Draft of a Plan for Beginning Animal Sanctuaries in Labrador

In Short

This administrative proposal acts as a call to arms for the preservation of Labrador’s vanishing wildlife. Written by a military officer and naturalist, it outlines a practical, experimental plan for the Commission of Conservation to establish protected bird sanctuaries. By analyzing the intersection of commercial greed, regional governance, and ecological decline, the text argues that immediate, state-sponsored intervention is the only way to prevent the total extinction of species like the Labrador duck or the great auks. It serves as both a historical document of early twentieth-century environmentalism and a cautionary tale regarding human stewardship.

The Story

The narrative begins with a stark admission: the wild life of Labrador is disappearing at a terrifying rate. The author, writing in 1913, reflects on previous appeals made in 1911 and 1912, noting that despite clear warnings, the destruction continues unabated. He describes a region where "reckless railways" and "ill-governed cities" operate on the fallacy that natural resources are inexhaustible. He details how bird life, seals, and whales are being systematically slaughtered by transient crews who value short-term profit over the future of the ecosystem.

The author frames the problem as an administrative failure. The Canadian Labrador, a vast, island-dotted coast, exists in a state of political limbo. It belongs to the province of Quebec and the Canadian Dominion, yet its 1,200 residents are disenfranchised, lacking the right to vote and receiving no protection from "predators"—often Newfoundlanders and other outsiders—who strip the islands of eggs and kill wildlife without restraint. The author vividly describes the cruelty of "egging," where crews smash every egg they find to ensure that any eggs they gather later are freshly laid, effectively destroying entire generations of birds.

After establishing the urgency of the crisis, the author shifts to his proposed solution: a five-year, government-funded experiment. He argues that the Commission of Conservation is perfectly positioned to step into this "No-Man's-Land." He outlines a systematic, affordable plan to divide the coast into five protected beats, managed by local men who possess the intimate geographic knowledge necessary to navigate the treacherous, uncharted waters. By hiring these locals as guardians, the state would transform them from subsistence hunters into stewards of the land, providing them with a dignified alternative to the current, wasteful cycle of exploitation.

The plan does not advocate for total exclusion of human activity. Instead, it proposes a balanced approach: regulating commercial slaughter while allowing residents to harvest food in a sustainable manner. The author emphasizes that a sanctuary acts as a "spring to a river," where protected populations will eventually overflow into surrounding areas, benefiting both nature and the human economy. He concludes with a plea to the conscience of his readers, urging them to recognize that if Canada fails to protect this territory, it will sacrifice a "present paradise" of ecological history for the sake of a few years of short-sighted greed. He frames the choice as one of moral character, challenging the nation to prove it can be a wise trustee rather than a "final spendthrift heir."

How It Unfolds

The diagnosis of decline The author establishes that Labrador’s wildlife is suffering from both industrial-scale commercial hunting and local mismanagement. He identifies the rapid depletion of whales, seals, and seabirds as a direct consequence of a culture that views nature as a resource to be plundered.

The call for expertise The author gathers an impressive coalition of supporters, including naturalists, explorers, and high-ranking officials. By citing the success of game reserves in South Africa and East Africa, he demonstrates that conservation is a proven, globally recognized necessity rather than a radical suggestion.

The regional anomaly The text highlights the unique vulnerability of the "Canadian Labrador," a remote, voteless region trapped between provincial and federal jurisdiction. This political vacuum is identified as the primary reason why conservation efforts have failed to take root in this specific territory.

The practical proposal The plan moves from theory to logistics, detailing the specific cost and manpower requirements for a five-year trial. The author outlines the need for motorboats, local inspectors, and the coordination between regional missions and the government to enforce protection.

The final plea The argument concludes with an appeal to the future. The author warns that the disappearance of species is an irreversible loss that will leave future generations with a desert where there should have been a living, breathing natural heritage.

The People

The book is driven by the voice of Colonel William Wood, a dedicated advocate who acts as a bridge between the scientific community and the political establishment. He is not a dispassionate observer; he is a man of precise, military-like resolve who wants to move his country toward a state of "stewardship." His primary obstacles are the "sham sportsmen" and profit-driven commercial crews who lack any long-term vision.

He relies heavily on the wisdom of the locals, whom he calls "experts" despite their lack of formal credentials. He treats professional hunters, guides, and mission leaders like Dr. Hare and Dr. Grenfell with deep respect, recognizing that their practical knowledge is superior to the theories of distant bureaucrats. He also highlights the influence of statesmen like Theodore Roosevelt and Lord Grey, using their support to bolster his argument that conservation is the mark of a modern, civilized nation. Throughout, the Newfoundlanders appear as a recurring, if complex, figure—sometimes portrayed as the primary perpetrators of "wanton" waste, yet also as a people who, like the Canadians, are merely products of an unregulated and cutthroat industry.

In Its Own Voice

"The presence of a construction gang generally means the needless extermination of every animal in the neighbourhood."

The author illustrates how industrial expansion frequently leads to the immediate destruction of local ecosystems.

"Animal sanctuaries are places where man is passive and the rest of Nature active."

Here, the author provides his fundamental definition of a sanctuary, positioning human restraint as the key to ecological recovery.

"Shall one, short, heedless generation break that whole chain of glorious life and make that paradise a desert?"

In his closing lines, the author frames the preservation of Labrador as a vital moral responsibility that will define the legacy of his generation.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an argument for the transition from a frontier mentality to a culture of stewardship. It examines the tension between a nation’s "material value"—what can be extracted, sold, and eaten—and its "higher values," such as scientific study and the protection of natural beauty. The author challenges the reader to consider whether a government’s primary duty is to facilitate immediate economic gain or to protect the long-term integrity of the environment for future citizens. It raises the essential question of whether a modern, "civilized" society can coexist with the wild without destroying it, positing that true civilization is found in the restraint required to let nature thrive.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the history of the conservation movement or the development of the Canadian North will find this an essential and poignant text. There is a distinct, rhythmic clarity to the author’s prose, reflecting the confidence of a man who has spent significant time in the field. Reading it feels like looking into the engine room of history, watching as 19th-century resource-exploitation models were first being challenged by modern scientific management.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the period-specific attitudes embedded in the text. The author’s language reflects the social hierarchies and colonial viewpoints of 1913, particularly in how he discusses the indigenous populations and the interactions between various maritime groups. Furthermore, his focus is intensely administrative; if you are looking for a lyrical, Thoreau-like meditation on nature, you may find the emphasis on budgeting and legislative bureaucracy surprisingly dry. Yet, there is a powerful, haunting quality to his descriptions of a coastline that, even then, was feeling the pressure of a shrinking world. The book serves as a reminder that the "empty" spaces on our maps have always been contested, and that the fight to define the boundaries of the wild is as old as the modern industrial state itself.