landfall in the West, and saw in the distance the great curtain
of high rock that makes the grim coast-line of Newfoundland.

For reasons of the _Renown's_ tonnage he had to go into Conception Bay,
one of the many great sacks of inlets that make the island something
that resembles nothing so much as a section of a jig-saw puzzle. The
harbour of St. John's could float _Renown_, but its narrow waters would
not permit her to turn, and the Prince had to transfer his Staff and
baggage to _Dragon_ in order to complete the next stage of the voyage.

Conception Bay is a fjord thrusting its way through the jaws of strong,
sharp hills of red sandstone piled up in broken and stratified masses
above grey slate rock. On these hills cling forests of spruce and
larch in woolly masses that march down the combes to the very water's
edge. It is wild scenery, Scandinavian and picturesque.

In the combes--the "outports" they are called--are the small, scattered
villages of the fishermen. The wooden frame houses have the look of
the packing-case, and though they are bright and toy-like when their
green or red or cinnamon paint is fresh, they are woefully drab when
the weather of several years has had its way with them.

In front of most of the houses are the "flakes," or drying platforms
where the split cod is exposed to the air. These "flakes" are built up
among the ledges and crevices of the rock, being supported by
numberless legs of thin spruce mast; the effect of these spidery
platforms, the painted houses, the sharp stratified red rock and the
green massing of the trees is that of a Japanese vignette set down amid
inappropriate scenery.

Cod fishing is, of course, the beginning and the end of the life of
many of these villages on the bays that indent so deeply the
Newfoundland coast. It is not the adventurous fishing of the Grand
Banks; there is no need for that. There is all the food and the income
man needs in the crowded local waters. Men have only to go out in
boats with hook and line to be sure of large catches.

Only a few join the men who live farther to the south, about Cape Race,
in their trips to the misty waters of the Grand Banks. Here they put
off from their schooners in dories and make their haul with hook and
line.

A third branch of these fishers, particularly those to the north of St.
John's, push up to the Labrador coast, where in the bays, or "fishing
rooms," they catch, split, head, salt and dry the