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Those giddy precipices on which the sky seems to lean as you stand below were the foam-lashed sides of a full and mighty river. The spray broke through the tops of the full-grown willows and lindens.
Anderson was the scout. He rode up on a foam-lashed mustang, and got off, dark and grimy with dust. His report was that he had been unable to get in touch with any soldiers or laborers along the line, but he had seen enough with his own eyes. Half-way between the camp and Benton a large force of Sioux had torn up the track, halted and fired the work-train.
But a light air springing up, all sail was made by the frigate in chase of the enemy, as supposed he being deemed an English whale-ship but the rapidity of the current was so great, that soon all sight was lost of him; and, at meridian, the Essex, spite of her drags, was driven so close under the foam-lashed cliffs of Rodondo that, for a time, all hands gave her up.
A haze that was not luminous hung in the sky; night was creeping on without a sunset, as they battled their way up the Giudecca against the current which rushed like a boiling torrent around San Giorgio the blue calm of the waters turned to a frenzied, foam-lashed green.
In the gathering, cold twilight they rode down the trail in silence. "Good night, lass," said Wade, as he reached his cabin. "An' remember you're not alone any more." "Good night, my friend," she replied, and rode on. Columbine encountered Jim Montana at the corrals, and it was not too dark for her to see his foam-lashed horse. Jim appeared non-committal, almost surly.
Silvermane would have killed himself in an hour; he would have cut himself to pieces in one headlong dash, but that steel arm suffered him only to wear himself out. Late that afternoon the Navajo led a dripping, drooping, foam-lashed stallion into the corral, tied him with the halter, and left him.
Next moment Jack Belllounds galloped a foam-lashed horse into the courtyard and hauled up short with a recklessness he was noted for. He swung down hard and violently cast the reins from him. "Ahuh! I gambled on just this," he declared, harshly. Columbine's heart sank. His gaze was fixed on her face, with its telltale evidences of agitation. "What've you been crying about?" he demanded.
Yes, for a certainty, now he could make out the seething plunge of the waters as they roared into the foam-lashed flood below. But how could this be? Stern's wonder sought to grasp analysis of the strange phenomenon. "If it's true that the water at the bottom's rising," thought he, "then there must either be some kind of tide in that body of water or else the cavity itself must be filling up.
There are many pretty legends about the harp heard with such delight and yet superstitious awe by the Vikings, who, on their return from Britain, told of the mysterious shores where mermaids of great beauty were said to rise from the seas, and, sitting upon the foam-lashed rocks, played upon their harps music of sweetest sound.
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