In half an hour more, we were lying
snugly, with all sails furled, safe in Boston harbor; our long
voyage ended; the well-known scene about us; the dome of the State
House fading in the western sky; the lights of the city starting
into sight, as the darkness came on; and at nine o'clock the
clangor of the bells, ringing their accustomed peals; among which
the Boston boys tried to distinguish the well-known tone of the
Old South.
We had just done furling the sails, when a beautiful little
pleasure-boat luffed up into the wind, under our quarter, and the
junior partner of the firm to which our ship belonged, Mr. Hooper,
jumped on board. I saw him from the mizzen-topsail yard, and knew
him well. He shook the captain by the hand, and went down into the
cabin, and in a few minutes came up and inquired of the mate for
me. The last time I had seen him I was in the uniform of an
undergraduate of Harvard College, and now, to his astonishment,
there came down from aloft a ``rough alley'' looking fellow, with
duck trousers and red shirt, long hair, and face burnt as dark as
an Indian's. We shook hands, and he congratulated me upon my
return and my appearance of health and strength, and said that my
friends were all well.
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