A fresh land-breeze filled our sails, the embayed waters were gentle as a lake, and every wave broke with a tinkle against our coppered prow.
On gaining the end of the channel we rounded a point, and came full upon the bay of Hannamanoo.

This is the only harbour of any note about the island, though as far as a safe anchorage is concerned it hardly deserves the title.
Before we held any communication with the shore, an incident occurred which may convey some further idea of the character of our crew.
Having approached as near the land as we could prudently, our headway was stopped, and we awaited the arrival of a canoe which was coming out of the bay.

All at once we got into a strong current, which swept us rapidly toward a rocky promontory forming one side of the harbour.
The wind had died away; so two boats were at once lowered for the purpose of pulling the ship's head round.

Before this could be done, the eddies were whirling upon all sides, and the rock so near that it seemed as if one might leap upon it from the masthead.

Notwithstanding the speechless fright of the captain, and the hoarse shouts of the unappalled Jennin, the men handled the ropes as deliberately as possible, some of them chuckling at the prospect of going ashore, and others so eager for the vessel to strike, that they could hardly contain themselves.