University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

For the next ten days Mark Woolston did little but explore.
By crossing the channel around the Reef, which
he had named the `Armlet' (the young man often talked
to himself), he reached the sea-wall, and, once there, he
made a long excursion to the eastward. He now walked
dryshod over those very reefs among which he had so recently
sailed in the Bridget, though the ship-channel through
which he and Bob had brought in the Rancocus still remained.
The two buoys that had marked the narrow passage
were found, high and dry; and the anchor of the ship,
that by which she rode after beating over the rocks into
deep water, was to be seen so near the surface, that the
stock could be reached by the hand.

There was little difference in character between the
newly-made land to windward and that which Mark had
found in the opposite direction. Large pools, or lakes, of
salt water, deposits of mud and sand, some of which were
of considerable extent and thickness, sounds, creeks, and
arms of the sea, with here and there a hummock of rock
that rose fifteen or twenty feet above the face of the main
body, were the distinguishing peculiarities. For two days
Mark explored in this direction, or to windward, reaching
as far by his estimate of the distance, as the place where
he had bore up in his cruise in the Bridget. Finding a
great many obstacles in the way, channels, mud, &c., he
determined, on the afternoon of the second day, to return
home, get a stock of supplies, and come out in the boat,

in order to ascertain if he could not now reach the open
water to windward.

On the morning of the fourth day after the earthquake,
and the occurrence of the mighty change that had altered
the whole face of the scene around him, the young man
got under way in the Bridget. He shaped his course to
windward, beating out of the Armlet by a narrow passage,
that carried him into a reach that stretched away for several
miles, to the northward and eastward, in nearly a straight
line. This passage, or sound, was about half a mile in
width, and there was water enough in nearly all parts of it
to float the largest sized vessel. By this passage the poor
hermit, small as was his chance of ever seeing such an
event occur, hoped it might be possible to come to the
very side of the Reef in a ship.

When about three leagues from the crater, the `Hope
Channel,' as Mark named this long and direct passage,
divided into two, one trending still more to the northward,
running nearly due north, indeed, while the other might
be followed in a south-easterly direction, far as the eye
could reach. Mark named the rock at the junction `Point
Fork,' and chose the latter passage, which appeared the
most promising, and the wind permitting him to lay through
it. The Bridget tacked in the Forks, therefore, and stood
away to the south-east, pretty close to the wind. Various
other channels communicated with this main passage, or
the Hope; and, about noon, Mark tacked into one of them,
heading about north-east, when trimmed up sharp to do so.
The water was deep, and at first the passage was half a
mile in width; but after standing along it for a mile or two,
it seemed all at once to terminate in an oval basin, that
might have been a mile in its largest diameter, and which
was bounded to the eastward by a belt of rock that rose
some twenty feet above the water. The bottom of this
basin was a clear beautiful sand, and its depth of water,
on sounding, Mark found was uniformly about eight fathoms.
A more safe or convenient basin for the anchorage
of ships could not have been formed by the art of man,
had there been an entrance to it, and any inducement for
them to come there.

Mark had beaten about `Oval Harbour,' as he named

the place, for half an hour, before he was struck by the
circumstance that the even character of its surface appeared
to be a little disturbed by a slight undulation which seemed
to come from its north-eastern extremity. Tacking the
Bridget, he stood in that direction, and on reaching the
place, found that there was a passage through the rock of
about a hundred yards in width. The wind permitting,
the boat shot through this passage, and was immediately
heaving and setting in the long swells of the open ocean.
At first Mark was startled by the roar of the waves that
plunged into the caverns of the rocks, and trembled lest
his boat might be hove up against that hard and iron-bound
coast, where one toss would shatter his little craft into
splinters. Too steady a seaman, however, to abandon his
object unnecessarily, he stood on, and soon found he could
weather the rocks under his lee, tacking in time. After
two or three short stretches were made, Mark found himself
half a mile to windward of a long line, or coast, of
dark rock, that rose from twenty to twenty-five feet above
the level of the water, and beyond all question in the open
ocean. He hove-to to sound, and let forty fathoms of line
out without reaching bottom. But everywhere to leeward
of him was land, or rock; while everywhere to windward,
as well as ahead and astern, it was clear water. This,
then, was the eastern limit of the old shoals, now converted
into dry land. Here the Rancocus had, unknown to her
officers, first run into the midst of these shoals, by which
she had ever since been environed.

