86 THE CALL OF THE SEA 



of a Steam-boiler. Suddenly the wind fell to a 

 dead calm ; not a breath fanned us ; not a leaf 

 stirred ; the rain-drops glittered on the pale-green 

 velvet of the ragged and ever-twittering but now 

 motionless leaves of the plantain, like silver 

 globules frozen there ; the reports of the guns 

 grew sharper in the lull, the cries shriller, and the 

 general tumult and uproar of the conflict swelled 

 fearfully; while the white smoke rose up, shrouding 

 the vessels and entire cove from my sight. 



The clouds above us, surcharged with fire and 

 water, formed a leaden-coloured arch over the 

 entrance to the cove that spanned the uproar 

 of dark white-crested waves, boiling and rolling in 

 smoky wreaths and lancing out ragged shreds from 

 their lower edges, that shot down and shortened 

 like a fringe of streamers, from which the forked 

 lightning " crankled " out every now and then clear 

 and bright. 



A column of dense black smoke, thickly starred 

 with red sparks, now boiled up past the edge of 

 the cliff under me ; presently it became streaked 

 with tongues of bright hissing flame, which ran up 

 the rigging, diverging along every rope as if it had 

 been a galvanic wire, twisting serpent-like round 

 the Mosca!s masts and higher spars, and licking 

 the wet furled sails like boa-constrictors fitting their 

 prey to be devoured. See how the fire insinuates 

 itself into the dry creases of the canvas, driving 



