On the road, chained gangs of surly convicts
were at work, and some smart-looking soldiers, in blue and white, came
marching along! Caravans of mules, laden with goods, produce and water
casks, trotted on, and here and there rode a dashing Chilian cavalier on
his prancing steed, or a dapper citizen on his steady cob. In a ravine
between the dry hills there trickled the smallest possible stream. Above,
some water carriers were slowly filling their casks, while the mules
patiently waited for their burdens; below, was a throng of washerwomen,
beating their clothes upon the stones, just moistened by the scant water
which flowed over them, and interchanging Spanish Billingsgate with each
other and a gang of man-of-war sailors.
Frightened away by the stony stare of the English occupant from an
imposing-looking residence on the top of the hill, I crossed the road and
entered the private hospital. Around a quadrangle, laid out in gardens
beds there was a range of low two story buildings. Some bleached sailors,
in duck trowsers and blue jackets, were about; one was reading a
song-book, another his Bible, and a third was busily making a marine swab
out of ropes' ends.
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