“We ought to make up our minds to dismiss as idle prejudices, or, at least, suspend as premature, any preconceived notion of what might, or what ought to, be the order of nature, and content ourselves with observing, as a plain matter of fact, what is.”—Sir J. Herschel, “Prelim. Disc.” page 79.

The fancies of men have peopled three of the four so-called elements, earth, air, water, and fire, with strange forms of life, and have even found in the salamander an inhabitant for the fourth. On land the centaur and the unicorn, in the air the dragon and the roc, in the water tritons and mermaids, may be named as instances among many of the fabulous creatures which have been not only imagined but believed in by men of old times. Although it may be doubted whether men have ever invented any absolutely imaginary forms of life, yet the possibility of combining known forms into imaginary, and even impossible, forms, must be admitted as an important element in any inquiry into the origin of ideas respecting such creatures as I have named. One need only look through an illuminated manuscript of the Middle Ages to recognize the readiness with which imaginary creatures can be formed by combining, or by exaggerating, the characteristics of known animals. Probably the combined knowledge and genius of all the greatest zoologists of our time would not suffice for the invention of an entirely new form of animal which yet should be zoologically possible; but to combine the qualities of several existent animals in a single one, or to conceive an animal with some peculiarity abnormally developed, is within the capacity of persons very little acquainted with zoology, nay, is perhaps far easier to such persons than it would be to an Owen, a Huxley, or a Darwin. In nearly every case, however, the purely imaginary being is to be recognized by the utter impossibility of its actual existence. If it be a winged man, arms and wings are both provided, but the pectoral muscles are left unchanged. A winged horse, in like manner, is provided with wings, without any means of working them. A centaur, as in the noble sculptures of Phidias, has the upper part of the trunk of a man superadded, not to the hind quarters of a horse or other quadruped, but to the entire trunk of such an animal, so that the abdomen of the human figure lies between the upper half of the human trunk and the corresponding part of the horse’s trunk, an arrangement anatomically preposterous. Without saying that every fabulous animal which was anatomically and zoologically possible, had a real antitype, exaggerated though the fabulous form may have been, we must yet admit that errors so gross marked the conception of all the really imaginary animals of antiquity, that any fabulous animal found to accord fairly well with zoological possibilities may be regarded, with extreme probability, as simply the exaggerated presentation of some really existent animal. The inventors of centaurs, winged and man-faced bulls, many-headed dogs, harpies, and so forth, were utterly unable to invent a possible new animal, save by the merest chance, the probability of which was so small that it may fairly be disregarded.

This view of the so-called fabulous animals of antiquity has been confirmed by the results of modern zoological research. The merman, zoologically possible (not in all details, of course, but generally), has found its antitype in the dugong and the manatee; the roc in the condor, or perhaps in those extinct species whose bones attest their monstrous proportions; the unicorn in the rhinoceros; even the dragon in the pterodactyl of the green-sand; while the centaur, the minotaur, the winged horse, and so forth, have become recognized as purely imaginary creatures, which had their origin simply in the fanciful combination of known forms, no existent creatures having even suggested these monstrosities.

It is not to be wondered at that the sea should have been more prolific in monstrosities and in forms whose real nature has been misunderstood. Land animals cannot long escape close observation. Even the most powerful and ferocious beasts must succumb in the long run to man, and in former ages, when the struggle was still undecided between some race of animals and savage man, individual specimens of the race must often have been killed, and the true appearance of the animal determined. Powerful winged animals might for a longer time remain comparatively mysterious creatures even to those whom they attacked, or whose flocks they ravaged. A mighty bird, or a pterodactylian creature (a late survivor of a race then fast dying out), might swoop down on his prey and disappear with it too swiftly to be made the subject of close scrutiny, still less of exact scientific observation. Yet the general characteristics even of such creatures would before long be known. From time to time the strange winged monster would be seen hovering over the places where his prey was to be found. Occasionally it would be possible to pierce one of the race with an arrow or a javelin; and thus, even in those remote periods when the savage progenitors of the present races of man had to carry on a difficult contest with animals now extinct or greatly reduced in power, it would become possible to determine accurately the nature of the winged enemy. But with sea creatures, monstrous, or otherwise, the case would be very different. To this day we remain ignorant of much that is hidden beneath the waves of the “hollow-sounding and mysterious main.” Of far the greater number of sea creatures, it may truly be said that we never see any specimens except by accident, and never obtain the body of any except by very rare accident. Those creatures of the deep sea which we are best acquainted with, are either those which are at once very numerous and very useful as food or in some other way, or else those which are very rapacious and thus expose themselves, by their attacks on men, to counter-attack and capture or destruction. In remote times, when men were less able to traverse the wide seas, when, on the one hand, attacks from great sea creatures were more apt to be successful, while, on the other, counter-attack was much more dangerous, still less would be known about the monsters of the deep. Seen only for a few moments as he seized his prey, and then sinking back into the depths, a sea monster would probably remain a mystery even to those who had witnessed his attack, while their imperfect account of what they had seen would be modified at each repetition of the story, until there would remain little by which the creature could be identified, even if at some subsequent period its true nature were recognized. We can readily understand, then, that among the fabulous creatures of antiquity, even of those which represented actually existent races incorrectly described, the most remarkable, and those zoologically the least intelligible, would be the monsters of the deep sea. We can also understand that even the accounts which originally corresponded best with the truth would have undergone modifications much more noteworthy than those affecting descriptions of land animals or winged creatures—simply because there would be small chance of any errors thus introduced being corrected by the study of freshly discovered specimens.

We may, perhaps, explain in this way the strange account given by Berosus of the creature which came up from the Red Sea, having the body of a fish but the front and head of a man. We may well believe that this animal was no other than a dugong, or halicore (a word signifying sea-maiden), a creature inhabiting the Indian Ocean to this day, and which might readily find its way into the Red Sea. But the account of the creature has been strangely altered from the original narrative, if at least the original narrative was correct. For, according to Berosus, the animal had two human feet which projected from each side of the tail; and, still stranger, it had a human voice and human language. “This strange monster sojourned among the rude people during the day, taking no food, but retiring to the sea again at night, and continued for some time teaching them the arts of civilized life.” A picture of this stranger is said to have been preserved at Babylon for many centuries. With a probable substratum of truth, the story in its latest form is as fabulous as Autolycus’s “ballad of a fish that appeared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathoms above water, and sang a ballad against the hard hearts of maids.”

