The work of making up the sails occupied the next three days.  Some of the canvas was unravelled for use as twine, and holes were made with long sharp thorns.  Jacopo, when not engaged in cooking, worked diligently, seldom joining in the conversation between the captain and Stephen, a conversation which turned principally upon the best method of building and launching the proposed boat.  Stephen’s proposal was that they should, if possible, first get up the deck planks, which could be done by driving wedges between them and the beams, and after one was taken up, the work of the wedges could be aided by poles used as levers.  When all the planks had been taken up as far forward as the water would permit them to work, he proposed to blow up the after-part of the ship, by which means they would obtain a large amount of beams and timbers that could be utilized for the boat, at much less cost of labour than would be entailed by the cutting down of trees.  He proposed that the explosion should take place at night, as the roar and flash would be supposed by the natives of the islands near, to be something supernatural connected with the spot evidently held in such veneration.

“Even were they to row across to see if anything had taken place,” he said, “which is about the last thing that they would be likely to do, they would no doubt make for their usual landing-place; and as the greater portion of the ship above water would have disappeared, anything that remained would not be likely to catch their eye.”

He calculated that if the plan succeeded they ought to be able to build a boat of the required size in six months at the outside.  The preparation of the planking had been the most arduous portion of the plan they had first laid out, and this would be done away with altogether; and as the nails would doubtless draw out of the planks, and they would obtain plenty of bolts and fastenings from the fragments of the wreck, the building of their boat was now comparatively simple, and Stephen even fancied that they might complete it in four months.  No word was spoken as to the gold, but Stephen felt that a difficulty might finally arise out of it.  He himself considered it as a lawful prize for the Chilian government; but the Peruvians were two to one against him, and although they might have no desire to return it to the Spaniards, who were detested by the great majority of Peruvians, they might set up a claim to it on their own account.  However, he dismissed the idea from his mind as one that must be left to be determined by circumstances.

For a month they laboured assiduously.  The planks were successfully taken up, and then, after much consideration, preparations were made for blowing up the vessel.  The powder barrels were brought up, fuses were made, each six feet long, passing from barrel to barrel, and the chain of barrels was laid from the stern to the point where the deck was level with the water.  This plan was adopted in order that the whole fabric should be shaken and broken up, while, had the whole force of the explosion taken place at one point, it would have entirely destroyed the timber there, while perhaps leaving a considerable portion still standing above the water.

The success of the explosion was complete, and in the morning there was no sign of the ship above water, while the bay was covered with floating wreckage.  It took some time to collect this and bring it to shore, and then to tow it to the spot they had decided upon as being best suited for the launch.  It was near the point of the bay, and the beach here sloped more steeply than elsewhere.

Their first work was to erect a platform sloping still more steeply, and covered with pieces of timber too short for other work.  The craft would thus be built at an angle which would ensure her sliding down into the water, and during the progress of building she could be retained in her place by ropes fastened to a tree behind, and by blocks of wood under her stern-post.  Among the timbers, one was found long enough to serve as the keel, and when this was laid down, and the stern-post and stem were fitted to it and securely bolted, they felt that the most difficult part of the work was done.  Great labour was required to get out the copper bolts from the timbers, and in some cases the wood had to be split up before they could be extracted.  The work of getting out the ribs, and fastening them in their places, was much less arduous than they had expected, for the greater portion of the timbers of the brig had come on shore, and among these they were able to find many with curves fairly suited to their requirements.  Some required hacking off with cutlasses, while on to others pieces of planks were nailed to get the required curve.  By the end of five months the hull was planked and decked, and all felt very proud of the work.  It was caulked with oakum obtained from some of the least serviceable of the ropes of the brig, dipped in a resin that they found oozing from some trees.

