::::":;3g: WAVES OF THE SEA as:::::::: 



called to us, their wild laughter ringing out above the 

 whistle of the wind through the rigging. 



When at last we left behind the zone of winter, the 

 breeze came softened by the balminess which a north- 

 ern sojourner never knows. 



Vessels built by human hands had been few and 

 far between, but now we passed a real ship of the sea. 



LIVING PORTUGUESE MAN u-\SAK, BEACHED 



a tiny galleon of crystal, which floated by, drifting 

 before the wind, silent as the Flying Dutchman. 



We were the only ones who hailed it — perhaps the 

 only ones who could call its name — a Portuguese 

 ... — <4 3 ^ 



