Clearly there was a danger from overhead if we camped at the back of the beach.

We must move on.
With that thought in mind I reached my tent and fell asleep on the rubbly ground, which gave a comforting sense of stability.

The fairy princess who would not rest on her seven downy mattresses because a pea lay underneath the pile might not have understood the pleasure we all derived from the irregularities of the stones, which could not possibly break beneath us or drift away; the very searching lumps were sweet reminders of our safety.
Early next morning (April 15) all hands were astir.

The sun soon shone brightly and we spread out our wet gear to dry, till the beach looked like a particularly disreputable gipsy camp.

The boots and clothing had suffered considerably during our travels.