NEWFOUNDLAND.
Its desolate Aspect.--Forests.--Marshes.--Barrens.--Ponds.--
Fur-bearing Animals.--Severity of Climate.--St. John’s.--
Discovery of Newfoundland by the Scandinavians.--Sir Humphrey
Gilbert.--Rivalry of the English and French.--Importance of
the Fisheries.--The Banks of Newfoundland.--Mode of Fishing.--
Throaters, Headers, Splitters, Salters, and Packers.--Fogs and
Storms.--Seal-catching.
Generally veiled with mists, Newfoundland appears at first sight gloomy
and repulsive. Abrupt cliffs, showing here and there traces of a scanty
vegetation, rise steep and bare from the sea, and for miles and miles
the eye sees nothing but brown hills or higher mountains, desolate and
wild as they appeared in the eleventh century to the bold Norwegian
navigators who first landed on its desert shore. The waves of the ocean
have everywhere corroded the rocky coast into fantastic pinnacles or
excavated deep grottoes in its flanks. In one of these cavities the
action of the surge has produced a remarkable phenomenon, known under
the name of “The Spout.” In stormy weather the waves penetrate into
the hollow and force their way with a dreadful noise from an aperture
in the rock as a gigantic fountain visible at a distance of several
miles.[21]
The interior of the country corresponds with the forbidding appearance
of the coasts, and offers nothing but a succession of forests, marshes,
and barrens. The forests, if they may thus be called, generally grow on
the declivities of the hills or on the sides of the valleys, where the
superfluous waters find a natural drain. The trees consist for the most
part of fir, spruce, birch, pine, and juniper or larch; and in certain
districts the wych-hazel, the mountain-ash, the elder, the aspen, and
some others are found. The character of the timber varies greatly
according to the nature of the subsoil and the situation. In some
parts, more especially where the woods have been undisturbed by the
axe, trees of fair height and girth may be found; but most of the wood
is of stunted growth, consisting chiefly of fir-trees about twenty or
thirty feet high, and not more than three or four inches in diameter.
These commonly grow so closely together that their twigs and branches
interlace from top to bottom, while among them may be seen innumerable
old and rotten stumps and branches, or newly-fallen trees, which, with
the young shoots and brushwood, form a tangled and often impenetrable
thicket. The trees are often covered with lichens, and tufts of white
dry moss are entangled about the branches. Other green and softer
mosses spread over the ground, concealing alike the twisted roots of
the standing trees and the pointed stumps of those which have fallen,
the sharp edges or slippery surface of the numerous rocks and boulders,
and the holes and pitfalls between them. Every step through these woods
is consequently a matter of great toil and anxiety. In the heat of
summer, while the woods are so thick as to shut out every breath of
air, they are at the same time too low and too thinly leaved at top
to exclude the rays of the sun, the atmosphere being further rendered
close and stifling by the smell of the turpentine which exudes from the
trees.
Inclosed in these gloomy woods, large open tracts, called marshes,
are found covering the valleys and lower lands, and frequently also
at a considerable height above the sea on the undulating backs of the
mountains. These tracts are covered to a depth sometimes of several
feet with a green, soft, and spongy moss, bound together by straggling
grass and various marsh-plants. The surface abounds in hillocks and
holes, the tops of the hillocks having often dry crisp moss like
that on the trees. A boulder or small crag of rock occasionally
protrudes, covered with red or white lichens, and here and there is
a bank on which the moss has become dry and yellow. The contrast of
these colors with the dark velvety green of the wet moss frequently
gives a peculiarly rich appearance to the marshes, so that when seen
from a little distance they might easily be mistaken for luxuriant
meadow-grounds, but a closer inspection soon destroys the illusion,
and shows, instead of nutritious grass and aromatic flowers, nothing
but a carpet of useless cryptogamic plants. Except in long-continued
droughts or hard frosts, these marshes are so wet as to be unable
to bear the weight of a person walking over them. A march of three
miles, sinking at every step into the moss, sometimes knee-deep, and
always as far as the ankle, is, it may well be supposed, toilsome and
fatiguing, especially when, as must always be the case in attempting
to penetrate the country, a heavy load is carried on the shoulders.
