At short intervals the massive cliffs were
wrenched apart to make room for narrow fiords, of unknown depth, that
penetrated for miles into the land, where they formed intricate mazes
of placid waterways. Beside them there were nestled tiny fishing
villages of whitewashed houses, though quite as often these were
perched on apparently inaccessible crags, overlooking sheltered coves
of the outer coast.
On the tossing waters fronting them, fleets of fishing boats, with
sails tanned a ruddy brown, like those of the "Sea Bee," or blackened
by coal tar, darted with the grace and fearlessness of gulls, or rested
as easily on the heaving surface, while the fishermen, clad in yellow
oilskins, pursued their arduous toil.
To our young American the doings of these hardy seafarers proved so
interesting that he never tired of watching them nor of asking
questions concerning their perilous occupation. And he had plenty of
time in which to acquire information, for so adverse were the winds
that only by the utmost exertion did White Baldwin succeed in getting
his schooner to the St. George's landing in time for Cabot to run to
the railway station just as the train from Port aux Basques was coming
in.
The two lads exchanged farewells with sincere regrets, after White had
extended a most cordial invitation to the other to finish the cruise
with him, and visit his home at Pretty Harbour.
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