It was not easy to compute the precise distance from the
outlet or inlet of Oval Harbour, to the crater. Mark
thought it might be five-and-twenty miles, in a straight
line, judging equally by the eye, and the time he had been
in running it. The Summit was not to be seen, however,
any more than the masts of the ship; though the distant
Peak, and the column of dark smoke, remained in sight,
as eternal land-marks. The young man might have been
an hour in the open sea, gradually hauling off the land, in
order to keep clear of the coast, when he bethought him
of returning. It required a good deal of nerve to run in
towards those rocks, under all the circumstances of the
case. The wind blew fresh, so much indeed as to induce

Mark to reef, but there must always be a heavy swell rolling
in upon that iron-bound shore. The shock of such
waves expending their whole force on perpendicular rocks
may be imagined better than it can be described. There
was an undying roar all along that coast, produced by these
incessant collisions of the elements; and occasionally,
when a sea entered a cavern, in a way suddenly to expel
its air, the sound resembled that which some huge animal
might be supposed to utter in its agony, or its anger. Of
course, the spray was flying high, and the entire line of
black rocks was white with its particles.

Mark had unwittingly omitted to take any land-marks
to his inlet, or strait. He had no other means of finding
it, therefore, than to discover a spot in which the line of
white was broken. This inlet, however, he remembered
did not open at right angles to the coast, but obliquely;
and it was very possible to be within a hundred yards of
it, and not see it. This fact our young sailor was not long
in ascertaining; for standing in towards the point where
he expected to find the entrance, and going as close to the
shore as he dared, he could see nothing of the desired passage.
For an hour did he search, passing to and fro, but
without success. The idea of remaining out in the open
sea for the night, and to windward of such an inhospitable
coast, was anything but pleasant to Mark, and he determined
to stand to the northward, now, while it was day,
and look for some other entrance.

For four hours did Mark Woolston run along those dark
rocks, whitened only by the spray of the wide ocean, without
perceiving a point at which a boat might even land.
As he was now running off the wind, and had turned out
his reef, he supposed he must have gone at least five-and-twenty
miles, if not thirty, in that time; and thus had he
some means of judging of the extent of his new territories.
About five in the afternoon a cape, or headland, was
reached, when the coast suddenly trended to the westward.
This, then, was the north-eastern angle of the entire formation,
and Mark named it Cape North-East. The boat
was now jibed, and ran off west, a little northerly, for another
hour, keeping quite close in to the coast, which was
no longer dangerous as soon as the Cape was doubled.

The seas broke upon the rocks, as a matter of course; but
there being a lee, it was only under the power of the
ceaseless undulations of the ocean. Even the force of the
wind was now much less felt, the Bridget carrying whole
sail when hauled up, as Mark placed her several times, in
order to examine apparent inlets.