The fore-topmast of the brig furnished a suitable mast, and was stepped and stayed; a bowsprit, boom, and gaff were constructed from the light spars; a mainsail, a foresail, and jib had been manufactured during the long evenings; and when the boat was completely rigged, the timbers down which she was to glide were smeared with lard, and carried down as far as possible under water, being kept in their places by heavy stones placed on the ends.  It was a great day when the shores were knocked away, the ropes that held her stern being previously cast off, and she at once moved rapidly down into the water amid a shout of triumph from her constructors.  She drew about three feet of water, and they calculated that when they had got the ballast, stores, and water on board she would sink another foot, and would then have three feet of free-board.  They had already laid in a large stock of pork, which they had salted, obtaining the salt by filling pools in the rock with salt water, which was replenished as fast as it evaporated.  A great stock of melons had also been cut.  The barrels had been carefully examined, and placed in the lake to swell and become water-tight.  Now that the boat was once in the water they were anxious to be off without the smallest possible delay, for were the natives to appear just at this moment all their labours would be thrown away.  As soon, therefore, as they had gone on board, and found that the craft was perfectly water-tight, they hauled her towards the spot where they had buried the gold, dug up the boxes, and carried them down to the water’s edge.  The boat was then hauled in until she was in four feet of water.  Stephen and Jacopo waded out, carrying the boxes on their heads, then the captain lifted them on board, and, taking them below, packed them along her keel.

By this time it was late in the afternoon, and they calculated that by beginning at daybreak, they would get the greater portion of their stores and water on board next day.  It was a moonlight night, and, after indulging in supper and a long talk over the next day’s work, they lay down to sleep.

It was some time before Stephen fell into a light sleep, being too excited at the thought of their approaching deliverance to compose himself to a sound slumber.  He was awakened by a slight movement, and, turning round, saw in the moonlight Jacopo kneeling by the captain with a knife uplifted.  With a shout Stephen sprung up, grasped his sword, which he had, ever since the gold was hidden, placed by his side when he lay down, and rushed at the Peruvian.  The knife had, however, descended twice, and the assassin gained his feet just as Stephen fell upon him.  So quick had been the latter’s movement that the edge of his sword fell on the side of the murderer’s face before he had time to place himself on guard.  With a howl of pain and rage he sprang out from the end of the tent, and rushed to the narrow opening left in their barricade.

Stephen pursued him hotly, but the Peruvian was quicker footed, and, dodging among the trees, presently left him behind.  Stephen returned to the tent, stirred up the fire to a blaze, and then bent over the captain.  He saw at once that the latter was dead, the knife having twice struck him in the region of the heart.  Stephen took up one of the loaded muskets and sat down at the entrance of the barricade.  He felt completely crushed at the blow.  His early suspicions of Jacopo had gradually died out, for the man had worked willingly and steadily; he had seemed perfectly contented with the prospect, and entered as keenly into the building of the cutter as Stephen and the captain had done.  But it was evident now that he had all along meditated the murder, and had only delayed until the craft was built and fitted, the gold in its place, and everything ready for sailing save putting the stores on board, which he could manage by himself.

An hour before everything seemed clear, now Stephen blamed himself that he had prevented the captain from shooting the villain, on the day when the latter discovered that the gold had gone.  And yet the act would have been murder, for there was no proof that Jacopo intended to play them false.  What, Stephen asked himself, was he to do now?  He was certain that the murderer would not permit him, without an effort, to sail away, and that he would be able to hide among the trees, and to spring out at any moment upon him as he came past laden with barrel or sack.  It was not even clear how he could get a wink of sleep, for at any moment the assassin might crawl up and stab him.

So Stephen passed the night.  He watched attentively for the slightest sound, but he did not think that the fellow was likely to return that night, for he was certain that he had wounded him very severely; and besides, the scoundrel would feel sure that he would keep a vigilant watch.  As soon as day broke he got up, and went to the tent to verify a thought that had struck him during his watch.  He counted the muskets; there were but twenty-two.  A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead; his worst fears were realized.  Jacopo had managed during the last day or two to take two of the muskets and carry them away with him, so that should his intentions to murder his two companions miscarry, he would be able to wage war against them.  He would certainly have provided himself with a good store of ammunition.  Difficult as the position had seemed before, the difficulties and dangers were increased tenfold now he knew that the Peruvian was provided with firearms.

There would be no occasion for an open attack.  The fellow would only have to hide up in the undergrowth and shoot him down as he passed.  It was a danger against which there was no providing; at any moment from the time he left the tent he would be liable to be shot down by the invisible foe.  Moving about almost mechanically, Stephen boiled some water in a very thin-skinned gourd, which they had found the best substitute for a kettle.  It was necessary to use a fresh one frequently, but they were plentiful in the woods, and a supply was always kept on hand.  As soon as it boiled, he threw in a handful of coffee that had been roasted and pounded a day or two before, laid a chop cut from the pig on the embers, and put biscuits on to toast beside it.  He had no thought of being in danger, for he felt sure that Jacopo would not run the risk of approaching the tent.  After the meal was cooked and eaten, he sat for a long time pondering over what had best be done.

