TRISTAN DA CUNHA (_continued_)[14]
Again during the night I was attacked by marauders, which allowed me
little rest. In the morning, after breakfast, I took a walk out along
the bluff to see if I could pick out through my binoculars any signs
of the _Quest_ at Inaccessible Island. It was too misty to get a clear
view, but as there was a strong nor’westerly wind and a heavy swell
with much surf, which would have made a landing there quite impossible,
it did not seem likely that they would be successful. I was followed
out from the settlement by the husband of the woman whom I wanted to go
to Cape Town. He was anxious to discuss further the possibilities. Poor
fellow! he was very concerned for his wife’s welfare. I went with him
to his house, which is one of the cleanest and neatest on the island,
situated some little distance from the rest of the settlement, to see
my patient again. Some mischievous though probably well-meaning body
at home had sent her a large supply of pills, with which she had been
drugging herself heavily.
The morning was wet and squally, so I did not go far from the
settlement, but walked about watching the men and women at their work
and inducing the children, by sundry small bribes of chocolate, to
come and talk to me. They were wonderfully free from shyness. Later, I
called on “Reverend Rogers” and “The Missus.”
At 12.0 noon the day cleared, and so I set off with Frank Glass, one
of Bob Glass’s sons, to climb the mountain face. My companion, aged
seventeen years, was a bright, cheery youth with a firm belief that
there could be no place in the world like Tristan da Cunha nor such
an all-round lot of fine fellows as the “Tristanites.” He expressed,
however, a willingness to leave the island and see something of that
other place, “the world,” but would seize an early chance to come back
again.
We crossed the settlement and the land lying behind it, passing at
the foot of the mountain the springs from which the water supply is
derived. In this respect the people are well off, for the water is good
and beautifully soft. The original garrison, in order to divert the
water past the houses, had built a canal, which in some places passed
through little tunnels in the hillocks, and was quite a small feat of
engineering. The volume is considerable, and the water running to the
cliff edge falls to the beach in a good-sized cascade, which makes a
useful mark for ships looking for the landing-place.
The ascent of the mountain lay first up a steep, grassy, boulder-strewn
slope, from the top of which we made a traverse across the face of the
mountain to a ridge where the climbing was steep, but where there was
good hand- and foot-hold. We zigzagged up this for several hundred
feet. There was abundant vegetation, numbers of ferns, including a
species of tree fern, tussock and other forms of grass, mosses, lichens
and the “island tree” (_phylica nitida_), a gnarled and stunted tree
which is found all over the island and which offers firm holding
for climbers. There were also on the lower slopes a number of field
daisies, or marguerites, and a species of wild geranium bearing a small
flower with a pleasant aromatic smell. To another plant my guide gave
the name of “dog-catcher,” because during the summer it grows a sort
of “burr” which catches in the hair of the dogs and is very hard to
remove.
Our route followed a faint but definite track which is used constantly
by the islanders in their search for wood to burn, and in the season
for the eggs of mollymauks and other seabirds which nest there. Even
the women make this ascent.
We crossed several bold rocky bluffs and gullies. Nowhere was there any
danger, provided reasonable care were used, but in one or two places
one crept along dizzily poised ridges where a false or careless step
would have been sufficient to precipitate one to a drop of two or three
thousand feet.
Near the top we were enveloped by dense mist accompanied by squalls of
rain. Everything was obscured, and so we returned to the scrub, where
we built a shelter from branches of the “island tree,” under which I
sat and talked with Frank Glass. For one with such a limited outlook,
this young man had very advanced ideas on life in general. He told me
quite cheerfully that the island was faced with starvation and ruin.
He also remarked that it would not do to go on marrying each other,
and that they needed new blood. I recognized many of his expressions,
however, as those of his father, Bob Glass.
Our shelter after a while ceased to be effective, and the water started
pouring through in little rivulets. There were no signs of the weather
clearing, so we descended some distance and made a traverse to a high
projecting rock known as “The Pinnacle.” This is a high, straight mass
crowned with a little vegetation. It is inaccessible except by a tunnel
running up the middle and emerging at the top, up which we scrambled
with free use of elbows and knees. Here we were out of the mist, and
had a fine bird’s-eye view of the flat part of the island and the
settlement. The sea, edged with a long irregular line of white where
the surf was breaking on the shore, stretched like a flat board to a
dim, far-distant horizon.
