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diff --git a/717-h/717-h.htm b/717-h/717-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f3d87fa --- /dev/null +++ b/717-h/717-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3996 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of CHITA: A Memory of Last Island, by Lafcadio Hearn +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Chita: A Memory of Last Island, by Lafcadio Hearn + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Chita: A Memory of Last Island + +Author: Lafcadio Hearn + +Posting Date: August 16, 2008 [EBook #717] +Release Date: November, 1996 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHITA: A MEMORY OF LAST ISLAND *** + + + + +Produced by Tokuya Matsumoto. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +CHITA: A Memory of Last Island +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Lafcadio Hearn +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "But Nature whistled with all her winds,<BR> + Did as she pleased, and went her way."<BR> + —Emerson<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> + To my friend<BR> + Dr. Rodolfo Matas of New Orleans<BR> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Contents +</H2> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> + <A HREF="#legend">The Legend of L'Ile Derniere</A><BR> + <A HREF="#strength">Out of the Sea's Strength</A><BR> + <A HREF="#shadow">The Shadow of the Tide</A><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="legend"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +The Legend of L'Ile Derniere +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +I. +</H3> + +<P> +Travelling south from New Orleans to the Islands, you pass through a +strange land into a strange sea, by various winding waterways. You can +journey to the Gulf by lugger if you please; but the trip may be made +much more rapidly and agreeably on some one of those light, narrow +steamers, built especially for bayou-travel, which usually receive +passengers at a point not far from the foot of old Saint-Louis Street, +hard by the sugar-landing, where there is ever a pushing and flocking +of steam craft—all striving for place to rest their white breasts +against the levee, side by side,—like great weary swans. But the +miniature steamboat on which you engage passage to the Gulf never +lingers long in the Mississippi: she crosses the river, slips into +some canal-mouth, labors along the artificial channel awhile, and then +leaves it with a scream of joy, to puff her free way down many a league +of heavily shadowed bayou. Perhaps thereafter she may bear you through +the immense silence of drenched rice-fields, where the yellow-green +level is broken at long intervals by the black silhouette of some +irrigating machine;—but, whichever of the five different routes be +pursued, you will find yourself more than once floating through sombre +mazes of swamp-forest,—past assemblages of cypresses all hoary with +the parasitic tillandsia, and grotesque as gatherings of fetich-gods. +Ever from river or from lakelet the steamer glides again into canal or +bayou,—from bayou or canal once more into lake or bay; and sometimes +the swamp-forest visibly thins away from these shores into wastes of +reedy morass where, even of breathless nights, the quaggy soil trembles +to a sound like thunder of breakers on a coast: the storm-roar of +billions of reptile voices chanting in cadence,—rhythmically surging +in stupendous crescendo and diminuendo,—a monstrous and appalling +chorus of frogs! .... +</P> + +<P> +Panting, screaming, scraping her bottom over the sand-bars,—all day +the little steamer strives to reach the grand blaze of blue open water +below the marsh-lands; and perhaps she may be fortunate enough to enter +the Gulf about the time of sunset. For the sake of passengers, she +travels by day only; but there are other vessels which make the journey +also by night—threading the bayou-labyrinths winter and summer: +sometimes steering by the North Star,—sometimes feeling the way with +poles in the white season of fogs,—sometimes, again, steering by that +Star of Evening which in our sky glows like another moon, and drops +over the silent lakes as she passes a quivering trail of silver fire. +</P> + +<P> +Shadows lengthen; and at last the woods dwindle away behind you into +thin bluish lines;—land and water alike take more luminous +color;—bayous open into broad passes;—lakes link themselves with +sea-bays;—and the ocean-wind bursts upon you,—keen, cool, and full of +light. For the first time the vessel begins to swing,—rocking to the +great living pulse of the tides. And gazing from the deck around you, +with no forest walls to break the view, it will seem to you that the +low land must have once been rent asunder by the sea, and strewn about +the Gulf in fantastic tatters.... +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes above a waste of wind-blown prairie-cane you see an oasis +emerging,—a ridge or hillock heavily umbraged with the rounded foliage +of evergreen oaks:—a cheniere. And from the shining flood also +kindred green knolls arise,—pretty islets, each with its beach-girdle +of dazzling sand and shells, yellow-white,—and all radiant with +semi-tropical foliage, myrtle and palmetto, orange and magnolia. Under +their emerald shadows curious little villages of palmetto huts are +drowsing, where dwell a swarthy population of Orientals,—Malay +fishermen, who speak the Spanish-Creole of the Philippines as well as +their own Tagal, and perpetuate in Louisiana the Catholic traditions of +the Indies. There are girls in those unfamiliar villages worthy to +inspire any statuary,—beautiful with the beauty of ruddy +bronze,—gracile as the palmettoes that sway above them.... Further +seaward you may also pass a Chinese settlement: some queer camp of +wooden dwellings clustering around a vast platform that stands above +the water upon a thousand piles;—over the miniature wharf you can +scarcely fail to observe a white sign-board painted with crimson +ideographs. The great platform is used for drying fish in the sun; and +the fantastic characters of the sign, literally translated, mean: +"Heap—Shrimp—Plenty." ... And finally all the land melts down into +desolations of sea-marsh, whose stillness is seldom broken, except by +the melancholy cry of long-legged birds, and in wild seasons by that +sound which shakes all shores when the weird Musician of the Sea +touches the bass keys of his mighty organ.... +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +II. +</H3> + +<P> +Beyond the sea-marshes a curious archipelago lies. If you travel by +steamer to the sea-islands to-day, you are tolerably certain to enter +the Gulf by Grande Pass—skirting Grande Terre, the most familiar +island of all, not so much because of its proximity as because of its +great crumbling fort and its graceful pharos: the stationary +White-Light of Barataria. Otherwise the place is bleakly +uninteresting: a wilderness of wind-swept grasses and sinewy weeds +waving away from a thin beach ever speckled with drift and decaying +things,—worm-riddled timbers, dead porpoises. +</P> + +<P> +Eastward the russet level is broken by the columnar silhouette of the +light house, and again, beyond it, by some puny scrub timber, above +which rises the angular ruddy mass of the old brick fort, whose ditches +swarm with crabs, and whose sluiceways are half choked by obsolete +cannon-shot, now thickly covered with incrustation of oyster shells.... +Around all the gray circling of a shark-haunted sea... +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes of autumn evenings there, when the hollow of heaven flames +like the interior of a chalice, and waves and clouds are flying in one +wild rout of broken gold,—you may see the tawny grasses all covered +with something like husks,—wheat-colored husks,—large, flat, and +disposed evenly along the lee-side of each swaying stalk, so as to +present only their edges to the wind. But, if you approach, those pale +husks all break open to display strange splendors of scarlet and +seal-brown, with arabesque mottlings in white and black: they change +into wondrous living blossoms, which detach themselves before your eyes +and rise in air, and flutter away by thousands to settle down farther +off, and turn into wheat-colored husks once more ... a whirling +flower-drift of sleepy butterflies! +</P> + +<P> +Southwest, across the pass, gleams beautiful Grande Isle: primitively a +wilderness of palmetto (latanier);—then drained, diked, and cultivated +by Spanish sugar-planters; and now familiar chiefly as a +bathing-resort. Since the war the ocean reclaimed its own;—the +cane-fields have degenerated into sandy plains, over which tramways +wind to the smooth beach;—the plantation-residences have been +converted into rustic hotels, and the negro-quarters remodelled into +villages of cozy cottages for the reception of guests. But with its +imposing groves of oak, its golden wealth of orange-trees, its odorous +lanes of oleander. +</P> + +<P> +its broad grazing-meadows yellow-starred with wild camomile, Grande +Isle remains the prettiest island of the Gulf; and its loveliness is +exceptional. For the bleakness of Grand Terre is reiterated by most of +the other islands,—Caillou, Cassetete, Calumet, Wine Island, the twin +Timbaliers, Gull Island, and the many islets haunted by the gray +pelican,—all of which are little more than sand-bars covered with wiry +grasses, prairie-cane, and scrub-timber. Last Island (L'Ile +Derniere),—well worthy a long visit in other years, in spite of its +remoteness, is now a ghastly desolation twenty-five miles long. Lying +nearly forty miles west of Grande Isle, it was nevertheless far more +populated a generation ago: it was not only the most celebrated island +of the group, but also the most fashionable watering-place of the +aristocratic South;—to-day it is visited by fishermen only, at long +intervals. Its admirable beach in many respects resembled that of +Grande Isle to-day; the accommodations also were much similar, although +finer: a charming village of cottages facing the Gulf near the western +end. The hotel itself was a massive two-story construction of timber, +containing many apartments, together with a large dining-room and +dancing-hall. In rear of the hotel was a bayou, where passengers +landed—"Village Bayou" it is still called by seamen;—but the deep +channel which now cuts the island in two a little eastwardly did not +exist while the village remained. The sea tore it out in one +night—the same night when trees, fields, dwellings, all vanished into +the Gulf, leaving no vestige of former human habitation except a few of +those strong brick props and foundations upon which the frame houses +and cisterns had been raised. One living creature was found there +after the cataclysm—a cow! But how that solitary cow survived the +fury of a storm-flood that actually rent the island in twain has ever +remained a mystery ... +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +III. +</H3> + +<P> +On the Gulf side of these islands you may observe that the trees—when +there are any trees—all bend away from the sea; and, even of bright, +hot days when the wind sleeps, there is something grotesquely pathetic +in their look of agonized terror. A group of oaks at Grande Isle I +remember as especially suggestive: five stooping silhouettes in line +against the horizon, like fleeing women with streaming garments and +wind-blown hair,—bowing grievously and thrusting out arms desperately +northward as to save themselves from falling. And they are being +pursued indeed;—for the sea is devouring the land. Many and many a +mile of ground has yielded to the tireless charging of Ocean's cavalry: +far out you can see, through a good glass, the porpoises at play where +of old the sugar-cane shook out its million bannerets; and shark-fins +now seam deep water above a site where pigeons used to coo. Men build +dikes; but the besieging tides bring up their battering-rams—whole +forests of drift—huge trunks of water-oak and weighty cypress. +Forever the yellow Mississippi strives to build; forever the sea +struggles to destroy;—and amid their eternal strife the islands and +the promontories change shape, more slowly, but not less fantastically, +than the clouds of heaven. +</P> + +<P> +And worthy of study are those wan battle-grounds where the woods made +their last brave stand against the irresistible invasion,—usually at +some long point of sea-marsh, widely fringed with billowing sand. Just +where the waves curl beyond such a point you may discern a multitude of +blackened, snaggy shapes protruding above the water,—some high enough +to resemble ruined chimneys, others bearing a startling likeness to +enormous skeleton-feet and skeleton-hands,—with crustaceous white +growths clinging to them here and there like remnants of integument. +These are bodies and limbs of drowned oaks,—so long drowned that the +shell-scurf is inch-thick upon parts of them. Farther in upon the +beach immense trunks lie overthrown. Some look like vast broken +columns; some suggest colossal torsos imbedded, and seem to reach out +mutilated stumps in despair from their deepening graves;—and beside +these are others which have kept their feet with astounding obstinacy, +although the barbarian tides have been charging them for twenty years, +and gradually torn away the soil above and beneath their roots. The +sand around,—soft beneath and thinly crusted upon the surface,—is +everywhere pierced with holes made by a beautifully mottled and +semi-diaphanous crab, with hairy legs, big staring eyes, and milk-white +claws;—while in the green sedges beyond there is a perpetual rustling, +as of some strong wind beating among reeds: a marvellous creeping of +"fiddlers," which the inexperienced visitor might at first mistake for +so many peculiar beetles, as they run about sideways, each with his +huge single claw folded upon his body like a wing-case. Year by year +that rustling strip of green land grows narrower; the sand spreads and +sinks, shuddering and wrinkling like a living brown skin; and the last +standing corpses of the oaks, ever clinging with naked, dead feet to +the sliding beach, lean more and more out of the perpendicular. As the +sands subside, the stumps appear to creep; their intertwisted masses of +snakish roots seem to crawl, to writhe,—like the reaching arms of +cephalopods.... +</P> + +<P> +... Grande Terre is going: the sea mines her fort, and will before +many years carry the ramparts by storm. Grande Isle is going,—slowly +but surely: the Gulf has eaten three miles into her meadowed land. +Last Island has gone! How it went I first heard from the lips of a +veteran pilot, while we sat one evening together on the trunk of a +drifted cypress which some high tide had pressed deeply into the Grande +Isle beach. The day had been tropically warm; we had sought the shore +for a breath of living air. Sunset came, and with it the ponderous +heat lifted,—a sudden breeze blew,—lightnings flickered in the +darkening horizon,—wind and water began to strive together,—and soon +all the low coast boomed. Then my companion began his story; perhaps +the coming of the storm inspired him to speak! And as I listened to +him, listening also to the clamoring of the coast, there flashed back +to me recollection of a singular Breton fancy: that the Voice of the +Sea is never one voice, but a tumult of many voices—voices of drowned +men,—the muttering of multitudinous dead,—the moaning of innumerable +ghosts, all rising, to rage against the living, at the great Witch call +of storms.... +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IV. +</H3> + +<P> +The charm of a single summer day on these island shores is something +impossible to express, never to be forgotten. Rarely, in the paler +zones, do earth and heaven take such luminosity: those will best +understand me who have seen the splendor of a West Indian sky. And yet +there is a tenderness of tint, a caress of color, in these Gulf-days +which is not of the Antilles,—a spirituality, as of eternal tropical +spring. It must have been to even such a sky that Xenophanes lifted up +his eyes of old when he vowed the Infinite Blue was God;—it was indeed +under such a sky that De Soto named the vastest and grandest of +Southern havens Espiritu Santo,—the Bay of the Holy Ghost. There is a +something unutterable in this bright Gulf-air that compels +awe,—something vital, something holy, something pantheistic: and +reverentially the mind asks itself if what the eye beholds is not the +Pneuma indeed, the Infinite Breath, the Divine Ghost, the great Blue +Soul of the Unknown. All, all is blue in the calm,—save the low land +under your feet, which you almost forget, since it seems only as a tiny +green flake afloat in the liquid eternity of day. Then slowly, +caressingly, irresistibly, the witchery of the Infinite grows upon you: +out of Time and Space you begin to dream with open eyes,—to drift into +delicious oblivion of facts,—to forget the past, the present, the +substantial,—to comprehend nothing but the existence of that infinite +Blue Ghost as something into which you would wish to melt utterly away +forever.... +</P> + +<P> +And this day-magic of azure endures sometimes for months together. +Cloudlessly the dawn reddens up through a violet east: +</P> + +<P> +there is no speck upon the blossoming of its Mystical Rose,—unless it +be the silhouette of some passing gull, whirling his sickle-wings +against the crimsoning. Ever, as the sun floats higher, the flood +shifts its color. Sometimes smooth and gray, yet flickering with the +morning gold, it is the vision of John,—the apocalyptic Sea of Glass +mixed with fire;—again, with the growing breeze, it takes that +incredible purple tint familiar mostly to painters of West Indian +scenery;—once more, under the blaze of noon, it changes to a waste of +broken emerald. With evening, the horizon assumes tints of +inexpressible sweetness,—pearl-lights, opaline colors of milk and +fire; and in the west are topaz-glowings and wondrous flushings as of +nacre. Then, if the sea sleeps, it dreams of all these,—faintly, +weirdly,—shadowing them even to the verge of heaven. +</P> + +<P> +Beautiful, too, are those white phantasmagoria which, at the approach +of equinoctial days, mark the coming of the winds. Over the rim of the +sea a bright cloud gently pushes up its head. It rises; and others +rise with it, to right and left—slowly at first; then more swiftly. +All are brilliantly white and flocculent, like loose new cotton. +Gradually they mount in enormous line high above the Gulf, rolling and +wreathing into an arch that expands and advances,—bending from horizon +to horizon. +</P> + +<P> +A clear, cold breath accompanies its coming. Reaching the zenith, it +seems there to hang poised awhile,—a ghostly bridge arching the +empyrean,—upreaching its measureless span from either underside of the +world. Then the colossal phantom begins to turn, as on a pivot of +air,—always preserving its curvilinear symmetry, but moving its unseen +ends beyond and below the sky-circle. And at last it floats away +unbroken beyond the blue sweep of the world, with a wind following +after. Day after day, almost at the same hour, the white arc rises, +wheels, and passes... +</P> + +<P> +... Never a glimpse of rock on these low shores;—only long sloping +beaches and bars of smooth tawny sand. Sand and sea teem with +vitality;—over all the dunes there is a constant susurration, a +blattering and swarming of crustacea;—through all the sea there is a +ceaseless play of silver lightning,—flashing of myriad fish. +Sometimes the shallows are thickened with minute, transparent, +crab-like organisms,—all colorless as gelatine. There are days also +when countless medusae drift in—beautiful veined creatures that throb +like hearts, with perpetual systole and diastole of their diaphanous +envelops: some, of translucent azure or rose, seem in the flood the +shadows or ghosts of huge campanulate flowers;—others have the +semblance of strange living vegetables,—great milky tubers, just +beginning to sprout. But woe to the human skin grazed by those shadowy +sproutings and spectral stamens!—the touch of glowing iron is not more +painful... Within an hour or two after their appearance all these +tremulous jellies vanish mysteriously as they came. