There has been a storm for the last twenty-four hours, and I have
been wandering on the cliffs till my hair is stiff with salt.
Immense masses of spray were flying up from the base of the cliff,
and were caught at times by the wind and whirled away to fall at
some distance from the shore. When one of these happened to fall on
me, I had to crouch down for an instant, wrapped and blinded by a
white hail of foam.
The waves were so enormous that when I saw one more than usually
large coming towards me, I turned instinctively to hide myself, as
one blinks when struck upon the eyes.
After a few hours the mind grows bewildered with the endless change
and struggle of the sea, and an utter despondency replaces the first
moment of exhilaration.
At the south-west corner of the island I came upon a number of
people gathering the seaweed that is now thick on the rocks. It was
raked from the surf by the men, and then carried up to the brow of
the cliff by a party of young girls.
In addition to their ordinary clothing these girls wore a raw
sheepskin on their shoulders, to catch the oozing sea-water, and
they looked strangely wild and seal-like with the salt caked upon
their lips and wreaths of seaweed in their hair.
For the rest of my walk I saw no living thing but one flock of
curlews, and a few pipits hiding among the stones.
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