You are stunned by it as by the roar of a great waterfall.

You see a wave of unusual magnitude rolling in from far beyond the wild revelry of waters on 'The Rips.' It leaps into the arena as if fresh and eager for the fray, clutches another Bacchanal like itself, and the two towering floods rush swiftly toward the shore.

Instinctively you run backward to escape what seems an impending destruction.

Very likely a sheet of foam is dashed all around you, shoe-deep, but you are safe--only the foam hisses away in impotent rage.

The sea has its bounds; 'hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther.'"[A] [Footnote A: A.Judd Northrup, in "Sconset Cottage Life."].