It is singular, by the way, how commonly the power of speech, or at least of producing sounds resembling speech or musical notes, was attributed to the creature which imagination converted into a man-fish or woman-fish. Dugongs and manatees make a kind of lowing noise, which could scarcely be mistaken under ordinary conditions for the sound of the human voice. Yet, not only is this peculiarity ascribed to the mermaid and siren (the merman and triton having even the supposed power of blowing on conch-shells), but in more recent accounts of encounters with creatures presumably of the seal tribe and allied races, the same feature is to be noticed. The following account, quoted by Mr. Gosse from a narrative by Captain Weddell, the well-known geographer, is interesting for this reason amongst others. It also illustrates well the mixture of erroneous details (the offspring, doubtless, of an excited imagination) with the correct description of a sea creature actually seen:—“A boat’s crew were employed on Hall’s Island, when one of the crew, left to take care of some produce, saw an animal whose voice was musical. The sailor had lain down, and at ten o’clock he heard a noise resembling human cries, and as daylight in these latitudes never disappears at this season” (the Antarctic summer), “he rose and looked around, but, on seeing no person, returned to bed. Presently he heard the noise again; he rose a second time, but still saw nothing. Conceiving, however, the possibility of a boat being upset, and that some of the crew might be clinging to detached rocks, he walked along the beach a few steps and heard the noise more distinctly but in a musical strain. Upon searching around, he saw an object lying on a rock a dozen yards from the shore, at which he was somewhat frightened. The face and shoulders appeared of human form and of a reddish colour; over the shoulders hung long green hair; the tail resembled that of the seal, but the extremities of the arms he could not see distinctly. The creature continued to make a musical noise while he gazed about two minutes, and on perceiving him it disappeared in an instant. Immediately, when the man saw his officer, he told this wild tale, and to add weight to his testimony (being a Romanist) he made a cross on the sand, which he kissed, as making oath to the truth of his statement. When I saw him he told the story in so clear and positive a manner, making oath to its truth, that I concluded he must really have seen the animal he described, or that it must have been the effects of a disturbed imagination.”

In this story all is consistent with the belief that the sailor saw an animal belonging to the seal family (of a species unknown to him), except the green hair. But the hour was not very favourable to the discerning of colour, though daylight had not quite passed away, and as Gosse points out, since golden-yellow fur and black fur are found among Antarctic seals, the colours may be intermingled in some individuals, producing an olive-green tint, which, by contrast with the reddish skin, might be mistaken for a full green. Considering that the man had been roused from sleep and was somewhat frightened, he would not be likely to make very exact observations. It will be noticed that it was only at first that he mistook the sounds made by the creature for human cries; afterwards he heard only the same noise, but in a musical strain. Now with regard to the musical sounds said to have been uttered by this creature, and commonly attributed to creatures belonging to families closely allied to the seals, I do not know that any attempt has yet been made to show that these families possess the power of emitting sounds which can properly be described as musical. It is quite possible that the Romanist sailor’s ears were not very nice, and that any sound softer than a bellow seemed musical to him. Still, the idea suggests itself that possibly seals, like some other animals, possess a note not commonly used, but only as a signal to their mates, and never uttered when men or other animals are known to be near. It appears to me that this is rendered probable by the circumstance that seals are fond of music. Darwin refers to this in his treatise on Sexual Selection (published with his “Descent of Man”), and quotes a statement to the effect that the fondness of seals for music “was well known to the ancients, and is often taken advantage of by hunters to the present day.” The significance of this will be understood from Darwin’s remark immediately following, that “with all these animals, the males of which during the season of courtship incessantly produce musical notes or mere rhythmical sounds, we must believe that the females are able to appreciate them.”

The remark about the creature’s arms seems strongly to favour the belief that the sailor intended his narrative to be strictly truthful. Had he wished to excite the interest of his comrades by a marvellous story, he certainly would have described the creature as having well-developed human hands.

Less trustworthy by far seem some of the stories which have been told of animals resembling the mermaid of antiquity. It must always be remembered, however, that in all probability we know very few among the species of seals and allied races, and that some of these species may present, in certain respects and perhaps at a certain age, much closer resemblance to the human form than the sea-lion, seal, manatee, or dugong.

We cannot, for instance, attach much weight to the following story related by Hudson, the famous navigator:—“One of our company, looking overboard, saw a mermaid and calling up some of the company to see her, one more came up, and by that time she was come close to the ship’s side, looking earnestly on the men. A little after a sea came and overturned her. From the navel upward her back and breasts were like a woman’s, as they say that saw her; her body as big as one of us; her skin very white; and long hair hanging down behind, of colour black. In her going down they saw her tail, which was like the tail of a porpoise and speckled like a mackerel.” If Hudson himself had seen and thus described the creature it would have been possible to regard the story with some degree of credence; but his account of what Thomas Hilles and Robert Rayner, men about whose character for veracity we know nothing, said they saw, is of little weight. The skin very white, and long hair hanging down behind, are especially suspicious features of the narrative; and were probably introduced to dispose of the idea, which others of the crew may have advanced, that the creature was only some kind of seal after all. The female seal (Phoca Greenlandica is the pretty name of the animal) is not, however, like the male, tawny grey, but dusky white, or yellowish straw-colour, with a tawny tint on the back. The young alone could be called “very white.” They are so white in fact as scarcely to be distinguishable when lying on ice and snow, a circumstance which, as Darwin considers, serves as a protection for these little fellows.

The following story, quoted by Gosse from Dr. Robert Hamilton’s able “History of the Whales and Seals,” compares favourably in some respects with the last narrative:—“It was reported that a fishing-boat off the island of Yell, one of the Shetland group, had captured a mermaid by its getting entangled in the lines! The statement is, that the animal is about three feet long, the upper part of the body resembling the human, with protuberant mammÆ like a woman; the face, the forehead, and neck, were short, and resembling those of a monkey; the arms, which were small, were kept folded across the breast; the fingers were distinct, not webbed; a few stiff long bristles were on the top of the head, extending down to the shoulders, and these it could erect and depress at pleasure, something like a crest. The inferior part of the body was like a fish. The skin was smooth and of a grey colour. It offered no resistance, nor attempted to bite, but uttered a low, plaintive sound. The crew, six in number, took it within their boat; but superstition getting the better of curiosity, they carefully disentangled it from the lines and a hook which had accidentally fastened in the body, and returned it to its native element. It instantly dived, descending in a perpendicular direction.” “They had the animal for three hours within the boat; the body was without scales or hair; of a silvery grey colour above, and white below, like the human skin; no gills were observed, nor fins on the back or belly. The tail was like that of the dog-fish; the mammÆ were about as large as those of a woman; the mouth and lips were very distinct, and resembled the human.”

