This island, as I have
said before, was the last of the cluster, one side of it being
washed by the sea. We landed on the river-side, the sloping sands
and quiet water affording us a good place to moor the boat.
It took us an hour or more to transport our stores to the spot
selected for the encampment. Having pitched our tent, using the
five oars to support the canvas, we got out our lines, and went
down the rocks seaward to fish. It was early for cunners, but we
were lucky enough to catch as nice a mess as ever you saw. A cod
for the chowder was not so easily secured. At last Binny Wallace
hauled in a plump little fellow clustered all over with flaky
silver.
To skin the fish, build our fireplace, and cook the chowder kept us
busy the next two hours.
The fresh air and the exercise had given us the appetites of
wolves, and we were about famished by the time the savory mixture
was ready for our clam-shell saucers.
I shall not insult the rising generation on the seaboard by telling
them how delectable is a chowder compounded and eaten in this
Robinson Crusoe fashion.
Pages:
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31