South Beach. 35 



Gradually the incoming tide forces the fishermen who 

 are not protected by rubber boots, or who have not dis- 

 carded artificial coverings to their feet, to seek the drier 

 up-shore, and it is then, while the waves break in the cav- 

 ernous recesses that they have worn in the face of the low 

 cliffs, that the little fires of drift-wood are most welcome. 



In certain localities wild beans grow in abundance on 

 the up-shore, beyond the reach of the tide, and in Septem- 

 ber a great number may be gathered in a short time. The 

 Indians picked them when they were here, and cooked 

 them in their earthen vessels, and I, in these later days, 

 have cooked them also. They have a curious tang — a 

 concentrated bean flavor — but are not distasteful, and if it 

 were not for Limas, the Valentines and the other cultivated 

 varieties, we would be glad to get the wild Phaseolus. 



At the commencement of the Point, and in places be- 

 fore you get so far along the beach, the shore is higher at 

 the flood-tide mark than the contiguous meadows, and 

 every now and then in the Spring and Fall, and occa- 

 sionally during storms at other seasons, the waves wash 

 entirely over the beach. There is in consequence a bank 

 of sand — a sort of sandy wave that gradually rolls over 

 the low-lying meadows, and you may see the cedar-trees 

 standing dead, and, as it were, knee-deep in the sandy in- 

 undation. 



In one place on the shore there stands a few cedar and 

 cultivated cherry trees in a row, and they probably mark 

 the site of an old fence, but all other evidences of the line 

 are now obliterated by the sand. Where there is a growth 

 of smilax, small cedars or any other thick and low vegeta- 



