"All things in common nature should produce
Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,
Sword, pike, gun, or need of any engine
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth
Of its own kind, all foizen, all abundance
To feed my innocent people."
_Tempest._
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 gateway, 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.