THE VOYAGE. 5 
across the Caribbean Sea to Santa Marta, after the 
tumblings and buffetings that would have been 
good traiming for an acrobat, endured betwixt 
England and St. Thomas, seemed to me the 
very perfection of sea-travelling. Although a 
most enjoyable passage, still it became mono- 
tonous: one tires of old threadbare jokes and 
yarns, and wearies even of gazing day after day 
into the clear blue sea, each day appearing the 
very counterpart of the other. 
Sluggish lump-fish, with their uncouth heads 
and misshapen bodies, continually wriggle slowly 
and idly along with us; sun-fish, in their parti- 
coloured armour, float by, ever performing ec- 
centric undulations. Now a stiff black fin 
cleaves the water suspiciously, leaving a wake 
behind, as would a miniature ship—the danger- 
signal of a greedy shark; huge leaves of kelp, 
wrack, and sea-tangle drift by, rafts to myriads 
of crustaceans and minute zoophytes; the rudder 
creaks and groans to the music of its iron chains, 
clanking over the friction-rollers, as the helms- 
man turns the wheel; sea-birds peep at us, then 
wheel away to be seen no more; whilst ever 
following are the ‘Chickens of Mother Carey,’ 
dipping, but never resting, on the ripple at the 
stern. 
