[Manchester—Tuesday, 14 August 1866]
Tuesday. Went to Coffin’s Beach. The day was perfect. Lillian was obliged to stay behind but we were a party of seven. She decided to remain at the last moment only and afterward her husband said “He was glad she could not go—he should only have been tormented all the day with the feeling that she was doing too much for her strength.”
We came toward the silver sands before noon; they lay drifted around us like snow through which the clumps of sea-grass were seen. We looked before us and saw the white path ascend until it ended in the deep blue horizon line of the sea. Crossing this hilly bank and passing lakes surrounded by shiny arrowheads and bushes of wild cherry we came upon the beach. The tide was low and for miles we could walk over the ribbed sands stepping across the “half glutted hollows of reef rocks” turning wild headlands and again going on with the curlews for companions, the wild music of surf beating waves in ears, with swift clouds sweeping over us making the water green and grey, violet and blue as they went over faster than the swiftest bird. There was one boat with sails full-spread filled with happy lotos-eaters. They came with white swelling canvas bending, and boat careening, as near the shore as they wished, borne forward by a faint desire to try the land and darting away once more like startled swallows.
Our little party of seven scattered over the wide beach. Two sat sketching under an umbrella on a point of rocks, one stood, observing, alone, hat and skirts flying far out on a spit of sand, two or three rambled along together listening to the waves and now and then stooping to gather up a sparkling shell or some sea flower. By and by, soon after noon we came together under the protection of a rock, to which point I believe Mr Aldrich and I had attracted the others by the comfortable attitude into which we had flung ourselves while we lay talking over lovely things and looking out to sea. The tide was coming in now and threatened soon to touch our feet with white lips—so we drew back making room for the others and for the lunch basket. Then began devastation indeed! But the massacre was soon ended when we again fell apart as if half ashamed of such social festivity in the face of the great unsocial presence of ocean. The poet sat overlooking the sea smoking. Miss Mary took refuge in a book, the sketchers departed and silence reigned among mortals.
The two hours remaining to us of our sojourn passed quickly, when we discerned a vehicle like a black bug in size approaching us; I thought it must be the coach and in the end proved to be right in spite of the non-agreement of others at first. The fast horses drew us gently through the surf which curled up and bathed their feet and gurgled pleasantly around the wheels of the old fashioned vehicle. We sat leaning head and shoulders over the side drinking in the melodious loveliness.
The driver stopped unceremoniously at the end of this dreamful pleasure to allow us to descend, the sand was too deep to drag people through it he said and that was never a part of his bargain. We did not complain for we were glad to have a longer glimpse of the wonderful scene. A herd of cattle had come down to feed on the salt grass and had strolled downward over the beach. The freshening wind had added white caps to the many colored ocean and blowing over the loose sand bore it along like white locks sweeping from west to east.
I was told that the first time old Mr Dana came to Coffin’s beach he found a herd of wild horses racing up and down with manes and tails blowing in the breeze; the seas were high and the waves bounded in as if to keep them company while a lowering sky shadowed and sympathized with the whole scene.
The drive home through soft green lanes between tasselled corn and wild grapes was lovely and restful to the eyes after the sparkling splendors of the day.
I went up stairs to see Lillian after our return. She lay upon the bed perfectly pale with a little rose bud fastened in her night-dress fast asleep.