His first impulse had been to take to the woods, carrying a couple of muskets and a store of provisions sufficient for a day or two, and to hunt the Peruvian down.  In this case each would be ignorant of the other’s position and movements, and neither would have any advantage over the other; but, on the other hand, while he was hunting Jacopo, the latter might be putting a sufficient store of melons and perhaps the carcase of a pig on board the boat, and making off with it.  The gold was there, and the assassin would be ready to run any risk to get away with it.  He would doubtless prefer to silence the only voice that could give evidence against him, but he would know that the chance of Stephen’s ever making his escape by himself would be so small that it might be disregarded.  Stephen thought that, at any rate, the risk of the Peruvian’s attempting to set sail that day was small.  He would be suffering intense pain from the wound, and would probably be incapable of making any great exertion; but most of all he trusted to Jacopo’s thirst for vengeance to keep him for a while on the island.  Eager as he might be to sail away with the gold, he might well postpone his departure for a few days, until he had avenged himself for the wound that had been inflicted on him.

Jacopo had one advantage over him.  He could select a spot where he would at once command the path down to the shore and keep his eye upon the cutter, while from the camp Stephen was unable to obtain a view into the bay.

As he was thinking the matter over, Stephen’s eye fell upon the block and rope by which the barrels had been hoisted up.  It had for a long time been disused, for they had found it much shorter to clear a path from the spot where they descended from the cliff direct to the little bay, thereby saving at least two-thirds of the distance, a matter of importance while they were engaged upon their boat-building.  The idea at once presented itself that he might leave the spot by this means without the knowledge of the Peruvian, and would thereby turn the tables on him.  He was about to put the loop at the end of the rope around his body, and swing himself over, when he hesitated.  He might be driven to adopt the same plan that he credited Jacopo with the intention of following.  After some thought, he took some seventy pounds of salt pork from the barrel and put it in a sack, round which he fastened the rope in such a manner that as soon as the strain on it was relieved it could be shaken off.  Then he climbed out on to the bough, and poured a little melted lard on the sheave of the block to prevent it from creaking.  Then he lowered the barrel down, shook off the fastening, and drew up the rope again.

Then he sent down a large sack full of melons; this done, there was nothing to do but to wait until dusk.  He kept up a good fire all day, thinking it probable that Jacopo would have placed himself where he could see the smoke rising.  He calculated that the man would suppose that he would be likely to attempt to leave his post after dark, and would then place himself somewhere on the path to shoot him as he went past.  As soon as it was dark, he lowered four of the muskets, with a bag of ammunition, and then followed himself.  He first carried the muskets and ammunition down to the shore, and then made two trips with the pork and melons.  Then he rolled one of the water-casks, that had already been filled, down the sand into the sea, and, entering the water breast-deep, pushed it before him until he came to the rope from the stern of the craft to the shore.  Returning, he fetched the pork, melons, muskets, and ammunition.  Then he waded and swam out to the cutter, holding his sword in his teeth, pulled himself noiselessly up, and then, sword in hand, descended into the cabin, where he thought it was just possible that the Peruvian might be sleeping.  The light of the moon was sufficient to show him that it was empty.

Ascending to the deck again, he slackened out the headrope attached to a heavy stone that served as an anchor; then he hauled on the rope ashore until he felt the stern touch the sand.  Making fast the rope, he lowered himself down and waded to shore.  Then he brought off the muskets and ammunition, pork and melons on his head, and lastly got the barrel of water alongside, put a sling round it, fastened the main halliards to it, and hoisted it on board.  He was now in a position to make off, but still altogether inadequately provisioned for such a voyage as he meditated, and after some thought he determined to return on shore.

He had at first thought of remaining on board and hoisting the sail.  This would attract the attention of Jacopo as soon as it was light enough for him to see it, and probably in his fury at being outwitted the man would rush frantically down, and try to get on board; but in that case Stephen should have to shoot him in cold blood, which he felt he could not bring himself to do.

