distance, and a white yacht was skipping like a frightened but rescued
bird afar off.

I do not know whether I had been terribly afraid or not. I was not
afraid of the sea itself, it was what Folks call my "native element,"
the place in which I was born, was natural to me, and I was native to
it.

But yes, I think I was afraid that the coming together of those fierce
waves might crush me as they met in their terrible strength. The noise
of such a meeting could be heard miles away. Ships have been in great
peril from them, and fish have often had the life beaten out of them in
such a sea.

Yet, naughty fellow that I was, no great harm came to me. As soon as I
saw my chance, head down I plunged, out of the harsh circle of the
storm.

Oh, the peacefulness and the restfulness of those quiet lower regions!
For far below, all strife of angry billow and raging storm was unknown,
and glad enough was I to reach my mother's side.

It may have been that my own plump sides were puffed out with the effort
I had made, and the storm's rough tossing, and my absence and the
direction I had taken all told my mother that something had gone hard
with me, and that I was glad to again be near her in the silent depths
of home. She floated with me close alongside, guided me to a restful
grove midst shimmering weeds that made a soft and silken couch, where in
the sweet stillness, lulled by the lap of gentle ripples against weed,
or shell, or bending sea-flowers, I glided off to dreamless slumber.