INTRODUCTION

 

The end of an era has come to Lance Cove.  Most of her old folk have long since gone to their rest, and the picture it now presents is most forlorn.   Amongst the scant history and dim traditions that remain, factual information is scarce and elusive.  However, sufficient information has been gathered to tell something of the story of this once beautiful little village and its people.

Lance Cove lays no claim to special historical significance, and if my research had been for the purpose of proving otherwise I would have been greatly disappointed.  The pioneers who came to settle here were humble folk, and though little "blue blood" flowed in their veins, they owned a quality of far greater and enduring worth.  They were men and women of  boundless energy, made restless by the call of adventure and endowed with sufficient courage to resist the opiate of idle dreams.

From far across the ocean came stories of a New Found Land: a land as yet untamed and which yielded from the grip of its challenging elements, to those of strong arm and keen wit, the promise of a new life of freedom, of opportunity and of adventure.  No lesser challenge was worthy of the depth of the restlessness that stirred in their hearts, or the greatness of their courage. So it was that two hundred years ago men from the west of England, from Ireland and from Wales, found themselves surveying the glistening witch hazel and the tall spruce upon the graceful slopes of Lance Cove and deciding that it was here they would make their new home.

The realization of the enormous task, the hardship and the loneliness with which those folk  were ultimately confronted, must have been for them a shattering experience.  One is not surprised to learn that hundreds of their kinsmen, having arrived upon those shores and being appalled at what they found, either returned back home or else sought passage farther south in search of kinder climes.  One old sea dog of aristocratic origin  who had been captain of a "foreign going"  ship for fifty years, and who for some reason remained in Newfoundland to teach school, once described the place in which he lived in the following manner: "I live in _______.   I  was born in London.  There is a great deal of difference between the two places.  My home was amid the busy throng. My present abode is amid the high and lonely hills which recall to my mind the words of the poet:

'When e'er I take my walk abroad, 
How many 'ills I see.' 
In fact this is not the place to make a man say with the Apostle, 
'Lord, it
is good for us to be here'".1

Though perhaps intended to be humorous, this composition gives poignant  expression to an emotion that must have greatly affected many of the first settlers, and caused those whose resources were not adequate to meet the challenge of homesteading in this demanding land, to move on.  Reflection upon those hardships tempers one's judgment towards sympathy and understanding for the brief sojourners.  However, it was the men and women who came, who saw and who stayed to conquer and to love this land who were our forefathers.

Such a man was James Pitts, one of the first pioneers of Lance Cove.  The following is part of his self composed epitaph, still legible on the crumbling sandstone slab which marks his last resting place:

"So  farewell friends and acquaintance all
Pas by this tomb in friendship call
Look on the same without grief or fear
As my choice is to be buried here.
He was born at Kenford in Devonshire."

Those words not only pay beautiful tribute to the land he claimed and loved so well, but also give a glimpse of the nobility of his character, as well as of the secret that united him with his fellow pioneers to make their spirit and purpose indomitable.

Amongst the first settlers who cast their lot in other of the myriad coves and harbours that dent the rugged coast of this old island, there were few who found such a measure of prosperity and independence as did those who came to Lance Cove.  Here the tall trees and fertile soil gave up the bounty that the more demanding seas so oft withheld.  Too oft, the cruel burden of deprivation and exploitation  weighed heavy on the backs of of those who were not so fortunate in their choice and who could look only to the merciless sea for reprieve.   It took mighty strong folk to stand up under this load.  There were many who did and to them belong the greater honour.

If the good fortune that insured the prosperity and independence of the first settlers of Lance Cove cannot be attributed  wholly to their credit, then the wisdom that preserved them from the ravages of sectarianism surely can.

No record can convey this more persuasively than does the old cemetery on the cliff side where men and women from Devon and Erin sleep side by side, inseparable in death as they were in life.  The coming of the churches finally closed the gates upon this hallowed spot, but Nature reclaimed it and turned it into a shrine of remarkable beauty.

Here stately spruce trees stand like solemn sentinels, their sturdy branches reaching out protectively  to form a sheltering canopy.  "Under foot, a mantle of green moss, soft to the tread, and layer upon layer of sweet smelling sprinkles, cover the isles and the unattended mounds".  Here and there gravestones lean with their faces towards the earth as if to protect their quaint old epitaphs from the ravages of time.  The silence is disturbed only by the waves lapping at the foot of the cliff far below and the fresh ocean breeze "whispering amongst the dancing alder leaves".

One cannot linger long in this spot - a parable in its truest sense - without realizing that the example of the men and women who lie sleeping here is proof positive that what we all long for so much in every age is not such an impossible dream.

 

 


1. Newfoundland Quarterly . July 1905. Article by Rev. Canon Pilot.

 

 

 

 

 



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