|
|
||||||
|
Allan Arnold
The usual scenes were visible on the wharf–the rushing on board of belated freight and baggage–the crush of passengers and their friends on deck, or down in the cabins, where partings were being drunk in wine; the crowd of steerage passengers forward, trying to keep out of the way of the sailors, and at the same time to salute or converse with their friends on the dock; the rattle and bustle all around; the blow of steam from the impatient boilers; the sharp, brisk orders of the junior officers; the rush of carriages with passengers, and the shouting of draymen anxious to get their loads aboard–all these sights and sounds were both felt and visible as a bright-looking young man, distinctly American to all appearances, alighted from a cab and walked up the steamer's gang-plank, followed by a porter and the driver with trunks and parcels.
|
||||||
|
||||||