He decided finally upon going on shore, where he could meet the man on equal terms.  He accordingly hoisted the sail, and then landed with a couple of loaded muskets, taking his place behind a tree a short distance up the path, and waiting until morning.  The various journeys had taken him some time, and it was now, he judged, about three o’clock.  As soon as it was light his watch began in earnest.  Contrary to his expectations, it was fully an hour before he heard any sign of Jacopo coming.  He accounted for the delay on the supposition that the Peruvian would think perhaps that although he had outwitted him and got on board, he must be altogether unprovided with stores, and unable, therefore, to put to sea.  He would suppose then that he had returned to shore, especially as there were no signs of him on board the craft.

At last he saw him coming down the path with a stealthy, crouching step, with one musket slung behind him, and the other in his hand ready for instant action.  He was a dreadful sight.  His face was bound up with a sleeve cut from his shirt.  His forehead was encrusted and his hair matted with dried blood, with which also his linen jacket and trousers were thickly stained.  Stephen had chosen a tree round whose foot was a thick growth of bush, and he now proceeded to put into execution the plan that he had decided upon.  Stooping behind the trunk of the tree, he thrust up from among the bushes his cap on the top of a ramrod, taking care that the upper part only just showed above the leaves.  Almost instantly Jacopo levelled his rifle and fired.  Stephen gave a loud cry and dropped the cap.  The Peruvian, with a yell of exultation, threw away the gun, drew his knife, and bounded forward.  As he came up, Stephen sprang out, and brought the butt end of his gun down with all his strength on the Peruvian’s head, striking him senseless to the ground.  Stephen picked up the murderer’s knife and placed it in his belt, took the musket from his shoulder, and then with a cord he had brought with him bound his feet, and turning him over fastened his wrists tightly together.

Then he raised him, and placed him in a sitting position against the tree, passed the cord several times round him and the trunk, knotting it firmly behind the tree.  Then he went away to the stream and cut a couple of gourds, filled them with water, and returned.  Jacopo had now opened his eyes, and was looking round him in a dazed condition.  When he saw Stephen approaching he made a struggle to rise.

“It is of no use, Jacopo,” Stephen said quietly; “your power of mischief is at an end.  You have murdered your captain, and you would have murdered me, so now your life is justly forfeited.  Did I give you the fate you deserve, I would bring down the body of your victim, tie it to you, and leave you to die of thirst.  Fortunately for you I am a British officer, and I cannot be both judge and executioner.”

The Peruvian’s reply was a volley of curses and exécrations.

“Will you drink some water?” Stephen asked, without paying any attention to his words.

The Peruvian’s only reply was to spit furiously at him.  Stephen placed one of the gourds on the ground close to him, saying:  “You will think better of it presently”, poured the contents of the other over Jacopo’s head; and then returning to the boat, brought off another coil of rope with which he still more securely fastened Jacopo to the tree, and then went up to the tent.  He spent the day in carrying down the store of provisions, arms, and ammunition, asking Jacopo each time he passed him whether he would have some water.  For some time the prisoner refused; but the agony of thirst caused by the fever of his wounds at last overcame his resolution, and he cried loudly, as Stephen approached him, for water.  Stephen held the gourd to his lips until he drank off the whole of its contents, then he went and refilled both gourds, poured one over the man’s head, set the other down beside him, and continued his work.

By nightfall he had carried everything on board, and there remained but to take the other water-casks alongside.  Jacopo had drunk several gourds full of water during the day, but by evening he became delirious from fury and the fever of his wounds; Stephen therefore undid all his fastenings save those round his ankles, and took up his post near him.  All night the man raved incessantly.  From time to time Stephen got up and poured water between his lips, and in the morning cut a very ripe melon, squeezed the juice from the pulp, and gave it to him to drink.  Then he went down and towed the other water-barrels to the cutter and got them on board, and afterwards returned to his prisoner.  For three days the delirium continued.  Stephen kept the bandages round his head constantly moistened with water, and gave him melon juice to drink.  The third night the ravings sank to a whisper, and presently became silent, and Stephen thought that all would soon be over.  However, the man’s breathing became quiet and regular, and in the morning he opened his eyes with consciousness in them.

“You here still!” he murmured, as Stephen bent over him.

“Yes, Jacopo; villain as you are, I could not leave you to die.”

“How long have I been here?” the man murmured after a long pause.

“It is four days since you attacked me.  Now that you are sensible I shall set sail, but I will first carry you to the side of the stream.  Now that you have got through the fever you will recover.  I have left at the tent one of the muskets and a store of ammunition, so that you will be able to shoot pigs; and there is, as you know, an abundance of melons, bread-fruit, and guavas, and I daresay you will discover other things ere long.  I trust that in the time that is before you, you will repent of your sins, and try and make your peace with God.  I have buried the body of the man you murdered.”

