In this town, so quaint and quiet, the sea is a domestic institution. It ripples familiarly up the short lanes between rows of houses, and the bows of vessels stretch across second storey windows. Pilots can row up to their own doors in boats. It is doubtless owing to this circumstance that so many of the youth of Stromness take early to the water, and embark on board ship for all quarters of the world. Several of the houses, adjoining the harbour, are provided with little stone jetties, which enable the inmates to step dry-shod from their firesides into fishing-yawls.
A Victorian Tourist in Stromness
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