. The bird . n the tempest breaks they deign tofold their wings. Far from this : it is then that they set forth. Thestorm is their harvest time ; the more terrible the sea, so much theless easily can the fish escape from these daring fishers. In the Bayof Biscay, where the ocean-swell, driven from the north-west, after THE FRIGATE BIRD. 103 traversing the Atlantic, arrives in mighty billows, swollen to enor-mous heights, with a terrific clash and shock, the tranquil petrelslabour imper-turbably. I saw them, says M. de Quatrefages, describe in the air a thousand curves, plunge between two waves
. The bird . n the tempest breaks they deign tofold their wings. Far from this : it is then that they set forth. Thestorm is their harvest time ; the more terrible the sea, so much theless easily can the fish escape from these daring fishers. In the Bayof Biscay, where the ocean-swell, driven from the north-west, after THE FRIGATE BIRD. 103 traversing the Atlantic, arrives in mighty billows, swollen to enor-mous heights, with a terrific clash and shock, the tranquil petrelslabour imper-turbably. I saw them, says M. de Quatrefages, describe in the air a thousand curves, plunge between two waves,reappear with a fish. Swiftest when they followed the wind, slowestwhen they confronted it, they nevertheless poised always with thesame ease, and never appeared to give a stroke of the wing the morethan in the calmest weather. And yet the billows mounted up theslopes, like cataracts reversed, as high as the platform of Notre Dame,and their spray liigher than Montmartie. They did not apjiear moremoved by Man has not their philosophy. The seaman is powerfully affectedwhen, at the decline of day, a sudden night darkening over the sea, hedescries, hovering about his barque, an ominous little pigeon, a birdof funereal black. Black is not the fitting word ; Ijlack would beless gloomy : the true tint is that of a smoky-brown, which camiotbe defined. It is a shadow of hell, an evil vision, which strides alongthe waters, bieasts the billows, crushes under its feet the tempest. Thestormy petrel (or St. Peter) is the horror of the seaman, who sees in 101 TRIUMPH OF THE WING. it, according to his belief, a living curse. Whence does it come ?How is it able to rise at such enormous distances from all land ?What wills it ? What does it come in quest of, if not of a wreck ?It sweeps to and fro impatiently, and already selects the corpseswhich its accomplice, the atrocious and iniquitous sea, will soondeliver up to its mercies. Such are the fables of fear. Less panic-stricken minds would
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