OCEAN PLAINS 



103 



flections are innumerable, utterly impossible of 

 recording; and yet always astonishing with 

 each new manifestation. 



The light that lies in foam is not eclipsed 

 when the sun goes under a cloud. It is still 

 very white; and even at midnight, with no 

 moon or stars, the break of the wave is dis- 

 tinctly seen as a pale flash in the darkness. 

 Every one who has experienced a heavy storm 

 at sea will not forget the ghostly gleam of the 

 white caps in the night and the great dash of 

 white waves up and over the ship's bow. The 

 darkest night with clouds will not completely 

 eclipse the light of the wave crest. 



Up from the foam of the wave is flung the 

 spray of the wave. The thin cap is tossed in 

 air by the lateral thrust of the wave base 

 and is scattered into tiny drops that flash in 

 the sunlight. The brightness of this spray is, 

 again, dazzling. It seems like liquid light 

 flung skyward from some subterranean foun- 

 tain. Even as it flashes it seems to disappear 

 in water dust, to be blown to pieces by the 

 winds, and drifted aft as a mist. When it 

 reaches the proper angle, and is struck by the 

 sun anew, the mist turns into a rainbow. It 

 is only a little bow — an amusing little arch — 

 that we watch with perhaps a languid interest. 



Wave crests 

 at night. 



Spray 



Rainbows. 



