Carew listened, and heard a low, rumbling sound like distant thunder.

"Thunder out of a cloudless sky! That is strange."

"That is no thunder, captain," said Baptiste, with a scared look, "but what it is I know not."

The sound became louder. It did not seem to be approaching from any direction, but to be everywhere—around, below, above—filling all space. Then it swelled to a great roar, as of the rolling of thousands of drums. The air trembled at the sound, and the surface of the sea no longer reflected the blue sky above, but, appearing like a mirror over which one has breathed, vibrated into myriads of wrinkles and gyrating rings. Soon the water began to be greatly disturbed, and raved and foamed about the vessel as if she were floating in a boiling caldron. Then occurred an appalling prodigy. First, louder than loudest thunder, was heard a deafening explosion, and immediately the sea leapt up, not in waves, but in steep pyramids of water, piling itself up in domes, as if some mighty force were thrusting it up from below. The yacht pitched wildly into the confused whirl till she was nigh to break up with the violence of the shocks, and the water poured over her decks in masses, threatening to swamp her. Hollow whirlpools opened out suddenly in front of her, seeking to engulf her: a fearful spectacle to behold, which might make even the bravest men go mad with fright. Then came another explosion, and the superstitious Spaniards, holding on to the rigging for dear life, shrieked with abject terror as they saw the limpid sea suddenly thicken and change its colour to a dark, sulphurous yellow. There was an odour of sulphur in the air, and the sun was shining through a sickly yellow haze.

The crew, who would have done their duty with cool courage in a hurricane, were completely unnerved by this alarming portent. The two men forward thought that the fiend himself had opened hell under them to swallow up their sinful souls; they prayed and blasphemed in turns. The French mate, white to his lips and trembling, clutched the rigging, with his eyes closed. Carew alone, though his cheeks were pale, was calm. Holding on to the bulwark to prevent himself from being thrown overboard by the violent leaping of the yacht, he looked around him with a resolute expression. He would fight bravely for his life, but he had no fear of death.

In the midst of this turmoil a strong wind suddenly arose.

"Hoist the foresail!" he shouted; but none of the terrified men obeyed the order. "Cowardly idiots!" he cried, and scrambling forward as well as he could to the mast, he seized the fore-halyards and set the sail. Then he returned to the tiller, after having been nearly washed overboard by a sea on the way, and steered the vessel dead before the wind.

In ten minutes he had sailed, not without danger, outside the circle of raging water; and looking back he saw that the disturbance had already commenced to subside, and the loud roaring had lessened to a distant moaning.

"Locos!" he cried; "madmen, cowards, hoist the mainsail! Are you women to be so scared by a slight terremoto?"

"I didn't know that there were earthquakes in mid-ocean," said El Toro, who was the first to recover somewhat from his fright. "But, captain, you are a curious one. I knew you feared no man; but, caramba! it seems you don't fear the devil himself."

"Up mainsail," cried Carew again, "and don't jabber, thou great coward! Hurry up. We have a fair wind."

The mate was now himself again. "Aha! the terremoto has brought us luck," he cried. "Look yonder, captain," and he pointed to the east, where the sky had become suddenly covered with small fleecy clouds. "I know that sign—that is the trade wind."

They put all sail on the vessel, and were soon bowling along before the ever-freshening wind. They had left behind them the dreary region of the Doldrums, with its stifling heat, and the air above the dancing waves was cool and bracing.

The mate, who was steering, began to chaff his companions. "Say, El Toro, you thought the authorities below had sent for you when you felt that trembling of the sea."

"Trembling?" replied the Basque gruffly. "There was more trembling of thee than of the sea itself, thou white-gilled Frenchman."

"So there was," drawled the sarcastic El Chico. "But let us remember that our mate is a man of education—of soul. His nerves are in harmony with Nature. When Nature is merry he is merry; when Nature trembles; he trembles. But that is poetical sympathy, not fear, my friend El Toro."