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps, if a bold swimmer, you may venture out alone a long way—once! +Not twice!—even in company. As the water deepens beneath you, and you +feel those ascending wave-currents of coldness arising which bespeak +profundity, you will also begin to feel innumerable touches, as of +groping fingers—touches of the bodies of fish, innumerable fish, +fleeing towards shore. The farther you advance, the more thickly you +will feel them come; and above you and around you, to right and left, +others will leap and fall so swiftly as to daze the sight, like +intercrossing fountain-jets of fluid silver. The gulls fly lower about +you, circling with sinister squeaking cries;—perhaps for an instant +your feet touch in the deep something heavy, swift, lithe, that rushes +past with a swirling shock. Then the fear of the Abyss, the vast and +voiceless Nightmare of the Sea, will come upon you; the silent panic of +all those opaline millions that flee glimmering by will enter into you +also... +</P> + +<P> +From what do they flee thus perpetually? Is it from the giant sawfish +or the ravening shark?—from the herds of the porpoises, or from the +grande-ecaille,—that splendid monster whom no net may hold,—all +helmed and armored in argent plate-mail?—or from the hideous devilfish +of the Gulf,—gigantic, flat-bodied, black, with immense side-fins ever +outspread like the pinions of a bat,—the terror of luggermen, the +uprooter of anchors? From all these, perhaps, and from other monsters +likewise—goblin shapes evolved by Nature as destroyers, as +equilibrists, as counterchecks to that prodigious fecundity, which, +unhindered, would thicken the deep into one measureless and waveless +ferment of being... But when there are many bathers these perils are +forgotten,—numbers give courage,—one can abandon one's self, without +fear of the invisible, to the long, quivering, electrical caresses of +the sea ... +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +V. +</H3> + +<P> +Thirty years ago, Last Island lay steeped in the enormous light of even +such magical days. July was dying;—for weeks no fleck of cloud had +broken the heaven's blue dream of eternity; winds held their breath; +slow waveless caressed the bland brown beach with a sound as of kisses +and whispers. To one who found himself alone, beyond the limits of the +village and beyond the hearing of its voices,—the vast silence, the +vast light, seemed full of weirdness. And these hushes, these +transparencies, do not always inspire a causeless apprehension: they +are omens sometimes—omens of coming tempest. +Nature,—incomprehensible Sphinx!—before her mightiest bursts of rage, +ever puts forth her divinest witchery, makes more manifest her awful +beauty ... +</P> + +<P> +But in that forgotten summer the witchery lasted many long days,—days +born in rose-light, buried in gold. It was the height of the season. +The long myrtle-shadowed village was thronged with its summer +population;—the big hotel could hardly accommodate all its +guests;—the bathing-houses were too few for the crowds who flocked to +the water morning and evening. There were diversions for all,—hunting +and fishing parties, yachting excursions, rides, music, games, +promenades. Carriage wheels whirled flickering along the beach, +seaming its smoothness noiselessly, as if muffled. Love wrote its +dreams upon the sand... +</P> + +<P> +... Then one great noon, when the blue abyss of day seemed to yawn over +the world more deeply than ever before, a sudden change touched the +quicksilver smoothness of the waters—the swaying shadow of a vast +motion. First the whole sea-circle appeared to rise up bodily at the +sky; the horizon-curve lifted to a straight line; the line darkened and +approached,—a monstrous wrinkle, an immeasurable fold of green water, +moving swift as a cloud-shadow pursued by sunlight. But it had looked +formidable only by startling contrast with the previous placidity of +the open: it was scarcely two feet high;—it curled slowly as it +neared the beach, and combed itself out in sheets of woolly foam with a +low, rich roll of whispered thunder. Swift in pursuit another +followed—a third—a feebler fourth; then the sea only swayed a little, +and stilled again. Minutes passed, and the immeasurable heaving +recommenced—one, two, three, four ... seven long swells this +time;—and the Gulf smoothed itself once more. Irregularly the +phenomenon continued to repeat itself, each time with heavier billowing +and briefer intervals of quiet—until at last the whole sea grew +restless and shifted color and flickered green;—the swells became +shorter and changed form. Then from horizon to shore ran one +uninterrupted heaving—one vast green swarming of snaky shapes, rolling +in to hiss and flatten upon the sand. Yet no single cirrus-speck +revealed itself through all the violet heights: there was no +wind!—you might have fancied the sea had been upheaved from beneath ... +</P> + +<P> +And indeed the fancy of a seismic origin for a windless surge would not +appear in these latitudes to be utterly without foundation. On the +fairest days a southeast breeze may bear you an odor singular enough to +startle you from sleep,—a strong, sharp smell as of fish-oil; and +gazing at the sea you might be still more startled at the sudden +apparition of great oleaginous patches spreading over the water, +sheeting over the swells. That is, if you had never heard of the +mysterious submarine oil-wells, the volcanic fountains, unexplored, +that well up with the eternal pulsing of the Gulf-Stream ... +</P> + +<P> +But the pleasure-seekers of Last Island knew there must have been a +"great blow" somewhere that day. Still the sea swelled; and a splendid +surf made the evening bath delightful. Then, just at sundown, a +beautiful cloud-bridge grew up and arched the sky with a single span of +cottony pink vapor, that changed and deepened color with the dying of +the iridescent day. And the cloud-bridge approached, stretched, +strained, and swung round at last to make way for the coming of the +gale,—even as the light bridges that traverse the dreamy Teche swing +open when luggermen sound through their conch-shells the long, +bellowing signal of approach. +</P> + +<P> +Then the wind began to blow, with the passing of July. It blew from +the northeast, clear, cool. It blew in enormous sighs, dying away at +regular intervals, as if pausing to draw breath. All night it blew; and +in each pause could be heard the answering moan of the rising surf,—as +if the rhythm of the sea moulded itself after the rhythm of the +air,—as if the waving of the water responded precisely to the waving +of the wind,—a billow for every puff, a surge for every sigh. +</P> + +<P> +The August morning broke in a bright sky;—the breeze still came cool +and clear from the northeast. The waves were running now at a sharp +angle to the shore: they began to carry fleeces, an innumerable flock +of vague green shapes, wind-driven to be despoiled of their ghostly +wool. Far as the eye could follow the line of the beach, all the slope +was white with the great shearing of them. Clouds came, flew as in a +panic against the face of the sun, and passed. All that day and +through the night and into the morning again the breeze continued from +the north. east, blowing like an equinoctial gale ... +</P> + +<P> +Then day by day the vast breath freshened steadily, and the waters +heightened. A week later sea-bathing had become perilous: +colossal breakers were herding in, like moving leviathan-backs, twice +the height of a man. Still the gale grew, and the billowing waxed +mightier, and faster and faster overhead flew the tatters of torn +cloud. The gray morning of the 9th wanly lighted a surf that appalled +the best swimmers: the sea was one wild agony of foam, the gale was +rending off the heads of the waves and veiling the horizon with a fog +of salt spray. Shadowless and gray the day remained; there were mad +bursts of lashing rain. Evening brought with it a sinister apparition, +looming through a cloud-rent in the west—a scarlet sun in a green sky. +His sanguine disk, enormously magnified, seemed barred like the body of +a belted planet. A moment, and the crimson spectre vanished; and the +moonless night came. +</P> + +<P> +Then the Wind grew weird. It ceased being a breath; it became a Voice +moaning across the world,—hooting,—uttering nightmare +sounds,—Whoo!—whoo!—whoo!—and with each stupendous owl-cry the +mooing of the waters seemed to deepen, more and more abysmally, through +all the hours of darkness. From the northwest the breakers of the bay +began to roll high over the sandy slope, into the salines;—the village +bayou broadened to a bellowing flood ... So the tumult swelled and the +turmoil heightened until morning,—a morning of gray gloom and +whistling rain. Rain of bursting clouds and rain of wind-blown brine +from the great spuming agony of the sea. +</P> + +<P> +The steamer Star was due from St. Mary's that fearful morning. Could +she come? No one really believed it,—no one. And nevertheless men +struggled to the roaring beach to look for her, because hope is +stronger than reason ... +</P> + +<P> +Even today, in these Creole islands, the advent of the steamer is the +great event of the week. There are no telegraph lines, no telephones: +the mail-packet is the only trustworthy medium of communication with +the outer world, bringing friends, news, letters. The magic of steam +has placed New Orleans nearer to New York than to the Timbaliers, +nearer to Washington than to Wine Island, nearer to Chicago than to +Barataria Bay. And even during the deepest sleep of waves and winds +there will come betimes to sojourners in this unfamiliar archipelago a +feeling of lonesomeness that is a fear, a feeling of isolation from the +world of men,—totally unlike that sense of solitude which haunts one +in the silence of mountain-heights, or amid the eternal tumult of lofty +granitic coasts: a sense of helpless insecurity. +</P> + +<P> +The land seems but an undulation of the sea-bed: its highest ridges do +not rise more than the height of a man above the salines on either +side;—the salines themselves lie almost level with the level of the +flood-tides;—the tides are variable, treacherous, mysterious. But +when all around and above these ever-changing shores the twin +vastnesses of heaven and sea begin to utter the tremendous revelation +of themselves as infinite forces in contention, then indeed this sense +of separation from humanity appalls ... Perhaps it was such a feeling +which forced men, on the tenth day of August, eighteen hundred and +fifty-six, to hope against hope for the coming of the Star, and to +strain their eyes towards far-off Terrebonne. "It was a wind you could +lie down on," said my friend the pilot. +</P> + +<P> +... "Great God!" shrieked a voice above the shouting of the +storm,—"she is coming!" ... It was true. Down the Atchafalaya, and +thence through strange mazes of bayou, lakelet, and pass, by a rear +route familiar only to the best of pilots, the frail river-craft had +toiled into Caillou Bay, running close to the main shore;—and now she +was heading right for the island, with the wind aft, over the monstrous +sea. On she came, swaying, rocking, plunging,—with a great whiteness +wrapping her about like a cloud, and moving with her moving,—a +tempest-whirl of spray;—ghost-white and like a ghost she came, for her +smoke-stacks exhaled no visible smoke—the wind devoured it! The +excitement on shore became wild;—men shouted themselves hoarse; women +laughed and cried. Every telescope and opera-glass was directed upon +the coming apparition; all wondered how the pilot kept his feet; all +marvelled at the madness of the captain. +</P> + +<P> +But Captain Abraham Smith was not mad. A veteran American sailor, he +had learned to know the great Gulf as scholars know deep books by +heart: he knew the birthplace of its tempests, the mystery of its +tides, the omens of its hurricanes. While lying at Brashear City he +felt the storm had not yet reached its highest, vaguely foresaw a +mighty peril, and resolved to wait no longer for a lull. "Boys," he +said, "we've got to take her out in spite of Hell!" And they "took her +out." Through all the peril, his men stayed by him and obeyed him. By +midmorning the wind had deepened to a roar,—lowering sometimes to a +rumble, sometimes bursting upon the ears like a measureless and +deafening crash. Then the captain knew the Star was running a race +with Death. "She'll win it," he muttered;—"she'll stand it ... +Perhaps they'll have need of me to-night." +</P> + +<P> +She won! With a sonorous steam-chant of triumph the brave little +vessel rode at last into the bayou, and anchored hard by her accustomed +resting-place, in full view of the hotel, though not near enough to +shore to lower her gang-plank.... But she had sung her swan-song. +Gathering in from the northeast, the waters of the bay were already +marbling over the salines and half across the island; and still the +wind increased its paroxysmal power. +</P> + +<P> +Cottages began to rock. Some slid away from the solid props upon which +they rested. A chimney fumbled. Shutters were wrenched off; verandas +demolished. Light roofs lifted, dropped again, and flapped into ruin. +Trees bent their heads to the earth. And still the storm grew louder +and blacker with every passing hour. +</P> + +<P> +The Star rose with the rising of the waters, dragging her anchor. +</P> + +<P> +Two more anchors were put out, and still she dragged—dragged in with +the flood,—twisting, shuddering, careening in her agony. Evening fell; +the sand began to move with the wind, stinging faces like a continuous +fire of fine shot; and frenzied blasts came to buffet the steamer +forward, sideward. Then one of her hog-chains parted with a clang like +the boom of a big bell. Then another! ... Then the captain bade his +men to cut away all her upper works, clean to the deck. Overboard into +the seething went her stacks, her pilot-house, her cabins,—and whirled +away. And the naked hull of the Star, still dragging her three +anchors, labored on through the darkness, nearer and nearer to the +immense silhouette of the hotel, whose hundred windows were now all +aflame. The vast timber building seemed to defy the storm. The wind, +roaring round its broad verandas,—hissing through every crevice with +the sound and force of steam,—appeared to waste its rage. And in the +half-lull between two terrible gusts there came to the captain's ears a +sound that seemed strange in that night of multitudinous terrors ... a +sound of music! +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VI. +</H3> + +<P> +... Almost every evening throughout the season there had been dancing +in the great hall;—there was dancing that night also. The population +of the hotel had been augmented by the advent of families from other +parts of the island, who found their summer cottages insecure places of +shelter: there were nearly four hundred guests assembled. Perhaps it +was for this reason that the entertainment had been prepared upon a +grander plan than usual, that it assumed the form of a fashionable +ball. And all those pleasure seekers,—representing the wealth and +beauty of the Creole parishes,—whether from Ascension or Assumption, +St. Mary's or St. Landry's, Iberville or Terrebonne, whether +inhabitants of the multi-colored and many-balconied Creole quarter of +the quaint metropolis, or dwellers in the dreamy paradises of the +Teche,—mingled joyously, knowing each other, feeling in some sort +akin—whether affiliated by blood, connaturalized by caste, or simply +interassociated by traditional sympathies of class sentiment and class +interest. Perhaps in the more than ordinary merriment of that evening +something of nervous exaltation might have been discerned,—something +like a feverish resolve to oppose apprehension with gayety, to combat +uneasiness by diversion. But the hours passed in mirthfulness; the +first general feeling of depression began to weigh less and less upon +the guests; they had found reason to confide in the solidity of the +massive building; there were no positive terrors, no outspoken fears; +and the new conviction of all had found expression in the words of the +host himself,—"Il n'y a rien de mieux a faire que de s'amuser!" Of +what avail to lament the prospective devastation of cane-fields,—to +discuss the possible ruin of crops? Better to seek solace in +choregraphic harmonies, in the rhythm of gracious motion and of perfect +melody, than hearken to the discords of the wild orchestra of +storms;—wiser to admire the grace of Parisian toilets, the eddy of +trailing robes with its fairy-foam of lace, the ivorine loveliness of +glossy shoulders and jewelled throats, the glimmering of +satin-slippered feet,—than to watch the raging of the flood without, +or the flying of the wrack ... +</P> + +<P> +So the music and the mirth went on: they made joy for +themselves—those elegant guests;—they jested and sipped rich +wines;—they pledged, and hoped, and loved, and promised, with never a +thought of the morrow, on the night of the tenth of August, eighteen +hundred and fifty-six. Observant parents were there, planning for the +future bliss of their nearest and dearest;—mothers and fathers of +handsome lads, lithe and elegant as young pines, and fresh from the +polish of foreign university training;—mothers and fathers of splendid +girls whose simplest attitudes were witcheries. Young cheeks flushed, +young hearts fluttered with an emotion more puissant than the +excitement of the dance;—young eyes betrayed the happy secret +discreeter lips would have preserved. Slave-servants circled through +the aristocratic press, bearing dainties and wines, praying permission +to pass in terms at once humble and officious,—always in the excellent +French which well-trained house-servants were taught to use on such +occasions. +</P> + +<P> +... Night wore on: still the shining floor palpitated to the feet of +the dancers; still the piano-forte pealed, and still the violins +sang,—and the sound of their singing shrilled through the darkness, in +gasps of the gale, to the ears of Captain Smith, as he strove to keep +his footing on the spray-drenched deck of the Star. +</P> + +<P> +—"Christ!" he muttered,—"a dance! If that wind whips round south, +there'll be another dance! ... But I guess the Star will stay." ... +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour might have passed; still the lights flamed calmly, and the +violins trilled, and the perfumed whirl went on ... And suddenly the +wind veered! +</P> + +<P> +Again the Star reeled, and shuddered, and turned, and began to drag all +her anchors. But she now dragged away from the great building and its +lights,—away from the voluptuous thunder of the grand piano, even at +that moment outpouring the great joy of Weber's melody orchestrated by +Berlioz: l'Invitation a la Valse,—with its marvellous musical swing! +</P> + +<P> +—"Waltzing!" cried the captain. "God help them!—God help us all now! +... The Wind waltzes to-night, with the Sea for his partner!" ... +</P> + +<P> +O the stupendous Valse-Tourbillon! O the mighty Dancer! +One—two—three! From northeast to east, from east to southeast, from +southeast to south: then from the south he came, whirling the Sea in +his arms ... +</P> + +<P> +... Some one shrieked in the midst of the revels;—some girl who found +her pretty slippers wet. What could it be? Thin streams of water were +spreading over the level planking,—curling about the feet of the +dancers ... What could it be? All the land had begun to quake, even +as, but a moment before, the polished floor was trembling to the +pressure of circling steps;—all the building shook now; every beam +uttered its groan. What could it be? ... +</P> + +<P> +There was a clamor, a panic, a rush to the windy night. Infinite +darkness above and beyond; but the lantern-beams danced far out over an +unbroken circle of heaving and swirling black water. Stealthily, +swiftly, the measureless sea-flood was rising. +</P> + +<P> +—"Messieurs—mesdames, ce n'est rien. Nothing serious, ladies, I +assure you ... Mais nous en avons vu bien souvent, les inondations +comme celle-ci; ca passe vite! The water will go down in a few hours, +ladies;—it never rises higher than this; il n'y a pas le moindre +danger, je vous dis! Allons! il n'y a—My God! what is that?" ... +</P> + +<P> +For a moment there was a ghastly hush of voices. And through that hush +there burst upon the ears of all a fearful and unfamiliar sound, as of +a colossal cannonade rolling up from the south, with volleying +lightnings. Vastly and swiftly, nearer and nearer it came,—a +ponderous and unbroken thunder-roll, terrible as the long muttering of +an earthquake. +</P> + +<P> +The nearest mainland,—across mad Caillou Bay to the sea-marshes,—lay +twelve miles north; west, by the Gulf, the nearest solid ground was +twenty miles distant. There were boats, yes!