We were now in bright sunshine, and I felt quite content to lie,
chin in hand, gazing at the tiny objects far below; but whilst I was
enjoying the view the mist came down the hill and again enveloped us.
We therefore descended to the settlement, where we arrived soaked to
the skin.
I noticed a large crowd collected about one of the houses, and so,
having put on dry clothes, I approached to see what was happening. I
found that the islanders were engaged in dividing up the goods we had
sent ashore into approximately equal lots.
They have a system of their own for dealing with common stores. When
the boats go out to a ship barter is first of all carried out in
the name of the community for such stores as tea, sugar, flour, etc.
Each family in turn provides whatever goods are necessary for these
exchanges in the way of cattle, sheep, geese or potatoes. When this
has been done, the individuals who have manned the boat may barter with
their own goods for any particular article which they or their families
may require. This includes articles of clothing, general household
utensils, knives, wood, nails, etc. In exchange they can give of their
own live stock or polished horns, mats made from penguin skins, socks
knitted by the women, shells and other curios. The goods brought ashore
in the name of the community are divided equally amongst the families
irrespective of the size of the family, so that a man with eight or
nine children draws no more than a man who has none.
Everything that is divisible is divided up even to the smallest
amounts, so that one family’s share of rice, for example, may amount to
no more than one spoonful! One single piece of soap has been known to
be divided into eight pieces! Things which are obviously indivisible,
such as stone jars, baskets, pots and pans, tins or sacks, are made up
into little batches of as nearly as possible equal value and allotted
by the system of saying “Whose?” In carrying this out one person points
in turn to each batch, saying “Whose?” whilst another, blindfolded
or with back turned, answers the name of one of the families. It is a
very fair system. Supposing that there are only twelve lots and twenty
families to draw, the caller shouts “Whose?” twenty times, occasionally
indicating a blank by pointing at the ceiling or floor. No name, of
course, is called twice. The women adhere very rigidly to this division
of goods, even to the extent of quantities which are valueless. The
men, on the other hand, occasionally decide to own things jointly, such
as spars, chains, tools or implements, or where a thing is obviously
of use to one man only—e.g. an empty cask—they will agree to take turns
in acquiring it. Also, a man who is collecting wood for his house will
be allowed to have for his own use one or more packing-cases on the
understanding that he must compensate in one way or another later on.
No written note is made, but they seem to have tenacious memories in
this respect.
Again, in the case of an article which has been blown up on the island
too heavy or bulky to be dealt with by the finder alone, such as a
large tree or a stranded whale, those who help to bring it to the
settlement participate equally in what profit may result from it.
This system was evolved by the patriarchs of the community, men such as
Corporal Glass, the founder, and Pieter William Green, each of whom was
for long the virtual head of the island. On the whole it is a very fair
one, and even though it seems unjust that the large families should
share equally with the small ones, it must be remembered that the small
family, when it comes to its turn to find the goods for barter, has
to bear an equal brunt with the larger. Children also are not regarded
as a handicap, but as an asset, for from the time they are able to run
about and drive sheep or geese they work for their living. In England
one’s income does not vary with the number of children, and a bachelor
employee receives the same wages as a married man if he does identical
work.
On this particular occasion the work of dividing was going on merrily,
and the young people and children were kept busy running to and from
the houses with the shares. The missionary and his wife were acting as
umpires at the “sheering” (they pronounced long “ā” as “ee”). When it
was over I returned with Mr. and Mrs. Rogers to their house, and sat
talking for a while. They brought their house with them from England,
cut in sections all ready for putting up. It is small but snug. Their
chief fear in connexion with it is that it may be lifted and carried
away by some of the fiercer gusts of wind, and they were proposing to
have it walled over with stone. They were very wise in bringing their
own dwelling, for the housing problem is as difficult in Tristan da
Cunha as it is in England in these post-war days. Whilst I was sitting
and talking darkness set in. The wind outside was blowing hard, with
sharp rain squalls. Mrs. Glass, accompanied by one of her family,
thinking I might be lost, set out on a pilgrimage round the settlement
in search of me, and was relieved when I was discovered to be all safe
and sound. She said that getting about was awkward for a stranger,
and thought I might have walked past the house (which is the lowest
of the settlement) and fallen over the cliff. She said: “You stop now
and finish your talk with the Missus, and I’ll tell Tom Rogers (who
lived near by) to bring you down when you are ready.” The latter had
supper with us. He is a pleasant, talkative fellow. Mrs. Glass says he
will talk all day to anyone he can get to listen to him. “Usually,”
she says, “grown-ups is too busy, so he has to talk to one of the
children.”