With some difficulty Stephen got Jacopo on to his back, carried him to the stream, and laid him down at its edge in the shade of the trees; then he placed within reach of him a number of melons, bread-fruit, and some biscuits.  He had long since taken the rope off his ankles.

“I do not understand why you have done all this for me.  I would have killed you if I could; you have treated me as if I were your brother.  I know that it is of no use my asking you to take me with you, but will you do me one last favour?”

“Certainly, if it is in my power, Jacopo.”

“Will you bring the musket and ammunition down here?  I could not go near there again.”

Stephen nodded.  “I will get them for you,” he said, and at once started for the tent.  He first pulled this and the storetent down, rolled them together, and lowered them to the side of the pool, climbed out and cut the fastening of the block, and let it and the rope fall beside them.  He then threw over the case of swords which he had not thought worth taking away, and then getting the gun and ammunition, he returned to Jacopo.

“There they are,” he said.  “Here are three hundred rounds of ammunition; by the side of the pool under the cliff you will find the two tents, the rope, and ten spare swords, which may prove useful to you.  Here are three gourds full of water close to your hand, and by reaching over you can fill them as often as you like.  In a week I have no doubt that you will be strong enough to walk.  Is there anything else I can do?”

“There is nothing, senor.  May God bless you for your kindness!”

“And may God pardon you!” Stephen said; adding as he turned away, “It may be that some day a passing ship may carry you off.”

Then turning he walked slowly back to the shore.  Wretch as this man was, he felt a pang at leaving him behind.  But he was sure that even if he could overcome his repugnance to him as the murderer of the captain, he could not take him with him, for he would never be safe for a moment.  With returning health and strength would come afresh the lust for the gold, which might soon overcome any feeling of gratitude for the treatment that he had received.

When he reached the shore near the boat, he cast off the stern rope and then swam on board, hoisted the jib and foresail, pulled up the anchor, and took his place at the tiller.

The breeze was a very light one, and for a time the cutter moved along but slowly, but as it got beyond the shelter of the land it felt the wind, and began to spin fast through the water.  Stephen’s spirits, which had been greatly depressed for the last few days, rose as the little craft heeled to the breeze.  Nearly six months had been spent on the island, but at last he was free.  As to his course, he had but the sun by day and the stars by night to guide him; but he knew that the vessel had been blown almost due west, and that by heading east he should make the coast either of Chili or Peru.  He found to his satisfaction that the boat would keep her course very near the wind, that she came about easily and rapidly, and was certainly swift under her canvas.

She carried no topmast, as they had agreed that, with only three hands, it would be better to avoid all complications of gear.  In the middle of the day the wind fell a good deal.  At the time he was abreast of a large island, and he presently saw a war canoe shoot out from the shore.  Lashing the tiller, he ran down below, brought up the twenty-three muskets, loaded them all, and laid them against the bulwark astern.  Then he took his place at the helm again, and looked anxiously across the water in the hope of seeing a dark line that would tell of the breeze freshening again.  He knew enough, however, of the winds prevalent among the islands to be sure that it would not strengthen much for the next two or three hours.  From the number of paddles going on each side of the canoe he calculated that she must carry from forty to fifty men.  His hope was that they would be unacquainted with firearms, and would draw off when he began to fire.

When they came within about four hundred yards he took up a musket and fired, taking aim at some little distance from the side of the boat.  At the report the paddles ceased instantly, and for a time it was evident that great confusion reigned among the rowers.  While this was going on Stephen reloaded his piece.  After some five minutes’ delay the men recommenced paddling, but at a pace that contrasted strongly with the rapid and eager stroke which they had before rowed.  Stephen waited this time until they were within two hundred and fifty yards, and then lying down on the deck and resting the barrel on the bulwarks he took a steady aim and fired.  One of the men standing up in the bow fell overboard.  The paddling ceased again, and a hubbub of voices was heard.  As she lay motionless Stephen fired shot after shot.  One or two of these hit the canoe, two or three others went wide, but the rest did execution among the crowded mass.  By the noise it was evident that some wished to go on, others to retire, and after discharging twelve shots Stephen began to hastily reload the pieces he had fired.

