CHAPTER VIII

_THE TRUCK SYSTEM_

Cod alone is fish in Labrador diction. Cod is the coin of the realm. Money is scarcely known, and no other medium of exchange is used by the people, whose _raison d’être_ almost is cod. All live on goods advanced on credit, to be paid for by their catch of cod. This truck system, is the next of kin to the old feudal system, and has long been extinct in most civilized countries. It seems the early treatment of Newfoundland by England is partly responsible for the rise of this baneful system, which it is now difficult to remove. The struggling fisherman knows it is a state of bondage, but cannot get out of it; the merchant knows its disadvantages outweigh its profits; while the colony must recognise that it is alone the cause of so many of its younger and more energetic men leaving the country as soon as they can see their way to do so—for no race loves its country with more patriotic affection than do Newfoundlanders.

Up to the end of the eighteenth century no one was allowed to remain in Newfoundland after the fishing season, each captain of a fishing vessel being held responsible, under heavy penalty, to bring back all his crew to England; while if any one did desert and remain behind to be near the fishing grounds, and to reap the harvest of the sea for his own benefit, his stage, and even house and goods, might be appropriated by the first fishing captain out next year. This made it only possible for fishermen to go out when some merchant capitalist would finance the voyage, who, in return, repaid himself out of the fish caught.

Now many vessels were sent out, and though the catch of fish by any individual vessel was uncertain—for fish set into one place one year and another the next—the whole catch would generally repay the merchant amply. But as in some cases all vessels of one merchant might do badly, a large price was charged on goods advanced as a further security for the merchant, that in any case he might be quite sure to recoup himself for his outlay. And lastly, though there might be no immediate return in fish or cash, yet the fishermen at once began to accumulate a large nominal debt; and though possibly, and even probably, they would never be able to liquidate this, yet the fact of their being indebted to any particular merchant insured their fishing for him year after year. Thus, perhaps, the best issue for the merchant at settling time seemed in every case to be a debt by each man, but not large enough to make the fisherman despair and so fish badly. Thus the successful fisherman had to pay for his unsuccessful brother’s deficits. The fishermen soon found this out, and were not only soured against their suppliers, but lost the incentive to make any effort to discharge their whole debts. The merchant now found it difficult to make ends meet through bad debts, and was led to buy in the fish himself, insisting on the fishermen not paying in cash, but fish. Each year the commercial body fixed its own price for fish, punished those of their men who sold the fish for cash if they could do so, and themselves resold the fish in foreign markets, gaining a second profit when possible. Thus large nominal debts arose, which in hundreds of cases the men could never hope to liquidate. The spirit of pauperism was directly fostered, the men becoming absolutely dependent on the charity of their merchants, and in many cases from year to year never knowing how much they really owed.

This system persists to-day, as an evil heirloom, dragging down both merchant and fisherman. To-morrow’s labour is ever mortgaged ahead for food to-day. At last a time comes when no longer any hope of return from certain men can be expected. The advances are suddenly cut off, and these men, deprived of their usual source of supply, fall back on government relief, till to-day over one-third and nearly half of the whole revenue of the country is spent in pauper relief. The recipients are frequently able-bodied men, and yet they have no shame in accepting it, looking on the government as an independent source of wealth, and calling their annual six to twenty-four dollars “a government appointment.”

Thus the system has played into the hands of idleness and dishonesty also; for though all a man’s catch is nominally his merchant’s, he is tempted to keep some part back and sell it elsewhere, that he may have some ready money to spend when he returns. Thus one man who has already more fish than would pay his own debt, will accept fish from another heavily in debt, and turn it in to his merchant as his own, handing over afterwards the money or goods he obtained in return to his friend, and perhaps deducting a shilling a quintal for the risk involved. A far more common way is to take and sell your fish right away to another firm. All are generally glad to get fish anyhow; for not only is it a loss to send away a ship without a full freight, but also there is a great race to get vessels away first each year, as the first in the market will realize a higher price for their cargo throughout. To prevent this the various firms agreed at one time not to buy fish from another merchant’s planters. But this fell through, and now only a careful watch is kept on how much fish each man has as the season progresses, and the amount compared with what he delivers to his merchant. Any man caught alienating much fish would not receive any advance in future, though most firms are anxious to get all the men they can.

The advances are made in May or early June. When the fish has been put on board the vessels for market in October, notes of credit are sent to the merchants thus:—

Received from......., .... qlts. ... qrs. ... lbs. of Labrador fish.

To Messrs. ........., qlts. ... qrs. ... lbs. of Merchantable fish.

Per Agent.......

