After completing an inspection, we walked away from the wharf and returned to the hotel. We were to embark on the morrow.

Chatsworth and I were putting the final touches to our packing when a little native boy announced that a Mr Landor from Washington urgently desired to see us, as he had a proposition to make. Americans always have propositions. We bade him enter. A big man then appeared in the doorway and introduced himself.

"Gentlemen, I am the Consul-General for Central America, sent by Washington, U.S.A. You Englishmen, I understand, are making an expedition along the coast of Spanish Honduras. Now I have to visit the ports along that coast, and should therefore be ver-ry much obliged if you would let me just crack along with you."

After some little discussion we agreed to take him as far as Puerto Cortez, and the following day about 5 P.M. we all got aboard. The bay of Puerto Barrios is almost enclosed. It was a dead calm -hardly a breath of wind. The sails were raised, and we slowly drifted away from the quay. Then a big puff of wind, and we narrowly escaped

The officers on the liner watched us with some amusement, and wondered what would happen when we really got going in the great ocean outside, for our craft was not being skilfully handled.

Well, a breeze sprang up at last, and we sailed boldly past the pier and out into the bay. It was now quite dark, and we were constantly scanning the coast.

Through the mouth,

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and now out into that vale of darkness, the open sea. Nothing but the oily heaving ocean all round us, and not a coast light to be seen. We sailed along the coast, keeping a few miles from the shore in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Guatemala's last lighthouse, but in vain. The lighthousekeeper was no doubt busily engaged in imbibing whiteeye," for there was no light of any sort to be seen. Making a rough calculation of our whereabouts, we decided, to our dismay, that we were sailing gaily over a bed of shoal which stretched for miles in this vicinity. Hastily we turned The Molinero more seawards. The breeze freshened, and we were scudding along bravely. But where to, heaven only knows! Perhaps “to the dawn of nothing, O make haste," and we did, for the wind began to moan in the rigging. We were now under full canvas,

and the ship heeled over at a most unpleasant angle as it hissed and sizzled through the white capped waves. That hateful corkscrew motion started, and the vessel began to squirm its way through the sea. Why didn't they call her the Sea Serpent, I wondered. She wriggled like one. In spite of our sea-sickness tablets, Chatsworth and I felt desperately ill, lying there looking squeamishly at those hideous black spectres which constantly rose up all round us, and disappeared in dots of seething foam.

A heavy gust of wind, and over she went to starboard at a most precarious angle, the green seas washing aboard and chasing all and sundry round the hatches and other obstructions. Our black cat took the opportunity to disappear down the hatch. He was wise, for the next second over to port, and everything, including our selves, came scuttling back. "Haul down the topsail!" the captain shouted. Easier said than done, I thought.

pressure of the wind. For'ard our jibsails looked like kites. I heard afterwards that they had been wrongly hoisted. I can quite believe it. They might have been somebody's laundry on a windy day for all the use they were. All of a sudden another heavy gust, and away they went. A terrific crack-the gaff had gone, and the topsail poised for a moment like some flying pendant, and then hurtled away swirling and eddying into the angry waves.

"Cut down the mainsail,' suggested Chatsworth, and the captain, who had been making futile efforts to lower it, readily acquiesced.

Scurrying black forms, which looked like so many nimble monkeys, attacked the offending sail with hatchets and other implements, but with no success until, I suppose, somebody touched a vital spot, and the huge sail then descended slowly.

I was completely enveloped. Where the others were, I don't know, but, needless to say, this accursed piece of canvas, now free, instantly started to execute a war dance. One moment it was like a huge bellying monster, and the next as flat as a pancake. I clambered out from underneath it, and we all made a rush to get the sail under control, for if it had once started the kite business, it would, we knew, have taken us all overboard with it. We succeeded at last in holding it down, fixing it firmly and neatly. Helplessly the

schooner now drifted, but the wind was dropping; the squall, for that was all it was, had nearly passed. We tossed about aimlessly until most of us, exhausted by sea-sickness and our efforts, fell asleep; whilst the captain and a few of the crew kept watch in the inky darkness.

What a wonderful thing sleep is, that comparative oblivion into which we mortals are permitted to escape. And as I lay there, damp and cold, I was thankful at least for the stillness. There was no banging of doors, bells, or the burring sound of lifts or noisy people, but just that wistful companionship which nature at times gives to those who commune with her. I felt restful in that semi-conscious state, not a star overhead and only a slight undulation as if the sea were breathing. I thought of the whole tangled events of life, great cities, home, the present absurd predicament, and wondered what the morning light would bring with it.

"Oh, well, heute ist heut," I murmured-" Sufficient unto the day," when to my surprise I heard the skipper chuckle. "Hallo, captain," I cried, "what's the time."

"Yes," he admitted; the squall has driven us northward."

And so we slowly drifted towards the coast, and when the sun was well in the sky, we could see the green trees, dense undergrowth, and those peculiarly humpy hills which are so characteristic of that tiny isolated strip of the British Empire.

A rattle of chains, and we dropped anchor, but anchor, but barely had we done this when a

motor-boat was seen approaching, and about a quarter of an hour later it hove alongside us. The Government boat, manned by blacks, and the official in charge was also a black man, who now hailed us.

"Who are you? " "The Molinero," I replied. "H'm. I know this craft. She's been here masquerading before. What was the last name you call her?" queried the black official in his quaint English, and setting his chin upwards until he himself looked like a question mark.

"Yes, if you declare at Punta Gorda."

"That will take too long," I contended.

"Good. Then you can look after yourselves," and with this final remark he pushed off.

There are many ways of tackling people like Chatsworth and myself, but that wasn't one of them, and so, left to our own resources, we immediately started on the repairs. The captain and crew worked far into that night, and meanwhile we held a council of war in the cabin. I was in favour of turning back to Puerto Barrios-that is, if we could get there-for I was satisfied that the craft was unseaworthy,

but this latter I naturally did not mention. Chatsworth, the Consul-General, and even the captain agreed with me. The supercargo, however, was furious.

"There is nothing the matter with the craft," he snarled, "and your fears are completely unfounded."

"Right," I replied; "that's torn it. We must go on, and I hope your sugar gets thoroughly wet.'

And so it was finally agreed that we would start at 5 A.M. in the morning. We all lay down and slumbered soundly till dawn. By 5 A.M. the ship was astir, the anchor was raised, and the sails were being hoisted. It was a dead calm and foggy. Everything's ready,' the captain reported to Chatsworth. "Except the wind," I suggested.

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We dropped paper overboard to see if we were moving. The paper hovered all round us, and so we gave that experiment up. We spread ourselves out on deck and tried to forget our troubles. There was nothing to be seen, and the fog hung like a grey muslin veil around us, but we had hopes that it would clear later. The supercargo, who had now recovered, having got his own way, regaled me with bits of Heine, and I retaliated with Bürger. I am fond of German poetry, and hate all card games. Chess, yes; but I am no adept. Towards noon the mist cleared, the breeze sprang up, and away we went.

"After all, yachting's not bad," suggested the ConsulGeneral as he lay there basking in the gorgeous sunlight.

The breeze began to freshen once again, and we made good progress. Towards evening the coast of Spanish Honduras was clearly visible. Chatsworth calculated that we ought to reach Puerto Cortez about daylight next morning if this favourable breeze held, but favourable breezes seldom do. At nightfall a dead calm and a heavy swell teased us. It was too deep to anchor, and so we rolled and rocked incessantly. The others turned in, but I couldn't sleep and remained on deck talking to the skipper.