. King's handbook of Boston harbor. eis a great steamfog-horn, whosedismal bellow-ings warn themariners forleagues off-shore, in thickweather. The ancient minute-gun, which this more powerful appliance has superseded, rustsbv the shore. Occasionally the wharf is visited by a swarm of boarding-houserunners, in long-boats, who dash out thence upon foreign vessels enteringthe Roads, to lure the sailors to their dens in the North End. These arethe stuff that pirates are made of, — bronzed and scarred fellows, with sinis-ter faces, and language which the Puritans would have hung them for. Hence the
. King's handbook of Boston harbor. eis a great steamfog-horn, whosedismal bellow-ings warn themariners forleagues off-shore, in thickweather. The ancient minute-gun, which this more powerful appliance has superseded, rustsbv the shore. Occasionally the wharf is visited by a swarm of boarding-houserunners, in long-boats, who dash out thence upon foreign vessels enteringthe Roads, to lure the sailors to their dens in the North End. These arethe stuff that pirates are made of, — bronzed and scarred fellows, with sinis-ter faces, and language which the Puritans would have hung them for. Hence the shapely pilot-boats are seen, cruising out and in, and towardsthe capes, and in their fair symmetry meriting the eulogy given by Hall, of the Royal Navy: Our ingenious friends, the Americans,have contrived a set of pilot-boats which are the delight of every sailor. . .They are truly water-witches ; for, while they look so delicate and fragilethat one feels at first as if the most moderate breeze must brush them from. On the Outer Brewster. 220 KINGS HANDBOOK OF BOSTON HARBOR. the face of the ocean, and scatter to the winds all their gay drapery, theycan and do defy, as a matter of habit and choice, the most furious gales withwhich the rugged seaboard of America is visited in February and March. The Middle Brewster is a high and rocky islet, with about ten acres- ofarable soil hidden behind its cliffs; and the groups of fishermens red-roofed houses, and the tall white summer-house of Mr. Augustus Russ,perched on the highest point, make a pleasant picture amid the surroundingdesolation. Forty years ago there were no houses on the rock; but subse-quently a small colony of fishermen settled here, by their favorite fishing-grounds, and not without occasional chances at wrecking. Here, also, thepatrician yachtsmen and other guests enjoy ease with dignity during thedog-days, and are entertained with free hospitality in the Russ snug little steamer Galatea is us
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