d on deck in the first watches of the night, during
the pleasant sailing in the trade-winds, between the Canary Islands and
the west coast of Africa, a part of the world that has always been
remembered by me for its beautiful climate. The light breeze caused
little more than a ripple on the water, which sparkled with millions of
phosphorescent lights, and the slow, easy motion of the vessel, with the
occasional groaning of the blocks and bulk-heads, as a stronger puff of
wind than usual caused an additional strain upon them, was like the
heave and swell of some leviathan lungs, while the graceful curve of the
studding-sails, spreading far out on each side, gave to the ship the
appearance of some vast animal, intent on a journey of mystery and
importance, and busy in thus muttering to itself a rehearsal of its
mission.

I preferred resting in the stern-boat, and watching the space around, to
breathing the close atmosphere of the badly-ventilated cabins, with
their odours of bilge-water and mouldy biscuit, or tossing about
restlessly in the narrow berth, to the disturbance and sometimes death
of vagrant cockroaches, who had trespassed under the blanket, and whose
number was legion.

In the surrounding water, one could trace the meteor course of some
monster of the deep, whose dive left behind a long brilliant stream of
fire like a rocket. Suddenly the ocean would apparently become alive
with these flashes of light, as a shoal of porpoises dashed into sight
with the velocity of a troop of wild horse, leaping and shying in their
merry race. They cross the brilliant wake of the ship, and, with a
regular wheel, like a squadron of cavalry, charge after her. The ten
knots per hour that the log has given as the gallant ship's speed, make
but little difference to these aquatic rovers. They open their line as
they near, and now they are under the stern; in a second they have
passed, in a few more are far on ahead, jumping about near the bows, and
taking each valley of the rolling sea in true sporting style. Then,
with another sweep, they dash down upon us, and, after inspecting the
ship for a minute, disappear with the same reckless speed, leaving two
or three outsiders, who, not getting a fair start, appear to ply whip
and spur to regain their position with the main body. The sea is then
doubly dark and mysterious.

The morning light would show the ocean covered with the beautiful little
Portuguese men-of-war (_Physalus