"How odd these vehicles are we shall find out when we land. We shall have a busy day. I am eager to start."
It was yet early when we ascended the deck, but the sun was shining brightly. Funchal appeared like a beautiful picture. Overhead was the azure sky of a summer day; before us, stirred by a gentle breeze, glistened in blue and silver the waters of the harbor; on the curving shore, tier above tier, reflecting the sunshine, rose the white and yellow stone buildings of the city surmounted by roofs of red tiling; above the city, white cottages amidst a dense foliage of green shrubbery dotted the steep hillsides, and beyond, but seeming very near, higher mountains formed a dark and appropriate background.
THE WOMEN WERE WASHING CLOTHES.
"The steam tenders are ready to carry you to the shore," announced one of the officials, interrupting our survey of the picture.
We descended the long ladder of fifty steps from the deck of the steamer to the bobbing barge in the water below, and were soon landed on the stone steps of the breakwater, which, extending out to a picturesque crag, protects and partially encloses the harbor. There, in place of cabs, a hundred low sleds with canopy tops and cushioned seats were in readiness to convey us on a sight-seeing excursion through the city. This ride in ox-drags was a novel experience. Each sled was dragged by two bullocks, driven without reins by loud-voiced natives who, with frequent yells and prodding sticks, urged on their teams. The drivers carried bunches of greasy rags which they occasionally threw underneath the sled-runners as a lubricant to diminish the friction of their movement over the stone-paved streets.
IN THE SLED READY TO START.
The sights in the city were strange. The shops on the narrow streets were plain and unattractive, and the signs unintelligible. The windows of the lower floors of the dwellings were grated with iron bars like a prison. Beneath a bridge over a walled ravine that kept a rushing stream within bounds in the rainy season, women washed clothes and spread them on rocks to dry. In the public square the women carrying water from the fountain or chatting on the sidewalks appeared to have little curiosity regarding the visitors in their city, and the men, lounging on the steps of the fountain, cast but careless glances in our direction; only the boys stopped their play to gaze awhile at the passing strangers.
"This plodding team seems fitting in such a peculiar place," remarked one of the quartet in our sled. "Although it is not rapid transit, it is comfortable. But look, there is a more luxurious mode of traveling." As he spoke he pointed to two Portuguese bearing suspended on a pole a handsome hammock in which a lady reclined languidly.