"Let go the anchor," was now the word,
followed by a hoarse rumble of the chains and a noisy burst of steam. A
fleet of shadowy ships and small craft surrounded us, and ahead glimmered
the lights of the city, which, irregularly scattered about the dark
hill-sides, appeared in the night like so many stars dimly twinkling
through a broken rain cloud. With the quick instinct of the presence of a
stranger, the dogs became at once conscious of our arrival, and began a
noisy welcome of barks and yelps, which continued throughout the night.
The port officials in tarnished gilt came alongside the steamer, had their
talk with the captain and pushed off again. Two or three gusty-looking
sea-captains boarded us, gave their rough grasps of welcome, drank off
their stiff supplies of grog, and pulled back to their ships. Some few of
the more impatient of our comrades turned out from the bottom of their
trunks their "best," and went ashore in glossy coats and shining boots.
Most of us, however, awaited the coming of the morning.
I was up on deck at the earliest dawn of day. The steamer was at anchor
close before the city, and I looked with no admiring eyes upon its flimsy
white-washed houses and wooden spires, scattered about the base and sides
of the cindery, earth-quaky hills upon which it is built.
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