The day of our departure had been fixed for the 12th, at four in the morning, and Pedro had promised faithfully to have all things in readiness. With the anticipation of an early start, we bade all our friends good-bye over night, and retired early, declining any provision for breakfast on shore, lest we might cause delays in the morning. Morning came, but not a sailor was to be seen near the “La Granadina,” except the one who had kept watch over night; the rest, he said, would be there “_muy pronto_” very soon; whereupon he dodged beneath the _chopa_, and composed himself for another nap. We waited an hour on the shore; meantime the sun came up, door after door was unbarred, and the people came streaming down to the water to perform their morning ablutions, evidently greatly puzzled to account for our presence there. Their salutations seemed to conceal a vast deal of irony, and I fear were not returned with the utmost amiability. At eight o’clock, after firmly resolving to hold Pedro to a strict accountability for his delinquency, we returned in high indignation to our old quarters, and despatched orders for breakfast. To our infinite surprise, Monsieur S. had already prepared it. He received us with a smile, and when the meal was finished, coolly asked our preferences for dinner! This was rather too severe an enforcement of our first lesson in native delays, and led to an explanation, in the course of which Monsieur told us that he had long since found out the absurdity of attempting to advise Americans in such matters; and ended with the assurance that if we got off by the middle of the afternoon we might regard ourselves as particularly fortunate. We nevertheless returned to the shore, and found part of the crew had assembled, and were collecting wood and arranging their kettles preparatory to making breakfast. Never was anything performed more deliberately; and the meal itself was disposed of with equal deliberation. It was nearly eleven when the kettles were again placed in the boat, and quite twelve when Pedro made his appearance. Fortunately for his sable skin, our impatience had taken the chronic form of dogged endurance, and we sat amongst boxes, trunks, and guns, silent and grim, but cherishing the determination to make ourselves even with the vagabonds before we got through with them. Monsieur S. proved to be right; and it was late in the afternoon before the last straggler was got in, and the signal was given for starting. We severally mounted on the naked shoulders of the men, and were deposited on the _pineta_, a novel mode of embarkation with which we afterwards became familiar. The sailors took their places, and Pedro, with a great conch shell in one hand, gravely stationed himself at the tiller. The sweeps were raised, and every eye was fixed on the Patron, who glanced over the crew, as much as to ask “all ready?” and then, raising the shell to his lips, gave a long, unearthly blast. The sweeps fell simultaneously into the