—but the stoutest swimmer +might never reach them now! +</P> + +<P> +Then rose a frightful cry,—the hoarse, hideous, indescribable cry of +hopeless fear,—the despairing animal-cry man utters when suddenly +brought face to face with Nothingness, without preparation, without +consolation, without possibility of respite ... Sauve qui peut! Some +wrenched down the doors; some clung to the heavy banquet-tables, to the +sofas, to the billiard-tables:—during one terrible instant,—against +fruitless heroisms, against futile generosities,—raged all the frenzy +of selfishness, all the brutalities of panic. And then—then came, +thundering through the blackness, the giant swells, boom on boom! ... +One crash!—the huge frame building rocks like a cradle, seesaws, +crackles. What are human shrieks now?—the tornado is shrieking! +Another!—chandeliers splinter; lights are dashed out; a sweeping +cataract hurls in: the immense hall rises,—oscillates,—twirls as +upon a pivot,—crepitates,—crumbles into ruin. Crash again!—the +swirling wreck dissolves into the wallowing of another monster billow; +and a hundred cottages overturn, spin in sudden eddies, quiver, +disjoint, and melt into the seething. +</P> + +<P> +... So the hurricane passed,—tearing off the heads of the prodigious +waves, to hurl them a hundred feet in air,—heaping up the ocean +against the land,—upturning the woods. Bays and passes were swollen +to abysses; rivers regorged; the sea-marshes were changed to raging +wastes of water. Before New Orleans the flood of the mile-broad +Mississippi rose six feet above highest water-mark. One hundred and +ten miles away, Donaldsonville trembled at the towering tide of the +Lafourche. Lakes strove to burst their boundaries. Far-off river +steamers tugged wildly at their cables,—shivering like tethered +creatures that hear by night the approaching howl of destroyers. +Smoke-stacks were hurled overboard, pilot-houses torn away, cabins +blown to fragments. +</P> + +<P> +And over roaring Kaimbuck Pass,—over the agony of Caillou Bay,—the +billowing tide rushed unresisted from the Gulf,—tearing and swallowing +the land in its course,—ploughing out deep-sea channels where sleek +herds had been grazing but a few hours before,—rending islands in +twain,—and ever bearing with it, through the night, enormous vortex of +wreck and vast wan drift of corpses ... +</P> + +<P> +But the Star remained. And Captain Abraham Smith, with a long, good +rope about his waist, dashed again and again into that awful surging to +snatch victims from death,—clutching at passing hands, heads, +garments, in the cataract-sweep of the seas,—saving, aiding, cheering, +though blinded by spray and battered by drifting wreck, until his +strength failed in the unequal struggle at last, and his men drew him +aboard senseless, with some beautiful half-drowned girl safe in his +arms. But well-nigh twoscore souls had been rescued by him; and the +Star stayed on through it all. +</P> + +<P> +Long years after, the weed-grown ribs of her graceful skeleton could +still be seen, curving up from the sand-dunes of Last Island, in +valiant witness of how well she stayed. +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VII. +</H3> + +<P> +Day breaks through the flying wrack, over the infinite heaving of the +sea, over the low land made vast with desolation. It is a spectral +dawn: a wan light, like the light of a dying sun. +</P> + +<P> +The wind has waned and veered; the flood sinks slowly back to its +abysses—abandoning its plunder,—scattering its piteous waifs over bar +and dune, over shoal and marsh, among the silences of the mango-swamps, +over the long low reaches of sand-grasses and drowned weeds, for more +than a hundred miles. From the shell-reefs of Pointe-au-Fer to the +shallows of Pelto Bay the dead lie mingled with the high-heaped +drift;—from their cypress groves the vultures rise to dispute a share +of the feast with the shrieking frigate-birds and squeaking gulls. And +as the tremendous tide withdraws its plunging waters, all the pirates +of air follow the great white-gleaming retreat: a storm of billowing +wings and screaming throats. +</P> + +<P> +And swift in the wake of gull and frigate-bird the Wreckers come, the +Spoilers of the dead,—savage skimmers of the sea,—hurricane-riders +wont to spread their canvas-pinions in the face of storms; Sicilian and +Corsican outlaws, Manila-men from the marshes, deserters from many +navies, Lascars, marooners, refugees of a hundred +nationalities,—fishers and shrimpers by name, smugglers by +opportunity,—wild channel-finders from obscure bayous and unfamiliar +chenieres, all skilled in the mysteries of these mysterious waters +beyond the comprehension of the oldest licensed pilot ... +</P> + +<P> +There is plunder for all—birds and men. There are drowned sheep in +multitude, heaped carcasses of kine. There are casks of claret and +kegs of brandy and legions of bottles bobbing in the surf. There are +billiard-tables overturned upon the sand;—there are sofas, pianos, +footstools and music-stools, luxurious chairs, lounges of bamboo. +There are chests of cedar, and toilet-tables of rosewood, and trunks of +fine stamped leather stored with precious apparel. There are objets de +luxe innumerable. There are children's playthings: French dolls in +marvellous toilets, and toy carts, and wooden horses, and wooden +spades, and brave little wooden ships that rode out the gale in which +the great Nautilus went down. There is money in notes and in coin—in +purses, in pocketbooks, and in pockets: plenty of it! There are silks, +satins, laces, and fine linen to be stripped from the bodies of the +drowned,—and necklaces, bracelets, watches, finger-rings and fine +chains, brooches and trinkets ... "Chi bidizza!—Oh! chi bedda +mughieri! Eccu, la bidizza!" That ball-dress was made in Paris +by—But you never heard of him, Sicilian Vicenzu ... "Che bella +sposina!" Her betrothal ring will not come off, Giuseppe; but the +delicate bone snaps easily: your oyster-knife can sever the tendon ... +"Guardate! chi bedda picciota!" Over her heart you will find it, +Valentino—the locket held by that fine Swiss chain of woven +hair—"Caya manan!" +</P> + +<P> +And it is not your quadroon bondsmaid, sweet lady, who now disrobes you +so roughly; those Malay hands are less deft than hers,—but she +slumbers very far away from you, and may not be aroused from her sleep. +"Na quita mo! dalaga!—na quita maganda!" ... Juan, the fastenings of +those diamond ear-drops are much too complicated for your peon fingers: +tear them out!—"Dispense, chulita!" ... +</P> + +<P> +... Suddenly a long, mighty silver trilling fills the ears of all: +there is a wild hurrying and scurrying; swiftly, one after another, the +overburdened luggers spread wings and flutter away. +</P> + +<P> +Thrice the great cry rings rippling through the gray air, and over the +green sea, and over the far-flooded shell-reefs, where the huge white +flashes are,—sheet-lightning of breakers,—and over the weird wash of +corpses coming in. +</P> + +<P> +It is the steam-call of the relief-boat, hastening to rescue the +living, to gather in the dead. +</P> + +<P> +The tremendous tragedy is over! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="strength"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Out of the Sea's Strength +</H3> + +<H3> +I. +</H3> + +<P> +There are regions of Louisiana coast whose aspect seems not of the +present, but of the immemorial past—of that epoch when low flat +reaches of primordial continent first rose into form above a Silurian +Sea. To indulge this geologic dream, any fervid and breezeless day +there, it is only necessary to ignore the evolutional protests of a few +blue asters or a few composite flowers of the coryopsis sort, which +contrive to display their rare flashes of color through the general +waving of cat-heads, blood-weeds, wild cane, and marsh grasses. For, +at a hasty glance, the general appearance of this marsh verdure is +vague enough, as it ranges away towards the sand, to convey the idea of +amphibious vegetation,—a primitive flora as yet undecided whether to +retain marine habits and forms, or to assume terrestrial ones;—and the +occasional inspection of surprising shapes might strengthen this fancy. +Queer flat-lying and many-branching things, which resemble sea-weeds in +juiciness and color and consistency, crackle under your feet from time +to time; the moist and weighty air seems heated rather from below than +from above,—less by the sun than by the radiation of a cooling world; +and the mists of morning or evening appear to simulate the vapory +exhalation of volcanic forces,—latent, but only dozing, and +uncomfortably close to the surface. And indeed geologists have +actually averred that those rare elevations of the soil,—which, with +their heavy coronets of evergreen foliage, not only look like islands, +but are so called in the French nomenclature of the coast,—have been +prominences created by ancient mud volcanoes. +</P> + +<P> +The family of a Spanish fisherman, Feliu Viosca, once occupied and gave +its name to such an islet, quite close to the Gulf-shore,—the loftiest +bit of land along fourteen miles of just such marshy coast as I have +spoken of. Landward, it dominated a desolation that wearied the eye to +look at, a wilderness of reedy sloughs, patched at intervals with +ranges of bitter-weed, tufts of elbow-bushes, and broad reaches of +saw-grass, stretching away to a bluish-green line of woods that closed +the horizon, and imperfectly drained in the driest season by a slimy +little bayou that continually vomited foul water into the sea. The +point had been much discussed by geologists; it proved a godsend to +United States surveyors weary of attempting to take observations among +quagmires, moccasins, and arborescent weeds from fifteen to twenty feet +high. Savage fishermen, at some unrecorded time, had heaped upon the +eminence a hill of clam-shells,—refuse of a million feasts; earth +again had been formed over these, perhaps by the blind agency of worms +working through centuries unnumbered; and the new soil had given birth +to a luxuriant vegetation. Millennial oaks interknotted their roots +below its surface, and vouchsafed protection to many a frailer growth +of shrub or tree,—wild orange, water-willow, palmetto, locust, +pomegranate, and many trailing tendrilled things, both green and gray. +Then,—perhaps about half a century ago,—a few white fishermen cleared +a place for themselves in this grove, and built a few palmetto +cottages, with boat-houses and a wharf, facing the bayou. Later on +this temporary fishing station became a permanent settlement: homes +constructed of heavy timber and plaster mixed with the trailing moss of +the oaks and cypresses took the places of the frail and fragrant huts +of palmetto. Still the population itself retained a floating character: +it ebbed and came, according to season and circumstances, according to +luck or loss in the tilling of the sea. Viosca, the founder of the +settlement, always remained; he always managed to do well. +</P> + +<P> +He owned several luggers and sloops, which were hired out upon +excellent terms; he could make large and profitable contracts with New +Orleans fish-dealers; and he was vaguely suspected of possessing more +occult resources. There were some confused stories current about his +having once been a daring smuggler, and having only been reformed by +the pleadings of his wife Carmen,—a little brown woman who had +followed him from Barcelona to share his fortunes in the western world. +</P> + +<P> +On hot days, when the shade was full of thin sweet scents, the place +had a tropical charm, a drowsy peace. Nothing except the peculiar +appearance of the line of oaks facing the Gulf could have conveyed to +the visitor any suggestion of days in which the trilling of crickets +and the fluting of birds had ceased, of nights when the voices of the +marsh had been hushed for fear. In one enormous rank the veteran trees +stood shoulder to shoulder, but in the attitude of giants over +mastered,—forced backward towards the marsh,—made to recoil by the +might of the ghostly enemy with whom they had striven a thousand +years,—the Shrieker, the Sky-Sweeper, the awful Sea-Wind! +</P> + +<P> +Never had he given them so terrible a wrestle as on the night of the +tenth of August, eighteen hundred and fifty-six. All the waves of the +excited Gulf thronged in as if to see, and lifted up their voices, and +pushed, and roared, until the cheniere was islanded by such a billowing +as no white man's eyes had ever looked upon before. Grandly the oaks +bore themselves, but every fibre of their knotted thews was strained in +the unequal contest, and two of the giants were overthrown, upturning, +as they fell, roots coiled and huge as the serpent-limbs of Titans. +Moved to its entrails, all the islet trembled, while the sea magnified +its menace, and reached out whitely to the prostrate trees; but the +rest of the oaks stood on, and strove in line, and saved the +habitations defended by them ... +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +II. +</H3> + +<P> +Before a little waxen image of the Mother and Child,—an odd little +Virgin with an Indian face, brought home by Feliu as a gift after one +of his Mexican voyages,—Carmen Viosca had burned candles and prayed; +sometimes telling her beads; sometimes murmuring the litanies she knew +by heart; sometimes also reading from a prayer-book worn and greasy as +a long-used pack of cards. It was particularly stained at one page, a +page on which her tears had fallen many a lonely night—a page with a +clumsy wood cut representing a celestial lamp, a symbolic radiance, +shining through darkness, and on either side a kneeling angel with +folded wings. And beneath this rudely wrought symbol of the Perpetual +Calm appeared in big, coarse type the title of a prayer that has been +offered up through many a century, doubtless, by wives of Spanish +mariners,—Contra las Tempestades. +</P> + +<P> +Once she became very much frightened. After a partial lull the storm +had suddenly redoubled its force: the ground shook; the house quivered +and creaked; the wind brayed and screamed and pushed and scuffled at +the door; and the water, which had been whipping in through every +crevice, all at once rose over the threshold and flooded the dwelling. +Carmen dipped her finger in the water and tasted it. It was salt! +</P> + +<P> +And none of Feliu's boats had yet come in;—doubtless they had been +driven into some far-away bayous by the storm. The only boat at the +settlement, the Carmencita, had been almost wrecked by running upon a +snag three days before;—there was at least a fortnight's work for the +ship-carpenter of Dead Cypress Point. And Feliu was sleeping as if +nothing unusual had happened—the heavy sleep of a sailor, heedless of +commotions and voices. And his men, Miguel and Mateo, were at the +other end of the cheniere. +</P> + +<P> +With a scream Carmen aroused Feliu. He raised himself upon his elbow, +rubbed his eyes, and asked her, with exasperating calmness, "Que +tienes? que tienes?" (What ails thee?) +</P> + +<P> +—"Oh, Feliu! the sea is coming upon us!" she answered, in the same +tongue. But she screamed out a word inspired by her fear: she did not +cry, "Se nos viene el mar encima!" but "Se nos viene LA ALTURA!"—the +name that conveys the terrible thought of depth swallowed up in +height,—the height of the high sea. +</P> + +<P> +"No lo creo!" muttered Feliu, looking at the floor; then in a quiet, +deep voice he said, pointing to an oar in the corner of the room, +"Echame ese remo." +</P> + +<P> +She gave it to him. Still reclining upon one elbow, Feliu measured the +depth of the water with his thumb nail upon the blade of the oar, and +then bade Carmen light his pipe for him. His calmness reassured her. +For half an hour more, undismayed by the clamoring of the wind or the +calling of the sea, Feliu silently smoked his pipe and watched his oar. +The water rose a little higher, and he made another mark;—then it +climbed a little more, but not so rapidly; and he smiled at Carmen as +he made a third mark. "Como creia!" he exclaimed, "no hay porque +asustarse: el agua baja!" And as Carmen would have continued to pray, +he rebuked her fears, and bade her try to obtain some rest: +</P> + +<P> +"Basta ya de plegarios, querida!—vete y duerme." His tone, though +kindly, was imperative; and Carmen, accustomed to obey him, laid +herself down by his side, and soon, for very weariness, slept. +</P> + +<P> +It was a feverish sleep, nevertheless, shattered at brief intervals by +terrible sounds, sounds magnified by her nervous condition—a sleep +visited by dreams that mingled in a strange way with the impressions of +the storm, and more than once made her heart stop, and start again at +its own stopping. One of these fancies she never could forget—a dream +about little Concha,—Conchita, her firstborn, who now slept far away +in the old churchyard at Barcelona. She had tried to become +resigned,—not to think. But the child would come back night after +night, though the earth lay heavy upon her—night after night, through +long distances of Time and Space. Oh! the fancied clinging of +infant-lips!—the thrilling touch of little ghostly hands!—those +phantom-caresses that torture mothers' hearts! ... Night after night, +through many a month of pain. Then for a time the gentle presence +ceased to haunt her,—seemed to have lain down to sleep forever under +the high bright grass and yellow flowers. Why did it return, that +night of all nights, to kiss her, to cling to her, to nestle in her +arms? +</P> + +<P> +For in her dream she thought herself still kneeling before the waxen +Image, while the terrors of the tempest were ever deepening about +her,—raving of winds and booming of waters and a shaking of the land. +And before her, even as she prayed her dream-prayer, the waxen Virgin +became tall as a woman, and taller,—rising to the roof and smiling as +she grew. Then Carmen would have cried out for fear, but that +something smothered her voice,—paralyzed her tongue. And the Virgin +silently stooped above her, and placed in her arms the Child,—the +brown Child with the Indian face. And the Child whitened in her hands +and changed,—seeming as it changed to send a sharp pain through her +heart: an old pain linked somehow with memories of bright windy +Spanish hills, and summer scent of olive groves, and all the luminous +Past;—it looked into her face with the soft dark gaze, with the +unforgotten smile of ... dead Conchita! +</P> + +<P> +And Carmen wished to thank; the smiling Virgin for that priceless +bliss, and lifted up her eyes, but the sickness of ghostly fear +returned upon her when she looked; for now the Mother seemed as a woman +long dead, and the smile was the smile of fleshlessness, and the places +of the eyes were voids and darknesses ... And the sea sent up so vast a +roar that the dwelling rocked. +</P> + +<P> +Carmen started from sleep to find her heart throbbing so that the couch +shook with it. Night was growing gray; the door had just been opened +and slammed again. Through the rain-whipped panes she discerned the +passing shape of Feliu, making for the beach—a broad and bearded +silhouette, bending against the wind. Still the waxen Virgin smiled +her Mexican smile,—but now she was only seven inches high; and her +bead-glass eyes seemed to twinkle with kindliness while the flame of +the last expiring taper struggled for life in the earthen socket at her +feet. +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +III. +</H3> + +<P> +Rain and a blind sky and a bursting sea Feliu and his men, Miguel and +Mateo, looked out upon the thundering and flashing of the monstrous +tide. The wind had fallen, and the gray air was full of gulls. Behind +the cheniere, back to the cloudy line of low woods many miles away, +stretched a wash of lead-colored water, with a green point piercing it +here and there—elbow-bushes or wild cane tall enough to keep their +heads above the flood. But the inundation was visibly +decreasing;—with the passing of each hour more and more green patches +and points had been showing themselves: by degrees the course of the +bayou had become defined—two parallel winding lines of dwarf-timber +and bushy shrubs traversing the water toward the distant +cypress-swamps. Before the cheniere all the shell-beach slope was piled +with wreck—uptorn trees with the foliage still fresh upon them, +splintered timbers of mysterious origin, and logs in multitude, scarred +with gashes of the axe. Feliu and his comrades had saved wood enough +to build a little town,—working up to their waists in the surf, with +ropes, poles, and boat-hooks. The whole sea was full of flotsam. Voto +a Cristo!