This account, if accepted in all its details, would certainly indicate that an animal of some species before unknown had been captured. But it is doubtful how much reliance can be placed on the description of the animal. Mr. Gosse, commenting upon the case, says that the fishermen cannot have been affected by fear in such sort that their imagination exaggerated the resemblance of the creature to the human form. “For the mermaid,” he says, “is not an object of terror to the fishermen; it is rather a welcome guest, and danger is to be apprehended only from its experiencing bad treatment.” But then this creature had not been treated as a specially welcome guest. The crew had captured it; and probably not without some degree of violence; for though it offered no resistance it uttered a plaintive cry. And that hook which “had accidentally fastened in the body” has a very suspicious look. If the animal could have given its own account of the capture, probably the hook would not have been found to have fastened in the body altogether by accident. Be this as it may, the fishermen were so far frightened that superstition got the better of curiosity; so that, as they were evidently very foolish fellows, their evidence is scarcely worth much. There are, however, only two points in their narrative which do not seem easily reconciled with the belief that they had captured a rather young female of a species closely allied to the common seal—the distinct unwebbed fingers and the small arms folded across the breast. Other points in their description suggest marked differences in degree from the usual characteristics of the female seal; but these two alone seem to differ absolutely in kind. Considering all the circumstances of the narrative, we may perhaps agree with Mr. Gosse to this extent, that, combined with other statements, the story induces a strong suspicion that the northern seas may hold forms of life as yet uncatalogued by science.

The stories which have been related about monstrous cuttle-fish have only been fabulous in regard to the dimensions which they have attributed to these creatures. Even in this respect it has been shown, quite recently, that some of the accounts formerly regarded as fabulous fell even short of the truth. Pliny relates, for instance, that the body of a monstrous cuttle-fish, of a kind known on the Spanish coast, weighed, when captured, 700 lbs., the head the same, the arms being 30 feet in length. The entire weight would probably have amounted to about 2000 lbs. But we shall presently see that this weight has been largely exceeded by modern specimens. It was, however, in the Middle Ages that the really fabulous cuttle-fish flourished—the gigantic kraken, “liker an island than an animal,” according to credulous Bishop Pontoppidan, and able to destroy in its mighty arms the largest galleons and war ships of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.

It is natural that animals really monstrous should be magnified by the fears of those who have seen or encountered them, and still further magnified afterwards by tradition. Some specimens of cuttle-fish which have been captured wholly, or in part, indicate that this creature sometimes attains such dimensions that but little magnifying would be needed to suggest even the tremendous proportions of the fabulous kraken. In 1861, the French war-steamer Alecton encountered a monstrous cuttle, on the surface of the sea, about 120 miles north-east of Teneriffe. The crew succeeded in slipping a noose round the body, but unfortunately the rope slipped, and, being arrested by the tail fin, pulled off the tail. This was hauled on board, and found to weigh over 40 lbs. From a drawing of the animal, the total length without the arms was estimated at 50 feet, and the weight at 4000 lbs., nearly twice the weight of Pliny’s monstrous cuttle-fish, long regarded as fabulous. In one respect this creature seems to have been imperfect, the two long arms usually possessed by cuttle-fish of the kind being wanting. Probably it had lost these long tentacles in a recent encounter with some sea enemy, perhaps one of its own species. Quite possibly it may have been such recent mutilation which exposed this cuttle-fish to successful attack by the crew of the Alecton.

A cuttle-fish of about the same dimensions was encountered by two fishermen in 1873, in Conception Bay, Newfoundland. When they attacked it, the creature threw its long arms across the boat, but the fishermen with an axe cut off these tentacles, on which the cephalopod withdrew in some haste. One of the arms was preserved, after it had lost about 6 feet of its length. Even thus reduced it measured 19 feet; and as the fishermen estimate that the arm was struck off about 10 feet from the body, it follows that the entire length of the limb must have been about 35 feet. They estimated the body at 60 feet in length and 5 feet in diameter—a monstrous creature! It was fortunate for these fishermen that they had an axe handy for its obtrusive tentacles, as with so great a mass and the great propulsive power possessed by all cephalopods, it might readily have upset their small boat. Once in the water, they would have been at the creature’s mercy—a quality which, by all accounts, the cuttle-fish does not possess to any remarkable extent.

Turn we, however, from the half fabulous woman-fish, and the exaggeratedly monstrous cuttle-fish, to the famous sea-serpent, held by many to be the most utterly fabulous of all fabled creatures, while a few, including some naturalists of distinction, stoutly maintain that the creature has a real existence, though whether it be rightly called a sea-serpent or not is a point about which even believers are extremely doubtful.

It may be well, in the first place, to remark that in weighing the evidence for and against the existence of this creature, and bearing on the question of its nature (if its existence be admitted), we ought not to be influenced by the manifest falsity of a number of stories relating to supposed encounters with this animal. It is probable that, but for these absurd stories, the well-authenticated narratives relating to the creature, whatever it may be, which has been called the sea-serpent, would have received much more attention than has heretofore been given to them. It is also possible that some narratives would have been published which have been kept back from the fear lest a truthful (though possibly mistaken) account should be classed with the undoubted untruths which have been told respecting the great sea-serpent. It cannot be denied that in the main the inventions and hoaxes about the sea-serpent have come chiefly from American sources. It is unfortunately supposed by too many of the less cultured sons of America that (to use Mr. Gosse’s expression) “there is somewhat of wit in gross exaggerations or hoaxing inventions.” Of course an American gentleman—using the word “in that sense in which every man may be a gentleman,” as Twemlow hath it—would as soon think of uttering a base coin as a deliberate untruth or foolish hoax. But it is thought clever, by not a few in America who know no better, to take any one in by an invention. Some, perhaps but a small number, of the newspapers set a specially bad example in this respect, giving room in their columns for pretended discoveries in various departments of science, elaborate accounts of newly discovered animals, living or extinct, and other untruths which would be regarded as very disgraceful indeed by English editors. Such was the famous “lunar hoax,” published in the New York Sun some forty years ago; such the narrative, in 1873, of a monstrous fissure which had been discerned in the body of the moon, and threatened to increase until the moon should be cloven into two unequal parts; such the fables which have from time to time appeared respecting the sea-serpent. But it would be as unreasonable to reject, because of these last-named fables, the narratives which have been related by quiet, truth-loving folk, and have borne close and careful scrutiny, as it would be to reject the evidence given by the spectroscope respecting the existence of iron and other metals in the sun because an absurd story had told how creatures in the moon had been observed to make use of metal utensils or to adorn the roofs of their temples with metallic imitations of wreathed flames.

