6 THE VOYAGE. 
I had both heard and read of a formidable 
fortress that once guarded the entrance to the 
snug harbour, on one side of which stands the 
neat little town of Santa Marta, embowered 
amidst the trees. We sighted the land before 
it was dark, but the captain deemed it ex- 
pedient to lay-off and await the daylight, ere 
venturing through the narrow entrance between 
the rock on which stands the remains of the for- 
tress and the mainland. Issuing strict orders, 
coupled with a silver refresher, to my cabin-boy 
to call me before daylight, I turned in, and was 
soon in dreamland; my dreams were dispelled 
by a sudden shake, and the voice of the faithful 
darkie boy screaming into my ear, ‘ Hi, massa, 
him no see fort if him no tumble out and tumble 
up pretty quick.’ Lightly clad and hardly 
awake, I rush, glass in hand, on deck, and 
quietly seat myself in the bow of the steamer. 
It was just in the grey of the morning; not a 
sound disturbed the deathlike silence, save the 
‘splash-splash’ of the slowly-revolving paddle- 
wheels. I could discern on my right a dim line 
of trees, that looked as if they grew from out the 
water; on my left the dark rock, crowned with 
its ruined fort, that, as the light increased and 
the rays of the rising sun slanted down upon it, 
