The Gaylord, the only Drag-bucket Dredger in Existence
A Restaurant Where Nothing but "Grub" is Served
This was the lay-out with which Richardson and I had decided to cast our lot for several months. With our wages averaging one hundred and ten dollars a month, we figured that in a short time we would have a fair amount of coin laid aside which would enable us to go on to the Orient and bring us safely to another point where we could search for work.
When off duty the inspectors lived at Watertown in quarters provided for them by the Hawaiian Dredging Company and ate their meals at a restaurant conducted by Chinese. While on duty they slept and ate on the dredges which were located from one-half to two miles from shore in the channel. On each dredge there was set aside a room for inspectors' quarters. These compartments on most of the dredges were furnished with two iron bunks for beds, several dynamite boxes for chairs and a greasy deck of cards for amusement. The occupant was never lonesome nor idle, for when he had nothing to do, which was most of the time, he could spend the weary hours reducing the number of rapidly multiplying bed-bugs. These dredges were literally alive with this human pest and as soon as we would reduce the flock to the point of comfort a new bunch of recruits would be ushered in with the arrival of a new crew of men from the waterfront of Honolulu. The mess rooms with crude tables covered with oilcloth, with tin ware and lack of service, could exhibit at meal time the most unappetising display of food ever placed before any man. Stewed tripe—weeks old—lamb stew, clam-chowder, bread apparently made of cement, butter with a stench so strong that it outclassed the odours of the other provisions, fermented tomato catsup and hot cakes with the consistency of horse pads, greeted the unwashed eaters three times a day. The eaters themselves were a curious exhibition of mankind. The men employed on the dredges slept and ate their meals aboard and when they gathered in the mess room, as well as at all other times, the language and stories that wafted across the board were fit to hypnotise the devil.
One morning as Richardson, somewhat late, was seating himself for breakfast the Chinese waiter, approaching the table, inquired automatically and in an interrogative tone,
"Mush?"
"Yes," said Richardson.
"No mush," was the Chink's reply.