Captain Beven, knowing how fond the Portuguese are of ceremony and display, fired his little cannon in salute as they passed the picturesque old fort and castle guarding the bay, and after a little delay, quite excusable with the Portuguese gunners, an answering salvo came from the frowning battlements that, seen in daylight were probably not one quarter as dangerous looking as they appeared under the tender light of the young moon.
They found an anchorage among other shipping, where they could swing at anchor.
At the most only a short stop was intended here.
They would take on board fresh water, some fruits and vegetables, together with chickens and eggs.
During the few hours in the morning while this was being done, Roderic and his cousin expected to go ashore and see what the place of which they had frequently heard yet never seen, looked like.
They could easily give a guess.
There is a striking similarity among all ports under Spanish and Portuguese flags.
The picturesque struggles with disorder—from a little distance the view is entrancing, but familiarity breeds contempt.
Especially is this true with the rank odors that usually predominate.