74 JOHN BURROUGHS 



This great glacier — the Barry — which guards the en- 

 trance to Harriman Inlet, presented some novel features; 

 among others, huge archways above the water line, sug- 

 gesting entrances to some walled city. When masses of 

 ice fell I fancied I could hear the reverberation in these 

 arched caverns. 



The next day, which was thick and rainy, we picked 

 up our party at Virgin Bay, and steamed back to Orca to 

 mend our broken propeller. I wondered how they would 

 do it, as there is no dry dock there, but the problem proved 

 an easy one. The tide is so great in these waters that 

 every shelving beach becomes a dry dock at low tide. In 

 the morning our steamer lay in shallow water on the beach 

 at Orca. A low scaffolding was built around her pro- 

 peller, and very soon the broken blade was replaced by a 

 new one. While this was being done many of us viewed 

 the process of salmon canning. Some of the fish lay piled 

 upon the dock and were being loaded into wheelbarrows 

 with a one-tined pitchfork, and wheeled in to the cleaners. 

 Most of the work was done by Chinamen from San Fran- 

 cisco. It was positively fascinating to see the skill and 

 swiftness with which some of these men worked; only 

 two used knives — long thin blades which they kept very 

 sharp. They cut off the fins, severed the head and tail, 

 and did the disemboweling with lightning-like rapidity. 

 It was like the tricks of jugglers. There was a gleam of 

 steel about the fish a half moment and the work was done. 

 One had to be very intent to follow the movements. The 

 fish were then washed and scraped and passed on to 

 workmen inside, where they were cut and packed by 

 machinery. Every second all day long a pound can, 

 snugly packed, drops from the ingenious mechanism. 

 For some reason the looker-on soon loses his taste for 

 salmon — there is such a world of it. It is common as 

 chips; it is kicked about under foot; it lies in great 



