THE WATER “FLUME” AT PETTY HARBOUR, WHERE ELECTRIC POWER FOR ST. JOHN’S IS GENERATED.
The fishermen not only have to battle with the storms of the sea: they have disappointments too. Sometimes great pans of ice are tightly wedged against the shore, and they have to wait week after week for a wind off the land to drive the heavy ice-blocks out to sea. When the favourable wind arrives and the ice is blown away from the land, they hopefully throw out their lines, only to draw them in again and again with no reward for their labours. The fish have not yet struck in. At last the “schools” are coming to the fishing-grounds, and the hope of the fisherman is revived, only to be dashed again on the following day; for the wind has changed and the ice is once more driven to the land, thus making fishing impossible.
Of course, if the fishery is a failure, it means that the fishermen, their wives and children, find it impossible to live until the following season, unless the Government give them some assistance, which is not at all an uncommon occurrence. In connection with a partial failure of the fisheries some years ago, an interesting and true story is well worth relating. In one of the fishing villages near Fogo Islands the fishermen were in great trouble, because they had gone out in the boats day after day and week after week, only to return disappointed, for there were no fish to be caught in the waters around that district. The minister of the little Presbyterian church was a God-fearing man and one who had great faith in prayer, so he called the fishermen of the village together, and told them that there would be a special service of prayer to ask God to send them fish on the following day. All the fishermen of the village except one attended the service. During the service the minister called on several of the fishermen to pray that God would send fish; but some of them got away from the subject and prayed for everything except fish. “Stick to fish,” cried the minister. “We want fish, and we must pray for it.” At the close of the service the men walked home, many of them doubting, others believing. Ned Williams, the atheist of the village, laughed at the idea of prayer being answered. And yet, strange as it may seem, Ned was the first to go out in his boat next morning, and before he had been fishing five minutes he was hauling fish into his boat by the score. The glad news soon spread through the settlement, and by nightfall the hearts of the fishermen leaped for joy, for they had never before taken so many fish from the sea in a single day. Their prayers had been answered.
CHAPTER IV
HOME-LIFE IN NEWFOUNDLAND
In a land where the winter is long, and sometimes very cold, it is to be expected that a good deal of time is spent at home. Moreover, in many of the small towns there is little attraction out of doors to draw one from the fireside except skating and sleighing; and as there is only a small theatre, there is little in the way of operas, dramas, or musical entertainments. Concerts are given occasionally in the churches or public halls, but these are mostly amateur performances in the interest of charity.
The houses are nearly all built of timber, and the residences of the upper and middle classes are very artistic in design. Beautiful verandas add to the appearance of these houses, and in the summer people spend many hours under their shade.
It is possible to keep warm in winter without the assistance of a heating apparatus; but the majority of people install them in their homes, so that a uniform heat may be maintained in every room. It is imagined by people who have never lived in a wooden house that they must be very draughty. Such is not the case. They are even warmer than a brick or stone house.
At Christmas-time home-life is much the same as in other English-speaking countries. Santa Claus makes his visits to the bedrooms of the boys and girls, and on Christmas morning a good supply of toys and books is waiting for them when they awaken. The church-bells ring out joyously, and the earth is usually covered with a carpet of snow. Games are indulged in during the evening, and on the whole the children have a very good time. The mummers used to go through the streets, much to the delight of the boys and girls, who made a practice of pelting them with snowballs; but this treatment finally drove them from the streets, and so a romantic and historic pageant has been abandoned, much to the regret of those who appreciate time-honoured customs. The visitor from England, however, misses the dark green holly leaves, with their bright red berries, and also the mistletoe bough. Nor are there any waits. If no one tells you that carol-singing is not practised in the country, you wait patiently for “Hark, the herald angels sing,” only to be disappointed, for the singers never come.
Very often, when the boys are making their snowmen on the ice, a cry goes up, “Seals! seals!” and men and women, boys and girls, go helter-skelter across the snow-covered pans, with clubs and sticks to kill the “white-coats.” Sometimes, however, very sad fatalities attend these haphazard hunting-trips. The sky may be clear and blue when they start, with a bright sun turning the particles of frozen snow into glittering diamonds. But when they are about a mile from the shore, the wind suddenly changes, the distant sky grows black, and a blinding snow comes whistling through the air before they have time to return to the shore. The ice begins to grind on the coast, which is the first sign that the great sheets and blocks have decided to move out to sea. All available boats are then pushed into the sea to follow up closely the drifting ice, so that when the band of casual hunters reach the edge they can be lifted into them and rowed safely to the land. Alas! many of them have either perished in the blizzard, or have drifted out to sea on a sheet of ice that has broken away from the main body, where death awaits them in the Atlantic, unless they are sighted and picked up by a passing steamer.