"Lambert, go up to the cross-tree and keep a sharp lookout, as the
sun comes up, and see if you can make land."

"I can make out the land, sir," the sailor called down as soon as
he reached the cross-tree. "It stands well up. I should say that
you can see it from deck."

The mate and Frank walked further aft and looked out under the
boom. The land was plainly visible against the glow of the sky.

"There it is, sure enough," the mate said. "I looked over there
before you came up and could not make it out, but the sky has
brightened a lot in the last ten minutes. I should say that it is
about five-and-twenty miles away. It is a very bold coast, sir.

"That is Finisterre over the quarter; you see the land breaks off
suddenly there. We ought to have made out the light, but of course
it is not very bright at this distance, and there was a slight mist
on the water when I came up at eight bells."

"I suppose in another forty-eight hours we shall not be far from
the southern point of Portugal."

"We shall be there, or thereabouts, by that time if the wind keeps
the same strength and in the same quarter. That would make an
uncommonly good run of it, considering that we were lying
twenty-four hours becalmed. If it had not been for that, we should
have been only four days from the Start to Saint Vincent."

The mate's calculations turned out correct, and at seven in the