“Excuse my interruption”, McFay said, “and far be it from me to boast or brag. As you know, I am no boaster, but since you were speaking of men who could lift, I have a right to brag, for I came from a tribe of powerful men, I might say without any exaggeration, giants.
    On my father’s side, my ancestors were from the heather clad mountains of Scotland, and on my mother’s side, from the high mountains of Wicklow, Ireland. To relate the numerous feats accomplished by them, both on land and sea, would make the world’s library of adventure tales.
    Your looks are not encouraging, as you are anxious to see someone in the “deacon’s chair”, who can really talk. However, I will not keep you much longer. I will just relate one small affair in the life of my Uncle Duncan, who was a man as large as two of me. He had a hand as large as four of mine and a body in proportion.
    My uncle’s first day in the city of New York, with all its wonders, kept him traveling from one sight to another, and he finally wandered down to one of the great wharves on the river front. Looking around, he spied a group of men standing around an anchor, weighing from four to five tons. Judging from their actions, they were in a quandary as to what they should do to solve their problem of moving the anchor.
    Walking up to the group, Uncle Duncan said, ‘Boys, what seems to be the trouble?’ An interference of this kind with this type of men would, under ordinary circumstances, bring a sharp retort, but my uncle’s size and appearance prompted an honest answer.
    ‘We have an anchor here that weighs four tons or more, and we want to put it aboard that vessel. As the boat is due to sail in three hours and we have no derrick to load the anchor, we do not know how to manage the job.’ Sneeringly, the man added, ‘I suppose, Big Boy, that you think that you can load it alone.’
    Paying not the least heed to them and looking out through his eyelashes which were at least an inch in length, Uncle Duncan strode through the group. He pushed the men out of his way as if they were so many children, and walked up to the anchor. He stooped over and raised one of the points as if gaging the weight of the anchor. Then, he straightened up to his full height, and gazed around as if alone. He removed his great frieze coat and his coarse, hand crocheted ox hair shirt, made from the hair of the long haired cattle of the mountains of Scotland. The sight that met the eyes of those men, was one hard to believe.
    Boys, my uncle had a form of herculean size, with a creeping of muscles over his powerful back and arms, showing through a thick tangle of hair. The upper part of his body was bare to the waist and a belt, four inches wide, made of boar’s hide, circled his body at the waist, supporting a pair of corduroy trousers. A pair of brogans, heavily studded with Swedish nails encased his feet.
    He settled to his task, first getting down on his knees, then inch by inch, he began moving the huge burden up towards his shoulders. The muscles on his back and shoulders stood out like whipcords and his neck showed the tremendous strain, as he steered the anchor to his back. As he straightened to his full height, the anchor cut deep into his shoulders and back. Then he began to move slowly, watching each place he set foot. In spite of his care, there was a crunching of planks, as his great left foot sank through the heavy plank flooring of the wharf.
    He extricated his foot and went on, step by step towards the gang plank of the ship. The bytanders gasped and shuddered as Uncle Duncan, by superhuman strength reached the gang plank.
    Boys, most of you know what a gang plank is. This one was used for the loading of heavy machinery and had powerful truss rods running lengthwise underneath, making it safe for loading weighty articles. Well, he had moved within a few feet of the center of the gang plank, when there was an awful crashing of wood and steel, then a mighty splash into the water. The fire alarm sounded and there were yells from the crowds, while a burly blue coat vainly endeavored to push them back.
    A diver was hurriedly trying to adjust the head piece of his diving suit, preparatory to diving for my uncle. Twenty minutes had elapsed since Uncle Duncan had plunged with the anchor into the water. Then shouts rose from a hundred throats as the men saw the anchor appear above the water. Soon the head and shoulders of my uncle were to be seen. Waist high, he arose above the water, shaking the water from his massive head. Boys, you would have died laughing to see that old son of a gun treading water with that four ton anchor on his back.
    He scrambled to the side of the vessel and climbed laboriously up to the deck’ As he dropped the anchor to the deck, it crashed partly through and was just stopped from going clear down in the hold, by a great ship’s timber.
    Having finished his task of loading the anchor, Uncle Duncan slid off the boat, treaded water across to the dock and climbed out of the water. Reaching the spot where he had dropped his clothes, he picked them up and tucked them under one arm, as, with a majestic stride, he hove off into the great city in search of more adventure.”
    When McFay finished his story, the other members of the crew told no more tales of feats of heavy lifting. McFay rolled into his bunk, having nothing more to add to the evening’s entertainment.