In the daytime, especially as the ship drew nearer to the meridian of the Cape, there was more life in, on, and about the ocean; and on passing the Island of Tristan da Cunha, which the Nancy Bell sailed by some three hundred miles to the northward, Master Maurice Negus was greeted with the sight of a sperm-whale.
This fellow was much smaller than the black-fish which had come to such an untimely end when assailed by the thresher, being scarcely longer than thirty-two feet. Maurice was especially credited with the cetacean’s discovery, because, when he noticed the spout of spray the animal threw up from his blow-holes in the distance, he surprised everybody by calling out that he could see one of the Crystal Palace fountains—getting much laughed at, as might have been expected, for the naïve announcement.
As those on board watched, they could see the whale every now and then heave himself out of the water, half the length of his long dark body, and fall “flop” down again, with a concussion that sent up the water around him in white surf, like breakers. After this little diversion, he amused himself with swimming backwards and forwards past the ship, as if just showing what he could do, at a great rate; exposing only a thin streak of his back and the fin and tail, but making the sea boil up as if a plough were going through it, and leaving a wake behind him like that of a paddle-wheel steamer—finally starting off suddenly due north, as if he had all at once recollected an appointment in that direction, when he soon disappeared from sight.
The flying-fish and dolphins, bonetas and sharks, like the “Portuguese men-of-war,” were long since all left behind; but their places were taken by the albatross, the Cape pigeon, the shearwater, and a sea-bird called the “parson,” dozens of which flew about the ship every day.
The shearwater was a larger species of tern, or sea-swallow; the “parson,” so called for his sombre appearance and sedate manner, was a kind of sable gull about the size of an English crow. His colour, however, was not black, but a dusky brownish black, as if the reverend gentleman’s coat had got rusty from wear. These birds had a very odd, “undertakerish” air about them, which amused Maurice and Florry very much, and some having venerable white heads, which appeared as if powdered with flour, like a footman’s for a party, were so much more eccentric looking, that even the grave Mrs Major Negus could not help smiling at their appearance and queer ways.
“Do look, papa!” exclaimed Kate—who during the voyage would at one time be in the highest spirits, and the next pensive, as if occupied by a world of thought—“I declare if that one isn’t the very image of Mr Trotter, our curate at Allington! He has the same little tuft of hair on top on his head; and, besides, he has the identical same way of popping it on one side when he used to speak, and staring at you with his little round eyes. Is he not like Mr Trotter, father?” and she pointed out one especially jaunty little “parson” to his notice.
“Well, there is a little resemblance, certainly,” said Mr Meldrum, joining in Florry’s laughter at the remark. “I don’t suppose, though, my dear, we’ll ever see poor Mr Trotter or Allington again.”
“Dear old Allington!” murmured Kate with a sigh; and, in a moment, her memory flew back to the past, with all its sad associations.
The Cape pigeons were the prettiest of all the birds that visited the ship, being very like the common wood pigeon in the shape of their head and bill, but having webbed feet to suit their aquatic habits. They were much plumper, too, than either the shearwaters or parsons—which latter, by the way, unlike the fat cleric of popular opinion, were of very slender and delicate proportions.
In the matter of plumage, the Cape pigeons were white and downy, with the head and wings striped with brown like butterflies, a large species of which they strongly resembled when flying away from the ship, with their pinions spread.