a moment allowing him to enjoy her beauty as his admiring gaze moved slowly from her feet to her dark eyes, locked in a penetrating stare. She motioned invitingly and turned to re-enter her mamateek. He rose then felt as if he was floating across the clearing and in through the door where she was lying on a bed of furs. She stood and crossed the mamateek, reaching out to slowly remove the furs wrapped around him, dropping them to his feet.

Naked, his whole body shivered although he was not at all cold. She lay down on her side facing away from him and he lay behind her, feeling the warmth of her body as he gently moved her hair, kissed her shoulder and reached to feel the fullness of her breasts.

She rolled onto her back as he traced his fingers slowly - barely touching her skin - around her breasts and her firm abdomen, slowly moving down to just below her navel before his hand retreated back towards her chest. Her legs spread as she held his hand and gently guided it down. He could wait no longer. He rolled onto her as her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him to her.

On July 14, 1790, ten months after the death of baby Thomas, Hannah gave birth to George Charles Routh Clinch.  The delivery was very difficult and the baby’s head was severally misshaped with the sutures of his skull overlapped - a condition known as Headmould Shot.  For weeks the baby suffered from convulsions and there was nothing his parents could do, but hold him and await the worst. Miraculously, baby George did not die, but he did suffer severe brain damage that would make him completely dependent on his parents for the rest of his life.

The Clinches accepted their lot in life and carried on as they had always done. John’s world had become a jumble of science, religion, civic duty, family commitments – things that were more or less public – combined with a secret life and hidden emotional insecurities made bearable only by the childhood memories of his sister, his relationship with the Beothuks, and his innermost desires which he tried to suppress, only to have them resurface in his dreams.

To make sense of all this, and to maintain his sanity, he had to somehow purge his soul, atone for the unchristian thoughts and desires that were consuming the limited amount of idle time in his life. There was no one he could confide in to disclose his feelings of inadequacy, guilt and confusion, so the only alternative was to record his thoughts, experiences, and secret life in a journal - a diary of sorts.

In the beginning he had not intended his journal to be a historical record, but as he began to document his secret meetings with the Beothuks and the relationships he was developing with them, it became the main reason for his writing. He began by writing a record of his first meeting with Sus-utee years earlier and subsequent encounters with her and her people. He wrote about the Beothuk villages and their various locations as the people moved often to avoid discovery by the white men, increasingly encroaching on their ancestral land. He wrote the Beothuk words he could remember and what he thought were their English equivalents. The more he wrote the more he realized his journal could never be disclosed, but still it gave him a sense of clarity and purpose to his life.  His journal entries were the last thing he did at the end of each day before locking it in his desk away from curious eyes.

***

In 1749 Governor George Rodney formalized a system of surrogate courts as the highest level of legal tribunal in the outport communities of Newfoundland.

For the next forty years this judicial system consisted of the naval governor, appointed by annual commission from the British government, and his junior officers who acted as surrogate judges in the coastal communities.

By 1792 John Clinch had resided in Newfoundland for seventeen years and was widely respected, not only as a surgeon and clergyman, but as a civic leader and valued member of society.

Throughout the British Empire the value of the trade of surgery had increased substantially in the eighteenth century. No longer were surgeons considered to be mere barbers. They were vital to the military but also to civilian populations lacking medical doctors. Surgeons had also become increasingly valuable resources of the judicial system.

It was commonplace for surgeons to be called upon to conduct post-mortems to assist courts in establishing the causes of death in questionable instances. As a surgeon, John was often called upon to undertake post-mortems in Trinity. His clear, concise and detailed reports were used to allay any fears of foul play. His work for the judicial system further increased his reputation.

His tireless work was again rewarded when he received a precedent-setting appointment as the first Newfoundland Surrogate Judge not from the British naval ranks. This was yet another role with increasing responsibility that took more of his time at the expense of his family life. Now as surgeon and judge, John Clinch had the unquestionable power to determine when a post-mortem was required.

***

Hannah secretly yearned for the simple life she had left behind to marry John Clinch. To her friends and family her marriage to the educated and admired Englishman was more than a poor fisherman’s daughter could ever hope to achieve. Before John entered her life she was quite comfortable living with her parents and finding love, adventure, and pleasure through books. The thought of sharing a life with a man such as John Clinch was not something Hannah had considered, or desired. But, when it happened, she initially enjoyed it immensely.

Now she found no happiness in her life. The birth of her three boys and the loss of Thomas had taken a physical and psychological toll from which she would never recover.

Hannah resolved that her husband was no different from other influential and powerful men. All wished to attain some semblance of immortality, not just from what they accomplished in their lifetimes, but through the lives of their heirs, sons charged with the responsibility to carry on the family name and tradition. Generation after generation of Church of England priests would not rest until they produced a son that could continue to carry the title of ‘Reverend’ if not ‘Bishop’, or, ultimately ‘Archbishop’.  Merchants, businessmen, and solicitors would not count their children until their wives had given birth to a healthy boy - or several boys - to provide the patriarch assurance that at least one of his offspring would carry on the family’s professional heritage. Only then could they proudly display above the entrance to their business establishments proof that they had a successor - ‘Joseph White & Sons’; ‘Thomas Street & Sons’; ‘Lester and Sons’. They had done all they could to assure their immortality, at least for one more generation.

Hannah had produced three boys, but she accepted that the two surviving boys were not capable of carrying on even one of her husband’s many professions. More children would be needed. She knew her lot in life was no different than other wives, except, in the eyes of other women living a day-to-day life of subsistence and poverty, Hannah Clinch was living a life of opulence and comfort they could not dream of achieving.

She couldn’t reveal her sorrows to anyone, so she retreated into her thoughts. As the Reverend’s wife she was expected to lead church and civic volunteer groups. As the wife of a public figure she was expected to be at the side of her husband at social functions. She accepted and performed these duties, with little enjoyment or fulfillment.

Hannah had achieved a status in society that she neither desired nor cherished, but she accepted her lot in life and went on, having babies that she feared would never be able to live a life on their own, caring for her husband as his drive to succeed pushed him to accept positions of increasing power and influence, and sacrificing the simple things, the only things that gave her pleasure.

Those winter nights, when she and John sat by a warm fire reading each other a passage from a book or the Bible just for the pure enjoyment of hearing the other’s voice and passing the time together was a distant memory of another life that would never return.

Now that John had accepted the position of Surrogate Judge, Hannah knew  he would spend even less time at home and the limited involvement he had in raising the children would be sacrificed in the name of civic duty.  Other women of the Trinity elite married to English merchants would ease their household and family burdens by simply hiring additional servants, young girls from the small villages around Trinity Bay or sent from St. John’s. Such a luxury was not an option for Hannah Clinch.

The congregation of St. Paul’s would not be receptive to the idea that their pennies, collected at Sunday services, were contributing to the hiring of servants for their minister’s pampered wife. John’s wealth increased with each civic appointment, but yet, in his primary role as a Church of England priest, a public demonstration that he lived a life similar to his ‘flock’ was of paramount importance to him.

***

“It is now time to bid the banns for the third consecutive Sunday service, by announcing the engagement of William Abbott of Port Rexton and Mary Sweet of Trinity.” Reverend Clinch hesitated as he gazed at the faces of the congregation restlessly waiting the conclusion of this perfunctory Church of England custom before being dismissed from Sunday service. “As no one has come forward to contest this engagement, all shall forever hold their peace.” John looked at the young couple sitting near the front of the church. The groom-to-be was beaming from ear-to-ear having passed yet another milestone to finally marry his sweetheart. Mary appeared to be looking directly at Reverend Clinch but her blank stare and stoic expression seemed out of character for the girl he had known since she was born.

Mary Sweet was twelve when her parents died. Her father drowned at sea and her mother, always a very sickly woman, died of an inflammation of the lungs brought on by severe catarrh just six months later. Mary, an only child, was taken in by Merchant, Archibald Graham and his wife to work as a servant in their home.

Mary recovered from the tragedy and was a happy, outgoing young woman of nineteen volunteering much of her limited free time to church work when she met William Abbott. That was two years ago and now they were to be married with the full blessing of the church congregation.

As the congregation dispersed from the church into a sunny early Sunday afternoon, the wind was calm, a perfect day for William and Mary to row out through the narrows of Trinity harbour and around Skerwink Head to Port Rexton where they would spend the day with William’s parents and complete their wedding plans.

As William rowed past Skerwink Head, with the mouth of Trinity harbour behind them and the Atlantic Ocean to the northeast, the skies darkened ominously.  William picked up the pace to gain the protection of Port Rexton harbour.

The squall struck with vengeance and William’s small skiff was tossed about close to the rocky cliffs. He fought to keep the boat upright and the last thing - he later said he saw - was Mary’s terrified face as she was thrown overboard when the boat capsized. The layers of skirts she was wearing, in anticipation of the family celebration in Port Rexton, swiftly pulled her down and any attempts to swim were futile.

William later described how he dove several times to try and save his sweetheart as she sank slowly to join her father as yet another victim of the mighty North Atlantic. William was soon exhausted and was now fighting for his own life knowing his Mary was gone. “I couldn’t swim away and leave Mary, and the last I remember I was sinking as it got darker and darker. I felt at peace that I would soon be with Mary,” he would explain between sobs.

When the squall retreated and the incoming tide was able to regain control of the seas, William was washed up on a small rocky beach jutting out from sheer cliffs reaching two hundred feet up to the trail above. He came to on the beach and considered walking out into the surf to die with Mary. Instead, he climbed the cliff and after an hour reached the path to Trinity and walked back to report his tragic loss.

Searchers failed to find Mary’s body, but three days later two boys playing near the beach in Trinity East discovered her bloated remains rolling in and out with the waves.

The wails of angst from poor William could be heard all over Trinity when he was told that Mary Sweet’s body had been found. “Would the poor lad ever recover from his loss?” was asked by all as they listened to his mournful screams. As he screamed he raked the back of his hands with his fingernails, drawing blood until he was subdued and prevented from torturing himself for being too weak to save dear Mary.

The body was taken to Surgeon Clinch who, recalling William’s wide smile and obvious pleasure when his and Mary’s wedding banns were read, quickly concluded that William’s story was beyond reproach. John was preparing to summon the undertaker when he saw something.

It appeared that Mary had desperately ripped at something with both hands so violently that her fingernails were torn away. This evidence was inconsistent with William’s story as he said she was thrown overboard, clear from the boat and quickly sank to her death. If she had been clinging to the boat with the violent wind and waves tearing away her grip the condition of her fingernails could be explained, but that was not the evidence John had been provided. But then, one would expect such confusion and scanty evidence by a survivor to such a tragic accident.

As much as he felt poor Mary Sweet had suffered enough in her short life and did not deserve to now have her body ripped open, John felt he had no alternative but to conduct a post-mortem.

As he slowly cut away the dress he noticed that the top button was missing. Perhaps the tossing about of the body from the tide and wind would have caused the button to tear away. Where the button would have been, just below the thyroid cartilage, there was a deep circular indent with the skin torn in a button shape, much deeper than the thin line of the dress around the bloated neck. “Why would the imprint of the button be deeper into the skin, than the material the button was holding together, if the pressure on the skin occurred after death?” thought Clinch.

The deep bruising around Mary’s neck was also inconsistent with his understanding that she drowned. To establish the position of the button John gently lifted Mary’s head and put both hands around her throat, and found that his thumbs met where the imprint of the button was located.

There were enough unanswered questions that John had no choice but to reach for his instruments and prepare to open the body cavity. He avoided the death stare on the child’s face as her eyelids had already been destroyed after just three days in the water. Using his surgical knife he cut the skin from neck to navel. First, he would break the ribs to gain access to the lungs.

Another question quickly came to light. The lungs were not full of water which would be consistent with drowning. Indeed, the lack of water in the lungs indicated that the poor girl was not breathing but was in fact dead before she entered the water.

As he continued to examine the body, now accepting the mounting evidence supporting the likelihood that Mary died of foul play, another surprise presented itself. Mary was pregnant. By the size of the fetus he surmised she had been with child for at least four months.

John covered Mary’s body and sat back to decide on his course of action.

As magistrate he was the law. Although he had uncovered mounting evidence suggesting that William was not telling the truth he could not conclude that Mary was a victim of murder on the evidence alone. A lengthy murder trial, and the evidence it would introduce, would add further shame to the memory of poor Mary Sweet.

A confession would be a much better way to put to rest this matter.

“William,” he said, “if you are up to it, the constable and I would like to ask you some questions.” Abbott sat sullenly with his head hanging to his chest as he stared at his bandaged hands. “Before we begin I have been asked by Mr. Archibald Graham to express his deepest sympathy. Mary apparently held a special place in Mr. Graham’s heart since he and Mrs. Graham took her in as a servant girl some years ago.” John noted Abbott was grinding his teeth and his hands had curled into fists.

John looked at the constable and saw he had also observed the reaction of the young man. “Mr. Graham thought as much of Mary as one of his own children. Did Mary speak well of Mr. and Mrs. Graham?”

“That bastard, Archibald Graham won’t be going near Mary again.”

“William, what have you done with Mr. Graham?”

“I wrung his bloody neck, is what I done.”

“In your boat, off Skerwink Head?”

“Yes, when Mary told me she was carrying his baby, Graham’s fat, red face appeared before me and I wrapped my hands around his flabby neck and squeezed the life out of him.”

“No my son, it was Mary Sweet you throttled.”

“No, no I love Mary with all my heart. I could never harm a hair on her head!” Abbott raised his head and his jaw slackened as the colour drained from his face with the realization of what had actually happened. “Sweet Jesus, what have I done, what have I done?”

“William, may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Constable, we must alert the authorities in St. John’s.”

Chapter 12

Trinity, Newfoundland

1 December 1796

Edward Jenner

Berkeley, England

My Dear Friend:

I was happy to hear that your situation at Cheltenham was both agreeable and salutary to you and your good lady in point of health, and I sincerely trust that your other inducements of making that spot your summer resort are in some degree answerable to your expectations.

I remark what you say of my dear boy, and although I cannot at present form any notions, or give implicit credit to all that philosophers may say, (probably owing to my not having a single spark of philosophy in my composition) respecting the early education of youth, I shall nevertheless, form a full conviction that my Berkeley friends will do everything for him for the best, always agree with them in the measures most proper to be pursued for his present and future advantage. You never have, and I trust, my dearest friend, you never will, experience a similar separation.

Whenever (and the idea often recurs to my mind) I take a retrospect of the length of time that has already elapsed, and the unavoidable occurrences which have for so long a period, as nearly ten years prevented me from visiting those whom I love and esteem on the other side of the wide Atlantic – you will readily suppose my sensations are, at those times, the most poignant and distressing. Could I behold even that smallest glimmer of hope, that a change for the better in the present convulsed state of Europe was likely soon to take place, I should be particularly happy, but as I see no grounds for so forlorn a hope, the only alternative I have remaining is, that of relinquishing my wished-for intentions of visiting my native shores during the present posture of public affairs.

I am obliged to you for what you say respecting your late discovery. Why not send me a sketch of your idea in print?

I wish you could think of something that would repair the organs of my sensorium, as they still continue in a very impaired state.

I have not had an opportunity of seeing any new publication in the medical way since I left England.

As I conceive you have long ore this received the particulars of our late sudden and unexpected alarm, occasioned by the arrival of Citizen Richery, and the powerful squadron under his command having visited this country in the month of September last, and as I would not wish to hurt your feelings, on this occasion I shall decline giving you a particular account of our distressed situation during the time they continued to lord over us.

I was twice obliged to remove my family and part of my effects to places of greater safety, that the whole, had they been disposed to pay us a visit, might not have fallen a sacrifice to the fury of the enemy, but I am happy to say that we came off much better than could be expected, and have now the pleasure to inform you that we are once more in possession of peace and tranquility, but it will be sometime before order and regularity is again restored at our deserted cottage.

I cannot divest myself of the disagreeable apprehension that as spring approaches we shall have to experience a renewal of our former troubles. However, we must hope for the best.

Yours most affectionately,

John Clinch

Trinity harbour had played an important role in the North Atlantic fishery since the mid sixteenth century. Not only was the harbour considered one of the best in the world, it was spacious enough - it was speculated - to hold the entire British Navy. The harbour is surrounded by high hills providing protection from the weather, but more significantly in the decades of naval warfare, the hills provided excellent locations for batteries from which cannon fire could attack any invading forces. Despite this, Trinity had changed hands between the French and English many times over the years.

In the mid-1740s, the British built - what they considered a formidable fortification on Fort Point. It had eighteen guns and barracks for over two hundred soldiers high above the narrows of Trinity Harbour. With little action during the next twenty years, the fort had fallen into disrepair and was garrisoned with a skeleton force when in 1762 the French in a surprise attack were successful in occupying Trinity.

The French navy had attacked many other settlements, including St. John’s. The British counterattack, a month after the French occupation of Trinity, was concentrated in St. John’s. The French navy, needing to consolidate its defences, withdrew from Trinity to reinforce its strength in St. John’s, but not before the selective and wilful destruction of property.  Buildings were razed, warehouses of goods and provisions the French had no time to pilfer or had no use for were destroyed. Premises owned by merchants who had cooperated with the French during the occupation were spared, but all the people of Trinity felt the wrath of the departing French forces.

In the subsequent thirty years, the people of Trinity rebuilt and were left in peace. But the memory of the French occupation and fear that it could happen again at any time lingered for many years.

