FISHING "DOWN OUTSIDE" 169 



big and ravenous at the base of Shag Rocks or 

 along Boston or Martin's ledges. I dare say 

 there are flounders skimming the sand to the east 

 of Hull, but you will hardly care for these if you 

 have Neptune aboard. His spirit will bid you 

 jibe your sail to that freshening west wind off 

 Allerton and bowl down the coast parellel with 

 the long stretch of Nantasket sands. Again at 

 the spindle on Harding's Ledge you may catch 

 cunners; perhaps a stray cod. A cod! There 

 you speak a magic word to the fisherman from 

 the tide flats far inland. There is the golden 

 fleece for which the Argonauts of the land-locked 

 harbor set their prows to the eastward in the star- 

 light. A pull on the sheet and it is fuU-and-by 

 to the southeast, with Minot's Light looming 

 gray dead ahead in the gray wash of breakers. 

 Black-headed gulls swing across your wake, and 

 in their laughter rings a wild note of sea free- 

 dom. Thus the Vikings laughed as their boats 

 won to seaward outside the black cliffs. 



The cod is the solid citizen of the sea. In some 

 localities they call him the ground keeper, and 

 he seems to be that — a sort of land owner of 

 the sea bottom. Just as ashore most substantial 



