tolerably clear, dense and all as the fog and darkness was.

The lead was kept constantly going as we sailed along in the intense
darkness, till the headland of our port was visible through the haze of
grey morning. What Garfield had smelled, I may mention, turned out to be
coal-tar, a pot of which had been capsized on deck by the leadsman, in
the night.

By daylight in the morning, April 29, we had found the inner entrance to
Ilha Grande, and sailed into the harbour for the second time with this
cargo of hay. It was still very foggy, and all day heavy gusts of wind
came down through the gulches in the mountains, laden with fog and rain.

Two days later, the weather cleared up, and our friends began to come
in. They found us there all right, anchored close under the highest
mountain.

Eight days of sullen gloom and rain at this place; then brimstone,
smoke, and fire turned on to us, and we were counted healthy enough to
be admitted to _pratique_ in Rio, where we arrived May 11th, putting one
more day between ourselves and our friendly competitors, who finally
arrived safe, all except one, the British bark _Dublin_. She was
destroyed by fire between the two ports. The crew was rescued by
Captain Lunt, and brought safe into Rio next day.

At the fort entrance to the harbour of Rio we were again challenged and
brought to, all standing, on the bar; the tide running like a mill race
at the time brought the bark aback on her cables with a force, nearly
cutting her down.