About two o’clock we made the high land of St. Antonio, one of the Cape de Verde Islands, and, soon afterwards, the lower land of St Vincent.  Some doubt existing as to the prevalence of fever at the latter place, Tom decided not to stop there, for fear of having to undergo quarantine at Rio de Janeiro.  We therefore shortened sail, and passed slowly between the islands to the anchorage beyond the Bird Rock.  This is a very small island, of perfectly conical form, covered with thousands of sea-fowl, who live here undisturbed by any other inhabitants.  The town of Porto Grande, with its rows of white houses on the sea-shore, at the base of the rocky crags, looked clean and comfortable in the evening light.  During the day, however, it must be a hot and glaring place, for there are no trees to afford shade, nor, indeed, any kind of vegetation.  The water, too, is bad, and all supplies for passing steamers are brought from the other islands, at very uncertain intervals.  It is still a great coaling-station, though not so much used as it was formerly, before the opening of the Suez Canal.  The ships come out with coal, and go away in ballast (there is nothing else to be had here), procured from a point near the town, to Rio or elsewhere, where they pick up their homeward cargo of fruit, &c.

The absence of twilight in these latitudes, both at dawn and sunset, is certainly very remarkable.  This morning, at four o’clock, the stars were shining brightly; ten minutes later the day had commenced to break; and at half-past four the sun had risen above the horizon, and was gilding the surrounding mountain tops.

Sunday, July 30th.—­About 10 a.m. we were off Tarafal Bay—­a most hopeless-looking place for supplies.  High rocky mountains, sandy slopes, and black volcanic beach, composed a scene of arid desolation, in the midst of which was situated one small white house, with four windows and a thatched roof, surrounded by a little green patch of sugar-canes and cocoa-nut palms.

But the result proved the sageness of the advice contained in the old proverb, not to trust to appearances only; for, whilst we were at breakfast, Mr. Martinez, the son of the owner of the one whitewashed cottage to be seen, came on board.  To our surprise, he spoke English extremely well, and promised us all sorts of supplies, if we could wait until three o’clock in the afternoon.  Having agreed to do this, we shortly afterwards went ashore in his boat, with a crew of more than half-naked negroes, and a hot row of about three miles brought us to the shore, where, after some little difficulty, we succeeded in effecting a landing.  Our feet immediately sank into the hot black sand, composed entirely of volcanic deposits and small pieces, or rather grains, of amber, through which we had a fatiguing walk until we reached some palm-trees, shading a little pool of water.  Here we left some of the men, with instructions to fill the breakers they had brought with them, while we