I have learned that the mountain we passed yesterday rises to a
height of 7,460 feet, and slopes to the sea at an angle of 40
degrees. The bare head of it, uplifted above its bed of cloud, and
outlined against the blue sky, with the sun shining full upon it, is
still vividly before my imagination. No human eye witnessed the
volcanic upheavel which cast this mountain peak up into the clouds
out of the bosom of the sea. But Captain Tillard of H.M.S. "Sabrina"
was eye-witness, in 1811, of the rise and extinction of an island in
the neighbourhood, which reached a height of 410 feet and was
swallowed up by the sea after an existence of 119 days.
For more than a week we have held our lonely way on the ocean, no
sail seen, no smoke of steamer on the far horizon. The sea gulls
alone bear us company, whether the same birds that followed us from
the first, or fresh relays from the pastures of the deep, no one can
tell. Birds of ocean, foster-children of the wandering sea, their
home is on the rolling wave, their haunts no man may know. But the
same Providence that feeds the sparrows on the dry land gives food to
these rovers on the wilderness of waters.
* * *