on Rancocus, though they were to be
found on Vulcan's Peak literally in tens of thousands. This difference
could be accounted for in no other way, than by supposing that some of
the birds had originally found their way to the latter, favoured by
accidental circumstances, driven by a hurricane, transported on
sea-weed, or attending the drift of some plants, and that the same, or
similar circumstances, had never contributed to carry them the
additional hundred miles to leeward.

It was near sunset when the Neshamony left Snug Cove, as Mark had named
his little haven, at the foot of the ravine, which, by the way, he
called the Stairs, and put to sea, on her way to Rancocus Island. The
bearings of the last had been accurately taken, and our mariners were
just as able to run by night as by day. It may as well be said here,
moreover, that the black was a capital boatman, and a good fresh-water
sailor in general, a proficiency that he had acquired in consequence of
having been born and brought up on the banks of the Delaware. But it
would have been very possible to run from one of these islands to the
other, by observing the direction of the wind alone, since it blew very
steadily in the same quarter, and changes in the course were always to
be noted by changes in the violence or freshness of the breeze. In that
quarter of the ocean the trades blew with very little variation from the
south-east, though in general the Pacific Trades are from the
south-west.

Mark was delighted with the performances of the Neshamony. Bob gave a
good account of her qualities, and said he should not hesitate to make
sail in her for either of the continents, in a case of necessity.
Accustomed, as he had been of late, to the little Bridget, the pinnace
appeared a considerable craft to Mark, and he greatly exalted in this
acquisition. No seaman could hesitate about passing from the Reef to the
islands, at any time when it did not absolutely blow a gale, in a boat
of this size and of such qualities; and, even in a gale, it might be
possible to make pretty good weather of it. Away she now went, leaving
the Bridget moored in Snug Cove, to await their return. Of course, Mark
and Bob had much discourse, while running down before the wind that
night, in which each communicated to the other many things that still
remained to be said. Mark was never tired of asking questions about
Bridget; her looks, her smiles, her tears, her hopes, her fears, her
health,