Newfies' Ride

Edward Sinclair was 61 years old; his son Norman was a youngster of 35. Aaron Stone and Richard Vivian had passed 55. Tough, gnarled Newfies all, they knew the sea.

Their craft was an eggshell hull, without spars or sails or engine, riding the gale-lashed sea. She was, you might say, like a fishing trawler with never a thing in or on her. The storm was sweeping down from the northwest and snow mingled with the icy, driven spray, blotting out the weak northern sun.

The hull was just off the ways of a little Newfoundland town. Half an hour after she slipped into the smooth bay she was outward bound, hitched to a tugboat, for a short haul to her outfitting port. The four men aboard her had food for two days, a small stove, a teakettle, an ax, lamp, nails and some rope.

When the gale struck, the tug captain, not seeing the land, steered out to sea for safety. Then the chain-cable towline parted. In the rising waves and wind, two emergency hawsers snapped. Then the hull drifted out of the tugboat's sight.

Four days later a plane spotted the hull, 150 miles out to sea. Tugs towed her to port. The Newfies were all hearty and in one piece. They had rigged up a rope to hold onto and had spent the time playing cards (Forty-Five is the Newfies' national game). They had '"lowanced" their food and settled down to wait.

When they got into port they wondered why an ambulance was waiting at the dockside. Folks told them that their women had been worried. "What's the matter with the women?" they wanted to know.

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