The sun went down that night directly behind the purple peak of Orosi. The body of the volcano appeared to be a nucleus, whence fan-like rays radiated up to the very zenith, while the yellow light streamed past the mountain upon thelake, in a dazzling flood, in which the islands of Solentenami and La Boqueta seemed to float as in liquid gold. As the sun sank lower, the hues of the heavens changed to crimson, bringing out the palm-trees on the islands in high relief against the sky; then to purple, and finally to the cool gray of evening, through which the stars shone down with a strange and almost unnatural lustre. The transition was rapid, for here the lingering twilight of northern latitudes is unknown. Our boatmen were not insensible to the almost unearthly beauty of the scene; and when it all was passed, they began the evening chaunt, “Ave Maria purisima,” etc. the echoes of which were repeated from the shores, until they died away in murmurs in the distance. The night was wonderfully still. We could distinctly hear the tinkling of guitars at the fort, at least three miles distant, interrupted by bursts of gay laughter, until a late hour. Before I slunk under the _chopa_, however, clouds began to gather in the north-east, lighted up momentarily by flashes of lightning, while fitful gusts of wind, veering in every quarter, betokened the approach of a thunder-storm. I nevertheless went to sleep while listening to the distant mutterings of thunder and the dismal howlings of the “mono colorado,” or howling monkey. A little past midnight, however, we were all roused in a summary manner by a dash of water full in our faces, followed the next instant by the lurching of the boat, which tumbled passengers, arms, books, and whatever was movable, all in a heap together. I disengaged myself in a moment, and scrambled out upon the pineta, where Pedro, clinging to the tiller, was calling frantically to the men, who in a confused, shouting mass were clustered around the swaying mast, vainly endeavoring to take in the sail. We were before the wind, which was blowing a hurricane, and going with immense velocity, the hissing waters rising under our stern, almost to the level of the pineta. Broad sheets of blinding lightning fell around us, followed by deafening peals of thunder, drowning for a moment the roar of the tempest. I had hardly time to comprehend the peril of our situation, with the sail entangled in the ropes, and swaying from side to side, when a flash of lightning revealed to me Ben’s stalwart form amongst the frightened marineros. I saw his short Roman sword glance for an instant above their heads,—he had cut the ropes. The sail fell, but was at once dragged aboard, while the relieved boat scudded steadily before the storm, which soon exhausted itself, leaving us drenched and uncomfortable, tossing roughly amongst the waves. The men took to the oars without an order, and in evident relief