Wednesday, July 17.—Clear; the trade blew all night at a mile or two from the coast. At 7 ran in and received the following message from the governor by the pilot:
The governor regrets, but he can not permit you to enter, he having received recent orders from the home Government to this effect.
Sent Lieutenant Chapman with a letter to the governor. Lieutenant Chapman returned at 10:30, and at 11 we ran in and came to anchor in the lagoon. The Yankee consul had been to see the governor the previous night, and the pilot, no doubt, did not state truly our description, etc. The bumboats, with their picturesque inmates of all colors, are chattering like so many parrots around the ship. Made arrangements for filling up with coal, wood, and water, and for giving fresh provisions to the crew. Our entrance created great commotion along the quay, the people running to get a sight of the new steamer with the strange flag. Curaçao is a picturesque Dutch town, built in the style of Amsterdam, and lining the seashore and both sides of the entrance. We are in a land-locked basin, with sterile, jagged peaks rising all around us. At this season of the year the trade wind blows a gale all day long here. I feel better, having received a bottle of milk and some fresh meat and vegetables from the shore.