Chita: A Memory of Last Island

thestorm,--"she is coming!" ... It was true. Down the Atchafalaya, andthence through strange mazes of bayou, lakelet, and pass, by a rearroute familiar only to the best of pilots, the frail river-craft hadtoiled into Caillou Bay, running close to the main shore;--and now shewas heading right for the island, with the wind aft, over the monstroussea. On she came, swaying, rocking, plunging,--with a great whitenesswrapping her about like a cloud, and moving with her moving,--atempest-whirl of spray;--ghost-white and like a ghost she came, for hersmoke-stacks exhaled no visible smoke--the wind devoured it! Theexcitement on shore became wild;--men shouted themselves hoarse; womenlaughed and cried. Every telescope and opera-glass was directed uponthe coming apparition; all wondered how the pilot kept his feet; allmarvelled at the madness of the captain.

  But Captain Abraham Smith was not mad. A veteran American sailor, hehad learned to know the great Gulf as scholars know deep books byheart: he knew the birthplace of its tempests, the mystery of itstides, the omens of its hurricanes. While lying at Brashear City hefelt the storm had not yet reached its highest, vaguely foresaw amighty peril, and resolved to wait no longer for a lull. "Boys," hesaid, "we've got to take her out in spite of Hell!" And they "took herout." Through all the peril, his men stayed by him and obeyed him. Bymidmorning the wind had deepened to a roar,--lowering sometimes to arumble, sometimes bursting upon the ears like a measureless anddeafening crash. Then the captain knew the Star was running a racewith Death. "She'll win it," he muttered;--"she'll stand it ...Perhaps they'll have need of me to-night."

  She won! With a sonorous steam-chant of triumph the brave littlevessel rode at last into the bayou, and anchored hard by her accustomedresting-place, in full view of the hotel, though not near enough toshore to lower her gang-plank.... But she had sung her swan-song.Gathering in from the northeast, the waters of the bay were alreadymarbling over the salines and half across the island; and still thewind increased its paroxysmal power.

  Cottages began to rock. Some slid away from the solid props upon whichthey rested. A chimney fumbled. Shutters were wrenched off; verandasdemolished. Light roofs lifted, dropped again, and flapped into ruin.Trees bent their heads to the earth. And still the storm grew louderand 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 withthe flood,--twisting, shuddering, careening in her agony. Evening fell;the sand began to move with the wind, stinging faces like a continuousfire of fine shot; and frenzied blasts came to buffet the steamerforward, sideward. Then one of her hog-chains parted with a clang likethe boom of a big bell. Then another! ... Then the captain bade hismen to cut away all her upper works, clean to the deck. Overboard intothe seething went her stacks, her pilot-house, her cabins,--and whirledaway. And the naked hull of the Star, still dragging her threeanchors, labored on through the darkness, nearer and nearer to theimmense silhouette of the hotel, whose hundred windows were now allaflame. The vast timber building seemed to defy the storm. The wind,roaring round its broad verandas,--hissing through every crevice withthe sound and force of steam,--appeared to waste its rage. And in thehalf-lull between two terrible gusts there came to the captain's ears asound that seemed strange in that night of multitudinous terrors ... asound of music!

  VI.

