But to many a seasick passenger it was good to see the green hills again, and all were more cheerful after this episode than anybody could have expected them to be, considering how sinfully early they had gotten up.
But we had to change our purpose about San Miguel, for a storm came up about noon that so tossed and pitched the vessel that common sense dictated a run for shelter.

Therefore we steered for the nearest island of the group--Fayal (the people there pronounce it Fy-all, and put the accent on the first syllable).

We anchored in the open roadstead of Horta, half a mile from the shore.

The town has eight thousand to ten thousand inhabitants.

Its snow-white houses nestle cosily in a sea of fresh green vegetation, and no village could look prettier or more attractive.