The oldest accounts on record of the appearance of a great sea creature resembling a serpent are those quoted by Bishop Pontoppidan, in his description of the natural history of his native country, Norway. Amongst these was one confirmed by oath taken before a magistrate by two of the crew of a ship commanded by Captain de Ferry, of the Norwegian navy. The captain and eight men saw the animal, near Molde, in August, 1747. They described it as of the general form of a serpent, stretched on the surface in receding coils (meaning, probably, the shape assumed by the neck of a swan when the head is drawn back). The head, which resembled that of a horse, was raised two feet above the water.

In August, 1817, a large marine animal, supposed to be a serpent, was seen near Cape Ann, Massachusetts. Eleven witnesses of good reputation gave evidence on oath before magistrates. One of these magistrates had himself seen the creature, and corroborated the most important points of the evidence given by the eleven witnesses. The creature had the appearance of a serpent, dark brown in colour (some said mottled), with white under the head and neck. Its length was estimated at from 50 to 100 feet. The head was in shape like a serpent’s, but as large as a horse’s. No mane was noticed. Five of the witnesses deposed to protuberances on the back; four said the back was straight; the other two gave no opinion on this point. The magistrate who had seen the animal considered the appearance of protuberances was due to the bendings of the body while in rapid motion.

In 1848, when the captain of the British frigate DÆdalus had published an account of a similar animal seen by him and several of his officers and crew, the Hon. Colonel T.H. Perkins, of Boston, who had seen the animal on the occasion just mentioned in 1817, gave an account (copied from a letter written in 1820) of what he had witnessed. It is needless to quote those points which correspond with what has been already stated. Colonel Perkins noticed “an appearance in the front of the head like a single horn, about nine inches to a foot in length, shaped like a marlinspike, which will presently be explained. I left the place,” he proceeds, “fully satisfied that the reports in circulation, though differing in details, were essentially correct.” He relates how a person named Mansfield, “one of the most respectable inhabitants of the town, who had been such an unbeliever in the existence of this monster that he had not given himself the trouble to go from his house to the harbour when the report was first made,” saw the animal from a bank overlooking the harbour. Mr. Mansfield and his wife agreed in estimating the creature’s length at 100 feet. Several crews of coasting vessels saw the animal, in some instances within a few yards. “Captain Tappan,” proceeds Colonel Perkins, “a person well known to me, saw him with his head above water two or three feet, at times moving with great rapidity, at others slowly. He also saw what explained the appearance which I have described of a horn on the front of the head. This was doubtless what was observed by Captain Tappan to be the tongue, thrown in an upright position from the mouth, and having the appearance which I have given to it. One of the revenue cutters, whilst in the neighbourhood of Cape Ann, had an excellent view of him at a few yards’ distance; he moved slowly, and upon the appearance of the vessel sank and was seen no more.”

Fifteen years later, in May 1833, five British officers—Captain Sullivan, Lieutenants Maclachlan and Malcolm of the Rifle Brigade, Lieutenant Lyster of the Artillery, and Mr. Snee of the Ordnance—when cruising in a small yacht off Margaret’s Bay, not far from Halifax, “saw the head and neck of some denizen of the deep, precisely like those of a common snake, in the act of swimming, the head so elevated and thrown forward by the curve of the neck as to enable us to see the water under and beyond it.” They judged its length to exceed 80 feet. “There could be no mistake nor delusion, and we were all perfectly satisfied that we had been favoured with a view of the ‘true and veritable sea-serpent,’ which had been generally considered to have existed only in the brain of some Yankee skipper, and treated as a tale not entitled to belief.” Dowling, a man-of-war’s man they had along with them, made the following unscientific but noteworthy comment: “Well, I’ve sailed in all parts of the world, and have seen rum sights too in my time, but this is the queerest thing I ever see.” “And surely,” adds Captain Sullivan, “Jack Dowling was right.” The description of the animal agrees in all essential respects with previous accounts, but the head was estimated at about six feet in length—considerably larger, therefore, than a horse’s head.

But unquestionably the account of the sea-serpent which has commanded most attention was that given by the captain, officers, and crew of the British frigate DÆdalus, Captain M’QuhÆ, in 1848. The Times published on October 9, 1848, a paragraph stating that the sea-serpent had been seen by the captain and most of the officers and crew of this ship, on her passage home from the East Indies. The Admiralty inquired at once into the truth of the statement, and the following is abridged from Captain M’QuhÆ’s official reply, addressed to Admiral Sir W.H. Gage.

“Sir,—In reply to your letter, requiring information as to the truth of a statement published in the Times newspaper, of a sea-serpent of extraordinary dimensions having been seen from the DÆdalus, I have the honour to inform you that at 5 p.m., August 6 last, in latitude 24° 44´ S., longitude 9° 22´ E., the weather dark and cloudy, wind fresh from N.W., with long ocean swell from S.W., the ship on the port tack, heading N.E. by N., Mr. Sartoris, midshipman, reported to Lieutenant E. Drummond (with whom, and Mr. W. Barrett, the master, I was walking the quarter-deck) something very unusual rapidly approaching the ship from before the beam. The object was seen to be an enormous serpent, with head and shoulders kept about four feet constantly above the surface of the sea, as nearly as we could judge; at least 60 feet of the animal was on the surface, no part of which length was used, so far as we could see, in propelling the animal either by vertical or horizontal undulation. It passed quietly, but so closely under our lee quarter that, had it been a man of my acquaintance, I should easily have recognized his features with the naked eye. It did not, while visible, deviate from its course to the S.W., which it held on at the pace of from 12 to 15 miles per hour, as if on some determined purpose. The diameter of the serpent was from 15 to 16 inches behind the head, which was, without any doubt, that of a snake. Its colour was a dark brown, with yellowish white about the throat. It did not once, while within the range of view from our glasses, sink below the surface. It had no fins, but something like the mane of a horse, or rather a bunch of sea-weed, washed about its back. It was seen by the quarter-master, the boatswain’s mate, and the man at the wheel, in addition to myself and the officers above-mentioned. I am having a drawing of the serpent made from a sketch taken immediately after it was seen, which I hope to have ready for my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty by to-morrow’s post.—Peter M’QuhÆ, Captain.”

The drawing here mentioned was published in the Illustrated London News for October 28, 1848, being there described as made “under the supervision of Captain M’QuhÆ, and his approval of the authenticity of the details as to position and form.”

The correspondence and controversy elicited by the statement of Captain M’QuhÆ were exceedingly interesting. It is noteworthy, at the outset, that few, perhaps none, who had read the original statement, suggested the idea of illusion, while it need hardly perhaps be said that no one expressed the slightest doubt as to the bona fides of Captain M’QuhÆ and his fellow-witnesses. These points deserve attention, because, in recent times, the subject of the sea-serpent has been frequently mentioned in public journals and elsewhere as though no accounts of the creature had ever been given which had been entitled to credence. I proceed to summarise the correspondence which followed M’QuhÆ’s announcement. The full particulars will be found in Mr. Gosse’s interesting work, the “Romance of Natural History,” where, however, as it seems to me, the full force of the evidence is a little weakened, for all save naturalists, by the introduction of particulars not bearing directly on the questions at issue.

