The naturalist who has occasion to make a voyage over the warmer
regions of the ocean, is continually delighted by the sight of
numberless forms of animals, principally of the lower invertebrate
classes, which either habitually swim at the surface of the sea, or
come thither at intervals to enjoy the stimulus of the atmospheric air.
Many of these are exceedingly curious and interesting; many totally
unlike any forms that occur on the shores of temperate countries; many
elegant in contour, and adorned with brilliant colours. Perhaps there
is scarcely any that takes a stronger hold on the fancy, certainly none
is more familiar, than a little thing that he daily marks floating in
the sunlit waves, as the ship glides swiftly by, which the sailors
tell him is the Portuguese man-of-war.[123] Perhaps a dead calm has
settled over the sea; and the observer, as he leans over the bulwarks
of the ship, has opportunities of scrutinizing the ocean-rover at
leisure, as it lazily rises and falls on the long sluggish heavings of
the glassy surface. Then he sees that the comparison of the stranger to
a ship is a felicitous one; for, at a little distance it might well be
mistaken for a child’s mimic ship, shining in all the gaudy painting in
which it came out of the toy-shop; and he is ready to pity the forlorn
urchin in tunic and knickerbockers, whose cherished boat has broken her
moorings of thread, and drifted with winds and tides far, far out of
reach of land.
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