It was getting to be too late to think of reaching home
that night, for running in those unknown channels after
dark was not a desirable course for an explorer to adopt.
Our young man, therefore, limited his search to some place
where he might lie until the return of light. It is true,
the lee formed by the rocks was now such as to enable him
to remain outside, with safety, until morning; but he preferred
greatly to get within the islands, if possible, to trusting
himself, while asleep, to the mercy of the open ocean.
Just as the sun was setting, leaving the evening cool and
pleasant, after the warmth of an exceedingly hot day, the
boat doubled a piece of low headland; and Mark had half
made up his mind to get under its lee, and heave a grapnel
ashore, in order to ride by his cable during the approaching
night, when an opening in the coast greeted his eyes.
It was just as he doubled the cape. This opening appeared
to be a quarter of a mile in width, and it had perfectly
smooth water, a half-gunshot within its mouth. The helm
was put down, the sheets hauled aft, and the Bridget luffed
into this creek, estuary, sound, or harbour, whichever it
might prove to be. For twenty minutes did Mark stand
on through this passage, when suddenly it expanded into
a basin, or bay, of considerable extent. This was at a
distance of about a league within the coast. This bay was
a league long, and half a league in width, the boat entering
it close to its weather side. A long and wide sandy beach
offered on that side, and the young man stood along it a
short distance, until the sight of a spring induced him to
put his helm down. The boat luffed short round, and
came gently upon the beach. A grapnel was thrown on
the sands, and Mark leaped ashore.

The water proved to be sweet, cool, and every way delicious.
This was at least the twentieth spring which had
been seen that day, though it was the first of which the
waters had been tasted. This new-born beach had every

appearance of having been exposed to the air a thousand
years. The sand was perfectly clean, and of a bright
golden colour, and it was well strewed with shells of the
most magnificent colours and size. The odour of their
late tenants alone proclaimed the fact of their recent shipwreck.
This, however, was an evil that a single month
would repair; and our sailor determined to make another
voyage to this bay, which he called Shell Bay, in order to
procure some of its treasures. It was true he could not
place them before the delighted eyes of Bridget, but he
might arrange them in his cabin, and fancy that she was
gazing at their beauties. After drinking at the spring,
and supping on the rocks above, Mark arranged a mattress,
provided for that purpose, in the boat, and went to sleep.

Early next morning the Bridget was again under way,
but not until her owner had both bathed and broken his
fast. Bathe he did every morning throughout the year,
and occasionally at night also. A day of exertion usually
ended with a bath, as did a night of sweet repose also. In
all these respects no one could be more fortunate. From
the first, food had been abundant; and now he possessed
it in superfluity, including the wants of all dependent on
him. Of clothes, also, he had an inexhaustible supply, a
small portion of the cargo consisting of coarse cotton
jackets and trousers, with which to purchase sandal-wood.
To these means, delicious water was now added in inexhaustible
quantities. The late changes had given to Mark's
possession territory sufficient to occupy him months, even
in exploring it thoroughly, as it was his purpose to do.
God was there, also, as he is everywhere. This our secluded
man found to be a most precious consolation.
Again and again, each day, was he now in the practice of
communing in spirit, directly with his Creator; not in cold
and unmeaning forms and commonplaces, but with such
yearning of the soul, and such feelings of love and reverence,
as an active and living faith can alone, by the aid
of the Divine Spirit, awaken in the human breast.

After crossing Shell Bay, the Bridget continued on for
a couple of hours, running south, westerly, through a passage
of a good width, until it met another channel, at a
point which Mark at once recognized as the Forks. When

at Point Fork, he had only to follow the track he had
come the previous day, in order to arrive at the Reef.
The crater could be seen from the Forks, and there was
consequently a beacon in sight, to direct the adventurer,
had he wanted such assistance; which he did not, however,
since he now recognized objects perfectly well as he
advanced. About ten o'clock he ran alongside of the ship,
where he found everything as he had left it. Lighting the
fire, he put on food sufficient to last him for another cruise,
and then went up into the cross-trees in order to take a
better look than he had yet obtained, of the state of things
to the southward.

