Gilpin observer., 1899-04-06

We moored In thirty-three fathoian
water, about half mile from the
shore, which In most places ID steep.
with green and lovely slopes rising
high above 1t. As Capt. Weston pro-
posed to weigh next morning. he al
lowed me to go ashore, but sent with
me, to be guide and companion, Tom
Lambourne, the tattooed sailor, who
had been frequently before at the
Grand Canary, and in whom he repos-
ed great trust.
He gave me a courier bag containing
some provisions. flask of spirits, and
telescope; and thus provided, old
Tom and I, with such emotions OF
pleasure as two newly escaped school
boys might feel, landed on the shore,
which seemed to heave, sink, and rise
under my feet-for after the late storm
still felt that which is termed "the
roll of the ship"
1t was in this harbor of Santa Cruz
that the famous old English Admiral
Blake encountered, and within six
hours burned and sunk seven great
Spanish galleons, though they were
anchored under the protecting cannon
of seven forts and strong castle, in
the walls of which some of his shot
were shown imbedded for many years
after.
cast longing eyes to the summit of
the mighty Peak of Adam. 1t seemed
to rise sheer from the sea, over which,
literally piercing the clouds, it towers
to the height of more than twelve
thousand feet; but the idea of attempt
ing to climb it within so short space
OF time as we had to spend on shore
never occurred to me. but what feat
1t would have been to relate when /
returned to Erlesmere!
The morning was early yet; the sun
was barely above the now cloudless
horizon; so the shadow of this stupen-
dous cone was cast not only over the
whole island, which seems to form
merely its base. but to the far horizon,
perhaps beyond it; for there are writ
ers who assert that in clear weather
Cape Bojadore, that dreary and bar
ren promontory of Africa, ninety miles
distant. is visible from its summit,
Did the waves of the sea ever over
flow that mighty peak? At such a
question the mind becomes lost in
conjecture.
AS l am not writing a descriptive
book Of travels, but merely a plain
narrative Of my own very recent ad-
ventures. / need not detail at great
length. either the magnitude or the as
pect Of this great island d-mountain of
the Atlantic.
From cliffs of dark-brown basalt.
against which the ocean pours in vain
its foam and fury, we assembled the
steep slope Of the volcano for a few
miles. Then at our feet, as 1t were,
we could see that fertile island, where
perpetual spring seems to smile, and
where the fragrant myrtle. the golden
orange trees, and the dark funereal
Expresses form the mere hedgerows of
those plantations where the sugar.
cane. the broad leaved plantain. the
luscious Indian fig. the trailing vine,
the fragrant cinnamon, and the pretty
coffee bush. were all hourishing in a
luxuriance that filed US with wonder
and pleasure.
Further of was the boundless sea. of
that deep blue which 1t borrowed from
the sky above. and mirrored in its
depth were the shipping in the road
stead, with their white canvas hang
ing loose to dry In tho sun; the green
woods and dark rocks reflected down
ward. and the old turreted castle OF
Santa Cruz. with the scarlet and yell
low banner Of CASTLE and Leon ON its
time-worn ramparts.
The summit of the great cone, on the
clothed sides Of which we never tired
of gazing, soon became lost In vapor;
far above the dark green belt OF many
miles, named the Region OF Laurels,
and that other belt or forest of timber,
where pines, chestnuts. and oaks OF
vast size mingle their varied foliage
together, the mountain seemed all OF .
violet tint. which paled away into faint
blue as its apex mingled and b.cams
lost amid the gossamer clouds.
Ito be continued.)