Squires emerged from the meeting to send a telegram to Magistrate Hollett:
AS RESULT MESSAGES RECEIVED FROM YOU AND OTHERS THIS MORNING S.S. MEIGLE IS BEING DISPATCHED THIS EVENING WITH MINISTER MARINE AND FISHERIES DOCTORS MOSDELL CAMPBELL AND MURPHY AND MR. FUDGE TWO NURSES MEDICAL SUPPLIES AND PROVISIONS SO THAT WHOLE SITUATION MAY BE FULLY AND EFFECTIVELY HANDLED WITH GREATEST POSSIBLE DISPATCH STOP KINDLY KEEP ME FULLY ADVISED ALSO PLEASE NOTIFY OTHER STRICKEN SETTLEMENTS OF DISPATCH OF RELIEF SHIP.
After the meeting Squires’ bureaucrats drew up a list of provisions to be purchased and then had these rushed to the dock in St. John’s for shipment on the Meigle. Dr. Keegan prepared medical and nursing supplies, while Dr. Mosdell, Chairman of the Board of Health, arranged for doctors and nurses to join the ship to take care of the injured. At this point, the authorities in St. John’s could only guess at the scale of injuries and illness brought on by the tidal wave. They knew Magistrate Hollett was not given to exaggeration; there had to be more deaths south of Burin.
In St. John’s, everyone involved worked frantically, uttering prayers as they rushed from their offices to the Royal Stores, where they bought most of the goods, to the waterfront. By 8:30 p.m. the Meigle was loaded with personnel and provisions. The Meigle was built in Scotland in 1886 and weighed 835 tons. Originally called the Solway, she was more than 220 feet long. The Reid family, Newfoundland merchants, brought her to the island country in the winter of 1913 and named her after a place near their patriarch’s birthplace. They used her as a passenger and cargo vessel. Now, under the ginger-haired Captain Vince Dalton, she would be on a mission like no other.
The ship carried 2,688 four-pound sacks of flour; one hundred barrels of beef; one hundred barrels of pork; two thousand pounds of sugar; 1,020 pounds of tea; two hundred pounds of butter; and four hundred quarter-bags of hard tack. She also carried nails, window glass and putty for house repairs, but no lumber. Captain Vince Dalton, tall and quiet, and his ship pulled away from the finger piers in St. John’s harbour at 9:30 p.m. and disappeared beyond the Narrows a few minutes later.
By three-thirty the next afternoon, the Meigle was tied up at the wharf in Burin.
Not long after landing, Dr. Mosdell sent a cable to Dr. Barnes in St. John’s, describing the Meigle’s November 22 arrivaclass="underline"
Shores of Burin Beach strewed with wreckage of all sorts. Houses and stores floating waters of Harbour and dotted along beach partially or wholly submerged. Stages and wharves swept away in almost every Cove and Harbour. Destitution general wherever tidal wave did its work of destruction. Food fuel and clothing badly needed. Stores of food on ship sufficient meet present requirements. Medical and Nursing staff on ship now busy attending number of cases of severe injury and of shock consequent on sudden and tragic nature of disaster.
Hollett was at the front of the crowd that came out to meet the Meigle. He pumped Captain Dalton’s hand as the skipper jumped onto the wharf.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said, nodding. Then he spoke quickly. “These are the members of our local committee, representing the villages from Rock Harbour to Corbin. Mr. Cheeseman, from Port au Bras… Mr. Lefeuvre, from Bull’s Cove… Captain Foote, from Stepaside… Mr. Albert Grant, from Corbin… Reverend Miller… Reverend Hiscock… Reverend Morris…”
Dalton’s face registered surprise as he shook hands with each of the men.
“We had to be organized, Captain,” Hollett explained. “The tragedy is so great.”
Dalton nodded.
“We have twenty homeless families between here and Corbin, sir,” said Albert Grant loudly.
Oddly, Dalton found himself feeling guilty at this; he said nothing. Then his first mate stepped up and listed off the food and building supplies that the Meigle had brought.
“We’re very grateful and will convey this gratitude to Prime Minister Squires and his government,” Magistrate Hollett said. The scores of people that surrounded him remained quiet, and for the first time Dalton noticed the dark circles under their eyes. “I fear it will not be enough, though.”
“No?” Dalton said, realizing how inadequate he sounded. “My God, did you say there are twenty families homeless?”
“Indeed, I did, Captain,” Albert Grant spoke up again. “Indeed I did.”
Dalton caught the angry tone in the fisherman’s voice again.
“We don’t have anywhere near enough supplies to help them,” Dalton said as a thumping gathered steam in his chest.
“No, sir, we don’t,” the first mate echoed.
“We expected that,” said Hollett. “Food is more important now, it’s our first priority for this area. We’ve put the homeless families in with other families and that will have to do until other plans can be made.”
Dalton nodded slowly. Think, he told himself, think! Slowly he shifted himself out of his catatonia. The disaster was of greater proportions that Squires, Lake, and everyone in St. John’s realized, that much was sure. Other ships might have to join the Meigle. He thought of his blue-eyed wife, Cora, at home on Old Topsail Road in St. John’s; she’d probably be setting out the supper dishes now. Take one step at a time, she’d say.
“You said food is the first priority for this area, Magistrate Hollett,” Dalton began. “What are the other priorities?”
“Coal,” Hollett answered quickly. “Most families are in desperate need of it, so much of it was swept away, and here we are on the cusp of winter.”
“I can purchase coal for you on behalf of the Newfoundland government,” Dalton said. “When a ship comes into Burin with coal, let me know.”
“There’s one here now, sure,” someone called out from the crowd.
“There is indeed,” said Reverend Miller, a member of Hollet’s committee. “The Newcastle—perfect.”
“I can buy two hundred and fifty tons and your committee can distribute it,” said Dalton. “It’s not much but it’s a start.”
Hollett and his colleagues nodded. Dalton noticed that Hollett’s frown never went away.
“We appreciate that, Captain. Our other priority is that you get to the southern parts of the peninsula as fast as you can,” said the Magistrate. “We’ve heard that things are really bad in Taylor’s Bay and Point au Gaul. We’re very worried about those places. They’re on flat land and very exposed to the water.”
Hollett’s face was tight when he finished.
Dalton recalled the villages of which the magistrate spoke. Hollett was right; those little villages and others like them would indeed be particularly vulnerable to the tidal wave of November 18. He wondered what remained of them. He studied Hollett for a moment, seeing the intensity under the magistrate’s bushy eyebrows and hooded eyes. He knew the man was learned; Hollett had been Newfoundland’s Rhodes Scholar and studied at Oxford University. He was no coward either, Dalton reckoned, recalling that he had served in the Royal Newfoundland Regiment and been seriously wounded by shell-fire in France in 1916 before being invalided back to his home country. If Hollett said things were bad here and farther down the coast, then they probably were.
“We should take as many supplies as we can to those communities,” Dalton said. “But you’ll need some, too.”
“Take three-quarters of the food south of here,” Hollett said, meeting the eyes of his fellow committee members. “That’s where the need will be greatest.”