In bygone days no difference of station existed among the inhabitants such as exists in English social life, but during the last twenty-five years distinction of rank has become more apparent. Although there are practically no retired classes, there are the inevitable distinctions of wealth, education, and profession. The merchants, members of the Legislature, judges, lawyers, clergy, etc., are among the wealthy and educated classes; the tradesmen, clerks, farmers, and others constitute the middle class; while the working classes are composed of those engaged in the fishing, timber, and other home industries.
In the capital, St. John’s, life is more on modern lines than in any of the smaller towns. There are a Roman Catholic cathedral, an Anglican cathedral, several Wesleyan Methodist churches, the Salvation Army hall, and other denominational churches. There are four or five colleges, belonging to the various denominations, and there is also a London University centre, where pupils may take the matriculation courses. A small theatre exists, but most of the performances are by amateur companies. One of the most surprising things is, however, that no public reading library is in existence. A new museum has just been erected, and, although not large, it contains many interesting relics, together with samples of the natural products of the soil and waters of the island.
Most of the houses are built of wood, as are also many of the hotels and commercial houses. In 1892 St. John’s was visited by a terrible fire that laid nearly the whole of the city in ruins. Thousands of people were homeless and hundreds were financially ruined. Since the great fire many of the wooden buildings have been replaced by magnificent brick and stone structures, so that a more modern and more beautiful city has sprung from the ruins of that disaster.
One of the most striking characteristics of the people of St. John’s—and, indeed, of the whole island—is the hospitality extended to strangers. A visitor is always sure of a hearty welcome. Their table is prepared for him, and they would consider it almost an insult if he declined to accept of their generosity on the ground that he did not wish to impose on them. Every stranger would be prepared to endorse the opinion of Sir Richard Bonnycastle, who wrote of the people of Newfoundland: “I declare, and I am sure I shall be borne out by every class of people in this country, and by all those whose domicile is a transient one, that a more peaceable, respectable, loyal, or kinder-hearted race than the Newfoundland English and Irish, whether emigrant or native-born, I never met with.” While loving their own island and independence, they are proud to belong to the great Empire over which King George V. reigns.
CHAPTER III
PERILS OF THE SEA
As the livelihood of the people of Newfoundland is almost entirely dependent upon the fisheries, it is natural that they should have to face the perils of the sea. And through what perils the poor fishermen have to pass! Wind, rain, fog, snow, and ice sweep over the fishing-grounds, carrying many a slender craft far out to sea, never again to reach the peaceful harbours and coves from whence they started. During one of those wild hurricanes that often visit the Newfoundland coast wives and children are kept in an agony of suspense, not knowing whether they will ever again see the faces of those upon whom they rely for their daily bread. How courageous these fishermen are, too! There are many soldiers wearing the Victoria Cross who have never fought such battles as are regularly being fought by these toilers of the sea.
As one example of many similar experiences, the following account of thirty-six hours at sea in a hurricane during November, 1909, will illustrate the perils endured in the waters around the Newfoundland coast. The schooner Fannie Belle was on her way to St. John’s with a cargo of fish and oil. When near to Cape Ballard a strong breeze forced the schooner to bear away under double-reefed foresail; but when Shingle Head was reached, she was compelled to drop two anchors and spend the night under the shadow of that sheltering headland. By the time the first faint streaks of light had appeared in the eastern sky, the wind had risen to a hurricane, and the crew were not surprised when the anchors suddenly parted, and the schooner, borne on the crest of a giant wave, was plunged into a mountainous sea, her anchors being dragged along as though they were no stronger than strips of seaweed. All day long she fought a battle against terrible odds. The captain and the crew strained every muscle to keep her above water, and every moment they expected to go down to the bottom of the sea. The schooner had drifted fifty miles out to sea, and was most of the time on her beam ends. The tossing of the ship had kept the barrels of oil rolling from port to starboard all the day, and only the nimble movements of the crew saved them from broken limbs or death. The captain, who was lashed to the wheel, saw that these rolling casks would pound the ship to pieces, so he ordered eighteen of them to be thrown overboard. A few moments afterwards the jumbo and mainsail were torn in shreds, and the dory on deck was swept into the sea. The riding-sail was then set, and the captain kept her running with the wind. But the hurricane increased, and the schooner began to take in a lot of water. Eighty quintals of fish were thrown overboard, and the pumps were set to work. Distress signals were hoisted, but they were unnoticed by two passing steamers. The snow, fog, and flying spray probably hid the small ship from the larger, ones. A little girl, daughter of one of the crew, was confined in the cabin; but so accustomed are the fishermen’s children to the perils of the sea that she felt just as much at home in the storm as in the calm. The crew were kept busy for thirty-six hours fighting against fearful odds, and when they were towed into Trepassey every man was exhausted, but more than thankful that they had escaped a watery grave. Everything had been washed from the deck, even the iron chains, and for fifteen hours, without food, the captain had been lashed securely to the wheel.
These perilous adventures on the sea make the fishermen very brave and self-reliant; they make them very kind-hearted too. If a ship is in distress, they are always ready to risk their lives in an attempt to save the lives on board. It is not an uncommon occurrence for some “liner” to be driven to destruction in the fogs and storms around the rugged south-east corner of the Avalon Peninsula. If you were to ask one of the fishermen of Trepassey Bay to tell you of the many shipwrecks in that particular vicinity, he would relate stories of disasters that would fill many books if they could be written. One story would be of the ill-fated steamer George Washington, that went to pieces in a fearful storm one winter’s night about thirty-three years ago. Like many another wreck on that lonely coast, the fate of this steamship might never have been known had not one of the inhabitants accidentally caught sight of the wreckage in the crannies of the cliffs. When it was once reported that a wreck had taken place, a band of hardy fishermen hurried to the spot in the hope that they might yet be of some service to the passengers and crew. Alas! nothing remained but dead bodies and fragments of the ill-fated ship. From the top of the cliff two men were lowered by a rope into the abyss below. What a ghastly sight greeted them! After hours of strenuous work, they managed to draw twenty dead bodies from the sea, and securing them one by one to the rope, their companions above drew them to the summit of the cliff. The band of fishermen then dug out a long trench, lined it with pieces of canvas and carpet from the wreckage, and reverently laid the bodies in it side by side to rest in a lonely grave, where the Atlantic can do no more than cast over them the spray of its angry waters. Strangers were these victims to the men who had laid them in their grave, but the fishermen knew that somewhere in a far-off land loved ones were mourning for those whom they would see no more. The faith of the fishermen is very simple, but they are a God-fearing people, and the broken prayers that they uttered over the unfortunate victims before they covered up the trench were as sincere as those of the fishermen of old who cried, “Lord, save us, or we perish.”