In the course of conversation Tom Rogers said that he was going to the
back of the island to “turn over” his cattle. By “turn over” he meant
drive them from one pasturage to another. I asked if I might accompany
him. He was willing, but thought that I might find it a bit far, as
it entailed a considerable walk and a good deal of climbing. I smiled
to myself, thinking that I could hold my own well enough with any
islander, more especially as Gordon Glass, a slim-looking young fellow,
was also to join the party. I was to have my eyes opened, however.
After Tom Rogers had gone “Wilet” and “Dōrothee” came in. Mrs. Glass
went to the door and called into the darkness: “Come in, don’t be shoi;
no one ain’t going to hurt you; come in, they’se both in!” Whereupon
after a good deal more urging two very sheepish-looking youths entered,
and planting themselves down on a form said no word at all but gazed
across at the two girls. It seemed to me that I was very much _de
trop_, and not wishing to be in any way a spoil-sport, I made some
excuse to go out. It was not a pleasant night, being cold, and there
was a slight drizzle. After about half an hour of stumbling blindly
into every quagmire on the common, crossing the stream at its deepest
and most slippery part, and causing all the dogs in the settlement
to bark, I decided that I had been “sporting” enough and returned to
find them in exactly the same attitude as I had left them. Later on,
touching on the subject to Mrs. Glass, she remarked: “Oh, they’se been
coming every night like that for years, but Mr. Glass he ain’t going to
let none of the gels marry till they’se twenty-one.”
I had with me in my medical equipment a small bottle of essential oil
of lavender, and with it I plentifully sprinkled my bedding in the hope
that it would keep away the fleas. I believe they liked it, and the
only result achieved was that I acquired a distaste for the smell of
lavender which will probably last my lifetime! However, as a result of
my exercise in climbing, I slept well.
In the morning at 8.0 A.M. Tom Rogers, Glass and I set off for the
back of the island. The road, a mud track, ran westwards, and led
across a deep gulch which had been cut some years previously by a
torrent from the mountain. We had a stiff wind against us, which, in
a narrow passage between a big bluff and the side of the mountain,
blew in gusts, against which it was hard work to force a way and
which occasionally drove us back a step or two. Behind the bluff were
several pyramidal grass-covered mounds, in the shelter provided by
which are the “potato-patches.” They consist of small walled-in areas,
the walls serving to protect the plants from the force of the winds,
which have a very deleterious effect upon the “tops.” This is amply
demonstrated by comparing those in well-protected areas with those
which are more exposed, the latter being stunted, dry and withered
looking. The potatoes are planted in September and early October, and
taken up in February. They are small in size, but otherwise of good
quality. At the time of my visit (late May) the islanders were engaged
in collecting seaweed from the shore and conveying it in bullock-carts
to the patches, where it is allowed to rot, mixed with sheep manure,
and placed on top of the potatoes when they are planted. The manure
is obtained by corralling the sheep and leaving them closely penned
in for twenty-four hours. We passed across several more gulches and
encountered some broad patches of stone which had been swept down out
of the hills during the rains.
The soil in this part of the island is better than that at the
settlement, and provides a flat grassy plain, giving good grazing for
the sheep and cattle which are dotted all about its surface and climb
up into the lower slopes of the mountain. Both are small, but of fairly
good quality, the meat which I tasted on the island being tender and
of good flavour. A number of the cattle had calves, which were pretty
little creatures.
On this part of the island the land ends in short cliffs, at the foot
of which are numerous narrow beaches on which, as we went along, a
heavy surf was breaking, looking pretty in the sunlight and having a
pleasant sound.
About five miles from the settlement the flat ground ends in a high
straight bluff running steeply down to the sea. To get round this we
had to ascend the mountain, having a steep climb of about two thousand
feet. The cattle and sheep, to get to the back of the island, have
to make this climb, and there is a narrow track, worn by them, which
zigzags upwards, passing across places where one single slip would mean
destruction for the animal. I am told that very few of them fall. They
must be amazingly sure-footed.
On several occasions as we wound along my companions pointed out to me
in some of the sheltered gullies what they called “orchards,” little
clumps of apple trees so small, bush-like and stunted as to be almost
unrecognizable. Nevertheless, each year they get small crops of apples
from them. I tasted some, and found them to have quite a good flavour.
