_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.
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