Let us make sure then, lest Jack's theory regarding the lumbers of the
sea-hawk be not mythical in the mirror of our own incredulity.

That the bird can take rest in the air is perfectly certain. It may be
seen--as the crew of the _Catamaran_ saw it--suspended on outspread
wing, without any perceptible motion except in its tail; the long,
forked feathers of which could be observed opening and closing at
intervals; according to the sailor's simile, like the blades of a pair
of scissors. But this motion might be merely muscular, and compatible
with a state of slumber or unconscious repose. At all events, the bird
has been seen to keep its place in the air for many minutes at a time,
with no other motion observable than that of the long and
gracefully-forking feathers of its tail.

A fish sleeps suspended in the water without any apparent effort. Why
not certain birds in the air, whose body is many times lighter than that
of a fish, and whose skeleton is constructed with air vessels to buoy
them up into the azure fields of the sky? The sea-hawk may seldom
require what is ordinarily termed rest. Its smooth, graceful flight
upon wings, which, though slender, are of immense length,--often often
feet spread,--shows that it is, perhaps, as much at ease in the air as
if perched upon the bough of a tree; and it is certain that its claws
never clasp branch, nor do its feet find rest on any other object, for
weeks and months together.

It is true that while fishing near the shore it usually retires to roost
at night; but afar over the ocean it keeps all night upon the wing. It
does not, like many other ocean-birds,--as the booby, one of its own
genus,--seek rest upon the spars of ships, though it often hovers above
the mastheads of sailing vessels, as if taking delight in this
situation, and not unfrequently seizes in its beak, and tearing away the
pieces of coloured cloth fixed upon the vane.

A curious anecdote is told of a frigate-bird taken while thus
occupied,--its captor being a man who had swarmed up to the masthead and
seized it in his hand. As this individual chanced to be a landsman,
serving temporarily on board the ship, and being remarkably tall and
slender, the crew of the vessel would never have it otherwise, than that
the bird, accustomed only to the figure of a sailor, had mistaken its
captor for a spare spar, and thus fallen a victim to its want of
discernment!

Strictly speaking, the frigate-bird do