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.
About the sunset the clouds broke and the storm turned to a
hurricane. Bars of purple cloud stretched across the sound where
immense waves were rolling from the west, wreathed with snowy
phantasies of spray. Then there was the bay full of green delirium,
and the Twelve Pins touched with mauve and scarlet in the east.
