In
the twinkling of an eye, I was transformed from a sailor into a
"beach-comber" and a hide-curer; yet the novelty and the comparative
independence of the life were not unpleasant. Our hide-house was a
large building, made of rough boards, and intended to hold forty
thousand hides. In one corner of it, a small room was parted off, in
which four berths were made, where we were to live, with mother earth
for our floor. It contained a table, a small locker for pots, spoons,
plates, etc., and a small hole cut to let in the light. Here we put
our chests, threw our bedding into the berths, and took up our
quarters. Over our head was another small room, in which Mr. Russell
lived, who had charge of the hide-house; the same man who was for a
time an officer of the Pilgrim. There he lived in solitary grandeur;
eating and sleeping alone, (and these were his principal occupations,)
and communing with his own dignity. The boy was to act as cook; while
myself, a giant of a Frenchman named Nicholas, and four Sandwich
Islanders, were to cure the hides. Sam, the Frenchman, and myself,
lived together in the room, and the four Sandwich Islanders worked
and ate with us, but generally slept at the oven.
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