ramble down this slope, with city-halls, hotels, and banks.
A school may occupy that copse, a jail adorn this rising ground.
New comers will be welcome to the Carmelo mountains
and the White
family will have gained another stronghold on the Slope.
A steep and winding track leads down from the ridges of Mount Carmelo to Carmelo Bay.
On crossing San Jose Creek
, we catch the cry of birds and seals, now and then broken by the bark of sea-lions.
A cove with curious port lies in our front.
No ships are in the road; no docks, no piers, no landing stairs are visible; yet the place must be a port.
Five or six boats are bobbing on the tide; strong six-oared boats, not built for gliding over lakes and pools.
Still larger craft are beached ill crevices of sand and rock.
Half-naked men are toiling on the shore.
Some sheds lie in the shadow of a granite wall, with piles of casks, as in a brewer's yard.
In several places jets of flame lap out, and burning smoke is vomited on the air. Cormorants fight among the rocks; and here the carcase of a whale, his fat peeled off, is floating on the tide.