It is from these trees that the cross-pieces for their boats are made.
The vegetation in the gullies is very luxuriant, and the grass, being
sheltered from the winds, grows lush and long. Far below the clefts
ended in little bays, where we caught glimpses of the surf breaking
in creamy ridges against the shore. We continued upwards, and came
suddenly to a sharply defined ridge above a steep precipice across
which the wind blew strongly. We threw ourselves on our faces and
peered over the edge, and got a view of the “back of the island.” Far
below us was a flat grassy plain with many cattle grazing, and away out
to sea we saw Inaccessible and Nightingale Islands. I carefully scanned
their base lines through my binoculars for any signs of the _Quest_,
but the day was too hazy to permit of a clear view.
Tom Rogers proposed to descend from here to the plains to “turn over”
his cattle, but, having climbed so far, I was anxious to continue
up till I could get a clear view of the top of the mountain, so he
good-naturedly put off the job to another day, and we went on upwards,
laboriously working through long tussock-grass and thick masses of tree
fern.
These men with whom I had thought to hold my own so easily seemed to be
absolutely tireless, and they took a keen interest in the outing and in
showing me all things of interest.
Here and there we came across little bundles of branches cut from the
“island tree.” These were loads in process of being collected to be
taken finally to the settlement for firewood.
Some of the branches which went to the formation of these bundles had
to be dragged for a considerable distance across the face of the cliff,
often only with the utmost difficulty. They are collected eventually
at a point above a gully which will give a clear drop to a point
thousands of feet below, where they can be gathered up and loaded into
bullock-carts for taking home.
Through my binoculars I could see men at work all about the ridges, and
I was deeply impressed by the hardihood of the life they must lead in
having thus to fare abroad for their daily needs.
Gordon Glass had with him his dog, which occasionally discovered
a “pediunker,” a species of seabird which frequents the island and
about this time of year is preparing to nest. They lay in holes in the
hillside, and a search was made for a chance egg, though it was still
early in the season for them. We allowed the birds to go free.
We reached at last a point where the heavier vegetation ended and the
hill was covered with a rather coarse grass interspersed with patches
of moss. It was very damp. From here we had a fine view, and the air
was keen and cold. We descended by another route, which led eventually
to a cattle track where the going was easier, but the steepness and
tortuosity of which again impressed me with the remarkable climbing
powers of the animals.
Reaching the plain again, we set off at a good round pace for the
settlement, where I arrived, I am not ashamed to say, pleasantly
fatigued with the day’s outing, whilst my companions seemed to think
they had done nothing out of the way. I mention this particularly
because it has been stated from time to time by visitors that these
islanders are becoming a decadent lot and are suffering from the
results of intermarriage and consanguinity. That they are physically
decadent is not true. Taken on the whole, they are of medium height and
slimly built, but they are very tough and wiry. John Glass, whom I have
already mentioned as having been the first man aboard the _Quest_ is
a powerful man. Some of the elderly men of fifty years or thereabouts
are wonderfully nimble and active. They are hardy walkers and climbers,
and in their attempts to reach passing ships are often compelled to row
long distances against heavy winds—a procedure which requires plenty of
stamina.
Speaking of them collectively, they are not good workers, and attempts
to get them to work together in an organized way for their mutual
profit have not been successful. An attempt was made some years ago by
a Cape Town firm to introduce a fish-curing industry and to get them
to export sheep, but the islanders did not pull together and the scheme
failed. They themselves give as a reason that they were being exploited
and that the return was totally inadequate.
It is possible that due consideration was not given to their insularity
and limitations of outlook, and that the use of a little more patience
and diplomacy might have met with better results. I doubt very much,
however, whether these islanders would ever settle down to a daily
routine of work, having all their lives been more or less their
own masters and able to decide when they shall or shall not work.
Nevertheless, the necessities of life compel that the days spent at
home be few, and the qualities of hardihood to which I have referred
are not developed by doing nothing.
It has been stated also that through intermarriage there are numerous
signs of deformity and mental degeneration. There are very few of
these signs. As to mental degeneration, I considered these islanders
to be very intelligent. They are uneducated, limited in outlook, and
generally “insular,” but how could they be anything else in their
peculiar circumstances? They are bright, quick to see humour and enjoy
a joke, and are morally much sounder than many civilized peoples. They
live on good terms, with little quarrelling, crime is unknown, and
petty misdemeanours are rare.
