by Frank Galgay
“I lost a considerable amount, but was still in comfortable circumstances. I owned a snug home in St. John’s, and the old brig (rebuilt and as good as new) was engaged in the foreign trade, under your father’s command, your uncle also being with him as mate.
“Ten years ago last October, your father sailed for the Mediterranean, taking your mother with him, but leaving you, a tiny thing of two years, to our care.
“That was a stormy season on the Atlantic, and many a good ship went down, your father’s among them, and the mail by which was expected news of their safe arrival brought tidings of wreckage in mid-ocean, which, alas too plainly indicated that they had been engulphed in the merciless sea. Then, while we were in midst of this great sorrow, the firm of Transfer & Co. failed, and I was left penniless. In the spring I sold my place at St. John’s, and with the proceeds commenced a small business in this place, as this house and premises had been inherited by your grandmother.
“Failing fisheries however soon swallowed up all, but I struggled on, battling with adversity, until last spring, when your dear grandmother died, then it seemed as if the light of my life was gone, strength and energy failed me; and ever since I have been growing weaker day by day until at last, Nellie To-morrow, Nellie! I must apply for the pauper’s dole. Oh! It is hard! Hard!! Hard!!! but God’s will be done.” The old man arose with difficulty, and tottering across the kitchen to his room, threw himself upon his bed to indulge his grief alone.”
Nellie sat sometimes gazing into the fire, with tear-rimmed eyes. “Poor, dear, grandpa!” she murmured. “O, how I wish I could do something to help him!” Then rising, as if a sudden thought had crossed her mind, she said, “There’s that ring mother left behind her, I’ll take that to Mr. Warden, the trader, and get something nice for grandpa’s Christmas dinner, but I must not let him know.”
She then crept to the door of his room, and found that he had fallen asleep, covering him up carefully, and hurriedly dressing herself as warmly as her scanty ward-robe would permit, she started on her errand.
There was no moon, but the stars were twinkling brightly in the clear sky, except to the westward where a black cloud bank was rising. A sharp, keen, west wind was blowing; but calling, “Nep!” a large dog came bounding towards her, and she pushed bravely on her way. The distance was not far, but the road was black and dangerous, as it wound around the seaward slope of the hills, and about midway a bridge spanned a small brook which came rushing down the hill-side and sprang with a clear leap of 50 feet into the sea. Just as she reached this point the squall (which had been rising swiftly but unnoticed by her) burst upon her in all its fury. Bewildered, breathless, she endeavoured to press on, but in vain; she turned to retreat, but in a moment was hurled prostrate on the icy bridge, slipped under the railing, and with a cry of terror fell into the gulch below. Providentially a jutting crag about 10 feet below, on which the snow had gathered, intercepted her fall, and she lay unhurt, but terrified at the thought that the slightest motion would precipitate her into the yawning gulf beneath.
The noble dog soon made his way to her side and lying himself down by her, endeavoured to protect her from the fury of the elements. Nellie nestled close to her shaggy friend, but the fatal sleep which precedes death from cold began to steal on her. Suddenly Nep sprang up at the sound of footsteps, and bounding up the cliff confronted a strong looking man of middle-age. The faithful animal soon made him understand that help was needed, and on looking over the bridge he saw the perilous position of the child. Cautiously following the track of the dog, he soon reached the spot where she lay, and lifting her in his strong arms succeeded in bring her safely to the road. Still following the dog he soon reached Nellie’s home, and bringing her into the firelight found that she had fainted. Seeing no one, he laid her on the bench and called for help; then he began briskly rubbing her hands to restore circulation. As he did so the ring fell from them on the hearth, picking it up he glanced at it, and as he did so, a strange change came over him, his face becoming white as the child’s at his side. He held it nearer the light, examined it closely, and clasping his hands with emotion, exclaimed, “O God, I thank thee!” then gazing a moment with intense interest on the still unconscious child, clasped her in his arms, covering the sweet, pale face, with kisses.
