THE STORY-TELLER.

Evening Post, Volume LX, Issue 114, 10 November 1900, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE STORY-TELLER.

The Wrath of the StormGoa. [The terrible wind and sea storms which recently devastated Galveston, and ravaged the coast ot the Southern States induced the Argonaut to publish the descnp tion of the storm in Hearn's "Chita, : A Memory of Last Island," which attracted much attention on its appearance some ten years ago. L'lle Derrfiere was a sunny little spot in the Gulf of Mexico, much in Vogue as a- fashionable water-ing-place of the wealthy Creoles of Louisii,ana.J Last Island lay steeped in the enormous light of 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 wavelets caressed the bland brown beach with a sound as of kisses or whispers. It was the height of the season. The long mytle-shadowed village was thronged with" its summer population ; the big hotel could, hardly acco&inod&te 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. CaiTiage-wheels whirled flickering along the beach, seaming its smoothness noiselessly, as if muffled. Love wrote its dreams upon the sand. 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 ,loolced 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 itielf out in sheets of woolly foam with a low, rich roll of whispered thunder. Swift in pursuit another followed. — a- third — a feebler fdurth ; 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 i once more. Irregularly me- 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 colour 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 I — there was no wind ! — you might have fancied the sea had been upheaved from beneath. 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 vapour, that changed and deepened' colour with the dying 01 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. 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 xiir— as if the waving of the water, responded precisely to the waving of the wind — a billow for every, putf, a surge for every sigh. c The August morning broke in a bright sky ; the breeze stbill came cool and clear from the north-east. 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-dtfiven 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 Jhe face of the sun, and passed. All that 1 day and through the night and into the morning again 1 , the breeze continued from the north-east, blowing like an equinoctial galei ' v v Then day by day the vast breath freshened steadily and the waters i 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, ;uid the blowing waxed mightier and faster and faster overhead flew the tatters of torn cloud. The gray morning of the ninth wanly lighted a surf that appalled the best swimmers; the sea was one wild agony of foam, the jgale was rending off the heads of the wuves and veiling the horizon with a fog of salt spray. Shadowless and gray the day remained ; there were mad burstjj 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 d'iak, enormously magnified, seemed barred like the body of a belted^ planet. A moment, and the crimson spectre vanished and the moonless night came. Then the wind grew weird. . It ceased being a breath ; it became a voice moaning across the world — hooting — uttering nightmare sounds— whoo ! — whoo 1 • — whoo ! — and with ,each stupendous owlcry, the mooing of the waters seemed to deepen, more and more abysmally, through all the hours of darkness. From the north-west the breakers of the bay began ,to roll high ovei the sandy slope into the salines, the village bayou broadened ta 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. The steamer Star was due from St. Mary's that fearful morning. Gould she come? No 6ne really believed it— no one. And, nevertheless, men struggled to the roaring beach to look for her, because lope is stronger than reason. . Even to-day, in these Creole islands, the advent of the steamer is the great event of the week. There are /no telegraph lines, no telephones; Jshe mailpacket is the only trustworthy medium of communication with the oidter world, bringing friends, news, letters-/ And even during the deepest sleep oi waves and winds there will come betWes to sojourners in this unfamiliar arcjtopelago a feeling of lonesomenesa tb/t 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 ejternal tumult of lofty granite coasts ; a sense of helpless insecurity. The land seems but au undulation of the' sea-bed ; its highest ridges do not rise more tlian .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 vasonesa of hoaven 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 Avhich forced men, on the 10th day of August, 1856, to hope against hoge for the coming of the Star and to strain their eyes toward' far-off Terrebonne. "It was a wind you could lie down on," said my friend, the pilot. "Great God !" shrieked a voice above the' shouting of the storm, "she is coming!" It was true. Dowb the Atchafalya, 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 ! Tho excitement on shore became wild ; men shouted themselves hoarse; women laughed and cried. Every telescope and | opera glass was directed upon the com- ' ing apparition ; all wondered how the pilot* kept his feet ; all marvelled at the madness of the captain. 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 h^eajTt ; 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 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 mid-morning the wind had deepened k 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. Per- i haps they'll have need of me to-night." She won ! With a sonorous ' steamchant 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. I But she had sung her swan-song. x Gath- j ering in from the north-east the waters J of the bay were already marbling over the salines and half -across the island; and still the wind increased its paroxysmal power. Cottages began to rock. Some slid away from the solid props upon which they rested. A* chimney tumbled. Shutters were wrenched off ; verandahs 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. The Star rose with the rising of the waters, dragging her anchor.'. 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 hogchains 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, laboured 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 verandahs — 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 ! r 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 simmer cottages insecure places of shelter ; there were nearly four hundred guests assembled. Perhaps it was for the 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 plea-sure-seekers, representing the wealth and beauty of the Creole parishes, mingled joyously, knowing each other, feeling in some sort akin, whether affiliated fyy blood, connaturalised 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 gaiety, to combat uneasiness by diversion. But i 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 — "II ny a rien de mieux a fai're que de s'arhuser!" Of what avail | to lament the prospective devastation [ of cane-fields —to discuss the possible I ruin' of crops? Better to seek solace in of gracious motion and of perfect melody, than to 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 glimTinering of satm-sjippered feet — than to watch the raging of the flood without or the flying of the rack. So the music and mirth went on ; they made joy for themselves, those elegant guests ; they jested and sipped rich wines ; they pledged, and hoped, and loved, aaid promised, and never thought of the morrow, on the night of the tenth of August, 1856. Slave-servants circled through the. aristocratic press, bearing dainties and wines, praying permission