One youth is dumb and is peculiar in manner, but works and carries
out ordinary duties with quite average intelligence. Of deformities:
one old woman (the island midwife) has two thumbs on each hand, but
is otherwise normal. One man, a particularly noticeable case, has
stunted arms, with ill-developed hands and absence of some fingers.
Otherwise, he is strong, level-headed and intelligent, works as a
shepherd, and in his duties roams far and wide over the hills. There
are no other signs of mental or physical degeneration. The man with the
stunted arms is able to do wonderful things, can carry small packages,
hold a cigarette, feed himself, and, most extraordinary of all in
this community of illiterates, can write. He was taught by a former
missionary to the island, Mr. Dodgson (brother of Lewis Carroll, author
of “Alice in Wonderland”). It is surely a triumph of patient teaching.
In carrying it out, the paper is placed on the floor and the man lies
down. Though the writing is large and scrawly, it is legible.
I devoted as much time as possible to conversation with different
people, trying to learn what I could of their manners and customs.
In religion they are mostly Protestant, but there are some who were
baptized as Roman Catholics at Cape Town. There is, however, no
distinction made between the religions, and they intermarry. There
have been several Protestant missionaries on the island at one time
and another, but never a Roman Catholic priest. Young men and women
wishing to marry select their own mates by mutual agreement and are
uninfluenced by their parents. The marriage service is conducted
(in the absence of a missionary) by Bob Glass, who reads it from the
Prayer Book. There is generally no fuss and no sort of function, but
occasionally they have a dance afterwards in one of the houses. All
the women go to hear the marriage service read, and such of the men
as are about and have nothing better to do. I noticed in talking of
weddings that the women spoke with an absence of enthusiasm and showed
none of the interest that such a subject would arouse amongst civilized
feminism.
[Illustration: TRISTAN WOMEN TWISTING WOOL
_Photo: Dr. Macklin_]
[Illustration: THE TRISTAN METHOD OF CARDING WOOL
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: HENRY GREEN’S COTTAGE, TRISTAN DA CUNHA
The Union Jack was presented by the British Government to
the Islanders for bravery in saving lives from shipwreck
_Photo: Dr. Macklin_]
[Illustration: THE OLDEST INHABITANT OF TRISTAN DA CUNHA, MISS BETTY
COTTON (AGED 95 YEARS)
_Photo: Wilkins_]
Frequently it happens that a couple do not become married until after
a child has been born; often a considerable period elapses. They are
not, however, “marriages of necessity.” A young man in Tristan da
Cunha is very peculiarly placed. There are no jobs or trades or form
of employment in the ordinary sense. There is no currency. If any
individual wants help, his neighbours give him a hand, during which
time he is expected to feed them. A young man, therefore, can acquire
nothing except as a gift from his parents. In many ways it may not
suit his parents to allow him to marry, for it means, first of all,
another family on the island drawing a full share of common goods. It
means also the loss of an adult worker. Again, they may not be in a
position to spare him anything in the way of household goods, and, if
he has not already built a house, it means a wife and any family he may
have quartered upon them. So the young couple use compulsion, for with
the advent of the child the parents think it is time to make a move,
and present the pair with a cow, a sheep or two, and a few household
necessities to enable them to make a start. Until the formal marriage
takes place, the child takes its mother’s name, and so it occasionally
happens that a bewildered tot of three or four years of age suddenly
finds one day that, instead of being Tommy Green, its name has become
Tommy Swaine, or vice versa, as the case may be.
Promiscuity is not common and morals, on the whole, appear to be
remarkably good, though to the casual observer the reverse might seem
to be the case. The remarks in “Sailing Directions” seem to me to cast
an unfair stigma upon the islanders.
In some ways they are very casual. Appointments are rarely kept
punctually, and they are apt to put things off for another day.
In the hours of rising and going to bed they are governed by the sun.
The only form of artificial illumination known to them is candle-light,
and frequently they have no candles. They have, as a rule, three meals
a day, which they take at times convenient on any one day. The men seek
to avoid going out to work in wet weather, but at times—for instance,
in the potato season—they fare forth before dawn so as to be ready for
work the moment daylight appears, and do not return till dusk. On these
occasions it is the duty of the womenfolk to take them out their meals.