Nellie’s grandfather had been awakend by the sound of footsteps, and as the call for help fell on his ear, he started up as one in a dream, then with a vigor which an hour ago he seemed incapable of, went forward to the kitchen. One moment he gazed on the form by the fire, then, crying: “Ned! Ned! My lost boy! Has the sea given up its dead?” tottered forward with outstretched arms, and would have fallen had not the stranger turned quickly and caught him in his arms, crying: “Thank God, father, I have found you at last!”
Reader, my tale is told. I would like to tell you of Nellie’s father—of his battle for life with the angry sea, clinging for hours to a broken spar; of his rescue by a ship bound for Australia; of his struggle and trials, and ultimate prosperity in that far-off land; of letters failing to reach their destination. All this, and more, I would like to tell, but for the Editor’s inexorable edict, “Not over 2,000 words!”
If you desire to know more of Nellie, seek her among the fairest and most honoured of the fair daughters of Terra Nova, and she will tell you that many a happy Christmas has she enjoyed since then—one especially, when orange blossoms were mingled with holly and mistletoe; but above all others, she cherishes the memory of that which is still called by all who know her story, “Nellie’s Christmas.”
The Old Sealing Gun!
by P. K. Devine
RECURRENCE OF CHRISTMAS ALWAYS bring to the recollection of the writer a weapon that is now rarely used, and is exhibited casually as a curiosity, viz.: the old sealing gun. It is now kept permanently on the gun-rack, or perhaps oftener found in the store loft in outports in a state of “innocuous disquietude.” But the old sealing gun had its day, and held a proud position in the planter’s house before the breech-loader and modern rifle supplanted it. The powder-horn and shot-bag, now looked on with good-natured curiosity by the generation growing up, were amongst the insignia of an outharbour fisherman’s property. They, together with the sealing gun, held a place in the estimation of the old-time household that the cartridge rifle can never expect to fill. Like Bruce’s armour or Wallace’s sword, the old sealing gun now survives only to give the new generation an idea of the man who used it. It was usually from six to seven feet long, and required “a man” to hold it out straight when using it. The sealing gun was kept on a “rack” in the kitchen, and a planter’s prosperity was generally estimated by the number of these long guns that could be seen at one time lying on the rack side by side. Christmas Eve was ushered in by the firing off of powder-guns all over the harbour. God bless the old-timers who kept it up as long as they could! Even a few of them do it now at Christmas time; but they do it in a stealthy manner, half-ashamed to be caught, knowing that the young generation have not the proper spirit of sympathy with the custom. In the olden times the firing of guns on Xmas Eve would appear to be done by pre-concerted signal, so general was it. The cannonading began simultaneously in all corners of the harbour, and ended as suddenly as it began. There was no pre-arrangement; they were simply doing what had been done by their fathers before them, back since the time the place was first inhabited. The breech-loader and the cartridge helped to kill the good old custom. Besides at Xmas, the sealing gun was used in the same way weddings, and on the arrival of the Bishop making the annual visitation, the practice is still kept up in a few districts of the country; but it is easy to see it is gradually dying out.
A man who owned a good sealing gun and knew how to fire it shooting seals and sea-birds in the olden times, was held in high estimation. A song composed by the poet of Trinity in those days contains a verse which lingers in memory, and well illustrates this point. The title of the song is “Green Island Shore.” Green Island is near Trinity, and was a
favourite resort for turs and ducks in winter. The swain, who is supposed to be making out a strong case for himself to soften the heart of Sally, is made to say by the poet the following in recounting his many qualifications to be considered a “good match”: —
“Sally, dear Sally, I’ll tell you what I can do:
I’m able to knit salmon-nets and go out fishing, too;
Besides, I have a good, long gun, ’tis five feet barrel or more,
And I’m the boy that can carry her all around Green Island Shore.”
