Passing the island, we came to a broad and beautiful reach in the river, at the head of which, upon a commanding eminence, rise the walls of the Castillo. The hill resembles that of Chapultepec, near Mexico; is equally bold, and has been scarped to the steepness and regularity of the pyramids. The sides are now covered with bushes, and matted over with vines, but the walls still frown gloomily above the mass of verdure. At the foot, and nearly on the level of the water, is what is called the “_Platforma_,” where were the ancient water-batteries. It is now occupied by a few thatched houses,—the quarters of a small garrison kept here by the Nicaraguan government, as an evidence of occupancy, and to assist boats in passing the rapids of the Castle, which, although narrow, are very powerful, and better deserving the name of falls than rapids. Here the boats have to be “tracked up” by sheer force; and it is usual for all passengers to land, and to lighten the boat in every way possible. It is often necessary to take out a considerable part of the freight, or to wait for the arrival of another boat, so as to join forces in making the ascent. Arrived in the eddy below the “Platforma,” M. and myself bestrid the shoulders of our men, and were deposited on shore. We started at once for the castle, by a path which the garrison, under express orders from the government, kept clear of bushes. I glanced into one of the huts as I passed, but saw nothing beyond a very pretty yellow girl, swinging slowly to and fro in a hammock, with one naked leg hanging indolently over the side. She threw aside her long black curls, but, without changing her position, exclaimed, “Adios, California!” A party of outward-bound Californians had spent a number of days here, a few weeks previously, and had evidently been on familiar terms with the señora.