The officers of the boat and many of the
passengers were hurrying round, with busy feet, and using necessary
efforts to propel their speed. As a bird cuts the air or an arrow
wings its feathery course, so sped the boats upon their onward way.
The crowd on the shore watched them till they became small black
specks in the distance, and then the tumultuous tide of human life
turned towards the city's mart, and mingled again in its busy
fluctuations and its change.
There was a delightful view as the boat passed the beautiful villages
and elegant mansions of the wealthy citizens upon the surrounding
shore, reflecting the mild radiance of the setting sun.
When the shadows of twilight deepened, and the sable curtains of night
hid more distant objects from view, we could see in the dim distance
upon the waste of waters, the heated steam pipes of the swift
Atlantic, shedding a lurid glare upon the surrounding darkness.
By some failure in the fire works of the Oregon, one of the boilers
refused to do its office, and it was a fearful sight to some on board
to witness the high pressure principle that was applied to the other
to raise the steam. The blue sky was above us and the blue waters
beneath, and midnight shed her mysterious shapes and phantom shadows
around us, and awoke memories of steamboat disasters and perishing
crews sinking into a watery grave.
The ill-fated Lexington that was burned upon this very track, came up,
haunting the imagination with wild, fantastic dreams.
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