By this time the vast murky cloud that had so long overhung
the new outlet of the volcano, was dispersed. It was
succeeded by one of ordinary size, in which the thread of
smoke that arose from the crater, terminated. Of course
the surrounding atmosphere was clear, and nothing but
distance obstructed the view. The Peak was indeed a
sublime sight, issuing, as it did, from the ocean without
any relief. Mark now began to think he had miscalculated
its height, and that it might be two thousand feet,
instead of one, above the water. There it was, in all its
glory, blue and misty, but ragged and noble. The crater
was clearly many miles beyond it, the young man being
satisfied, after this look, that he had not yet seen its summit.
He also increased his distance from Vulcan's Peak,
as he named the mountain, to ten leagues, at least. After
sitting in the cross-trees for fully an hour, gazing at this
height with as much pleasure as the connoisseur ever studied
picture, or statue, the young man determined to attempt
a voyage to that place, in the Bridget. To him,
such an expedition had the charm of the novelty and
change which a journey from country to town could bring
to the wearied worldling, who sighed for the enjoyment
of his old haunts, after a season passed in the ennui of his
country-house. It is true, great novelties had been presented
to our solitary youth, by the great changes wrought
immediately in his neighbourhood, and they had now kept
him for a week in a condition of high excitement; but
nothing they presented could equal the interest he felt in
that distant mountain, which had arisen so suddenly in a

horizon that he had been accustomed to see bare of any
object but clouds, for near eighteen months.

That afternoon Mark made all his preparations for a
voyage that he felt might be one of great moment to him.
All the symptoms of convulsions in the earth, however,
had ceased; even the rumbling sounds which he had heard,
or imagined, in the stillness of the night, being no longer
audible. From that source, therefore, he had no great
apprehensions of danger; though there was a sort of dread
majesty in the exhibition of the power of nature that he
had so lately witnessed, which disposed him to approach
the scene of its greatest effort with secret awe. So much
did he think of the morrow and its possible consequences,
that he did not get asleep for two or three hours, though
he awoke in the morning unconscious of any want of rest.
An hour later, he was in his boat, and under way.

Mark had now to steer in an entirely new direction,
believing, from what he had seen while aloft the day before,
that he could make his way out into the open ocean
by proceeding a due south course. In order to do this,
and to get into the most promising-looking channel in that
direction, he was obliged to pass through the narrow strait
that separated the Reef from the large range of rock over
which he had roamed the day succeeding the earthquake.
Of course, the bridge was removed, in order to allow the
boat's mast to pass; but for this, Mark did not care. He
had seen his stock the previous evening, and saw that it
wanted for nothing. Even the fowls had gone across to
the new territory, on exploring expeditions; and Kitty
herself had left her sweet pastures on the Summit, to see
of what the world was made beyond her old range. It is
true she had made one journey in that quarter, in the company
of her master; but, one journey no more satisfied her
than it would have satisfied the curiosity of any other
female.

After passing the bridge, the boat entered a long narrow
reach, that extended at least two leagues, in nearly a direct
line towards Vulcan's Peak. As it approached the end of
this piece of water, Mark saw that he must enter a bay of
considerable extent; one, indeed, that was much larger
than any he had yet seen in his island, or, to speak more

accurately, his group of islands. On one side of this bay
appeared a large piece of level land, or a plain, which
Mark supposed might cover one or two thousand acres.
Its colour was so different from anything he had yet seen,
that our young man was induced to land, and to walk a
short distance to examine it. On reaching its margin, it
was found to be a very shallow basin, of which the bottom
was mud, with a foot or two of salt water still remaining,
and in which sea-weed, some ten or twelve inches in thickness,
was floating. It was almost possible for Mark to
walk on this weed, the green appearance of which induced
him to name the place the Prairie. Such a collection of
weed could only have been owing to the currents, which
must have brought it into this basin, where it was probably
retained even previously to the late eruption. The presence
of the deposit of mud, as well as the height of the
surrounding rocks, many of which were doubtless out of
water previously to the phenomenon, went to corroborate
this opinion.

