I rose very early next morning; in fact, it was but little past sunrise, and the crew had not finished “washing down.” The mate was standing by the starboard taffrail, and after the usual “Good morning,” he was about to speak, when I exclaimed, pointing to the east, “Look! what great lighthouse is that?” I had just seen it,—a distant outline clearly defined against the rosy eastern sky. “That’s no lighthouse, though it does look like one. That’s the peak on your island.” The last words were spoken with so peculiar an emphasis that I knew Ralph had told him our plans. He went forward, and I continued to devour that majestic peak, that gradually lost its shadowy appearance and assumed definite form. The wind was light, and we raised it slowly. As I looked, a feeling of bewilderment stole over me. There was the peak of my dream to a certainty, and yet something was lacking. There should have been an island in front of it. At two bells in the forenoon watch we could distinguish objects on shore. For some time past I had noticed a small islet near the main one, and as we continued to sail on, we gradually brought it between us and the peak on Fernando de Noronha. Then I recognized it all. Ralph spoke to me, but I was speechless with emotion. “Rouse yourself,” I at last heard him say; “In half an hour it will be time to launch the boat.” Those words restored me, and I went below to make my preparations. [Picture: The Convict Island] The boat was hoisted into the air by means of a bowline rigged over the fore yard-arm, and was then lowered over the side. Hawkins, a couple of hands, and myself entered it. I noticed that instead of heading for Wood Island, as Ralph called it, we were making for Fernando de Noronha itself. “Where are we going, Mr. Hawkins?” I asked. “We’ve got to get permission of the Governor, Mr. Spencer, before we can carry off any melons, or even land on that island,” he replied. A number of soldiers were gathered about the rude quay, evidently much surprised to see a vessel stop at the island. When the mate and I stepped ashore, a distinguished looking man whom we had not seen before came forward and said something in Spanish, which I did not understand. Hawkins did, and bowed with a grace which I had never suspected him of possessing; and I knew that this was the Governor. The mate possessed some knowledge of Spanish, and finally managed to make himself understood. The Governor evidently took him for the master of the brig, as the two addressed each other respectively as “Senor El Capitan” and “Excellenza,” which was all I could understand.