One day in September, 1796, a squadron of six French naval vessels sailed through the narrows of Trinity harbour as the British soldiers stationed at Fort Point watched.  Once again the skeleton defence force was no match for the French invaders and not a shot was fired.

The French squadron was commanded by Admiral Joseph de Richery who had distinguished himself during the American Revolutionary War when the French were allied with the Americans in the war against France’s bitter enemy. The French, emboldened by its shared victory over the British, had become increasingly aggressive and desirous of increasing its North American holdings.

Joseph de Richery’s ascent to the rank of admiral had been a tumultuous ride. When the American war ended in 1783, Lieutenant de Richery was assigned to serve in the Indian Ocean where he again showed great promise.

The young naval officer’s career took a drastic turn in 1789 when the radical, social and political movement to overthrow the French monarchy and the ancient aristocratically-ruled feudal system, gathered strength in France. The revolt had been brewing for years and as it grew in strength the ruling class were no longer able to quell the peasants’ desire for change. It became a full blown revolution and France was thrown into years of anarchy.

Joseph de Richery, a member of an old aristocratic family, was stripped of his naval commission. However, he was lucky to escape what would come to be known as the Reign of Terror and the mass execution of enemies of the revolution with the public spectacle of the guillotine. The French Revolution continued for ten years.

In the midst of these tumultuous times the new French Republic recognized that the years of internal conflict made France and its overseas colonies highly susceptible to invasion by its enemies and its navy would be vital in the rebuilding of a democratic France. Naval officers were dominantly recruits from the sons of the wealthy aristocratic families and the new leaders of the Republic soon realized its deposed naval officers were crucial if France was to regain its status as a world power. Selectively, the most promising young naval officers were recalled and re-commissioned to serve the Republic.

In 1793 Joseph de Richery regained his commission with the rank of “capitaine” and resumed his career, moving quickly up through the depleted officer ranks to be appointed “vice-amiral” in 1795.

A year later, Admiral de Richery’s squadron, set on bombarding and destroying English settlements in Newfoundland, had been attacking random targets on the east coast. The French destroyed Bay Bulls and Petty Harbour before moving on to be thwarted in an attempt to attack the heavily fortified harbour of St. John’s. Admiral de Richery ordered the squadron to sail north from St. John’s along the coast and from there it crossed Conception Bay and entered Trinity Bay.

Perhaps de Richery’s thirst for destruction had been appeased by his attacks on Bay Bulls and Petty Harbour, or his squadron was in dire need of resupply when it entered Trinity Harbour. Whatever the reason, this time, Trinity was spared.

The admiral’s six ships anchored in the harbour and with thirty heavily armed marines he was rowed ashore. The boats landed on the narrow beach of Harvey’s Cove. Two hundred feet from the beach, backing on to a twenty foot cliff was a stately Georgian style house. A smaller outbuilding was next to the house.  Admiral de Richery decided this large house would suit him fine as his headquarters during his stay in Trinity. The outbuilding would be a suitable barracks for the dozen men of his shore patrol.

The pounding of a musket butt on the heavy wooden door announced the French arrival. The door was opened and before the invading force stood the Reverend John Clinch: surgeon; customs officer for the Crown; missionary for the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel; rector of St. Paul’s church; and magistrate of Trinity. Clinch stood tall wearing his best coat over a white linen shirt. The stiff clerical collar around his neck and the curly wig sitting atop his head - worn only on the most official occasions since his arrival in the New World - accentuated his height and framed his scarred face bringing all eyes of the invaders to his intense stare.

Admiral de Richery was accustomed to this formal attire, quite common in pre-revolutionary France, as he had lived most of his life surrounded by nobility and educated people who took great care in demonstrating their status in society through their appearance. Since the revolution, the wearing of such formal clothing in public would attract the scorn of the general population.

The young French sailors found John’s appearance hilarious with one shouting a snide remark causing the others to laugh.

Since his return to the navy De Richery had noted how the relationship between sailors and officers had changed. Sailors, emboldened with the apparent increase in the power of the peasantry at home, had become surly, disrespectful of officers and other forms of authority.  The sailors in his squadron would soon learn de Richery would not be ruled by a democratic process and he would not accept any such behaviour.

A sideways glare from de Richery quickly silenced the men. A fearless warrior, quite comfortable with wilful destruction of property and the killing of his enemies when necessary, he would not tolerate men under his command acting in such a disrespectful manner.

“Sir, my name is Joseph de Richery, Vice-Amiral d’eascdre, squadron vice admiral of the Navy of the French First Republic.” His flawless English with just a hint of a French accent told John that this was a man of privileged upbringing and education. “I have need of accommodations during my stay in Trinity and command of you to vacate this building immediately. You and your family will not be harmed and my men will assist in gathering any items that you are able to carry on your person. I assure you sir no harm will come to your property during our occupation.” He bowed slightly then turned on his heels and returned to his boat without waiting for, or expecting, any complaint.

Above all else, John Clinch was a practical man who knew that a display of indignation or refusal to cooperate with the occupiers would accomplish little but the possible destruction of his home.

The British navy would be regrouping and planning its pursuit of the French squadron, so Citizen de Richery’s stay would be short, with his attention concentrated on looting the merchant warehouses and stores for supplies sufficient to get his squadron to the French island of St. Pierre or well out into the Atlantic before the Royal Navy arrived.

John and Hannah gathered up as much as they could carry and with ten-year-old Edward, six-year-old George, and five-month-old John, set out on the long walk to English Harbour where they would stay with Hannah’s parents.

The arduous journey, following a rough trail around the coastline, passed through deep forest, crested high hills overlooking the many coves along the way and traversed bogs where the trail crossed valleys.

There were many other Trinity people along the route, mostly women, children and the elderly who had been forced out of their harbour front properties by the French. Only the young and strong men were of use to the French. They would be forced to carry out the physical work of looting the merchant warehouses of any goods of value, transporting and loading the goods on to the tenders and into the holds of the French naval vessels.

The displaced citizens of Trinity stopped on the crest of hills to look back in the direction of their homes, relieved not to see clouds of dense black smoke which would tell them that the French had decided to raze and burn the town yet again. Along the way some families found shelter in fishing stations scattered around the coast.

By the time the Clinch family reached English Harbour only a few families were left and the people of English Harbour took them in for the duration of the French occupation. Hannah’s surprised parents welcomed them and after a hardy meal the Clinch family slept for most of the next day.

“Uncle John, there is something I have been hoping to talk to you about,” said Joseph who had come to visit his cousins. Joseph was now as tall as his Uncle John and his lanky frame had filled out with the hard-muscled body of a man accustomed to years of physical labour in contrast to his boyish, clear-skinned face.

“There is not much more I can do here but talk,” said John, already bored and feeling the effects of this forced idleness.

“I’m not sure how to tell you,” said Joseph, looking down as he scuffed the toe of his boot nervously on the muddy ground.

“Ah, I understand - a matter of the heart is it, young man?” John grinned as he saw Joseph’s embarrassed flush.

Joseph looked around, concerned that someone else might hear his secret. “Yes, it is, but there is no one else I can talk with.” Joseph hesitated, expecting further prodding from his uncle who just looked at him with a slight smile, enjoying his nephew’s discomfort. “It’s Ounermish. I have visited her village four times since we were first there.” Joseph blurted out his confession afraid that Uncle John would see his visits as a violation of their pact.

John’s smile disappeared as he mulled over the consequences of Joseph’s words. “Does anyone else know about these visits? Joseph, do you understand what could happen if anyone found out?”

“No, no, just Mr. August. I went with him the first two times but I can find the way on my own now. I would never do anything to cause them harm.” Joseph was indignant at the suggestion that he would ever endanger Ounermish or her family. “They have moved their village twice since we were first there. They always have sentries to look out for anyone approaching. I meet a sentry and he brings me to the village. I would never go if anyone else could find the village.” Joseph looked sad. “Uncle John, they need me to help them and they need you.”

Without hesitation, a four day hunting trip was planned. John had not had time to hike the back country or enjoy the wilderness since his time in Bonavista and now with his exile from Trinity he had nothing but time.

Edward was a big child for a ten-year-old, owing to the Hart blood thought John, but his mental state was quite delayed. Edward’s development had been a concern for the past several years but John and Hannah hoped and prayed he would grow out of it. As much as they tried to teach Edward basic social skills, they had come to the realization that he would never be able to function independently. Teased and tormented by the other children he had become a recluse, afraid to venture outside without his parents. John had not spent much time with Edward but now he had the opportunity to do so.

Edward Jenner had offered to take in his namesake, as one of his own family in Berkeley, England where the boy would have more opportunity to develop his cognitive skills. John and Hannah were reluctant to send him so far away and were concerned he might be a burden to the Jenners.  Spending more time with his eldest son would help John decide if Edward Jenner’s offer was in his son’s best interest.

The party of three left English Harbour before dawn and headed into the woods, taking a path northward towards the southern coast of Bonavista Bay. Turning south-westerly, they moved deeper into a heavily forested area with no discernible paths or markers. Joseph led the way followed by Edward and John. John was pleased that Edward was along as he appeared to enjoy the journey immensely. John had difficulty keeping up with Joseph and Edward and they had to wait for him to catch up on several occasions.

That night, they roasted a brace of rabbits they had brought with them and sat around the fire as John regaled the boys with the story of his passage to Newfoundland over twenty years earlier, and the battle fought by the Arundel with the American privateer. The normally hyperactive and disruptive Edward sat quietly, listening intently to every word of his father’s story. For the first time in many years John felt relaxed and he slept soundly that night.

They woke the next morning to find a cold, heavy fog had blanketed the Peninsula. To overcome the dampness and chill they walked for several hours to warm up before stopping to eat. The mist soon turned into a heavy rain and John was concerned for Edward, but the boy seemed to be energized by the increasing challenge of the journey. They ate bread as they walked, to ward off the penetrating chill with the heat of their bodies dissipating through their heavy, wet wool shirts. By late afternoon the sun broke through and they stopped to rest.

Two Beothuk men appeared out of the shadows of the forest and stood near a tall birch tree observing the visitors. They were dressed in skins but their legs and arms were bare and the light skin of one of the men was obvious. Joseph led the Clinches toward the men and they could see that the light-skinned Indian was equal in height to his much older companion but he had the gangling look of an adolescent.

“Coorae!” Joseph called out as he embraced the smiling boy.

“Unc-Jon,” Coorae said in recognition as he turned to look at John.

“Yes, and this is my son Edward.” John pointed to his son looking in amazement at the strange, half-naked Indians.

Continuing through the woods for two more hours they reached the village. It seemed that all remembered John from his first visit and understood Edward was his son. They were offered a mamateek where they could change into furs and allow their wet clothes to dry. As darkness fell a festive atmosphere took over the village. The natives were dressed in their ceremonial clothing and the exposed skin of their arms and faces was smeared with red ochre, as a sign of invitation, but also to symbolize the life force of the Beothuk people. Everyone sat around the blazing fire in the centre of the village talking and laughing as a small caribou carcass was roasted.

Ounermish and Joseph sat together talking in a mixture of English and Beothuk words that only they appeared to understand. Edward, awestruck by all the strange sounds and sights, was sitting beside his father when Coorae came to him and in a combination of words and motions invited him to join the other boys sitting together behind the adults. Without hesitation, and much to his father’s surprise, Edward stood and went with Coorae. Edward was openly welcomed by the younger Beothuks. John watched his son listening intently to the boys chatter and laughed with them as he attempted to repeat the names of each of his new friends. The meat was passed around for all to share. With appetites sated the festive atmosphere was replaced with a quiet peacefulness as the crackling fire slowly died.

As everyone retired to their mamateeks and sleep overtook the village the last thing John heard was the dry, hacking coughs breaking the silence of the sleeping village.

He wasn’t long asleep when the throbbing began deep inside his skull. He did not dare to move for fear his head would explode, and then he heard a soft lilting voice singing. His pain was still overpowering but the rhythmic chant - like a mother singing reassuringly to an ill child that soon she would make the pain go away – was calming. The words were incomprehensible, but the voice was somehow familiar. Warm hands that tenderly caressed his temples and the comforting lap that pillowed the back of his head were drawing out the pain as the pressure in his skull began to subside.

“Jah, I am with you. Don’t be concerned, the pain in your head will soon be gone.”

“Sarah, you are always with me when I most need your comforting, but I fear that someday the condition that causes this agony in my head will be my demise.”

“Jah, that will not happen for a long time. You have much more to accomplish before joining me.  You have the Beothuk people to help through very trying times. Their very survival is in jeopardy.”

“Sarah, these innocent people cannot comprehend the evils that a man is capable of inflicting on another - not for food, not to protect one’s family, not for any apparent reason. Their trusting nature will eventually seal their fate. This brings a great cloud of sadness over me, more hurtful than the physical pain I suffer.”

“You could never rest until you have done whatever you can for them.”

“But Sarah, there is little I can do…..”

His consciousness returned as the pain was displaced with a wave of comfort, total relaxation, and weightlessness, as if his body was floating on a warm cloud.  He opened his eyes hesitantly for fear light would bring back the misery the sweet voice had made disappear.

Her face was just inches from his. Her eyes were closed as she chanted - trance-like - the song John now remembered. Sus-utee’s fingers drew small circles on the sides of his head and he could smell the sweet scent of pine as her hands caressed his face. He thought how he had never before felt such a state of absolute relaxation and contentment. Then his eyes widened and he bolted to a sitting position.

“What is this? What am I doing here? Why are you here with me?” The Beothuk woman jumped to her feet and left the mamateek without speaking.

“Uncle John, it’s okay, she only came to help you. You were screaming out in pain and holding your head. I didn’t know what to do, so I went to Ounermish’s mamateek to get her mother to help you,” said Joseph.

“How long was she here?” demanded John.

“For several hours, you relaxed right off, when she held your head in her lap and sang to you. She was just trying to help.”

John and the two boys quickly dressed in their dried clothes and were preparing to leave the village. Both Joseph and Edward would have preferred to stay, but they would not consider suggesting this to John, who was now very withdrawn and sullen.

As unreasonable as he knew it to be, John felt a sense of guilt, not for what had happened the previous night, but for the feelings aroused in him that he had never felt before. He had always been in control of his feelings, his emotions, and his physical desires, but he now realized something was happening that he could not control. He would be compelled to return to this village despite the moral restraints he had always depended on to determine his every action, every thought. These contradictory feelings both excited and scared him.

As the three quietly gathered their things, not a word was spoken. Edward was standing in the centre of the mamateek looking at his father when their eyes met. Edward would never look directly into anyone’s eyes, always turning away or looking down at his feet. Here in this small village, among people speaking a totally incomprehensible language, Edward felt more at home than he had ever felt. As Edward stared into his father‘s eyes, John Clinch could see a sense of wonder, the unfettered curiosity of a child discovering that the world could be welcoming, friendly and yet, mysterious.

He may never read or write fine letters. He will never stand in the pulpit and gaze down at a congregation awaiting the sermon he had spent hours preparing. He would never be called on to tend to the sick, but Edward could live a very fulfilling life, John realized. A brief visit to this Beothuk village had uncovered traits in his son that John had never seen, or perhaps neglected to notice. Regardless of any concerns he might have with his own feelings, Clinch knew he had to return to this village and to the people who had already influenced him and his son in inconceivable, yet wonderful, ways.

Before leaving, he approached Sus-utee. He put his hand on his chest and pointed to her, “I’m sorry to have frightened you. Thank you for your help.”  Joseph and Ounermish translated as best they could and she seemed to understand as she bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement of John’s apology. She said something in Beothuk and watched as the three visitors left her village and disappeared into the forest.

After hours of walking, and repeating her words over and over in his head, Clinch asked Joseph what Sus-utee’s departing words meant.

“I will be waiting,” Joseph answered without attempting to explain.

Chapter 13

Cheltenham

July 15, 1800

Reverend John Clinch

Trinity, Newfoundland

My dear Friend:

My pursuit, thank God! is constantly making those advances which increase my fame, and will certainly add to the stock of human happiness by eradicating one of the greatest of its miseries. Lest the threads sent you by George should not take effect, I have enclosed a bit more, newly impregnated with the cow-pox virus, but small as it is, divide it into portions, that you may multiply your chance of infecting. Wet it before insertion, or rather moisten it.

My acquaintance with your Governor commenced from my having inoculated his infant daughter. I hope you have got my books on the subject. I am just off to Cheltenham, having spent near six months in London.

This business occupied, as you may suppose, much of my time and attention. A man of the name of Brown, a surgeon in London, has made a variety of efforts to write it down, but finding himself deserted by every medical man of respectability, he shot himself a few days ago. In every case of this sort, I have charity enough to suppose it is the maniac and not the man who draws the fatal trigger.

God preserve us, my dear friend, to see each other once more!

My best remembrance to Mrs. Clinch – Adieu.

Yours most affectionately,

E. Jenner

By 1796, after many years of observation, preparation, research and analysis of results, Edward Jenner was convinced his theory was valid. The administration of cowpox matter to humans would provide immunity to smallpox. Jenner had sought out farmers and milk-maids and heard the folklore and gossip concerning the claims of immunity of many farm workers to smallpox. He would closely follow the simple direction of Dr. Hunter, his friend and mentor: Don’t think, but try; be patient, be accurate. He was ready to take his work a step further.

***

When Sarah Nelms was thirteen her parents decided she had enough formal education. She could read and write, which was more than her parents and her three older brothers could do. Sarah’s mother was expecting another baby and could no longer milk the five cows on the family’s small farm. The work had to be done and now that Mrs. Nelms was bedridden, her work was given to Sarah. The young girl preferred to continue her schooling but the work of the family farm was a priority and she knew no matter of protesting would change her lot in life. She was to be a farm worker, tending to her mother’s vegetable garden and preparing the family’s meals after she’d milked the cows.