After working her way through a great many channels,
some wide and some narrow, some true and some false,
the Bridget reached the southern verge of the group, about
noon. Mark then supposed himself to be quite twenty
miles from the Reef, and the Peak appeared very little
nearer than when he left it. This startled him on the
score of distance; and, after meditating on all his chances,
the young man determined to pass the remainder of that
day where he was, in order to put to sea with as much
daylight before him as possible. He desired also to explore
the coast and islands in that vicinity, in order to
complete his survey of the cluster. He looked for a convenient
place to anchor his boat, accordingly, ate his dinner,
and set out on foot to explore, armed as usual with a
fowling-piece.

In the first place, an outlet to the sea very different from
that on the eastern side of the group, was found here, on
its southern. The channel opened into a bay of some size,
with an arm of rock reaching well off on the weather side,
so that no broken water was encountered in passing into
or out of it, provided one kept sufficiently clear of the
point itself. As there was abundance of room, Mark saw

he should have no difficulty in getting out into open water,
here, or in getting back again. What was more, the arm,
or promontory of rock just mentioned, had a hummock
near a hundred feet in height on its extremity, that answered
admirably for a land-mark. Most of this hummock
must have been above water previously to the late eruption,
though it appeared to our explorer, that all the visible
land, as he proceeded south, was lifted higher and on a
gradually-increasing scale, as if the eruption had exerted
its force at a certain point, the new crater for instance,
and raised the earth to the northward of that point, on an
inclined plane. This might account, in a measure, for the
altitude of the Peak, which was near the great crevice that
must have been left somewhere, unless materials on its opposite
side had fallen to fill it up again. Most of these
views were merely speculative, though the fact of the greater
elevation of all the rocks, in this part of the group, over
those further north, was beyond dispute. Thus the coast,
here, was generally fifty or eighty feet high; whereas, at
the Reef, even now, the surface of the common rock was
not much more than twenty feet above the water. The
rise seemed to be gradual, moreover, which certainly favoured
this theory.

As a great deal of sand and mud had been brought up
by the eruption, there was no want of fresh water. Mark
found even a little brook, of as perfectly sweet a stream as
he had ever tasted in America, running into the little harbour
where he had secured the boat. He followed this
stream two miles, ere he reached its source, or sources;
for it came from at least a dozen copious springs, that
poured their tribute from a bed of clean sand several miles
in length, and which had every sign of having been bare
for ages. In saying this, however, it is not to be supposed
that the signs, as to time, were very apparent anywhere.
Lava, known to have been ejected from the bowels of the
earth thousands of years, has just as fresh an appearance,
to the ordinary observer, as that which was thrown out ten
years ago; and, had it not been for the deposits of moist
mud, the remains of fish, sea-weed that was still undecayed,
pools of salt water, and a few other peculiarities of
the same sort, Mark would have been puzzled to find any

difference between the rocks recently thrown up, and those
which were formerly exposed to the air. Even the mud
was fast changing its appearance, cracking and drying
under the sun of the tropics. In a month or two, should
as much rain as usual fall, it was probable the sea-weed
would be far gone in decay.

It was still early when our adventurer kneeled on the
sand, near his boat, to hold his last direct communication
with his Creator, ere he slept. Those communications
were now quite frequent with Mark, it being no unusual
thing for him to hold them when sailing in his boat, on the
deck of the ship, or in the soft salubrious air of the Summit.
He slept none the less soundly for having commended
his soul to God, asking support against temptations,
and forgiveness for past sins. These prayers were
usually very short. More than half the time they were
expressed in the compendious and beautiful words given
to man by Christ himself, the model and substance of all
petitions of this nature. But the words were devoutly uttered,
the heart keeping even pace with them, and the soul
fully submitting to their influence.

Mark arose, next morning, two hours before the light
appeared, and at once left the group. Time was now important
to him; for, while he anticipated the possibility of
remaining under the lee of the mountain during the succeeding
night, he also anticipated the possibility of being
compelled to return. In a favourable time, with the wind
a little free, five knots in the hour was about the maximum
of the boat's rate of sailing, though it was affected by the
greater or less height of the sea that was on. When the
waves ran heavily, the Bridget's low sails got becalmed
in the troughs, and she consequently lost much of her way.
On the whole, however, five knots might be set down as
her average speed, under the pressure of the ordinary
trades, and with whole canvas, and a little off the wind.
Close-hauled, she scarcely made more than three; while,
with the wind on the quarter, she often went seven, especially
in smooth water.

