Wednesday, September 27th.—­A fine breeze was blowing this morning, in a favourable direction for our start, but as ten and eleven o’clock arrived, and there were still no signs of the expected stores, Tom was in despair, and wanted to sail without them.  I therefore volunteered to go ashore in the gig and see what had happened to them, and telegraph, if necessary, to Mr. Crabtree.  Fortunately, we met the tug on our way, and returned in tow of her to the yacht.  Then, after settling a few bills, and obtaining our bill of health, we got the anchor up, and proceeded down the river under sail.  Between one and two o’clock we commenced steaming, and in the course of the evening were clear of the River Plate and fairly on our way to the Straits of Magellan.

CHAPTER VIII.

RIVER PLATE TO SANDY POINT, STRAITS OF MAGELLAN.

I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds Have riv’d the knotty oaks; and I have seen The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, To be exalted with the threat’ning clouds: But never till to-night, never till now Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.

Thursday, September 28th,—­A fine bright morning, with a strong, fair wind.  The order to stop firing was given at noon, and we ceased steaming shortly after.  There had evidently been a gale from the southward during the last few days, for the swell was tremendous, and not only made us all feel very uncomfortable after our long stay in harbour, but considerably diminished our speed.  Still, we managed to go twenty-seven knots in two hours and a half.

I was lying down, below, after breakfast, feeling very stupid, when Mabelle rushed into the cabin, saying, ’Papa says you are to come up on deck at once, to see the ship on fire.’  I rushed up quickly, hardly knowing whether she referred to our own or some other vessel, and on reaching the deck I found everybody looking at a large barque, under full sail, flying the red union-jack upside down, and with signals in her rigging, which our signal-man read as ‘Ship on fire.’  These were lowered shortly afterwards, and the signals, ‘Come on board at once,’ hoisted in their place.  Still we could see no appearance of smoke or flames, but we nevertheless hauled to the wind, tacked, hove to, and sent off a boat’s crew, well armed, thinking it not impossible that a mutiny had taken place on board and that the captain or officers, mistaking the yacht for a gunboat, had appealed to us for assistance.  We were now near enough to the barque to make out her name through a glass—­the ‘Monkshaven,’ of Whitby—­and we observed a puff of smoke issue from her deck simultaneously with the arrival of our boat alongside.  In the course of a few minutes, the boat returned, bringing the mate of the ‘Monkshaven,’ a fine-looking Norwegian, who spoke English perfectly, and who reported his