ill-garbed crowd that pressed against the waist-boards of the
brig, looking with curious eyes toward Philadelphia, several, as
the sound of the bells was heard, might have been observed
to cross themselves, while one or two of the women began to
tell their beads, praying perhaps that the breadth of the just-crossed
Atlantic lay between them and the privation and want
which had forced emigration upon them, but more likely
giving thanks that the dangers and suffering of the voyage
were over.

Scarcely had the anchor splashed, and before the circling
ripples it started had spread a hundred feet, when a small boat
put off from one of the wharfs lining the water front of the
city, with the newly arrived ship as an evident destination; and
the brig had barely swung to the current when the hoarse voice
of the mate was heard ordering the ladder over the side. The
preparation to receive the boat drew the attention of the crowd,
and they stared at its occupants with an intentness which implied
some deeper interest than mere curiosity; low words were
exchanged, and some of the poor frightened creatures seemed
to take on a greater cringe.

[Illustration: "'T is sunrise at Greenwood."]

Seated in the sternsheets of the approaching boat was a
plainly dressed man, whose appearance so bespoke the mercantile
class that it hardly needed the doffing of the captain's cap
and his obsequious "your servant, Mr. Cauldwell, and good
health to you," as the man clambered on board, to announce
the owner of the ship. To the emigrants this sudden deference