8 o’clock, P. M. The cold sun has just set; and our barometer has fallen to 29.44—lower than it has been since we left Norfolk. It has never yet deceived us, and if true now, we shall have a stormy night. But let it come—
The earth will on its glowing axle roll
Though billows howl and tempests shake the pole.
Friday, Feb. 6. Our barometer vaticinated correctly last evening. The storm which it predicted came punctually as an executioner to his condemned culprit. It lasted through the greater part of the night, and left us with a heavy head-sea. Going on deck this morning I found it extremely difficult to preserve my balance, and brought up in the scuppers, though I have been on sea-legs between fifteen and twenty years.
A long line was floated astern this morning, with hook and bait, for an albatros. Several of these noble birds were sailing in our wake. One of them took the hook, and as he was drawn slowly towards the ship his female companion followed close at his side. When lifted in she looked up with an expression of anxiety and bereavement that would not dishonor the wife of his captor in a reverse of circumstances. We found in his shape some resemblance to the wild-goose, but much larger in head and body, and with a longer wing. The hook had not injured him, and though his wings, which measured twelve feet between their tips, were pinioned, he walked the deck with a proud defiant air. His large eye flashed with indignation and menace. His beak was armed with a strong hook like that of the falcon, his plumage was white as the driven snow, and the down on his neck soft as moonlight melting over the verge of an evening cloud.
He was captured by one of our passengers, who now proposed to kill him for the sake of his wings. But the sailors, who always associate something sacred with this bird, interfered. They predicted nothing but head winds, storms, and misfortunes if he should be killed; and unlocking his wings, gave him a toss over the ship’s side into his own wild element. His consort, who had followed the ship closely during his captivity, received him with outstretched wings. She sailed around him as he lighted, and in her caressing joy, threw her soft neck now over this wing and now over that. In a few moments they were cradled side by side, and he was telling her, I doubt not, of the savage beings he had been among, and of his narrow escape.
Live on ye bright-eyed pair; the deep
Is yours, each crested wave shall keep
Its vigils o’er your cradled sleep.