The cessation of fire apparently reassured the war party, for when he had reloaded six of them the paddles again began to work.  Stephen at once recommenced firing, and his eighth shot brought down a chief who was standing prominently in the stern, and was evidently in command.  His fall had an instantaneous effect.  With a yell of terror the natives ceased paddling.  Then some began to back and others to row, and the canoe turned slowly round and then sped away at a rate as fast as it had come up, although the number of paddlers was markedly decreased.  Satisfied that they would not return, Stephen reloaded all the muskets and then went below for his first meal on board.  The cabin would have seemed a poor place to yachtsmen, with its rough beams and timbers and its discoloured planking, but no yachtsman ever felt prouder of a craft than Stephen did of the boat in whose building he had taken a share.  There were no bulk-heads, the hull being open from end to end.  The water-cask and provisions had been stowed aft the mast.

One of the barrels served as a table, the iron plate that had been taken from the floor of the ship’s galley had been placed forward of the mast on a layer of sand three inches thick, and a forecastle hatch had been placed above it to serve as an exit for the smoke.  A store of wood, the result of their ship-building operations, was piled in the bow.  Stephen did not trouble to cook, but boiled some water over some chips of wood, made himself a cup of coffee, or rather the half of a small gourd of coffee, ate a melon and a biscuit, and presently went up on deck again.  At three o’clock a light breeze sprung up, and this, an hour later, strengthened to a heavy blow.  Stephen sailed on until midnight, then reefed the mainsail and fastened the boom amidships, lowered the foresail and hauled the jib to weather, and having thus laid the cutter head to wind lay down on the deck and slept soundly until daybreak.  The next day he passed two or three islands, but all at a considerable distance.  Beyond these no land was visible, and he hoped that he was fairly beyond the Archipelago with its hostile natives.

Day after day passed without incident.  Stephen always lay to at night for a few hours, and calculated that the rate at which he sailed during the remaining eighteen was, allowing for calms, some four knots an hour.  On the sixth day the appearance of the sky changed, and Stephen prepared for bad weather by fully reefing his mainsail.  The clouds banked up rapidly and the wind rose.  It was southerly, and the boat tore rapidly through the water.  Two hours later Stephen let the foresail run down, and under the reduced sail the boat went more lightly and easily over the rising sea.  By evening he had stowed the mainsail altogether, and slackening the jib sheet held on his course.  By midnight it was blowing a gale.  He raised the gaff four or five feet, put lashings round the sail to prevent its blowing out, and then hauling on the weather sheet let her lay to, taking now his place at the tiller, so as to be able to bring her head up did she pay off the wind.

It was an anxious night, but the little craft was lightly ballasted and buoyant, and rose to the seas without taking any great quantity of water over the bows.  For two days the storm continued.  Stephen never left the tiller during that time save to run below at intervals and snatch a mouthful of food.  After the first two or three hours he had felt no fear whatever as to the ability of the craft to weather the gale, but it was a long strain, and he was deeply thankful when the wind abated sufficiently for him to be able to hoist the reefed mainsail again and to lie to comfortably.  As soon as this was done he went below, and slept for twelve hours.  The sun was shining brightly when he awoke, a light breeze was blowing, and save for a long swell the sea had gone down.  He indulged in a hearty breakfast before proceeding on his way.  Then he shook out the reefs in the mainsail, hoisted it, got up the foresail, slacked off the weather sheet of the jib, and again headed east.

One morning ten days later he saw the sun rise behind a broken outline instead of the line of the horizon, and knew that this could be nothing but the hills of the mainland.  Lofty as these were he might be still a hundred and fifty miles from them, but the weather was fair, the wind fresh, the boat travelling at six knots an hour, and by mid-day to-morrow he would be close to land.  Whether it was Chili or Peru that lay ahead of him he had no means of knowing, but he believed it was the former, for he had headed rather to the south of east and felt sure that he should strike the coast somewhere on the long seaboard of Chili.  He was the more convinced of this as two days before he had seen an island far to the north of him and guessed it to be either San Felix or San Ambrose, and had shaped his course rather more to the south in consequence.  That night he was too excited to turn in as usual, but held on his course.  By morning the land lay little more than twenty miles away, and he recognized at once the outline of the hills that he had passed when sailing north, and knew where Valparaiso lay, some fifty miles further south.  He changed his course accordingly, and at four o’clock in the afternoon dropped his stone anchor a hundred yards off the quay of the Chilian port.