A Thousand-Mile Walk 



fields of seaweed, of which I procured speci- 

 mens. I thoroughly enjoyed life in this novel 

 little tar-and-oakum home, and, as the end of 

 our voyage drew nigh, I was sorry at the 

 thought of leaving it. 



We were now, on the twelfth day, approach- 

 ing New York, the big ship metropolis. We 

 were in sight of the coast all day. The leafless 

 trees and the snow appeared wonderfully 

 strange. It was now about the end of February 

 and snow covered the ground nearly to the 

 water's edge. Arriving, as we did, in this rough 

 winter weather from the intense heat and gen- 

 eral tropical luxuriance of Cuba, the leafless, 

 snow-white woods of New York struck us with 

 all the novelty and impressiveness of a new 

 world. A frosty blast was sweeping seaward 

 from Sandy Hook. The sailors explored their 

 wardrobes for their long-cast-off woolens, and 

 pulled the ropes and managed the sails while 

 muffled in clothing to the rotundity of Eskimos. 

 For myself, long burdened with fever, the frosty 

 wind, as it sifted through my loosened bones, 

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