CHAPTER XII.


It was some months after. The Juno lay ready to sail in the roads of
Monte Video, where she had taken in hides as part of her home cargo. The
remainder, of coffee, she was to load at Rio, and in the meantime she
had filled up with coals for that port. She was lying in tropical
costume, with awnings over the fore and after deck as a protection
against the fierce rays of the sun; and the crew were going about in
correspondingly airy clothing, with open shirts and tucked-up canvas
trousers, brown and shiny with perspiration, and gasping after every
breath. It was the hottest season of the year. The pitch was melting in
the chinks between the planking of the decks, and the tar running down
her sides.

They had lain thus for a couple of days, hoping to receive before
starting the post, which they had been disappointed in not finding on
their arrival. And what a disappointment this can be, only those who
have been in one of these ships that go on long voyages can understand.
In foreign ports there may be many a wild pleasure to be enjoyed, but
the longing to hear from home is the strongest feeling among sailors
after all.

The mate had gone ashore to make one last inquiry before they sailed;
and as the jolly-boat came alongside again, it was seen that he had the
precious packet in his hand. He sprang up the accommodation-ladder and
disappeared aft without a word to where the captain was sitting by a