A DANCE OF DEATH.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5460, 11 January 1896, Page 3

A DANCE OF DEATH.

Before Lost Island became " Lost Island," celebrated in song and story, and with innumerable romances intertwined with its history, thei'e wa3 probably no resort along the entire Gulf coast so fashionable. Lost Island was lost in the great stcrm of August 10, 1856. The resort was crowded with wealth and fashion, fleeing from the blasts of the southern sun. The storm had increased in fury day by day, but still the gay throng heeded not. The story of that awful night ha 3 been preserved by Hearn, who wrote, years ago, in "Chita: A Memory of Lost Island " :

"Then, day by day the vast breath freshened steadily, and the waves heightened. Colossal breakers were herding in, like moving leviathan-backs, twice the height of a man. Still the gale grew, and the billows waxed mightier, and faster and faster overhead flew the tatters of torn cloud.

"The steamer Star was due from St Mary's that fatal 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. cironger than reason.

" ' Great Heavens !' shrinked a voice above the shouting storm, 'she is coming !' It was true. ; On ahe came, swaying, rooting, pluftging^with a great whiteness wrapping her-^a^^it like a ' cloud and moving ■with her mQV|^r^a tampest whirl of spray. The oScitement on shore became .wild; men shouted themselves hoarse, women laughed #n.d cried, all marvelled at the aaadness of the captain. The captain knew the Star wa# running a race with death. ' She'll win it/ 'he muttered ; • she'll stand it— perhaps they'll have need of me to-night/ - " She won. The brave little vessel rode at last into the harbour. And still the storm grew louder and blacker with every hour. The Star rose with the rising of the ■waters, aragging her anchor. Then one of her chains parted; then another. "Then the Captain bade his men to cut away all her upper works clean to the deck. Overboard into the seething waters went her boats, her pilot-house, her cabins, and jrhirled away. And the naked hull of the Star, still dragging its tjiree anchors, laboured on through the darkness, nearer and nearer to the hotel, whose hundred ■windows were now aflame.

"The vast timber building seemed to djfy the storm. The wind, roaring round its broad verandahs— hiesingthrougli every crevice almost as if it were steam—appeared to waste its rage. And ik the half lull between too terrible gusts there came to the Captain's ears a sound that seemed strange in that night of multitudinous terrors— a sound of music.

" Almost every evening throughout the season there had been dancing at the great nail; there was dancing that night also, so the music and the mirth went on; they made joy for themselves— those elegant gtiest3— -thay jested and sipped rich wines; and they pledged, and hoped, and loved, and promised, with never a* thought of the morrow, on the night of August 10, 1856. " 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 thrilled through the darkness, in gasps of the galp, to the ears of Captain Smith as he strove to keep his footing on the deok of tho Star.

" ' A dance !' he muttered, ' a dance !' If that wind whips round south there'll be another dance ! But I gueas the Star will stay.' Suddenly the wind veered ! And the Star now dragged away from the great building and its lights — away from the voluptuous thunder of the grand piano, even at that moment ontpouring the great joy of Weber's melody ' L 3 lnvitation pdttr la Vnlse/ 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 its partner.' 0, the stupendous Valse Tourbillon! 0, the mighty dancer ! One — two — three! From north-est to eaai, from east to south-east, from south-east to south ! Then from the south he came, whirling the sea in his arms.

" Someone 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 building shook now.

"What ccmld it bo? There was. a clamour, a panic, a rush out in to the windy liight. Infinite dp.vkness above and beyond; but the lantern-beams danced far out over a,n unbroken circle of heaving and swirling black water. Stealthily, swiftly the measureless aea-fiood was rising. " For a moment there was a gha3tly hush of voices. Then rose a frightful cry— the hoarse, hideous, indescribable cxy of hopeless real I—the1 — the despairing animal cry man utters when suddenly brought face to face with nothingness. And then — then came, thundering through the blackness, the giant swells, boom on boom ! "One crash; the huge frame building £,geks like a cradlo, ace-saws, cr&ckles. What are human shrieks now ? the tornado is shrieking. Another ! chandeliers splinter, Ughtß are dashed out, a sweeping cataract hurls in , the immense hall rises, oscillates, twirls, as xvpon a pivot, crepitates, crumbles into vv.\n. Crash again! the swirling wreck dissolves into the wallowing of mother moaeter billow, the last dancer li3^eaxo,jtfeatii triflctophs!'^