Fifteen days after the loss of the whale-boat, we made the peaks of
the Andes, a very few degrees to the southward of the equator. From
some casual remarks made by the French, and which I had overheard, I
had been led to believe they intended to run for Guayaquil, or its
vicinity; and I aimed at reaching the coast near the same point. We
had been in, ourselves, at several bays and roadsteads, moreover, on
this part of the shore, on our way north; and I felt at home among
them. We had acquaintances, too, who could not fail to be of use to
us; and everything conspired to render this an advantageous land-fall.
On the evening of the twenty-ninth day after quitting the island, we
took the schooner into an open roadstead, where we had carried on some
extensive traffic in the ship, about eight months before, and where I
fancied we should still be recognised. As was expected, we had
scarcely anchored, before a Don Pedro Something, a fellow with a
surprising string of names, came off to us in a boat, in order to
ascertain who we were, and what we wanted. Perhaps it would be better
to say, what we had that _he_ wanted. I knew the man at a glance,
having delivered to him, myself, three boat-loads of goods, and
received a small bag of doubloons in exchange. A very few words,
half-English, half-Spanish, served to renew our acquaintance; and I
gave our old friend to understand that I was in search of the ship,
from which I had been separated on some extra duty.
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