CHAPTER V


Rolling, tumbling, splashing, foaming water as far as the eye
could reach in every direction. A desolate waste, full of life,
movement and colour, extending to the bleak horizon and like a
vast ploughed field cut up into long and high liquid ridges, all
scurrying in one direction in serried ranks and with incredible
speed as if pursued by a fearful and unseen enemy. Serenely yet
boisterously, gracefully yet resistlessly, the endless waves
passed on--some small, others monstrous, with fleecy white combs
rushing down their green sides like toy Niagaras and with a
seething, boiling sound as when flame touches water. They went by
in a stately, never ending procession, going nowhere, coming from
nowhere, but full of dignity and importance, their breasts heaving
with suppressed rage because there was nothing in their path that
they might destroy. The dancing, leaping water reflected every
shade and tint--now a rich green, then a deep blue and again a
dirty gray as the sun hid for a moment behind a cloud, and as a
gust of wind caught the top of the combers decapitating them at
one mad rush, the spray was dashed high in the air, flashing out
all the prismatic colours. Here and yonder, the white caps rose,
disappeared and came again, and the waves grew and then diminished
in size. Then others rose, towering, became larger, majestic,
terrible; the milk-like comb rose proudly, soared a brief moment,
then fell ignominiously, and the wave diminished passed on
humiliated. Over head, a few scattered cirrus clouds flitted
lazily across the blue dome of heaven, while a dozen Mother Carey
chickens screamed hoarsely as they circled in the air. The strong
and steady western breeze bore on its powerful pinions the sweet