This thick coating of moss is precisely like a great sponge spread
over the country, and becomes at the melting of the snow in the spring
thoroughly saturated with water, which it long retains, and which every
shower of rain continually renews.
The “barrens” of Newfoundland are those districts which occupy the
summits of the hills and ridges, and other elevated and exposed tracts.
They are covered with a thin and scrubby vegetation, consisting of
berry-bearing plants and dwarf bushes of various species, resembling
the moorlands of the north of England, and differing only in the kind
of vegetation and its scantier quantity. Bare patches of gravel and
boulders and crumbling fragments of rock are frequently met with upon
the barrens, and they are generally altogether destitute of vegetable
soil. But only on the barrens is it possible to explore the interior of
the country with any kind of ease or expedition. These different tracts
are none of them of any great extent; woods, marshes, and barrens
frequently alternating with each other in the course of a day’s journey.
Another remarkable feature of Newfoundland is the almost incredible
number of lakes of all sizes, all of which are indiscriminately called
ponds. They are scattered over the whole country, not only in the
valleys but on the higher lands; and even in the hollows of the summits
of the ridges and the very tops of the hills. They vary in size from
pools of fifty yards in diameter to lakes upward of thirty miles long
and four or five miles across. The number of those which exceed a
couple of miles in extent must on the whole amount to several hundreds,
while those of a smaller size are absolutely countless. It is supposed
that a full third of the surface of the island is covered by fresh
water, and this reckoning is rather below than above the mark. In a
country so abundantly provided with lakes or ponds, it seems strange to
find no navigable rivers. The undulating surface of the land, with its
abrupt hills and deep gullies, is, without all doubt, one cause of this
absence of larger streams.
Each pond or small set of ponds communicates with a valley of its own,
down which it sends an insignificant brook, which takes the nearest
course to the sea. The chief cause, however, both of the vast abundance
of ponds and the comparative scantiness of the brooks, is to be found
in the great coating of moss which spreads over the country, and
retains the water like a sponge, allowing it to drain off but slowly
and gradually.
The wilds of Newfoundland are tenanted by numerous fur-bearing animals,
affording a great source of gain to some of the fishermen, who in
winter turn furriers. Arctic foxes are here in all their variety.
Beavers, once nearly extirpated, but now unmolested owing to the low
value of their fur, are increasing in numbers. Brown bears are pretty
numerous, and Polar bears sometimes find their way to the northern
promontory of the island upon the ice which comes drifting down in
spring from Davis’s Straits. By way of contrast, in hot summers the
tropical humming-bird has been known to visit the southern shores of
Newfoundland. Reindeer are abundant, but unfortunately their enemies
the wolves have likewise increased in number, since the reward given by
the Colonial Government for their destruction has ceased to be paid.
Although in the same latitude as Central France and the south of
Germany, Newfoundland has a long and severe winter, owing to the two
vast streams of Arctic water, the Davis’s Straits and East Greenland
currents, which combine and run by its shores; and the summer, though
sometimes intensely hot, is so short and so frequently obscured by fogs
that, even were the soil less sterile, agriculture must necessarily
be confined to narrow limits. The little wheat and barley, cultivated
on the inside lands far above the sea-shore, is often cut green, and
carrots, turnips, potatoes, and cabbages are nearly all the esculent
vegetables which the land has been proved capable of producing.
Hence we can not wonder that the whole island, which is considerably
larger than Scotland, has only about 90,000 inhabitants, and even these
would have had no inducement to settle on so unpromising a soil if the
riches of the sea did not amply compensate for the deficiencies of the
land. Fish is the staple produce of Newfoundland, and the bulk of its
population consists of poor fishermen, who have established themselves
along the deep bays by which the coast is indented, and catch near the
coast vast quantities of cod, which they bring in and cure at their
leisure, in order to have it ready for the ships when they arrive. With
the outer world they have little communication, and a visit to St.
John’s, the capital of the island, forms an epoch in their solitary
lives.
This town lies at the head of a wide and secure bay, and consists of
a main street fronting the water, from which narrow, dirty lanes and
alleys branch out towards the land. The dingy, unpainted houses are
built of wood, the Government edifices only being constructed of brick
or stone. The long rows of fish-stages along the shore attract the
stranger’s attention, but he is still more astonished at the countless
gin and beer shops, which at once tell him he is in a place where
thirsty sailors and fishermen form the mass of the population. In the
winter St. John’s is comparatively deserted, as it then has no more
than about 10,000 inhabitants, but their number is doubled or trebled
during the fishing-season.