The course steered was about a point to the westward
of south, the boat running altogether by compass, for the
first two hours. At the end of that time day returned,

and the dark, frowning Peak itself became visible. The
sun had no sooner risen, than Mark felt satisfied with his
boat's performance. Objects began to come out of the
mass of the mountain, which no longer appeared a pile of
dark outline, without detail. He expected this, and was
even disappointed that his eyes could not command more,
for he now saw that he had materially underrated the distance
between the crater and the Peak, which must be
nearer sixty than fifty miles. The channel between the
group and this isolated mass was, at least, twelve leagues
in width. These twelve leagues were now to be run, and
our young navigator thought he had made fully three of
them, when light returned.

From that moment every mile made a sensible difference
in the face of the mountain. Light and shadow first became
visible; then ravines, cliffs, and colours, came into
the view. Each league that he advanced increased Mark's
admiration and awe; and by the time that the boat was
on the last of those leagues which had appeared so long,
he began to have a more accurate idea of the sublime nature
of the phenomenon that had been wrought so near
him. Vulcan's Peak, as an island, could not be less than
eight or nine miles in length, though its breadth did not
much exceed two. Running north and south, it offered
its narrow side to the group of the crater, which had deceived
its solitary observer. Yes! of the millions on earth,
Mark Woolston, alone, had been so situated as to become
a witness of this grand display of the powers of the elements.
Yet, what was this in comparison with the thousand
vast globes that were rolling about in space, objects
so familiar as to be seen daily and nightly without raising
a thought, in the minds of many, from the created to the
creator? Even these globes come and go, and men remain
indifferent to the mighty change!

The wind had been fresh in crossing the strait, and
Mark was not sorry when his pigmy boat came under the
shadow of the vast cliffs which formed the northern extremity
of the Peak. When still a mile distant, he thought
he was close on the rocks; nor did he get a perfectly true
idea of the scale on which this rare mountain had been
formed, until running along at its base, within a hundred

yards of its rocks. Coming in to leeward, as a matter of
course, Mark, found comparatively smooth water, though
the unceasing heaving and setting of the ocean rendered
it a little hazardous to go nearer to the shore. For some
time our explorer was fearful he should not be able to land
at all; and he was actually thinking of putting about, to
make the best of his way back, while light remained to do
so, when he came off a place that seemed fitted by art,
rather than by nature, to meet his wishes. A narrow
opening appeared between two cliffs, of about equal height,
or some hundred feet in elevation, one of which extended
further into the ocean than its neighbour. The water
being quite smooth in this inlet, Mark ventured to enter
it, the wind favouring his advance. On passing this gate-way,
he found himself nearly becalmed, in a basin that
might be a hundred yards in diameter, which was not only
surrounded by a sandy beach, but which had also a sandy
bottom. The water was several fathoms deep, and it was
very easy to run the bows of the boat anywhere on the
beach. This was done, the sails were furled, and Mark
sprang ashore, taking the grapnel with him. Like Columbus,
he knelt on the sands, and returned his thanks to
God.

Not only did a ravine open from this basin, winding its
way up the entire ascent, but a copious stream of water
ran through it, foaming and roaring amid its glens. At
first, Mark supposed this was sea-water, still finding its
way from some lake on the Peak; but, on tasting it, he
found it was perfectly sweet. Provided with his gun, and
carrying his pack, our young man entered this ravine, and
following the course of the brook, he at once commenced
an ascent. The route was difficult only in the labour of
moving upwards, and by no means as difficult in that as
he had expected to find it. It was, nevertheless, fortunate
that this climbing was to be done in the shade, the sun
seldom penetrating into those cool and somewhat damp
crevices through which the brook found its way.

