28 THE NAUTILUS. 



Of San Martin a few words' description must suffice. Roughly it 

 is a round conical island, three miles in diameter, with two peaks, 

 the higher a typical extinct volcano rising 471 ft., with an almost 

 perfectly regular crater about 250 ft. in diameter, and between 75 and 

 100 ft. deep. The island is a solid mass of very hard volcanic rock 

 with frequent small caves evidently blow-holes covered imper- 

 fectly where reasonably level by a thin soil which supports a mod- 

 erately abundant vegetation in which various species of cactus are 

 very plentiful. Up the slopes are great slides of loose rock, and 

 owing to the cacti and the roughness of the way, the climb of a little 

 over a mile to the top proved a very serious undertaking. 



On the north side of the island a moderately level space, covering 

 between 500 and 1,000 acres, is occupied by rookeries, mostly of 

 pelicans and cormorants. The birds were most of them just begin- 

 ning to fly, and a rough estimate convinced us that there were cer- 

 tainly some millions of them. We spent the greater part of one day 

 watching them. The young cormorants waddled to the bluffs, spread 

 their wings evidently for their first trial, and sailed or flew awk- 

 wardly into the ocean. There they were perfectly at home and 

 could not be distinguished from the old birds, swimming and diving 

 with perfect ease. But the pelicans had a harder time. They could 

 fly very well indeed, but like the Irishman " had a divil of a toime 

 loighting." Starting from some slight elevation they would sail 

 away majestically, managing their great wings and bodies remark- 

 ably well. After a turn of one or two hundred yards they would 

 light without slowing up perceptibly, come down with a thud that we 

 could hear a hundred yards away ; turn two or three somersaults, 

 and straighten up with the same appearance of surprise and offended 

 dignity which we have all seen drunken men assume when suffering 

 from similar mishaps. We actually laughed till we cried, and it was 

 hours past our dinner time before we could agree unanimously to 

 start for the boat. 



Running easterly at a tangent from the southerly edge of the 

 island for nearly 1000 yards is the so-called breakwater, a nearly 

 straight line of enormous beach-worn boulders arranged like some 

 huge artificial jetty. The acute angle has filled in with sand over a 

 space of about fifty acres. In the bight there is safe anchorage 

 except in a northeast storm. At two places dips in the breakwater 

 bring it below high tide level, one opposite the little harbor, and the 



