222 THE WILD. 



come gliding up alongside, keeping hated company ! 

 Cleaving the phosphorescent sea, their bodies are invested 

 with an elfish light, and a bluish gleam traUs behind. 

 Nothing strikes more terror into the hearts of the poor 

 ship-bereft seamen than such uninvited companions. 

 They make no noise : as silently as ghosts they steal 

 along ; now disappearing for a few minutes ; then there 

 again ; throughout the dreary night they maintain their 

 vigil, filling the failing heart with auguries of death. 



What do they there? Ah! their horribly unerring 

 instinct has taught them that such an object too often 

 yields them the meal they are seeking. They sUently 

 demand the corpse that fatigue and suffering, exposure 

 and privation, are surely and swiftly preparing for them. 

 They well deem that by the morning light a sullen plunge 

 will ease the boat of the night's dead, and they are quite 

 ready to furnish the living grave. 



The following vivid picture, though given in a work of 

 fiction, is so manifestly drawn from the life, that I shall be 

 pardoned for citing it, the more because I have had some 

 opportunities of personally verifying this writer's oceanic 

 delineations, and have observed their remarkable truth- 

 fulness — 



" The night following our abandonment of the ship was 

 made memorable by a remarkable spectacle. Slumber- 

 ing in the bottom of the boat, Jarl and I were suddenly 

 awakened by Samoa. Starting, we beheld the ocean of a 

 pallid white colour, coruscating all over with tiny golden 

 sparkles. But the pervading hue of the water cast a 