—what a wrecking there must have been! And to think the +Carmencita could not be taken out! +</P> + +<P> +They had seen other luggers making eastward during the morning—could +recognize some by their sails, others by their gait,—exaggerated in +their struggle with the pitching of the sea: the San Pablo, the +Gasparina, the Enriqueta, the Agueda, the Constanza. Ugly water, +yes!—but what a chance for wreckers! ... Some great ship must have +gone to pieces;—scores of casks were rolling in the trough,—casks of +wine. Perhaps it was the Manila,—perhaps the Nautilus! +</P> + +<P> +A dead cow floated near enough for Mateo to throw his rope over one +horn; and they all helped to get it out. It was a milch cow of some +expensive breed; and the owner's brand had been burned upon the +horns:—a monographic combination of the letters A and P. Feliu said +he knew that brand: Old-man Preaulx, of Belle-Isle, who kept a sort of +dairy at Last Island during the summer season, used to mark all his +cows that way. Strange! +</P> + +<P> +But, as they worked on, they began to see stranger things,—white dead +faces and dead hands, which did not look like the hands or the faces of +drowned sailors: the ebb was beginning to run strongly, and these were +passing out with it on the other side of the mouth of the +bayou;—perhaps they had been washed into the marsh during the night, +when the great rush of the sea came. Then the three men left the water, +and retired to higher ground to scan the furrowed Gulf;—their +practiced eyes began to search the courses of the sea-currents,—keen +as the gaze of birds that watch the wake of the plough. And soon the +casks and the drift were forgotten; for it seemed to them that the tide +was heavy with human dead—passing out, processionally, to the great +open. Very far, where the huge pitching of the swells was diminished by +distance into a mere fluttering of ripples, the water appeared as if +sprinkled with them;—they vanished and became visible again at +irregular intervals, here and there—floating most thickly +eastward!—tossing, swaying patches of white or pink or blue or black +each with its tiny speck of flesh-color showing as the sea lifted or +lowered the body. Nearer to shore there were few; but of these two +were close enough to be almost recognizable: Miguel first discerned +them. They were rising and falling where the water was deepest—well +out in front of the mouth of the bayou, beyond the flooded sand-bars, +and moving toward the shell-reef westward. They were drifting almost +side by side. One was that of a negro, apparently well attired, and +wearing a white apron;—the other seemed to be a young colored girl, +clad in a blue dress; she was floating upon her face; they could +observe that she had nearly straight hair, braided and tied with a red +ribbon. These were evidently house-servants,—slaves. But from +whence? Nothing could be learned until the luggers should return; and +none of them was yet in sight. Still Feliu was not anxious as to the +fate of his boats, manned by the best sailors of the coast. Rarely are +these Louisiana fishermen lost in sudden storms; even when to other +eyes the appearances are most pacific and the skies most splendidly +blue, they divine some far-off danger, like the gulls; and like the +gulls also, you see their light vessels fleeing landward. These men +seem living barometers, exquisitely sensitive to all the invisible +changes of atmospheric expansion and compression; they are not easily +caught in those awful dead calms which suddenly paralyze the wings of a +bark, and hold her helpless in their charmed circle, as in a nightmare, +until the blackness overtakes her, and the long-sleeping sea leaps up +foaming to devour her. +</P> + +<P> +—"Carajo!" +</P> + +<P> +The word all at once bursts from Feliu's mouth, with that peculiar +guttural snarl of the "r" betokening strong excitement,—while he +points to something rocking in the ebb, beyond the foaming of the +shell-reef, under a circling of gulls. More dead? Yes—but something +too that lives and moves, like a quivering speck of gold; and Mateo +also perceives it, a gleam of bright hair,—and Miguel likewise, after +a moment's gazing. A living child;—a lifeless mother. Pobrecita! No +boat within reach, and only a mighty surf-wrestler could hope to swim +thither and return! +</P> + +<P> +But already, without a word, brown Feliu has stripped for the +struggle;—another second, and he is shooting through the surf, head +and hands tunnelling the foam hills.... One—two—three lines +passed!—four!—that is where they first begin to crumble white from +the summit,—five!—that he can ride fearlessly! ... Then swiftly, +easily, he advances, with a long, powerful breast-stroke,—keeping his +bearded head well up to watch for drift,—seeming to slide with a swing +from swell to swell,—ascending, sinking,—alternately presenting +breast or shoulder to the wave; always diminishing more and more to the +eyes of Mateo and Miguel,—till he becomes a moving speck, occasionally +hard to follow through the confusion of heaping waters ... You are not +afraid of the sharks, Feliu!—no: they are afraid of you; right and +left they slunk away from your coming that morning you swam for life in +West-Indian waters, with your knife in your teeth, while the balls of +the Cuban coast-guard were purring all around you. That day the +swarming sea was warm,—warm like soup—and clear, with an emerald +flash in every ripple,—not opaque and clamorous like the Gulf today +... Miguel and his comrade are anxious. Ropes are unrolled and +inter-knotted into a line. Miguel remains on the beach; but Mateo, +bearing the end of the line, fights his way out,—swimming and wading +by turns, to the further sandbar, where the water is shallow enough to +stand in,—if you know how to jump when the breaker comes. +</P> + +<P> +But Feliu, nearing the flooded shell-bank, watches the white +flashings,—knows when the time comes to keep flat and take a long, +long breath. One heavy volleying of foam,—darkness and hissing as of +a steam-burst; a vibrant lifting up; a rush into light,—and again the +volleying and the seething darkness. Once more,—and the fight is won! +He feels the upcoming chill of deeper water,—sees before him the green +quaking of unbroken swells,—and far beyond him Mateo leaping on the +bar,—and beside him, almost within arm's reach, a great billiard-table +swaying, and a dead woman clinging there, and ... the child. +</P> + +<P> +A moment more, and Feliu has lifted himself beside the waifs ... How +fast the dead woman clings, as if with the one power which is strong as +death,—the desperate force of love! Not in vain; for the frail +creature bound to the mother's corpse with a silken scarf has still the +strength to cry out:—"Maman! maman!" But time is life now; and the +tiny hands must be pulled away from the fair dead neck, and the scarf +taken to bind the infant firmly to Feliu's broad shoulders,—quickly, +roughly; for the ebb will not wait ... +</P> + +<P> +And now Feliu has a burden; but his style of swimming has totally +changed;—he rises from the water like a Triton, and his powerful arms +seem to spin in circles, like the spokes of a flying wheel. For now is +the wrestle indeed!—after each passing swell comes a prodigious +pulling from beneath,—the sea clutching for its prey. +</P> + +<P> +But the reef is gained, is passed;—the wild horses of the deep seem to +know the swimmer who has learned to ride them so well. And still the +brown arms spin in an ever-nearing mist of spray; and the outer +sand-bar is not far off,—and there is shouting Mateo, leaping in the +surf, swinging something about his head, as a vaquero swings his noose! +... Sough! splash!—it struggles in the trough beside Feliu, and the +sinewy hand descends upon it. Tiene!—tira, Miguel! And their feet +touch land again! ... +</P> + +<P> +She is very cold, the child, and very still, with eyes closed. +</P> + +<P> +—"Esta muerta, Feliu?" asks Mateo. +</P> + +<P> +—"No!" the panting swimmer makes answer, emerging, while the waves +reach whitely up the sand as in pursuit,—"no; vive! respira todavia!" +</P> + +<P> +Behind him the deep lifts up its million hands, and thunders as in +acclaim. +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IV. +</H3> + +<P> +—"Madre de Dios!—mi sueno!" screamed Carmen, abandoning her +preparations for the morning meal, as Feliu, nude, like a marine god, +rushed in and held out to her a dripping and gasping +baby-girl,—"Mother of God! my dream!" But there was no time then to +tell of dreams; the child might die. In one instant Carmen's quick, +deft hands had stripped the slender little body; and while Mateo and +Feliu were finding dry clothing and stimulants, and Miguel telling how +it all happened—quickly, passionately, with furious gesture,—the kind +and vigorous woman exerted all her skill to revive the flickering life. +Soon Feliu came to aid her, while his men set to work completing the +interrupted preparation of the breakfast. Flannels were heated for the +friction of the frail limbs; and brandy-and-water warmed, which Carmen +administered by the spoonful, skilfully as any physician,—until, at +last, the little creature opened her eyes and began to sob. Sobbing +still, she was laid in Carmen's warm feather-bed, well swathed in +woollen wrappings. The immediate danger, at least, was over; and Feliu +smiled with pride and pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +Then Carmen first ventured to relate her dream; and his face became +grave again. Husband and wife gazed a moment into each other's eyes, +feeling together the same strange thrill—that mysterious faint +creeping, as of a wind passing, which is the awe of the Unknowable. +Then they looked at the child, lying there, pink checked with the flush +of the blood returning; and such a sudden tenderness touched them as +they had known long years before, while together bending above the +slumbering loveliness of lost Conchita. +</P> + +<P> +—"Que ojos!" murmured Feliu, as he turned away,—feigning hunger ... +(He was not hungry; but his sight had grown a little dim, as with a +mist.) Que ojos! They were singular eyes, large, dark, and wonderfully +fringed. The child's hair was yellow—it was the flash of it that had +saved her; yet her eyes and brows were beautifully black. She was +comely, but with such a curious, delicate comeliness—totally unlike +the robust beauty of Concha ... At intervals she would moan a little +between her sobs; and at last cried out, with a thin, shrill cry: +"Maman!—oh! maman!" Then Carmen lifted her from the bed to her lap, +and caressed her, and rocked her gently to and fro, as she had done +many a night for Concha,—murmuring,—"Yo sere tu madre, angel mio, +dulzura mia;—sere tu madrecita, palomita mia!" (I will be thy mother, +my angel, my sweet;—I will be thy little mother, my doveling.) And the +long silk fringes of the child's eyes overlapped, shadowed her little +cheeks; and she slept—just as Conchita had slept long ago,—with her +head on Carmen's bosom. +</P> + +<P> +Feliu re-appeared at the inner door: at a sign, he approached +cautiously, without noise, and looked. +</P> + +<P> +—"She can talk," whispered Carmen in Spanish: "she called her +mother"—ha llamado a su madre. +</P> + +<P> +—"Y Dios tambien la ha llamado," responded Feliu, with rude +pathos;—"And God also called her." +</P> + +<P> +—"But the Virgin sent us the child, Feliu,—sent us the child for +Concha's sake." +</P> + +<P> +He did not answer at once; he seemed to be thinking very +deeply;—Carmen anxiously scanned his impassive face. +</P> + +<P> +—"Who knows?" he answered, at last;—"who knows? Perhaps she has +ceased to belong to any one else." +</P> + +<P> +One after another, Feliu's luggers fluttered in,—bearing with them +news of the immense calamity. And all the fishermen, in turn, looked +at the child. Not one had ever seen her before. +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +V. +</H3> + +<P> +Ten days later, a lugger full of armed men entered the bayou, and +moored at Viosca's wharf. The visitors were, for the most part, +country gentlemen,—residents of Franklin and neighboring towns, or +planters from the Teche country,—forming one of the numerous +expeditions organized for the purpose of finding the bodies of +relatives or friends lost in the great hurricane, and of punishing the +robbers of the dead. They had searched numberless nooks of the coast, +had given sepulture to many corpses, had recovered a large amount of +jewelry, and—as Feliu afterward learned,—had summarily tried and +executed several of the most abandoned class of wreckers found with +ill-gotten valuables in their possession, and convicted of having +mutilated the drowned. But they came to Viosca's landing only to obtain +information;—he was too well known and liked to be a subject for +suspicion; and, moreover, he had one good friend in the crowd,—Captain +Harris of New Orleans, a veteran steamboat man and a market contractor, +to whom he had disposed of many a cargo of fresh pompano, sheep's-head, +and Spanish-mackerel ... Harris was the first to step to land;—some +ten of the party followed him. Nearly all had lost some relative or +friend in the great catastrophe;—the gathering was serious, +silent,—almost grim,—which formed about Feliu. +</P> + +<P> +Mateo, who had come to the country while a boy, spoke English better +than the rest of the cheniere people;—he acted as interpreter whenever +Feliu found any difficulty in comprehending or answering questions; and +he told them of the child rescued that wild morning, and of Feliu's +swim. His recital evoked a murmur of interest and excitement, followed +by a confusion of questions. Well, they could see for themselves, +Feliu said; but he hoped they would have a little patience;—the child +was still weak;—it might be dangerous to startle her. "We'll arrange +it just as you like," responded the captain;—"go ahead, Feliu!" ... +</P> + +<P> +All proceeded to the house, under the great trees; Feliu and Captain +Harris leading the way. It was sultry and bright;—even the sea-breeze +was warm; there were pleasant odors in the shade, and a soporific +murmur made of leaf-speech and the hum of gnats. Only the captain +entered the house with Feliu; the rest remained without—some taking +seats on a rude plank bench under the oaks—others flinging themselves +down upon the weeds—a few stood still, leaning upon their rifles. +Then Carmen came out to them with gourds and a bucket of fresh water, +which all were glad to drink. +</P> + +<P> +They waited many minutes. Perhaps it was the cool peace of the place +that made them all feel how hot and tired they were: conversation +flagged; and the general languor finally betrayed itself in a silence +so absolute that every leaf-whisper seemed to become separately audible. +</P> + +<P> +It was broken at last by the guttural voice of the old captain emerging +from the cottage, leading the child by the hand, and followed by Carmen +and Feliu. All who had been resting rose up and looked at the child. +</P> + +<P> +Standing in a lighted space, with one tiny hand enveloped by the +captain's great brown fist, she looked so lovely that a general +exclamation of surprise went up. Her bright hair, loose and steeped in +the sun-flame, illuminated her like a halo; and her large dark eyes, +gentle and melancholy as a deer's, watched the strange faces before her +with shy curiosity. She wore the same dress in which Feliu had found +her—a soft white fabric of muslin, with trimmings of ribbon that had +once been blue; and the now discolored silken scarf, which had twice +done her such brave service, was thrown over her shoulders. Carmen had +washed and repaired the dress very creditably; but the tiny slim feet +were bare,—the brine-soaked shoes she wore that fearful night had +fallen into shreds at the first attempt to remove them. +</P> + +<P> +—"Gentlemen," said Captain Harris,—"we can find no clew to the +identity of this child. There is no mark upon her clothing; and she +wore nothing in the shape of jewelry—except this string of coral +beads. We are nearly all Americans here; and she does not speak any +English ... Does any one here know anything about her?" +</P> + +<P> +Carmen felt a great sinking at her heart: was her new-found darling to +be taken so soon from her? But no answer came to the captain's query. +No one of the expedition had ever seen that child before. The coral +beads were passed from hand to hand; the scarf was minutely scrutinized +without avail. Somebody asked if the child could not talk German or +Italian. +</P> + +<P> +—"Italiano? No!" said Feliu, shaking his head.... One of his +luggermen, Gioachino Sparicio, who, though a Sicilian, could speak +several Italian idioms besides his own, had already essayed. +</P> + +<P> +—"She speaks something or other," answered the captain—"but no +English. I couldn't make her understand me; and Feliu, who talks +nearly all the infernal languages spoken down this way, says he can't +make her understand him. Suppose some of you who know French talk to +her a bit ... Laroussel, why don't you try?" +</P> + +<P> +The young man addressed did not at first seem to notice the captain's +suggestion. He was a tall, lithe fellow, with a dark, positive face: +he had never removed his black gaze from the child since the moment of +her appearance. Her eyes, too, seemed to be all for him—to return his +scrutiny with a sort of vague pleasure, a half savage confidence ... +Was it the first embryonic feeling of race-affinity quickening in the +little brain?—some intuitive, inexplicable sense of kindred? She +shrank from Doctor Hecker, who addressed her in German, shook her head +at Lawyer Solari, who tried to make her answer in Italian; and her look +always went back plaintively to the dark, sinister face of +Laroussel,—Laroussel who had calmly taken a human life, a wicked human +life, only the evening before. +</P> + +<P> +—"Laroussel, you're the only Creole in this crowd," said the captain; +"talk to her! Talk gumbo to her! ... I've no doubt this child knows +German very well, and Italian too,"—he added, maliciously—"but not in +the way you gentlemen pronounce it!" +</P> + +<P> +Laroussel handed his rifle to a friend, crouched down before the little +girl, and looked into her face, and smiled. Her great sweet orbs shone +into his one moment, seriously, as if searching; and then ... she +returned his smile. It seemed to touch something latent within the +man, something rare; for his whole expression changed; and there was a +caress in his look and voice none of the men could have believed +possible—as he exclaimed:— +</P> + +<P> +—"Fais moin bo, piti." +</P> + +<P> +She pouted up her pretty lips and kissed his black moustache. +</P> + +<P> +He spoke to her again:— +</P> + +<P> +—"Dis moin to nom, piti;—dis moin to nom, chere." +</P> + +<P> +Then, for the first time, she spoke, answering in her argent treble: +</P> + +<P> +—"Zouzoune." +</P> + +<P> +All held their breath. Captain Harris lifted his finger to his lips to +command silence. +</P> + +<P> +—"Zouzoune? Zouzoune qui, chere?" +</P> + +<P> +—"Zouzoune, a c'est moin, Lili!" +</P> + +<P> +—"C'est pas tout to nom, Lili;—dis moin, chere, to laut nom." +</P> + +<P> +—"Mo pas connin laut nom." +</P> + +<P> +—"Comment ye te pele to maman, piti?" +</P> + +<P> +—"Maman,—Maman 'Dele." +</P> + +<P> +—"Et comment ye te pele to papa, chere?" +</P> + +<P> +—"Papa Zulien." +</P> + +<P> +—"Bon! Et comment to maman te pele to papa?