Two active volcanoes, 10,000 and 16,000 feet in height, rose above the confused jagged ranges of the lower mountains, piercing the blue sky with sharp white triangles of eternal snow, and drawing the purple shadows of evening around their feet.  The high bold coast did not appear, in that clear atmosphere, to be fifteen miles away, and it seemed to have risen suddenly like a beautiful mirage out of the sea.  In less than five minutes the grey curtain of mist dropped slowly down again over the magnificent picture, and it faded gradually from sight, leaving us almost in doubt whether it had been a reality, or only a bright deceptive vision.  We are enveloped now, as we have been nearly all day, in a thick clammy fog.

  HARBOUR OP PETROPAVLOVSK, KAMCHATKA.
  August 19, 1865.

At dark last night we were distant, as we supposed, about fifteen miles from Cape Povorotnoi (po-vo-rote’-noi) and as the fog had closed in again denser than ever, the captain dared not venture any nearer.  The ship was accordingly put about, and we stood off and on all night, waiting for sunrise and a clear atmosphere, to enable us to approach the coast in safety.  At five o’clock I was on deck.  The fog was colder and denser than ever, and out of it rolled the white-capped waves raised by a fresh south-easterly breeze.  Shortly before six o’clock it began to grow light, the brig was headed for the land, and under foresail, jib, and topsails, began to forge steadily through the water.  The captain, glass in hand, anxiously paced the quarterdeck, ever and anon reconnoitring the horizon, and casting a glance up to windward to see if there were any prospect of better weather.  Several times he was upon the point of putting the ship about, fearing to run on a lee shore in that impenetrable mist; but it finally lightened up, the fog disappeared, and the horizon line came out clear and distinct.  To our utter astonishment, not a foot of land could be seen in any direction!  The long range of blue mountains which had seemed the previous night to be within an hour’s sail—­the lofty snowy peaks—­the deep gorges and the bold headlands, had all

  “—­melted into thin air,
  Leaving not a rack behind.”

There was nothing to indicate the existence of land within a thousand miles, save the number and variety of the birds that wheeled curiously around our wake, or flew away with a spattering noise from under our bows.  Many were the theories which were suggested to account for the sudden disappearance of the high bold land.  The captain attempted to explain it by the supposition that a strong current, sweeping off shore, had during the night carried us away to the south-east.  Bush accused the mate of being asleep on his watch, and letting the ship run over the land, while the mate declared solemnly that he did not believe that there had been any land there at all; that it was only a mirage.  The Major said it was “paganni” (abominable) and “a curious thing,” but did not volunteer any solution of the problem.  So there we were.