There is an island custom that when the men have been engaged on an
arduous piece of work at some distant part of the island or have had a
heavy day in the boats, the women come out to meet them on their return
with something hot to drink. Indeed, the women are by no means idle,
for they have all the inside housework, cleaning, cooking, mending,
sewing and washing of clothes, to do. They card the fleece from the
sheep into wool and twist it into strands, using for the purpose
old-fashioned wheels which are manufactured with much ingenuity from
all sorts of odds and ends of wood and metal. They knit excellent socks
of pure wool, which are soft and comfortable to wear. Usually, also,
they take charge of the geese and poultry, and, of course, have the
children to look after. They frequent each other’s houses a good deal,
but there are one or two who keep to themselves and do not encourage
visiting.
Sanitation is very much neglected. Closets do not exist, and the
present clergyman had the greatest difficulty in getting one built
for his own house. Animals are slaughtered in close proximity to the
houses, and no proper steps taken for the removal of entrails and
offal, which are left for the dogs to eat. Nothing is done to protect
the water supply, which is derived from open streams that have been
diverted to pass close to the houses, and the water becomes fouled
before it reaches the lower parts of the settlement. Nevertheless, the
settlement compares favourably in this respect with many of the remote
villages in European countries.
The people are very free from sickness of any kind, which is probably
due to their simple mode of life and the absence of any epidemic
diseases. They escaped the widespread epidemic of influenza. It is
likely that any infectious disease introduced would run rapidly through
the whole community. They say that almost invariably when a ship has
visited the island “colds” run the round of the settlement.
Maternity cases are dealt with by an old midwife, who adopts the wise
policy of leaving things very much to Nature.
This strange little community is run without any laid-down system
of government. There are no written laws. In the early days of the
settlement Corporal Glass, Pieter Green and William Rogers in turn
ruled in patriarchal fashion, all disputes being referred to them for
settlement.
By a process of evolution certain customs and unwritten laws have come
into use and are, perhaps, more rigidly adhered to than any definite
written rulings. Crime does not seem to exist. In the history of the
island there has been one case of suicide. Petty thieving is said to
occur occasionally, but in so small a community, where everyone knows
everybody else so well and their goings and comings, any stolen article
would be quickly recognized, so that their honesty in this way may
be enforced through certainty of detection. Sheep are occasionally
missed, and it is thought that theft may account for some of them,
the depredations being carried out at night and the animal immediately
skinned and cut up so that it is unrecognizable in the morning. There
is no policeman, no jail, and no system of punishment for offenders. It
seemed to me that they lived very harmoniously together, with much give
and take and very little quarrelling.
It is curious that the minds of visitors to this settlement have
been mainly struck in two very different ways. To the first class
this island community seems to have approached the ideal. The French
captain, Raymond du Baty, who visited the island in 1907, says:
The social status of Tristan da Cunha is a commonwealth of a
kind which has been dreamed of by philosophers of all ages and by
our modern Socialists. There is no envy, hatred or malice among
them; everything is done for the common good; they render each
other brotherly service; they are free from all the vices of
civilization; they worship God in a simple way; they live very
close to Nature, but without pantheistic superstition; greed and
usury are unknown among them; there are no class distinctions, no
rich or poor. Truly on this lonely rock in the South Atlantic we
have a people who belong rather to the Pastoral Age of the world
than to our modern unrestful life, and who, without theory or
politics or written laws, have reached that state which has been
described by the imaginative writers of all ages, haunted by the
thought of the decadent morality of the seething cities, as the
Golden Age or the Millennium.
I have often wondered as to what place the fleas, the rats, the offal
outside the window and the fouled water supply take in the Golden Age.
The second class of people are struck at once by the extreme poverty,
the squalor and lack of comforts, the illiteracy and ignorance and the
extreme isolation. The captain of a steamer who had once called to drop
mails said to us:
They are a greedy lot of beggars and thieves. When they come
aboard they ask you for everything they see, and if you do not
give them what they want they will try and pinch it. When it comes
to a matter of a bargain, they give you diseased sheep and bad
potatoes, though they have good enough stuff ashore.
The question which arises to the mind of everyone is: What is to
become of these people, with a rapidly increasing population and a
decreasing touch with outside civilization owing to lack of shipping?
The pasturage on the island will support only a limited number of live
stock, which soon will be insufficient for the increasing number of
mouths.
