There were three good meals a day in the comfortable cabin; and for the evening there was a checkerboard, with the captain and supercargo to play with; and there was the full run of the ship for Dick, with a much better chance to see everything than one can have on a passenger ship. The six days between New York and Porto Rico went by like a song, the sun growing hotter every day. About two o’clock in the afternoon of the sixth day, the high mountains of the island were sighted. “There we are,” said Captain Godfree; “you see the little sextant and the chronometer have guided us right, though we have hardly seen as much as a schooner since we lost Sandy Hook. We’ll eat dinner in San Juan to-night, if everything goes well.” It was a beautiful sight, that mountain-peak in the clouds, and Dick remained on the bridge to watch it. By three o’clock the mountains were much plainer, and by four he could distinguish their outlines plainly. When the supper-bell rang at five, he was just beginning to make out some cocoanut trees on shore. “I don’t like the looks of the weather very much,” Captain Godfree said as they went down into the cabin. Dick and the captain and the first mate and supercargo ate together always at the first cabin table, the second mate eating from the same table later on. “There’s a squall coming,” Captain Godfree continued, “but we may get into harbor before it reaches us.” The captain got the meal started, but Dick saw that he was not at ease. He ate a few hurried mouthfuls; and then, taking his cup of tea in his hand, he arose and said:-- “You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen; I must be on the bridge when we’re approaching land in a squall.” The others quickly finished their supper and went up to the bridge. Dick was surprised to see how much darker it was. The clouds had grown blacker and there were some lights on shore. The captain stepped to the signal dial and pulled the handle that gave the engineer the order:-- “Half speed!” It was the act of a prudent commander. If he had not done it, the bones of the Smeaton Tower would be lying on the rocks of Porto Rico at this moment. All who had any right to be on the bridge were there to see the steamer enter the harbor of San Juan, the capital of Porto Rico. They were Captain Godfree and first mate Gran, each of whom had made eight previous voyages to the island; Mr. Maloney, the supercargo, an old navigator, who was perfectly familiar with the place; and Dick, an interested spectator. “There is the great castle of San Juan on the side and summit of that hill,” said Mr. Maloney; “the harbor runs in behind the hill, and the city lies on the other slope. You see where the two mountain ridges seem to join? Well, just below that the city lies. That light on the right is the lighthouse; on the left are the castle lights. We run in between the two.” “How far are we from the harbor mouth, captain?” Dick asked.