I see the familiar bark-built village that betokens Fans, and on sighting this we change our course and lay one apparently for the Brazilian ports.
The Lafayette flies along before a heavy sea, and from my position at the bottom of her I can see nothing but her big white mainsail and her mast with its shrouds and stays standing out clear, rocking to and fro, against the hard blue sky; and just the white crests of the waves as they go dancing by. I have nothing to hear save the pleasantest sounds in the world—the rustle of the sail and the swish of the waves as they play alongside the vessel. Now and then there is added to these the lazy, laughing talk of the black men; and now and then an extra lively wave throws its crest in among us. Soon all the crew drop softly off to sleep, Eveke joining them, so I rouse up and take the main sheet and the tiller and keep her so. I feel as if I were being baked to a cinder, but there's no help for it, and some of it is very pleasant. About four o'clock I see two lumps of land on the sky-line. I wake Eveke up and he seems surprised at my not knowing what they are. "That's Corisco and Banã, sir," says he. I explain to Eveke, as I hand over the navigation to him, that every one has not been born on Corisco, and the fact of his having had this advantage is the reason of his being pilot now; and I reseat myself in the bottom of the boat and carefully look over the side, mindful of that boom palaver. We head for the bigger and most western bit of land, soon seeing the details of its undulating, black-green forests. When we get within a mile, Eveke asks me to wake up the man in front of me, and I stir him firmly, but gently, with a chart; for I know what waking black men leads to sometimes; and when he rouses I order him to wake up the others, and in a few minutes they are all more or less awake, even the man on the look-out. They wash their mouths out with sea-water, and then re-commence their laughing, talking and water-drinking again.
We run into a small, sandy-shored, wooded bay where, as I find is Eveke's habit, we lower our gaff prematurely and drift, in the proper way, leisurely towards the above, stern foremost. At last the Lafayette, finding everything is left to her, says: "Look here, you fellows, if don't help
