THE SAND-DUNES OF THE ISLANDS 227 



down the coast. On the upper cape the sand with 

 its movements has determined the very Hfe of the 

 people. It has shaped the singular arm out into the 

 sea. It forms and re-forms hills, builds up breast- 

 works to battle against the sea, and has a mysterious 

 way of reaching out in direct opposition to the waves. 

 This is particularly noticeable on San Nicolas Island, 

 where a small Cape Cod, half a mile in length, has 

 been projected out into the wildest sea, hke the feeler 

 of a gigantic octopus, and, due to the continuous wind, 

 has held its own for centuries. 



The sand-dunes of the coast have much to do with 

 its character; they make or remake it. At Mayport, 

 Florida, the sand is so persistent that if a fisherman 

 goes on a visit and leaves his shanty unprotected it 

 is liable to be covered on his return. I saw a mound 

 fifteen feet in height which contained one of these 

 homes. Boats are sometimes covered in this way, 

 lost, and forgotten. In the morning the matrons 

 sweep sand from their doorsteps, and the men shovel 

 it away like snow. 



One of the most remarkable illustrations of the 

 action of sand is seen at the island of San Miguel, the 

 most northwestern of the Santa Barbara Channel 

 Islands. It is a wind-swept place, in a continual 

 wind and fog centre, and has no permanent inhabitants 

 save a few herders. The wild winds that come in 

 from the west toss the sand into the air like hving 

 things, and clouds, wraiths, go whirling about, borne 

 upward, to drop like snow upon the waters. Cabrillo, 

 the Spanish adventurer — who died and, it is said, 

 was buried here — may lie beneath these dunes. At 

 that time the island was covered with verdure, trees, 