—dis ca a moin, chere?" +</P> + +<P> +The child looked down, put a finger in her mouth, thought a moment, and +replied:— +</P> + +<P> +—"Li pele li, 'Cheri'; li pele li, 'Papoute.'" +</P> + +<P> +—"Aie, aie!—c'est tout, ca?—to maman te jamain pele li daut' chose?" +</P> + +<P> +—"Mo pas connin, moin." +</P> + +<P> +She began to play with some trinkets attached to his watch chain;—a +very small gold compass especially impressed her fancy by the trembling +and flashing of its tiny needle, and she murmured, coaxingly:— +</P> + +<P> +—"Mo oule ca! Donnin ca a moin." +</P> + +<P> +He took all possible advantage of the situation, and replied at once:— +</P> + +<P> +—"Oui! mo va donnin toi ca si to di moin to laut nom." +</P> + +<P> +The splendid bribe evidently impressed her greatly; for tears rose to +the brown eyes as she answered: +</P> + +<P> +—"Mo pas capab di' ca;—mo pas capab di' laut nom ... Mo oule; mo pas +capab!" +</P> + +<P> +Laroussel explained. The child's name was Lili,—perhaps a contraction +of Eulalie; and her pet Creole name Zouzoune. He thought she must be +the daughter of wealthy people; but she could not, for some reason or +other, tell her family name. Perhaps she could not pronounce it well, +and was afraid of being laughed at: some of the old French names were +very hard for Creole children to pronounce, so long as the little ones +were indulged in the habit of talking the patois; and after a certain +age their mispronunciations would be made fun of in order to accustom +them to abandon the idiom of the slave-nurses, and to speak only +French. Perhaps, again, she was really unable to recall the name: +certain memories might have been blurred in the delicate brain by the +shock of that terrible night. She said her mother's name was Adele, +and her father's Julien; but these were very common names in +Louisiana,—and could afford scarcely any better clew than the innocent +statement that her mother used to address her father as "dear" +(Cheri),—or with the Creole diminutive "little papa" (Papoute). Then +Laroussel tried to reach a clew in other ways, without success. He +asked her about where she lived,—what the place was like; and she told +him about fig-trees in a court, and galleries, and banquettes, and +spoke of a faubou',—without being able to name any street. He asked +her what her father used to do, and was assured that he did +everything—that there was nothing he could not do. Divine absurdity +of childish faith!—infinite artlessness of childish love! ... Probably +the little girl's parents had been residents of New Orleans—dwellers +of the old colonial quarter,—the faubourg, the faubou'. +</P> + +<P> +—"Well, gentlemen," said Captain Harris, as Laroussel abandoned his +cross-examination in despair,—"all we can do now is to make inquiries. +I suppose we'd better leave the child here. She is very weak yet, and +in no condition to be taken to the city, right in the middle of the hot +season; and nobody could care for her any better than she's being cared +for here. Then, again, seems to me that as Feliu saved her life,—and +that at the risk of his own,—he's got the prior claim, anyhow; and his +wife is just crazy about the child—wants to adopt her. If we can find +her relatives so much the better; but I say, gentlemen, let them come +right here to Feliu, themselves, and thank him as he ought to be +thanked, by God! That's just what I think about it." +</P> + +<P> +Carmen understood the little speech;—all the Spanish charm of her +youth had faded out years before; but in the one swift look of +gratitude she turned upon the captain, it seemed to blossom again;—for +that quick moment, she was beautiful. +</P> + +<P> +"The captain is quite right," observed Dr. Hecker: "it would be very +dangerous to take the child away just now." There was no dissent. +</P> + +<P> +—"All correct, boys?" asked the captain ... "Well, we've got to be +going. By-by, Zouzoune!" +</P> + +<P> +But Zouzoune burst into tears. Laroussel was going too! +</P> + +<P> +—"Give her the thing, Laroussel! she gave you a kiss, anyhow—more +than she'd do for me," cried the captain. +</P> + +<P> +Laroussel turned, detached the little compass from his watch chain, and +gave it to her. She held up her pretty face for his farewell kiss ... +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VI. +</H3> + +<P> +But it seemed fated that Feliu's waif should never be +identified;—diligent inquiry and printed announcements alike proved +fruitless. Sea and sand had either hidden or effaced all the records +of the little world they had engulfed: the annihilation of whole +families, the extinction of races, had, in more than one instance, +rendered vain all efforts to recognize the dead. It required the +subtle perception of long intimacy to name remains tumefied and +discolored by corruption and exposure, mangled and gnawed by fishes, by +reptiles, and by birds;—it demanded the great courage of love to look +upon the eyeless faces found sweltering in the blackness of +cypress-shadows, under the low palmettoes of the swamps,—where gorged +buzzards started from sleep, or cottonmouths uncoiled, hissing, at the +coming of the searchers. And sometimes all who had loved the lost were +themselves among the missing. The full roll call of names could never +be made out; extraordinary mistakes were committed. Men whom the world +deemed dead and buried came back, like ghosts,—to read their own +epitaphs. +</P> + +<P> +... Almost at the same hour that Laroussel was questioning the child in +Creole patois, another expedition, searching for bodies along the +coast, discovered on the beach of a low islet famed as a haunt of +pelicans, the corpse of a child. Some locks of bright hair still +adhering to the skull, a string of red beads, a white muslin dress, a +handkerchief broidered with the initials "A.L.B.,"—were secured as +clews; and the little body was interred where it had been found. +</P> + +<P> +And, several days before, Captain Hotard, of the relief-boat Estelle +Brousseaux, had found, drifting in the open Gulf (latitude 26 degrees +43 minutes; longitude 88 degrees 17 minutes),—the corpse of a +fair-haired woman, clinging to a table. The body was disfigured beyond +recognition: even the slender bones of the hands had been stripped by +the nibs of the sea-birds-except one finger, the third of the left, +which seemed to have been protected by a ring of gold, as by a charm. +Graven within the plain yellow circlet was a date,—"JUILLET—1851"; +and the names,—"ADELE + JULIEN,"—separated by a cross. The Estelle +carried coffins that day: most of them were already full; but there +was one for Adele. +</P> + +<P> +Who was she?—who was her Julien? ... When the Estelle and many other +vessels had discharged their ghastly cargoes;—when the bereaved of the +land had assembled as hastily as they might for the du y of +identification;—when memories were strained almost to madness in +research of names, dates, incidents—for the evocation of dead words, +resurrection of vanished days, recollection of dear promises,—then, in +the confusion, it was believed and declared that the little corpse +found on the pelican island was the daughter of the wearer of the +wedding ring: Adele La Brierre, nee Florane, wife of Dr. Julien La +Brierre, of New Orleans, who was numbered among the missing. +</P> + +<P> +And they brought dead Adele back,—up shadowy river windings, over +linked brightnesses of lake and lakelet, through many a green +glimmering bayou,—to the Creole city, and laid her to rest somewhere +in the old Saint-Louis Cemetery. And upon the tablet recording her +name were also graven the words— +</P> + +<PRE> + ..................... + + Aussi a la memoire de + son mari; + + JULIEN RAYMOND LA BRIERRE, + ne a la paroisse St. Landry, + le 29 Mai; MDCCCXXVIII; + et de leur fille, + EULALIE, + agee de 4 as et 5 mois,— + Qui tous perirent + dans la grande tempete qui + balaya L'Ile Derniere, le + 10 Aout, MDCCCLVI + ..... + ..... + Priez pour eux! +</PRE> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VII. +</H3> + +<P> +Yet six months afterward the face of Julien La Brierre was seen again +upon the streets of New Orleans. Men started at the sight of him, as +at a spectre standing in the sun. And nevertheless the apparition cast +a shadow. People paused, approached, half extended a hand through old +habit, suddenly checked themselves and passed on,—wondering they +should have forgotten, asking themselves why they had so nearly made an +absurd mistake. +</P> + +<P> +It was a February day,—one of those crystalline days of our snowless +Southern winter, when the air is clear and cool, and outlines sharpen +in the light as if viewed through the focus of a diamond glass;—and in +that brightness Julien La Brierre perused his own brief epitaph, and +gazed upon the sculptured name of drowned Adele. Only half a year had +passed since she was laid away in the high wall of tombs,—in that +strange colonial columbarium where the dead slept in rows, behind +squared marbles lettered in black or bronze. Yet her +resting-place,—in the highest range,—already seemed old. Under our +Southern sun, the vegetation of cemeteries seems to spring into being +spontaneously—to leap all suddenly into luxuriant life! Microscopic +mossy growths had begun to mottle the slab that closed her in;—over +its face some singular creeper was crawling, planting tiny reptile-feet +into the chiselled letters of the inscription; and from the moist soil +below speckled euphorbias were growing up to her,—and morning +glories,—and beautiful green tangled things of which he did not know +the name. +</P> + +<P> +And the sight of the pretty lizards, puffing their crimson pouches in +the sun, or undulating athwart epitaphs, and shifting their color when +approached, from emerald to ashen-gray;—the caravans of the ants, +journeying to and from tiny chinks in the masonry;—the bees gathering +honey from the crimson blossoms of the crete-de-coq, whose radicles +sought sustenance, perhaps from human dust, in the decay of +generations:—all that rich life of graves summoned up fancies of +Resurrection, Nature's resurrection-work—wondrous transformations of +flesh, marvellous bans migration of souls! ... From some forgotten +crevice of that tomb roof, which alone intervened between her and the +vast light, a sturdy weed was growing. He knew that plant, as it +quivered against the blue,—the chou-gras, as Creole children call it: +its dark berries form the mockingbird's favorite food ... Might not its +roots, exploring darkness, have found some unfamiliar nutriment +within?—might it not be that something of the dead heart had risen to +purple and emerald life—in the sap of translucent leaves, in the wine +of the savage berries,—to blend with the blood of the Wizard +Singer,—to lend a strange sweetness to the melody of his wooing? ... +</P> + +<P> +... Seldom, indeed, does it happen that a man in the prime of youth, in +the possession of wealth, habituated to comforts and the elegances of +life, discovers in one brief week how minute his true relation to the +human aggregate,—how insignificant his part as one living atom of the +social organism. Seldom, at the age of twenty-eight, has one been made +able to comprehend, through experience alone, that in the vast and +complex Stream of Being he counts for less than a drop; and that, even +as the blood loses and replaces its corpuscles, without a variance in +the volume and vigor of its current, so are individual existences +eliminated and replaced in the pulsing of a people's life, with never a +pause in its mighty murmur. But all this, and much more, Julien had +learned in seven merciless days—seven successive and terrible shocks +of experience. The enormous world had not missed him; and his place +therein was not void—society had simply forgotten him. So long as he +had moved among them, all he knew for friends had performed their petty +altruistic roles,—had discharged their small human obligations,—had +kept turned toward him the least selfish side of their natures,—had +made with him a tolerably equitable exchange of ideas and of favors; +and after his disappearance from their midst, they had duly mourned for +his loss—to themselves! They had played out the final act in the +unimportant drama of his life: it was really asking too much to demand +a repetition ... Impossible to deceive himself as to the feeling his +unanticipated return had aroused:—feigned pity where he had looked for +sympathetic welcome; dismay where he had expected surprised delight; +and, oftener, airs of resignation, or disappointment ill +disguised,—always insincerity, politely masked or coldly bare. He had +come back to find strangers in his home, relatives at law concerning +his estate, and himself regarded as an intruder among the living,—an +unlucky guest, a revenant ... How hollow and selfish a world it seemed! +And yet there was love in it; he had been loved in it, unselfishly, +passionately, with the love of father and of mother, of wife and child +... All buried!—all lost forever! ... Oh! would to God the story of +that stone were not a lie!—would to kind God he also were dead! ... +</P> + +<P> +Evening shadowed: the violet deepened and prickled itself with +stars;—the sun passed below the west, leaving in his wake a momentary +splendor of vermilion ... our Southern day is not prolonged by +gloaming. And Julien's thoughts darkened with the darkening, and as +swiftly. For while there was yet light to see, he read another name +that he used to know—the name of RAMIREZ ... Nacio en Cienfuegos, isla +de Cuba ... Wherefore born?—for what eternal purpose, Ramirez,—in the +City of a Hundred Fires? He had blown out his brains before the +sepulchre of his young wife ... It was a detached double vault, shaped +like a huge chest, and much dilapidated already:—under the continuous +burrowing of the crawfish it had sunk greatly on one side, tilting as +if about to fall. Out from its zigzag fissurings of brick and plaster, +a sinister voice seemed to come:—"Go thou and do likewise! ... Earth +groans with her burthen even now,—the burthen of Man: she holds no +place for thee!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VIII. +</H3> + +<P> +... That voice pursued him into the darkness of his chilly +room,—haunted him in the silence of his lodging. And then began +within the man that ghostly struggle between courage and despair, +between patient reason and mad revolt, between weakness and force, +between darkness and light, which all sensitive and generous natures +must wage in their own souls at least once—perhaps many times—in +their lives. Memory, in such moments, plays like an electric +storm;—all involuntarily he found himself reviewing his life. +</P> + +<P> +Incidents long forgotten came back with singular vividness: he saw the +Past as he had not seen it while it was the Present;—remembrances of +home, recollections of infancy, recurred to him with terrible +intensity,—the artless pleasures and the trifling griefs, the little +hurts and the tender pettings, the hopes and the anxieties of those who +loved him, the smiles and tears of slaves ... And his first Creole +pony, a present from his father the day after he had proved himself +able to recite his prayers correctly in French, without one +mispronunciation—without saying crasse for grace,—and yellow Michel, +who taught him to swim and to fish and to paddle a pirogue;—and the +bayou, with its wonder-world of turtles and birds and creeping +things;—and his German tutor, who could not pronounce the j;—and the +songs of the cane-fields,—strangely pleasing, full of quaverings and +long plaintive notes, like the call of the cranes ... Tou', tou' pays +blanc! ... Afterward Camaniere had leased the place;—everything must +have been changed; even the songs could not be the same. Tou', tou' +pays blare!—Danie qui commande ... +</P> + +<P> +And then Paris; and the university, with its wild under-life,—some +debts, some follies; and the frequent fond letters from home to which +he might have replied so much oftener;—Paris, where talent is +mediocrity; Paris, with its thunders and its splendors and its seething +of passion;—Paris, supreme focus of human endeavor, with its madnesses +of art, its frenzied striving to express the Inexpressible, its +spasmodic strainings to clutch the Unattainable, its soarings of +soul-fire to the heaven of the Impossible ... +</P> + +<P> +What a rejoicing there was at his return!—how radiant and level the +long Road of the Future seemed to open before him!—everywhere +friends, prospects, felicitations. Then his first serious love;—and +the night of the ball at St. Martinsville,—the vision of light! +Gracile as a palm, and robed at once so simply, so exquisitely in +white, she had seemed to him the supreme realization of all possible +dreams of beauty ... And his passionate jealousy; and the slap from +Laroussel; and the humiliating two-minute duel with rapiers in which he +learned that he had found his master. The scar was deep. Why had not +Laroussel killed him then? ... Not evil-hearted, Laroussel,—they +used to salute each other afterward when they met; and Laroussel's +smile was kindly. Why had he refrained from returning it? Where was +Laroussel now? +</P> + +<P> +For the death of his generous father, who had sacrificed so much to +reform him; for the death, only a short while after, of his +all-forgiving mother, he had found one sweet woman to console him with +her tender words, her loving lips, her delicious caress. She had given +him Zouzoune, the darling link between their lives,—Zouzoune, who +waited each evening with black Eglantine at the gate to watch for his +coming, and to cry through all the house like a bird, "Papa, lape +vini!—papa Zulien ape vini!" ... And once that she had made him very +angry by upsetting the ink over a mass of business papers, and he had +slapped her (could he ever forgive himself?)—she had cried, through +her sobs of astonishment and pain:—"To laimin moin?—to batte moin!" +(Thou lovest me?—thou beatest me!) Next month she would have been five +years old. To laimin moin?—to batte moin! ... +</P> + +<P> +A furious paroxysm of grief convulsed him, suffocated him; it seemed to +him that something within must burst, must break. He flung himself +down upon his bed, biting the coverings in order to stifle his outcry, +to smother the sounds of his despair. What crime had he ever done, oh +God! that he should be made to suffer thus?—was it for this he had +been permitted to live? had been rescued from the sea and carried +round all the world unscathed? Why should he live to remember, to +suffer, to agonize? Was not Ramirez wiser? +</P> + +<P> +How long the contest within him lasted, he never knew; but ere it was +done, he had become, in more ways than one, a changed man. For the +first,—though not indeed for the last time,—something of the deeper +and nobler comprehension of human weakness and of human suffering had +been revealed to him,—something of that larger knowledge without which +the sense of duty can never be fully acquired, nor the understanding of +unselfish goodness, nor the spirit of tenderness. The suicide is not a +coward; he is an egotist. +</P> + +<P> +A ray of sunlight touched his wet pillow,—awoke him. He rushed to the +window, flung the latticed shutters apart, and looked out. +</P> + +<P> +Something beautiful and ghostly filled all the vistas,—frost-haze; and +in some queer way the mist had momentarily caught and held the very +color of the sky. An azure fog! Through it the quaint and checkered +street—as yet but half illumined by the sun,—took tones of impossible +color; the view paled away through faint bluish tints into transparent +purples;—all the shadows were indigo. How sweet the morning!—how +well life seemed worth living! Because the sun had shown his face +through a fairy veil of frost! ... +</P> + +<P> +Who was the ancient thinker?—was it Hermes?—who said:— +</P> + +<P> +"The Sun is Laughter; for 'tis He who maketh joyous the thoughts of +men, and gladdeneth the infinite world." ... +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="shadow"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +The Shadow of the Tide. