It is ten o'clock at night: say half-past ten: moonlight, warm,
and dull enough. The steamer (not unlike a child's Noah's ark in
form, with the machinery on the top of the roof) is riding lazily
up and down, and bumping clumsily against the wooden pier, as the
ripple of the river trifles with its unwieldy carcase. The wharf
is some distance from the city. There is nobody down here; and one
or two dull lamps upon the steamer's decks are the only signs of
life remaining, when our coach has driven away. As soon as our
footsteps are heard upon the planks, a fat negress, particularly
favoured by nature in respect of bustle, emerges from some dark
stairs, and marshals my wife towards the ladies' cabin, to which
retreat she goes, followed by a mighty bale of cloaks and great-
coats. I valiantly resolve not to go to bed at all, but to walk up
and down the pier till morning.
I begin my promenade - thinking of all kinds of distant things and
persons, and of nothing near - and pace up and down for half-an-
hour. Then I go on board again; and getting into the light of one
of the lamps, look at my watch and think it must have stopped; and
wonder what has become of the faithful secretary whom I brought
along with me from Boston.
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