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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