At midnight a tremendous sea struck her, and for a minute you could not see the yacht at all, as she was completely enveloped in spray and foam.  Tom said it was just like being behind the falls of Niagara, with the water coming over you from every quarter at once.  It was only loose stuff, however, for not a green sea did she take on board the whole night through.  Our old engineer, who has been with us so long, made up his mind that we had struck on a rock, and woke up all the servants and told them to go on deck.  I never felt anything like it before, and the shock sent half of us out of our beds.

Monday, January 29th.—­At four o’clock I was called to go on deck to see the burning mountain.  The wind was still blowing hard, but we were among the islands, and in comparatively smooth water.  The full moon still rode high in the heavens, her light being reflected in rainbow hues from the spray and foam that drifted along the surface of the water.  On every side were islands and rocks, among which the sea boiled, and seethed, and swirled, while the roaring breakers dashed against the higher cliffs, casting great columns of spray into the air, and falling back in heavy rollers and surf.  Just before us rose the island of Vries, with its cone-shaped volcano, 2,600 feet high, emitting volumes of smoke and flame.  It was overhung by a cloud of white vapour, on the under side of which shone the lurid glare of the fires of the crater.  Sometimes this cloud simply floated over the top of the mountain, from which it was quite detached; then there would be a fresh eruption; and after a few moments’ quiet, great tongues of flame would shoot up and pierce through the overhanging cloud to the heavens above, while the molten lava rose like a fountain for a short distance, and then ran down the sides of the mountain.  It was wondrously beautiful; and, as a defence against the intense cold, we wrapped ourselves in furs, and stayed on deck watching the scene, until the sun rose glorious from the sea, and shone upon the snow-covered sides of Fujiyama, called by the Japanese ’the matchless mountain.’  It is an extinct crater, of the most perfect form, rising abruptly from a chain of very low mountains, so that it stands in unrivalled magnificence.  This morning covered with the fresh-fallen snow, there was not a spot nor a fleck to be seen upon it, from top to bottom.  It is said to be the youngest mountain in the world, the enormous mass having been thrown up in the course of a few days only 862 years B.C.

We reached the entrance to the Gulf of Yeddo about nine o’clock, and passed between its shores through hundreds of junks and fishing boats.  I never saw anything like it before.  The water was simply covered with them; and at a distance it looked as though it would be impossible to force a passage.  As it was, we could not proceed very fast, so constantly were the orders to ‘slow,’ ‘stop,’ ‘port,’ ‘starboard,’ given; and I began at last to fear that it would be impossible to reach Yokohama without running down at least one boat.