Like pirate ships of old, icebergs in spring hover about the rock-bound entrance to St. John’s harbour. The channel is so narrow that the French once closed it to the British ships by a chain from shore to shore.
But see, there is an opening in the wall of rock straight ahead, and we get a glimpse of the harbour and the city beyond. The passage is only six hundred feet wide, and it seems much less from the deck of our steamer. Here the French, during their brief possession of St. John’s, slung chains across the Narrows to prevent the entrance of enemy ships. Inside the Narrows, the harbour is about a mile long and one half as wide. It is fringed with a forest of masts and the smokestacks of steamers. On the right is St. John’s. The hill on which it is built rises so steeply from the water that we can see the whole sides of buildings, one above the other along the terraced streets. The painted brick or wooden structures give the city a rather drab appearance, which is emphasized by the absence of shade trees. This is partly because the town has been burned three times, the last time in 1892. Across the harbour the red and brown hillside is gashed here and there with the slate gray of stone pits, or splotched with fenced-in patches of green, so steep that it is hard to imagine how they are farmed.
St. John’s, the capital city of Newfoundland, sits high on a hill overlooking the land-locked harbour. It is the centre of the fishing industry, and the commercial metropolis of the island. Its atmosphere is distinctly British.
St. John’s is not quite as large as Portland, Maine, but it is the chief city of Newfoundland and the centre of the fishing trade. The whole country has only about a quarter of a million inhabitants. It is as though the people of Toledo formed the total population of the state of Ohio. The Newfoundlanders are a mixture of English, Irish, and Scotch, with an occasional trace of French. The original Indian inhabitants have practically all disappeared. Most of the people worship at the Church of England, though Catholics also are numerous. Both denominations have cathedrals at St. John’s, the Catholic edifice being especially conspicuous as viewed from the harbour. The Methodist Church is well established, and there is a sprinkling of Congregationalists. Education in Newfoundland is sectarian, each church receiving a grant from the government for the support of its schools. There is much rivalry between the churches, especially in the villages, but I am told that some of the Protestants send their children to Catholic schools, considering them better. The sons and daughters of well-to-do people usually go to England to complete their education.
CHAPTER III
AROUND ABOUT ST. JOHN’S
Come with me for a drive around St. John’s. We can hire a touring car of almost any make, but for novelty we choose a one-horse open coach. The grizzled driver tells us times are dull with him just now, the taxis getting most of the trade, but that he will have the best of it in December, when the cars are laid up until spring on account of the snow. St. John’s has an average of about four feet of snow in a season, but I have seen pictures of the streets snowed in to the roofs of the houses. The thermometer rarely falls below zero, but once the snows begin, the ground is covered until April.
The chief business street of St. John’s is strung out for a mile or more just back of the wharves. It is lined on both sides with three- and four-story wood and brick buildings. Among the most modern is the home for sailormen built by the Doctor Grenfell mission of Labrador fame. Though the store windows look bright and attractive, many of the shops are tiny affairs, and the street seems more English than American.
I notice many branches of Canadian banks, which monopolize the banking business of Newfoundland. Contrary to the belief of many Americans, Newfoundland politically is no more a part of Canada than it is of New Zealand. It is a separate dominion of the British Empire, to which its people are enthusiastically devoted, having more than once refused to be federated with Canada. They will tell you that the name of their country is pronounced with the accent on the last syllable—New-found-land.
The main street of St. John’s has a trolley running practically its entire length. Whenever the conductor collects a fare, he puts a little ticket in a tiny cash register that he carries in his hand. Like all the Newfoundlanders I have met, the car men are most courteous. One of them left his car to ask a policeman on the corner to direct me to the American consulate. Indeed, I like these Newfoundlanders. They are cordial and hospitable and most polite, though sometimes I have difficulty in understanding their Anglicized speech. I was told on the ship that I would see none but natural complexions in St. John’s, and as far as I have observed that is true, all the girls having bright rosy cheeks. Both men and women here are long lived.