One half of every object, shipping, houses, trees, and hills, was
gloriously illuminated; but even as we looked, the lower part of the
town gradually sank into darkness, and faded from our sight--the
deepening gloom cast by the high bank above us, like the dark shadow of
a bad spirit, gradually crept on, and on, and extended farther and
farther; the sailing water--fowl in regular lines, no longer made the
water flash up like flame; the russet mantle of eve was fast extending
over the entire hemisphere; the glancing minarets, and the tallest
trees, and the topgallant--yards and masts of the shipping, alone
flashed back the dying effulgence of the glorious orb, which every
moment grew fainter and fainter, and redder and redder, until it shaded
into purple, and the loud deep bell of the convent of La Merced swung
over the still waters, announcing the arrival of even--song and the
departure of day.
"Had we not better pull back to supper, sir?" quoth Moses Yerk to the
captain. We all started, the men dipped their oars, our dreams were
dispelled, the charm was broken--"Confound the matter--of--fact
blockhead," or something very like it, grumbled the captain--"but give
way, men," fast followed, and we returned towards the ship. We had not
pulled fifty yards, when we heard the distant rattle of the muskets of
the sentries at the gangways, as they discharged them at sundown, and
were remarking, as we were rowing leisurely along, upon the strange
effect produced by the reports, as they were frittered away amongst the
overhanging cliffs in chattering reverberations, when the captain
suddenly sung out, "Oars!" All hands lay on them.
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