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +I. +</H3> + +<P> +Carmen found that her little pet had been taught how to pray; for each +night and morning when the devout woman began to make her orisons, the +child would kneel beside her, with little hands joined, and in a voice +sweet and clear murmur something she had learned by heart. Much as +this pleased Carmen, it seemed to her that the child's prayers could +not be wholly valid unless uttered in Spanish;—for Spanish was +heaven's own tongue,—la lengua de Dios, el idioma de Dios; and she +resolved to teach her to say the Salve Maria and the Padre Nuestro in +Castilian—also, her own favorite prayer to the Virgin, beginning with +the words, "Madre santisima, toda dulce y hermosa." . . . +</P> + +<P> +So Conchita—for a new name had been given to her with that terrible +sea christening—received her first lessons in Spanish; and she proved +a most intelligent pupil. Before long she could prattle to Feliu;—she +would watch for his return of evenings, and announce his coming with +"Aqui viene mi papacito?"—she learned, too, from Carmen, many little +caresses of speech to greet him with. Feliu's was not a joyous nature; +he had his dark hours, his sombre days; yet it was rarely that he felt +too sullen to yield to the little one's petting, when she would leap up +to reach his neck and to coax his kiss, with—"Dame un beso, +papa!—asi;—y otro! otro! otro!" He grew to love her like his +own;—was she not indeed his own, since he had won her from death? And +none had yet come to dispute his claim. More and more, with the +passing of weeks, months, seasons, she became a portion of his life—a +part of all that he wrought for. At the first, he had had a +half-formed hope that the little one might be reclaimed by relatives +generous and rich enough to insist upon his acceptance of a handsome +compensation; and that Carmen could find some solace in a pleasant +visit to Barceloneta. But now he felt that no possible generosity +could requite him for her loss; and with the unconscious selfishness of +affection, he commenced to dread her identification as a great calamity. +</P> + +<P> +It was evident that she had been brought up nicely. She had pretty +prim ways of drinking and eating, queer little fashions of sitting in +company, and of addressing people. She had peculiar notions about +colors in dress, about wearing her hair; and she seemed to have already +imbibed a small stock of social prejudices not altogether in harmony +with the republicanism of Viosca's Point. Occasional swarthy +visitors,—men of the Manilla settlements,—she spoke of contemptuously +as negues-marrons; and once she shocked Carmen inexpressibly by +stopping in the middle of her evening prayer, declaring that she wanted +to say her prayers to a white Virgin; Carmen's Senora de Guadalupe was +only a negra! Then, for the first time, Carmen spoke so crossly to the +child as to frighten her. But the pious woman's heart smote her the +next moment for that first harsh word;—and she caressed the motherless +one, consoled her, cheered her, and at last explained to her—I know +not how—something very wonderful about the little figurine, something +that made Chita's eyes big with awe. Thereafter she always regarded +the Virgin of Wax as an object mysterious and holy. +</P> + +<P> +And, one by one, most of Chita's little eccentricities were gradually +eliminated from her developing life and thought. More rapidly than +ordinary children, because singularly intelligent, she learned to adapt +herself to all the changes of her new environment,—retaining only that +indescribable something which to an experienced eye tells of hereditary +refinement of habit and of mind:—a natural grace, a thorough-bred ease +and elegance of movement, a quickness and delicacy of perception. +</P> + +<P> +She became strong again and active—active enough to play a great deal +on the beach, when the sun was not too fierce; and Carmen made a canvas +bonnet to shield her head and face. Never had she been allowed to play +so much in the sun before; and it seemed to do her good, though her +little bare feet and hands became brown as copper. At first, it must +be confessed, she worried her foster-mother a great deal by various +queer misfortunes and extraordinary freaks;—getting bitten by crabs, +falling into the bayou while in pursuit of "fiddlers," or losing +herself at the conclusion of desperate efforts to run races at night +with the moon, or to walk to the "end of the world." If she could only +once get to the edge of the sky, she said, she "could climb up." She +wanted to see the stars, which were the souls of good little children; +and she knew that God would let her climb up. "Just what I am afraid +of!"—thought Carmen to herself;—"He might let her climb up,—a little +ghost!" But one day naughty Chita received a terrible lesson,—a +lasting lesson,—which taught her the value of obedience. +</P> + +<P> +She had been particularly cautioned not to venture into a certain part +of the swamp in the rear of the grove, where the weeds were very tall; +for Carmen was afraid some snake might bite the child. +</P> + +<P> +But Chita's bird-bright eye had discerned a gleam of white in that +direction; and she wanted to know what it was. The white could only be +seen from one point, behind the furthest house, where the ground was +high. "Never go there," said Carmen; "there is a Dead Man there,—will +bite you!" And yet, one day, while Carmen was unusually busy, Chita +went there. +</P> + +<P> +In the early days of the settlement, a Spanish fisherman had died; and +his comrades had built him a little tomb with the surplus of the same +bricks and other material brought down the bayou for the construction +of Viosca's cottages. But no one, except perhaps some wandering duck +hunter, had approached the sepulchre for years. High weeds and grasses +wrestled together all about it, and rendered it totally invisible from +the surrounding level of the marsh. +</P> + +<P> +Fiddlers swarmed away as Chita advanced over the moist soil, each +uplifting its single huge claw as it sidled off;—then frogs began to +leap before her as she reached the thicker grass;—and long-legged +brown insects sprang showering to right and left as she parted the +tufts of the thickening verdure. As she went on, the bitter-weeds +disappeared;—jointed grasses and sinewy dark plants of a taller growth +rose above her head: she was almost deafened by the storm of insect +shrilling, and the mosquitoes became very wicked. All at once +something long and black and heavy wriggled almost from under her naked +feet,—squirming so horribly that for a minute or two she could not +move for fright. But it slunk away somewhere, and hid itself; the weeds +it had shaken ceased to tremble in its wake; and her courage returned. +She felt such an exquisite and fearful pleasure in the gratification of +that naughty curiosity! Then, quite unexpectedly—oh! what a start it +gave her!—the solitary white object burst upon her view, leprous and +ghastly as the yawn of a cotton-mouth. Tombs ruin soon in +Louisiana;—the one Chita looked upon seemed ready to topple down. +There was a great ragged hole at one end, where wind and rain, and +perhaps also the burrowing of crawfish and of worms, had loosened the +bricks, and caused them to slide out of place. It seemed very black +inside; but Chita wanted to know what was there. She pushed her way +through a gap in the thin and rotten line of pickets, and through some +tall weeds with big coarse pink flowers;—then she crouched down on +hands and knees before the black hole, and peered in. It was not so +black inside as she had thought; for a sunbeam slanted down through a +chink in the roof; and she could see! +</P> + +<P> +A brown head—without hair, without eyes, but with teeth, ever so many +teeth!—seemed to laugh at her; and close to it sat a Toad, the hugest +she had ever seen; and the white skin of his throat kept puffing out +and going in. And Chita screamed and screamed, and fled in wild +terror,—screaming all the way, till Carmen ran out to meet her and +carry her home. Even when safe in her adopted mother's arms, she +sobbed with fright. To the vivid fancy of the child there seemed to be +some hideous relation between the staring reptile and the brown +death's-head, with its empty eyes, and its nightmare-smile. +</P> + +<P> +The shock brought on a fever,—a fever that lasted several days, and +left her very weak. But the experience taught her to obey, taught her +that Carmen knew best what was for her good. It also caused her to +think a great deal. Carmen had told her that the dead people never +frightened good little girls who stayed at home. +</P> + +<P> +—"Madrecita Carmen," she asked, "is my mamma dead?" +</P> + +<P> +—"Pobrecita! .... Yes, my angel. God called her to Him,—your darling +mother." +</P> + +<P> +—"Madrecita," she asked again,—her young eyes growing vast with +horror,—"is my own mamma now like That?" ... She pointed toward the +place of the white gleam, behind the great trees. +</P> + +<P> +—"No, no, no! my darling!" cried Carmen, appalled herself by the +ghastly question,—"your mamma is with the dear, good, loving God, who +lives in the beautiful sky, above the clouds, my darling, beyond the +sun!" +</P> + +<P> +But Carmen's kind eyes were full of tears; and the child read their +meaning. He who teareth off the Mask of the Flesh had looked into her +face one unutterable moment:—she had seen the brutal Truth, naked to +the bone! +</P> + +<P> +Yet there came to her a little thrill of consolation, caused by the +words of the tender falsehood; for that which she had discerned by day +could not explain to her that which she saw almost nightly in her +slumber. The face, the voice, the form of her loving mother still +lived somewhere,—could not have utterly passed away; since the sweet +presence came to her in dreams, bending and smiling over her, caressing +her, speaking to her,—sometimes gently chiding, but always chiding +with a kiss. And then the child would laugh in her sleep, and prattle +in Creole,—talking to the luminous shadow, telling the dead mother all +the little deeds and thoughts of the day.... Why would God only let her +come at night? +</P> + +<P> +... Her idea of God had been first defined by the sight of a quaint +French picture of the Creation,—an engraving which represented a +shoreless sea under a black sky, and out of the blackness a solemn and +bearded gray head emerging, and a cloudy hand through which stars +glimmered. God was like old Doctor de Coulanges, who used to visit the +house, and talk in a voice like a low roll of thunder.... At a later +day, when Chita had been told that God was "everywhere at the same time +"—without and within, beneath and above all things,—this idea became +somewhat changed. The awful bearded face, the huge shadowy hand, did +not fade from her thought; but they became fantastically blended with +the larger and vaguer notion of something that filled the world and +reached to the stars,—something diaphanous and incomprehensible like +the invisible air, omnipresent and everlasting like the high blue of +heaven .... +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +II. +</H3> + +<P> +... She began to learn the life of the coast. +</P> + +<P> +With her acquisition of another tongue, there came to her also the +understanding of many things relating to the world of the sea She +memorized with novel delight much that was told her day by day +concerning the nature surrounding her,—many secrets of the air, many +of those signs of heaven which the dwellers in cities cannot comprehend +because the atmosphere is thickened and made stagnant above +them—cannot even watch because the horizon is hidden from their eyes +by walls, and by weary avenues of trees with whitewashed trunks. She +learned, by listening, by asking, by observing also, how to know the +signs that foretell wild weather:—tremendous sunsets, scuddings and +bridgings of cloud,—sharpening and darkening of the sea-line,—and the +shriek of gulls flashing to land in level flight, out of a still +transparent sky,—and halos about the moon. +</P> + +<P> +She learned where the sea-birds, with white bosoms and brown wings, +made their hidden nests of sand,—and where the cranes waded for their +prey,—and where the beautiful wild-ducks, plumaged in satiny lilac and +silken green, found their food,—and where the best reeds grew to +furnish stems for Feliu's red-clay pipe,—and where the ruddy sea-beans +were most often tossed upon the shore,—and how the gray pelicans +fished all together, like men—moving in far-extending semicircles, +beating the flood with their wings to drive the fish before them. +</P> + +<P> +And from Carmen she learned the fables and the sayings of the sea,—the +proverbs about its deafness, its avarice, its treachery, its terrific +power,—especially one that haunted her for all time thereafter: Si +quieres aprender a orar, entra en el mar (If thou wouldst learn to +pray, go to the sea). She learned why the sea is salt,—how "the tears +of women made the waves of the sea,"—and how the sea has ii no +friends,—and how the cat's eyes change with the tides. +</P> + +<P> +What had she lost of life by her swift translation from the dusty +existence of cities to the open immensity of nature's freedom? What did +she gain? +</P> + +<P> +Doubtless she was saved from many of those little bitternesses and +restraints and disappointments which all well-bred city children must +suffer in the course of their training for the more or less factitious +life of society:—obligations to remain very still with every nimble +nerve quivering in dumb revolt;—the injustice of being found +troublesome and being sent to bed early for the comfort of her +elders;—the cruel necessity of straining her pretty eyes, for many +long hours at a time, over grimy desks in gloomy school-rooms, though +birds might twitter and bright winds flutter in the trees without;—the +austere constrains and heavy drowsiness of warm churches, filled with +the droning echoes of a voice preaching incomprehensible things;—the +progressively augmenting weariness of lessons in deportment, in +dancing, in music, in the impossible art of keeping her dresses +unruffled and unsoiled. Perhaps she never had any reason to regret all +these. +</P> + +<P> +She went to sleep and awakened with the wild birds;—her life remained +as unfettered by formalities as her fine feet by shoes. Excepting +Carmen's old prayer-book,—in which she learned to read a little,—her +childhood passed without books,—also without pictures, without +dainties, without music, without theatrical amusements. But she saw +and heard and felt much of that which, though old as the heavens and +the earth, is yet eternally new and eternally young with the holiness +of beauty,—eternally mystical and divine,—eternally weird: the +unveiled magnificence of Nature's moods,—the perpetual poem hymned by +wind and surge,—the everlasting splendor of the sky. +</P> + +<P> +She saw the quivering pinkness of waters curled by the breath of the +morning—under the deepening of the dawn—like a far fluttering and +scattering of rose-leaves of fire;— +</P> + +<P> +Saw the shoreless, cloudless, marvellous double-circling azure of +perfect summer days—twin glories of infinite deeps inter-reflected, +while the Soul of the World lay still, suffused with a jewel-light, as +of vaporized sapphire;— +</P> + +<P> +Saw the Sea shift color,—"change sheets,"—when the viewless Wizard of +the Wind breathed upon its face, and made it green;— +</P> + +<P> +Saw the immeasurable panics,—noiseless, scintillant,—which silver, +summer after summer, curved leagues of beach with bodies of little +fish—the yearly massacre of migrating populations, nations of +sea-trout, driven from their element by terror;—and the winnowing of +shark-fins,—and the rushing of porpoises,—and the rising of the +grande-ecaille, like a pillar of flame,—and the diving and pitching +and fighting of the frigates and the gulls,—and the armored hordes of +crabs swarming out to clear the slope after the carnage and the gorging +had been done;— +</P> + +<P> +Saw the Dreams of the Sky,—scudding mockeries of ridged foam,—and +shadowy stratification of capes and coasts and promontories long-drawn +out,—and imageries, multicolored, of mountain frondage, and sierras +whitening above sierras,—and phantom islands ringed around with +lagoons of glory;— +</P> + +<P> +Saw the toppling and smouldering of cloud-worlds after the enormous +conflagration of sunsets,—incandescence ruining into darkness; and +after it a moving and climbing of stars among the blacknesses,—like +searching lamps;— +</P> + +<P> +Saw the deep kindle countless ghostly candles as for mysterious +night-festival,—and a luminous billowing under a black sky, and +effervescences of fire, and the twirling and crawling of phosphoric +foam;— +</P> + +<P> +Saw the mesmerism of the Moon;—saw the enchanted tides self-heaped in +muttering obeisance before her. +</P> + +<P> +Often she heard the Music of the Marsh through the night: an infinity +of flutings and tinklings made by tiny amphibia,—like the low blowing +of numberless little tin horns, the clanking of billions of little +bells;—and, at intervals, profound tones, vibrant and heavy, as of a +bass viol—the orchestra of the great frogs! And interweaving with it +all, one continuous shrilling,—keen as the steel speech of a saw,—the +stridulous telegraphy of crickets. +</P> + +<P> +But always,—always, dreaming or awake, she heard the huge blind Sea +chanting that mystic and eternal hymn, which none may hear without awe, +which no musician can learn,— +</P> + +<P> +Heard the hoary Preacher,—El Pregonador,—preaching the ancient Word, +the word "as a fire, and as a hammer that breaketh the rock in +pieces,"—the Elohim—Word of the Sea! ... +</P> + +<P> +Unknowingly she came to know the immemorial sympathy of the mind with +the Soul of the World,—the melancholy wrought by its moods of gray, +the reverie responsive to its vagaries of mist, the exhilaration of its +vast exultings—days of windy joy, hours of transfigured light. +</P> + +<P> +She felt,—even without knowing it,—the weight of the Silences, the +solemnities of sky and sea in these low regions where all things seem +to dream—waters and grasses with their momentary wavings,—woods +gray-webbed with mosses that drip and drool,—horizons with their +delusions of vapor,—cranes meditating in their marshes,—kites +floating in the high blue.... Even the children were singularly quiet; +and their play less noisy—though she could not have learned the +difference—than the play of city children. Hour after hour, the women +sewed or wove in silence. And the brown men,—always barefooted, +always wearing rough blue shirts,—seemed, when they lounged about the +wharf on idle days, as if they had told each other long ago all they +knew or could ever know, and had nothing more to say. They would stare +at the flickering of the current, at the drifting of clouds and +buzzard:—seldom looking at each other, and always turning their black +eyes again, in a weary way, to sky or sea. Even thus one sees the +horses and the cattle of the coast, seeking the beach to escape the +whizzing flies;—all watch the long waves rolling in, and sometimes +turn their heads a moment to look at one another, but always look back +to the waves again, as if wondering at a mystery.... +</P> + +<P> +How often she herself had wondered—wondered at the multiform changes +of each swell as it came in—transformations of tint, of shape, of +motion, that seemed to betoken a life infinitely more subtle than the +strange cold life of lizards and of fishes,—and sinister, and +spectral. Then they all appeared to move in order,—according to one +law or impulse;—each had its own voice, yet all sang one and the same +everlasting song. Vaguely, as she watched them and listened to them, +there came to her the idea of a unity of will in their motion, a unity +of menace in their utterance—the idea of one monstrous and complex +life! The sea lived: it could crawl backward and forward; it could +speak!