The entrance is so
narrow as to admit but one vessel at a time, the current swift,
and the channel runs so near to a low, stony point that the ship's
sides appeared almost to touch it. There was no town in sight, but
on the smooth sand beach, abreast, and within a cable's length of
which three vessels lay moored, were four large houses, built of
rough boards, and looking like the great barns in which ice is
stored on the borders of the large ponds near Boston, with piles
of hides standing round them, and men in red shirts and large
straw hats walking in and out of the doors. These were the Hide
Houses. Of the vessels: one, a short, clumsy little hermaphrodite
brig, we recognized as our old acquaintance, the Loriotte;
another, with sharp bows and raking masts, newly painted and
tarred, and glittering in the morning sun, with the blood-red
banner and cross of St. George at her peak, was the handsome
Ayacucho. The third was a large ship, with top-gallant-masts
housed and sails unbent, and looking as rusty and worn as two
years' ``hide droghing'' could make her. This was the Lagoda. As
we drew near, carried rapidly along by the current, we overhauled
our chain, and clewed up the topsails.
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