Monday. --It was, if I remember rightly, five o'clock
when we were all signalled to be present at the Ferry
Depôt of the railroad. An emigrant ship had arrived at
New York on the Saturday night, another on the Sunday
morning, our own on Sunday afternoon, a fourth early on
Monday; and as there is no emigrant train on Sunday
a great part of the passengers from these four ships was
concentrated on the train by which I was to travel.
There was a babel of bewildered men, women, and
children. The wretched little booking-office, and the
baggage-room, which was not much larger, were crowded
thick with emigrants, and were heavy and rank with the
atmosphere of dripping clothes. Open carts full of
bedding stood by the half-hour in the rain. The
officials loaded each other with recriminations. A
bearded, mildewed little man, whom I take to have
been an emigrant agent, was all over the place, his
mouth full of brimstone, blustering and interfering. It
was plain that the whole system, if system there was,
had utterly broken down under the strain of so many
passengers.

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