represented as sailing, when it expands two of its arms on high, and
between these supports a membrane which serves as a sail, hanging the
two other arms out of its shell, to serve as oars, the office of
steerage being generally served by the tail.

The shell of the Nautilus being exceedingly thin and fragile, the
tenant has many enemies, and among others the Trochus who makes war on
it with unrelenting fury. Pursued by this cruel foe, it ascends to the
top of the water, spreads its little sail to catch the flying breeze,
and rowing with all its might, scuds along, like a galley in
miniature, and often escapes its more cumbrous pursuer. Sometimes,
however, all will not do, the Trochus nears and nears, and escape
appears impossible; but when the little animal, with inexplicable
ingenuity, suddenly and secretly extricates itself from its tortuous
and fragile dwelling, the Trochus immediately turns to other prey. The
Nautilus then returns to tenant and repair its little bark; but it too
often happens, that before he can regain it, it is by a species of
shipwreck, dashed to pieces on the shore. Thus wretchedly situated,
this hero of the testaceous tribe seeks some obscure corner "where to
die," but which seldom, if ever, happens, until after he has made
extraordinary exertions to establish himself anew. What a fine picture
of virtue nobly struggling with misfortune.[8]

When the sea is calm, whole fleets of these Nautili may be seen
diverting themselves; but when a storm rises, or they are disturbed,
they draw in their legs, take in as much water as makes them
specifically heavier, than that in which they float, and then sink to
the bottom. When they rise again they void this water by numerous
holes, of which their legs are full. The other species of Nautilus,
whose shell is thick, never quits that habitation. The shells of both