Here we may often watch the fishermen putting out to sea in their
dirty, but strong, little vessels, which go bouncing away on the
waves, their big sails appearing so much too large for the boats that
it seems to us, every now and then, as if they must certainly topple
over. And then, at other times, we will see the fishermen returning,
and will be on the beach when the boats are drawn up on the sand, and
the fish, some white, some gray, some black, but all glittering and
smooth, are tumbled into baskets and carried up to the houses to be
salted down, or sent away fresh for the markets.
Then the gulls come circling about the scene, and the ducks that live
at the fishermen's houses come waddling down to see about any little
fishes that may be thrown away upon the sand; and men with tarpaulin
coats and flannel shirts sit on old anchors and lean up against the
boats, smoking short pipes while they talk about cod, and mackerel,
and mainsails and booms; and, best of all, the delightful sea-breeze
comes sweeping in, browning our cheeks, reddening our blood, and
giving us such a splendid appetite that even the fishermen themselves
could not throw us very far into the shade, at meal-times.
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