By this time it might have been half-past two, and the tears were still wet on my cheeks, when the vessel was suddenly laid over by a heavy puff, so that before the canvass could be taken in, or the schooner luffed up and the wind shaken out of her sails, we carried away our foretopmast, topsail and all; and, what was a more serious matter, sprung the head of the mainmast so badly, that we could not carry more than a close-reefed mainsail on it. What was to be done? It was next to impossible to secure the mast properly at sea; and as the wind had veered round to the south-east, we could not fetch the creek on the Indian coast, whither we were bound, unless we had all our after-sail. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to bear up for San Andreas, now dead under our lee; where we might get the mast comfortably fished. We accordingly did so, and anchored there about dusk, on the seventh evening after leaving Montego bay. San Andreas, although in reality belonging to the crown of Spain, was at the time, so far as I could learn, in the sole possession, if I may so speak, of a Scotchman, a Mr ***;--at least there were no inhabitants on the island that we heard any thing about, beyond himself, family, and negroes, with the latter of whom he cultivated any cotton that was grown on it; sending it from time to time to the Kingston market. We had come to, near his house; and when the vessel was riding safe at anchor, the captain and I went ashore in the boat to call on Mr ***, in order to make known our wants, and endeavour to get them remedied. There was not a soul on the solitary beach where we landed, but we saw lights in a long low building that was situated on a ridge on the right hand of the bay, as you stood in; and in one or two of the negro huts surrounding it, and clustered below nearer the beach. After some search, we got into a narrow gravelly path, worn in the rocky hill side, like a small river course or gully, with crumbling edges of turf, about a foot high on each hand, against which we battered our knees at every step, as we proceeded. It was a clear starlight night, and the dark house on the summit of the ridge stood out in bold relief against the deep blue sky. "Hush--hark!" A piano was struck with some skill, and a female voice began the beautiful song set to the tune of the old Scottish melody "The Weary Fund o' Tow." This was a startling incident, to occur thus at the world's end. "Hey day!" said I; but before I could make any farther remark, a full rich male voice struck in at the chorus-- "He's far away, he's far away, but surely he will come; Ye moments fly, pass swiftly by, and send my soldier home." We remained riveted to the spot until the music ceased. "I say, Tooraloo, Toby, my lad; you have not sculled us to fairy land, have you?" "Oh no, it is old Mr ***'s daughter, the only white lady in the island that I know of; and I suppose one of her brothers is accompanying her--ho, ho, he."