nd to the shore. These foaming
ridges are caused by a succession of waves curling over and breaking
upon bars or banks, formed probably by the reflux action of the sea
carrying the sand outwards. The surf itself, unquestionably, owes its
origin to the long sand of the ocean-swell coming across the Bay of
Bengal, a sweep of nearly five hundred miles, from the coasts of
Arracan, the Malay peninsula, and the island of Sumatra. This huge
swell is scarcely perceptible in the fathomless Indian sea; but when
the mighty oscillation reaches the shelving shores of Coromandel, its
vibrations are checked by the bottom. The mass of waters, which up to
this point had merely sunk and risen, that is, vibrated without any
real progressive motion, is then driven forwards to the land, where,
from the increasing shallowness, it finds less and less room for its
"wild waves' play," and finally rises above the general level of the
sea in threatening ridges. I know few things more alarming to nautical
nerves than the sudden and mysterious "lift of the swell," which
hurries a ship upwards when she has chanced to get too near the
shore, and when, in consequence of the deadness of the calm, she can
make no way to seaward, but is gradually hove nearer and nearer to the
roaring surge.

At last, when the great ocean-wave approaches the beach, and the depth
of water is much diminished, the velocity of so vast a mass sweeping
along the bottom, though greatly accelerated, becomes inadequate to
fulfil the conditions of the oscillation, and it has no resource but
to curl into a high and toppling wave. So that this moving ridge of
waters, after careering forwards with a front high in proportion to
the impulse behind, and for a length of time regulated by the degree
of abruptness in the rise of the shore, at last dashes its monstrous
head with a noise extremely like thunder along the endless coast.

Often, indeed, when on shore at Madras, have I lain in bed awake, with
open windows, for hours together, listening, at the distance of many a
league, to the sound of these waves, and almost fancying I could still
feel the tremour of the ground, always distinctly perceptible near the
beach. When the distance is great, and the actual moment at which the
sea breaks ceases to be distinguishable, and when a long range of
coast is within hearing, the unceasing roar of the surf in a serene
night, heard over the level plains of the Carnatic shore, is
wonderfully inte