A flock of night-jars (_Cometornis vexillarius_), which on no other occasion come out by day, soared above us in the gale, like birds of evil omen.

Our black crew became sea-sick and unable to sit up or keep the boat's head to the sea.

The natives and our land party stood on the high cliffs looking at us and exclaiming, as the waves seemed to swallow up the boat, "They are lost! they are all dead!" When at last the gale moderated and we got safely ashore, they saluted us warmly, as after a long absence.

From this time we trusted implicitly to the opinions of our seaman, John Neil, who, having been a fisherman on the coast of Ireland, understood boating on a stormy coast, and by his advice we often sat cowering on the land for days together waiting for the surf to go down.

He had never seen such waves before.