anchored foot yanked him back like a spring. He fell forward,
twisting sideways as he went down. When his crushing weight
fell upon the twisted leg bone, his fibula cracked and he tore his
Achilles tendon.
The scream of pain that escaped the manâs clenched teeth
stopped Mattie in his tracks. He rushed to Murrayâs side. Murray
was lying half on his side and half on his back, with both hands
clasping his lower leg. His hat had come off. His packsack had
shifted up over his round shoulders during the fall. He leaned his
balding head back upon it, wincing in pain.
His foot was still wedged between the rocks. Seeing whathad to be done, Mattie helped Murray to his feet and pulled
his foot back, freeing him. Murrayâs face was flushed. His foot
burned like fire. Sweat appeared on the cheekbones above his
bearded jaws and beaded on his rain-soaked skin. He felt dizzy
and staggered against Mattieâs chest. He thought he was going
to faint, but the nauseous wave passed and he stood on one foot
with an arm around Mattieâs shoulder.
Murray knew he was in trouble. They were days away from
any medical assistance. He wasnât even sure if there was a doctor
on the coast. Mattie helped him to their camp and laid him down
upon his blanket inside the tent. When he removed Murrayâs
trousers, he discovered his leg was terribly bruised and badly
swollen. After starting a fire outside their camp, Mattie quickly
walked away in the damp evening.
When he returned, he had in his hands a clump of moist black
mud wrapped in thin, greenish yellow fronds of kelp. When he
gently smeared the cooling mud over Murrayâs swollen leg, the
man sighed in instant relief and thanked him. Mattie covered the
mud-encased lower leg and ankle with the wet, salty kelp. He
used a piece of the kelp âbeltâ and tied it around the bandage to
hold it all in place. That night, Murray sat framed by the firelight
in the tent flap and entered his dayâs work in his ledger.
With a fire going outside their camp, the men discussed their
options. An overland route to any of the settlements that might
offer medical assistance was out of the question. Murray couldnât
walk, and for Mattie to carry him would only add to his agony.
Mattie figured they should try and get a boat and sail either north
to the Bay of Islands, or across St. Georgeâs Bay and south to
Port aux Basques.
But the stubborn Murray would hear none of it. They would
only get him to a doctor who would do little more than âadminister
their foule tasting concoctions. I weel go nowhaire,â he said.
While the Scotsman mended, Mattie gathered eggs from
the nesting seabirds. After boiling them, he soaked them in sea
water overnight. They would last for days. He caught trout in
the streams and speared flatfish in the shallow waters. He killed
waterfowl with his bow and arrow. Once, Murray watched as he
brought down a curious, slow-flying herring gull with one arrow.
Mattie skinned the bird and, that evening, after he roasted it with
two other seabirds, Murray couldnât taste the difference between
the seagull and the others.
Murray was on his feet again in two days and, with the support
of a crutch made by Mattie, started to hobble his way along. And
with all of his pain, Murray never once complained or asked for
favours from the other man.
He never did seek medical attention for his ailment and
continued with his work for years afterward. But for the rest
of his life Alexander Murray walked with a limp. After his
injury, Murray was offered and gladly accepted the services of
Newfoundland-born geologist James Howley.
JAMES PATRICK HOWLEY WAS BORN IN St. Johnâs on July 7,
1847. He was a geologist by profession, but as his work with
Murray progressed, he became an excellent surveyor. Using his
carefully described entries recorded in the field by the light of a
smoky lantern and flickering campfire, he also added âAuthorâ as
another
twisting sideways as he went down. When his crushing weight
fell upon the twisted leg bone, his fibula cracked and he tore his
Achilles tendon.
The scream of pain that escaped the manâs clenched teeth
stopped Mattie in his tracks. He rushed to Murrayâs side. Murray
was lying half on his side and half on his back, with both hands
clasping his lower leg. His hat had come off. His packsack had
shifted up over his round shoulders during the fall. He leaned his
balding head back upon it, wincing in pain.
His foot was still wedged between the rocks. Seeing whathad to be done, Mattie helped Murray to his feet and pulled
his foot back, freeing him. Murrayâs face was flushed. His foot
burned like fire. Sweat appeared on the cheekbones above his
bearded jaws and beaded on his rain-soaked skin. He felt dizzy
and staggered against Mattieâs chest. He thought he was going
to faint, but the nauseous wave passed and he stood on one foot
with an arm around Mattieâs shoulder.
Murray knew he was in trouble. They were days away from
any medical assistance. He wasnât even sure if there was a doctor
on the coast. Mattie helped him to their camp and laid him down
upon his blanket inside the tent. When he removed Murrayâs
trousers, he discovered his leg was terribly bruised and badly
swollen. After starting a fire outside their camp, Mattie quickly
walked away in the damp evening.
When he returned, he had in his hands a clump of moist black
mud wrapped in thin, greenish yellow fronds of kelp. When he
gently smeared the cooling mud over Murrayâs swollen leg, the
man sighed in instant relief and thanked him. Mattie covered the
mud-encased lower leg and ankle with the wet, salty kelp. He
used a piece of the kelp âbeltâ and tied it around the bandage to
hold it all in place. That night, Murray sat framed by the firelight
in the tent flap and entered his dayâs work in his ledger.
With a fire going outside their camp, the men discussed their
options. An overland route to any of the settlements that might
offer medical assistance was out of the question. Murray couldnât
walk, and for Mattie to carry him would only add to his agony.
Mattie figured they should try and get a boat and sail either north
to the Bay of Islands, or across St. Georgeâs Bay and south to
Port aux Basques.
But the stubborn Murray would hear none of it. They would
only get him to a doctor who would do little more than âadminister
their foule tasting concoctions. I weel go nowhaire,â he said.
While the Scotsman mended, Mattie gathered eggs from
the nesting seabirds. After boiling them, he soaked them in sea
water overnight. They would last for days. He caught trout in
the streams and speared flatfish in the shallow waters. He killed
waterfowl with his bow and arrow. Once, Murray watched as he
brought down a curious, slow-flying herring gull with one arrow.
Mattie skinned the bird and, that evening, after he roasted it with
two other seabirds, Murray couldnât taste the difference between
the seagull and the others.
Murray was on his feet again in two days and, with the support
of a crutch made by Mattie, started to hobble his way along. And
with all of his pain, Murray never once complained or asked for
favours from the other man.
He never did seek medical attention for his ailment and
continued with his work for years afterward. But for the rest
of his life Alexander Murray walked with a limp. After his
injury, Murray was offered and gladly accepted the services of
Newfoundland-born geologist James Howley.
JAMES PATRICK HOWLEY WAS BORN IN St. Johnâs on July 7,
1847. He was a geologist by profession, but as his work with
Murray progressed, he became an excellent surveyor. Using his
carefully described entries recorded in the field by the light of a
smoky lantern and flickering campfire, he also added âAuthorâ as
another
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