Idleness, disappointment … and rum
Paul Sparkes: Unemployed, disgruntled young Irish fled famine to find famine
A brief news item on television last week noted that families in Venezuela were trying to flee their country and they were opting for Brazil as a refuge. The reason is the economy in Venezuela is “a basket case,” to quote at least one observer, and general unrest is rising. When an economy slips and slides, people hunt for scapegoats.
One of the greatest-ever backlashes against a failed economy occurred in France in the late 1790s. History grouped the widespread turmoil under the heading, “The French Revolution.” And a sub-heading under that was “The Reign of Terror.” Anyone, from a member of the higher orders to the intellectual was seen as part of the problem. If the mob was largely wrong on that, they didn’t care. Their course of action was as blind as their perception of the economy. They “guarantined” the guilty and blood flowed indiscriminately.
Here in Newfoundland at that very time the condition of the poor was so desperate from the vagaries of the fishery and the self-serving predatory nature of the merchants who kept the industry operating, that Gov. Waldegrave (17531825) struggled to make “some regular provision for the poor,” (Charles Pedley, 1860).
Waldegrave had written that one of the first things to attract his attention when he landed in St. John’s in 1797 was “the wretchedness of the lower inhabitants of the town.” It was so raw to this Englishman of naval training that he asked our principal citizens what initiatives were in effect to help the poor. As Pedley writes, “to his astonishment, he was informed that no such provision was made.”
When Waldegrave put a fund together the distributors noted that over the winter of 179899 there were 626 people in St. John’s alone who, without assistance from that fund, “must in all likelihood have absolutely perished for want.” St. John’s
was a small community at that time.
It is difficult for us, today, to get our minds around the kind of brute poverty that was known by so many here on our island in those far-off days. It was not unusual for fishermen to come away from a season’s work having made so little that they owed money for the gear they bought on the ticket of the merchant the year before. In such circumstances, the flow of basic necessities was very much in doubt. A family could not survive on the yield of a potato patch by the side of the house.
Added to that, homes were often mere tilts. Fires were all-too-frequent. Idleness on the part of many of the fishery workers from Ireland was a time to give expression to the in-born grudge against anything English.
In her 1966 book “The Political History of Newfoundland 1832-1864” Gertrude Gunn gives a relevant comment from an observer in Conception Bay. It is from 190 years ago: “in 1827 amongst the Protestant population of the island there
was ‘an habitual dread’ of the Irish as a class which was more oppressively felt than openly expressed.” The fear grew in the community when Irish “youngsters” who came here in great numbers seeking work in the fishery were out of work. With little to harness their energy, they passed their time in idleness and drinking, a combination that occasionally brought eruptions.
Gunn writes that “continued emigration aggravated the recurrent famine conditions and food riots and worsened outbreaks of lawlessness and insubordination ... in some of the outports only the presence of a naval or military detachment kept the populace in order through the long winters.”
Exploring all sides, Gunn delves into the grievances that the Irish brought with them: the debt of their passage out to Newfoundland often drained what small resources they earned from a season’s fishery; and mounting prices kept them in the servitude. Tragically, to begin with, they had left their stricken homeland with hopes
of high wages over here.
Gunn’s book is a doctoral thesis (University of New Brunswick) so, for the average reader I think it is fair to say it is not a fully entertaining read. It addresses that 30-year period in Newfoundland that saw the dawn of representative government, responsible government and of political parties. The book is still available. Go online — Google Bookfinder (out of print / rare).
A volatile mix
“Volatile” is the only word for a mixture of denominations at odds with each other, idleness, poverty, slim education and hopelessness; to say nothing about a climate far more challenging than that of the British Isles. For many in this imported army of labour, disappointments could be handled only by drink. The wonder is that we did not have worse confrontational scenarios here. Even the Harbour Grace affray of 1883 was tame when one considers the “might have been”.
Dwelling houses, business premises and even stocks of
food fell victim to devastating fire late in 1817. William Wilson (1866) wrote that it was so bad that it looked almost like the end of the line for Newfoundland: “these calamities spread a deep gloom upon the minds of the people; and for a time it seemed as though the entire abandonment of the colony would take place at no distant period.”
Charles Pedley (1863) blames “religious animosity” for the troubles expressed in a letter addressed to the Governor of Newfoundland in 1788 from the Ferryland region. It refers to the preceding winter. Magistrates, principal merchants, traders, and inhabitants of the district of Ferryland (there were 19 signatories) told of such “riotous, lawless spirit” occurring in their area that they were in fear for their lives and property, “and considered themselves in absolute need of military protection.”