outside things of observation and thought, and I enjoyed it. We were now on the twelfth day approaching New York, the big ship metropolis. We were in sight of the coast all day. The leafless trees and the snow appeared strange. It was now about the end of Feb. and snow covered the ground nearly to the water’s edge. Arriving thus from the intense heat and general tropic luxuriance of Cuba to the leafless snow-white woods of New York gave the latter all the novelty and impressiveness of a new world. A frosty blast swept seaward from Sandy Hook. The sailors explored their wardrobes for their long cast-off woolens and pulled the ropes while muffled to the rotundity of Esquimaux. For myself, long burned and fevered, the frost wind was more delicious as it sifted through my loosened bones than ever was spring-scented breeze. We now had plenty of company. Fleets of vessels were on the wing from all countries. Our little “taut” racer outwinged all without exception who like her were going to the port. Towards evening we were grinding and wedging in the ice-field of the river delta, which we passed with difficulty. Arrived in port at nine o’clock. Was deposited like a cart at market in a proper “slip” and next morning we and our one-third rotten load of oranges were landed, and all the purposes of our sail from Cuba accomplished.
Original journal dimensions: 10 x 16.5 cm.
Holt-Atherton Special Collections, University of the Pacific Library
John Muir, journals, drawings, writings, travel, journaling, naturalist