A few minutes later sails were lowered, and the schooner was moored to one of the rotten old wharves that still remain to tell of St.Mark's former glory.
"And is this St.Mark's ?" asked Mrs.Elmer, looking with a feeling of keen disappointment at the dozen or so tumble-down frame buildings that, perched on piles above the low, wet land, looked like dilapidated old men with shaky legs, and formed all that was to be seen of the town.
"Yes, miss," answered the colored pilot, who seemed to consider her question addressed to him.

"Dis yere's St.Mark's, or what de gales has lef' of hit.

'Pears like dey's been mighty hard on de ole town, sence trade fell off, an' mos' of de folkses moved away.

Uster be wharves all along yere, an' cotton-presses, an' big war'houses, an' plenty ships in de ribber; but now dey's all gone.

Dem times we uster hab fo' trains of kyars a day; but now dere's only one train comes tree times in de week, an' hit's only got one kyar.