On occasions of weddings, as soon as the party came out of the church, a volley would be fired over the heads of the bride and groom, and a special volley after for the clergyman. This cannonading would be kept up till the house where the wedding was to be celebrated was reached. The term “gun-shot, ” to indicate distance, was quite common. A person would say, “How far is it?? The answer would be, “Oh! About a gun-shot, ” or two gun-shots, as the case may be. To show how the change of customs will change the mode of expression, I will mention the sealing case that was on in the Supreme Court, about stolen seals, a few years ago, in which one Greenspond captain sued another. The lawyer asked the question of one of the witnesses, “How far were you from Captain B’s seals?” Turning to the Judge, as directed by Counsel to do, “Well me Lard, about a three-ball shot.” This was a poser, and the whole Court was “knocked out.” Had he said “three gun-shots, ” no doubt the Court would understand right away. But since the witness grew up and begun to follow the seal fishery, the old sealing gun, with its powder-horn and shot-gun, had gone out of use, and he knew only the rifle used for firing balls at old seals. The embellishing of the powder-horn with the letters of the owner’s name was quite a work of art, and in every settlement there was always “a complete hand” at the work, whose services in the dull season were always in requisition. The old sealing gun is everywhere being driven out by the Winchester and the army rifle, which may be effective and neat-looking firearms, but they will not be able to do the same execution amongst a shot of ducks or pepper an old seal like the “five-feet barrel or more, ” that made the hills re-echo at Xmas time in the days of our forefathers.
Some Comments on the Social Circumstances of Mummering in Conception Bay and St. John’s in the Nineteenth Century
by Cyril Byrne
THE PRACTICE OF MUMMERING at Christmas was a custom brought over from the British Isles to Newfoundland by the early settlers. The question of when the custom came into general practice is unclear. Certainly as early as 1770 mention is made in the Diary of George Cartwright then resident of Labrador of some of the Christmas customs generally associated with mummering being practiced there. The first specific mention of mummering in Newfoundland occurs in Rev L. A. Anspach’s A History of Newfoundland which was published in London in 1819. In that work Anspach mentions mummering in a context suggesting that it was of relatively recent introduction and that its practice was resisted by the native population of the Bay. G. M. Story suggested some scepticism about what Anspach says about the native resistance to mummering when Story wrote that Anspach may have had some ulterior motives for saying what he did: “Anspach’s desire (natural, perhaps, in a man who belonged to the Anglican ‘Establishment’) to present Newfoundland to English readers as an eminently respectable and orderly society led him to minimize the prevalence of Christmas mumming and the period of its introduction to Conception Bay; . . .” Story then goes on to suggest that Anspach may have been writing out of only partial knowledge of the whole of the Bay and to have had in mind the practice in the part of the Bay he knew best, i.e. Harbour Grace and Carbonear. However, another ecclesiastic, Rev. Patrick Lambert the second Roman Catholic Bishop of Newfoundland in a letter written in 1807 to the Archbishop of Dublin suggests much the same state of society in Conception Bay as the Anglican cleric Anspach. Lambert wrote that the planters of Newfoundland i.e. the natives were fine, constant and steady people if left on their own were it not for “the unprincipled and ignorant set of lawless wretches that come out every year from Ireland and the west of England.” This would seem to confirm what Anspach represents and that the “lawless wretches” who arrived annually to the shores of Newfoundland from the West Country and Ireland may indeed have been responsible for establishing mumming as a tradition in the Conception Bay area. What that mumming practice was like in the early years of the 19th century comes to us in a unique recollection of his boyhood in Carbonear written by Rev. Philip Tocque in 1897. The years Tocque recalled are those circa 1825 and what he remembered about the Christmas of that time is worth quoting in full:
When I was a boy, Christmas was a time of great rejoicing and hilarity. It was kept up for twelve days, during which there was ball-playing, wrestling matches and games of various kinds. In every house was placed on the table a decanter of rum with a very large sweet cake, baked in a Dutch oven, or a large iron bake-pot. Those who could afford it, in addition to the rum, had also gin, brandy and wine placed on the table. All visitors were expected to help themselves. Then there were the mummers—those who went round by day and those who went round by night. The day mummers—the men had white shirts over their clothes, trimmed with ribbons, with fanciful hats. Each man had a partner—a man dressed in women’s clothes. Into whatever house they entered they recited their lessons, eat (sic!) and drank, had a dance, their own fidler (sic!) playing the tunes. The night mummers were dressed in the most grotesque manner: some with humpbacks, cow hides and horns projecting, with hobby-horses, small bags of flour, which they used to throw over their followers. Then there were the boy mummers, who went round day and night. On two Christmases I had John Bemister as a partner. He acted as the Duke of Wellington, and I personated Oliver Cromwell.
