142 CHANNEL ISLANDS OF CALIFORNIA 



the wind came rolling down the steep mountain-side 

 with a roar and wild acclaim. It might have been shot 

 out of a gun, as it struck the water from one hundred 

 to two hundred feet from the shore, and literally 

 tossed it up into the air forty or more feet, an extraor- 

 dinary spectacle, forming gigantic "wooUies" which 

 we could see far up the coast. 



When we entered them, there was a hissing and 

 roaring of waters; they almost stopped the progress 

 of the launches. We drew tarpauhns about us, to 

 keep the fine steam-like water, blown from the surface, 

 out of our faces, and turned inshore to escape the 

 wind that seemed to be sucked down the mountain 

 side with marvellous and menacing velocity. 



As we ran to the north hugging the shore, plunging 

 through the "woollies," the hills became lower, the 

 wind less, then a little point was passed around which 

 was the whitewashed hacienda of Mr. Rowland. 

 We had completely encircled the island by sea and 

 land, and were again housed near where the sand- 

 dunes had their lair. The only suspicion of a volcano 

 was the north sentinel of the island, a huge conical 

 rock, a hollow chimney of the ancient volcano that 

 may have made San Clemente. 



Don Alonzo was at the ranch house to greet us, and 

 a dozen shearers and vaqueros came to supper. I 

 thought of Chinetti looking at his water-bottle pic- 

 ture, and always laughing, while the sea pounded eter- 

 nally along the lone, mysterious shore like some strange 

 animal. If the average human being were sentenced 

 to live on this point for life, it would form a story 

 whose pathos would be boundless; but as it is, it is 

 home to Chinetti. He refuses to leave it, and when 



