'TTHE FRIGATE BIRD. 107 
a danger and an embarrassment. To raise himself he needs a strong 
wind and a lofty station, a promontory, a rock. Surprised on a 
sandy level, on the banks, the low reefs where he sometimes halts, 
the frigate-bird is defenceless; in vain he threatens, he strikes, for a 
blow from a stick will overcome him. 
At sea, those vast wings, of such admirable utility in ascent, are 
ill-fitted for skimming the surface of the water. When wetted, they 
may over-weight and sink him. And thereupon, woe to the bird! 
‘He belongs to the fishes, he nourishes the mean tribes on which he 
had relied for his own behoof; the game eats the hunter, the ensnarer 
is ensnared. 
And yet, what shall he do? His food lies in the waters. He is 
ever compelled to draw near them, to return to them, to skim in- 
cessantly the hateful and prolific sea which threatens to engulf him. 
Thus, then, this being so well-armed, winged, superior to all 
others in power of flight and vision as in daring, leads but a trem- 
bling and precarious life. He would die of hunger had he not the 
industry to create for himself a purveyor, whom he cheats of his food. 
His ignoble resource, alas, is to attack a dull and timorous bird, the 
noddy, famous as a fisher. The frigate-bird, which is of no larger 
dimensions, pursues him, strikes him on the neck with his beak, and 
constrains him to yield up his prey. All these incidents transpire in 
the air; before the fish can fall, he catches it on its passage. 
If this resource fail, he does not shrink from attacking man. 
“On landing at Ascension Island,” says a traveller, “we were assailed 
by some frigate-birds. One tried to snatch a fish out of my very 
hand. Others alighted on the copper where the meat was being 
cooked to carry it off, without taking any notice of the sailors who 
were around it.” 
Dampier saw some of these birds, sick, aged, or crippled, perched 
upon the rocks which seemed their sanatorium, levying contributions 
upon the young noddies, their vassals, and nourishing themselves on 
the results of their fishing. But in the vigour of their prime they do 
not rest on earth; living like the clouds, constantly floating on their 