—it only feigned deafness and sightlessness for some malevolent +end. Thenceforward she feared to find herself alone with it. Was it +not at her that it strove to rush, muttering, and showing its white +teeth, ... just because it knew that she was all by herself? ... Si +quieres aprender a orar, entra en el mar! And Concha had well learned +to pray. But the sea seemed to her the one Power which God could not +make to obey Him as He pleased. Saying the creed one day, she repeated +very slowly the opening words,—"Creo en un Dios, padre todopoderoso, +Criador de cielo y de la tierra,"—and paused and thought. Creator of +Heaven and Earth? "Madrecita Carmen," she asked,—"quien entonces hizo +el mar?" (who then made the sea?). +</P> + +<P> +—"Dios, mi querida," answered Carmen.—"God, my darling.... All things +were made by Him" (todas las cosas fueron hechas por El). +</P> + +<P> +Even the wicked Sea! And He had said unto it: "Thus far, and no +farther." ... Was that why it had not overtaken and devoured her when +she ran back in fear from the sudden reaching out of its waves? Thus +far....? But there were times when it disobeyed—when it rushed +further, shaking the world! Was it because God was then asleep—could +not hear, did not see, until too late? +</P> + +<P> +And the tumultuous ocean terrified her more and more: it filled her +sleep with enormous nightmare;—it came upon her in dreams, +mountain-shadowing,—holding her with its spell, smothering her power +of outcry, heaping itself to the stars. +</P> + +<P> +Carmen became alarmed;—she feared that the nervous and delicate child +might die in one of those moaning dreams out of which she had to arouse +her, night after night. But Feliu, answering her anxiety with one of +his favorite proverbs, suggested a heroic remedy:— +</P> + +<P> +—"The world is like the sea: those who do not know how to swim in it +are drowned;—and the sea is like the world," he added.... "Chita must +learn to swim!" +</P> + +<P> +And he found the time to teach her. Each morning, at sunrise, he took +her into the water. She was less terrified the first time than Carmen +thought she would be;—she seemed to feel confidence in Feliu; although +she screamed piteously before her first ducking at his hands. His +teaching was not gentle. He would carry her out, perched upon his +shoulder, until the water rose to his own neck; and there he would +throw her from him, and let her struggle to reach him again as best she +could. The first few mornings she had to be pulled out almost at once; +but after that Feliu showed her less mercy, and helped her only when he +saw she was really in danger. He attempted no other instruction until +she had learned that in order to save herself from being half choked by +the salt water, she must not scream; and by the time she became +habituated to these austere experiences, she had already learned by +instinct alone how to keep herself afloat for a while, how to paddle a +little with her hands. Then he commenced to train her to use them,—to +lift them well out and throw them forward as if reaching, to dip them +as the blade of an oar is dipped at an angle, without loud +splashing;—and he showed her also how to use her feet. She learned +rapidly and astonishingly well. In less than two months Feliu felt +really proud at the progress made by his tiny pupil: it was a delight +to watch her lifting her slender arms above the water in swift, easy +curves, with the same fine grace that marked all her other natural +motions. Later on he taught her not to fear the sea even when it +growled a little,—how to ride a swell, how to face a breaker, how to +dive. She only needed practice thereafter; and Carmen, who could also +swim, finding the child's health improving marvellously under this new +discipline, took good care that Chita should practice whenever the +mornings were not too cold, or the water too rough. +</P> + +<P> +With the first thrill of delight at finding herself able to glide over +the water unassisted, the child's superstitious terror of the sea +passed away. Even for the adult there are few physical joys keener +than the exultation of the swimmer;—how much greater the same glee as +newly felt by an imaginative child,—a child, whose vivid fancy can +lend unutterable value to the most insignificant trifles, can transform +a weed-patch to an Eden! ... Of her own accord she would ask for her +morning bath, as soon as she opened her eyes;—it even required some +severity to prevent her from remaining in the water too long. The sea +appeared to her as something that had become tame for her sake, +something that loved her in a huge rough way; a tremendous playmate, +whom she no longer feared to see come bounding and barking to lick her +feet. And, little by little, she also learned the wonderful healing +and caressing power of the monster, whose cool embrace at once +dispelled all drowsiness, feverishness, weariness,—even after the +sultriest nights when the air had seemed to burn, and the mosquitoes +had filled the chamber with a sound as of water boiling in many +kettles. And on mornings when the sea was in too wicked a humor to be +played with, how she felt the loss of her loved sport, and prayed for +calm! Her delicate constitution changed;—the soft, pale flesh became +firm and brown, the meagre limbs rounded into robust symmetry, the thin +cheeks grew peachy with richer life; for the strength of the sea had +entered into her; the sharp breath of the sea had renewed and +brightened her young blood.... +</P> + +<P> +... Thou primordial Sea, the awfulness of whose antiquity hath stricken +all mythology dumb;—thou most wrinkled diving Sea, the millions of +whose years outnumber even the multitude of thy hoary motions;—thou +omniform and most mysterious Sea, mother of the monsters and the +gods,—whence shine eternal youth? Still do thy waters hold the +infinite thrill of that Spirit which brooded above their face in the +Beginning!—still is thy quickening breath an elixir unto them that +flee to thee for life,—like the breath of young girls, like the breath +of children, prescribed for the senescent by magicians of +old,—prescribed unto weazened elders in the books of the Wizards. +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +III +</H3> + +<P> +... Eighteen hundred and sixty-seven;—midsummer in the pest-smitten +city of New Orleans. +</P> + +<P> +Heat motionless and ponderous. The steel-blue of the sky bleached from +the furnace-circle of the horizon;—the lukewarm river ran yellow and +noiseless as a torrent of fluid wax. Even sounds seemed blunted by the +heaviness of the air;—the rumbling of wheels, the reverberation of +footsteps, fell half-toned upon the ear, like sounds that visit a +dozing brain. +</P> + +<P> +Daily, almost at the same hour, the continuous sense of atmospheric +oppression became thickened;—a packed herd of low-bellying clouds +lumbered up from the Gulf; crowded blackly against the sun; flickered, +thundered, and burst in torrential rain—tepid, perpendicular—and +vanished utterly away. Then, more furiously than before, the sun +flamed down;—roofs and pavements steamed; the streets seemed to smoke; +the air grew suffocating with vapor; and the luminous city filled with +a faint, sickly odor,—a stale smell, as of dead leaves suddenly +disinterred from wet mould,—as of grasses decomposing after a flood. +Something saffron speckled the slimy water of the gutters; sulphur some +called it; others feared even to give it a name! Was it only the +wind-blown pollen of some innocuous plant? +</P> + +<P> +I do not know; but to many it seemed as if the Invisible Destruction +were scattering visible seed! ... Such were the days; and each day the +terror-stricken city offered up its hecatomb to death; and the faces of +all the dead were yellow as flame! +</P> + +<P> +"DECEDE—"; "DECEDEE—"; "FALLECIO;"—"DIED." ... On the door-posts, +the telegraph-poles, the pillars of verandas, the lamps,—over the +government letter-boxes,—everywhere glimmered the white annunciations +of death. All the city was spotted with them. And lime was poured +into the gutters; and huge purifying fires were kindled after sunset. +</P> + +<P> +The nights began with a black heat;—there were hours when the acrid +air seemed to ferment for stagnation, and to burn the bronchial +tubing;—then, toward morning, it would grow chill with venomous +vapors, with morbific dews,—till the sun came up to lift the torpid +moisture, and to fill the buildings with oven-glow. And the +interminable procession of mourners and hearses and carriages again +began to circulate between the centres of life and of death;—and long +trains and steamships rushed from the port, with heavy burden of +fugitives. +</P> + +<P> +Wealth might flee; yet even in flight there was peril. Men, who might +have been saved by the craft of experienced nurses at home, hurriedly +departed in apparent health, unconsciously carrying in their blood the +toxic principle of a malady unfamiliar to physicians of the West and +North;—and they died upon their way, by the road-side, by the +river-banks, in woods, in deserted stations, on the cots of quarantine +hospitals. Wiser those who sought refuge in the purity of the pine +forests, or in those near Gulf Islands, whence the bright sea-breath +kept ever sweeping back the expanding poison into the funereal swamps, +into the misty lowlands. The watering-resorts became +overcrowded;—then the fishing villages were thronged,—at least all +which were easy to reach by steamboat or by lugger. And at last, even +Viosca's Point,—remote and unfamiliar as it was,—had a stranger to +shelter: a good old gentleman named Edwards, rather broken down in +health—who came as much for quiet as for sea-air, and who had been +warmly recommended to Feliu by Captain Harris. For some years he had +been troubled by a disease of the heart. +</P> + +<P> +Certainly the old invalid could not have found a more suitable place so +far as rest and quiet were concerned. The season had early given such +little promise that several men of the Point betook themselves +elsewhere; and the aged visitor had two or three vacant cabins from +among which to select a dwelling-place. He chose to occupy the most +remote of all, which Carmen furnished for him with a cool moss bed and +some necessary furniture,—including a big wooden rocking-chair. It +seemed to him very comfortable thus. He took his meals with the +family, spent most of the day in his own quarters, spoke very little, +and lived so unobtrusively and inconspicuously that his presence in the +settlement was felt scarcely more than that of some dumb +creature,—some domestic animal,—some humble pet whose relation to the +family is only fully comprehended after it has failed to appear for +several days in its accustomed place of patient waiting,—and we know +that it is dead. +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IV. +</H3> + +<P> +Persistently and furiously, at half-past two o'clock of an August +morning, Sparicio rang Dr. La Brierre's night-bell. He had fifty +dollars in his pocket, and a letter to deliver. He was to earn another +fifty dollars—deposited in Feliu's hands,—by bringing the Doctor to +Viosca's Point. He had risked his life for that money,—and was +terribly in earnest. +</P> + +<P> +Julien descended in his under-clothing, and opened the letter by the +light of the hall lamp. It enclosed a check for a larger fee than he +had ever before received, and contained an urgent request that he would +at once accompany Sparicio to Viosca's Point,—as the sender was in +hourly danger of death. The letter, penned in a long, quavering hand, +was signed,—"Henry Edwards." +</P> + +<P> +His father's dear old friend! Julien could not refuse to go,—though +he feared it was a hopeless case. Angina pectoris,—and a third attack +at seventy years of age! Would it even be possible to reach the +sufferer's bedside in time? "Due giorno,—con vento,"—said Sparicio. +Still, he must go; and at once. It was Friday morning;—might reach +the Point Saturday night, with a good wind ... He roused his +housekeeper, gave all needful instructions, prepared his little +medicine-chest;—and long before the first rose-gold fire of day had +flashed to the city spires, he was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion in +the tiny cabin of a fishing-sloop. +</P> + +<P> +... For eleven years Julien had devoted himself, heart and soul, to the +exercise of that profession he had first studied rather as a polite +accomplishment than as a future calling. In the unselfish pursuit of +duty he had found the only possible consolation for his irreparable +loss; and when the war came to sweep away his wealth, he entered the +struggle valorously, not to strive against men, but to use his science +against death. After the passing of that huge shock, which left all +the imposing and splendid fabric of Southern feudalism wrecked forever, +his profession stood him in good stead;—he found himself not only able +to supply those personal wants he cared to satisfy, but also to +alleviate the misery of many whom he had known in days of +opulence;—the princely misery that never doffed its smiling mask, +though living in secret, from week to week, on bread and orange-leaf +tea;—the misery that affected condescension in accepting an invitation +to dine,—staring at the face of a watch (refused by the Mont-de-Piete) +with eyes half blinded by starvation;—the misery which could afford +but one robe for three marriageable daughters,—one plain dress to be +worn in turn by each of them, on visiting days;—the pretty +misery—young, brave, sweet,—asking for a "treat" of cakes too +jocosely to have its asking answered,—laughing and coquetting with its +well-fed wooers, and crying for hunger after they were gone. Often and +often, his heart had pleaded against his purse for such as these, and +won its case in the silent courts of Self. But ever mysteriously the +gift came,—sometimes as if from the hand of a former slave; sometimes +as from a remorseful creditor, ashamed to write his name. Only yellow +Victorine knew; but the Doctor's housekeeper never opened those +sphinx-lips of hers, until years after the Doctor's name had +disappeared from the City Directory... +</P> + +<P> +He had grown quite thin,—a little gray. The epidemic had burthened +him with responsibilities too multifarious and ponderous for his +slender strength to bear. The continual nervous strain of abnormally +protracted duty, the perpetual interruption of sleep, had almost +prostrated even his will. Now he only hoped that, during this brief +absence from the city, he might find renewed strength to do his +terrible task. +</P> + +<P> +Mosquitoes bit savagely; and the heat became thicker;—and there was +yet no wind. Sparicio and his hired boy Carmelo had been walking +backward and forward for hours overhead,—urging the vessel yard by +yard, with long poles, through the slime of canals and bayous. With +every heavy push, the weary boy would sigh out,—"Santo Antonio!—Santo +Antonio!" Sullen Sparicio himself at last burst into vociferations of +ill-humor:—"Santo Antonio?—Ah! santissimu e santu diavulu! ... +Sacramentu paescite vegnu un asidente!—malidittu lu Signuri!" All +through the morning they walked and pushed, trudged and sighed and +swore; and the minutes dragged by more wearily than the shuffling of +their feet. "Managgia Cristo co tutta a croce!" ... "Santissimu e +santu diavulu!" ... +</P> + +<P> +But as they reached at last the first of the broad bright lakes, the +heat lifted, the breeze leaped up, the loose sail flapped and filled; +and, bending graciously as a skater, the old San Marco began to shoot +in a straight line over the blue flood. Then, while the boy sat at the +tiller, Sparicio lighted his tiny charcoal furnace below, and prepared +a simple meal,—delicious yellow macaroni, flavored with goats' cheese; +some fried fish, that smelled appetizingly; and rich black coffee, of +Oriental fragrance and thickness. Julien ate a little, and lay down to +sleep again. This time his rest was undisturbed by the mosquitoes; and +when he woke, in the cooling evening, he felt almost refreshed. The +San Marco was flying into Barataria Bay. Already the lantern in the +lighthouse tower had begun to glow like a little moon; and right on the +rim of the sea, a vast and vermilion sun seemed to rest his chin. Gray +pelicans came flapping around the mast;—sea-birds sped hurtling by, +their white bosoms rose-flushed by the western glow ... Again +Sparicio's little furnace was at work,—more fish, more macaroni, more +black coffee; also a square-shouldered bottle of gin made its +appearance. Julien ate less sparingly at this second meal; and smoked +a long time on deck with Sparicio, who suddenly became very +good-humored, and chatted volubly in bad Spanish, and in much worse +English. Then while the boy took a few hours' sleep, the Doctor helped +delightedly in maneuvering the little vessel. He had been a good +yachtsman in other years; and Sparicio declared he would make a good +fisherman. By midnight the San Marco began to run with a long, +swinging gait;—she had reached deep water. Julien slept soundly; the +steady rocking of the sloop seemed to soothe his nerves. +</P> + +<P> +—"After all," he thought to himself, as he rose from his little bunk +next morning,—"something like this is just what I needed." ... The +pleasant scent of hot coffee greeted him;—Carmelo was handing him the +tin cup containing it, down through the hatchway. After drinking it he +felt really hungry;—he ate more macaroni than he had ever eaten +before. Then, while Sparicio slept, he aided Carmelo; and during the +middle of the day he rested again. He had not had so much +uninterrupted repose for many a week. He fancied he could feel himself +getting strong. At supper-time it seemed to him he could not get +enough to eat,—although there was plenty for everybody. +</P> + +<P> +All day long there had been exactly the same wave-crease distorting the +white shadow of the San Marco's sail upon the blue water;—all day long +they had been skimming over the liquid level of a world so jewel-blue +that the low green ribbon-strips of marsh land, the far-off fleeing +lines of pine-yellow sand beach, seemed flaws or breaks in the +perfected color of the universe;—all day long had the cloudless sky +revealed through all its exquisite transparency that inexpressible +tenderness which no painter and no poet can ever reimage,—that +unutterable sweetness which no art of man may ever shadow forth, and +which none may ever comprehend,—though we feel it to be in some +strange way akin to the luminous and unspeakable charm that makes us +wonder at the eyes of a woman when she loves. +</P> + +<P> +Evening came; and the great dominant celestial tone deepened;—the +circling horizon filled with ghostly tints,—spectral greens and grays, +and pearl-lights and fish-colors ... Carmelo, as he crouched at the +tiller, was singing, in a low, clear alto, some tristful little melody. +Over the sea, behind them, lay, black-stretching, a long low arm of +island-shore;—before them flamed the splendor of sun-death; they were +sailing into a mighty glory,—into a vast and awful light of gold. +</P> + +<P> +Shading his vision with his fingers, Sparicio pointed to the long lean +limb of land from which they were fleeing, and said to La Brierre:— +</P> + +<P> +—"Look-a, Doct-a! Last-a Islan'!" +</P> + +<P> +Julien knew it;—he only nodded his head in reply, and looked the other +way,—into the glory of God. Then, wishing to divert the fisherman's +attention to another theme, he asked what was Carmelo singing. +Sparicio at once shouted to the lad:— +</P> + +<P> +—"Ha! ... ho! Carmelo!—Santu diavulu! ... Sing-a loud-a! Doct-a +lik-a! Sing-a! sing!" .... "He sing-a nicee,"—added the boatman, with +his peculiar dark smile. And then Carmelo sang, loud and clearly, the +song he had been singing before,—one of those artless Mediterranean +ballads, full of caressing vowel-sounds, and young passion, and +melancholy beauty:— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "M'ama ancor, belta fulgente,<BR> + Come tu m'amasti allor;—<BR> + Ascoltar non dei gente,<BR> + Solo interroga il tuo cor." ...<BR> +</P> + +<P> +—"He sing-a nicee,—mucha bueno!" murmured the fisherman. And then, +suddenly,—with a rich and splendid basso that seemed to thrill every +fibre of the planking,—Sparicio joined in the song:— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "M'ama pur d'amore eterno,<BR> + Ne deilitto sembri a te;<BR> + T'assicuro che l'inferno<BR> + Una favola sol e." ...<BR> +</P> + +<P> +All the roughness of the man was gone! To Julien's startled fancy, the +fishers had ceased to be;—lo! Carmelo was a princely page; Sparicio, a +king! How perfectly their voices married together!