CHAPTER XVI.

THE PROBLEM SUDDENLY WORKS IN SILENCE.

The hurricane had just stopped short. There was no longer in the air

sou'-wester or nor'-wester. The fierce clarions of space were mute. The

whole of the waterspout had poured from the sky without any warning of

diminution, as if it had slided perpendicularly into a gulf beneath.

None knew what had become of it; flakes replaced the hailstones, the

snow began to fall slowly. No more swell: the sea flattened down.

Such sudden cessations are peculiar to snowstorms. The electric

effluvium exhausted, all becomes still, even the wave, which in ordinary

storms often remains agitated for a long time. In snowstorms it is not

so. No prolonged anger in the deep. Like a tired-out worker it becomes

drowsy directly, thus almost giving the lie to the laws of statics, but

not astonishing old seamen, who know that the sea is full of unforeseen

surprises.

The same phenomenon takes place, although very rarely, in ordinary

storms. Thus, in our time, on the occasion of the memorable hurricane of

July 27th, 1867, at Jersey the wind, after fourteen hours' fury,

suddenly relapsed into a dead calm.

In a few minutes the hooker was floating in sleeping waters.

191

The Man Who Laughs