All of a sudden the fog fell on the whole group of ships like a thick wet blanket, before they could make the harbor. There were many reefs between their position and the open sea: the only thing to do was to anchor then and there. When a rift came in the fog, Dr. Grenfell saw the riding-lights of eleven vessels round about him. A northeaster grew in violence as night came swiftly on, and a heavy sea arose. The ships tugged at their anchors. The great waves swept the decks from end to end. In the hold of the _Strathcona_ were patients lying in the cots, on their way to Battle Harbor Hospital. As the Doctor would say, there was less than an inch of iron between them and eternity. They were dressed, and the boats were prepared to take them ashore. One after another in the mad waters the neighbor lights went out. All night the _Strathcona_ fought the sea. When day came, only one of the other boats was left--a ship much bigger than the _Strathcona_, named the _Yosemite_. The _Yosemite_ was drifting down upon the smaller vessel, and it seemed as if in a moment more there must be a collision. But just then the _Yosemite_ struck a reef. She turned over on her side. In that position the sea drove the vessel ashore, through the breakers, with the crew clinging to the bridge. The fact that the _Strathcona_ kept steam up and was "steaming to her anchors" all night long had saved her, the only survivor of the entire fleet. Every vessel that went ashore was smashed to kindling. As they were about to weigh anchor, the main steam pipe began to leak. It was necessary to "blow down" the boilers. For the whole of that short day the engineers tinkered at the damage, knowing that the lives of all on board might depend on their success ere nightfall. Suddenly, to the inexpressible relief of everyone, the engineer shouted: "Right for'ard!" Then came the sweet music of the engine-room bell, and presently they were under way again, so nightfall found them safe at last in the harbor, with those eleven wrecks pounding on the rocks outside. Sometimes the fishermen expected miracles of healing. One day a big "husk" of a fisherman clambered aboard, saying that his teeth hurt him. "Sit down on that wood-pile," said the Doctor. The man obeyed. The Doctor pried his mouth open, and saw the tooth that was making the trouble. Then he fetched the forceps. Up started the patient in wide-eyed alarm. "Bees you a-goin' to haul it, Doctor?" "Of course I'm going to pull it out. What did you want me to do?" "I wouldn't have you touch it! Not for all the fish in the sea!" "Well then, why did you come to me? You're just wasting my time." "I wanted you to charm her, Doctor." "But my dear fellow, I'm not an Eskimo medicine-man. I don't know how, and I don't believe in it anyway." Mr. Fisherman looked very much put out. "I knows why youse won't charm un. It's because I'm a Roman Catholic."