Sarah worked from dawn until dusk, preparing breakfast for the men before they left for the fields, cleaning the house, washing clothes, milking the cows and weeding the vegetable garden beside the cottage. Sarah soon forgot about her books as the long days filled with back-breaking work left just a few hours for sleep before dawn and the drudgery of another day.

With hours of scrubbing dishes, clothes and floors the skin on Sarah’s hands - not yet thickened and hardened like that of her mother’s - became dry, tender and irritated. But no matter how sensitive her inflamed hands were, the weeding had to be done and Sarah knelt between the rows of potatoes and gingerly gripped the weeds that had seemingly sprouted overnight, slowly pulled them out of the soil, to extract the plants at their roots. She felt a sharp pain and looking at her right palm she could see the thorn imbedded below the skin. She continued to weed with the thorn just another annoyance.

The next morning her palm was swollen and inflamed and she found it difficult to grip the handle of the big iron pot containing the porridge for the family’s breakfast. After everyone had left the house she soaked her hand in the hot dishwater before going out to the barn to milk the cows.

Sarah forgot about the thorn in her hand and several days later, in the middle of the night, she came down with a fever so severe she shouted out in her sleep waking her parents. The next day the fever did not break and her parents sent for Mr. Jenner.

Sitting by Sarah’s bedside Edward Jenner turned her hand to feel for her pulse, racing with the fever. He saw the sore on the palm of her hand now oozing thick, yellowy pus. Jenner’s eyes widened as his heart pounded excitedly. He was quick to hide his excitement from Sarah’s concerned parents.

“It appears that Sarah has a sore on the palm of her hand that has become inflamed.” He paused and picked his words carefully to not suggest to the Nelms what he hoped their answer would be. “What chores is Sarah charged with, Mr. Nelms?”

“Since my wife has been unable to work, Sarah has taken on her chores.”

“Housework and other duties around the garden, I suppose. That would explain how her hand may have been pricked with a thorn. See there, the sore.” Jenner turned Sarah’s hand to show Nelms the sore on her palm. “Does she do other chores in the barn as well?”

Nelms was becoming uneasy with these questions as he was already feeling responsible for working the girl too hard, but he had no choice with his wife unable to work. “Sarah also milks our cows - I can’t hire anyone to do that.”

“I understand, Mr. Nelms. Have any of your cows had cowpox?”

“Yes, Blossom’s udder has been sore for days.”

“Mr. Nelms, it appears that your daughter may have contracted the cowpox through the wound on her hand. She should be fine in a couple of days but I would like to take her to my home to observe her until she recovers.”

Jenner observed Sarah carefully and by the next day the fever broke and she appeared to be on the way to a full recovery. He carefully scraped the pus from the seeping sore on her hand and placed it in a glass vial. With his surgical knife he made a small cut in her hand, removed the imbedded thorn and bound her hand in clean cloths.

With Sarah Nelms, Jenner had found a source of cowpox matter, the first requirement of his experiment. Now he needed a control subject he was sure had never been exposed to smallpox.

With the prevalence of the disease many adults would have contracted it in childhood and therefore would not be suitable test subjects.

On May 14, 1796, Edward Jenner took the pus he had obtained from Sarah Nelm’s hand, applied it to a strand of wool and placed it in a small cut he’d made with a surgical knife on the arm of James Phipps, the eight-year-old son of his gardener.

After a week, James came down with a fever and some uneasiness that lasted for two days. The cut on his arm had become inflamed and Jenner kept an eye on it until he was sure it was healing. The lad totally recovered from any ill effects and was anxious to get outdoors.

Jenner waited three weeks and then sent for James Phipps and his father. Mr. Phipps was aware of the surgeon’s intention and although he did not totally understand it, he accepted Jenner’s assurance that no harm would come to the boy.

James’s arm was again cut and he was inoculated with active smallpox matter. Days and weeks went by and Jenner checked on James every day. The boy showed no ill-effects from the smallpox inoculation. Jenner then went on to inoculate ten other people with smallpox matter, all of whom had, at some previous time contracted cowpox. None of those people contracted smallpox. Edward Jenner was convinced he had the scientific proof he had strived for years to find.

Jenner, well into middle age, realized he would have to give up his life of comparative affluence if the magnitude of his discovery was to save future generations from the scourge of smallpox. His closest friend, John Clinch, had sought out a life as a medical missionary in the New World and Jenner now would become a missionary for a different cause - a missionary for the eradication of smallpox.

Advancing age and battles with disease had taken their toll on Jenner. Three years earlier his second attack of typhus fever had nearly proved fatal and he no longer had the strength to pursue his work alone. His nephew, George Jenner, responded to his request to return to England from Newfoundland and became the surgeon’s valued assistant, attendant, and constant companion.

Edward Jenner’s father had died when he was just five years of age and he was brought up by the eldest of his two brothers, Stephen, who following in their father’s footsteps, was a Church of England vicar. After their father’s death Stephen, as head of the family, raised Edward until he left home for school.

Stephen married when Edward was quite young and had a son, George. Edward Jenner was very close to his nephew George Jenner and played a major part in his upbringing and education.

In 1789, a young George Jenner - accepting an offer from John Clinch to assist with his missionary work and medical practice - left England for Newfoundland.  It was very difficult for Edward when his nephew left England to pursue a life in that far off land where Edward’s closest friend had been living for years, but Edward saw him off with his full blessing.

After two years, George Jenner proved to be more passionate about his work as a cleric, and perhaps wanting to get out from under the shadow of John Clinch, moved on from Trinity to accept a position as a minister in Harbour Grace, Conception Bay.  He gained the respect of his congregation and enjoyed immensely his time in Harbour Grace, but when he received news of his Uncle Edward’s illness he did not hesitate to return to England. George had followed Jenner’s work over the years and realized any assistance he could offer his uncle was a calling as great as any he could accomplish as a clergyman.

The two Jenner men worked tirelessly and in June of 1798 Edward Jenner described the results of his experiments in a paper, titled:

“An Inquiry into Causes and Effects of The Variolae Vaccinae, a Disease Discovered in Some of The Western Counties of England, particularly Gloucestershire, and known by the name of The COW POX”

Many in the medical fraternity derided Edward Jenner, a mere surgeon with the crazy postulation, causing a human to contract a disease common to cows – Variolae Vaccine, or as translated from Latin, “the pox taken from a cow”- would result in immunity from smallpox, a much more virulent disease responsible for killing and maiming untold millions for centuries.

Fears that people would develop bovine-like physical and psychological characteristics if they were subjected to the Jenner inoculation were spread by his detractors. Perhaps what really irked the hierarchy of the medical profession was the fact that this visionary approach was being put forward by a surgeon and not one of their own learned ‘Doctors of Medicine’.

Surgeons obtained their training through an apprenticeship system where they worked with experienced surgeons who, in the minds of many medical doctors were no more than barbers with the sharp instruments required to undertake excisions and amputations - often the only treatment option for many injuries and diseases.

University-trained Doctors of Medicine commonly practiced without ever touching a patient and ordered treatment by their observations and examinations of patients’ appearance, urine and blood. Now, Jenner, the upstart surgeon, was suggesting - with his scientifically validated research - a revolutionary new approach of preventing the contraction of a virus rather than the treatment of its symptoms.

Despite the fact Jenner received his training as a surgeon-apprentice and not as a university medical school graduate he had acquired a following for his astute observation of medical conditions and often presented his findings to the medical profession through personal presentations or written reports in medical publications.

He had learned very early in his career that the medical fraternity, like any other profession, was fraught with egos, vanity and narcissism. Often, the publication of a paper on any number of physical conditions meant more to its author than the benefit the finding might have for health care. The competition between physicians to rush to publish papers to enhance their reputation was often no more than one-upmanship. Friendships and professional cooperation were sacrificed in the interest of vanity.

Jenner and John Clinch had witnessed this often in their apprenticeship under Mr. Hunter, the most renowned surgeon of his day. In fact, Jenner had made an observation while he and John were conducting a post-mortem during that time that put them both to the test.

The victim had died suddenly at fifty years of age. He had no known medical conditions or serious illness in his past. Until several weeks before his death, the man enjoyed a brisk walk from his home to his office every day and appeared to be quite fit. He was not a heavy drinker and did not smoke. By all appearances he was quite healthy when he collapsed while removing his coat after arriving at his office one morning.

Edward and John saw it as a challenge to determine the cause of this man’s death when they read the records pinned to the end of the autopsy table in the Dead Room.

“In the last three months he had complained of aches in legs,” said John reading from the report. “Recently he found it too tiring to walk to his office and had taken to hiring a carriage. He had been finding it increasingly more difficult to breath but yet he did not have a cough so he thought nothing of it.”

As John read, Edward was opening the chest and examining the vital organs.  “His physician had examined him thoroughly several weeks ago and reassured him he was a picture of health and his lethargy was due to excessive work. A relaxing weekend in the country was prescribed to return the patient to his former vitality.”

“The lungs do not appear to be diseased,” said Jenner. “Stomach and intestines appear to be normal for a man of fifty. There doesn’t appear to be any inflammation.” Jenner stood and folded his arms, to think and mused something John was thinking as well. “Indeed, the symptoms you read are quite similar to Mr. Hunter’s daily complaints: shortness of breath; extreme tiring after climbing a flight of stairs; leg aches, but yet he is able to work long hours. Why would this younger man’s heart suddenly cease to beat so unexpectedly?”

Jenner looked down at the chest cavity and tracing an artery with his hand he cut into it with his surgical knife. Expecting the knife to slice through the tissue easily he was surprised when it struck something hard. “John, my knife has struck something, so hard and gritty, as to notch it. I think we have found something that may indicate the reason the blood flow to the heart suddenly stopped.”

“We have to show this to Mr. Hunter,” said John.

“If indeed the symptoms this man complained of were caused by this gritty substance within this artery and it also caused his heart to suddenly stop, then we may have found something of significance. But, John we have no idea what caused this condition. To show Mr. Hunter would only serve to alarm him, to give him cause to live in fear of a sudden attack of the heart simply because he has similar symptoms. We can’t do that.”

Edward Jenner was perhaps the first to describe clearly the calcification and narrowing of the coronary arteries, a condition that later was known as angina pectoris. Such was his admiration and respect for Mr. Hunter, his teacher, mentor, and friend, and as a demonstration of his loyalty, he decided against publishing his observation.

Mr. Hunter had symptoms similar to those of the dead man and he did not want to worry him. Some years later, after Hunter’s death, a post-mortem revealed the cause of death to be thromboses of the coronary arteries, proof of Jenner’s prophecy.

So respected was Surgeon Jenner that, on the recommendation of distinguished London physicians, he had obtained, in absentia and without examination, the degree of M.D. from the University of St. Andrews in Scotland in 1792.  But still, Dr. Jenner’s preposterous idea to prevent smallpox was not readily received by the British medical fraternity.

The medical profession was eventually forced to accept Edward Jenner’s work when it received a testimonial from the most prestigious of British educational institutions. The testimonial stated that:

“Cowpox is not only an infinitely milder disease than smallpox but has the advantage of not being contagious, and is an effectual remedy against the Smallpox” – Oxford University

Edward Jenner’s work was gaining recognition throughout Europe and he was quickly becoming the pride of England. One of the first people he remembered was his boyhood friend and confidant, John Clinch. He sent one of the few copies of his 1798 paper to John signed:

For the Reverend John Clinch from his affectionate friend,

the Author.

John Clinch received Jenner’s paper late in the year of 1798 and pored over it, digesting every minute detail of the experiments described. He had no doubt that his friend’s work would prove to be one of the most significant developments in medical history. He also knew that Edward Jenner would ensure he would soon receive a supply of a substance described by a new word in the English language that was quickly becoming familiar to all physicians. Edward Jenner would send John Clinch his vaccine, for administration to the people of Newfoundland.

Chapter 14

Trinity, Newfoundland

15 October, 1800

Edward Jenner

Berkeley, England

My Dear Friend:

I will hasten to tell you the general result of my practice in the vaccine against disease in the Island of Newfoundland.

I informed you in a former letter that the matter sent me by your nephew produced the effect completely, although from the date it was kept four months.

I began inoculating my own children, and went on with this salutary work till I had inoculated seven hundred persons of all ages and descriptions.

Many opportunities soon offered at St. John’s (where smallpox was making great ravages) which afforded convincing proofs of the safety of the practice, to the inhabitants and servants of Trinity Bay. They saw (at first with astonishment) that those who had gone through the Jennerian inoculation were inoculated with the small-pox and exposed to the infection without the least inconvenience, and I hope it will every day become more and more extensive, as nothing can be more certain than that it will annihilate the worst and most dreadful of all disorders, the small-pox.

Sincerely,

John Clinch

John Clinch’s scarred face was his daily reminder of the disease that had taken his beloved twin sister, Sarah and a part of his soul. He had no doubt the work that had consumed Edward Jenner for much of his professional life would soon prove to be as effective in the prevention of smallpox as his friend claimed.

There were reports that an epidemic of smallpox had broken out in St. John’s. With Trinity as a port of call for hundreds of ships from St. John’s every year, John knew that he would soon be performing funeral ceremonies for the children of his friends, his congregation, and perhaps even his own family.

John and Hannah had been blessed with five sons. Two of their sons, Thomas and John had died before their second birthdays. John had come to the realization that his three surviving sons - Edward 13, George 9, and John 3, the second boy named after his father - suffered from such a high degree of imbecility that they would never be able to provide comfortable subsistence for themselves. Hannah was again pregnant and John hoped and prayed for the health of the unborn child. He was very concerned for Hannah’s emotional state should she give birth to another sickly child. He also hoped for a child who could one day carry on his work.

One June evening as the setting sun was about to dip below the hills surrounding Trinity, John and Hannah were sitting outside relaxing after supper. As they looked out over the glassy surface of Harvey’s Cove, they heard approaching footsteps on the narrow path around the base of the hill behind the Clinch home. The visitor’s gait was uneven as one boot struck the ground solidly followed by the shuffling sound of the other boot as it was tentatively dragged forward. The footsteps stopped near the corner of the house.

Without turning to see the visitor, Clinch said, “Hannah, I trust that seafarers all around Trinity Bay can rest easy tonight with the knowledge that Captain Lloyd of His Majesty’s Royal Navy has again traversed the mighty Atlantic to grace our shores with his presence.”

“Ah, the rumours are apparently true. The Reverend Clinch, spiritual leader and pillar of the town of Trinity, has been gifted with powers of perception far beyond those of any mere mortal,” said Captain Lloyd.

John rose from his chair and held out his hand to his friend, “Welcome to our home, Captain. You must be famished after many weeks of galley food but we shall soon remedy that. Sit and relax.”

“I would never turn down a meal cooked by the gracious Mrs. Clinch, but first I have something for you I trust you are expecting.” Lloyd opened a small pouch and removed a glass vial sealed with cork and wax. “I have been directed by George Jenner, acting as agent for his uncle, Edward Jenner, to deliver this to you without delay.”

John took the vial and held it gently in his cupped hands, holding it as if the slightest movement would cause it to shatter. He thought how insignificant and fragile was this small glass vessel containing pus from the oozing sores of milkmaids’ hands, and yet it could save the lives of countless numbers of children and adults and spare many others a life of misery.  Lloyd removed a paper from the pouch and handed it to John who read the short, concise instructions in the familiar handwriting of Edward Jenner.

John:

The threads enclosed in the glass vile have been impregnated with the cow-pox virus, but small as it is, divide it into portions, that you may multiply your chance of infecting. Moisten it before insertion.

Good Luck,

Edward

John knew, in his twenty-five years in Newfoundland, there was nothing he had done in any of his spiritual, medical, or civic duties that could come close in significance to the action he was about to undertake. But, to maximize the results he was convinced were attainable, he must carefully plan his approach.

He set to work long into the night preparing a Sunday sermon that would - uncharacteristically for a Church of England minister – preach the virtues of science over and above prayer, in order to overcome one of the most feared of diseases. He would preach how the will of God sometimes needs assistance from man to perform the Almighty’s greatest feats.

He worked on what he felt would be the most important sermon he would ever deliver in St. Paul’s church as if he were speaking directly to his long-departed mother. He realized a sermon forceful enough to convince Ginelli Clinch that the Lord’s power was not always omnipotent and sometimes man’s intervention was required would be a challenge worthy of the greatest of preachers. If he felt he could have convinced his mother to have her children receive the Jennerian vaccine, convincing the congregation of St. Paul’s and the rest of the population of Trinity would be achievable.

Sunday finally arrived and John extolled the benefits of the vaccination program he would begin the next day. All who had not suffered from smallpox in their lives were asked to come to be administered the vaccine. Trinity was free from smallpox at that time but with the outbreak in St. John’s ‘The Pox’ would soon return to the town.

Reaching beneath his clerical robes he brought out the worn and tattered prayer book he had received from his parents when he left home at thirteen. He thumbed through it slowly, stopping at the section titled, Meditation and Prayers for Sick Persons. Finding the prayer he needed, he raised his head to look at the faces of the congregation and spoke:

“This prayer book was a gift from my parents when I left home at thirteen to train as a surgeon. I have carried it with me all these years as it reminds me of my family and my twin sister. For many of you the sight of this prayer book in my hands was an omen of bad news as you watched me select a prayer from its pages to read at the bedside of your sick and dying parents, husbands, wives, and children.” He hesitated to look at the faces in the church to ensure he had their attention.

