126 



THE OPAL SEA 



Spume and 

 water dust. 



cannot sustain it, and it lets go with a crash, 

 pitching forward in a long whirl of white. 



Upon the backs of these great waves are 

 many smaller waves, thousands of broken f acet- 

 ings of light, ruffles, rips, and tears in the 

 transparent mantle; and after the first or sec- 

 ond day there will be patches and broken 

 wreaths of spume — battered and beaten water 

 dust — hanging along the waves or rolling from 

 ridge to hollow in an aimless and lifeless way. 

 When the wind reaches hurricane force the sea 

 surface is half-hidden by its own spray. Sheets 

 of water are continually lifted from the high 

 ridges by the wind, blown to fine rain, and 

 driven with a whistle through the rigging of 

 the ship. This spray is mingled tempestuously 

 with the moisture of the clouds; for though it 

 may not rain there are usually clouds, lying 

 low down over the ocean, the under parts of 

 which are wrenched away and hurled through 

 the air as flying scud. 



Seen from the cross-trees of a ship — the 

 cross-trees where you cling and swing back- 

 ward and forward over the water as the ship 

 plunges with an awkward stumble or rights 

 with a violent snap — a stormy sea is a sight 

 to be remembered. There is no far view ob- 

 tainable. The blend of spray and cloud rack 



Flying 

 scud. 



A stormy 

 ten from 

 the ship's 

 cross-trees. 



