Tuesday, Nov. 25th, when at daylight we saw the island of
Juan Fernandez, directly ahead, rising like a deep blue cloud out
of the sea. We were then probably nearly seventy miles from it;
and so high and so blue did it appear, that I mistook it for a cloud,
resting over the island, and looked for the island under it, until it
gradually turned to a deader and greener color, and I could mark the
inequalities upon its surface. At length we could distinguish trees
and rocks; and by the afternoon, this beautiful island lay fairly
before us, and we directed our course to the only harbor. Arriving at
the entrance soon after sun-down, we found a Chilian man-of-war brig,
the only vessel, coming out. She hailed us, and an officer on board,
whom we supposed to be an American, advised us to run in before night,
and said that they were bound to Valparaiso. We ran immediately for
the anchorage, but, owing to the winds which drew about the mountains
and came to us in flaws from every point of the compass, we did not
come to an anchor until nearly midnight. We had a boat ahead all the
time that we were working in, and those aboard were continually bracing
the yards about for every puff that struck us, until about 12 o'clock,
when we came-to in 40 fathoms water, and our anchor struck bottom
for the first time since we left Boston--one hundred and three days.
We were then divided into three watches, and thus stood out the remainder
of the night.

I was called on deck to stand my watch at about three in the morning,
and I shall never forget the peculiar sensation which I experienced
on finding myself once more surrounded by land, feeling the night
breeze coming from off shore, and hearing the frogs and crickets.
The mountains seemed almost to hang over us, and apparently from the
very heart there came out, at regular intervals, a loud echoing sound,