The island of Newfoundland, first seen and visited in the eleventh
century by the Norse colonists of Greenland, and then utterly
forgotten, was rediscovered in 1497 or 1498 by John and Sebastian Cabot.
The richness of its cod-fisheries soon attracted attention, and
fishermen from Spain, France, Portugal, and England annually visited
its banks. The best harbors along the coast were occupied by the first
comers in spring--a circumstance which gave rise to frequent quarrels.
To obviate this lawless state of affairs, Sir Humphrey Gilbert was
sent out by Queen Elizabeth in 1583 to take possession of the land.
He divided the coast about St. John’s into districts, and the British
settlers willingly agreed to pay a tax to Government in the expectation
of seeing their interests better protected. The new arrangement had a
beneficial effect on the trade of Newfoundland, for in 1615 more than
250 English vessels visited St. John’s, and gradually the whole of the
eastern coast of the island was occupied by English fishermen.
The French on their part colonized the north and south sides of the
island, and founded the town of Placentia, once a very considerable
place, but now reduced to insignificance. The rivalry of the French
was naturally a great source of jealousy to a nation ill-accustomed
to brook any foreign intrusion into its commercial interests. Thus,
after the war of the Spanish succession, Great Britain demanded and
obtained by the Treaty of Utrecht the sole possession of Newfoundland;
and Louis XIV., anxious for peace on any terms, willingly acceded to
this sacrifice, merely reserving for his subjects the right to dry on
the shores of the island the fish they had caught on the banks. By
the subsequent treaties of Paris the French were restricted to the
small islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon, but not allowed to erect
fortifications of any kind.
Besides the English and the French, the Americans also have the right
to fish on the banks of Newfoundland; for when England acknowledged
the independence of the United States, a formal article of the treaty
of peace secured to the latter the fishing privileges which they had
previously enjoyed as colonies.
The value of the dry codfish alone exported every year from
Newfoundland is on an average about £400,000, while the total value of
the exported productions in fish, oil, and skins is upward of £700,000.
This, from a population of 80,000 or 90,000, proves that the people of
the island ought to be happy and prosperous; but unfortunately a system
of credit renders the bulk of the fishermen entirely dependent on the
merchants, and want of education is a further source of evil.
Though vast quantities of cod are taken along the shores of
Newfoundland, yet the most important fishery is carried on on the
banks at some distance from the island.
The Great Bank lies twenty leagues from the nearest point of land from
latitude 41° to 49°, and extends 300 miles in length and 75 in breadth.
To the east of this lies the False Bank; the next is styled the Green
Bank, about 240 miles long and 120 broad; then Banquero, about the
same size, with several other shoals of less note, all abounding with
fish, but chiefly with cod, the great magnet which sets whole fleets
in motion. In winter the cod retire to the deeper waters, but they
re-appear in March and April, when their pursuers hasten to the spot,
not only from the bays and coves of Newfoundland, but from Great
Britain, the United States, and France.
While fishing, each man has a space three feet and a half wide allotted
to him on deck, so as not to interfere with his neighbor. The lines
are from thirty to forty fathoms long--for the cod generally swims
at that depth. The chief baits used are the squid, a species of
cuttle-fish, and the capelin, a small salmon abounding on the North
American coasts. The herring and the launce, and a shell-fish called
clam, which is found in the belly of the cod, are likewise used. In
spring particularly the cod rushes so eagerly upon the bait, that in
the course of a single day a good fisherman is able to haul up four
hundred, one after another. This is no easy task, considering the size
of the fish, which on an average weighs fourteen pounds, but has been
taken four feet three inches long, and forty-six pounds in weight. When
a large fish, too heavy for the line, has been caught, the fisherman
calls on his neighbor, who strikes a hook attached to a long pole into
the fish, and then safely hauls it on board.
