146 FISH HARVESTING. 



lodge-fires, and wreaths of white smoke slowly 

 ascending through the still air; the square sub- 

 stantial pickets shutting in the trade-fort, its roof 

 and chimneys just peeping above, backed by the 

 sombre green of the pine-trees, altogether pre- 

 sented a picture novel and pretty in all its details. 

 A few minutes and we rounded the jutting 

 head-land, keeping close along the rocky shore of 

 the island, gliding past snug bays and cozy little 

 land-locked harbours, the homes and haunts 

 of countless wildfowl; soon we leave the shore, 

 and stand away to sea. The breeze is fresher 

 here, and a ripple, that would be nothing in a 

 boat, makes the flat-bottomed canoe unpleasantly 

 lively. Save a wetting from the spray, and oc- 

 casional surge of water over the gunwale, all 

 goes pleasantly. The far-away land is barely dis- 

 tinguishable in the grey haze. No canoes are 

 to be seen in the dark-blue water ; the only sign 

 of living things a flock of sea-gulls waging war 

 on a shoal of fish, the distant spouting of a whale, 

 and the glossy backs of the black fish as they roll 

 lazily through the ripple. The line at the bow 

 is uncoiled, a heavy stone enclosed in a net 

 attached as a sinker, a large hook made of bone 

 and hardwood, baited with a piece of the octopus, 

 (a species of cuttle-fish), is made fast to the long 



