Impressions of America During the Years 1833, 1834 and 1835. Volume 1 (of 2)Power, Tyrone
History
Impressions of America During the Years 1833, 1834 and 1835. Volume 1 (of 2)
Power, Tyrone
Canada -- Description and travel; United States -- Description and travel
Let me add, that this was the last day on which I felt so during my long
sojourn in the hospitable land; and even on this I possessed buoyancy
enough of spirit to keep down these selfish reflections, and, I thank
Heaven, sympathy enough to rejoice in the gladness of my comrades.
I did not lack amusement, either after the first hurry was past; an
intelligent friend or two busied themselves pointing out to me the
various localities in detail, with whose general character Carey's
excellent atlas had already made me tolerably conversant.
The day was clear and cloudless; and when to this advantage is added a
light head wind, which compelled us to work our way inward, no harbour
could be approached under auspices more favourable, or better calculated
to afford a complete and varying view of its beauties.
Just as we had opened the Narrows, the entrance to the inner bay so
called, the wind grew so unpromising that a party of us decided to
engage the pilot vessel to take us as far as Staten Island, which they
"calculated" they could reach before the departure of the steamer for
New York.
Bidding adieu to the Europe, away we dashed in the little witch of a
pilot, a craft of some eighty tons' burthen, but, viewed from a short
distance, not looking more than half that size, so snug was her build,
as well as from the absence of every kind of hamper; her shrouds were
without ratlins, and her deck without even the protection of a
rough-tree--a nakedness I should by no means like in bad weather. The
afterpart, however, or stern-sheets, is sunk about four feet; and as the
bowsprit is a mere stump, and the sheets of both foresail and jib lead
aft, all the work may be done here when under snug sail.
The necessity, during our trip in the schooner, of working up between
the shores of Long and Staten Islands, was a chance that added to the
charm of our approach.
Standing into the Narrows, under the guns of a formidable fort, the
pretty-looking village of Staten, where quarantine is performed, first
presented itself: the smoke of the steamer assured us she had not yet
departed, and two or three tacks brought us within signaling distance,
just as she broke away from the shore: our desire was readily
understood, and, slightly changing her course, she soon after received
us in addition to her already crowded freight.
I found the upper deck of the Bolivar, the name of our steamer,
uncommonly hot, but it afforded a good place from which to view the
harbour and city as they were now rapidly unfolded: here, therefore, I
planted myself, all eyes; and certainly have rarely been better repaid
for a broiling.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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