104 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 corpses 

 which its accomplice, the atrocious and iniquitous sea, will soon 

 deliver up to its mercies. 



Such are the fables of fear. Less panic-stricken minds would see 

 in the poor bird another ship in distress, an imprudent navigator, 

 which has also been surprised far from shore and without an asylum. 

 Our vessel is for him an island, where he would fain repose. The 

 track of the barque, which rides through both wind and wave, is in 

 itself a refuge, a succour against fatigue. Incessantly, with nimble 

 flight, he places the rampart of the vessel between himself and the 

 tempest. Timid and short-sighted, you see it only when it brings 

 the night. Like ourselves, it dreads the storm it trembles with 

 fear it would fain escape and like you, seaman, it sighs, "What 

 will become of my little ones ?" 



But the black hour passes, day reappears, and I see a small blue 

 point in the heaven. Happy and serene region, which has rested in 

 peace far above the hurricane ! In that blue point, and at an elevation 

 of ten thousand feet, royally floats a little bird with enormous pens. 

 A gull ? No ; its wings are black. An eagle ? No ; the bird is too 

 small. 



It is the little ocean-eagle, first and chief of the winged race, the 

 daring navigator who never furls his sails, the lord of the tempest, 

 the scorner of all peril the man-of-war or frigate-bird. 



We have reached the culminating point of the series commenced 

 by the wingless bird. Here we have a bird which is virtually nothing 

 more than wings : scarcely any body barely as large as that of the 

 domestic cock while his prodigious pinions are fifteen feet in span. 

 The great problem of flight is solved and overpassed, for the power of 

 flight seems useless. Such a bird, naturally sustained by such sup- 

 ports, need but allow himself to be borne along. The storm bursts ; 

 he mounts to lofty heights, where he finds tranquillity. The poetic 



