But I am getting ahead of my story. The condition of the road to the port was so bad for some time after our arrival that it was barely possible to get up sufficient provisions to supply the daily needs of the camp, to say nothing of other freight. We were in need of almost everything to furnish our tents or to begin agricultural operations. There was, to be sure, the "commissary," where the company had confidently assured us in its advertising literature "every necessary article from a plough to a knitting needle" would be on sale "at the most reasonable prices." As a matter of fact, the commissary was almost as bare as the famous cupboard of old Mother Hubbard, and of the commodities that were stored there, very few seemed to be for sale to the colonists. After several ineffectual attempts to get what I wanted, I entered the commissary tent one day to make a test case. Of Mr. Richardson, the man in charge, I blandly inquired:
"Can I get a tin pail?"
"No," with a gentle shake of the head.
"Can I get any kind of a pail?"
"No," with another shake.
"Can I get a tin pan or a wash basin?"
"No," with a shake.
"Can I get a tin dish or an earthen dish or a wooden dish?"
"No," with more shakes.
"Can I buy a tin cup or an earthen mug?"