There was no other ship in view when the NORAH
CREINA, lying over under all plain sail, began her
long and lonely voyage to the wreck.
CHAPTER XII
THE "NORAH CREINA"
I LOVE to recall the glad monotony of a Pacific voyage,
when the trades are not stinted, and the ship, day
after day, goes free. The mountain scenery of trade-
wind clouds, watched (and in my case painted) under
every vicissitude of light--blotting stars, withering
in the moon's glory, barring the scarlet eve, lying
across the dawn collapsed into the unfeatured morning
bank, or at noon raising their snowy summits between
the blue roof of heaven and the blue floor of sea; the
small, busy, and deliberate world of the schooner, with
its unfamiliar scenes, the spearing of dolphin from the
bowsprit end, the holy war on sharks, the cook making
bread on the main hatch; reefing down before a violent
squall, with the men hanging out on the foot-ropes; the
squall itself, the catch at the heart, the opened
sluices of the sky; and the relief, the renewed
loveliness of life, when all is over, the sun forth
again, and our out-fought enemy only a blot upon the
leeward sea.
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