THREE-ARCH ROCKS 5 



ering wings and tongues. We rounded the outer, 

 Shag Rock, and headed slowly in toward the 

 yawning hole of Middle Rock as into some mighty 

 cave, so sheer and shadowy rose the walls above 

 us, so like to cavern thunder was the throbbing of 

 the surf through the hollow arches, was the flap- 

 ping and screaming of the birds against the high- 

 circling walls, was the deep menacing grumble 

 of the lions, as through the muffle of surf and 

 sea-fowl, herd after herd lumbered bellowing into 

 the foam. 



It was a strange, wild scene. Hardly a mile 

 from the Oregon coast, but cut off by breaker and 

 bar from the abrupt, uninhabited shore, the three 

 rocks of the Reservation, each pierced with its 

 resounding arch, heaved their heavy shoulders 

 from the waves straight up, huge, towering, till 

 our little steamer coasted their dripping sides 

 like some puffing pigmy. They were sea rocks, 

 of no part or lot with the dry land, their beryl 

 basins wave-scooped, and set with purple star- 

 fish, with green and pink anemones, and beaded 

 many deep with mussels of amethyst and jet, a- 

 glitter in the water's overflow ; and just above the 

 jeweled basins, like fabled beasts of old, lay 



