Iowa voter. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1867-1874, 1874-02-19

that this was the case. A more Deautlful
| and retired spot than the little village in
which they dwelt, or one inhabited by
| more simple and innocent set of people,
it was impossible to imagine. 1t was
| situated in wooded ravine, through
which trout stream ran down to the sea;
and upon the hilltop, between 1t and the
ocean, were the most picturesque church
and churchyard /, or any ones eye, ever
| beheld. From the house we could only
hear the distant whisper of the waves,
like the murmuring hum of bees,
but they were giant waves, and the
into wierd and horrid shapes. 1t was the
grandest sea.coast / had yet visited, and
all day long / sat beside it with my
sketch book, or merely watching the
white wrath of the breakers, and listening
to the thunder in the caverns at my feet
| was not at all afraid of the sea--when l
was upon the land. Indeed, am not
| alarmed at anything Notwithstanding
what some people say to the contrary
unless there is reasonable cause for fear.
For instance, am not afraid-at least,
was not until the catastrophe occurred of
which l am about to relate-of supernat-
ural apparitions. When l announced my
intention, one evening, of going up the
hill to sketch the churchyard by moon
light, there arose quite rude litter in the
drawingroom. "Surely not alone, Mary
Anne9 Let one of the girls go with you,"
said my hostess.
"What is there to be afraid of in
church-yards No, thank you," replied
l proudly "The miserable superstitions
of the country do not affect me, l do as
sure you
"But it is so lonely up there, my dear"
"What of that? Solitude and stiffness
are the fit accomplishments of such sol
emn scene. l had much rather go there
by myself"
l was resolved to exhibit my independ-
ence, as well as to do away with any false
impressions my excellent hostess might
have received from Charlotte or others
with respect TO my courage; but at the
same time she need not have reminded
me that it was $50 lonely up there"
did not expect to find Disney churchyard
the center of fashion, or the scene of an
excursion picnic at ten o'clock at night,
of course; her remark was officious and
unnecessary, and at the same time 1t made
my blood run cold. However, when the
moon rose, so did /, and, sketch book in
hand, toiled up to the old church, which
landmark used by sailors, which taught
them to avoid the rocks at Disney Point.
Whatever might be the matter, there was
always wind up there, and even in that
still summer night twas wandering about
the grasses of the graves, and whispering
into the ears of the stone gargoyles OF the
church, which seemed to grin in malice
at its news of storm and wreck to come.
l myself seated on my camp-stool, just
in front of the porch, and began what /
intended to be a hasty sketch, just few
strokes, TO be filled In at my leisure, for
felt the situation to be "uncanny," and al
ready wished myself at home. My fingers
shook little, certainly not with cold,
and, though the architecture was said TO
be "A "a fine specimen of the perpendicu-
lar" il did not appear so in my sketch
book.
Suddenly heard subdued sob; the
utterance, as 1t seemed to me, of some
poor creature Of my own sex In distress.
Ii came from an obscure corner of the
churchyard, where the graves were not
so well cared for and tended as the others
were--a spot, had been told, where those
were laid whom the pitiless sea had
drowned. When ship was cast upon
the rocks yonder IL was rare even for one
Of its crew TO reach that rock-bound
shore alive; and after great storm
whole ships companies were sometimes
buried at once in the churchyard Of Dis
ney head.
listened with beating heart, and the
sound was repeated; and this time felt
sure it was as | had supposed. Doubtless
some woman had come TO weep in secret
over the grave of her sailor son or hus-
II. A.I tx,I .af a. ..t,t nd
In such case. Itmight be that should
be able to give her comfort. / rose, and
moving toward the wreck-corner las IL
was called, could dimly make out
woman's figure kneeling at the head Of
grave. In the presence of 80 great a sor-
SOW, / seemed to lose all selfish fear, and
ventured softly to address her. She did
not reply, nor even so much as turn her
head, though | felt certain she must
have heard me; and since she was
woman, and did not speak, | felt there
must be something very wrong with her.
AS drew nearer, | beheld spectacle
that overwhelmed me with pity. The I'm
happy creature before me was naked TO
the waist, and with her arms straight
down by her side, was gazing on the grave
beneath her with look of indescribable
despair. She shed no tear, but her eyes
wore look Of hopeless woe and yearn-
ing beyond all ordinary sorrow.
"You are killing yourself, my poor
woman" reasoned /, "to kneel there in
such plight. The dead you mourn can
ask no such sacrifice as this that you
should join them"
But again she answered nothing; and
then, to my horror, /. observed that she
had dug another grave at the head OF that
she was watching, and was already buried
in IL up to her waist Was she, then, bent
upon committing suicide, or was she her
self an inbabitant of the tomb, like those
around her, and we're the graves indeed
giving up their dead at that witching hour
Of night, as / had read of, but had not
believed?
In an agony of terror, such as even l
had never before experienced, flung
down my sketch-book, and rushed from
the churchyard and down the hill.
.What is the matter, Mary Annef'' cried
my amazed hostess, who was sitting up
for me with her husband in the parlor, as
/ tore into the room shrieking for help.
Natter! I" cried /. "There Is a poor
young woman, with nothing upon her,
half buried alive in the wreck corner Of