From Wick, a considerable fishing town in Caithness, on the northern coast
of Scotland, a steamer, named the Queen, departs once a week, in the
summer months, for Kirkwall, in the Orkneys, and Lerwick, in Shetland. We
went on board of her about ten o”clock on the 14th of July. The herring
fishery had just begun, and the artificial port of Wick, constructed with
massive walls of stone, was crowded with fishing vessels which had
returned that morning from the labors of the night; for in the herring
fishery it is only in the night that the nets are spread and drawn. Many
of the vessels had landed their cargo; in others the fishermen were busily
disengaging the herrings from the black nets and throwing them in heaps;
and now and then a boat later than the rest, was entering from the sea.
The green heights all around the bay were covered with groups of women,
sitting or walking, dressed for the most part in caps and white short
gowns, waiting for the arrival of the boats manned by their husbands and
brothers, or belonging to the families of those who had come to seek
occupation as fishermen. I had seen two or three of the principal streets
of Wick that morning, swarming with strapping fellows, in blue highland
bonnets, with blue jackets and pantaloons, and coarse blue flannel shirts.
A shopkeeper, standing at his door, instructed me who they were.

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