That gentleman was apparently in no very great hurry and the hour and a half that we laid there awaiting his pleasure we spent in looking at the great stone breakwater and the city that lies upon the open coast, the harbor being an artificial and not a natural one.

It was after four o'clock when the harbor master's boat, manned by half-clad Cingalese, came alongside, and a short time afterwards we steamed to a place inside the breakwater and dropped our anchors.
In an incredibly short space of time the steamer was surrounded by boats of all shapes, sizes and colors, manned by Malays, Cingalese and Hindoos, clad in all the colors of the rainbow, and all talking and yelling at the same time.

Four little Cingalese boys, the oldest of which could not have been more than twelve of age, and who paddled a bamboo canoe around with barrel staves, attracted the most of our attention.

They could swim and dive like otters, and shillings and sixpences cast into the water they brought up from the bottom, catching it in many instances before it had found a resting place on the sands.
"Frow it," they would shout, and scarcely had the shining piece of silver struck the water before they were after it, disappearing from sight and then coming up with the coveted coin secure in their possession.

The decks were soon swarming with hotel runners, moneychangers, and tradesmen of various sorts.