One of the latter which we caught, about an inch in length, had a
spike on his back, and four legs, with which he crawled about the
sea-weed.

We approached the Island of St. Jago, sailing unconsciously close to
a sunken rock, on which (as we afterwards learnt) the "Charlotte" had
struck about six weeks before whilst under full sail, and had gone
down in a few minutes, barely allowing time for the crew to escape in
their boat.

Notwithstanding we had been five weeks at sea when we dropped anchor
in Porto Praya roads, the appearance of the land was by no means
inviting to the eyes. A high and extremely barren hill, or large
heap of dry earth, with a good many stones about it, seemed to
compose the Island. Close to us was the town, a collection of white
houses that looked very dazzling in the summer sun. Beside, and
running behind it, was a greenish valley, containing a clump of
cocoa-nut trees. This was the spot we longed to visit; so, getting
into the captain's boat, we approached the shore, where a number of
nearly naked negroes rushing into the sea (there being no pier or
jetty) presented their slimy backs at the gun-wale, and carried us in
triumph to the beach. The town boasted of one hotel, in the only
sitting-room of which we found some Portuguese officers smoking pipes
as dirty as themselves, and drinking a beverage which had much the
appearance of rum and water. There was no one who could speak a word
of English; but at length a French waiter appeared, who seemed
ravished with delight at the jargon with which we feebly reminded him
of his own lively language "when at home." Having ordered dinner, we
wandered off in search of the coca-nut valley, and purchased bananas