A scene of confusion met our eyes. The mizzen-mast, broken off close to the deck, lay over our starboard quarter; part of the rail on the port bow was torn away, and the gig, wrenched from its strong lashings, was wedged against the fore side of the companion, with several of its planks stove in. But the cause of the bos'n's astonishment was the fact that right ahead of the "Fortuna," and less than two hundred yards away, was an enormous ledge of rock, some twenty to forty feet in height, stretching in front of us like a stone wall, its extremities lost in the semi-gloom, forming a natural breakwater. Although the storm still raged furiously, and the showers of spray rose beyond the rock and fell like hissing rain right over us, the yacht lay under the lee of the newly formed barrier, fretting at her cables, which were now rubbing under her fore-foot. "Stop the engine and have that wreckage cleared away," said my father. "We are safe enough for the present" and, with a sailor's instinct, the work of making things ship-shape was first taken in hand, before attempting to find out what act of Providence was responsible for our marvellous escape from being dashed to pieces on a lee shore. The men set to work with a will. The broken mizzen-mast was cut clear and allowed to float at the end of a strong rope at a safe distance from our counter; the gig was secured, and things made ship-shape between decks, where the damage, though the confusion was indescribable, was confined to a few breakages of glass and china ware. Barely had the work of clearing up been completed than the storm ceased, almost as suddenly as it had begun, and the sun shone forth in a cloudless sky. We could now form some idea of what had occurred to turn the heaving waters of the lagoon into a sheltered harbour. Where but a few hours before had been a low coral reef, a long, irregular ledge of rock had been thrown up from the bed of the sea, and although its upper surface was composed of weed-covered stone and fragments of corals, its landward face was as fresh and clear as if cut by a gigantic chisel, and the highest part was where the entrance to the lagoon had been. But the greatest surprise of all was that, wedged in an almost upright position, the weed-covered wreck of the "San Philipo" lay exposed to the light of day, after resting for nearly two centuries at the bottom of the sea. In spite of the clinging masses of weed the line of her double row of ports could be distinctly traced, while, owing to her slight list, we could see her sloping decks, built like a succession of broad steps rising from her waist. Her lofty stern, with its projecting galleries, was practically intact, and the only part that destroyed the graceful symmetry of her hull was for'ard, where the bows, torn by a long-standing injury, terminated in a tangle of broken planks and jagged timbers.