This was the first time in my life that I learned the
meaning of the phrase "a howling drunk." Even our Indians hesitated
to venture ashore, notwithstanding whiskey storms were far from novel
to them.
Mr. Young, however, hoped that in this Indian Sodom at least
one man might be found so righteous as to be in his right mind and
able to give trustworthy information. Therefore I was at length
prevailed on to yield consent to land. Our canoe was drawn up on the
beach and one of the crew left to guard it. Cautiously we strolled up
the hill to the main row of houses, now a chain of alcoholic
volcanoes. The largest house, just opposite the landing, was about
forty feet square, built of immense planks, each hewn from a whole
log, and, as usual, the only opening was a mere hole about two and a
half feet in diameter, closed by a massive hinged plug like the
breach of a cannon. At the dark door-hole a few black faces appeared
and were suddenly withdrawn. Not a single person was to be seen on
the street. At length a couple of old, crouching men, hideously
blackened, ventured out and stared at us, then, calling to their
companions, other black and burning heads appeared, and we began to
fear that like the Alloway Kirk witches the whole legion was about to
sally forth. But, instead, those outside suddenly crawled and tumbled
in again.
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