Among the earliest communications was one from Mr. J. D.M. Stirling, a gentleman who, during a long residence in Norway, had heard repeated accounts of the sea-serpent in Norwegian seas, and had himself seen a fish or reptile at a distance of a quarter of a mile, which, examined through a telescope, corresponded in appearance with the sea-serpent as usually described. This communication was chiefly interesting, however, as advancing the theory that the supposed sea-serpent is not a serpent at all, but a long-necked plesiosaurian. This idea had been advanced earlier, but without his knowledge, by Mr. E. Newman, the editor of the Zoologist. Let us briefly inquire into the circumstances which suggest the belief.

If we consider the usual account of the sea-serpent, we find one constant feature, which seems entirely inconsistent with the belief that the creature can be a serpent. The animal has always shown a large portion of its length, from 20 to 60 feet, above the surface of the water, and without any evident signs of undulation, either vertically or horizontally. Now, apart from all zoological evidence, our knowledge of physical laws will not permit us to believe that the portion thus visible above the surface was propelled by the undulations of a portion concealed below the surface, unless this latter portion largely exceeded the former in bulk. A true fish does not swim for any length of time with any but a very small portion of its body above water; probably large eels never show even a head or fin above water for more than a few seconds when not at rest. Cetaceans, owing to the layers of blubber which float them up, remain often for a long time with a portion of their bulk out of the water, and the larger sort often swim long distances with the head and fore-part out of water. But, even then, the greater part of the creature’s bulk is under water, and the driving apparatus, the anterior fins and the mighty tail, are constantly under water (when the animal is urging its way horizontally, be it understood). A sea creature, in fact, whatever its nature, which keeps any considerable volume of its body out of water constantly, while travelling a long distance, must of necessity have a much greater volume all the time under water, and must have its propelling apparatus under water. Moreover, if the propulsion is not effected by fins, paddles, a great flat tail, or these combined, but by the undulations of the animal’s own body, then the part out of water must of necessity be affected by these undulations, unless it is very small in volume and length compared with the part under water. I assert both these points as matters depending on physical laws, and without fear that the best-informed zoologist can adduce any instances to the contrary. It is in fact physically impossible that such instances should exist.

It would not be saying too much to assert that if the so-called sea-serpent were really a serpent, its entire length must be nearer 1000 than 100 feet. This, of course, is utterly incredible. We are, therefore, forced to the belief that the creature is not a serpent. If it were a long-necked reptile, with a concealed body much bulkier than the neck, the requirements of floatation would be satisfied; if to that body there were attached powerful paddles, the requirements of propulsion would be satisfied. The theory, then, suggested, first by Mr. Newman, later but independently by Mr. Stirling, and advocated since by several naturalists of repute, is simply that the so-called sea-serpent is a modern representative of the long-necked plesiosaurian reptile to which has been given the name of the enaliosaurus. Creatures of this kind prevailed in that era when what is called the lias was formed, a fossiliferous stratum belonging to the secondary or mesozoic rocks. They are not found in the later or tertiary rocks, and thereon an argument might be deduced against their possible existence in the present, or post-tertiary, period; but, as will presently be shown, this argument is far from being conclusive. The enaliosaurian reptiles were “extraordinary,” says Lyell, “for their number, size, and structure.” Like the ichthyosauri, or fish-lizards, the enaliosauri (or serpent-turtles, as they might almost be called) were carnivorous, their skeletons often enclosing the fossilized remains of half-digested fishes. They had extremely long necks, with heads very small compared with the body. They are supposed to have lived chiefly in narrow seas and estuaries, and to have breathed air like the modern whales and other aquatic mammals. Some of them were of formidable dimensions, though none of the skeletons yet discovered indicate a length of more than 35 feet. It is not, however, at all likely that the few skeletons known indicate the full size attained by these creatures. Probably, indeed, we have the remains of only a few out of many species, and some species existing in the mesozoic period may have as largely exceeded those whose skeletons have been found, as the boa-constrictor exceeds the common ringed snake. It is also altogether probable that in the struggle for existence during which the enaliosaurian reptiles have become almost extinct (according to the hypothesis we are considering), none but the largest and strongest had any chance, in which case the present representatives of the family would largely exceed in bulk their progenitors of the mesozoic period.

A writer in the Times of November 2, 1848, under the signature F.G.S., pointed out how many of the external characters of the creature seen from the DÆdalus corresponded with the belief that it was a long-necked plesiosaurus. “Geologists,” he said, “are agreed in the inference that the plesiosauri carried their necks, which must have resembled the bodies of serpents, above the water, while their propulsion was effected by large paddles working beneath, the short but stout tail acting the part of a rudder.... In the letter and drawing of Captain M’QuhÆ ... we have ... the short head, the serpent-like neck, carried several feet above the water. Even the bristly mane in certain parts of the back, so unlike anything found in serpents, has its analogue in the iguana, to which animal the plesiosaurus has been compared by some geologists. But I would most of all insist upon the peculiarity of the animal’s progression, which could only have been effected with the evenness and at the rate described by an apparatus of fins or paddles, not possessed by serpents, but existing in the highest perfection in the plesiosaurus.”

