320 CHANNEL ISLANDS OF CALIFORNIA 



I believe that the power in man or woman to see the 

 beautiful in all nature is one to be cultivated, as of 

 profound importance; as, if one has this perceptive 

 faculty keenly developed, it means happiness under 

 all conditions, the ability to adapt oneself to the vary- 

 ing aspects of life. I have seen men who abhorred the 

 very sight of the California Desert, whose beauties of 

 color, tone, and tint deeply impress some men. One 

 has but to read Van Dyke's "The Desert," to see a 

 poet and artist's appreciation of the dreariest aspects 

 of the world. 



I fear that I have given an erroneous impression 

 of San Nicolas, have not done it justice; for there are 

 many attractions and natural beauties in this doomed 

 and dying island, rent by the Furies, flagellated by the 

 pebble-burdened wind. As I lay on deck one night, 

 part of the anchor watch of my friend's yacht, where, 

 owing to the menacing conditions, we all stood by — 

 crew and guests — I could almost imagine I was listen- 

 ing to some vividly performed Wagnerian music. Over 

 the highest mountains hovered a black genie, wings 

 aspread, just as you have seen a hawk, conjuring the 

 wind gods. The rivers of the sea were rushing by 

 us, streaked with lambent flames. Every rope, hal- 

 yard, and shroud hummed and moaned the melodies 

 of despair, laughter, remorse, and death. The great 

 seas that lashed the island on both sides met at our 

 anchorage and fought their duels. The long, spectral, 

 shroud-like spit reached out into the purple sea, like 

 an insinuating hand of death; yet this was the home 

 of Juana Maria Better Than Nothing for twenty years, 

 and during all that time she fled from and avoided 

 the sight of man. The very terrors, the tumultuous 



