Now down she went--the Johnnie Duncan--down and forward, for she wouldn't be held back--shoulders and breast slap into it. Clear to her waist she went, fighting the sea from her. To either side were tumbling the broken waves, curling away like beach combers. The hollow of each was a curved sheet of electric white, and the top--the crest--was a heavier, hotter white. The crests would rise above our rail and break, and back into the hollows would fall a shower of shooting stars that almost sizzled. There wasn't a star above, but millions on the water!
"Ever see anything like that ashore, Joey-boy?" said Clancy, and I had to roar a whisper that I never had.
Through this play of fire the Johnnie leaped with great bounds. She boiled her way, and astern she left a wake in which the seine-boat
