240 Musings by Camp- Fire and Wayside 



think what the sod cut on the very steep side of the 

 bluff meant. It proved to be garden lots. They 

 told me they tied the onions fast to sticks to keep 

 them from sliding. As I went ashore a little Irish- 

 man insisted upon carrying me on his back. I told 

 him that if he tried it he must stand up to the work 

 or drown. He landed me all right. As usual 

 Soldovia is at the mouth of a river, and has two 

 salmon canneries. 



We tarried too long at Soldovia, I felt that this 

 was so. The tide runs up the inlet at a speed of 

 six miles per hour. It was running up at its best 

 rate when a boat started back from the landing to 

 the ship. The oarsman could not hold against it, 

 and we merrily waved good-bye to the party aboard 

 as they drifted up the inlet. A buoy was thrown 

 out with a next to endless rope attached, and by 

 hard exertion the rowers held the boat so far against 

 the tide that the buoy floated to them and they 

 were hauled in. The ship had to make its way out 

 against that swift current and went very slowly. The 

 next day was clear until four o'clock, as we sailed 

 along a coast of low peaks as thickly set as the 

 teeth of a rasp. Then the fog fell suddenly and 

 black. Two hours more would have put us into 

 Natchek harbor, but those two hours we left behind 

 us in Cook's Inlet. 



Once before, I failed to mention, the fog came 

 down on us, and we drifted pretty close in to the 

 rocks, backed off when we saw them, and anchored. 



