58 To the River Plate and Back 



it was a small island topped with palms. Still farther 

 south, above the blue horizon, serried peaks guarded the 

 dim distance. The bow of the great ship swung closer 

 in shore, and was pointed toward the spot where the 

 palm-clad island and the tall crag seemed to meet. 

 It almost looked as if we were going to run ashore, but 

 the big man with the kindly face up on the bridge knows 

 the coast. He has brought ships in and out of these 

 rocky inlets for forty years, and understands his 

 business. The ship does not slacken her speed, but 

 rounding the foot of the crag, passes through a narrow 

 entrance, coming so close to the island that the waves 

 which she throws up chase after each other and dash 

 in long lines against the rocks. We are so near that we 

 can do a little botanizing and with the naked eye can 

 make out the species of the trees before us. Suddenly 

 a noble panorama is disclosed. Tall hills on the right 

 are topped in the distance by taller mountains. Dead 

 ahead is Sugar Loaf, a huge cone of granite, rising, a 

 great monolith, from the quiet water. Back of it in 

 the blue distance are Corcovado and Tijuca, their 

 slender peaks pointing into the sky, "the fingers of 

 God,' as the natives call them. A rock which looks 

 like the hull of a ship which has " turned turtle ' lies 

 on the port bow. Ahead of us is a city, its towers and 

 palaces showing white in the sunlight against the dark 

 green of the mountains behind it. Scores of steamers 

 are lying at anchor, among them, clad in mail, two 

 huge dreadnoughts. We are in the harbor of Rio de 

 Janeiro, the most beautiful harbor in all the world. 

 As we came up through the narrow entrance a puff 

 of white smoke rolled from the embrasure of a fort at 

 the right, and was followed by a hollow boom, which 

 reechoed from the cliffs. The discharge was repeated 



