The telegraph operators had seen St. John’s harbour empty for a full ten minutes on Monday evening but that was all. It had been a strange sight—a once in a lifetime kind of thing, everyone said—but it had not been followed by anything like the monstrous waves to which the villages of Burin had been subjected. Instead, St. John’s harbour had slowly filled with sea water again until it regained its usual fullness. People had even laughed about it. But in the mercantile town of Burin and neighbouring villages, they learned, everything had been destroyed, and most sadly of all, women, men, and children had died. Up to Thursday, the twenty-first, the telegraph operators in the capital knew almost nothing of the tragedies farther south on the peninsula.

Sir Richard Squires, Newfoundland’s prime minister, got Hollett’s message just before noon. Straight as a flagpole, Squires stood in his office giving dictation. Although he was lean, his little round glasses made him look owlish and academic, though he was neither. He seemed, in fact, to sail from one ill-advised decision and scandal to another. His last term of office had ended under the cloud of corruption charges which were never proven and rumours continued to swirl about him. Anderson, as he was known to friends, also lacked the easy charm of his wife, Lady Helena Strong Squires. Although Helena was the first woman elected to the House of Assembly, she had initially opposed women’s suffrage. Now, as a member of the House, she had won many fans.

Squires sank into his overstuffed leather chair as he listened to a messenger read him a telegram from Burin. He crossed his arms in front of his chest as if to ward off what he was hearing.

“My God, it’s winter,” he muttered. “It’s bloody cold out and the fishing’s over. And the dead…”

He stood up quickly. He wiped his brow and telephoned Clyde Lake, the Minister of Marine and Fisheries, to inform him of the disaster and to ask him to ready his officials for immediate assistance to the stricken region. Squires then directed the Deputy Minister of Marine and Fisheries, W.P. Rogerson, to contact the railway authorities to commission the SS Meigleas a relief ship. He directed his officials to organize a special meeting of Committee of Council, which was also attended by Clyde Lake and Dr. L.E. Keegan, Superintendent of the General Hospital.

Squires emerged from the meeting to send a telegram to Magistrate Hollett:

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 Meiglewas loaded with personnel and provisions. The Meiglewas 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 Meiglewas 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 arrival:

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 Meiglehad 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.