Letters From Jamaica - The Land of Streams and Woods #266449

"Well, I'm blessed!" said the man at the wheel; "them cussed niggers once more!" "Running up into the harbour, sir!" echoed the steward with a face suggestive of coming fees; "and them black fellows in plenty awaitin' for you on the wharf." There they were certainly - woolly heads, bare feet, ebon faces, loud voices - all ready and waiting this fine February morning, though the sun was hardly up, to pounce upon us and our baggage, as we left what had been our floating home for the last three weeks. Eighteen days out, and prosperous winds almost all the way. And now, in the clear bright light of a tropical morning, we were at last in sight of the "Land of Streams."<br><br>Of course, we had had our own share of "incidents" to vary the weary monotony of the voyage. Our engines had gone wrong on one occasion, as they were in duty bound to do, and we had been delayed twenty-four hours in consequence. For three whole days, too, we experienced rather dirty weather; strong winds though fair, and heavy seas, which made us all very uncomfortable and not a little cross.