to pass in terras at once humble and officious — always in the excellent French which well-trained house-servants were taught to use on such occasions. . Night wore on ; still the shining floor palpitated to the feet of the. dancers ; still the pianoforte 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. "Christ !" he muttered — "a dance ! If that wind whips round south, there'll be another dance ! But I guess the Star will stay." 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 ! Again the , Stair reeled, and shuddered, and turned,' and began to drag all her anchors. But she now dragged away from the great building and its .light — away from the voluptuous thunder of tlite grand piano — even at that moment outpouring the great joy of Weber's melody orchestrated by Berlioz, " L'lnvitation a la. Valse" — with its marvellous musical swing. ... * >' "Waltzing !" cried the captain. "God help them ! God help us all now ! The Wind waltzes to-night with the Sea for his partner !" * 0 the stupendous Valse Tourbillon! 0 the mighty Dancer ! One — two — thz'ee From north-east to east, from east ,to sduth - east, from south - east to south : then from the south he came, whirling tthe Sea in his arms. Some one shrieked in the midsb of the I 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 if Tie? 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? There was a clamour, a panic, a rush to the windy night. Infinite darkness above and beyond; but the lantern beams dance far out over "an unbrokeri circle of heaving and swirling black water. Stealthily, swiftly, the measureless sea-flood was rising. » "Messieurs — mesdames, cc nest rien. Nothing serious, ladies, I assure you. Mais nous en avons vu bien souvent, les inonViations comme celle-oi ; ca passe vite ! The water will go down in a few hours, ladies ; ty never rises higher than this ; il ny a pas le moindre danger, je v6us dis ! Allons ! il. n'y a My God ! what is that?" For a moment there Was a ghastly hush of 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. The nearest mainland — asross Mad Caillou j-.ay 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. 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 gui 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 hero.isms, against futile generosities— H'aged all the irenzy of selfishness, all the' brutalities of panic. And then — then came, thundering through the blackness, the giant siwells boom on boom ! One crash — the huge frame building rocks like a cradle, seesaws, crackles. What are hiunan 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 swming wreck dissolves into the wallowing of another monster billow ; 'and a hundred, cottages overturn, spin in sudden' eddies, quiver, disjoint, and melb into the seething.* So the hurricane passed— tearing off the heads of the prodigious waves, to inirl them a- hundred feet in air — heaping up the ocean against the land — upturning the woods. Bays and passes were swollen to abysses ; rivers regoi'ged; 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 watermark. One hundred and ten miles away, Donaldsonville trembled at the towering tide ■ of the Laf purche. Lakes strove to burst their boundaries. Far-off river steamers tugged wildly at their cablesshivering 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. 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. 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 aataractsweep of the seas— saving, aiding, cheering, through 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 hls arm s. Biit well-nigh two score souls | had been rescured by him ; and the Star stayed on through it all. 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. Day breaks through the flying rack, over the infinite heaving of the sea, over the low land made vast with desolation. Jt fen- spectral dawn— a wan light, nj>e the Jighb of a dying sun. The wind has waned and veered ; the flood sinks slowly back to its abysses, abandoning its plunder, scattering fits piteous waifs over bar and dune, over shoal and marsh, amoug the silences of the mango-swamps, over the long, low reaches of sand-grasses arid drowned weeds, for more than a hundred miles." From the shell-reefs of Pointe-au-Fer to the shallows of Pelt© Bay, the dead lie mingled with the high-heaped drift; I from their cvoress-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 whitegleaming retreat, a storm of billowing wings and screaming throats. And swift in the wake of gull and fri-gate-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 x the marshes, deserters from many navies,, Lascars, marooners, refugees of a hundred nationalities — fishers and shrimpers bj r 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. There is plunder for all — birds and men. There are drowned ' sheep in multitude, heaped carcasses of kine. There are casks of claret, and 1 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, ip pocket-books, and in pockets — plenty of it! There are silks, satins, laces, and fine linen to lie stripped from the bodies of „■ me ""-drowned — and necklaces, braee 1 efcs, watches, finger-rings, and fine chains, brooches, and trinkets. "Chi bidizza !— Oh ! chi be.dda 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!" r Over her heart you will find it, Valentino — the locket held by that fine Swiss {chain of woven, hair — " Caya manan !" And it is n"ofc 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 moll dalaga !— na quita maganda !" Juan, the fastenings of those diamond ear-drops are much too complicated for your peon fingers; tear them out !—" Dispense, ohulitn,!" Suddenly a long, mighty silver trilling fills the ears of all ; there is a wild hurrying and scurrying ; swiftly, one after another, the ovei'burdened luggers spread wings and flutter away. 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 — sheetlightning of breakers — and over the weird wash of corpses coming in. It is the steam call of the relief-boat, hastening to rescue the living, to gather in the dead. The tremendous tragedy is over!