During the night we stood off and on under easy sail, and next morning, when the day broke, with a strong breeze and a fresh shower, we were about two miles off the Moro Castle, at the entrance of Santiago de Cuba. I went aloft to look round me. The sea-breeze blew strong, until it reached within half a mile of the shore, where it stopped short, shooting in cat’s-paws occasionally into the smooth belt of water beyond, where the long unbroken swell rolled like molten silver in the rising sun, without a ripple on its surface, until it dashed its gigantic undulations against the face of the precipitous cliffs on the shore, and flew up in smoke. The entrance to the harbour is very narrow, and looked from my perch like a zig-zag chasm in the rock, inlaid at the bottom with polished blue steel; so clear, and cahn, and pellucid was the still water, wherein the frowning rocks, and magnificent trees on the banks, and the white Moro, rising with its grinning tiers of cannon, battery above battery, were reflected veluti in speculum, as if it had been in a mirror. We had shortened sail, and fired a gun, and the signal for a pilot was flying, when the Captain hailed me. “Does the sea breeze blow into the harbour yet, Mr Cringle?” “Not yet, sir; but it is creeping in fast.” “Very well. Let me know when we can run in. Mr Yerk, back the main topsail, and heave the ship to.” Presently the pilot canoe, with the Spanish flag flying in the stem, came alongside; and the pilot, a tall brown man, a Moreno, as the Spaniards say, came on board. He wore a glazed cocked hat, rather an out-of-the-way finish to his figure, which was rigged in a simple Osnaburg shirt, and pair of trowsers. He came on the quarterdeck, and made his bow to the captain with all the ease in the world, wished him a good morning, and taking his place by the quartermaster at the conn, he took charge of the ship. “Senor,” quoth he to me, “is de harbour blow up yet? I mean, you see de viento walking into him?--de terral--dat is land-wind--has he cease?” “No,” I answered; “the belt of smooth water is growing narrower fast; but the sea breeze does not blow into the channel yet. Now it has reached the entrance.” “Ah, den make sail, Senior Capitan; fill de main-topsail.” We stood in, the scene becoming more and more magnificent as we approached the land.