At this stage a very eminent naturalist entered the field—Professor Owen. He dwelt first on a certain characteristic of Captain M’QuhÆ’s letter which no student of science could fail to notice—the definite statement that the creature was so and so, where a scientific observer would simply have said that the creature presented such and such characteristics. “No sooner was the captain’s attention called to the object,” says Professor Owen, “than ‘it was discovered to be an enormous serpent,’” though in reality the true nature of the creature could not be determined even from the observations made during the whole time that it remained visible. Taking, however, “the more certain characters,” the “head with a convex, moderately capacious cranium, short, obtuse muzzle, gape not extending further than to beneath the eye, which (the eye) is rather small, round, filling closely the palpebral aperture” (that is, the eyelids fit closely25); “colour and surface as stated; nostrils indicated in the drawing by a crescentic mark at the end of the nose or muzzle. All these,” proceeds Owen, “are the characters of the head of a warm-blooded mammal, none of them those of a cold-blooded reptile or fish. Body long, dark brown, not undulating, without dorsal or other apparent fins, ‘but something like the mane of a horse, or rather a bunch of sea-weed, washed about its back.’” He infers that the creature had hair, showing only where longest on the back, and therefore that the animal was not a mammal of the whale species but rather a great seal. He then shows that the sea-elephant, or Phoca proboscidea, which attains the length of from 20 to 30 feet, was the most probable member of the seal family to be found about 300 miles from the western shore of the southern end of Africa, in latitude 24° 44´. Such a creature, accidentally carried from its natural domain by a floating iceberg, would have (after its iceberg had melted) to urge its way steadily southwards, as the supposed sea-serpent was doing; and probably the creature approached the DÆdalus to scan her “capabilities as a resting-place, as it paddled its long, stiff body past the ship.” “In so doing it would raise a head of the form and colour described and delineated by Captain M’QuhÆ”—its head only, be it remarked, corresponding with the captain’s description. The neck also would be of the right diameter. The thick neck, passing into an inflexible trunk, the longer and coarser hair on the upper part of which would give rise to the idea “explained by the similes above cited” (of a mane or bunch of sea-weed), the paddles would be out of sight; and the long eddy and wake created by the propelling action of the tail would account for the idea of a long serpentine body, at least for this idea occurring to one “looking at the strange phenomenon with a sea-serpent in his mind’s eye.” “It is very probable that not one on board the DÆdalus ever before beheld a gigantic seal freely swimming in the open ocean.” The excitement produced by the strange spectacle, and the recollection of “old Pontoppidan’s sea-serpent with the mane,” would suffice, Professor Owen considered, to account for the metamorphosis of a sea-elephant into a maned sea-serpent.

This was not the whole of Professor Owen’s argument; but it may be well to pause here, to consider the corrections immediately made by Captain M’QuhÆ; it may be noticed, first, that Professor Owen’s argument seems sufficiently to dispose of the belief that the creature really was a sea-serpent, or any cold-blooded reptile. And this view of the matter has been confirmed by later observations. But few, I imagine, can readily accept the belief that Captain M’QuhÆ and his officers had mistaken a sea-elephant for a creature such as they describe and picture. To begin with, although it might be probable enough that no one on board the DÆdalus had ever seen a gigantic seal freely swimming in the open ocean—a sight which Professor Owen himself had certainly never seen—yet we can hardly suppose they would not have known a sea-elephant under such circumstances. Even if they had never seen a sea-elephant at all, they would surely know what such an animal is like. No one could mistake a sea-elephant for any other living creature, even though his acquaintance with the animal were limited to museum specimens or pictures in books. The supposition that the entire animal, that is, its entire length, should be mistaken for 30 or 40 feet of the length of a serpentine neck, seems, in my judgment, as startling as the ingenious theory thrown out by some naturalists when they first heard of the giraffe—to the effect that some one of lively imagination had mistaken the entire body of a short-horned antelope for the neck of a much larger animal!

Captain M’QuhÆ immediately replied:—“I assert that neither was it a common seal nor a sea-elephant; its great length and its totally different physiognomy precluding the possibility of its being a Phoca of any species. The head was flat, and not a capacious vaulted cranium; nor had it a stiff, inflexible trunk—a conclusion to which Professor Owen has jumped, most certainly not justified by my simple statement, that ‘no portion of the 60 feet seen by us was used in propelling it through the water, either by vertical or horizontal undulation.’” He explained that the calculation of the creature’s length was made before, not after, the idea had been entertained that the animal was a serpent, and that he and his officers were “too well accustomed to judge of lengths and breadths of objects in the sea to mistake a real substance and an actual living body, coolly and dispassionately contemplated, at so short a distance too, for the ‘eddy caused by the action of the deeply immersed fins and tail of a rapidly moving, gigantic seal raising its head above the water,’ as Professor Owen imagines, in quest of its lost iceberg.” He next disposed of Owen’s assertion that the idea of clothing the serpent with a mane had been suggested by old Pontoppidan’s story, simply because he had never seen Pontoppidan’s account or heard of Pontoppidan’s sea-serpent, until he had told his own tale in London. Finally, he added, “I deny the existence of excitement, or the possibility of optical illusion. I adhere to the statement as to form, colour, and dimensions, contained in my report to the Admiralty.”

A narrative which appeared in the Times early in 1849 must be referred to in this place, as not being readily explicable by Professor Owen’s hypothesis. It was written by Mr. R. Davidson, superintending surgeon, Najpore Subsidiary Force Kamptee, and was to the following effect (I abridge it considerably):—When at a considerable distance south-west of the Cape of Good Hope, Mr. Davidson, Captain Petrie, of the Royal Saxon, a steerage passenger, and the man at the wheel, saw “an animal of which no more correct description could be given than that by Captain M’QuhÆ. It passed within 35 yards of the ship, without altering its course in the least; but as it came right abreast of us it slowly turned its head towards us.” About one-third of the upper part of its body was above water, “in nearly its whole length; and we could see the water curling up on its breast as it moved along, but by what means it moved we could not perceive.” They saw this creature in its whole length with the exception of a small portion of the tail which was under water; and by comparing its length with that of the Royal Saxon, 600 feet, when exactly alongside in passing, they calculated it to be in length as well as in other dimensions greater than the animal described by Captain M’QuhÆ.

In the year 1852 two statements were made, one by Captain Steele, 9th Lancers, the other by one of the officers of the ship Barham (India merchantman), to the effect that an animal of a serpentine appearance had been seen about 500 yards from that ship (in longitude 40° E. and 37° 16´ S., that is, east of the south-eastern corner of Africa). “We saw him,” said the former, “about 16 or 20 feet out of the water, and he spouted a long way from his head”—that is, I suppose, he spouted to some distance, not, as the words really imply, at a part of his neck far removed from the head. “Down his back he had a crest like a cock’s comb, and was going very slowly through the water, but left a wake of about 50 or 60 feet, as if dragging a long body after him. The captain put the ship off her course to run down to him, but as we approached him he went down. His colour was green with light spots. He was seen by every one on board.” The other witness gives a similar account, adding that the creature kept moving his head up and down, and was surrounded by hundreds of birds. “We at first thought it was a dead whale.... When we were within 100 yards he slowly sank into the depths of the sea; while we were at dinner he was seen again.” Mr. Alfred Newton, the well-known naturalist, guarantees his personal acquaintance with one of the recipients of the letters just quoted from. But such a guarantee is, of course, no sufficient guarantee of the authenticity of the narrative. Even if the narrative be accepted, the case seems a very doubtful one. The birds form a suspicious element in the story. Why should birds cluster around a living sea creature? It seems to me probable that the sea-weed theory, presently to be noticed, gives the best explanation of this case. Possibly some great aggregation of sea-weed was there, in which were entangled divers objects desirable to birds and to fishes. These last may have dragged the mass under water when the ship approached, being perhaps more or less entangled in it—and it floated up again afterwards. The spouting may have been simply the play of water over the part mistaken for the head.

