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Updated: June 20, 2025
Dalton to visit your cannery." "Why not?" Mr. Dupont shoved an evening Times across his desk and pointed to a marked item that appeared therein. "That will explain for itself," he said.
The cannery demanded these vegetables at so late a date that the market-price was generally low. These facts Hiram bore in mind as he planned his season's work, and especially the kitchen garden. This latter he planned to be about two acres in extent rather a large plot, but he proposed to set his rows of almost every vegetable far enough apart to be worked with a horse cultivator.
"Before the storm breaks." Gregory roused at her words and turned quickly away. "Yes," he answered. "You're right. I forgot." Within a few minutes the cannery fleet was heading down the main harbor channel in the direction of the open sea. Then the storm broke. Battling desperately into the teeth of the gale, the fishing-boats plunged head-on into the curling waves.
Stanley Park overlooks the harbour, where lie ships of all nations, from the liners of China and Japan to the tiny tugs of the Cannery Companies. The amount of trade coming here is immense. The ships carry cargoes of tea, rice, and silk and oranges, with skins from Siberia, and take away grain, timber, fish, machinery, cattle, and manufactured goods.
With the extended radius of his operations, overhead expenses mounted perceptibly, cutting down profits and adding to the multiplying worries of the young cannery-owner in countless ways. At the close of one particularly trying day he sat alone in the cannery office and stared moodily at a wireless despatch which lay on the desk before him.
Emerson had never glimpsed this side of the man's nature, and it rather surprised him. "Of course you can come along, old man," he responded, heartily. "We're glad to have you." To one who has never witnessed the spring sailing of a Northern cannery- tender, the event is well worth seeing; it is one of the curiosities of the Seattle water-front.
The Gray Ghost was running before the storm. Foot by foot down the storm-lashed, wind-swept channel the victorious cannery fleet doggedly fought its way from the Diablo coast and headed to sea. "We've got to lay in at San Anselmo," Dickie Lang shouted to Gregory as she guided the Richard skilfully through the buffeting waves. "Some of the boats are pretty badly stove up.
For the time being Dickie Lang was content to rest upon her oars. Bronson was ready. In response to a night letter from Gregory he had arrived on time with the Richard, bringing with him a full equipment of heavy gear. Tuned to the minute, the speed-craft waited impatiently at the cannery float for the signal to be under way. Jack McCoy was ready.
"We built this plant to cook forty thousand salmon a day, but I'll bring you three thousand every hour, and you've got to cook 'em. Do you hear?" "And they couldn't cork us, after all!" Emerson leaned unsteadily against a pile, for his head was whirling. "No! We'll show that gang what a cannery can do. Marsh's traps will rot where they stand." Big George shook his tight-clinched fist again.
The advertisements had been written and checked over before being despatched to The Times to "farm out" among the other city dailies. In addition to that, the newspaperman had arranged to communicate with his paper via the cannery wireless should he be fortunate enough to secure a big story. Gregory himself was ready. The details of the embarkation had been covered to the minutest detail.
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