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Started 5 o'clock. Wednesday. 

The steamers great whistle woke me at dawn. I dressed in hurry and went on deck. Only a few were up. It was a gray morning, drizzling, and cold when we started. The steamers in the harbor were all asleep; nothing doing, three tugboats were panting alongside. These little boats pushed, pulled and struggled with the great lumbering Devonian, as small ants would handle a caterpillar: the long hull of the liner gradually gave way [[strikethrough]] swing [[/strikethrough]] swinging free of the dock, and started [[strikethrough]] away [[/strikethrough]] from home. Eight hundred cattle were in the hold, some moaning in a way that would make ones blood stand still, I shivered to hear them. They were all sweating, steaming, and exhausted.

Everything was so misty that Boston's tall buildings, ships, and wharves were soon lost sight of. 

The last seen of Boston, was Fort Independence, which we passed at 5.40 o'clock. The tug that escorted us down the harbor was named Confidence. Rather a pleasing sight for such an occasion.