THE EQUINOCTIAL ON THE DUNES. 61 



storms, and showed plainly wind stratification 

 on their cut surfaces. Wading through the 

 pools, from which a few black ducks rose and 

 flew swiftly out to sea, I gained the third ridge, 

 which was the highest of the dunes. Beyond 

 was another hollow, then a fourth dune, then a 

 beach strewn with seaweed, shells, and wreck- 

 age, and finally half a mile of snowy breakers, 

 boiling and hissing on their rhythmic journey 

 shoreward. At times the eye seemed to reach 

 further out to sea, but at once the rain, foam, 

 and driving cloud-masses closed in on the waves, 

 and sky and ocean were combined in an attempt 

 to overwhelm the dunes. Walking upon the 

 beach was like wrestling with a strong man. 

 Looking through the stinging rain was almost 

 impossible. Not far up the beach was the wreck 

 of a small schooner. It was half buried in the 

 sand and just within reach of the waves. Stream- 

 ing with rain, my face smarting from the flying 

 sand, and my breath exhausted, I gained the 

 wreck and sought a refuge in its interior. 



The wreck's ribs rose high into the air, and a 

 part of her sheathing had not yet been beaten off 

 by gales. The waves struck this wall of plank and 

 sent shiver after shiver through the broken hulk. 

 Inside, the wind had little effect, and the water 

 that came in was that flowing downward from 

 the beach, as great waves broke upon the sand 



