The wind and sea being in our favor, we soon reached a fishery-ladder,
which we now knew very well how to climb, and wound our "dim and
perilous way" through the evergreen labyrinth of fish bowers, emerging
on the solid rock, and taking the path to the fisherman's house. Here
lives and works and wears himself out William Waterland, a
deep-voiced, broad-chested, round-shouldered man, dressed, not in
cloth of gold, but of oil, with the foxy remnant of a last winter's
fur cap clinging to his large, bony head, a little in the style of a
piece of turf to a stone. You seldom look into a more kindly, patient
face, or into an eye that more directly lets up the light out of a
large, warm heart. His countenance is one sober shadow of honest
brown, occasionally lighted by a true and guileless smile. William
Waterland has seen the "island-of-ice." "It lies off there, two miles
or more, grounded on a bank, in forty fathoms water."
It was nearly six o'clock; and yet, as there were signs of the fog
clearing away, we thought it prudent to wait. A dull, long hour passed
by, and still the sun was high in the northwest. That heavy cod-seine,
a hundred fathoms long, sank the stern of our barge rather deeply, and
made it row heavily. For all that, there was time enough yet, if we
could only use it. The fog still came in masses from the sea, sweeping
across the promontory between us and Torbay, and fading into air
nearly as soon as it was over the land. In the mean time, we sat upon
the rocks, upon the wood-pile, stood around and talked, looked out
into the endless mist, looked at the fishermen's houses, their
children, their fowls and dogs. A couple of young women, that might
have been teachers of the village school, had there been a school,
belles of the place, rather neatly dressed, and with hair nicely
combed, tripped shyly by, each with an arm about the other's waist,
and very merry until abreast of us, when they were as silent and
downcast as if they had been passing by their sovereign queen or the
Great Mogul. Their curiosity and timidity combined were quite amusing.
We speculated upon the astonishment that would have seized upon their
simple, innocent hearts, had they beheld, instead of us, a bevy of our
city fashionables in full bloom.
At length we accepted an invitation to walk into the house, and sat,
not under the good man's roof, but under his chimney, a species of
large funnel, into which nearly one end of the house resolved itself.
Here we sat upon some box-like benches before a wood fire, and warmed
ourselves, chatting with the family. While we were making ourselves
comfortable and agreeable, we made the novel and rather funny
discovery of a hen sitting on her nest just under the bench, with her
red comb at our fingers' ends. A large griddle hung suspended in the
more smoky regions of the chimney, ready to be lowered for the baking
of cakes or frying fish. Having tarred my hand, the fisherman's wife,
kind woman, insisted upon washing it herself. After rubbing it with a
little grease, she first scratched it with her finger-nail, and then
finished with soap and water and a good wiping with a coarse towel. I
begged that she would spare herself the trouble, and allow me to help
myself. But it was no trouble at all for her, and the greatest
pleasure. And what should I know about washing off tar? They were
members of the Church of England, and seemed pleased when they found
that I was a clergyman of the Episcopal Church. They had a pastor who
visited them and others in the village occasionally, and held divine
service on Sunday at Torbay, where they attended, going in boats in
summer, and over the hills on snow-shoes in the winter. The woman told
me, in an undertone, that the family relations were not all agreed in
their religious faith, and that they could not stop there any longer,
but had gone to "America," which they liked much better. It was a hard
country, any way, no matter whether one were Protestant or Papist.
Three months were all their summer, and nearly all their time for
getting ready for the long, cold winter. To be sure, they had codfish
and potatoes, flour and butter, tea and sugar; but then it took a deal
of hard work to make ends meet. The winter was not as cold as we
thought, perhaps; but then it was so long and snowy! The snow lay
five, six, and seven feet deep. Wood was a great trouble. There was a
plenty of it, but they could not keep cattle or horses to draw it
home. Dogs were their only teams, and they could fetch but small loads
at a time. In the mean while, a chubby little boy, with cheeks like a
red apple, had ventured from behind his young mother, where he had
kept dodging as she moved about the house, and edged himself up near
enough to be patted on the head, and rewarded for his little liberties
with a half-dime.