“We are subjected daily to the ravages of many diseases: typhus, cholera, dysentery, and so many other internal disorders, the causes of which we cannot comprehend and perhaps never will. No person in this church today has escaped the pain and suffering of the most dreaded of these diseases, smallpox. The young are most susceptible to smallpox and every family plot in our cemetery contains small graves bearing witness to the toll it has taken on our children. Smallpox took my sister, Sarah, from me so I too feel your pain when performing funeral ceremonies for your children. However, my friends, we now have before us an opportunity to remove the threat of smallpox from our children forever. Please bow your heads and pray with me as we remember our dearly departed, but with a renewed hope that I shall never again read this ‘prayer for sick persons’ at the bedside of one of our smallpox stricken loved-ones:

Come my soul and let us reason together, concerning the things that have befallen us. This body to which though art united, flags and droops; the vigour of it is abated; its beauty withered and wasted; the well-knit limbs are grown feeble, and with great difficulties, sustain their weight, or obey thy commands. They scarce perform any offices aright; and when they do it is with faintings and tremblings. They seem to groan and sink under their burden; and each member, which was formerly want to serve thee with wonderful cheerfulness and activity now calls for succours from abroad; and is no longer able to support itself.

A hope, which assures us, we shall not perish, but only be changed, and in the midst of languishing and departing struggles can bear up under, nay, can triumph over agonies and death itself. Here then, I will fix my thoughts; I will come before the Almighty with a song, and make my prayers under the God of my life.

Amen

Tomorrow morning I will vaccinate anyone who has not yet had smallpox who presents themselves to my clinic. This simple procedure will involve the application of a small portion of cowpox pustule matter to a scratch on your arm. After a few days of minor discomfort you will be forever shielded from catching smallpox. I have enough vaccine to vaccinate everyone in Trinity area. Spread the word to your friends, neighbours, and acquaintances, everyone is welcome to receive the treatment. Together, my friends, we can ensure that our children will never again suffer and die from the ravages of smallpox.”

John felt confident he had convinced the people of St. Paul’s of the importance of coming to his clinic with their children to receive the vaccine.

Eighteen-year-old Joseph Hart listened carefully to his uncle and while he didn’t understand exactly what he and the rest of the congregation were being asked to do, he knew by the intensity and passion with which Uncle John had delivered his sermon it was very important and Joseph would never question his uncle’s convictions.

Joseph was not so sure that the rest of the parishioners were as convinced.

Joseph overheard a man speaking to one of the several groups of parishioners gathered outside the church. “My children are healthy and hearty. I don’t see any need to make them sick,” the man said.

“I had smallpox when I was eight and I‘m no worse for it,” another man said.

“If this ‘vacsin’ the Reverend talks about is so good, why isn’t it being given to the people in St. John’s?  Is it to be tested on the people of Trinity before the Governor decides it’s worthy for St. John’s? There’ll be no pus from a cow’s udder stuck into the arms of my family!”

As each dissenting member of the congregation expressed concerns, more people were convinced that their hesitation to seek out the smallpox vaccination was justified despite their respect for Reverend Clinch and his past guidance.

Illness brought on by unsanitary living conditions and malnutrition was no less prevalent in Newfoundland than it was in Europe. Once an infectious disease entered a community it quickly became an epidemic that ravaged the young, the weak, and the old.

It was suspected that diseases were airborne, entering the lungs of a victim and carried throughout the body by the blood. The age old treatment for most diseases was bloodletting. There was a common belief that the disease was in the blood and draining blood from the body would cause the disease to be purged. The physician simply cut into a vein and let a quantity of blood run off.  To increase the flow of blood, often a “cupping” technique was used. A cup was pressed over the incision effectively increasing the flow of blood by the vacuum created. If there was no improvement after a few days, it was not uncommon for the physician to administer a second and third bloodletting treatment.

More often than not the treatment was worse than the disease it was intended to cure because it weakened the patient’s natural ability to fight off the disease and sometimes caused the patient to go into shock before dying.  Only the strongest and fittest survived the disease and the treatment.

By the time John Clinch and Edward Jenner began their study to become surgeons, bloodletting had become less prevalent, but it was still widely used by older physicians when there were no other treatment options.

Having seen otherwise healthy people of all ages die from any number of diseases, with or without traditional medical treatment, it was not surprising that the people of Trinity would be sceptical. They could not understand how a new technique to administer a foreign substance (from a cow of all things) into their bodies when they were perfectly well would save them in the future from one of the most-feared diseases.

The more people talked the more fear of the unknown overpowered their reasoning. John had overestimated his power of persuasion and the respect the people held for him as, not only a spiritual leader, but as their physician. He was prepared for an onslaught of people to receive the vaccine the next morning, but only Joseph Hart came.

John was crestfallen and angry. He was angry with the people and he was angry with himself for failing to convince them that - if nothing else - receiving the vaccine could do them no harm. They had nothing to lose and everything to gain. How could they be so ignorant, inconsiderate, and unconcerned about their children’s health?

These same people would come banging on his door when their babies woke them crying from the sores covering their bodies, every inch of their skin on fire and their eyelids glued shut with sticky pus. They would beg of him, “Please Mr. Clinch, save my baby!”  He would answer, “There is nothing I can do.”

In his rage John could smell the nauseating stench given off by the victims’ bodies. Either child or old man, the smell was indiscriminate. Their throats so full of sores the victims would be unable to swallow even a drop of water. How could these foolish people forget so easily what so many of them had witnessed in the past?

Joseph watched his uncle as he stamped around the clinic sputtering all these questions.

“How can they be so ignorant?” John shouted.

“Ignorance and fear cause people to do terrible things,” Joseph said under his breath fearing the man’s rage would be directed at him. He had never heard Uncle John raise his voice in anger. The man was always in control, rational and unfazed by even the most terrible events. Joseph had seen his uncle after the deaths of his children, Thomas who died in 1789 and John who died in 1795. With all the training and skill he had acquired since his apprenticeship at thirteen, he could not save his children. Somehow he managed to bury them and hide his grief as he moved on to tend to the sick children of his neighbours.

Uncle John always displayed the traits of a man Joseph wished he could become: hard working, respected, and most of all, admired by the people. This man, shouting and spitting words incoherently as he paced pack and forth, was a stranger to Joseph, who looked down at his feet for fear of making eye contact.

John had not heard Joseph’s whispered reply and again shouted, “How can these people be so ignorant?”

“Ignorance and fear cause people to do terrible things,” Joseph said again, loud enough for his uncle to hear.

“Joseph, what are you saying? Look at me!” John stopped suddenly, glaring at Joseph for being so bold.

“You said to me a long time ago – ‘Ignorance and fear cause people to do terrible things’ - When I asked you, why men would shoot an old Beothuk woman - Ounermish’s grandmother - for fun. You said that to me. Uncle John, the people don’t understand what it is you want them to do and they are afraid of the unknown.”

John tried to think of a response to berate his insolent nephew, but the words did not form and his rage was subsiding.

Joseph was right. He couldn’t give up. Words alone would not convince the people of the benefit of vaccination. He thought of the years of battles that Edward Jenner had fought to have his discovery accepted by learned men of the medical profession before ever attempting to convince the ignorant masses.

“You’re right Joseph - so very right. I must demonstrate to the people that the vaccine cannot harm them and then they will realize that if there is even the slightest chance it can reduce the risk of their children catching smallpox they will concede to their better judgement.”

“Uncle John, I want to help. I owe you so much for what you have done for me and Ounermish and I have no doubt that what you say is true. Please let me help you.”

A smallpox epidemic was ferocious and non-discriminatory. It attacked the wealthy and educated as well as the poor and illiterate. John realized that for the people of Trinity to be convinced of the benefits of his plan he had to first convince the community leaders.

He sent Joseph to the business establishments, and to the homes of merchant managers and civic leaders, with a notice from Magistrate Clinch of an emergency meeting to be convened the next day at the Court House. The notice was intended to alarm with a forewarning of a life or death issue concerning their children.

Enough people attended the meeting to ensure that John’s message would quickly spread - much as death itself would spread, if the next smallpox epidemic was allowed to take hold, unabated.

“Gentlemen, I will not again try to convince you to recall the impact smallpox has had on our families. However, you all know smallpox will return as sure as there will be snow this winter. I only ask that you observe a simple demonstration.”

He hesitated to ensure he had the attention of everyone before summoning his nephew. Joseph stepped forward and removed his shirt. With a lancet John made a slight cut in his nephew’s arm. The men in the Court House, including many who had been preparing to leave, not wanting to hear another sermon, now moved closer to see what John was doing.  He removed a small pus-covered thread from a glass vial and cut off a small piece. With the particle of thread on the tip of the lancet he showed it to the men, moistened it in a saucer of water, applied it to the open wound, and tied a cloth around Joseph’s arm.

“Gentleman, in ten days this wound on Joseph’s arm will heal and he will thereafter be unsusceptible to smallpox. I will perform the process you have witnessed on my children and my wife this very evening. I leave you with one question. For want of a scratch on your children’s arms, would you leave to chance their dying of smallpox?” Not waiting for an answer, he turned and left the Court House. There was nothing more he could do or say.

“Come in,” John said in response to a knock on his clinic door the next morning. He was at his desk reading by candlelight as the early morning sun did not yet have enough strength to burn off the fog.

“We’ve come for the smallpox medicine, sir.” A man, a woman and three children, all less than ten years of age, stood in the doorway. The father looked familiar to John but he did not recognize him in the dim light.

John prepared his instruments and began to vaccinate the children first, starting with the smallest. “You aren’t members of St. Paul’s congregation. How did you hear of this?”

“Father Murphy spoke of your work at Holy Trinity at Sunday Mass,” the father answered. The oldest child, a boy of nine, having watched his brother and sister squirm with the cut on their arms, was very scared. “Patrick, Mr. Clinch saved my life many years ago,” the man said to distract his son.

John wrapped the bandage around the boy’s arm and studied the man’s face. It had been almost twenty years, but now he recognized him. “Michael Dunphy, it has been a long time indeed since our paths have crossed. You have done well since our encounter.”

“Mr. Clinch, I have been indebted to you all these years but I never thanked you. And now here I am again asking you to protect my children.”

Memory of the flesh torn from Michael Dunphy’s back from the flogging sentence he had imposed came back to John. “The infliction of severe corporal punishment is hardly grounds for gratitude, Michael.”

“Thanks to you I was able to stay in Trinity and make a life for myself, build a home, marry Catherine, and start a family. I’m a very lucky man to have met you so early after my arrival in Trinity.”

“If only there were more people like you Michael, with faith in my medical advice.”

With a knowing smile Michael opened the door and motioned to John to look outside. The queue stretched past the clinic, along the laneway leading across the front of the house, and on to Church Road.

They had come, first one family, then two families, and as word spread through Trinity and the smaller communities around the Bight, virtually every man, woman, and child who had not previously contracted smallpox, received the vaccine. Within days John vaccinated over seven hundred people.

As fast as the fastest schooner could sail to St. John’s - a town in the early stages of yet another smallpox epidemic - word spread that the people of Trinity were being protected from smallpox by some miraculous process administered by a man named Clinch.

Admiral Pole, the Governor of Newfoundland, and the King’s representative in the colony, had received a supply of the vaccine. But, before having physicians administer it to the people of St. John’s, he summoned John Clinch to provide evidence of his experience in Trinity.

Knowing that only a demonstration would convince the civic leaders in St. John’s of the benefits of the vaccine administered in Trinity, John, accompanied by Joseph Hart, travelled to St. John’s on the next available ship.

To convince the governor and gathered physicians, John, as he would later write to Edward Jenner, ‘put Joseph to the most rigid test by inoculating him with activo-variolous (smallpox) matter and exposing him to a contagious atmosphere by having Joseph spend several hours confined to the room of a dying man in the latter stages of smallpox, without producing, in either instance, the smallest effect on his system’.

Governor Pole was so impressed with John’s demonstration he recruited Dr. John McCurdy to undertake a smallpox vaccination program in Portugal Cove, a fishing village several miles from St. John’s that was already in the throes of a smallpox epidemic.

Dr. McCurdy and John immediately set out to convince the people of Portugal Cove to receive the vaccination.

Dr. McCurdy later said in a letter to the Governor, ‘I shall use every argument in my power to remove their prejudice and prevail upon them to embrace the salutary effects of a prophylactic means greater than any other in the annals of medical history’.

John and Joseph returned to Trinity with the knowledge that a full scale vaccination process was underway in St. John’s and other settlements and villages in the proximity of the city. As much as John wanted to remain in St. John’s to ensure that the vaccination process was administered in keeping with his high standards, he could not.

Hannah was in the last weeks of pregnancy and John was very concerned for his wife’s physical and emotional state. For weeks her appetite had waned and she had fallen into such a state of anguish, in anticipation of yet another disabled child, John feared Hannah’s sixth childbirth would take a great toll on her. At forty-five, she was well past her prime childbearing years.

Just days after John arrived home Hannah gave birth to another son. The baby would be christened Frederick Garland Clinch. Hannah sensed something different in this child, something that invigorated her physically and emotionally. Frederick, although somewhat underweight was a tall baby and even in his first days of life was very alert, much different than his older brothers. The arrival of the healthy baby allayed Hannah’s fears. Her appetite and strength returned and soon her breasts were full for the ravenous baby.

Hannah Clinch had a reason to go on.

***

Edward Jenner used the documented success of the vaccination program initiated in Trinity, together with evidence obtained from other ‘foreign parts’, as evidence to help in his appeal before the House of Commons – that august body being still not able to justify the universal benefit of smallpox vaccination.

Indeed, Jenner’s battle to convince the government would continue for years after his discovery and the validation of his work by other practitioners - initially John Clinch – finally helped to convince the British government.

In 1802 the British Parliament granted Edward Jenner £10,000 for his work to date and to support his continuing research. Five years later Parliament awarded him an additional £20,000.

Perhaps what demonstrated the significance of his work, more than any financial rewards, was the invitation to join the British College of Physicians and adopt the title of Doctor of Medicine.

Jenner had been obsessed with finding the answer to a human condition caused by man’s interaction with a domesticated animal - a cow. Others had observed this for hundreds of years but failed to recognize, or were unable to scientifically validate, the positive benefit of this condition to mankind. Jenner was different than the others. He asked why and would not rest until he had the answer.

John Clinch wondered if in his lifetime he would witness other diseases that might be prevented through techniques developed as a result of scientific investigation as used by Jenner. John remembered his father and how he encouraged his son to ask questions and not simply accept things as they were.

***

Alacrity, bound for France, was two days out of Quebec with a cargo of furs and timber. The western voyage from Toulon was uneventful. After two weeks in Quebec, Captain Alain Grenier was happy to leave the many temptations the city offered his crew. The ship was making good time with strong westerly winds astern as it sailed towards the mouth of the St. Lawrence. Grenier would not relax until his ship was out of sight of land and well on its way across the Atlantic.

The men were uncharacteristically sombre, considering they were returning home after months at sea, but Grenier put it down to their heavy consumption of alcohol over the last few days in port before facing weeks of sobriety at sea.  Still, Grenier, a sailor for thirty years, twenty in the French Navy before retiring to take on a position as skipper of the Alacrity, had the nervous ache in the pit of his stomach, always a precursor of a turn for the worst.

As the ship passed to the south of Anticosti Island he set a course for the south coast of Newfoundland. Grenier’s secret feelings of foreboding were soon to be validated. He was informed by the second mate, who also served as ship’s surgeon, that ten of the thirty crewmen had come down with severe vomiting and fever which could not be blamed on alcohol withdrawal.  If any more men fell ill the ship’s transatlantic voyage would be in jeopardy. Grenier ordered the course altered to a heading that would take them to Gaspé. He preferred to seek assistance from a French village rather than the English ports his ship would be passing later into the voyage.

As the Alacrity neared Gaspé the sight of so many of the crew covered with a raised rash indicated this was not just a case of ague that would work its way through the crew before the shores of North America were well astern.

Smallpox was aboard the Alacrity. No port welcomed a vessel carrying smallpox and for a ‘sick’ ship to secretly enter a port could result in it being burned with all its crew should the inhabitants learn that smallpox had been knowingly brought to them.

It was determined that as many as nine of the crew had previously suffered from smallpox and Captain Grenier hoped that others would not contract the disease. But in the close proximity of the crew’s quarters, this would be unlikely.

He had no choice but to return the Alacrity to its trans-Atlantic course and pray that each able-bodied crewmember would be physically capable of carrying on the work of several men until the disease ran its course.

By the time the ship passed the south coast of Newfoundland, half the crew had fallen sick and Grenier realized it would be suicide to continue to sail across the Atlantic. Alacrity’s course was altered to a northerly bearing and she worked her way along the east coast of Newfoundland, north of St. John’s. Grenier avoided the well-fortified harbour of St. John’s fearing hatred of the French might still linger as a result of past wars. The ship crossed the mouth of Conception Bay and passed by Baccalieu Island to enter Trinity Bay.

By this time, just twelve of the crew of thirty were still fit to sail the ship. Grenier decided he could either enter a port, or turn the Alacrity out into the Atlantic, an act which would condemn all to certain death.

The Alacrity, with its crippled crew, entered Trinity harbour and anchored just past Admiral’s Island, at the mouth of the harbour. Grenier did not order a launch to be lowered. He expected that a boat from shore would soon come to investigate the French Brig, at anchor well away from the other ships in the harbour. It was not long before a rowboat entered the harbour and approached.

