Tarik and his successors, the triangle of walls with the tall tower-like
mosque for apex, and the base facing the bay.

We left Gibraltar at 5 P.M. on Saturday (December 10), giving a wide
berth to the hated Pearl Rock, which skippers would remove by force of
arms. Seen from east or west Gib has an outline of its own. The
Britisher, whose pride it is, sees the 'lion of England who has laid his
paw upon the key of the Mediterranean,' and compares it with the king of
beasts, sejant, the tail being Europa Point. The Spaniards, to whom it
is an eyesore, liken it to a shrouded corpse, the outlined head lying to
the north, and declare, truly enough, that to them it is a dead body.

The norther presently changed to the rainy south-wester, the builder of
the Moroccan 'bars' and the scourge of the coast fringing North-west
Africa, Rolling set in with the usual liveliness. Events were not
eventful. The first midnight found us off Cape Trafalgar, and the second
off St. Vincent. At 4 P.M. (December 12), we saw the light of Espichel
(_Promontorium Barbaricum_), the last that shines upon the voyager
bound Brazilwards. Before nightfall we had left Buzio lighthouse to
starboard. We then ran up the northern passage in charge of a lagging
pilot; and, as the lamps were lighting, we found ourselves comfortably
berthed off that pretty toy, Belem Tower.

Next morning broke upon a lovely view: no wonder that the Tagus is the
pride of Portuguese bards. The _Rosicler_, or rosy dawn-light, was
that of a May morning--the May of poetry, not of meteorology--and the
upper windows of distant Lisbon were all ablaze with the unrisen sun. It
was a picture for the loveliest colours, not for 'word-painting;' and
the whole scene was classical as picturesque. We may justly say of it,
'Nullum sine nomine saxum.' Far over the rising hills of the north bank