When all hands were called it was nearly sunrise, and between that
time and breakfast, although quite busy on board in getting up
water-casks, &c., I had a good view of the objects about me. The
harbor was nearly land-locked, and at the head of it was a
landing, protected by a small breakwater of stones, upon which two
large boats were hauled up, with a sentry standing over them. Near
this was a variety of huts or cottages, nearly a hundred in
number, the best of them built of mud or unburnt clay, and
whitewashed, but the greater part Robinson Crusoe like,-- only of
posts and branches of trees. The governor's house, as it is
called, was the most conspicuous, being large, with grated
windows, plastered walls, and roof of red tiles; yet, like all the
rest, only of one story. Near it was a small chapel, distinguished
by a cross; and a long, low, brown-looking building, surrounded by
something like a palisade, from which an old and dingy-looking
Chilian flag was flying. This, of course, was dignified by the
title of Presidio. A sentinel was stationed at the chapel, another
at the governor's house, and a few soldiers, armed with bayonets,
looking rather ragged, with shoes out at the toes, were strolling
about among the houses, or waiting at the landing-place for our
boat to come ashore.
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