“Many of my men are sick and need help. I request permission to enter Trinity,” Captain Grenier shouted to two fishermen in the rowboat looking curiously up to the deck of Alacrity.

“What sickness do you have on board?”

“I fear it is the smallpox,” Grenier shouted. The rowboat pulled hastily away from the French ship and Grenier, anticipating a cannon blast over his bow from the fortification on Fort Point, considered whether there were any other options for his doomed ship.

Sometime later a longboat rowed by six men approached Alacrity.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain?”  A tall, slender man shouted before he slowly climbed the rope ladder. He was breathing heavily when he reached the deck of the ship. John Clinch hesitated for a minute before speaking to Captain Grenier. “Please take me to your sick crewmen, Captain.”

John reached the crew’s quarters and examined the sick men in their hammocks, several in a state of feverish delirium. He observed the telltale sores covering most of their bodies. “It appears you were right, Captain. These men have smallpox. They must all be loaded into boats and taken ashore as soon as possible. We will do whatever we can, but it may be too late for some of them.”

“Are you not concerned that we will bring smallpox to your town?” asked the incredulous Captain Grenier.

“The people of Trinity no longer have anything to fear from smallpox.”

Word spread quickly through the town that fifteen sick sailors were in need of housing. Mrs. McGrath had given up taking in boarders when she was seventy-five, but when she heard of the need for assistance she insisted that five of the men be delivered to her home. Six others were housed in the Clinch home and the remaining sick men were dispersed to other homes that could spare a bed. The crewmen of the Alacrity who had not fallen ill were speedily administered the Jennerian vaccine.

One of the French sailors was critically ill, his vital organs had shut down, and he soon succumbed to the disease. He was the last person to die of smallpox in Trinity.

After several weeks, the other victims recovered sufficiently to return to their ship and eventually enough of the men had recovered to crew the vessel for the return voyage to France.

Chapter 15

The glimmer of hope that John and Hannah’s eldest son, Edward, could live a fulfilling and productive life, as suggested on his first visit to the Beothuk village, soon faded and the fifteen-year-old boy returned to his old ways, withdrawing into himself and avoiding social interaction with anyone other than members of his family. His parents had long given up on their hopes for Edward to attend school as he seemed incapable of learning to read. Hannah had accepted that her firstborn son - soon to be a man in the physical sense - would always be childlike requiring her constant care and supervision.

His father was not so sure that Edward’s fate was sealed. Before finally accepting that the fog, always hovering over his eldest son, would never dissipate John resolved they would return to the Beothuk village and he would try to determine if the light he had seen in Edward’s eyes on their earlier visit was in fact a beacon of hope. John did not discuss it with Hannah but waited for fate to return him and Edward to the Beothuk village.

***

Joseph Hart had not taken up his family’s traditional livelihood as a fisherman. Instead, he trapped and hunted in the dense forest of the interior. He appeared to live a solitary, lonely life far away from the English settlements, or so everyone thought, everyone except his Uncle John.

John knew Joseph was living a double life of sorts. He lived with Ounermish and his adopted Beothuk people, only returning to the coast to trade furs and deliver game for food to his parents in English Harbour. Joseph would always visit the Clinches when his travels brought him near Trinity. He and John would talk long into the night with Joseph telling of all that had transpired since his last visit: where the Beothuks had moved their village; how they had survived the harsh winter; whether there had been any recent births or deaths. John would listen intently as Joseph talked of his people. The pure joy and contentment the young man felt was clearly evident and John’s happiness for him was surpassed only by the longing he himself felt for the simpler life, a life he could never have.

After these discussions, Clinch would document Joseph’s news by writing in his journal, carefully noting the names of the Beothuks he mentioned, pertinent dates, locations of the villages and the overall condition of the band. John was meticulous with the thought that this information would be lost forever drove him to record it all.

This time, when Joseph arrived in the midst of a February snowstorm, they had much to catch up on, as Joseph had not visited Trinity since early summer. Snow, driven by a fierce wind, was piled in high drifts and the hardiest of men would not venture outdoors.

Joseph waited outside the town until darkness. He cherished the solitude of a blizzard. He stood at the edge of the tree line on the hill above Taverner’s Point watching as the faint yellow light of oil lamps appeared in one window after another as the people of Trinity sat down to supper in their kitchens, the only heated room in each house.

John, bundled in several layers of clothing, was in his clinic with the stone fireplace blazing behind him, but still there was a chill in the room as the wind was forcing its way through the crevices between the uneven wall planks. With each gust, the gale picked up spray from the broiling harbour and flung it and snow at the small outbuilding beside the Clinch home. By the next morning the front of the clinic and the house would be covered with a thick insulating layer of ice that would chinch the seams and keep the penetrating wind at bay.

Joseph lifted the latch and entered the clinic. His fur hat, coat, leggings, and sealskin boots were covered with snow and beads of ice hung like tiny eggs from his matted, scruffy, red beard. John recognized his nephew’s piercing blue eyes and broad smile. John rose to embrace him.

“I have news, Uncle John!” Joseph blurted excitedly. “We’re having a baby!”

“That is great news indeed!  When will the baby arrive?”

“Sus-utee feels it will be within days.”

“Ounermish is feeling well I hope?”

“She is, and we both have a favour to ask of you. We want you to be present for the baby’s arrival.”

“I would be honoured to help in any way I can.”

The blizzard raged on for another day. The howling wind skimmed over the bare hills along the coast and piled the snow in high drifts in the heavily-treed inland areas. The white settlers, trying to keep their drafty homes warm by keeping fireplaces and stoves burning throughout the short days and long nights, would hunker down for days after this storm. Still, standing water kept in buckets for drinking and cooking would be topped with a skim of ice.

No one ventured outside or travelled into the woods for any distance as it was virtually impossible to move about until such time as the snow drifts settled and crusted over.

The storm, however, presented an opportunity for John Clinch, Edward Clinch and Joseph Hart to secretly leave Trinity and travel inland.

Joseph spent a day making snowshoes using the techniques he had learned from his Beothuk brothers.  Edward watched him carefully as he selected the slender strips of wood for the frames and carefully bent them in long oval shapes with the ends crossing over to form a fishtail. He formed a web from interlaced leather strips, tied it to the snowshoe frames, and attached straps to secure their boots.

Edward concentrated on every intricate step in the process. He listened carefully as Joseph explained why the snowshoes were so designed and how they would walk with them, lifting the up-curved toe slightly and sliding the snowshoe over the surface of the snow in slow, deliberate steps. The rare spark of curiosity and excitement had returned to Edward’s eyes as he anticipated the journey to the Beothuk village.

At dawn, the three quietly slipped away from Trinity. Their large, shallow footprints would disappear within minutes, as if brushed by a giant birch broom with the swirling snow eddies left behind by the retreating blizzard. Joseph towed the sealskin sled laden with the supplies for several days. A sealskin wrapped around provisions and tied closed, slid easily over the snow as effortlessly as a seal over an ice pan.

The unfamiliar gait needed to travel in snowshoes worked muscles unused by normal walking and John tired quickly. The muscles of his legs were afire and screaming for rest as Edward and Joseph pulled away in a steady rhythmic pace in front. Finally, they stopped to rest and eat and John wondered if he had the strength to make it to the Beothuk village and back home. Somewhat refreshed, they set out again, maintaining a slower but steady pace with John persevering by drawing on previously untested stamina.

As the afternoon light began to fade, they were slowly descending a hill toward a valley floor. Protected from the winter wind, their bodies began to warm from the exertion. There was a faint smell of wood smoke hanging low in the valley and Joseph said they were nearing the village. As they broke out of the forest they entered a clearing and saw mamateeks.

The snow was hard-packed with ash-stained circles from a number of fire pits located throughout the clearing. There were no sentries to meet them as there was no threat from unwelcome visitors, just days after a mid-winter blizzard.

Happy voices of playing children and adults in conversation emanated from each home and seemingly merged as one voice to hang in the cold, still air at the centre of the village. Having completed their chores for the day, the people had retreated to the warmth of their mamateeks before another long winter’s night set in.

John and Edward remained outside as Joseph entered the mamateek of Sus-utee, Ounermish and Coorae. They listened to the excited welcome Joseph received and Coorae burst out of the mamateek to welcome John and Edward.

“Unc-John, Edward, welcome,” Coorae smiled broadly, pleased with the sound of the English words that Joseph had spent many hours teaching him and Ounermish. Coorae wrapped his arms around Edward’s shoulders and hugged him as a long-separated brother would.

“I have longed to return to be with my brother and friends,” replied Edward.

They entered the mamateek to see Joseph kneeling beside Ounermish who was lying on a bed of furs. Back from the fire and watching contently, Sus-utee sat on the skin-covered floor with her hands resting on her crossed legs. In the light from the small fire in the centre of the house she smiled and nodded her welcome to the Clinches.

John felt a deep sense of contentment as he watched Sus-utee sitting calmly at her daughter’s side waiting for nature to take its course with the birth of her grandchild. Ounermish was flushed and sweating and John knew she was in the early stages of labour. There was nothing to do but sit and wait.

He sat across from Sus-utee as their eyes met. She did not turn away or indicate any feeling of discomfort from his stare. Her dark eyes told of a hard life with more tragedy than any normal person could live through and yet she had not been consumed with hate. He saw in the woman’s eyes a deep sense of acceptance. Her son and daughter were safe in her home and soon her first grandchild would be born. This was all she needed to live a life more fulfilling than Clinch could ever imagine. His life, filled with education, ambitions, missionary zeal, and drive to succeed, now seemed so meaningless. This beautiful woman, wanting no more than she had within the confines of this simple home and small village had found the secret of life and contentment.

As John stared into her eyes his desire for her was more powerful than anything he ever felt before.

Ounermish moaned and gripped Joseph’s hand tightly with a wave of pain from a contraction. For ten hours they waited as the contractions increased in intensity and drew closer together.

John and Sus-utee knelt beside Ounermish and with their encouragement she made a final push and the top of the baby’s head appeared. John watched as Sus-utee gently pulled and the baby emerged. The beaming grandmother motioned to him to tie the cord with strips of animal skin and then Joseph cut it with his knife. The cries of the newborn announced her arrival to the village. The baby was wrapped in furs and placed in Ounermish’s arms. Joseph lay beside his exhausted wife, softly stroking her face.

The mamateek was silent, but for the sound of the baby’s suckling. John and Sus-utee stared into each other’s eyes. Speech was not necessary for them to communicate their feelings.

‘With the terrible things my people have done to you and your people, how is it you find forgiveness to invite me and my son into your home?’

‘We do not dwell on the past, only the present and the future are important. If not for the killing of my husband I would not have my son, Coorae. If not for the killing of my mother my daughter, Ounermish would not have found Joseph and the beautiful baby we just welcomed into the world would not be lying beside her mother and father. We cannot change what has happened. We must only accept it and search for the happiness all around us.’

‘The white people who are visitors to your land will never leave. Our numbers will multiply by more than you can fathom. How can you not be bitter with that knowledge?’

‘Some of our younger men are unhappy and wish to push the whites from our land. Our elders understand that we can never succeed in such an endeavour. We cannot change what will be. We can only hope there are enough good men like Joseph, and you, Unc-Jon, who understand that we pose no threat to the white men. We simply want to live as one with the forest as we always have.’

‘I fear you have laden me with a heavier load than I am able to carry.’

‘If only you try, we may not know failure. For now the fire is dying and a chill has invaded my home. Tonight you must forget the worries that take over your waking hours. Come warm me, Unc-jon.’

John and Edward Clinch stayed in the village for four days. Ounermish did not yet have the strength to rise from her bed. Her mother changed and washed the baby and returned her to Ounermish’s waiting arms for feeding. John observed that the young mother did not appear to be recovering from the birth as she should, but he dared not voice his concerns to Joseph, who was still beaming from the birth of his beautiful baby daughter.

Ounermish was not eating and her ability to fight off the disease that had entered the mamateeks of many of her people was waning, especially after the physical demands of childbirth. Her strength rallied somewhat during the daylight hours but her nights were filled with coughing, fever and sweats. John was concerned that her condition was much more than catarrh or a common inflammation brought on by the cold and dampness of a Newfoundland winter.

He observed as Ounermish’s phlegm-producing cough developed into a dry hack that increasingly racked her small body. A brief look into Sus-utee’s eyes told John she, too, knew her daughter was in a fight for her life.

“Unc-Jon, go home,” directed Sus-utee seeing the concern in his eyes. “I help Ounermish. You must go to family.”

John considered protesting but realized there was little he could do that this woman was not capable of doing. He had a family and responsibilities waiting for him in Trinity. It was time for him and Edward to return home. For three hours Joseph guided them to the coast from where they could find their way home.

“Joseph, if there is anything I can do, you must come for me.”

“I - I will, Uncle John.” Joseph answered haltingly as he saw the concern on John’s face. He realized there might be more to Ounermish’s sickness than his uncle was letting on, but he was afraid to ask for details.

Chapter 16

The endless winter of 1803 was marked by a relentless procession of snowstorms that lashed Trinity for days on end. Ruts, from sled runners, carved in the hard-packed snow and ice on the roads meandered throughout the village. Mounds of snow, shovelled from paths to a single door of each house, barns and sheds, were piled as high as a man could throw endless shovel loads.

On Easter Sunday, the 10th of April, the people of Trinity woke to the first sunny morning the town had seen in weeks. As the sun rose over Cape Nuddick and filled the town with light, there was a renewed vigour and anticipation that spring was not far off. Snow melted and slid off the roofs of houses. The sun’s heat vaporized the moisture long trapped in wooden shingles. Steam, rising to mix with the smoke from breakfast fires, formed a thin cloud-like veil as the penetrating sunlight reflected off the airborne particles of smoke and water.

With the warmth of the sun, life returned to the sleepy village and its residents were anxious to get outdoors and feel its glow on their pale faces. Regular churchgoers, and even those who attended only on special occasions, looked forward to going to church, if only to get out, meet friends and enjoy the weather.

St. Paul’s was the only Anglican Church for the Trinity Bight and the congregation came to services from smaller communities and out-stations. For many, this meant hours of travel to and from Sunday services. Parishioners arrived on Sunday mornings, in summer by boat, and in winter across the frozen bays in response to the Red Cross Flag of St. George, flying from the church tower to indicate to residents and sailors that services would be held. This morning, some would arrive by boat and others, from coves where the ice had not yet rotted from the inflow of rivers, would chance to travel across the ice.

Reverend Clinch, as always, was the first to arrive at St. Paul’s. The heavy wooden doors were never locked and it was not unusual to find a snoring sailor curled up in a pew having given up his search to find his ship in the fog of a drunken stupor.

On mornings after a particularly windy winter night he would often find a family huddled together, having left their flimsy shack to seek a haven from the incessantly howling northeast wind. During the night the family would have given up their futile attempt to stop their children’s shivering to seek shelter in the church.

Despite the desperate strait of so many people, Clinch knew, without checking, that the few coins deposited by visitors to the church during the week would be sitting undisturbed in the bottom of the Poor Box. The families would be in a dark corner where they hoped they would not be seen and Reverend Clinch would walk straight up the centre aisle without turning as if he was unaware of the embarrassed faces following him. John would make a mental note to ensure that that evening a large pot of soup and a loaf of bread would find its way to the family’s home. The family would slip away quietly when John reached his vestry.

This morning, the stained glass windows sparkled and the empty church was awash in colours. John’s first stop was the stove sitting in the centre of the church, well back from the altar. The verger had fired it up Saturday evening to at least take the chill out of the building but by Sunday morning only a few glowing embers remained.

With two hours before the service John went to the vestry at the rear of the church to make last minute revisions to his sermon, revisions reflecting the true meaning of Easter with reference to the renewed hope his congregation would feel on this beautiful morning.

The thunderous peal of the church bell rang out from high in the steeple and the sound reverberated through the wooden structure. John smiled, as he placed the quill in the ink bottle on his desk and sat back to listen. The heavy rope slid around pulleys as his son, John, pulled with all his strength to ring the bell again.

It was somewhat of a tradition that one of his sons would take on the job of bell ringer. It had been thirteen-year-old George’s responsibility for the past six years, but it was time to pass on the chore to his brother, John. The seven-year-old had been waiting for this morning all winter. His father had told him he had to grow and add weight to his frame before he would be strong enough to ring the church bell. With the first peal, John envisioned his son’s feet being lifted off the floor as the bell arced to its full distance to strike the clapper before returning to its neutral position. The boy, using all his weight and strength, would grip the knot in the rope high above his head to pull down and ring the bell again.

St. Paul’s bell was calling the people of Trinity to Easter services. Everyone was dressed in their Sunday best with women wearing their Easter bonnets, to be worn only on this special Sunday. Door latches opened and closed all over Trinity as young and old left their homes to walk to church.

One lone figure walked down the center of Church Road, passing by St. Paul’s and on towards Harvey’s Hill. The tall, bearded man with long red hair protruding from under his sealskin hat was oblivious to all the chatter of neighbour meeting neighbour, mothers calling and warning their children there would be hell to pay if they muddied their clothes on the way to church, and men meeting for one last smoke of their long-stemmed clay pipes before church.

As the man strode past, conversations stopped and people stared at the fur-clad stranger who had appeared from out of the woods. He carried no bag of provisions on his back, and he was not pulling a sled to indicate he had journeyed from afar. His only possession was a small bundle of furs held close to his chest. The stranger passed and was soon forgotten as families continued on their way to church.