This account is most interesting: for the first time one is presented with an array of mumming practices—two kinds of adult mummers with a sort of shift-work approach to the Christmas pastime and with two species of mummers one of which, the night mummers, corresponds generally to other later accounts of mumming in Newfoundland. There is also for the first time in the mumming record, mention made of boy mummers going the rounds obviously enacting a version of the mummers’ play: Philip Tocque as Oliver Cromwell and John Bemister as his partner must be the earliest known assignment of roles in that play. This recollection also suggest that mumming was not simply the Christmas pastime of the “lower orders” as is so often suggested by commentators writing a generation or so later: Tocque’s father was a well-to-do Carbonear merchant as was the father of John Bemister (John Bemister later served as Colonial Secretary.)
Mumming obviously took on a very different tone some time after the period recollected by Tocque, for those comments about it both from Conception Bay and St. John’s which date from approximately 1830 onwards are all characterized by both violence and a distinct association with what is labeled “the lower orders.” Was Tocque in his old age remembering his youth with the romantic selectivity of an old man? Perhaps, but I would suggest no. In the period about which Rev. Tocque was writing, Newfoundland society appears to have been much less divided along the political/religious lines which became evident in the 1830s following the introduction of Responsible Government. Colonel Chichester, an English army officer who visited Conception Bay in 1824, remarked in a journal he kept of his voyage, how undivided was the state of society in Newfoundland, especially how easily Catholics and Protestants lived amicably together. Similar comments occur in Newfoundland newspapers of the period. It is possible that the mumming practiced before 1832 was an innocent and harmless Christmas pastime and one in which all segments of society could and did take place. However, the social circumstances after 1830 were such that mumming could not remain an innocent, harmless pastime for the whole community.
The first account of violence associated with mumming in Conception Bay occurs in the reports of two Harbour Grace magistrates Thomas Danson and Philip Buckingham written in January of 1831 to the Colonial Secretary in St. John’s. In one
report written on the 20th. of January the magistrate states that “since Christmas many complaints have been made of Assaults and Batteries, as the lower order of persons are mostly accustomed to spend twelve days in idleness and pastime, that of Mumming has for many years prevailed here and Carbonear particularly, also in other parts of Conception Bay, some persons in Carbonear have had lime or flour thrown on their clothes by such disguised persons when going to attend Divine Service these Mummers appear in the streets, with their faces blackened or covered, also men dressed in womens clothes, and of the lowest order of persons. Flour etc. has also been thrown on persons in the streets at Harbour Grace by such disguised characters, who have received too much encouragement from respectable persons, residing at Carbonear and Harbour Grace they not being aware of the laws existing in England against such offences.” The letter proceeds in an interesting manner suggesting that since the population of the district is increasing rapidly “the custom of mumming and persons going abroad disguised” ought not be allowed to go unpunished.
With this letter is another dated six days earlier (January 14th) setting out a case in which on Old Christmas night, in fact at one o’clock in the morning of the seventh of January, mummers broke into the house of a “respectable planter” Mr. Mansel Alcock where a party, obviously an end of Christmas one, was in progress. The mummers entered the house armed, as the magistrates report, “with bludgeons and swabs dipped in blubber.” The mummers then proceeded to beat James Thompson, described as a dealer and chapman, and Henry Stowe, a master cooper. Following this they are described as having destroyed two sets of China Ware besides glass and earthen ware, not to mention the supper which had been prepared. Guns were presented at the windows from outside causing great consternation to the females at the party. The magistrates confess that neither the perpetrators “nor those who instigated them to commit . . . this vile outrage” had been brought to justice.
