We made a hearty supper, and then sat down to an old fashioned rubber of whist—the bets were glasses of toddy. "Steward," shouts Monsieur Borodino, who had won a stake, and nearly drank half of it, "Steward, it's too strong!" Si Señor, said the attentive domestic, and forthwith gave it a dash from a dark-colored liquid, which was not water. "Ah! Eloi," murmurs, sotto voce, another young gentleman in delicate health, "Have my flask filled, eh? Want it for stimulant, in case we should fall short!" This caused a pronunciamento, and being somewhat fatigued with our day's work, we made a smoke to drive away mosquitoes, rolled ourselves up in blankets, and sought repose on the yielding sand.
The following morning we were early astir—diving, fishing, and hunting. Being unsuccessful, however, after breakfast it was decided to leave our haven in San José, and try the fortune elsewhere.
At noon the tents were again metamorphosed into sails, and away we steered, in an easterly direction, across the broad strait which opens into the bay. The first hours of the voyage were fair and tranquil, but with the declining sun the wind arose from the gulf and began blowing with great violence. The straining canvas was reefed down, and curtailed of its fair proportions, and by the assistance of the buzos' eyes we were piloted into a narrow, alcove-like nook, of the Island of San Antonio. Then the dimity was all furled, and with the ashen sails we strove might and main to get beneath the high cliffs of the little port. Dios! how furiously the gusts came sweeping down the steep gorge, brushing the stout oars like feathers alongside the boat; then a renewed struggle, only to be blown from the course, and the water torn into foam, and dashed over us. We began to despair of getting on shore, although the strand was nearly within arm's length, for the gale blew with such unremitting violence as to defy our efforts. However, thanks to San Antonio, there came a transient lull, and the pilots were enabled to fasten a strong cable to the rocks. It was somewhere in this bay where the great Cortes became tossed about in his crazy bark—perchance it may have been the haven we had sought—and in gratitude for our escape, we voted a candle to the Virgin.
We found ourselves shut up in a slender canal, walled by precipitous masses of granitic rooks, hundreds of feet above us, and the channel terminated by fifty yards of smooth, pebbly beach. The fires were soon blazing merrily, and after a hasty supper, we stretched ourselves on the clean sand, and in sleep, forgot our escape from boatwreck.
The morning came bright and cheerful, with not enough wind to roughen the quiet surface of the little haven. We were amused paddling among caverns and grottos of the cliffs for an hour, and then once more stepping on board the cutter, we soon lost sight of our harbor of refuge.
Coasting along the island we passed a number of these narrow indentations, protected like spaces between one's fingers. At one of them we threw out a grapnell, and the divers collected upwards of an hundred pearl oysters within the hour; beyond we selected a cool retreat, beneath overhanging ledges of rock, where we proposed dining. Our position was exceedingly novel and curious. The finger-like promontory lifted its crest perpendicularly from the bay; the base of the cliff was composed of a thick and variegated strata of black pudding-stone, worn into lateral curves and arches, upon which rested the great body of the cliff, which appeared formed of red sand-stone, having one side scooped and scolloped into profiles upon profiles—hideous caricatures and contortions, letters and numerals, while on the face, looking towards the inlet, and immediately over our dining-hall, was cut a well-defined gallery, leading from turret to turret, the whole closed by a most artificial-looking tower and battlement! We had to gaze a long while, before convinced that the elements themselves had been the sole architects.
The same evening we sailed over to the mainland, took another night bivouac on the sandy shore, arose with the sun, beat through the Harbor of Pichilingue, and in the afternoon reached our floating home in the frigate.