We were all well satisfied with the prospect of a cruise among
the Indian Isles, and therefore welcomed the Captain’s decision.
At sunset, on the 14th, we made land ahead, at a considerable
distance. As the passage required careful navigation, on account
of its abundant reefs, we stood off and on until the next morning.
Passing the North and North-west Rocks, the mountainous
island of Buswagon, or Camelianes, opened to the south
and east, its lofty hills, and deep, picturesque valleys clothed in
eternal green. The rocky islets which bristled between us and
its shores exhibited the most striking peculiarities of form and
structure. Some shot upwards like needles or obelisks from the dark-blue sea; others rose in heavy masses, like the turrets
or bastions of a fortress, crowned with tufts of shrubbery. The
rock of which they were formed was of a dark slate color, in
vertical strata, which appeared to have been violently broken
off at the top, bearing a strong resemblance to columnar basalt.
Buswagon stretched along, point beyond point, for a distance
of forty or fifty miles. The land rose with a long, gentle slope
from the beaches of white sand, and in the distance stood the
vapory peaks of high mountains. We sailed slowly along the
outer edge of the islets, to which the larger island made a
warm, rich background. The air was deliciously mild and pure,
the sea smooth as glass, and the sky as fair as if it had never
been darkened by a storm. Except the occasional gambols of
the bonitas, or the sparkle of a flying-fish as he leaped into the
sun, there was no sign of life on these beautiful waters.

Towards noon the gentle south-east breeze died away; and
we lay with motionless sails upon the gleaming sea. The sun
hung over the mast-head and poured down a warm tropical languor,
which seemed to melt the very marrow in one’s bones.
For four hours we lay becalmed, when a light ripple stole along
from the horizon, and we saw the footsteps of the welcome
breeze long before we felt it. Gradually increasing, it bore us
smoothly and noiselessly away from Buswagon and the rocky
towers and obelisks, and at sunset we saw the phantomlike hills
of the southern point of the island of Mindoro, forty miles
distant. The night was filled with the glory of the full moon
—a golden tropical radiance, nearly as lustrous, and far more
soft and balmy, than the light of day—a mystic, enamored
bridal of the sea and sky. The breeze was so gentle as to be
felt, and no more; the ship slid as silently through the water as if her keel were muffled in silk; and the sense of repose in
motion was so sweet, so grateful to my travel-wearied senses,
that I remained on deck until midnight, steeped in a bath of
pure indolent happiness.

Our voyage the next day was still more delightful. From
dawn until dark we went slowly loitering past the lovely islands
that gem those remote seas, until the last of them sank astern
in the flush of sunset. Nothing can be more beautiful than
their cones of never-fading verdure, draped to the very edge
of the waves, except where some retreating cove shows its
beach of snow-white sand. On the larger ones are woody valleys,
folded between the hills, and opening upon long slopes,
overgrown with the cocoa-palm, the mango, and many a strange
and beautiful tree of the tropics. The light, lazy clouds, suffused
with a crimson flush of heat, that floated slowly through
the upper heavens, cast shifting shadows upon the masses of
foliage, and deepened, here and there, the dark-purple hue of
the sea. Retreating behind one another until they grew dim
and soft as clouds on the horizon, and girdled by the most
tranquil of oceans, these islands were real embodiments of the
joyous fancy of Tennyson, in his dream of the Indies, in
“Locksley Hall.” Here, although the trader comes, and the
flags of the nations of far continents sometimes droop in the
motionless air—here are still the heavy-blossomed bowers and
the heavy-fruited trees, the summer isles of Eden in their purple
spheres of sea. The breeze fell nearly to a calm at noon
day, but our vessel still moved noiselessly southward, and island
after island faded from green to violet, and from violet to the
dim, pale blue that finally blends with the air.

The next day was most taken up with calms. The captain and mates spent much of their time in shifting the sails so as to
get the most of the faint wind-flaws that reached us, watching
for distant ripple-lines on the ocean, or whistling over the rail.
In the afternoon land was descried ahead—the Cagayanes
Islands, a little group in the middle of the Sooloo Sea. We
passed between them about four o’clock, and had a fair view
on either hand. The shores are smooth walls of perpendicular
rock, about a hundred feet in height, and almost completely
hidden under a curtain of rich vegetation. Here and there the
rock falls away, leaving little beaches of sand, behind which rise
thick forests of cocoa or palm. I could distinguish with the
glass half a dozen bamboo huts on the shore. A few boats
were drawn up on the beach. The islands looked so lovely as
we passed them, in the soft lustre of sunset, that I longed for
a day of calm, to go ashore where so few Europeans have ever
set foot, and have a glance at the primitive barbarism of the
natives. The sea still remained as smooth as a mountain lake.
We saw great quantities of drift-wood, upon which boobies and
cormorants perched in companies of two and three, and watched
for fish as they drifted lazily along. In the neighborhood of
the islands we frequently saw striped snakes, four or five feet
in length.

The lofty coast of Mindanao, one of the largest of the
Philippine Islands, was visible at sunrise, on the 19th. Before
long Basilan appeared in the south-east, and by noon we were
in the mouth of the strait. The observation gave Lat. 7°3′N.,
Long. 121° E. Two vessels were descried ahead, a ship and a
brig, both lying close in to Mindanao, and apparently becalmed.
In fact, we could easily trace a belt of calm water near the shore, caused by the high hills of the island, which prevented
the southern breeze from “blowing home.”
Four or five small islands—the commencement of the Soo
loo Archipelago—lie to the westward of Basilan. The strait
is from six to eight miles wide at its narrowest part, and tolerably
free from dangerous points. To the north, the hills of
Mindanao, completely mantled with forests, rise grandly to the
height of near two thousand feet. The shore presents an almost
impenetrable array of cocoa palms. There were two or three
cleared spaces on the hills, and as we entered further into the
strait, we could see with the glass not only some native huts,
but the houses of Spanish residents on the shore. Still further,
at the head of a little bight, and protected by a level
island of palms, we saw the Spanish settlement of Sambooangan.
There were several large two-story houses, and a white
chapel, before which lay half a dozen small craft at anchor.
A native proa put out from the shore, some distance ahead of
us, and we at first thought she was making for us with a load
of fruit. As she came nearer she hoisted a huge yellow flag,
with a red ornamental border, and some large red characters in
Chinese. There were six persons on board, and he who
appeared to be the leader wore a yellow robe. The boat had
an outrigger on each side, and was propelled by paddles and a
light canvas sail. She came near us, but to our disappointment
dropped astern and passed over to Basilan.

The latter island is remarkably picturesque in its appearance,
its long, wavy slopes of foliage shooting into tall conical
peaks. In passing through the strait, these piles of eternal
vegetation on either hand have an enchanting effect. I took
sketches of both islands, which preserved their outlines, but could not give the least idea of their richness and beauty. We
had a light westerly wind, with the tide in our favor, and just
as the moon arose like a globe of gold, passed the eastern mouth
of the strait and entered the Sea of Celebes.