If a person suffer much from sea-sickness, let him weigh it heavily
in the balance. I speak from experience: it is no trifling evil,
cured in a week. If, on the other hand, he take pleasure in naval
tactics, he will assuredly have full scope for his taste. But it
must be borne in mind how large a proportion of the time, during a
long voyage, is spent on the water, as compared with the days in
harbour. And what are the boasted glories of the illimitable ocean?
A tedious waste, a desert of water, as the Arabian calls it. No
doubt there are some delightful scenes. A moonlight night, with the
clear heavens and the dark glittering sea, and the white sails
filled by the soft air of a gently-blowing trade-wind, a dead calm,
with the heaving surface polished like a mirror, and all still
except the occasional flapping of the canvas. It is well once to
behold a squall with its rising arch and coming fury, or the heavy
gale of wind and mountainous waves. I confess, however, my
imagination had painted something more grand, more terrific, in the
full-grown storm. It is an incomparably finer spectacle when beheld
on shore, where the waving trees, the wild flight of the birds, the
dark shadows and bright lights, the rushing of the torrents, all
proclaim the strife of the unloosed elements.
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