FUNCHAL.
"That is the island of Madeira," said the captain, pointing to a dark mass dimly seen against the horizon. "We are now nearly twenty-eight hundred miles southeast of New York."
We had been sailing for seven days with only a vast expanse of ocean in view, and so we longed for a sight of land and eagerly looked forward to the arrival at our first port. As we approached the island the form of a mountain became clear in the star-light; then the twinkling of lights at its base revealed the location of a city. When within half a mile of the shore, the water in the harbor became too shallow for large vessels, so the screw propeller of the Moltke ceased revolving and the ship came to anchor.
"May we go ashore to-night?" many asked.
"Certainly, there is no objection," replied the captain.
A number of the passengers, eager to see the attractions of the place, and too impatient to wait until morning, were rowed across the dark water to the pier. In the city, Funchal, we found that at so late an hour the main attractions were gambling places, dance halls, and lotteries, the owners of which were greedy for American money. The main Casino, in the midst of a beautiful garden, was brilliantly illuminated and its halls were filled with well dressed people. Some of the party who had placed their silver on the tables of chance showed on their return to the steamer handfuls of coins that fortune had brought them; others who had made similar experiments were silent as to the results.
SUNLIGHT SHONE ON THE WHITE WALLS OF FUNCHAL.
"We should have read up the Madeiras before leaving home," said one of the tourists at our early breakfast the morning after our arrival, "but we were too busy then with other things. While you were ashore last night I found in the library an old English book of travel that gave some information about the islands."