The sea-weed theory of the sea-serpent was broached in February, 1849, and supported by a narrative not unlike the last. When the British ship Brazilian was becalmed almost exactly in the spot where M’QuhÆ had seen his monster, Mr. Herriman, the commander, perceived something right abeam, about half a mile to the westward, “stretched along the water to the length of about 25 or 30 feet, and perceptibly moving from the ship with a steady, sinuous motion. The head, which seemed to be lifted several feet above the waters, had something resembling a mane, running down to the floating portion, and within about 6 feet of the tail it forked out into a sort of double fin.” Mr. Herriman, his first mate, Mr. Long, and several of the passengers, after surveying the object for some time, came to the unanimous conclusion that it must be the sea-serpent seen by Captain M’QuhÆ. “As the Brazilian was making no headway, Mr. Herriman, determining to bring all doubts to an issue, had a boat lowered down, and taking two hands on board, together with Mr. Boyd, of Peterhead, near Aberdeen, one of the passengers, who acted as steersman under the direction of the captain, they approached the monster, Captain Herriman standing on the bow of the boat, armed with a harpoon to commence the onslaught. The combat, however, was not attended with the danger which those on board apprehended; for on coming close to the object it was found to be nothing more than an immense piece of sea-weed, evidently detached from a coral reef and drifting with the current, which sets constantly to the westward in this latitude, and which, together with the swell left by the subsidence of the gale, gave it the sinuous, snake-like motion.”

A statement was published by Captain Harrington in the Times of February, 1858, to the effect that from his ship Castilian, then distant ten miles from the north-east end of St. Helena, he and his officers had seen a huge marine animal within 20 yards of the ship; that it disappeared for about half a minute, and then made its appearance in the same manner again, showing distinctly its neck and head about 10 or 12 feet out of the water. “Its head was shaped like a long nun-buoy,” proceeds Captain Harrington, “and I suppose the diameter to have been 7 or 8 feet in the largest part, with a kind of scroll, or tuft, of loose skin encircling it about 2 feet from the top; the water was discoloured for several hundred feet from its head.... From what we saw from the deck, we conclude that it must have been over 200 feet long. The boatswain and several of the crew who observed it from the top-gallant forecastle,26 (query, cross-trees?) state that it was more than double the length of the ship, in which case it must have been 500 feet. Be that as it may, I am convinced that it belonged to the serpent tribe; it was of a dark colour about the head, and was covered with several white spots.”

This immediately called out a statement from Captain F. Smith, of the ship Pekin, that on December 28, not far from the place where the DÆdalus had encountered the supposed sea-serpent, he had seen, at a distance of about half a mile, a creature which was declared by all hands to be the great sea-serpent, but proved eventually to be a piece of gigantic sea-weed. “I have no doubt,” he says, that the great sea-serpent seen from the DÆdalus “was a piece of the same weed.”

It will have been noticed that the sea-weed sea-serpents, seen by Captain F. Smith and by Captain Herriman, were both at a distance of half a mile, at which distance one can readily understand that a piece of sea-weed might be mistaken for a living creature. This is rather different from the case of the DÆdalus sea-serpent, which passed so near that had it been a man of the captain’s acquaintance he could have recognized that man’s features with the naked eye. The case, too, of Captain Harrington’s sea-serpent, seen within 20 yards of the Castilian, can hardly be compared to those cases in which sea-weed, more than 800 yards from the ship, was mistaken for a living animal. An officer of the DÆdalus thus disposed of Captain Smith’s imputation:—“The object seen from the ship was beyond all question a living animal, moving rapidly through the water against a cross sea, and within five points of a fresh breeze, with such velocity that the water was surging against its chest as it passed along at a rate probably of ten miles per hour. Captain M’QuhÆ’s first impulse was to tack in pursuit, but he reflected that we could neither lay up for it nor overhaul it in speed. There was nothing to be done, therefore, but to observe it as accurately as we could with our glasses as it came up under our lee quarter and passed away to windward, being at its nearest position not more than 200 yards from us; the eye, the mouth, the nostril, the colour, and the form, all being most distinctly visible to us.... My impression was that it was rather of a lizard than a serpentine character, as its movement was steady and uniform, as if propelled by fins, not by any undulatory power.” But all the evidence heretofore obtained respecting the sea-serpent, although regarded by many naturalists, Gosse, Newman, Wilson, and others, as demonstrating the existence of some as yet unclassified monster of the deep, seems altogether indecisive by comparison with that which has recently been given by the captain, mates, and crew of the ship Pauline. In this case, assuredly, we have not to deal with a mass of sea-weed, the floating trunk of a tree, a sea-elephant hastening to his home amid the icebergs, or with any of the other more or less ingenious explanations of observations previously made. We have either the case of an actual living animal, monstrous, fierce, and carnivorous, or else the five men who deposed on oath to the stated facts devised the story between them, and wilfully perjured themselves for no conceivable purpose—that, too, not as men have been known to perjure themselves under the belief that none could know of their infamy, but with the certainty on the part of each that four others (any one of whom might one day shame him and the rest by confessing) knew the real facts of the case.

The story of the Pauline sea-serpent ran simply as follows, as attested at the Liverpool police-court:—“We, the undersigned, captain, officers, and crew of the bark Pauline, of London, do solemnly and sincerely declare, that on July 8, 1875, in latitude 5° 13´ S., longitude 35° W., we observed three large sperm whales, and one of them was gripped round the body with two turns of what appeared to be a huge serpent. The head and tail appeared to have a length beyond the coils of about 30 feet, and its girth 8 or 9 feet. The serpent whirled its victim round and round for about fifteen minutes, and then suddenly dragged the whale to the bottom, head first.—George Drevat, master; Horatio Thompson, chief mate; John H. Landells, second mate; William Lewarn, steward; Owen Baker, A.B. Again on the 13th July a similar serpent was seen about 200 yards off, shooting itself along the surface, head and neck being out of the water several feet. This was seen only by the captain and an ordinary seaman.—George Drevat. A few moments afterwards it was seen elevated some 60 feet perpendicularly in the air by the chief officer and two seamen, whose signatures are affixed.—Horatio Thompson, Owen Baker, William Lewarn.”

