On leaving Cabral Bay we stood out to sea as the best chance of obtaining a fair wind, and the weather gradually became more favourable. One particularly clear evening, July 8th, at sunset, we were able to see a peak on the mainland which is just under 7,000 feet in height at a distance of ninety-six miles. Altogether it was a pleasant run, occupied by the Stewardess in reading geology and darning stockings. We had not been able completely to fill our water-tanks at Santa Cruz, and it was now decided to procure the remainder at Cape Frio, which was seventy miles this side of Rio de Janeiro, rather than risk the quality which might be obtainable in the city. As we returned to the coast we found that its low character had given way to a region of hills, cliffs, and islands. Cape Frio itself is a bold rocky promontory, or rather island, for it is separated from the mainland by a narrow passage, and shelters behind it a romantic basin consisting of a series of small coves. In places the surrounding mountains recede sufficiently to allow of little sandy beaches, elsewhere sheer cliffs covered with verdure come down to the margin, and trees and ferns overhang the water. We entered by moonlight, and the dark shadows and sparkling sand made a striking and effective contrast. In one cove is a fishing village, with a church and small store. Here for the first time oranges were valued as a native product, so far they had been no cheaper than in England, and at threepence a dozen the forecastle and midships bought them by the bathful. The facilities for obtaining water next day proved not so good as had been hoped. I left S. superintending the crew, as they staggered through the surf to the cutter with bags of water from the village well, and ascended 300 or 400 feet to a signal station on the landward side of the gorge which cuts off the outlying island. This commanded a magnificent view of a wide stretch of blue Atlantic and the adjacent coast; in the direction of Rio was a panorama of low lands and lagoons, bordered by ranges of rugged mountains which rose tier upon tier as far as the eye could reach. On the way down I gathered a spray of bougainvillea from a shrub in full bloom. S. had meanwhile made acquaintance with the storekeeper and general village factotum, who we had already found, to our surprise, spoke English well. He turned out, as might have been expected, to be a German. The history of his life would probably be interesting. His experiences included at any rate residence at Bonn University and the post of steward on the yacht of the late Mr. Pierpont Morgan, but who or what had brought him to this spot did not transpire. He had at one time become naturalised as a citizen of Brazil, but had subsequently laid down his rights, preferring to keep out of public concerns, for, as he naïvely remarked, “they never talk politics here without killing a man.”