he bar at
the mouth of D'Urban harbor, spread our sails, and fled away before a fair
wind toward the north end of Madagascar, meaning to leave it on the
starboard bow and so fetch "L'Ile Maurice, ancienne Ile de France," as it
is still fondly styled. The fair wind had freshened to a gale a day or two
later, and bowled us along before it, and we had made a rapid and
prosperous voyage so far. Sunny days and cold, clear, starry nights had
come and gone amid the intense and wonderful loveliness of these strange
seas. Not a sail had we passed, not a gull had been seen, scarcely a
porpoise. But now this radiant Easter Sunday morning finds us almost
becalmed on the eastern side of Mauritius, with what air is stirring dead
ahead, but only coming in a cat's-paw now and then. Except for one's
natural impatience to drop anchor it would have been no penance to loiter
on such a day, and so make it a memory which would stand out for ever in
bold relief amid the monotony of life. "A study of color" indeed--a study
in wonderful harmonies of vivid blues and opalesque pinks, amethysts and
greens, indigoes and lakes, all the gem-like tints breaking up into
sparkling fragments every moment, to reset themselves the next instant in
a new and exquisite combination. The tiny island at once impresses me with
a respectful admiration. What nonsense is this the geography-books state,
and I have repeated, about Mauritius being the same size as the Isle of
Wight? Absurd! Here is a bold range of volcanic-looking mountains rising
up grand and clear against the beautiful background of a summer sky, on
whose slopes and in whose valleys, green down to the water's edge, lie
fertile stretches of cultivation. We are not near enough to see whether
the pale shimmer of the young vegetation is due to grass or waving
cane-tops. Bold ravines are cut sharply down the mountainous sides and
lighted up by the silvery glint of rushing water, and the breakers, for
all the mirror-like calm of the sea out here, a couple of miles from
shore, are beating the barrier rocks and dashing their snow aloft with a
dull thud which strikes on the ear in mesmeric rhythm. Yes, it is quite
the fairest scene one need wish to rest wave-worn and eager eyes upon, and
it is still more beautiful if you look over the vessel's side. The sea is
of a Mediterranean blue, and is literally alive with fish beneath, and
lovely sea-creatures floating upon, the sunlit water. It appears as if one
could s