Hannah sat, as she did every Sunday, in the front pew with her sons, Edward, George, John and Frederick. The younger boys sat between her and Edward. It struck Hannah how unusual this was. Until very recently, Edward would never venture out into public without being at her side. This was yet another sign that the seventeen-year-old had somehow changed since his last trip with his father into the forest.

Most uncharacteristically, Edward would now venture out of the house alone to fetch wood, or to run errands for his mother. Hannah feared he would revert to his old ways, so she was cautious to not push him to take on more responsibility. Recently, she watched Edward when he left the house, and although he was still taunted and teased by even the smaller children, he seemed to be unaffected and ignored his tormenters. She thought they would surely tire of their teasing when they realized Edward was no longer intimidated. “I must talk to John about Edward,” thought Hannah. “Surely he has noticed the change in the boy’s ways.”

After the service Hannah and the boys waited for John to offer his best to all the parishioners as they left the church. The Clinch family then walked the short distance to their house.

The front door was unlatched and open as it swayed back and forth in the breeze off the cove. Hannah was always the last to leave the house since the boys could not be trusted to secure the latch and she remembered distinctly having closed it when they left that morning. She was certain, as she recalled how the boys, feeling the unexpected warmth of the sun, had peeled off their heavy wool scarves and she returned them to the house, securing the latch behind her. The Clinch family entered their house to see large tracks of mud and dirty water from melted snow leading to the daybed at the side of the stairwell.

Joseph Hart stared as they entered but there was not a flicker of recognition or acknowledgment in the young man’s face. He just stared vacantly at the doorway, still clutching the bundle of furs tightly to his chest.

“Joseph, what is it?  What’s wrong?”  John reached out to take the bundle from Joseph who pulled away, not willing to relinquish his package. “It’s me - Uncle John. Let me take this from you, so you can remove your coat and sit by the fire.” Joseph’s blank stare moved from John to Hannah and then his eyes met Edward’s.

“Where’s Ounermish?” Has she come with you?” said Edward as he looked around the room as if Joseph’s wife would suddenly appear.

“She’s gone, she’s gone.”

“Where, Joseph? Where has she gone?” asked Edward.

John staggered back. Falling into a chair he held his head in his hands and stared at the floor. He didn’t need to hear Joseph’s answer to know where Ounermish had gone. Then, he realized what Joseph was holding so close to his chest and why he would not give it up for fear it too would be taken away from him.

With a deep sigh John pulled himself to his feet, then reached out and gently placed his hands beneath the bundle of furs.  “Joseph, we can help, just give me this.” Joseph released his hold on the precious bundle. John unfolded the furs and sighing in relief showed the baby’s face with its large, curious eyes to Hannah.

“My God! Give it to me, John,” said Hannah, taking the baby in her arms. The piercing blue eyes fixed on Hannah in wonderment and contrasted with the baby’s clear brown skin and black hair. Hannah stared, speechless, thinking she had never before seen anything so beautiful.

“Come up stairs and rest, Joseph. Hannah will take care of your baby.” Joseph slowly stood and Clinch led him up the stairs to a bedroom.

Two days later, Hannah was washing the baby in the big wooden tub that she had used to bathe all her children when she heard Joseph clambering down the stairs and into the kitchen.  “My baby, my baby is gone! I must find her!” he shouted out to no one. He was desperate as he looked from side to side not knowing where he was or how he had gotten there.

“Joseph, your baby is here, with me,” Hannah spoke in a calm reassuring voice. “She’s the most beautiful child I have ever seen.”

“Aunt Hannah, I don’t remember coming here to your house. How long have I been here?”

“You and this bundle of joy arrived two days ago, Easter Sunday morning.” The baby looked up at Hannah and splashed her tiny hands in the warm soapy water, as a broad smile spread across her face.

“She is such a pleasant baby. You must be very proud.”

After two days of fitful sleep Joseph’s senses had returned and the memory of the horrors of the last two months rushed back to him. “Many were sick in the village. It seemed the young were the sickest. The hunters tried but they didn’t have the strength to get up from their beds. Coorae and I were spared the terrible cough that consumed the strength of most of the people. We tried to hunt enough to feed the village but many had no desire to eat. Ounermish’s mother, Sus-utee, tended to the sick and did everything she could, but still it was not enough.

“The baby is healthy. It must have been very difficult for Ounermish to care for her baby with sickness all around,” said Hannah.

“After the baby was born and Uncle John and Edward left the village Ounermish was able to get up, but only for short periods. She wanted so much to help her mother tend to the sick, but just feeding the baby would exhaust her. She would cough all night long, never able to sleep more than a few minutes at a time. I would feed her, but after many days she could not keep anything down. I wanted to come to get Uncle John, but I couldn’t leave them. So many people couldn’t get to their feet.”

Hannah had lifted the baby out of the tub and wrapped her in thick towels. She sat next to Joseph and reached out to hold his trembling hand, as he continued. “By the time she coughed up blood she was unable to get to her feet. I was desperate, Aunt Hannah. I wanted to come and get Uncle John to help, but Sus-utee said there was nothing that could be done to save them. Ounermish’s breathing became slower and slower and then it stopped. She was dead.

Sus-utee told me to leave the village, but I couldn’t leave Ounermish and her people. The sickest had died and some seemed to recover some strength. Sus-utee said I had to leave and take the baby or she would surely catch the terrible sickness that killed her mother. I had no choice but to save her. It’s what Ounermish would have wanted – wouldn’t she, Aunt Hannah?”

“Joseph, you did whatever you could. Ounermish would have sacrificed everything - even her life - so that her baby would live. This tiny baby is special. I can see it in her eyes. She has a burning desire to live just like her mother, that small Beothuk child you saved and brought to this house so long ago.”

Hannah gently placed the baby in Joseph’s arms. Reaching up to touch her father’s beard, the baby smiled as his body shook and tears flowed from his eyes to disappear in the tangle of red hair on his face.

***

The baby’s arrival was like a breath of fresh spring air in the Clinch home. Hannah had found a new purpose in her life and the boys, sensing her inner calmness, were less demanding. They wanted to help with the baby’s care. George and John relished the responsibilities assigned to them by their mother and four-year-old Frederick, spent most of his days playing in the hastily arranged nursery near the baby.

“Frederick, the baby needs a name. It may be some time before she can be christened, so perhaps you can help choose a name for her,” said Hannah. She was sitting on the floor of the nursery with Frederick, as the baby lay on a blanket enthralled by the sound of a small wooden rattle held tightly in her clenched fist.

“I really like my friend Mary, but ‘Lizbet’ is my friend too. I like the two names.”

“Well then, we can use both their names for our little baby. It’ll be our secret, for now. When no one else is around we will call her Mary Elizabeth.”

As Joseph began to recover from his ordeal he became restless and concerned for the people he had left behind at the Beothuk village.

“Uncle John, I must take my baby and leave Trinity to return to the village.”

“I understand that you must go back, but how can you care for a baby?  You must be realistic and think about what you may find when you get there. Perhaps the survivors have moved or are too sick to care for themselves. Do you think the baby should be exposed to that? We can care for her and raise her as our own. You will always have a home here with us, Joseph. You know that?”

“Father, I’m leaving with Joseph,” Edward announced the evening before Joseph was to leave Trinity. “I can help him and I have to find Coorae and my other friends at the village. They may be sick and unable to hunt.”

John realized this could be a turning point in his son’s life. Death and sickness were commonplace in the harsh Newfoundland environment but he had always tried to shield his family from the real world. Now, Edward was a young man and it was time he faced the cold reality of life in his own way. But John was concerned that his son, in many ways still a child, would be shattered emotionally by the horrors he would surely find at the Beothuk village.

Sensing his father’s reluctance, Edward realized he had to stand up to him for the first time in his life. Staring defiantly into his father’s eyes he said emphatically, “I’m going Father, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“You have my blessing to do whatever you can to help Joseph’s people.”

That night, after all preparations were made for Joseph and Edward’s departure in the morning, John and Hannah lay in bed, each sleepless with their thoughts of what Edward might face in the near future.

“John, I have never questioned what draws you back to the Beothuk people. I have never mentioned your visits to anyone as that could endanger them. The Beothuk people have had such an impact on Edward they must be very caring and special, in inexplicable ways. You too, John, seem to have been so moved by what you find there, they are always on your mind. I have never pried or asked you anything about your journeys into the woods. I have often felt deserted, being left out of such an important part of your life.  But, I never complained or asked for an explanation. You have always come back to us and that is what really matters.”

“I should have told you more, Hannah.”

“Let me finish, John. I’m not asking for an explanation. This is something I must say. Since Joseph’s arrival with Mary Elizabeth, I feel there is no longer a need for explanations. From the time many years ago when Joseph saved Ounermish and brought the terrified child to our home, they have been inseparable. From their love and the love of a small band of Beothuks hiding deep in the forest, this beautiful baby came into our lives. Her presence has somehow changed us all. Our boys sense the serenity she has brought with her. Perhaps it is the soul of the Beothuk people she carries. But, it doesn’t need to be explained or understood. We all feel it. That’s all that matters. If there is anything that can be done to help the Beothuks - Joseph’s people - it must be done. You must go with Joseph and Edward.”

Chapter 17

They arrived at the Beothuk village to find it deserted. The mamateeks, standing tall like eerie monuments to their recent inhabitants, were empty, stripped of their contents of furs, cooking utensils and tools. In the village center there were ten mounds of dirt and rocks forming shallow, hastily dug graves which lay as silent witness to the ravages of the consumption epidemic.

At the northeast end of the clearing the new growth of alders and spruce poking through the last of the remaining snow was bent and broken indicating the route the survivors took away from the village and the final resting place of their loved-ones. Trails from poles used as frames for the sledges, dragged behind to carry supplies and those too sick to walk, framed the footprints of the survivors as the trail led into the thick tangle of forest.

John, Edward and Joseph stopped to look back at the still village. Neither of them spoke as they stood silently, remembering the laughter and friendly conversation that would never again fill the air above this small clearing. John and Edward turned to follow the trail leaving Joseph alone with his thoughts for a few minutes before he joined them.

After several hours the trail became more difficult to follow as it crossed streams flush with the rushing water of spring run-off. The villagers were heading in a northeast direction towards Bonavista Bay.

Still many miles from the coast, in the heavily forested interior of the peninsula, the trail disappeared. Joseph had spent most of his life in the forest tracking all kinds of game to trap or hunt. A bend in the smallest twig, an impression in snow, mud or moss, and other signs, imperceptible to most men, were for Joseph indications of an animal’s recent passage. Yet, the trail of a small band of humans, sick, tired and hungry simply vanished before his eyes.

“They don’t wish to be found,” he said resolutely.

“We can’t just give up, we have to keep searching,” said Edward.

“They’re heading towards Bonavista Bay to set up a summer camp where they can fish, hunt sea birds, and find eggs. There are still many coves far away from the white settlements where they can summer. We’ll find them,” said Joseph, determined to continue.

John was exhausted and knew he could go no further. At fifty-five he was no longer a young man and his years of a relatively sedentary life style had worn away his stamina and what was once a strong and sturdy constitution.

They had reached the shores of a lake, its surface still covered with a thin layer of rotting ice ringed by open water extending several feet from the shore.

“You two continue on. I’ll camp here for the night and make my way back home in the morning,” said John.

They built a lean-to at the edge of the forest not far from the shore but protected from the cool, biting wind off the lake ice. With three hours left before darkness Joseph and Edward wanted to continue their search and John encouraged them to go on. “I’m just slowing you down. I’ll rest here for the night and then follow our trail back to Trinity in the morning. If you wait you may never find their trail. You must go on.”

Joseph and Edward reluctantly left to continue their search. John lay back on the boughs providing insulation from the damp ground. The wind had switched direction and was now blowing from the southwest moving the melting ice away from the shoreline. The daylight was fading as he gazed out over the lake.

Just as he was about to fall asleep a single large boulder sitting in the center of the beach caught his attention. He fought to ward off, just for a moment, the sleep his physical being craved. It’s just a boulder, a rock by the side of a lake, like rocks by the side of any of the thousands of lakes and ponds on this wild and strange island, he told himself. Put it out of your mind and let sleep overcome you.

His eyes closed and a faint smile relaxed his face as he remembered this beach and the rock from almost twenty-five years before.

He was sitting on the boulder looking out over the water when he heard voices from behind, two female voices seemingly coming from the forest itself. One voice was very familiar to John and on hearing it, all the burdens and worries of life were lifted from his weary shoulders.

It was Sarah in conversation with her companion who was speaking in the Beothuk tongue. It was the friendly, comfortable chatter of two friends, obviously enjoying each other’s company and the openness and honesty that only a close friendship allowed. John knew only a few Beothuk words, yet he clearly understood what they were saying. The women stopped by the edge of the beach, and excitedly waved as they saw him.

“Jah, Sus-utee and I have had such a wonderful time together. She is showing me everything about the forest and the ways of her people. Sus-utee told me this is where she first met you many years ago?”

“Yes, I remember it well, but our first meeting was not on friendly terms,” John answered with a feeling of guilt. “Her baby boy, Coorae was with her then. Where is he now?” The reason for his return to this beach rushed back to him with a feeling of dread in anticipation of the answer to his next question. “Coorae – is the boy not with you?”

“Coorae is with Joseph and Edward. It was such a wonderful reunion.  They are like brothers you know? You don’t need to worry about Edward. He has become a wonderful young man.”

“Yes, he has found his way here in the forest among Sus-utee’s people. What has happened to the rest of the people? We saw the many graves at the deserted village. I should have stayed to help them.”

“Unc-jon, there was nothing you could have done. My people will survive in the blood of Coorae and Ounermish’s baby and in the souls of good men, Joseph, Edward, and you, Unc-jon.”

“You must rest, Unc-jon and return to your family.”

“Jah, we will be with you on your journey back to Trinity.”

John awoke at dawn, damp, cold and stiff. The knowledge of the tragic fate of his Beothuk friends was fresh in his mind, yet he felt in some strange way, at peace with himself and the life he would return to. Unhurried by younger companions and conscious of every ache and pain of his aging body, every step he took was deliberate and measured. It was important to arrive home safely regardless of the time it took to do so. He walked the twenty miles, stopping to rest often and finally neared Trinity after twelve hours.

As he would later write in his journal when he described his last trip to visit the Beothuks’ village to find it inhabited only with the dead in their unmarked graves, “this journey was particularly troublesome and fatiguing.”

Joseph and Edward returned to Trinity five days later. “We found them,” Edward announced.  “Coorae is safe but many of the people have died. There are only seventeen left: four elders; Coorae and five young men; four women; and three children,” Edward hesitated, anticipating the question from his father that he dreaded the most. But, John had no need to ask of the fate of Sus-utee. Edward lowered his head and spoke softly, “Ounermish’s mother was the last to die. She stayed in the village until the last sick person died. Then, she just lay down to rest and didn’t wake up. Coorae said it was her time. The survivors left the village and established a summer camp on the southern coast of Bonavista Bay.”

Joseph stayed with the Clinches for three difficult days. He was torn between the responsibilities of parenthood and the desire to return to his people now that their very survival was in jeopardy. It was obvious to Joseph that he could not provide Mary Elizabeth with the care and nurturing Aunt Hannah was providing and he could not take his baby back to the life of her mother. He had to face the reality that the simple life of the Beothuks was quickly dying with the passing of each one of the people.

John saw the emotional turmoil his nephew was dealing with and knew there was only one course of action he could take. “Joseph,” he said. “It appears you have reached a crossroads and the path you are about to take has been predetermined by your destiny. Remember that fateful day many years ago when you found Ounermish, near dead and we brought her to my home. I said then, ‘by your actions you have taken on a responsibility that will often test your resolve.’ Well, this is yet another test of many you have faced since then.”

“Uncle John, I must take care of my daughter.”

“Rest assured, Joseph, Mary Elizabeth will receive all the love and care she needs from my family. There is but a single course of action you can take. You will always have a home here when you come to visit your daughter. When she grows to be a woman she will be so proud of you, for the sacrifices you made to help her mother’s people in times when they so needed you. You must go Joseph. Find your people, help them get through this most trying time and regardless of the outcome, you will always know you did whatever you could.”

John’s last visit to the Beothuk village had taken more of a toll on his physical health than he first realized. For three months he was severely fatigued, often confined to bed for days at a time. He tried to work, to tend to patients, carry out his church duties and preside over his court with the vigour and energy he had known all his life, but he could not. He did not relinquish his responsibilities but often required assistance from Hannah with his medical practice, from church elders, and others for his magistrate duties.

John and Hannah were spending more time together and they developed a close bond, a respect for each other that had been missing for most of their marriage. John recovered somewhat, but he so cherished Hannah’s company, she continued to work with him.

Much to their surprise Hannah became pregnant. Right from the beginning of the pregnancy she felt invigorated and she looked forward to the birth of her seventh child that she somehow knew would be healthy.

On February 1, 1806, at the age of fifty-two, she gave birth to another son. There was very little consideration or discussion about the name John and Hannah would chose for this child - surely their last - as both agreed there could be only a single name worthy of this healthy and hearty boy.

Of the hundreds of baptisms John Clinch had performed, this would be the most meaningful for him. With Hannah and the baby surrounded by his family and his nephew, Joseph who had graciously agreed to be the baby’s godfather, standing stiffly in a waistcoat that looked much too small, Reverend Clinch proudly christened his seventh son, Joseph Hart Clinch.

