"May I suggest," replied the mate, "that you should give the lads a few dollars of their pay, and allow them a run on shore to stretch their legs after having been cooped up so long in this little craft?"
Carew remembered the empty condition of the ship's treasury, and did not see his way to paying his crew any portion of their wages at present.
"If they go on shore they will drink rum in the sun, and catch Yellow Jack," he said.
"Not they, sir. These are sober Spaniards, and they are too acclimatised to run much risk of fever."
"I'll think the matter over. But we'll leave the two men in charge this afternoon. You come on shore with me, Baptiste. You know Rio, and can show me the way about."
So Carew and the mate got into the dinghy, and the latter, taking the oars, pulled off towards the Mole. They landed on a quay bordered by a negro market, where fish, fruit, rags, and all manner of odds and ends were sold by very fat negresses in huge yellow turbans; a filthy and malodorous spot. After leaving the dinghy in charge of a custom-house officer, they hustled their way through the jabbering crowd of blacks, and entered the chief streets of the city.
Baptiste, who evidently knew his way well, brought Carew to the door of the British Consulate. "I will leave you now, captain," he said, "to transact your business. Let me have a dollar or so to amuse myself with, and I will meet you in an hour's time at the corner of the chief street, the Rua Ovidor, in front of the big jeweller's shop."
Carew gave him a ten-shilling piece—he only had two more in the world now—and they separated.
Having obtained a bill of health from the consul, Carew strolled through the hot streets until the appointed time, when the mate, punctual to a minute, met him at the corner of the Rua Ovidor.