And so these three reviled each other's cowardice, until Carew, fearing bloodshed, called out, "Now, then, stop that discussion, or all of you bring me your knives here."

Then this amiable crew smoked and sulked in silence for a while.

Shortly afterwards, Carew was below studying a chart of the South Atlantic. To him came down the mate, who looked over his shoulder and asked, "How far are we now from Rio, sir?"

"About sixteen hundred miles," was the reply. "That means a run of nine or ten days at the outside with this wind."

"You are a man of great nerve," said the mate, filled with a genuine admiration. "I thought the bravest man would have lost his head in that horrid earthquake."

Carew laughed. "Mine was only the courage of science at the best, Baptiste. You see, the phenomenon did not take me by surprise. I half expected something of the sort."

"Indeed!"

"Oh, it is very simple. See here,"—he pointed to the chart,—"read that." The words, "Volcanic region of the Atlantic," were printed across a large tract of ocean in the vicinity of the equator. "Now, if you will turn over the pages of the South Atlantic Pilot Directory, you will read that this part of the Atlantic is peculiarly subject to volcanic disturbance; so much so, that mariners are in this book warned on the subject. There are no soundings hereabouts with two thousand fathoms of line, and yet the disturbance is transmitted upwards through all those miles of water; so you can imagine the violent forces that are at work below us. It is rare that a vessel crosses this strange corner of the sea without experiencing some manifestation or other of this nature. Sometimes it may be only a discoloration of the water that is noticed; sometimes a shock is felt as if the vessel had struck a rock, or she shivers till the masts are like to be thrown out of her. It is a region terrible to superstitious sailors; but I believe it is rare that a vessel has sustained any serious damage from these convulsions."

"Even if I had known all that I should have lost my nerve; for, say what you like, captain, our danger was a very real one. The terremoto has done one good thing, anyhow: it has inspired El Chico and El Toro with an immense respect for your courage. We won't tell them that you were forewarned by the pilot book. You can do what you like with those men after this, Captain Allen. For the future they are your obedient slaves."

The brave trade wind blew without intermission for ten days, and then Carew, being in the latitude of Rio de Janeiro, steered due west for the land, which, according to his dead-reckoning, was not two hundred miles distant. It was night, and the wind having fallen light, the yacht made little progress. At midnight Carew came on deck to relieve the mate.

"Look over there," said Baptiste, pointing across the vessel's bows to the westward. "Those are the lights of Rio."

"What! so soon?" cried Carew; and turning his eyes in the indicated direction he perceived, not indeed the gleam of a lighthouse or other ordinary sign of approaching land, but an appearance as of a stormy dawn. High above the horizon hung masses of clouds whose lower surface was of a faint red, as if they were reflecting some immense conflagration too far away to be yet visible.

"You cannot distinguish any other city in the world from such a distance," said the mate. "When you are one hundred miles—yes, and more than that—away, you can tell the position of Rio de Janeiro by the glare that hangs over it at night. The gaslights there are innumerable. I have heard that it is the best lighted city in the world, and I believe it. At midnight the streets are illuminated as if for a fÊte; and, what is more, all the roads and paths that lead out into the country and up to the tops of the mountains are better lit than any of the streets in your London. Ah, the capital of the Brazils is a wonderful place!"

As Carew discovered later on, Baptiste had not exaggerated the facts.

At daybreak Carew was still on deck, being anxious to catch a first glimpse of the New World after so many weeks upon the desert seas.

When the sun rose the blue sky was cloudless, but the western horizon was obscured by a white fog, which, Baptiste said, nearly always hovered over this coast at early morning.

Of a sudden the upper portion of the mist lifted, and high above them there appeared, as if floating in mid-air, the summit of a huge mountain. It was of cubical shape, with perpendicular sides of bare, smooth stone, like the altar of some giant race—a marvellous sight to thus burst suddenly upon men who had for so long seen nothing but sky and water.

"That is the Gavia Mountain," cried Baptiste; "it lies to the left of the entrance of the Bay of Rio."