Notwithstanding his great activity, Mark Woolston was
just an hour in ascending to the Peak. In no place had
he found the path difficult, though almost always upward;
but he believed he had walked more than two miles before

he came out on level ground. When he had got up about
three-fourths of the way, the appearances of things around
him suddenly changed. Although the rock itself looked
no older than that below, it had, occasionally, a covering
that clearly could never have emerged from the sea within
the last few days. From that point everything denoted an
older existence in the air, from which our young man inferred
that the summit of Vulcan's Peak had been an island
long prior to the late eruption. Every foot he advanced
confirmed this opinion, and the conclusion was that the
ancient island had lain too low to be visible to one on the
Reef.

An exclamation of delight escaped from our explorer,
as he suddenly came out on the broken plain of the Peak.
It was not absolutely covered, but was richly garnished with
wood; cocoa-nut, bread-fruits, and other tropical trees; and
it was delightfully verdant with young grasses. The latter
were still wet with a recent shower that Mark had seen
pass over the mountain, while standing for the island; and
on examining them more closely, the traces of the former
shower of volcanic ashes were yet to be seen. The warmth
in the sun, after so sharp a walk, caused the young man
to plunge into the nearest grove, where he had no difficulty
in helping himself to as many cocoa-nuts, fresh from
the trees, as a thousand men could have consumed. Every
one has heard of the delicious beverage that the milk of
the cocoa-nut, and of the delicious food that its pulp furnishes,
when each is taken from the fruit before it hardens.
How these trees came there, Mark did not know. The
common theory is that birds convey the seeds from island
to island; though some suppose that the earth contains the
elements of all vegetation, and that this or that is quickened,
as particular influences are brought to bear by means
of climate and other agents.

After resting himself for an hour in that delicious grove,
Mark began to roam around the plain, to get an idea of its
beauties and extent. The former were inexhaustible, offering
every variety of landscape, from the bold and magnificent
to the soft and bewitching. There were birds
innumerable, of the most brilliant plumage, and some that
Mark imagined must be good to eat. In particular did he

observe an immense number of a very small sort that were
constantly pecking at a wild fig, of which there was a grove
of considerable extent. The fig, itself, he did not find as
palatable as he had hoped, though it was refreshing, and
served to vary the diet; but the bird struck him to be of
the same kind as the celebrated reed-bird, of the Philadelphia
market, which we suppose to be much the same as
the becca fichi of Italy. Being provided with mustard-seed
shot, Mark loaded his piece properly, and killed at least
twenty of these little creatures at one discharge. After
cleaning them, he struck a light by means of the pan and
some powder, and kindled a fire. Here was wood, too, in
any quantity, an article of which he had feared in time he
might be in want, and which he had already begun to husband,
though used only in his simple cookery. Spitting
half-a-dozen of the birds, they were soon roasted. At the
same time he roasted a bunch of plantain, and, being provided
with pepper and salt in his pack, as well as with
some pilot-bread, and a pint-bottle of rum, we are almost
ashamed to relate how our young explorer dined. Nothing
was wanting to such a meal but the sweets of social converse.
Mark fancied, as he sat enjoying that solitary repast,
so delicious of itself, and which was just enough
sweetened with toil to render it every way acceptable, that
he could gladly give up all the rest of the world, for the
enjoyment of a paradise like that before him, with Bridget
for his Eve.

The elevation of the mountain rendered the air far more
grateful and cool than he was accustomed to find it, at
mid-summer, down on the Reef, and the young man was
in a sort of gentle intoxication while breathing it. Then
it was that he most longed for a companion, though little
did he imagine how near he was to some of his species, at
that very moment; and how soon that, the dearest wish of
his heart, was to be met by an adventure altogether so
unexpected to him, that we must commence a new chapter,
in order to relate it.