Canada and Newfoundland

by Frank G. Carpenter

Within a year after Cabot’s voyage, fishermen from Devonshire, England, were on the Newfoundland coast, and several years later Portuguese and French fishermen were competing with them for the right to share in the phenomenal catches. Though claimed by the British by right of discovery, Newfoundland became a kind of “no man’s land.” Its coast was frequented by hordes of daring men, partly fishermen, partly traders, most of whom were not above a little piracy now and then. In 1578, four hundred fishing vessels were coming here every year. Of these nearly half were French. The English dominated even then, and a quarter of a century later ten thousand men and boys from the west counties of England were spending their summers in the fisheries, as catchers at sea and dryers on shore.

It is estimated that the annual catch of the English vessels was worth one hundred thousand pounds, a huge sum in those days. The “Merchant Adventurers” of England, who gained most of the profit, tried to set up a monopoly. They did their utmost to drive the French from the fishing grounds and shore stations, and discouraged all attempts to colonize Newfoundland, spreading false reports that the country was desolate and uninhabitable. At one time there were laws forbidding a fishing vessel from taking any settlers to Newfoundland and requiring it to bring back to England every man it carried away. The “Fishing Admirals,” as the ancient profiteers of that industry were called, even secured an order to burn the homes of the fishermen on shore. Indeed, it was not until 1711 that England changed her cruel policy toward Newfoundland and organized the colony under a naval government.

Most of the people of Newfoundland get their living directly or indirectly from the codfish industry. The bulk of the catch is shipped abroad from St. John’s, chiefly to the warm countries of the Mediterranean and the West Indies.

The fisherman’s work has only begun when he has caught the cod. After cleaning them, he and his family must spread the fish out to dry every day, and stack them up every evening until they are “made.”

In the meantime, bitter struggles with the French had been going on. The French recognized in Newfoundland a key to their possessions in Canada along the Gulf and River of St. Lawrence. They succeeded in gaining a foothold on the south shore of Newfoundland, and from there frequently attacked the English settlements to the north, until the Treaty of Utrecht compelled them to give up their holdings. All that remains of French possessions in this part of the world are the islands of Miquelon and St. Pierre just south of Newfoundland. With the prohibition wave that swept over North America, the port of St. Pierre has had a great boom as headquarters of the bootlegging fleets of the North Atlantic. It has grown rich by taxing the liquor traffic, so much so, in fact, that St. John’s is casting envious eyes at its island neighbour, and making plans to get into this profitable trade.

I had my first glimpse of the native cod as I entered St. John’s harbour. Just as our steamer passed a motor dory lying off shore, one of the men in her caught a big fish. He pulled it out of the water, and after holding it up to our view, clubbed it on the head and threw it into the boat. To-day I visited one of the fishing villages, where I saw the day’s catches landed and talked with the fishermen.

I took a motor in St. John’s and drove out to Waterford Valley, up over the gray rocky hills into the back country. On the heights I found a blue pond, just below it another, and then another, like so many steps leading from the heights down to the sea. The last pond ended in a great wooden flume running down the rocky gorge to a little power station that supplies electricity to the city of St. John’s.

Here I stopped to take in the view. Before me was a little bay, perhaps a half mile long and a quarter of a mile wide, where the stream from the hill ponds empties into the ocean. This was Petty Harbour, a typical Newfoundland “outport.” On both sides of the harbour rocky walls rose almost straight up to a height of three or four hundred feet. The only outlets were the waters of the tiny bay and the gorge through which I came. There was literally no level land, only a few narrow shelves and terraces along the sides of the hills. There were no streets, only a winding roadway down the slope. The lower portion was too narrow for our motor, so that I had to go part of the way down on foot. The houses were placed every which way on the steep hillsides. Most of them had tiny dooryards, with a patch of grass and sometimes a few flowers in front. Behind them, or at the sides, were other patches of green, on some of which small black and white goats, wearing pokes about their necks, were feeding. Small as were the houses, each was neatness itself and shiny with paint. Every one of the hundred or so houses was built by its occupant or his father before him. Indeed, I am prepared to believe, after what I have seen, that the Newfoundland fisherman is the world’s greatest “handy man.” He builds not only his house, but also his boats, landing stages, and fish-drying platforms; he makes his own nets, raises his own vegetables, and often has a sheep or two to furnish wool, which his wife will spin and weave into a suit of clothes or a jersey.