Then the morning breeze came down upon the land, and, as by enchantment, the mist vanished, and all the features of that wonderful coast were revealed to them.

Lofty mountains of the most fantastic forms rose sheer from the sea. Some were great pyramids or peaks of ruddy granite gleaming like molten gold in the sunshine; others, sloping more gently, were covered with great forests of tropical vegetation. Along the whole shore extended a white line of foam, where the Atlantic swell, piled up by the fresh trade winds, perpetually thundered at the base of the cliffs. In places the ravines terminated in beautiful bays, where on beaches of silver sand the cocoa-nut trees waved their rustling branches. The tropical seas wash no lovelier a land than this; and at that moment, with the sun still low in the east, there were a softness and translucency in the gorgeous colouring that gave an unreal and fairy-like aspect to the scene. Close under the conical mountain known as the Sugar Loaf a gorge opened out, and through this was seen the vast expanse of the Bay of Rio, which the old navigators, in their admiration for its beauty, likened unto the gates of heaven.

The yacht crossed the tumbling waters on the bar, sailed through the majestic gates, and floated on the still, pale green water of the inland sea.

The Bay of Rio is considered to be the fairest of all the harbours of the earth, and one who has seen it can well believe that it is so. Imagine a vast lake, some eighty miles in circumference, surrounded by grand mountains, indented with many winding bays, and studded with islands of all sizes, on whose shores are many towns and villages, chief among which is the empire city of South America, the white Rio de Janeiro. A luxuriant vegetation comes down to the very edge of the water, even up to the streets of the city; the varied foliage of many species of palms, the luscious blades of the bananas, the spreading mangos, and bread-fruit trees giving a cool appearance to the torrid land.

About a mile from the city of Rio, at the entrance of the bay, is the fortified island of Villegagnon. The yacht was sailing close under its shore, the mate steering. Carew was gazing at the grand scenery around him with deep emotion. Under the influence of this lovely nature, his thoughts became tender and pure; his soul was strangely subdued, and his mind sank into a happy reverie, such as good men who feel secure in their innocence are supposed alone to enjoy.

The mate was watching Carew's face; then he said, in a casual manner—

"I know this port pretty well, Mr. Allen, though I have only been here once before; and, by the way, I was sailing then in an English barque. Let me see, what was the captain's name? Captain Grou—no, it was not that—Garou—Carou—oh yes, that was it—Captain Carou."

Carew started visibly and looked steadily into the mate's face, but he could read nothing in those impassive features. "It is but a coincidence," he said to himself. "It is impossible that Baptiste can have discovered my real name. There are many Carews in the world, after all." Nevertheless, the sound of the name he had put away from him for ever disturbed him greatly. He was awakened from his pleasant reverie, and the beautiful scenery had no more delights for him. All the evil things which he had done and had yet to do were unpleasantly brought to his mind. Now that he saw the great city before him, he shrank from the idea of mixing once more with his fellow-men. He wished he were out on the open sea again.

"Baptiste," he said, "I should like to bring up some way from the quays; it will be quieter."

"Certainly, captain. Let us bring up here under Villegagnon; it will be cooler and healthier than farther in. Look yonder at the merchantman anchorage. I see the yellow flag flying from at least a dozen foremasts. The yellow fever is evidently playing mischief at present."

Baptiste had not been unobservant of Carew's start and change of expression at the mention of his name. The wily Frenchman had a game to play: he had put down his first card with a result that satisfied him.

The anchor was let go under Villegagnon and the sails were stowed; then Baptiste, looking around him, happened to perceive a barque anchored about half a mile off. "Ho, El Toro," he cried; "look at that barque. Is she not the very sister to the old Vrouw Elisa?"

"Baptiste," said Carew sternly, "you told me that you had never been on board the Vrouw Elisa."

The mate, not in the least disconcerted, laughed, and replied, "That does not prevent my knowing her by sight, surely, Captain Carou—I mean—how stupid of me!—Captain Allen."