The wharf is gained: here lie the boats side by side, one going north, the other south: they are surrounded by a crowd,—friends making hasty adieus; porters, of all shades of colour, hurrying to and fro, aiding, scrambling, and squabbling, with the important air and ceaseless loquacity everywhere characteristic of the African race.
Amidst this motley throng the unoccupied and observant man will easily pick out many individuals of gaunt outline, a bilious aspect and a staid sober demeanour, each carrying a small valise, a carpet-bag, a long Boston coat or cloak, and steadily and deliberately making a straight course for the common bourne, unaided and unaiding, self-sustained, independent, and, each for himself alone.
At length, after a few last hasty bangs, the heavy bell clappers cease to move; the porters quit the luggage-cars and spring nimbly ashore; the independent gentlemen dispose of their kits, each after the fashion and on the spot he "judges" most convenient; the hissing sound of escaping steam suddenly stops, and this momentary silence is succeeded by the quick motion of the paddle-wheels.
The vicious-looking columns of white vapour melt away; wheeling majestically about, the huge boats steadily head towards their opposite courses, and, in the next moment, are rushing, like unslipped greyhounds, through the smooth waters of the Delaware.
And now occasionally arrive discoveries, at once whimsical and amusing to all save the sufferers. A lady with her children going South, for instance, finds out that her husband, or her carriage and horses, one or both, have gotten by mistake aboard the New York boat, and are off back again to the North: perhaps you get a glimpse of the miserable biped in question, like a waterman, looking one way and going the other. Without great care, these little accidents will occur, as I can vouch for; as the lines depart full drive at the same instant, stopping is out of the question; and the disunion of a day, at least, is the consequence of one moment's delay or mistake.
Our way lies downward, and the long line of quays is dashed by like lightning. You have just time to mark, well pleased, the early activity of the numerous little steamers plying to and fro between Camden and the city ferries. You cast perchance a rambling glance over those pretty villages, above which the ruddy hue of morning is serenely spreading, and, even as you gaze, behold them melt away in the river's haze.
The Navy-yard, with the huge wooden mansions built to shelter the "Pennsylvania" and a neighbour frigate, glide, as it were, hastily by; and nothing remains to break the monotony of the long level lines skirting the river, and hardly rising above it.
Of this prospect the eye soon becomes weary, and now is the time to look upon your fellow-passengers. You descend from the upper or promenade deck, which, if the morning be chilly, you have most likely held in sole occupation. On the next deck beneath, seated back to back upon long ranges of settees, you behold the female portion of the living freight; for, I take it for granted, this is the first direction of your regards, and a pleasant task it often turns out to be; for, as I have already said, and shall probably yet more strongly confirm hereafter, the average of female beauty in America is high, and but few women are without those always striking points, fine expressive brows and eyes, which, shaded by a tasteful bonnet, and accompanied by a certain coquettish air, leave little wanting to ensure the admiration of the passing stranger.
Having lounged about here for a turn or two, you find yourself reminded of a certain indispensable ceremony by a Stentor-lunged black, who most perseveringly vociferates, "Gentlemen who have not yet paid, will please step to the captain's office and settle their passage."