The usual length of the cachalot or sperm whale is about 70 feet, and its girth about 50 feet. If we assign to the unfortunate whale which was captured on this occasion, a length of only 50 feet, and a girth of only 35 feet, we should still have for the entire length of the supposed serpent about 100 feet. This can hardly exceed the truth, since the three whales are called large sperm whales. With a length of 100 feet and a girth of about 9 feet, however, a serpent would have no chance in an attempt to capture a sperm whale 50 feet long and 35 feet in girth, for the simple reason that the whale would be a good deal heavier than its opponent. In a contest in open sea, where one animal seeks to capture another bodily, weight is all-important. We can hardly suppose the whale could be so compassed by the coils of his enemy as to be rendered powerless; in fact, the contest lasted fifteen minutes, during the whole of which time the so-called serpent was whirling its victim round, though more massive than itself, through the water. On the whole, it seems reasonable to conclude—in fact, the opinion is almost forced upon us—that besides the serpentine portion of its bulk, which was revealed to view, the creature, thus whirling round a large sperm whale, had a massive concealed body, provided with propelling paddles of enormous power. These were at work all the time the struggle went on, enabling the creature to whirl round its enemy easily, whereas a serpentine form, with two-thirds of its length, at least, coiled close round another body, would have had no propulsive power left, or very little, in the remaining 30 feet of its length, including both the head and tail ends beyond the coils. Such a creature as an enaliosaurus could no doubt have done what a serpent of twice the supposed length would have attempted in vain—viz., dragged down into the depths of the sea the mighty bulk of a cachalot whale. When all the evidence is carefully weighed, we appear led to the conclusion that at least one large marine animal exists which has not as yet been classified among the known species of the present era. It would appear that this animal has certainly a serpentine neck, and a head small compared with its body, but large compared with the diameter of the neck. It is probably an air-breather and warm-blooded, and certainly carnivorous. Its propulsive power is great and apparently independent of undulations of its body, wherefore it presumably has powerful concealed paddles. All these circumstances correspond with the belief that it is a modern representative of the long-neck plesiosaurians of the great secondary or mesozoic era, a member of that strange family of animals whose figure has been compared to that which would be formed by drawing a serpent through the body of a sea-turtle.

Against this view sundry objections have been raised, which must now be briefly considered.

In the first place, Professor Owen pointed out that the sea-saurians of the secondary period have been replaced in the tertiary and present seas by the whales and allied races. No whales are found in the secondary strata, no saurians in the tertiary. “It seems to me less probable,” he says, “that no part of the carcase of such reptiles should have ever been discovered in a recent unfossilized state, than that men should have been deceived by a cursory view of a partly submerged and rapidly moving animal which might only be strange to themselves. In other words, I regard the negative evidence from the utter absence of any of the recent remains of great sea-serpents, krakens, or enaliosauria, as stronger against their actual existence, than the positive statements which have hitherto weighed with the public mind in favour of their existence. A larger body of evidence from eye-witnesses might be got together in proof of ghosts than of the sea-serpent.”

To this it has been replied that genera are now known to exist, as the ChimÆra, the long-necked river tortoise, and the iguana, which are closely related to forms which existed in the secondary era, while no traces have been found of them in any of the intermediate or tertiary strata. The chimÆra is a case precisely analogous to the supposed case of the enaliosaurus, for the chimÆra is but rarely seen, like the supposed enaliosaurus, is found in the same and absent from the same fossiliferous strata. Agassiz is quoted in the Zoologist, page 2395, as saying that it would be in precise conformity with analogy that such an animal as the enaliosaurus should exist in the American seas, as he had found numerous instances in which the fossil forms of the Old World were represented by living types in the New. In close conformity with this opinion is a statement made by Captain the Hon. George Hope, that when in the British ship Fly, in the Gulf of California, the sea being perfectly calm and transparent, he saw at the bottom a large marine animal, with the head and general figure of an alligator, but the neck much longer, and with four large paddles instead of legs. Here, then, unless this officer was altogether deceived, which seems quite unlikely under the circumstances, was a veritable enaliosaurus, though of a far smaller species, probably, than the creature mistaken for a sea-serpent.

As for the absence of remains, Mr. Darwin has pointed out that the fossils we possess are but fragments accidentally preserved by favouring circumstances in an almost total wreck. We have many instances of existent creatures, even such as would have a far better chance of floating after death, and so getting stranded where their bones might be found, which have left no trace of their existence. A whale possessing two dorsal fins was said to have been seen by Smaltz, a Sicilian naturalist; but the statement was rejected, until a shoal of these whales were seen by two eminent French zoologists, MM. Quoy and Gaimard. No carcase, skeleton, or bone of this whale has ever been discovered. For seventeen hours a ship, in which Mr. Gosse was travelling to Jamaica, was surrounded by a species of whale never before noticed—30 feet long, black above and white beneath, with swimming paws white on the upper surface. Here, he says, was “a whale of large size, occurring in great numbers in the North Atlantic, which on no other occasion has fallen under scientific observation. The toothless whale of Havre, a species actually inhabiting the British Channel, is only known from a single specimen accidentally stranded on the French coast; and another whale, also British, is known only from a single specimen cast ashore on the Elgin roast, and there seen and described by the naturalist Sowerby.

Dr. Andrew Wilson, in an interesting paper, in which he maintains that sea-serpent tales are not to be treated with derision, but are worthy of serious consideration, “supported as they are by zoological science, and in the actual details of the case by evidence as trustworthy in many cases as that received in our courts of law,” expresses the opinion that plesiosauri and ichthyosauri have been unnecessarily disinterred to do duty for the sea-serpents. But he offers as an alternative only the ribbon-fish; and though some of these may attain enormous dimensions, yet we have seen that some of the accounts of the supposed sea-serpent, and especially the latest narrative by the captain and crew of the Pauline, cannot possibly be explained by any creature so flat and relatively so feeble as the ribbon-fish.

On the whole, it appears to me that a very strong case has been made out for the enaliosaurian, or serpent-turtle, theory of the so-called sea-serpent.

One of the ribbon-fish mentioned by Dr. Wilson, which was captured, and measured more than 60 feet in length, might however fairly take its place among strange sea creatures. I scarcely know whether to add to the number a monstrous animal like a tadpole, or even more perhaps like a gigantic skate, 200 feet in length, said to have been seen in the Malacca Straits by Captain Webster and Surgeon Anderson, of the ship Nestor. Perhaps, indeed, this monster, mistaken in the first instance for a shoal, but presently found to be travelling along at the rate of about ten knots an hour, better deserves to be called a strange sea creature even than any of those which have been dealt with in the preceding pages. But the only account I have yet seen of Captain Webster’s statement, and Mr. Anderson’s corroboration, appeared in an American newspaper; and though the story is exceedingly well authenticated if the newspaper account of the matter is true, it would not be at all a new feature in American journalism if not only the story itself, but all the alleged circumstances of its narration, should in the long run prove to be pure invention.