Then, as soon as the total catch can be roughly estimated, the Chamber of Commerce meet in St. Johns and decide what price they will give for fish. The credit notes are at once cashable at that price, cargoes being all insured. Each firm then credits its planters and men with their catch at that price, and a balance is struck between the total and the amount of each one’s advance in May. If a surplus remains, it goes to provide the fisherman with his winter’s diet. Now a good catch for a fisherman is 100 quintals of dry fish, or 300 quintals of green. On an average 100 fish go to the quintal, that is, each man must catch 30,000 fish. Each quintal is worth in St. Johns from 2-1/2 to 3 dollars, so that 275 dollars is a good season, less 30 dollars for salt 245 dollars, or about £50. It must be remembered many will only average 20 quintals some years, or 50 dollars, not £50. The average catch per head for “bank” fishermen last year was 47-1/2 quintals. How often a man will be dependent, therefore, on charity for a supply of food for himself and his family during the winter becomes apparent.

Often the winter’s diet that can be laid in is all too small for the needs of the family; and before the breaking up of the ice once more allows cod-fishing to commence, and the planters to return from Newfoundland, the poor Livyeres are reduced to living on “the landwash.” “A short feast and a long famine” is a coast epigram.

Clothing is perhaps most difficult to find money for, and is apt to become so scanty that the settler, for lack of proper protection from the weather, cannot prosecute his fishing or hunting, especially where the temperature falls to 50°, or even more, below zero. I met one poor fellow who years before had missed his way home at night and had had to sleep out in the open. He had lost both feet from frost-bite. One can realize the need for woollen clothing. When near Winnipeg, in North Manitoba, I saw a young Englishman, who had been caught out in a blizzard, and had lost both hands and both feet at the wrists and ankles from frost-bite. But a still more vicious circle is established when, to procure food for this winter, a settler has to part with his means of “killing a voyage” next summer. The following is a case in point as related to me on the spot:—

Some three years ago, at Big Bight, a Mr. Olliver, with his wife and five children, had fallen into great poverty. At last in spring, when all his food was exhausted, he set out, taking his last possessions, an old Jack plane and a trout net, with him. Having no dogs, he had to travel afoot over the ice and snow. At last he came to the house of the best-off settler about, Mr. Tosten Anderson, a Norwegian, and a splendid fellow. When asked for food, Mr. Anderson, showing all the flour he had, said, “To part with any more than I have done, means we must all starve together.” This was thirty to forty miles from his own home. He then went on twelve miles to a Mr. James Thomas, whose reply was just the same. Two days later he reached Richard Blomfield’s house on his way back. Here he met the same reply again. No more was heard till three days later, when Blomfield was summoned to the Ollivers’ house. On the middle of the floor, his coat off and his gun by his side, lay Mr. Olliver, shot through the head. In a heap in one corner lay the three youngest children, scarcely dead from blows from an axe lying near them. Apparently determined to spare those who might provide for themselves, he had sent out first his wife and eldest daughter to search for food, and his eldest boy to search for birds. Mr. Blomfield told me he supposed that the cries of the hungry children proved too much for the poor father. Truly Virginius of old acted in much the same way.

This, of course, is an extreme case, and in order to arrive at a fair conclusion, we took, as far as possible, a census of the Livyeres—noting the numbers and ages of children—the proportion that could read and write, and the number each had of gallons of molasses, barrels of flour or pork, pounds of tea, and tobacco, which, alas, nearly all use, however poor and unable to afford luxuries. That a very large proportion had a quite insufficient quantity of food became beyond question. It must be remembered it is not a question of how much they can buy, but how much a supplier is willing to give to people already heavily indebted to him, only a few being independent enough to pay down for what they take. Government aid, sea birds, seals, trout, willow grouse, and rabbits, _i.e._ arctic hares, are the supplemental sources available. The Newfoundlanders are too often only little better off than Labradormen, and I have many piteous accounts of parents themselves suffering chronic starvation in order to supply their little ones with the necessities of life. Soon, it is sincerely to be hoped, the interior of Newfoundland will be opened up. All look to the new railway to turn the attention of many to the cultivation of the land, which will at least help to render existence more easy. It is reasonable to hope also that the new sealing laws, the new fishery restrictions, and Mr. Adolph Neilsen’s magnificent work at the fish hatchery and lobster incubation, are the presages of happier times. But the people can never be free, industrious, and contented, until the truck system is dead and buried.[14]

[Footnote 14: December, 1894. And now the long impending crash has come—both the banks of Newfoundland have failed, and ten out of twelve merchants’ firms have had to suspend payment, while the masses of the population are face to face with absolute starvation. The Truck System has entailed ruin on all concerned in it, and has brought the country to the verge of bankruptcy. There are not few, however, who see in these terrible events the promise of better things. A better system of trade must arise, a better relation between labour and capital, a better era for this oldest of England’s colonies. “Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth.” God grant it may be so in this case.]

[Illustration: A visit from Eskimo.]