t Bay that could float, down to a canoe and an
old Indian dug-out, we borrowed or requisitioned for our work. And,
with this long procession in tow, we pulled out and made for the
steamer, which came to a standby in the deep water, three hundred yards
from the shore.

The merchandise was let down by slings from the lower deck, and we had
to handle the freight as best we could, keeping closely alongside all
the while.

A dozen times, I thought one or another of the boats would be
overturned and its contents emptied into the Bay. But luck was with
us. Jake spat tobacco juice on his hands every few minutes and sailed
in like a nigger. Our clothes were soon moist through and through, and
the perspiration was running over our noses long before our task was
completed. But finally the last package was lowered and checked off by
the mate and myself, a clear receipt given; and we (Jake and I) pushed
for the shore, landing exhausted in body but without mishap to the
freight.

Jake fetched some fresh clams to my kitchen for convenience and, after
slapping half a plug of tobacco in his cheek, he started in and cooked
us a savoury concoction which he called "chowder," made with baked
clams mixed in hot milk, with butter and crumbled toast; all duly
seasoned:--while I smoked my pipe and washed enough dishes to hold our
food, and set the table for our meal.

Already, I had discovered that dish-washing was the bugbear of a
kitchen drudge's existence, be the kitchen drudge female or male. I
had only done the job three or four times, but I had got to loathe and
abhor the operation. Not that I felt too proud to wash dishes, but it
seemed such a useless, such an endless, task. However, I suppose
everything in this old world carries with it more or less of these same
annoyingly bad features.

At any rate, I never could make up my mind to wash a dish until I
required it for my next and immediate meal.

We dined ravenously, and throughout the proceeding, Mike sat in the
doorway, keeping close watch that I did not interfere with the sacred
person of his lord and master, Jake Meaghan.

Rested and reinvigorated, we set-to with box-openers, hammers and
chisels, unpacking and unpacking until the thing became a boring
monotony.

Canned milk, canned beef, canned beans, canned salmon, canned crabs,
canned well-nigh-everything; bottled fruits, bottled pickles, bottled
jams and jellies, everything bottled that was not canned; bags of