Still we persist, many of us. There is a worldwide community of people whose lives are wed to the sea. They are almost a race apart, though they are, in fact, all races, all colors, all creeds, worshiping gods personified as everything from sunlight to fish. They are not a single society, though they share skills and attitudes and philosophies of life. And of death.
Fatalism is almost a prerequisite of the seafaring life.
And, evidently, the sea wants a lot. A list on a wall in the city hall of Gloucester, Massachusetts, records the names of some 4,000 local fishermen who have died at sea since 1874. An estimated 6,000 others perished in the 250 years prior to 1874, and the surname of nearly every fishing family in the town can be found somewhere on the wall. Right now someone is getting it. Fatalism, however, is not synonymous with resignation, at least not any more.