THE BATHING SEASON. 153 



possibly a foot yonder, tresses floated on the surface 

 Jike seaweed, but bodily they were gone. The whole 

 rank from end to end was overthrown more than 

 that, overwhelmed, buried, interred in water like 

 Pharaoh's army in the Ked Sea. Crush! It had 

 come on them like a mountain. The wave so clear, 

 so beautifully coloured, so cool and refreshing, had 

 struck their delicate bodies with the force of a ton 

 weight. Crestless and smooth to look at, in reality 

 that treacherous roller weighed at least a ton to a 

 yard. 



Down went each fair bather as if hit with shot 

 from a Gatling gun. Down she went, frantically, and 

 vainly grasping at a useless rope ; down with water 

 driven into her nostrils, with a fragment, a tiny blade, 

 of seaweed forced into her throat, choking her ; crush 

 on the hard pebbles, no feather bed, with the pressure 

 of a ton of water overhead, and the strange rushing 

 roar it makes in the ears. Down she went, and at 

 the same time was dragged head foremost, sideways, 

 anyhow, but dragged ground along on the bitter 

 pebbles some yards higher up the beach, each pebble 

 leaving its own particular bruise, and the suspended 

 sand filling the eyes. Then the wave left her, and 

 she awoke from the watery nightmare to the bright 

 sunlight, and the hissing foam as it subsided, prone 

 at full length, high and dry like a stranded wreck. 

 Perhaps her head had tapped the wheel of the machine 

 in a friendly way a sort of genial battering ram. 

 The defeat was a perfect rout; yet they recovered 

 position immediately. I fancy I did see one slip 

 limply to cover; but the main body rose manfully, 



