It was Sunday, bright and sunny. The groups upon the pier
--men, youths, and boys-were whites and blacks in about equal proportion.
All were well and neatly dressed; many of them nattily, a few of them
very stylishly. One would have to travel far before he would find
another town of twelve thousand inhabitants that could represent itself
so respectably, in the matter of clothes, on a freight-pier, without
premeditation or effort. The women and young girls, black and white, who
occasionally passed by, were nicely clad, and many were elegantly and
fashionably so. The men did not affect summer clothing much, but the
girls and women did, and their white garments were good to look at, after
so many months of familiarity with somber colors.
Around one isolated potato-barrel stood four young gentlemen, two black,
two white, becomingly dressed, each with the head of a slender cane
pressed against his teeth, and each with a foot propped up on the barrel.
Another young gentleman came up, looked longingly at the barrel, but saw
no rest for his foot there, and turned pensively away to seek another
barrel.
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