a huddle of log-sheds and drying-poles — the place snarling with dogs, and reeking with the smell of dead fish and the fumes of joss-wood.
The first comers seem to have squatted anywhere and anyhow, just as the levels tempted them, and the logs for building purposes lay handy near the beach.
To get into the labyrinth is easy.
You follow the smell of joss-wood, kick away the dogs, and fall over the naked urchins.
But to find your way about is like trying to undo a Chinese puzzle.
English ingenuity is unequal to the task.
Here, in your front, is a pig-sty, with the customary mess.
This wicker-frame is the hen-roost, flanked by a puddle for the ducks and geese.
About a hundred ricketty sheds and kennels-houses, stores, and attics-compose this free and independent settlement.
These sheds and kennels are so frail in build, that some of them come down in every puff of wind and every shower of rain.
A gale might sweep the whole colony into the bay. Happily for the settlers this coast is a Pacific coast, where storms are almost as rare as in the Ladies' Sea
Four or five hundred Asiatics dwell in this corner of America
, winning from the sea and