The country around was covered with frames upon which fish were hanging. Nets and lines were seen in every direction on the rocks, left to dry or ready to be mended. Wherever I turned the place was saturated with the blood of fish and offal. The sea was covered with offal; thousands of gulls were flying in every direction and feeding upon it, while great numbers of eider ducks, as tame as farm ducks, were swimming everywhere and feeding. They were not afraid, for no one is allowed to shoot them. The bare rocks were black with hundreds of thousands of heads of cod that had been put there to dry. These heads, with the bones of fish, are turned into a fertilizer, or used to feed cattle. The heads are boiled before they are given to the animals. "Cattle and sheep feeding on dried fish heads!" I exclaimed with astonishment to my companion, "I never heard of this before." I asked one of the merchants how he could live in such a place. "The atmosphere that brings money," he replied, "never smells bad. Where there is no smell there is no business and no money with us." Goodness gracious! what a smell there was in this fishing settlement. It was far from pleasant, especially when compared with the pure air of the land over which I had travelled. Several nice houses belonged to the merchants of the place. These were painted white and were very comfortable. The cabins of the fishermen were scattered everywhere and were all alike. They were built of logs, with roofs covered with earth. I wanted to live with the fishermen and become acquainted with them. CHAPTER XXVIII AMONG THE FISHERMEN.--THEIR LODGINGS AND HOW THEY LOOK.--WHAT THEY HAVE TO EAT.--AN EVENING OF TALK ABOUT COD, SALMON, AND HERRING.--THE IMMENSE NUMBER OF FISH.--A SNORING MATCH. Soon after Captain Petersen and I entered one of the houses of the fishermen. They had just returned from their fishing. I asked them if I could live with them for a few days. "Yes," they all replied with one voice. They knew Captain Petersen, I was with him: that was enough for them. Strange indeed was the room. Each fisherman's cabin had only one. The wall was surrounded by two rows of bunks, on top of each other. The room was arranged like the forecastle of a ship. "Where are you from?" one of the fishermen asked me. "From America," I replied. "From America!" they all exclaimed at once. "Is that possible?" "Yes, he is from America," said Captain Petersen. "I have a brother in America, in Minnesota," exclaimed one. A second said: "I have a sister in Dakota." A third: "I also have a brother in America; he sails on the Great Lakes." From that moment those fishermen and I were great friends. They asked me my name. I replied, "My name is Paul Du Chaillu." "Why!" some of the younger fishermen said, "we have read in school the translation of your travels in Africa. Are you really he?" "Yes," I replied.