The captain was
very much displeased, and I regretted extremely that a foolish wish
of mine should have caused so much annoyance, and felt it my duty to
endeavor to alleviate the boy's sufferings as much as possible. Poor
Frederic! he was laid up three or four days, and had experienced
enough to caution him against ever again attempting to _capture_ a
'Portuguese man-of-war.'[1]
[Footnote 1: The ancients are said to have derived the art of
navigation from these animals, which, in calm weather, are seen
floating on the surface of the water, with some of their tentacula
extended at their sides, while two arms that are furnished with
membranaceous appendages serve the office of sails. These animals
raise themselves to the surface of the sea, by ejecting the
sea-water from their shells; and on the approach of danger, they
draw their arms, and with them a quantity of water, which occasions
them to sink immediately. By possessing this power, they are but
rarely taken perfect, as the instant they are disturbed they
disappear. They are more frequently caught in the nets of fishermen
than any other way, or found left dry on rocks.]
"I used to sit by his hammock for hours talking and reading to him;
when one day, as I closed my book to leave him, he said with a sigh,
while tears filled his eyes, 'I am very grateful to you, madam, for
your kindness to me: you have been a friend when I most needed one;
how my dear mother would love you if she knew what you had done for
her boy.
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