tay here and
pilot me."

I do, pointing with my wand. I do pilot him, to the inexpressible
entertainment of the picnic, for I am (why should I deny it?) the
popular man. We slow down off the mouth of a grassy valley, watered by a
brook and set in pines and redwoods. The anchor is let go, the boats are
lowered--two of them already packed with the materials of an impromptu
bar--and the Pioneer Band, accompanied by the resplendent asses, fill
the other, and move shoreward to the inviting strains of "Buffalo Gals,
won't you come out to-night?" It is a part of our programme that one of
the asses shall, from sheer clumsiness, in the course of this
embarkation, drop a dummy axe into the water, whereupon the mirth of the
picnic can hardly be assuaged. Upon one occasion the dummy axe floated,
and the laugh turned rather the wrong way.

In from ten to twenty minutes the boats are alongside again, the messes
are marshalled separately on the deck, and the picnic goes ashore, to
find the band and the impromptu bar awaiting them. Then come the
hampers, which are piled up on the beach, and surrounded by a stern
guard of stalwart asses, axe on shoulder. It is here I take my place,
note-book in hand, under a banner bearing the legend, "Come here for
hampers." Each hamper contains a complete outfit for a separate
twenty--cold provender, plates, glasses, knives, forks, and spoons. An
agonised printed appeal from the fevered pen of Pinkerton, pasted on the
inside of the lid, beseeches that care be taken of the glass and silver.
Beer, wine, and lemonade are flowing already from the bar, and the
various clans of twenty file away into the woods, with bottles under
their arms and the hampers strung upon a stick. Till one they feast
there, in a very moderate seclusion, all being within earshot of the
band. From one till four dancing takes place upon the grass; the bar
does a roaring business; and the honorary steward, who has already
exhausted himself to bring life into the dullest of the messes, must now
indefatigably dance with the plainest of the women. At four a bugle-call
is sounded, and by half-past behold us on board again--Pioneers,
corrugated iron bar, empty bottles, and all; while the honorary steward,
free at last, subsides into the captain's cabin over a brandy and soda
and a book. Free at last, I say; yet there remains before him the
frantic leave-takings at the pier, and a sober journey up to Pinkerton's
office with two policeme