244 CHANNEL ISLANDS OF CALIFORNIA 



reason. Add to this a howling, screaming, offshore 

 wind that played a mournful dirge in the rigging, and 

 some idea of the conditions at San Nicolas can be 

 had. 



Our landing was made in the surf and kelp, a 

 dangerous place, waiting for the rollers to exhaust 

 themselves, — they roll in in threes. Then when the 

 opportunity came we rushed the boat in, leaped into 

 the water as she struck, and carried her up the 

 beach. 



I have heard of mild and beautiful days at San 

 Nicolas, but the single herder, a Basque, informed me 

 that it blew pretty much all the time. The reason 

 was that the people came over to disturb the graves, 

 and the spirits were angry, and so made the wind blow. 

 As politely as he could he entered an objection against 

 any grave-robbing. This explanation of the wind was 

 interesting and new, and the spirits evidently were 

 wrought up that night, as an angry cloud hung about 

 the peak of the island, and the wind blew from all 

 quarters during night. 



The Basque was a herder who had been there four 

 months; an uncommunicative person, who looked like 

 Robinson Crusoe, with his wolfish dog, his big hat, and 

 his ancient gun. He told me that he had to pile big 

 rocks on the roof of his house to keep it from blowing 

 away into the sea. He said that the wind blew small 

 stones into the air, and one could not face it. In the 

 upper island I found a singular place covered with 

 small worn pebbles the size of a pea or two peas. The 

 wind had blown off all the soil and left the pebbles. 

 I have never felt a more irritating, searching, pene- 

 trating wind than this wraith of the spirits of San 



