Page:Physical Geography of the Sea and its Meteorology.djvu/165

 Rh sea breeze has regularly set in. Now small white clouds begin to rise above the horizon; to the experienced seaman they are a prelude to a fresh sea breeze. We welcome the first breath from the sea; it is cooling, but it soon ceases; presently it is succeeded by other grateful puffs of air, which continue longer; presently they settle down into the regular sea breeze, with its cooling and refreshing breath. The sun declines, and the sea wind—that is, the common trade-wind or monsoon which is drawn towards the land—is awakened. It blows right earnestly, as if it would perform its daily task with the greatest possible ado. The air, itself refreshed upon the deep, becomes gray from the vapour which envelops the promontories in mist, and curtains the inland with dark clouds. The land is discernible only by the darker tint which it gives to the mist; but the distance cannot be estimated. The sailor thinks himself farther from shore than he really is, and steers on his course carelessly", while the capricious wind lashes the waters, and makes a short and broken sea, from the white caps of which light curls are torn, with sportive hand, to float away like parti-coloured streamers in the sunbeam. In the meanwhile clouds appear now and then high in the air, yet it is too misty to see far. The sun approaches the horizon. Far over the land the clouds continue to heap up; already the thunder is heard among the distant hills; the thunder-bolts reverberate from hill-side to hill-side, while through the mist the sheets of lightning are seen. Finally, the 'king of day' sinks to rest; now the mist gradually disappears; and as soon as the wind has laid down the lash, the sea, which, chafing and fretting, had with curled mane resisted its violence, begins to go down also. Presently both wind and waves are hushed, and all again is still. Above the sea, the air is clearer or slightly clouded; above the land, it is thick, dark, and swollen. To the feelings, this stillness is pleasant. The sea breeze, the driving brine, that has made a salt-pan of the face, the short, restless sea, the dampness—all have grown wearisome, and welcome is the calm. There is, however, a somewhat of dimness in the air, an uncertain but threatening appearance. Presently, from the dark mass of clouds, which hastens the change of day into night, the thunder-storm peals forth. The rain falls in