The Pine-tree coast . beach takes its name. The Indiansburned Rogers house to the ground soon after their repulse at Phillips garri-son ; but his orchard continued for a century longer to blossom among the ruinsof his homestead, — an eloquent reminder of what it cost in the old days to bea pioneer. We turn from these records of bloodshed to something more we can hardly conceive of the murderer and incendiary as plying his infer-nal trade in such a place ; of these cool groves that whisper us on one side asthe deadly ambuscade ; of the sands that entice us on the other as crim
The Pine-tree coast . beach takes its name. The Indiansburned Rogers house to the ground soon after their repulse at Phillips garri-son ; but his orchard continued for a century longer to blossom among the ruinsof his homestead, — an eloquent reminder of what it cost in the old days to bea pioneer. We turn from these records of bloodshed to something more we can hardly conceive of the murderer and incendiary as plying his infer-nal trade in such a place ; of these cool groves that whisper us on one side asthe deadly ambuscade ; of the sands that entice us on the other as crimsonedwith the blood of unknown heroes. Yet this is no fancy picture. One of Taines charming bits of description fits admirably into the scene be-fore us : The coast stretches into the vapor its long strip of polished sand; thegilded beach undulates softly and opens its hollows to the ripples of the sea. Eachripple comes up foamy at first, then insensibly smooths itself, leaves behind it122 ON OLD ORCHARD BEACH. 123. THE SCAVENGER. the flocks of its white fleece, and goes to sleep upon the Bhore it has kis Meanwhile anothei approaches, and beyond that again a new one,then a whole troop, striping the blue water with embroidery of Bilver. They whisper low, and yon scarcely hear them under the outcry of the distant billows; nowhere is the beach so sweet, so smiling; the land softens its embrace the better to receive and caress those darling creatures, which are, as it were, the little children of the sea.*This is the picture that the summer visitor knows,all grace and feeling. There is another, known only to those who have stood here when some autumnal gale was storming along the coast as if it would crush it to atoms, when destruction rides upon the tempest, and all the world of waters seems at war with itself. Silence falls on every tongue at sight of the great ocean running riot without a guiding hand ; for any disturbance in natures orderly movements brings home to us, as not
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