I inquired of many of them, especially the younger ones, as to whether
they would leave the island and settle elsewhere if they had the
opportunity. The reply in most cases was: Yes, provided they were
given a chance to make a decent living. They realize, however, that
without money and knowledge of its use and value, without experience of
outside ways of working and living, without education and unable even
to read or to write, they are likely to be at a disadvantage in a hard,
workaday world.
Robert Glass and some of the others who have spent some time away from
the island fully realize that there is a day of reckoning to come,
and they feel that, were it possible, it would be a good thing for
the young men when they have reached a certain age to go away and work
for a while at Cape Town or elsewhere. They could then decide whether
they would return to the island or not, and, if they did, it is likely
that they would bring back wives from the outside, thus periodically
introducing new blood to the community. Glass himself says he would
like his boys to serve a period in the army or navy, where they would
have a more or less sheltered life and to a certain extent be cared for
and looked after.
It is not likely that any offer of a wholesale transference of the
community to another part of the world would be accepted when it
came to the point—at any rate, by the elder people. After all, this
is natural enough, for how many people in England, told that the
population was getting too big for the country, would consent at a
day’s notice to make a sudden shift to Canada or Australia?
[Illustration: VIEW OF GOUGH ISLAND FROM THE GLEN ANCHORAGE
The Little Glen The Glen
_Photo: Dr. Macklin_]
[Illustration: THE APOSTLE: AN ACID INTRUSIVE NEAR THE SUMMIT OF GOUGH
ISLAND
_Photo: Macklin_]
[Illustration: THE LITTLE GLEN WHERE THE NEW SOPHORA WAS DISCOVERED
_Photo: Macklin_]
Nevertheless, I gathered from conversation with many of the young men
that there is deep down a seed of unrest and a desire to see something
of the outer world, where there are so many more opportunities to get
on and acquire greater wealth, including such things as wrist-watches,
electric torches, and boots of real leather. For this Robert Glass
is largely responsible. The seed, however, requires cultivation. A
missionary, by throwing himself into the interests of the islanders and
becoming to some degree one of themselves, might effect considerable
good by holding out continually in his daily talk and conversation
prospects and mind pictures of a greater world where opportunities
wait for the young men who can grasp them. Equally good results might
be effected by influencing the women in the same way. A missionary,
however, to obtain a good influence on these people must be a man
of broad mind and sound common sense. One previous missionary, for
example, undid much good work by an attempt to stop them going out to
passing ships on a Sunday, a maxim which they must necessarily reject
when the chances of trade on any day at all are so few and the taking
of them so vital a matter to the whole community. Mr. Rogers, the
present missionary, who replied very frankly when I asked him his views
on the subject, agreed that much harm might be done by holding too
narrow a view and trying to force a bigoted religion on these people.
He has an uphill fight in front of him, for he has to undo a feeling
that the observance of a religion is a bugbear which entails a number
of things that may not be done.
Unfortunately, the chances of leaving the island, even if an individual
has made up his mind to make the venture, have now become very scarce.
There is no regular communication, and consequently arrangements for a
job cannot be made beforehand, and as there is no money on the island
those who do find a passage cannot maintain themselves until work is
found.
It so happens, however, that there are people in Cape Town who take an
interest in Tristan da Cunha and who would be willing to give temporary
help.
It is hardly likely that the Government will ever again do anything
for the relief of these people, though all that is required is a small
vessel to make the journey once a year from Cape Town.[15] It should be
prepared to spend at least a week at Tristan da Cunha. Unfortunately,
there is no good shelter, and on many days a landing could not be
effected. Bad weather might compel the ship at any moment to leave her
anchorage, and so she should have some power other than sail.
The best time of year to make the trip is January, when bad weather
would least likely be met with. A vessel of a hundred tons burden would
be adequate.
This is but a tiny portion of our Empire, but who knows, with the
development of flying machines, of what use it may not ultimately
become. Carr, our flying officer, late of the Royal Air Force, says
there is a good site for an aerodrome, and the island is on the direct
route from Cape Town to Buenos Aires.
The Church organization also could do a vast amount of good by
arranging for a permanent mission changeable, say, every three years,
and thus ensure an unbroken education to those growing up. Much money
is collected yearly for missions—for instance, to the Esquimaux—but
there is evidence from the Arctic to show that the introduction of
Christianity to these primitive people, who are not sufficiently
evolved to receive it intelligently, has not always been productive
of good, and in some cases has done much harm, whereas the value to
Tristan da Cunha of a good sound practical religion combined with good
schooling cannot be doubted.