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I think that up to that moment I had never experienced such a thrill as passed

through me when I realized that I was navigating these historic waters. The

lifelong dreams that I never had dared hope to see fulfilled were at last a reality--

but under what forlorn circumstances!

Never could I return to my native land. To the end of my days I must remain in

exile. Yet even these thoughts failed to dampen my ardor.

My eyes scanned the waters. To the north I could see the rockbound coast of

Cornwall. Mine were the first American eyes to rest upon it for more than two

hundred years. In vain, I searched for some sign of ancient commerce that, if

history is to be believed, must have dotted the bosom of the Channel with white

sails and blackened the heavens with the smoke of countless funnels, but as far

as eye could reach the tossing waters of the Channel were empty and deserted.

Toward midnight the wind and sea abated, so that shortly after dawn I

determined to make inshore in an attempt to effect a landing, for we were sadly in

need of fresh water and food.

According to my observations, we were just off Ram Head, and it was my

intention to enter Plymouth Bay and visit Plymouth. From my map it appeared

that this city lay back from the coast a short distance, and there was another city

given as Devonport, which appeared to lie at the mouth of the river Tamar.

However, I knew that it would make little difference which city we entered, as the

English people were famed of old for their hospitality toward visiting mariners. As

we approached the mouth of the bay I looked for the fishing craft which I

expected to see emerging thus early in the day for their labors. But even after we

rounded Ram Head and were well within the waters of the bay I saw no vessel.

Neither was there buoy nor light nor any other mark to show larger ships the

channel, and I wondered much at this.

The coast was densely overgrown, nor was any building or sign of man apparent

from the water. Up the bay and into the River Tamar we motored through a

solitude as unbroken as that which rested upon the waters of the Channel. For

all we could see, there was no indication that man had ever set his foot upon this

silent coast.

I was nonplused, and then, for the first time, there crept over me an intuition of

the truth.

Here was no sign of war. As far as this portion of the Devon coast was concerned,

that seemed to have been over for many years, but neither were there any people.

Yet I could not find it within myself to believe that I should find no inhabitants in

The Lost Continent