—they sang with +passion, with power, with truth, with that wondrous natural art which +is the birthright of the rudest Italian soul. And the stars throbbed +out in the heaven; and the glory died in the west; and the night opened +its heart; and the splendor of the eternities fell all about them. +Still they sang; and the San Marco sped on through the soft gloom, ever +slightly swerved by the steady blowing of the southeast wind in her +sail;—always wearing the same crimpling-frill of wave-spray about her +prow,—always accompanied by the same smooth-backed swells,—always +spinning out behind her the same long trail of interwoven foam. And +Julien looked up. Ever the night thrilled more and more with silent +twinklings;—more and more multitudinously lights pointed in the +eternities;—the Evening Star quivered like a great drop of liquid +white fire ready to fall;—Vega flamed as a pharos lighting the courses +ethereal,—to guide the sailing of the suns, and the swarming of fleets +of worlds. Then the vast sweetness of that violet night entered into +his blood,—filled him with that awful joy, so near akin to sadness, +which the sense of the Infinite brings,—when one feels the poetry of +the Most Ancient and Most Excellent of Poets, and then is smitten at +once with the contrast-thought of the sickliness and selfishness of +Man,—of the blindness and brutality of cities, whereinto the divine +blue light never purely comes, and the sanctification of the Silences +never descends ... furious cities, walled away from heaven ... Oh! if +one could only sail on thus always, always through such a +night—through such a star-sprinkled violet light, and hear Sparicio +and Carmelo sing, even though it were the same melody always, always +the same song! +</P> + +<P> +... "Scuza, Doct-a!—look-a out!" Julien bent down, as the big boom, +loosened, swung over his head. The San Marco was rounding into +shore,—heading for her home. Sparicio lifted a huge conch-shell from +the deck, put it to his lips, filled his deep lungs, and flung out into +the night—thrice—a profound, mellifluent, booming horn-tone. A +minute passed. Then, ghostly faint, as an echo from very far away, a +triple blowing responded... +</P> + +<P> +And a long purple mass loomed and swelled into sight, heightened, +approached—land and trees black-shadowing, and lights that swung ... +The San Marco glided into a bayou,—under a high wharfing of timbers, +where a bearded fisherman waited, and a woman. Sparicio flung up a +rope. +</P> + +<P> +The bearded man caught it by the lantern-light, and tethered the San +Marco to her place. Then he asked, in a deep voice: +</P> + +<P> +—"Has traido al Doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +—"Si, si!" answered Sparicio... "Y el viejo?" +</P> + +<P> +—"Aye! pobre!" responded Feliu,—"hace tres dias que esta muerto." +</P> + +<P> +Henry Edwards was dead! +</P> + +<P> +He had died very suddenly, without a cry or a word, while resting in +his rocking-chair,—the very day after Sparicio had sailed. They had +made him a grave in the marsh,—among the high weeds, not far from the +ruined tomb of the Spanish fisherman. But Sparicio had fairly earned +his hundred dollars. +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +V. +</H3> + +<P> +So there was nothing to do at Viosca's Point except to rest. Feliu and +all his men were going to Barataria in the morning on business;—the +Doctor could accompany them there, and take the Grand Island steamer +Monday for New Orleans. With this intention Julien retired,—not sorry +for being able to stretch himself at full length on the good bed +prepared for him, in one of the unoccupied cabins. But he woke before +day with a feeling of intense prostration, a violent headache, and such +an aversion for the mere idea of food that Feliu's invitation to +breakfast at five o'clock gave him an internal qualm. Perhaps a touch +of malaria. In any case he felt it would be both dangerous and useless +to return to town unwell; and Feliu, observing his condition, himself +advised against the journey. Wednesday he would have another +opportunity to leave; and in the meanwhile Carmen would take good care +of him ... The boats departed, and Julien slept again. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was high when he rose up and dressed himself, feeling no +better. He would have liked to walk about the place, but felt +nervously afraid of the sun. He did not remember having ever felt so +broken down before. He pulled a rocking-chair to the window, tried to +smoke a cigar. It commenced to make him feel still sicker, and he +flung it away. It seemed to him the cabin was swaying, as the San +Marco swayed when she first reached the deep water. +</P> + +<P> +A light rustling sound approached,—a sound of quick feet treading the +grass: then a shadow slanted over the threshold. In the glow of the +open doorway stood a young girl,—gracile, tall,—with singularly +splendid eyes,—brown eyes peeping at him from beneath a golden riot of +loose hair. +</P> + +<P> +—"M'sieu-le-Docteur, maman d'mande si vous n'avez besoin d'que'que +chose?" ... She spoke the rude French of the fishing villages, where +the language lives chiefly as a baragouin, mingled often with words and +forms belonging to many other tongues. She wore a loose-falling dress +of some light stuff, steel-gray in color;—boys' shoes were on her feet. +</P> + +<P> +He did not reply;—and her large eyes grew larger for wonder at the +strange fixed gaze of the physician, whose face had visibly +bleached,—blanched to corpse-pallor. Silent seconds passed; and still +the eyes stared—flamed as if the life of the man had centralized and +focussed within them. +</P> + +<P> +His voice had risen to a cry in his throat, quivered and swelled one +passionate instant, and failed—as in a dream when one strives to call, +and yet can only moan ... She! Her unforgotten eyes, her brows, her +lips!—the oval of her face!—the dawn-light of her hair! ... Adele's +own poise,—her own grace!—even the very turn of her neck, even the +bird-tone of her speech! ... Had the grave sent forth a Shadow to haunt +him?—could the perfidious Sea have yielded up its dead? For one +terrible fraction of a minute, memories, doubts, fears, mad fancies, +went pulsing through his brain with a rush like the rhythmic throbbing +of an electric stream;—then the shock passed, the Reason +spoke:—"Fool!—count the long years since you first saw her +thus!—count the years that have gone since you looked upon her last! +And Time has never halted, silly heart!—neither has Death stood still!" +</P> + +<P> +... "Plait-il?"—the clear voice of the young girl asked. She thought +he had made some response she could not distinctly hear. +</P> + +<P> +Mastering himself an instant, as the heart faltered back to its duty, +and the color remounted to his lips, he answered her in French:— +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me!—I did not hear ... you gave me such a start!" ... But even +then another extraordinary fancy flashed through his thought;—and with +the tutoiement of a parent to a child, with an irresistible outburst of +such tenderness as almost frightened her, he cried: "Oh! merciful +God!—how like her! ... Tell me, darling, your name; ... tell me who +you are?" (Dis-moi qui tu es, mignonne;—dis-moi ton nom.) +</P> + +<P> +... Who was it had asked her the same question, in another idiom ever +so long ago? The man with the black eyes and nose like an eagle's +beak,—the one who gave her the compass. Not this man—no! +</P> + +<P> +She answered, with the timid gravity of surprise:— +</P> + +<P> +—"Chita Viosca" +</P> + +<P> +He still watched her face, and repeated the name slowly,—reiterated it +in a tone of wonderment:—"Chita Viosca?—Chita Viosca!" +</P> + +<P> +—"C'est a dire ..." she said, looking down at her +feet,—"Concha—Conchita." His strange solemnity made her smile,—the +smile of shyness that knows not what else to do. But it was the smile +of dead Adele. +</P> + +<P> +—"Thanks, my child," he exclaimed of a sudden,—in a quick, hoarse, +changed tone. (He felt that his emotion would break loose in some wild +way, if he looked upon her longer.) "I would like to see your mother +this evening; but I now feel too ill to go out. I am going to try to +rest a little." +</P> + +<P> +—"Nothing I can bring you?" she asked,—"some fresh milk?" +</P> + +<P> +—"Nothing now, dear: if I need anything later, I will tell your +mother when she comes." +</P> + +<P> +—"Mamma does not understand French very well." +</P> + +<P> +—"No importa, Conchita;—le hablare en Espanol." +</P> + +<P> +—"Bien, entonces!" she responded, with the same exquisite smile. +"Adios, senor!" ... +</P> + +<P> +But as she turned in going, his piercing eye discerned a little brown +speck below the pretty lobe of her right ear,—just in the peachy curve +between neck and cheek.... His own little Zouzoune had a birthmark like +that!—he remembered the faint pink trace left by his fingers above and +below it the day he had slapped her for overturning his ink bottle ... +"To laimin moin?—to batte moin!" +</P> + +<P> +"Chita!—Chita!" +</P> + +<P> +She did not hear ... After all, what a mistake he might have made! +Were not Nature's coincidences more wonderful than fiction? Better to +wait,—to question the mother first, and thus make sure. +</P> + +<P> +Still—there were so many coincidences! The face, the smile, the eyes, +the voice, the whole charm;—then that mark,—and the fair hair. +Zouzoune had always resembled Adele so strangely! That golden hair was +a Scandinavian bequest to the Florane family;—the tall daughter of a +Norwegian sea captain had once become the wife of a Florane. +Viosca?—who ever knew a Viosca with such hair? Yet again, these +Spanish emigrants sometimes married blonde German girls ... Might be a +case of atavism, too. Who was this Viosca? If that was his wife,—the +little brown Carmen,—whence Chita's sunny hair? ... +</P> + +<P> +And this was part of that same desolate shore whither the Last Island +dead had been drifted by that tremendous surge! On a clear day, with a +good glass, one might discern from here the long blue streak of that +ghastly coast ... Somewhere—between here and there ... Merciful God! ... +</P> + +<P> +... But again! That bivouac-night before the fight at +Chancellorsville, Laroussel had begun to tell him such a singular story +... Chance had brought them,—the old enemies,—together; made them +dear friends in the face of Death. How little he had comprehended the +man!—what a brave, true, simple soul went up that day to the Lord of +Battles! ... What was it—that story about the little Creole girl saved +from Last Island,—that story which was never finished? ... Eh! what a +pain! +</P> + +<P> +Evidently he had worked too much, slept too little. A decided case of +nervous prostration. He must lie down, and try to sleep. +</P> + +<P> +These pains in the head and back were becoming unbearable. Nothing but +rest could avail him now. +</P> + +<P> +He stretched himself under the mosquito curtain. It was very still, +breathless, hot! The venomous insects were thick;—they filled the room +with a continuous ebullient sound, as if invisible kettles were boiling +overhead. A sign of storm.... Still, it was strange!—he could not +perspire ... +</P> + +<P> +Then it seemed to him that Laroussel was bending over him—Laroussel in +his cavalry uniform. "Bon jour, camarade!—nous allons avoir un bien +mauvais temps, mon pauvre Julien." How! bad weather?—"Comment un +mauvais temps?" ... He looked in Laroussel's face. There was something +so singular in his smile. Ah! yes,—he remembered now: it was the +wound! ... "Un vilain temps!" whispered Laroussel. Then he was gone +... Whither? +</P> + +<P> +—"Cheri!" ... +</P> + +<P> +The whisper roused him with a fearful start ... Adele's whisper! So she +was wont to rouse him sometimes in the old sweet nights,—to crave some +little attention for ailing Eulalie,—to make some little confidence +she had forgotten to utter during the happy evening ... No, no! It was +only the trees. The sky was clouding over. The wind was rising ... +How his heart beat! how his temples pulsed! Why, this was fever! Such +pains in the back and head! +</P> + +<P> +Still his skin was dry,—dry as parchment,—burning. He rose up; and a +bursting weight of pain at the base of the skull made him reel like a +drunken man. He staggered to the little mirror nailed upon the wall, +and looked. How his eyes glowed;—and there was blood in his mouth! +He felt his pulse spasmodic, terribly rapid. Could it possibly—? ... +No: this must be some pernicious malarial fever! The Creole does not +easily fall a prey to the great tropical malady,—unless after a long +absence in other climates. True! he had been four years in the army! +But this was 1867 ... He hesitated a moment; then,—opening his +medicine chest, he measured out and swallowed thirty grains of quinine. +</P> + +<P> +Then he lay down again. His head pained more and more;—it seemed as +if the cervical vertebrae were filled with fluid iron. And still his +skin remained dry as if tanned. Then the anguish grew so intense as to +force a groan with almost every aspiration ... Nausea,—and the +stinging bitterness of quinine rising in his throat;—dizziness, and a +brutal wrenching within his stomach. Everything began to look +pink;—the light was rose-colored. It darkened more,—kindled with +deepening tint. Something kept sparkling and spinning before his +sight, like a firework ... Then a burst of blood mixed with chemical +bitterness filled his mouth; the light became scarlet as claret ... +This—this was ... not malaria ... +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VI. +</H3> + +<P> +... Carmen knew what it was; but the brave little woman was not afraid +of it. Many a time before she had met it face to face, in Havanese +summers; she knew how to wrestle with it; she had torn Feliu's life +away from its yellow clutch, after one of those long struggles that +strain even the strength of love. Now she feared mostly for Chita. +She had ordered the girl under no circumstances to approach the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Julien felt that blankets had been heaped upon him,—that some gentle +hand was bathing his scorching face with vinegar and water. Vaguely +also there came to him the idea that it was night. He saw the +shadow-shape of a woman moving against the red light upon the wall;—he +saw there was a lamp burning. +</P> + +<P> +Then the delirium seized him: he moaned, sobbed, cried like a +child,—talked wildly at intervals in French, in English, in Spanish. +</P> + +<P> +—"Mentira!—you could not be her mother ... Still, if you were—And +she must not come in here,—jamais! ... Carmen, did you know +Adele,—Adele Florane? So like her,—so like,—God only knows how +like! ... Perhaps I think I know;—but I do not—do not know justly, +fully—how like! ... Si! si!—es el vomito!—yo lo conozco, Carmen! ... +She must not die twice ... I died twice ... I am going to die again. +She only once. Till the heavens be no more she will not rise ... Moi, +au contraire, il faut que je me leve toujours! They need me so +much;—the slate is always full; the bell will never stop. They will +ring that bell for me when I am dead ... So will I rise +again!—resurgam! ... How could I save him?—could not save myself. It +was a bad case,—at seventy years! ... There! Qui ca?" ... +</P> + +<P> +He saw Laroussel again,—reaching out a hand to him through a whirl of +red smoke. He tried to grasp it, and could not ... "N'importe, mon +ami," said Laroussel,—"tu vas la voir bientot." Who was he to see +soon?—"qui done, Laroussel?" But Laroussel did not answer. Through +the red mist he seemed to smile;—then passed. +</P> + +<P> +For some hours Carmen had trusted she could save her +patient,—desperate as the case appeared to be. His was one of those +rapid and violent attacks, such as often despatch their victims in a +single day. In the Cuban hospitals she had seen many and many terrible +examples: strong young men,—soldiers fresh from Spain,—carried +panting to the fever wards at sunrise; carried to the cemeteries at +sunset. Even troopers riddled with revolutionary bullets had lingered +longer ... Still, she had believed she might save Julien's life: the +burning forehead once began to bead, the burning hands grew moist. +</P> + +<P> +But now the wind was moaning;—the air had become lighter, thinner, +cooler. A stone was gathering in the east; and to the fever-stricken +man the change meant death ... Impossible to bring the priest of the +Caminada now; and there was no other within a day's sail. She could +only pray; she had lost all hope in her own power to save. +</P> + +<P> +Still the sick man raved; but he talked to himself at longer intervals, +and with longer pauses between his words;—his voice was growing more +feeble, his speech more incoherent. His thought vacillated and +distorted, like flame in a wind. +</P> + +<P> +Weirdly the past became confounded with the present; impressions of +sight and of sound interlinked in fastastic affinity,—the face of +Chita Viosca, the murmur of the rising storm. Then flickers of +spectral lightning passed through his eyes, through his brain, with +every throb of the burning arteries; then utter darkness came,—a +darkness that surged and moaned, as the circumfluence of a shadowed +sea. And through and over the moaning pealed one multitudinous human +cry, one hideous interblending of shoutings and shriekings ... A +woman's hand was locked in his own ... "Tighter," he muttered, "tighter +still, darling! hold as long as you can!" It was the tenth night of +August, eighteen hundred and fifty-six ... +</P> + +<P> +—"Cheri!" +</P> + +<P> +Again the mysterious whisper startled him to consciousness,—the dim +knowledge of a room filled with ruby colored light,—and the sharp odor +of vinegar. The house swung round slowly;—the crimson flame of the +lamp lengthened and broadened by turns;—then everything turned dizzily +fast,—whirled as if spinning in a vortex ... Nausea unutterable; and a +frightful anguish as of teeth devouring him within,—tearing more and +more furiously at his breast. Then one atrocious wrenching, rending, +burning,—and the gush of blood burst from lips and nostrils in a +smothering deluge. Again the vision of lightnings, the swaying, and +the darkness of long ago. "Quick!—quick!—hold fast to the table, +Adele!—never let go!" ... +</P> + +<P> +... Up,—up,—up!—what! higher yet? Up to the red sky! Red—black-red +... heated iron when its vermilion dies. So, too, the frightful flood! +And noiseless. Noiseless because heavy, clammy,—thick, warm, +sickening—blood? Well might the land quake for the weight of such a +tide!—Why did Adele speak Spanish? Who prayed for him? ... +</P> + +<P> +—"Alma de Cristo santisima santificame! +</P> + +<P> +"Sangre de Cristo, embriagame! +</P> + +<P> +"O buen Jesus, oye me!" ... +</P> + +<P> +Out of the darkness into—such a light! An azure haze! Ah!—the +delicious frost! ... All the streets were filled with the sweet blue +mist ... Voiceless the City and white;—crooked and weed grown its +narrow ways! ... Old streets of tombs, these ... Eh! How odd a +custom!—a Night-bell at every door. Yes, of course!—a +night-bell!—the Dead are Physicians of Souls: they may be summoned +only by night,—called up from the darkness and silence ... Yet +she?—might he not dare to ring for her even by day? ........ Strange +he had deemed it day!—why, it was black, starless ... And it was +growing queerly cold ...... How should he ever find her now? It was +so black ... so cold! ... +</P> + +<P> +—"Cheri!" +</P> + +<P> +All the dwelling quivered with the mighty whisper. +</P> + +<P> +Outside, the great oaks were trembling to their roots;—all the shore +shook and blanched before the calling of the sea. +</P> + +<P> +And Carmen, kneeling at the feet of the dead, cried out, alone in the +night:— +</P> + +<P> +—"O Jesus misericordioso!—tened compasion de el!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Chita: A Memory of Last Island, by Lafcadio Hearn + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHITA: A MEMORY OF LAST ISLAND *** + +***** This file should be named 717-h.htm or 717-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/7/1/717/ + +Produced by Tokuya Matsumoto. 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