Mindful of the proverb which recommends us all to strike while the
iron is hot, the fishermen continue to catch cod for hours, until so
many are heaped on the deck that to make room it becomes necessary
to “dress them down.” This is done on long planks made to rest with
both ends on two casks, and thus forming a narrow table. First, each
man cuts out the tongues of the fish he has caught, as his wages are
reckoned by their number, and then the whole crew divide themselves
into _throaters_, _headers_, _splitters_, _salters_, and _packers_. The
throater begins the operation of “dressing” by drawing his knife across
the throat of the cod to the bone and ripping open the bowels. He then
passes it to the header, who with a strong wrench pulls off the head
and tears out the entrails, which he casts overboard, passing the fish
at the same time to the splitter, who with one cut lays it open from
head to tail, and almost in the twinkling of an eye with another cut
takes out the backbone. After separating the sounds, which are placed
with the tongues and packed in barrels as a delicacy, the backbone
follows the entrails overboard, while the fish at the same moment is
passed with the other hand to the salter. Such is the amazing quickness
of the operations of heading and splitting, that a good workman will
often decapitate and take out the entrails and backbone of six fish
in a minute. Every fisherman is supposed to know something of each
of these operations, and no rivals at cricket ever entered with more
ardor into their work than do some athletic champions for the palm of
“dressing down” after a “day’s catch.”
Generally the fog is so dense that one ship does not see the other,
although both may be so near that the crews distinctly hear each
other’s voices. Frequently one is hardly able to see to the distance of
a few feet, and the large drops of the condensed mist fall like rain
from the yards. During calm weather the aspect of the sea is so dismal
that it requires all the buoyant spirits of a seaman to resist its
depressing influence. For days the calm remains unbroken, and no sound
is heard but that of a fish darting out of the water, or the screech
of a sea-bird flitting over the sea. But sometimes a storm breaks
this awful silence of nature. At such times the fishing-ships, hidden
in mists, run the greatest danger of striking against each other,
although signal-lanterns and alarm-trumpets are used to give warning. A
tremendous wave bursting on the deck often strikes them with such force
as to sink them or dash them to pieces against the rocky coast. Thus
many a widow and orphan has a mournful tale to relate of the dangers of
the cod-fishery on the banks of Newfoundland.
In some parts of the coast where the water is sufficiently shallow the
codfish are now caught in sieves or nets. This operation requires more
capital to commence with than the mere boat and hooks and lines of the
common fishermen, and, like all improvements, met at first with much
opposition, on the plea that it must interfere with the interests of
the poorer class. It is obvious, however, that the use of the net is
advantageous to the trade at large, for shoals, or, as they are termed,
“schools,” of fish may sometimes be seen sweeping along shore, which
but for the net would escape altogether. Besides, there seems such an
incalculable abundance of the fish that there will always be enough to
hook, enough to jig, enough to net, and more than enough to go away.
“One calm July evening,” says Mr. Jukes,[22] “I was in a boat just
outside St. John’s harbor, when the sea was pretty still, and the fish
were ‘breaching,’ as it is termed. For several miles around us the
calm sea was alive with fish. They were sporting on the surface of
the water, flirting their tails occasionally into the air, and as far
as could be seen the water was rippled and broken by their movements.
Looking down into its clear depths, codfish under codfish of all sizes
appeared swimming about as if in sport. Some boats were fishing, but
not a bite could they get, the fish being already gorged with food. Had
the ground been shallow enough to use nets, the harbor might have been
filled with fish.”
Besides the cod-fishery, seal-catching is also carried on with
considerable success on the eastern coast, which intercepts many
immense fields and islands of ice as they move southward in the spring
from the Arctic Sea. The interior parts of these drifting shoals,
with the lakes or openings interspersed, remain unbroken, and on them
myriads of seals maybe found. In the month of March or April, as soon
as the ice-fields descend with the currents from Davis’s Straits,
many small ships, not only from the harbors of the east coast of
Newfoundland, but even from the distant Scotch ports, particularly
Aberdeen, put out to sea, and boldly plunge into all the openings of
the ice-fields to make war upon the seals. Armed with firelocks and
heavy bludgeons, the crews surprise the animals on the ice. In this
way thousands are killed yearly from the north, but their numbers have
latterly decreased, and the seal-catchers pay the penalty of their
heedless and indiscriminate slaughter.