Three year-old Mary Elizabeth, constantly at Hannah’s side, was in awe of baby Joseph. With her mother’s black hair and the piercing blue eyes of her father she was a beautiful child who seemed wiser than her years.

Mary Elizabeth and baby Joseph were inseparable as they grew older and John saw in their relationship something that reminded him of the bond he had with his twin, Sarah. It was as if one knew what the other was going to say before it was said.

John’s health was in a fluctuating state with his strength varying from day-to-day. The attacks of the head - his old complaint - became more frequent and longer lasting. With every bout some of his strength seemed to be sapped, however he continued his many duties.

In 1817 he was forced into a convalescent state for months due to an inflammation about his chest that he could not get over. His son, John was called on more and more to perform his ministerial duties.

Joseph Hart was an unexpected visitor to the Clinch home in December 1817. Bitter cold had come early and already the ponds and many of the larger lakes were frozen hard enough for a seasoned woodsman to travel on. Joseph had taken the opportunity to visit Trinity and to spend time with Mary Elizabeth for the last time before the January storms left snow piled high in the forest. He would not return again until spring.

Joseph and John sat quietly by the fire as they had so many times in the past. Their relationship had changed over the years from, that of an admiring boy in awe of his educated and successful uncle, to two friends bonded by mutual respect and shared experiences they would never disclose to anyone else.

With his failing health slowing him down in recent months, John at sixty-eight considered his mortality. There were things that had to be settled before his time came and, apart from the responsible issues of ensuring that Hannah and his children would be cared for, Joseph’s visit provided what may be the last opportunity for him to take care of another important task.

“How naive I was when I came to this island over forty years ago. I was so righteous and pious, ready to spread the gospel to born Christians who had lost their way and the indigenous heathens alike. Concerned with the whole person, the physical and the spiritual, my life would be one of self-sacrifice. I would make my mark and return to England to a life of comfort, a self-satisfied, pompous, new world adventurer invited to endless dinner engagements to regale the English elite with stories of my wondrous accomplishments. But yet, here I am, an old man bundled in layers of clothing, shivering as I feed wood to this fireplace.” He hesitated for a moment as he stared at the crackling fire.

“Despite all our best laid plans and hopes, life goes on and then we have only the strength to take stock of our past.  Joseph, I didn’t realize it before, but this place took hold of me the first day I stepped ashore in Trinity. What’s done is done and I have no regrets. There is but one piece of unfinished business that I must discuss with you.”

John unhooked the iron poker from the side of the fireplace, turned over the half-burned birch log and watched the flames flare as the dry bark caught. The golden glow from the flames gave him an appearance of health and vitality that faded quickly as he sat back from the fire.

Reaching under the blanket covering his lap John took out a strongbox about the size of a book. “Here, Joseph you must take this.”  Joseph took the strongbox and waited for Uncle John to gather his thoughts and go on. “I fear, Joseph, after I am gone and you return to the people, much of their story will be lost. Since the day I encountered Sus-utee and Coorae on that beach so long ago, the Beothuks have impacted me in so many ways I cannot begin to describe. Of course, there’s no need to explain that to you. My concern is that their very survival is tenuous, at best. As much as you and I want to help, there is little we can do. But still, their story must be told. I have been writing a journal of that part of my life that could not be exposed to anyone for fear that just telling of our meetings with the Beothuk people would jeopardize their survival.”

“Then why expose the people to more risk of attacks by keeping a written record?” Joseph asked. “I fear they have lost the will and the strength to fight back.”

“Joseph, there will come a time when the settlers will accept them as equals. You may see that time, but I will not. You must take this and keep it until you are confident its disclosure will do them no harm. Then, my journal may in a very small way help the ignorant understand the Beothuk culture and spirit.”

Joseph lay awake through the night thinking of what Uncle John had asked. Never before, would Joseph have considered not carrying out his uncle’s bidding, until now. Could his uncle, friend and confidant be wrong, just this time? Could the old man’s judgement be clouded by failing health, or by a missionary zeal to leave an historical account of his attempts to help the people?

Joseph put all the possible explanations out of his mind. They didn’t matter. He could never expose Uncle John’s record of the Beothuks. He resolved that the very existence of his uncle’s journal posed a threat to his people. As much as he revered him, Joseph would never do what was requested. But then, he could not bring himself to destroy the journal either.

In the dark of night he dripped candle wax around the seams to seal and waterproof the box. He climbed the twenty foot cliff behind the Clinch home to Harvey’s Hill. With his knife he dug away a piece of sod and carved away the dirt to bedrock, which formed a shallow grave. He placed the box in the hole and returned the sod to what he knew would be the final resting place of the story of his people.

Chapter 18

William Bullock had attained the rank of Lieutenant when his ship, H.M.S. Snap, arrived in Trinity in the summer of 1818. The Snap, a brig captured from the French in 1808, renamed and commissioned in to the Royal Navy, would make Trinity her home port for the summer. Her assignment was to conduct cartographic surveys of Trinity Bay.

The presence of Royal Navy warships around the coast of Newfoundland was a common sight, to reinforce the Empire’s claim to the valuable ocean resources surrounding the island.

At the age of twenty, Lieutenant William Bullock was on the fast track through the officer ranks. Commander Frederick Bullock, his older brother by ten years, was captain of the Snap.

William had followed his brother’s lead and attended the Blue Coat School in London until he was thirteen to prepare to become a cadet in the Royal Navy.  The school’s name came from the long held tradition that all students, rich and poor, wear a blue robe that covered their clothes so that all would appear the same. Many Royal Navy cadets received their primary education at the Blue Coat School. Their real education - practical information such as, navigation, naval warfare, and leadership skills - would be gained through years of at-sea apprenticeship.

It was not a practice of the Admiralty to approve of two officer brothers serving on the same vessel, but in William Bullock’s situation protocol was overlooked.

Four years earlier, while serving as a midshipman on H.M.S. Mutine under Commander James Mould, sixteen-year-old William saw his first action when the Mutine fought with Lord Exmouth’s Anglo-Dutch fleet at the bombardment of Algiers. This attack, on the North African coastal area of the Mediterranean Sea known as the Barbary Coast, secured the release of 1,200 Christian slaves as justification for the naval onslaught that virtually destroyed Algiers.

For fourteen-year-old midshipman, Archibald Whitworth, that voyage of the Mutine was his first and he was having a very difficult time adjusting to the harsh reality of a life at sea. The young lad was homesick, but even worse he was seasick for days on end.

Captain Mould had lost his patience with Whitworth and felt the boy needed to be hardened, rather than coddled, so he assigned him additional duties. The more duties Whitworth failed to complete, between his trips to the rail, the more the Captain ordered him to do.

Midshipman Whitworth was at his wit’s end and saw no way out of the terrifying thought that this was but the beginning of many years of a miserable life at sea, a life he could never survive. One evening with the Mutine under full sail in mid-Atlantic, Whitworth received yet another severe reprimand from Captain Mould. The lad, in a fit of exasperation, climbed the rail and hesitated for a moment atop the rail before jumping into the sea.

Midshipman Bullock was just arriving on deck to take over watch-assistant duties from Whitworth when he heard the screams of, “Man overboard, port side!” from a sailor high in the rigging.

Looking astern, William saw a skinny white arm sticking out of the dark waves. Without hesitation, he jumped overboard and swam hard toward the boy flailing his arms in a desperate attempt to keep afloat. William was able to reach the exhausted Whitworth and hold him up for the fifteen minutes it took the Mutine to come around and lower a boat to recover the two midshipmen.

Back aboard ship the captain was furious. To lose Whitworth was of little consequence to the Royal Navy, but for another man to be lost attempting to save him was, in Captain Mould’s mind, idiotic and showed irrational behaviour, reckless abandon, and lack of common sense, all serious weaknesses for a naval officer.

“You will never make it as an officer on my ship, Bullock, I’ll see to that,” the Captain declared. “Hurling yourself into the Atlantic to save a pathetic creature like Whitworth shows a lack of the character needed to be a naval officer.”

Despite Commander Mould’s reprimand Bullock was somewhat of a hero to the rest of the crew and word of his feat spread quickly through the naval ranks as soon as the Mutine made port in Southampton. Captain Mould, however, was adamant when his report of the incident was filed with the Admiralty. He wanted William Bullock off his ship and out of the navy.

The Admiralty was in a bit of a tizzy over the incident. A tale of a young midshipman performing heroic feats at sea could be used to encourage many boys to seek a life of adventure and fame with the Navy. Yet, the Mutine’s captain wanted only to get rid of Bullock. Many other commanders shared Mould’s opinion and would not willingly accept the transfer of William to their ships. So, a compromise was reached and William Bullock was promoted to Lieutenant and transferred to the Snap under the command of his older brother.

When the Snap arrived in Trinity the crew was anxious for shore leave after weeks at sea. For Lieutenant William Bullock, this would be his first port of call in the New World. His naval experience to date had been in much more pleasanter climes, the eastern Atlantic from England south to North Africa, and the Mediterranean.

The town of Trinity was a rather quaint copy of any number of English seaport villages. Not a bad place to spend a few days, thought William, but not somewhere he would like to languish for months on end while there were battles to be fought and a career to be pursued.

Commander Bullock and three of his subordinate officers, including William, would be the first to go ashore to visit the merchant houses to arrange for ongoing resupply during Snap’s extended stay in port and to meet the community leaders.

One of their first stops was to advise the local magistrate and the constable that the Snap’s sailors would be let loose on the town, but there must be no quarter given the men. Magistrate Clinch was advised by Commander Bullock that any unacceptable behaviour by a single crew member would be dealt with immediately with the suspension of all shore leave.

As soon as local accommodations could be arranged, one officer, Lieutenant William Bullock, would be assigned to shore patrol to ensure that the sailors did not get out of line.

The residents of Trinity both welcomed and dreaded the arrival of Royal Navy ships. The money they brought was very welcome, but often the crew of naval vessels were set free to wreak havoc on the village, ill-equipped to police dozens of drunken sailors. Commander Bullock’s commitment to ensure any such behaviour by his crew would not be tolerated was a welcomed relief. To show his appreciation, John Clinch insisted that Lieutenant Bullock would be quartered at his home when the Snap was in port.

In the meantime, Commander Bullock gave the order to weigh anchor and set a course to sail deeper into Trinity Bay around the coast. There would be plenty of days when the fog would keep the Snap in port, but all indications were that the next few days would be clear. The crew would have to wait for shore leave.

Four days later the ship crawled through the narrows of Trinity harbour in a thick fog and shore leave was approved for the crew with ten men at a time permitted to go ashore for twelve hours. Lieutenant William Bullock would remain ashore. He was quartered at Reverend Clinch’s home and would patrol the town to keep an eye on the men.

“Mr. Bullock,” John Clinch said as they were eating their first meal together. “I too arrived in Trinity aboard a Royal Navy ship, H.M.S. Arundel, forty-three years ago. Our trans-Atlantic voyage was delayed by a battle with an American privateer. The Arundel quickly dispatched the Americans but not until two of our sailors were killed.” Edward, George, John, and Frederick, all grown men, ranging in age from thirty-two to nineteen, rolled their eyes as they heard their father’s, all too familiar, story. Fifteen-year-old Mary Elizabeth, helping Hannah serve supper, rushed between the kitchen and the dining room, unaware of William’s eyes following her every move.

Nine-year-old Joseph sitting across from William was in awe of the young naval officer. When William arrived at the Clinch home he removed his blue three-cornered hat adorned with white trim and unsheathed his sabre leaving it in the umbrella stand by the door. His dark blue long-tailed coat, white high collared shirt, white breeches, white stockings and black buckled shoes projected the look of a gentleman warrior and made a great impression on Joseph.

“Have you heard of the Arundel?” asked John. “I believe she was de-commissioned early in the century. I suppose she was broken up, her cannon reassigned to a modern new frigate and her innards stripped for scrap. Sad - so sad, how old ships are so quickly dispatched. John Lloyd was a Lieutenant on the Arundel. He was about your age. He was injured in the battle and we were very lucky to save his leg. We became fast friends during his recovery in Bonavista. Lloyd went on to command the Arundel. I’ve lost touch with Captain Lloyd over the years. I suppose he would be long retired from the navy and living the life of a country gent. Perhaps he is telling his grandchildren of our exploits aboard the Arundel at this very moment.”

“I am not aware of Captain Lloyd, sir.”

“Young men, early in their careers, don’t think of the future or realize their youthful exploits may be of interest to anyone. Do you keep a journal, Mr. Bullock?”

“No sir, I wouldn’t expect anyone to be interested in my life to date.”

“You may be surprised, Mr. Bullock, how one’s daily life, seemingly humdrum and boring, may be of interest to others or may even have an impact on someone’s life.”

“Yes sir, I will heed your advice and keep a diary,” said William, as he heard the swish of skirts and looked to see Mary Elizabeth enter the room with a teapot. His heart beat quickened and he realized this was one of those life-altering moments he would look back on in his old age.

John, eating little and tiring very quickly, bid goodnight and retired to his bedroom. His adult sons had finished eating and left the room to seek their own privacy elsewhere. Young Joseph, ever at Mary Elizabeth’s side, was conscripted to assist with the kitchen clean-up and William insisted that he also help the ladies clear the table.

William had never seen such a beautiful girl as Mary Elizabeth. Her unblemished olive complexion and strong cheekbones gave her a Spanish look.  At fifteen, she had reached her adult height, which was a head above her mother’s. Her shining black hair, brushed daily by Hannah, hung straight down her back and her blue eyes sparkled. William thought how mysterious she looked with the colour of her eyes contrasting with her other physical characteristics. As yet Mary Elizabeth did not appear to take any notice of William.

William and Joseph carried dishes to the kitchen as Mary Elizabeth and Hannah chatted while they worked. William was concerned that his obsession was obvious, but try as he might he could not take his eyes off the girl and with each trip to the kitchen he lingered to look at her and listen to her voice.

His infatuation was oblivious to Mary Elizabeth and her mother but caught the attention of Joseph who was studying the young officer’s every move and expression. William was quickly brought to his senses when he realized the lad was staring at him as he stood with an armful of dishes in the centre of the kitchen, dumbstruck as he looked at Mary Elizabeth.

She was wiping her hands on her apron and walking out of the kitchen when their eyes met. William Bullock was never one lost for words, but he was speechless with those sparkling blue eyes seemingly staring through him. “Oops, excuse me, sir,” she said as she moved aside to let him pass.

William realized his feelings for Mary Elizabeth Clinch, seemingly taking over his every thought, were unlike anything he had experienced. He yearned for every moment he could spend in the presence of the girl.

He had not been raised in a particularly religious family. As a child he would attend church each Sunday, to satisfy his mother’s wish for her family to be seen as God-fearing and respectful, as much as in keeping with a strong religious conviction. Since he had left for the navy his church going had been occasional.

Now, he would go anywhere to be near Mary Elizabeth. He attended St. Paul’s every Sunday the Snap was in port, finding a pew at the rear of the church that had a view of her.

William had never really listened to sermons in the past, managing to get through the boredom of church with his daydreams of sailing the seas and the great naval battles he would fight. But now he was listening to Reverend Clinch’s sermons. He was impressed with the respect the old man garnered from his parishioners, some who travelled for hours to attend services.

He had heard stories of the work Reverend Clinch had done in Trinity. How he had tended to the physical and spiritual needs of the people for so many years. The crew of the Snap, ever reluctant to visit a surgeon for any ailment, had taken to seek treatment from Mr. Clinch for all manner of injuries, inflictions or discomforts.

Reverend Clinch began services with a strong voice and presence but often as the service progressed he would tire, his voice trailing off, as he appeared to shrink physically. On occasion, he was too exhausted to continue and his son, John would finish the service with his father sitting quietly to the side of the pulpit. William could see the parishioners leaning to whisper to their family member or neighbour, expressing concern for the wellbeing of Reverend Clinch and questioning how their families would manage without his medical ministrations.

The Snap’s stay in Trinity extended into the fall and William spent as much time as he could with the Clinch family. He soon realized his long talks with Reverend Clinch were having a great impact on him. William watched as people, seeking treatment for all manner of discomfort or disease, waited patiently to see the surgeon at his clinic. He could also see the concern on their faces with the realization that the man who brought so many of them into this world, who treated them as babies, as children, and as adults, would not be with them much longer.

William no longer longed for the sea and during the many voyages around Trinity Bay conducting the mission that brought him to this place, he yearned to return to Trinity.

The dreary days of late autumn had arrived and the Snap was preparing to return to England. William realized he had to make a decision, a decision that could change his life significantly.

“Reverend Clinch, your small town and this cold, dreary island have made quite an impact on me.”

“Ah yes, William, they have a way of entering your soul, don’t they?”

“When I arrived here it was to be but a short stay, before continuing on a life of adventure in the navy. Now, I am not so sure that I want to leave. I have observed you in your work and realize that there are other ways to live a life in service that may be more rewarding than fighting wars.”

“Bravery manifests itself in many ways, Lieutenant Bullock. Risking one’s life to fight a naval battle is but one way to show strength of mind and body. It requires strength of spirit and soul to live a life trying to help people in other ways.”

“Reverend Clinch, I intend to resign my commission and study to become an Anglican priest.” William blurted out what he had been thinking for some time but as yet could not admit to himself.

“A very honourable thought indeed, William. But, you must realize that you would be making a great sacrifice.”

“I could speak of this to no one but you. Now, having voiced what has been on my mind for weeks, I know it is what I must do.”

