ON THE SEA-SHORE. 65 
The thermometer stood at 70°, but I felt quite cold, and 
I wore a sailor’s woolen shirt. 
The sea was rolling up the shore in heavy rollers 
which would upset a canoe in the twinkling of an eye; 
we had just arrived, and, had come to hunt, fish, and be 
merry. 
My Commi men had all gone to the woods to cut 
branches of palm-trees, and collect poles to build shelters. 
I wish you could have seen the place where I had 
my encampment. On that part of the coast from Cape 
Lopez, and further south than Cape St. Catherine, the 
whole coast is low and covered with prairies which lift 
but a few feet above the sea level. They are wooded 
here and there, and shrubs are often mixed with the 
erass growing on the sandy soil; the grass is good, not 
growing to a great height, but at this time of the year 
it has been burned down. The landscape has a great 
sameness, and from the sea it is most difficult to know 
any special spot of the land. Altogether it is a dreary 
country, a very dreary country to look at, but after all 
I was thankful not to be shut up in the forest; for to 
see nothing but trees and trees is very tiresome; be- 
sides, the Atlantic was before me, and as I gazed upon its 
broad waters I wished I could see the shores of America. 
The spot where I stood was about two degrees south 
of the equator. 
Our camp was to be built near one of those numerous 
islands of trees which dot the prairie, and we were to 
have it built in such a manner as to protect us from the 
high winds which blew almost directly from the south 
that time of the year. . 
One by one the men came back—some with a load of 
