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The wave was retreating, but another again overwhelmed him, detaching him from the point with its foamy churning, making him leave in the stony crevices bits of the skin of his hands, his breast, and his knees. The oceanic suction seemed dragging him down in spite of his desperate strokes. "It's no use!
From the top shelf in the pantry they brought forth the company preserves; fruit cake was unearthed from the big stone crock in the dining-room closet; and, as a final touch to the feast, Jane beat up a foamy omelet and a prune whip. In their enjoyment they were like a group of children, an undercurrent of delight in the forbidden tinging their mirth.
How it had got afloat upon the sea is more than I can tell you. There it was, at all events, rolling on the tumultuous billows, which tossed it up and down, and heaved their foamy tops against its sides, but without ever throwing their spray over the brim. "I have seen many giants, in my time," thought Hercules, "but never one that would need to drink his wine out of a cup like this!"
Philip kept as near the incoming waves as his inland-bred horse would endure, and sang, shouted, and hallooed to them as welcome as English waves; but Aime de Selinville had never even beheld the sea before: and even when the tide was still in the distance, was filled with nervous terror as each rushing fall sounded nearer; and, when the line of white foamy crests became more plainly visible, he was impelled to hurry on towards the steeple so fast that the guide shouted to him that he would only bury himself in a quicksand.
Every turn of the road, every bend and rapid of the river, the great bowlders by the wayside, the watering-troughs, the giant pine that had been struck by lightning, the mysterious covered bridge over the river where it was, most swift and rocky and foamy, the chance eagle in the blue sky, the sense of going somewhere, why, as I recall all these things I feel that even the Prince Imperial, as he used to dash on horseback through the Bois de Boulogne, with fifty mounted hussars clattering at his heels, and crowds of people cheering, could not have been as happy as was I, a boy in short jacket and shorter pantaloons, trudging in the dust that day behind the steers and colts, cracking my black-stock whip.
It looked to be absolutely motionless, and yet it was a waterfall, from whose foamy base little clouds of steam floated upward or were wafted aside by the wisps of wind. Deerfoot refrained from using the instrument until he had done all he could with his unaided vision. His reason for this was his wish to place himself in the same situation as the Assiniboine party.
They looked and saw the billowy sea, With its boundless rush of water's free, Belting the firm earth, far and wide, With the flow of its deep, untainted tide; And wondering viewed, in its clear blue flood, A quick and scaly-glancing brood, Sporting innumerous in the deep With dart, and plunge, and airy leap; And said, "Full sure a GOD doth reign King of this watery, wide domain, And rides in a car of cerulean hue O'er bounding billows of green and blue; And in one hand a three-pronged spear He holds, the sceptre of his fear, And with the other shakes the reins Of his steeds, with foamy, flowing manes, And coures o'er the brine; And when he lifts his trident mace, Broad Ocean crisps his darkling face, And mutters wrath divine; The big waves rush with hissing crest, And beat the shore with ample breast, And shake the toppling cliff: A wrathful god has roused the wave Vain is all pilot's skill to save, And lo! a deep, black-throated grave Ingulfs the reeling skiff."
Its amber water, black in the deep channel above the fall, dividing into several small streams, slips with a plunge of, it may be, six feet over the granite rocks, into a broad, deep pool, round which tall pines stand, and over which two or three delicate-leaved white-birches lean, from which basin the waters plunge in the final foamy rush of thirty or forty feet over the irregularly broken ledge which makes the bold shore of the lake.
I fear that when I try to approach the land the waves will throw me against the cliffs, and should I try to find a safe landing-place by swimming, the surf may carry me back into the wild sea, where some sea-monster will swallow me up. Whatever I may do, I see no help for me." While he pondered over these things a huge wave cast him on the foamy shore.
His occupation is gone, his power has passed away, he is absorbed into the common herd, he grinds at the mill, a shorn Samson and inconspicuous. Marryat, writing forty-five years ago says: 'St. Louis has 20,000 inhabitants. 'The old, old sea, as one in tears, Comes murmuring, with foamy lips, And knocking at the vacant piers, Calls for his long-lost multitude of ships.
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