The hides are brought down dry, or they will not be received.  When they are taken from the animal, they have holes cut in the ends, and are staked out, and thus dried in the sun without shrinking.  They are then doubled once, lengthwise, with the hair side usually in, and sent down upon mules or in carts, and piled above high-water mark; and then we take them upon our heads, one at a time, or two, if they are small, and wade out with them and throw them into the boat, which, as there are no wharves, we usually kept anchored by a small kedge, or keelek, just outside of the surf.  We all provided ourselves with thick Scotch caps, which would be soft to the head, and at the same time protect it; for we soon learned that, however it might look or feel at first, the ``head-work’’ was the only system for California.  For besides that the seas, breaking high, often obliged us to carry the hides so, in order to keep them dry, we found that, as they were very large and heavy, and nearly as stiff as boards, it was the only way that we could carry them with any convenience to ourselves.  Some of the crew tried other expedients, saying that that looked too much like West India negroes; but they all came to it at last.  The great art is in getting them on the head.  We had to take them from the ground, and as they were often very heavy, and as wide as the arms could stretch, and were easily taken by the wind, we used to have some trouble with them.  I have often been laughed at myself, and joined in laughing at others, pitching ourselves down in the sand, in trying to swing a large hide upon our heads, or nearly blown over with one in a little gust of wind.  The captain made it harder for us, by telling us that it was ``California fashion’’ to carry two on the head at a time; and as he insisted upon it, and we did not wish to be outdone by other vessels, we carried two for the first few months; but after falling in with a few other ``hide droghers,’’ and finding that they carried only one at a time, we ``knocked off’’ the extra one, and thus made our duty somewhat easier.

After our heads had become used to the weight, and we had learned the true California style of tossing a hide, we could carry off two or three hundred in a short time, without much trouble; but it was always wet work, and, if the beach was stony, bad for our feet; for we, of course, went barefooted on this duty, as no shoes could stand such constant wetting with salt water.  And after this, we had a pull of three miles, with a loaded boat, which often took a couple of hours.

We had now got well settled down into our harbor duties, which, as they are a good deal different from those at sea, it may be well enough to describe.  In the first place, all hands are called at daylight, or rather—­ especially if the days are short—­ before daylight, as soon as the first gray of the morning.  The cook makes his fire in the galley; the steward goes about his work in the cabin; and