The land which forms the bay consists of a low ridge, two miles or so in length, covered with brushwood and undergrowth; it is arrested suddenly to the north by the course of a river, which has here made a passage to the ocean, and ends abruptly in a steep white cliff. Between the cliff and the river nestles the small village of Santa Cruz, and on the height stands a church which forms the landmark for ships entering the bay. Up the hillside winds a little white path where the grass has been worn away by the feet of worshippers ascending to the house of prayer. At its southern end the ridge dies gradually away in a little promontory, on which stands a tall cross of wood with an inscription stating that it was erected by the Capuchins on the date 22.3.98, but whether that was yesterday, or one hundred, or two or three hundred years ago, there is nothing to show. In front of the bay is a coral reef, so that only baby waves break over the sandy beach, and hard by the cross is a stream, with low reaches and dark shady pools overhung by mangroves. Here we spent two days, watered the ship from the stream, bathed, fished, and revelled in the wind and sunshine, feeling like prehistoric men, and at one with all creation, from amœbas to angels. The men from the village, dark and lithe, came to visit us in dug out canoes, hollowed in true Robinson Crusoe fashion from the trunks of trees, and lent us a hand in our work, after which we had out the launch and gave them a tow back to the village. There we found the kindest welcome and walked up the little white path to the church. It was tattered and dirty; but old women with interesting faces, who came in to see the strangers, knelt devoutly at the altar-rails before putting out a hand to greet us. When we departed the inhabitants came to the river-side, where also stands a cross, though whether it is that erected by Cabral or not this history cannot say; they gave us presents, fired rockets, and waved us adieu to the last. Life might be hard at Santa Cruz, but at least it seemed quiet and peaceful. As _Mana_ went out of the bay there was a stormy sunset over the church and a wonderful rainbow in the east; gradually the cross on the promontory faded away, the breaking waves on the coral reef could no longer be heard, and so, as John Bunyan would say, “we went on our way.”