“I’m sure the church would welcome an intelligent young man like you. Many clerics are guided from a very young age by their parents to take a path that leads only to a life with the church. I often wonder if many of us learn when it’s too late that we would prefer another profession. For a young man who has experienced a lot of living in a few years to decide on his own that the ministry can offer a rewarding life is very gratifying indeed. You have my support and blessing, William.”

“There is one more thing I must ask.” William hesitated to select his words carefully. “I will return to Trinity and when I do I would like your permission to court Mary Elizabeth.”

“Hannah and I have noticed that you two have taken an interest in each other.”

William was taken aback. As much as he desired Mary Elizabeth the thought that she had an interest in him was more than he could have ever wished. “But, I haven’t mentioned this to Mary Elizabeth. I have admired her from a distance, I assure you. I would never do anything to dishonour your daughter, sir.”

“If there was any question you would, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Mary Elizabeth is a strong-willed young lady and a good judge of character, I may add.  If you can win her love, you have my permission to court Mary Elizabeth.”

The two men were silent for a minute, each mulling over the consequences of William’s decision then John said, “I had hoped that my sons would be capable of taking on my responsibilities to the church and to the people of Trinity, but I realized many years ago that would not happen. My strength is fading and I have increasing concerns for the wellbeing of my family, my patients, and my parish when I am no longer capable of working. The possibility that you may return to Trinity, and perhaps continue my work gives me hope.”

“I will not let you down, Reverend Clinch. I do enjoy a challenge. ”

On November 5th the weather was uncharacteristically pleasant. The Snap was leaving for England at dawn the next morning. William asked Mary Elizabeth to accompany him for their first walk together. With young Joseph, they hiked to the top of Ryder Hill. They sat on a rock looking out over the three arms of Trinity harbour and the dozens of ships and boats resting at anchor or tied up to the wharves.

William told Mary Elizabeth his plans and hopes for the future. Joseph, out of earshot, was several feet away exploring the small valley carved in the crest of the hill.

“Mary Elizabeth, I’m leaving tomorrow. Upon arrival in England I shall resign my commission and study to become an Anglican priest. It may take several years, but I will return to Trinity. You are a beautiful young lady and I know there will be many hoping to become your suitor in the years I am gone.” Mary Elizabeth began to speak but William had been rehearsing this speech for so long he would not be interrupted. He pressed one finger gently against her lips to silence her. It was the first time he had touched her and the warmth of her full, pursed lips on his cold finger sent a tingle through his body. His finger lingered and caressed her lips ever so gently.  “In my short stay in Trinity I have discovered my calling in life. Mary Elizabeth, the next few years will be very trying, but if I thought you were waiting for me I know I can accomplish things I never before thought possible.” She touched his hand and slowly pulled it down, bringing her face close to his and they kissed quickly.

“William,” she said. “I will wait for you if it takes the rest of my life.”

Chapter 19

Tuesday 23rd November 1819

Trinity, Newfoundland

Wind Northeast

Mr. Clinch departed this life last evening, almost suddenly.

From the Diary of

the Firm, Slade and  Kelson

It was becoming apparent to his family and parishioners that the summer of 1819 would be the last summer of John Clinch’s long and fruitful life. The spells that had caused, what he referred to as occasional attacks of the head, were now almost a daily occurrence. He continued to work, to tend to patients, and prepare his Sunday sermons. Hannah and Mary Elizabeth assisted with his medical practice and John Jr. would assist with his church duties by visiting parishioners’ homes, something his father had greatly enjoyed but no longer had the endurance to continue.

Hannah did not question her husband’s resolve to continue on even as he appeared to be exhausted after just a few minutes on his feet. She knew his work was his life and if he could no longer work he would have no reason to go on.

After thirty-five years of marriage and eight children, life with John was not always easy for Hannah. In recent years she had come to a point when the trials and tribulations of sharing a life with a man driven to succeed, were less of a burden to her. She often thought how her life would have unfolded if the quiet, intense reverend had not stayed at her parents’ home in English Harbour, and watched as she knitted. Would she be married to a fisherman perhaps, or would she be just a lonely old woman living alone?

Hannah had wondered for years if her life could have been more fulfilling. But now, she realized her life with John had become the life she was looking for when she accepted his proposal of marriage. They had raised their family, as trying as it was for many years, and from that she felt a great sense of satisfaction, a satisfaction she was sharing with her husband. Hannah worked side-by-side with her weakening husband and now understood, as she had never before, what drove the man.

Without Hannah by his side John would not have been able to continue his work. He also cherished the time they were spending together trying to make up for the many years when they had drifted apart.

Trinity, Newfoundland

10 October 1818

The Rev, William Morris

S.P.G.

No. 53 Gower Street

Bedford Square

London

Dear Sir:

I am much concerned to inform you of the illness of my father, the Society’s missionary in this district. He was seized about six weeks ago with a sudden giddiness which was followed by a loss of motion in his left arm and leg the use of which is partially restored to him. To the best of my abilities I have carried on with my Father’s duties on behalf of the S.P. G. until such time as he has recovered sufficiently to return to work.

Yours most sincerely,

John Clinch Jr.

Early one morning as the light of the rising sun crested Cape Nuddick and filled the bedroom John Clinch got up and looked out the window, as he did every morning. He gazed at the ships at anchor in the harbour and watched as sailors worked on their decks preparing to leave port. Shoremen began to unload a ship that had arrived the previous evening.  An eagle, unfazed by the human activity, was perched atop the tall rock spire off the end of the Nuddick. The eagle pushed of the rock with its spreading wings arresting its fall inches from the water. It glided across the cove with talons extended and reached just below the surface to snag its prey. It flapped its wings and effortlessly rose into the sky heading to its nest and hungry babies in the trees above Taverner’s Point.

This scene, so familiar, yet different every day had always awed John and he cherished these few moments of solitude each morning. Following the eagle’s flight as it rose higher and higher to disappear in the trees John was mulling over his plan for the day, when he collapsed to the floor with a crash.

The sound woke everyone in the house. Hannah was kneeling with her husband’s head resting in her lap when the children rushed into the bedroom. John’s breathing was very weak and he had no discernible heart beat.

The children stopped when they saw their father and mother. John appeared to be sleeping, with a peaceful dream bringing a pleasant smile to his face. The pockmarks, hidden in the crags and crevices of his aged face, appeared to resurface as his face relaxed.

She ran towards him, effortlessly, almost floating. Her broad, inviting smile was so familiar, yet somehow different than he recalled.

“Have you come for me, Sarah?

“Yes, Jah, it is time. We have much to talk about. But, first let’s just walk together, side-by-side. We can even run. I so missed running with you when we were children. Now I can.”

John Clinch died on November 22, 1819.

He was so respected by the people of Trinity and revered by his affectionate flock he was buried beneath the altar of the old church, the first St. Paul’s. Over the next one hundred and fifty years two churches have been built on the same site. Today, John Clinch’s grave lies in the shadow of the church, covered with a common graveyard slab which bears a modest inscription.

EPILOGUE

For two hours Frédéric sat reading, enthralled with John Clinch’s journal. When he was finished he knew he had to find out more about the man who lived here so long ago and likely took to his grave the secret of a significant part of his life that he could never tell anyone.

On the last page of the journal there was a crudely drawn map showing the village of Trinity. The route of a path was drawn on the map following the coast as it went around the east side of Trinity harbour, then headed northwest as it meandered inland to traverse rivers and hills, ending with an “X” beside what appeared to be a large lake. Below the X was written: Sus-utee (August 25, 1782).

Frédéric carefully rewrapped the journal in the leather pouch that protected it for over two centuries and set out to find what he could of the man.

He soon discovered the name John Clinch was well known in Trinity with a monument honouring the man who had administered the first smallpox vaccination in North America proudly displayed beside the road next to St. Paul’s church. In the cemetery on the other side of the church he found a gravesite marked with a large slab monument which read:

UNDERNEATH

are deposited the remains of

The Rev’d JOHN CLINCH

who died the 22nd of November

1819

Aged 72 Years

Also those of

HANNAH CLINCH

who died the 20th of February

1822

Aged 68 Years

And those of

GEORGE R. CLINCH

who died the 17th of April 1821

Aged 30 Years

A vision of John Clinch, the man, husband and father began to form in Frédéric’s mind and he realized he knew something of his life that even his wife and children may never have known. Frédéric felt a sense of guilt having discovered the secret of John Clinch and his relationship with the Beothuks. He had no right to the knowledge of secrets that John Clinch chose to deny his family and friends. There was no doubt the journal was a significant historical discovery that should be turned over to the authorities. But to do so would be a violation of the man’s last wish.

The secret had been kept for two hundred years and there was no need to rush into anything. Frédéric decided to research the historical records before deciding what to do with this discovery.

He set out to retrace the map drawn on the last page of Clinch’s journal. Following the trail around to Trinity East was easy until the map indicated a turn inland. Assuming the rivers from the inland waters to the sea had not changed direction in two hundred years he followed the map as it indicated the path along rivers and lakes. He crossed over the highway and dirt roads that had been built long after Clinch’s map was drawn and continued to follow the route as closely as he could.

After several hours he was following a rutted country road that appeared to overlay the map trail. The alders growing beside the road indicated it was not well used but there were fresh vehicle tracks showing it had been used recently. Thinking he had lost the trail, Frédéric was about to give up when he heard laughter up ahead. He continued on and came out to a clearing beside a lake. Could this be the lake shown on Clinch’s map?

It looked like a family reunion or community party. Children were running around, adults were cooking at grills, and groups were talking happily. A man spotted the solo hiker and a welcoming wave invited him to join the party.

A plate of food quickly appeared and was passed to Frédéric. “What brings you here?” asked the man.

“I was out for a hike and followed the trail in from the highway.”

“You’re that French fella who built the house in Trinity? I’m Bob Hart, from English Harbour. Who would have thought it possible, our little annual party graced with a fella from England and a fella from France?  John, come over and meet our new arrival,” the host waved to a tall man in conversation with several others.

“Hello, I’m John,” the Englishman held out his hand to Frédéric.

“I’m afraid I may be intruding on your party.”

“Not at all, this is an annual family reunion, of sorts. The Hart family has been meeting in this spot for more generations than any one really knows. This location holds a special meaning to the descendants of Joseph Hart and related families. We have long since forgotten why this is such a special place, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

“So your name is John Hart?”

“No, Clinch is my name. Apparently my namesake, John Clinch married a Hart girl back in the eighteenth century. There are no longer any Clinches in Newfoundland but we try to have at least one representative at this annual reunion.  My father and his father and grandfather before him have all insisted that we maintain the ties to the Harts and Newfoundland. Not sure they even knew why it’s so important to do so - just that it is.”

“So, you don’t really know why this location is so significant?”

“No, suppose we never will and eventually the tradition will be forgotten and we’ll stop coming.”

“I have something that should keep you coming back here for many more generations.” Frédéric Bartlett smiled as he reached into his knapsack and retrieved the carefully wrapped package. “This should make your trip well worth your while, John Clinch.”

A monument, erected in Trinity, Newfoundland by Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada, credits Reverend John Clinch with introduction of the Jenner vaccine to British North America and for compiling a valuable glossary of Beothuck terms.

There has been some disagreement over the years as to whether John Clinch compiled these terms through direct contact with the Beothucks, or if he was given the terms from another resident of Trinity and sent them on to England.

It is recorded in the book “The Beothucks or Red Indians, The Aboriginal Inhabitants of Newfoundland “, by J.P. Howley, F.G.S., Cambridge (1915) that the Beothuck John August, who lived in Trinity, frequently obtained leave from his employer to go into the country, where he probably communicated with his tribe.

John August lived in Trinity until his death in 1788, at age thirty-eight. John Clinch arrived in Trinity in 1783. Therefore, Clinch would have had five years during which to encourage August to communicate with his tribe in the forest back of Trinity, with the view of learning many of the words and terms of the Beothuck language. Also, considering John August suffered from tuberculosis which eventually took his life, it can be assumed that John Clinch, as the resident physician in Trinity, would have treated August.

J.P. Howley claims in his 1915 book that the Rev. John Clinch’s Vocabulary of the Beothuck language, amounting to one-hundred and twelve terms, in all probability came from either John August or the female who was brought to Trinity and reared up by a Mr. and Mrs. Stone, who subsequently took her to England where she died about 1795.

Historical Characters

Several real historical characters and their stories, as drawn from historical documents and fictional characters, appear in this book. As a work of historical fiction, fictional characters are used to develop the story of the historical characters.

The letters contained in this book are the actual letters through which John Clinch and Edward Jenner maintained a close friendship throughout their lives. These and many other historical documents used to develop this story were found in the Archives of the Trinity Historical Society with the gracious support of its Executive Director, Mr. James Miller.

REAL HISTORICAL CHARACTERS

Thomas and Genilli Clinch (parents of John and Sarah Clinch)

John Clinch (Surgeon - Anglican Priest - Customs Officer – Justice of the Peace – First civilian Surrogate Court Judge in Newfoundland – administered the first smallpox vaccination in north America – comprised a glossary of Beothuk terms)

Sarah Clinch (John Clinch’s twin sister)

Hannah Clinch (Hannah Hart of English Harbour - married John Clinch)

Edward Jenner (World famous discoverer of smallpox vaccine)

George Jenner (Edward Jenner’s nephew and assistant-served as Rector in Harbour Grace)

Daniel Ludlow (Surgeon and Pharmacist – Chipping Sodbury,

Gloucestershire, England)

John Hunter (Surgeon – London, England)

Joseph White (Trinity Merchant)

John Lloyd (Captain H.M.S. Arundel)

Joseph Hart (John Clinch’s nephew and his first vaccination subject)

Clinch Children (Edward Jenner, Thomas, George Charles Routh, John II, John III, Frederick Garland, Mary Elizabeth, Joseph Hart)

John August (a full-blooded Beothuk stolen as a child in the Exploits area - Lived for years and died in Trinity)

Joseph de Richery (Admiral, Navy of the First French Republic)

Sarah Nelms (milkmaid - source of cowpox matter for Edward Jenner’s vaccine)

James Phipps (Son of Edward Jenner’s gardener and first recipient of the smallpox vaccine)

John McCurdy (St. John’s physician)

William Bullock (Lieutenant H.M.S. Snap - successor to John Clinch as Rector of St. Paul’s, Trinity – later, first Dean of the Diocese of Nova Scotia - married Mary Elizabeth Clinch)

Blossom the cow (cow that infected Sarah Nelms with cowpox – Blossom’s horn exhibited at the Edward Jenner Museum, Berkeley, Gloucestershire, England)

Mary Elizabeth Clinch married William Bullock in 1823. Bullock, after resigning his commission as a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and a period of study, was ordained Deacon by the Bishop of Chester on 31 March, 1822 and a fortnight later he was advanced to the Priesthood by the Bishop of Lincoln, acting for the Bishop of London. He returned as soon as possible to Newfoundland to become Rector of the Parish of Trinity.

The affection that began in 1823 between that strong man and his gentle wife, knew no check, nor diminution, and he was as much the lover when on March 7th, 1874, he looked his last “good-bye” to her, as when half a century before he claimed her as his bride.

These words which on the sixth anniversary of his marriage he penned were as true as when he wrote them:

I ne’er forget the enraptured word,

When meekly blushing at my side

Thy plighted faith in Heaven was heard,

And thou becam’st a willing bride.

Since when, the marriage bond was sealed,

Six happy years have rolled away,

And on my memory stands revealed,

Dear Mary, ’tis our Bridal Day.

From: A Memoir of the Very Rev, William Bullock, D.D.

By:Reverend. R.H. Bullock, Q.H.C.

Chaplain H.M. Forces (Retired List)

Halifax, N.S. 1899

Childhood Memories of Trinity

“A little bay whose soft repose

Seldom and slight disturbance knows

Each cavern there, each stock and stone

Brightly on memory’s vision glows

Like old acquaintance kindly known.”

Joseph Hart Clinch (1806-1884)

Son of John and Hannah Clinch

Church of England Deacon

Bridgetown, Nova Scotia

Hebrew Scholar and Poet

REFERENCES

The Story of Trinity

-  Gordon Hancock – A Publication of the Trinity Historical Society

The Early History of Vaccination and its Association With Newfoundland

-  Compiled by James St. Pierre Knight, M.B., B.Ch., O.B.E. and delivered to the Newfoundland Historical Society, March 15th 1940.

Reports from the Committee, appointed to enquire into the State of the Trade to Newfoundland

- Minutes of the Committee Reports to the British House of Commons (1793)

A History and Ethnography of the Beothuk

-  Ingeborg Marshall – McGill-Queen’s University Press 1996

-

About The Author

Ed Burry was born in St. John’s, Newfoundland and shares his time between St. John’s and Trinity, Trinity Bay, with his artist wife Elizabeth and children, Nicholas and Laura.

A graduate of Memorial University of Newfoundland, with a Bachelor of Commerce degree, Ed worked in the telecommunications business for thirty-one years before discovering his true passion for writing.

The wondrous childhood summers spent at his maternal family home in Trinity, left a lasting impression and was the catalyst for his first novel, The Loop, published in the summer of 2010. The stage adaptation of The Loop is planned for the 2012 theatre season of Rising Tide Theatre Company in Trinity. Clinch - The Pillar of Trinity is the result of Ed’s resolve to bring to light the life and work of John Clinch, one of Newfoundland’s great historical characters, but yet virtually unknown by all except historians and the tiny population of Trinity.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

EPILOGUE

Historical Characters

REFERENCES

About The Author