In Dock
We left the Golden Fleece in a very narrow dock at Brooklyn, N. Y. It seemed humiliating to the noble ship to be warped among sloops and schooners into her berth; she appeared to be submitting to it as a strong man disabled and sick yields passively to nurses. The sailors, all who had not sprung ashore five minutes after the ship was docked, stood looking at us over the rails, some of them leaning on an arm, some resting their chins on the rails, after we had shaken hands with them, with a long farewell.