The Lesser Antilles 351 



On the afternoon of the i8th of November about 

 three o'clock, as I happened to hold the "dummy-hand," 

 I rose from the table, walked to the window of the 

 reading-room, where we were playing, and looked out. 

 There before me was Atlantic City, the boardwalk, and 

 the long unsightly row of huge caravansaries which are 

 ranged along the beach. Later when it grew dusk I 

 chanced to look up and on our port side saw a light 

 suddenly flash forth not like the lights which we 

 had generally seen along the coast of South America, 

 and among the islands of the West Indies, shedding a 

 feeble radiance into the darkness, but a light, great, 

 strong, furious. Handfuls, armfuls, great heaped-up 

 piles of light, that beacon tossed out toward the sea, 

 and then for a moment all was dark. Again in surges of 

 glory the great flashing lantern scattered its rays over 

 the waters. It can be seen for miles and miles. I 

 know that light well. It stands upon the Atlantic 

 Highlands and tells the traveler coming from off the seas 

 that he is approaching the harbor of one of the greatest 

 cities of the world, the doorway of North America. 

 When dinner was over we went on deck and found that 

 we were quietly riding at anchor off Quarantine. The 

 air was cool and frosty. The journey begun in August 

 heats was over. Nearly twenty thousand miles by 

 sea and by land had been covered. We were home 

 again. 



