Introduction
Romantic fiction located on the Oregon coast and featuring  Mrs. Sancy, from the Sandwich Islands who is a proficient surfboard rider.

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Page 363

I was summering at our Oregon Newport, known to us by the aboriginal name of Clatsop.
Had a balloonist, uninstructed in the geography and topography of this portion of the Pacific coast, dropped down among us, his impression would have been that he had alighted in a military encampment, very happily chosen, as military encampments usually are.

Page  364

A morning idled away in this manner, and an afternoon spent in seeing the bathers — I never trust my easily curdled blood to the chill of the sea — and in walking along the sands with a friend, or dreaming quietly by myself as I watched the surf rolling in all the way from Tilamook Head to Cape Disappointment,— these were my daily labors and recreations.
...
I folded my letter with a feeling of self-congratulation, and turned to watch the movements of a newly arrived party for whom
our half-breed host was spreading a tent, and placing in it rather an extra amount of furniture; for, be it known to the uninitiated, we had platform floors under our tents, real bedsteads, dressing bureaus, rugs, and other comforts to match.
That our new arrival exceeded us in elegant conveniences was, of course, duly noted by such idlers as we.

The party consisted of a lady, a little girl of ten, and a Kanaka servant.
The lady's name, we learned, was Mrs. Sancy, and she was from the Sandwich Islands.
More than that no one was informed.
We discussed her looks, her manners, her dress, and her probable circumstances, as we sat around the camp-fire that evening, after the way of idle people.

Page 365

All the things any of us could do Mrs. Sancy could do better; and one thing she could do that none of the rest of us could, which was to swim out and float herself in on a surf-board, like a native island woman: and seeing Mrs. Sancy do this became one
of the daily sensations of Clatsop Beach.

Page 372
We were now approaching the vicinity of the bathing-houses, and seeing the visitors collecting for the bath, an excuse was furnished for quickening our paces.
Mrs. Sancy bowed and left us.
Mr. Kittredge seemed to have lost the power of speech.

Fifteen minutes after I was sitting on some drift-wood, watching the pranks of the gayest of the crowd as they "jumped the rollers," when Mrs. Sancy came out of a dressing-room, followed by her Kanaka with a surf-board.
Her bathing-dress was very jaunty and becoming, and her skill as a swimmer drew to her a great deal of attention.
To swim out and float in on the rollers seemed to be to her no more of a feat than it would be to a sea-gull, she did it so easily and
gracefully.
But today something went wrong with her.
Either she was too warm from riding, or her circulation was disturbed by the meeting with Kittredge, or both; at all events the second time she swam out she failed to return.
The board slipped away from her, and she sank out of sight.

While I gazed horror- stricken, scarce understanding what had taken place,-a man rushed past me in his bathing clothes, running out to where the water was deep enough to float him and striking out rapidly from there.
I could not recognize him in that dress, but I knew it was Kittredge.
Fate had sent him.
The incoming tide kept her where she sank, and he soon brought her to the surface and through the surf to the beach.
I
Page 373

spread my cloak on the sand, and, wrapping her in it, began rubbing and rolling her, with the assistance of other ladies, for resuscitation from drowning.
In three minutes more Kittredge was kneeling by my side with a brandy-flask, administering its contents drop by drop, and giving orders.
"It is congestion ;" said he.
"You must rub her chest, her back, her hands and feet; so, so.
She will die in your hands if you are not quick.
For God's sake, work fast!"

By his presence of mind she was saved as by a miracle.
When she was removed to her lodgings, and able to converse, she asked me who it was had rescued her.
"Mr. Kittredge," I said.
"The same I met on the beach?"
"The same."
She smiled in a faint, half-dreaming way, and turned away her face.
She thought I did not krlow her secret.

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The Lakeside Monthly. The University Publishing Co.,Chicago Volume 6, October 1871. Hathi Trust https://hdl.handle.net/2027/nyp.33433081686044

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