246 
EXPERIENCES IN COLOMBIA 
We had been shouldered and buffeted for several days by the 
restless Caribbean, scorched by the sun and wilted by the heat, and we 
were glad of the prospect of getting ashore. We therefore entered in 
spirit into the feelings of our captain, who was racing with a French 
steamer for a good mooring, and whose Teutonic oaths we piously 
echoed without knowing exactly what they meant. Whether this helped 
in the race is a question, hut at all events we got the berth, and as we 
were making fast the captain joined our group. His good nature was 
restored, and as we stood under the awning, not much bigger than a 
pocket handkerchief, sheltered from a shower, he called attention to a 
man standing on the pier who was General Somebody, and a personage 
of great importance. 
HOMES OF THE POOR. 
“You mean the chap in the mackintosh?" asked an English ship- 
mate. 
“No, the man in the rubber ‘goat/ ” growled the captain. 
Both of them stood pat, and the argument lasted long after we 
left them and stepped upon the pier, which was crowded with freight 
cars, natives, sailors, and the nondescript Anglo-Saxons that become 
residents of such places and never get either money or energy enough 
to get away. Did I say that it was Sunday when we landed? Well, 
by the calendar it certainly was the holy Sabbath, but so far as we 
could see, no one observed it but ourselves, which we did by rigidly 
abstaining from work, and preparing to journey up to Barranquilla early 
Monday morning. This town, which is some nineteen miles away, is 
connected with the port by a jerkwater railroad that has great difficulty 
in negotiating two trips in twenty-four hours. We therefore made all 
