I Charles Cheerful to Stephen Shipley

VERY conveniently for us this morning the sea sank into a calm. Three days the storm had been raging: the north winds blew fiercely from the heights down on to the sea, making the surface black and rough ; while the foam, like white flowers, burst from the crests of the rollers. All around the waves dashed one against the other ; some sweeping on the rocks, others swelling from within, until they broke in spray. It was quite impossible to work. We took possession of the huts on the beach and lit ourselves a fire, using the chips of wood which the shipwrights had left when they were cutting down the oak trees last month. The blaze was a comfort against the bitter cold and at last this fourth morning dawned—a halcyon day, methinks, if the clear sky is evidence—and brought to us good store of blessings. As soon as the sun appeared and its first ray flashed upon the sea, we quickly dragged down our little boat which we had before hauled high and dry, put our nets in it, and got to work. We loosed a little way from the shore and, by Jove, what a shoal! The masses of fish we pulled up!

The net was so bursting with them that it almost dragged the corks under. The fish buyers were waiting there with their yokes on their shoulders and a basket at each end, and when they had paid us our money they started off in haste with their load citywards. We had enough fish for them all, and besides took home for our wives and children a great heap of the smaller fry, sufficient to give them their fill, not merely for one day but for several, if the bad weather should come again.