The men always wear blue blouses and black hats, or plain cloth caps, so they are commonplace-looking enough: the boatmen are alone, of their sex, picturesque; a red cap sets them off amazingly, and they seem to have a very good opinion of themselves, if we may judge by the ease with which they joke the mädchen they pass on their voyage.
A good many fish are caught in the river, but they are generally small. All day long solitary men sit in boats, and at long intervals dip up and down nets that move on a pole at the end of a swivel: they must have immense patience, and consume, we should suppose, the greater part of their earnings in the tobacco that they constantly smoke. The casting-net also is much used, but then there must be two men, one to pole the boat into the rapids while the other swings in his net.
Fishing.
CHAPTER XVIII.
From Cochem, an easy walk brings the tourist within reach of no less than seven castles,—viz. Beilstein, Cochem, Winneburg, Clotten, Treis, Elz, and Pyrmont. The first four we have already noticed: in this chapter we will make a walking tour to the other three named.
Leaving Clotten behind us, we walked on, under a broiling sun, to Pommern. At the back of Pommern is a long, winding, narrow valley, through which the Pommerbach runs. Where it enters the Moselle, the banks of our river are covered with turf and shade-spreading trees. Under these latter we lay, enjoying the cool after our hot, dusty walk. The brook was nearly dry, so we made an agreement with a wild-looking girl, who was watching some cows drink in the river, that she should for the sum of twopence sterling fetch us a pannikin of fresh, cold water, we stipulating to look after her cows in the meanwhile. We found our task rather difficult, as the cows were a most unruly set of brutes, who, not recognising our authority, wished to make their way into the adjoining gardens. At length, however, the water arrived, and the bargain was completed.