A Bit of Shore Life

"A Bit of Shore Life" by Sarah Orne Jewett is a collection of short stories that captures the essence of coastal life in New England. Through vivid descriptions and richly drawn characters, Jewett explores themes of community, nature, and the passage of time. Set against the backdrop of small fishing towns, the stories reflect the intimate relationship between the residents and their environment, offering a heartfelt glimpse into the simplicity and beauty of rural living. Jewett's keen observations and lyrical prose celebrate the nuances of everyday life, making this work a timeless representation of American regional literature.

• Short story

								
I often think of a boy with whom I made friends last summer, during
some idle, pleasant days that I spent by the sea. I was almost always
out of doors, and I used to watch the boats go out and come in; and I
had a hearty liking for the good-natured fishermen, who were lazy and
busy by turns, who waited for the wind to change, and waited for the
tide to turn, and waited for the fish to bite, and were always ready
to gossip about the weather, and the fish, and the wonderful events
that had befallen them and their friends.

Georgie was the only boy of whom I ever saw much at the shore. The few
young people there were all went to school through the hot summer days
at a little weather-beaten schoolhouse a mile or two inland. There
were few houses to be seen, at any rate, and Georgie's house was the
only one so close to the water. He looked already nothing but a
fisherman; his clothes were covered with an oil-skin suit, which had
evidently been awkwardly cut down for him from one of his father's, of
whom he was a curious little likeness. I could hardly believe that he
was twelve years old, he was so stunted and small; yet he was a strong
little fellow; his hands were horny and hard from handling the clumsy
oars, and his face was so brown and dry from the hot sun and chilly
spray, that he looked even older when one came close to him. The first
time I saw him was one evening just at night-fall. I was sitting on
the pebbles, and he came down from the fish-house with some
lobster-nets, and a bucket with some pieces of fish in it for bait,
and put them into the stern of one of the boats which lay just at the
edge of the rising tide. He looked at the clouds over the sea, and at
the open sky overhead, in an old, wise way, and then, as if satisfied
with the weather, began to push off his boat. It dragged on the
pebbles; it was a heavy thing, and he could not get it far enough out
to be floated by the low waves, so I went down to help him. He looked
amazed that a girl should have thought of it, and as if he wished to
ask me what good I supposed I could do, though I was twice his size.
But the boat grated and slid down toward the sand, and I gave her a
last push as the boy perched with one knee on her gunwale and let the
other foot drag in the water for a minute. He was afloat after all;
and he took the oars, and pulled manfully out toward the moorings,
where the whale-boats and a sail-boat or two were swaying about in the
wind, which was rising a little since the sun had set. He did not say
a word to me, or I to him. I watched him go out into the
twilight,--such a little fellow, between those two great oars! But the
boat could not drift or loiter with his steady stroke, and out he
went, until I could only see the boat at last, lifting and sinking on
the waves beyond the reef outside the moorings. I asked one of the
fishermen whom I knew very well, "Who is that little fellow? Ought he
to be out by himself, it is growing dark so fast?"

"Why, that's Georgie!" said my friend, with his grim smile. "Bless
ye! he's like a duck; ye can't drown him. He won't be in until ten
o'clock, like's not. He'll go way out to the far ledges when the tide
covers them too deep where he is now. Lobsters he's after."

"Whose boy is he?" said I.

"Why, Andrer's, up here to the fish-house. She's dead, and him and
the boy get along together somehow or 'nother. They've both got
something saved up, and Andrer's a clever fellow; took it very hard,
losing of his wife. I was telling of him the other day: 'Andrer,' says
I, 'ye ought to look up somebody or 'nother, and not live this way.
There's plenty o' smart, stirring women that would mend ye up, and
cook for ye, and do well by ye.'--'No,' says he; 'I've hed my wife,
and I've lost her.'--'Well, now,' says I, 'ye've shown respect, and
there's the boy a-growin' up, and if either of you was took sick, why,
here ye be.'--'Yes,' says he, 'here I be, sure enough;' and he drawed
a long breath, 's if he felt bad; so that's all I said. But it's no
way for a man to get along, and he ought to think of the boy. He owned
a good house about half a mile up the road; but he moved right down
here after she died, and his cousin took it, and it burnt up in the
winter. Four year ago that was. I was down to the Georges Banks."

Some other men came down toward the water, and took a boat that was
waiting, already fitted out with a trawl coiled in two tubs, and some
hand-lines and bait for rock-cod and haddock, and my friend joined
them; they were going out for a night's fishing. I watched them hoist
the little sprit-sail, and drift a little until they caught the wind,
and then I looked again for Georgie, whose boat was like a black spot
on the water.

I knew him better soon after that. I used to go out with him for
lobsters, or to catch cunners, and it was strange that he never had
any cronies, and would hardly speak to the other children. He was very
shy; but he had put all his heart into his work,--a man's hard work,
which he had taken from choice. His father was kind to him; but he had
a sorry home, and no mother,--the brave, fearless, steady little soul!

He looked forward to going one day (I hope that day has already
dawned) to see the shipyards at a large seaport some twenty miles
away. His face lit up when he told me of it, as some other child's
would who had been promised a day in fairy-land. And he confided to me
that he thought he should go to the Banks that coming winter. "But
it's so cold!" said I: "should you really like it?"--"Cold!" said
Georgie. "Ho! rest of the men never froze." That was it,--the "rest of
the men;" and he would work until he dropped, or tend a line until his
fingers froze, for the sake of that likeness,--the grave, slow little
man, who has so much business with the sea, and who trusts himself
with touching confidence to its treacherous keeping and favor.

Andrew West, Georgie's father, was almost as silent as his son at
first, but it was not long before we were very good friends, and I
went out with him at four o'clock one morning, to see him set his
trawl. I remember there was a thin mist over the sea, and the air was
almost chilly; but, as the sun came up, it changed the color of every
thing to the most exquisite pink,--the smooth, slow waves, and the
mist that blew over them as if it were a cloud that had fallen down
out of the sky. The world just then was like the hollow of a great
pink sea-shell; and we could only hear the noise of it, the dull sound
of the waves among the outer ledges.

We had to drift about for an hour or two when the trawl was set; and
after a while the fog shut down again gray and close, so we could not
see either the sun or the shore. We were a little more than four miles
out, and we had put out more than half a mile of lines. It is very
interesting to see the different fish that come up on the
hooks,--worthless sculpin and dog-fish, and good rock-cod and haddock,

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