  ... Almost every evening throughout the season there had been dancingin the great hall;--there was dancing that night also. The populationof the hotel had been augmented by the advent of families from otherparts of the island, who found their summer cottages insecure places ofshelter: there were nearly four hundred guests assembled. Perhaps itwas for this reason that the entertainment had been prepared upon agrander plan than usual, that it assumed the form of a fashionableball. And all those pleasure seekers,--representing the wealth andbeauty of the Creole parishes,--whether from Ascension or Assumption,St. Mary's or St. Landry's, Iberville or Terrebonne, whetherinhabitants of the multi-colored and many-balconied Creole quarter ofthe quaint metropolis, or dwellers in the dreamy paradises of theTeche,--mingled joyously, knowing each other, feeling in some sortakin--whether affiliated by blood, connaturalized by caste, or simplyinterassociated by traditional sympathies of class sentiment and classinterest. Perhaps in the more than ordinary merriment of that eveningsomething of nervous exaltation might have been discerned,--somethinglike a feverish resolve to oppose apprehension with gayety, to combatuneasiness by diversion. But the hours passed in mirthfulness; thefirst general feeling of depression began to weigh less and less uponthe guests; they had found reason to confide in the solidity of themassive building; there were no positive terrors, no outspoken fears;and the new conviction of all had found expression in the words of thehost himself,--"Il n'y a rien de mieux a faire que de s'amuser!" Ofwhat avail to lament the prospective devastation of cane-fields,--todiscuss the possible ruin of crops? Better to seek solace inchoregraphic harmonies, in the rhythm of gracious motion and of perfectmelody, than hearken to the discords of the wild orchestra ofstorms;--wiser to admire the grace of Parisian toilets, the eddy oftrailing robes with its fairy-foam of lace, the ivorine loveliness ofglossy shoulders and jewelled throats, the glimmering ofsatin-slippered feet,--than to watch the raging of the flood without,or the flying of the wrack ...

  So the music and the mirth went on: they made joy forthemselves--those elegant guests;--they jested and sipped richwines;--they pledged, and hoped, and loved, and promised, with never athought of the morrow, on the night of the tenth of August, eighteenhundred and fifty-six. Observant parents were there, planning for thefuture bliss of their nearest and dearest;--mothers and fathers ofhandsome lads, lithe and elegant as young pines, and fresh from thepolish of foreign university training;--mothers and fathers of splendidgirls whose simplest attitudes were witcheries. Young cheeks flushed,young hearts fluttered with an emotion more puissant than theexcitement of the dance;--young eyes betrayed the happy secretdiscreeter lips would have preserved. Slave-servants circled throughthe aristocratic press, bearing dainties and wines, praying permissionto pass in terms at once humble and officious,--always in the excellentFrench which well-trained house-servants were taught to use on suchoccasions.

  ... Night wore on: still the shining floor palpitated to the feet ofthe dancers; still the piano-forte pealed, and still the violinssang,--and the sound of their singing shrilled through the darkness, ingasps of the gale, to the ears of Captain Smith, as he strove to keephis 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 theviolins trilled, and the perfumed whirl went on ... And suddenly thewind veered!

  Again the Star reeled, and shuddered, and turned, and began to drag allher anchors. But she now dragged away from the great building and itslights,--away from the voluptuous thunder of the grand piano, even atthat moment outpouring the great joy of Weber's melody orchestrated byBerlioz: l'Invitation 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!" ...

  O the stupendous Valse-Tourbillon! O the mighty Dancer!One--two--three! From northeast to east, from east to southeast, fromsoutheast to south: then from the south he came, whirling the Sea inhis arms ...

  ... Some one shrieked in the midst of the revels;--some girl who foundher pretty slippers wet. What could it be? Thin streams of water werespreading over the level planking,--curling about the feet of thedancers ... What could it be? All the land had begun to quake, evenas, but a moment before, the polished floor was trembling to thepressure of circling steps;--all the building shook now; every beamuttered its groan. What could it be? ...

  There was a clamor, a panic, a rush to the windy night. Infinitedarkness above and beyond
; but the lantern-beams danced far out over anunbroken circle of heaving and swirling black water. Stealthily,swiftly, the measureless sea-flood was rising.

  --"Messieurs--mesdames, ce n'est rien. Nothing serious, ladies, Iassure you ... Mais nous en avons vu bien souvent, les inondationscomme 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 moindredanger, je vous dis! Allons! il n'y a--My God! what is that?" ...

  For a moment there was a ghastly hush of voices. And through that hushthere burst upon the ears of all a fearful and unfamiliar sound, as ofa colossal cannonade rolling up from the south, with volleyinglightnings. Vastly and swiftly, nearer and nearer it came,--aponderous and unbroken thunder-roll, terrible as the long muttering ofan earthquake.

  The nearest