The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1879-09-18

Well, what days, what hateful days
they were, that followed Of course l.
did not leave the place, and l spent the
time incoming about the island with my
sketching- book. But all the glory had
gone from nature all the satisfaction of
| beauty from my soul; the sun shone and
the skies were blue, but the world was
| wilderness. | could see nothing but the
great yacht bending and bowing over the
waters, a shining phantom by day, q
pale ghost by night; visions of the lux
urious life, the dance music, the flowers,
the feasting, and in all my Stella and
that man: when the sunlight softened,
when crimson suffused the waves, when
the deep DELICIOUS dusk shut them in,
rocking on from billow to billow under
the towering of the great shaddowy sails,
under the powdery splendor of the stars,
Stella and that man together
BY the end of the third day | was
wrought to pitch of madness. 1 felt
myself justified in my wrath-openly
deied, my tenderest feelings outraged;
I said 1 should never see her again. l
abandoned her to her faGe. [ began to
paint then impetuously. Such sea scenes
as swept across my fancy such colors
as seemed to ripen on my palette. Such
reefs wrapped with foamlng wreaths of
summer seas glimmering beyond them
in the half risen moon, like the paved
way into heaven, or those same reefs
when their horns tore the angry waters
into fleece, stretch after stretch of storm
drowning out the horizons and the stag
gering masts, or yet again the placid
dawn of ruddy day about them rs the
long waves creamed up the curving
shore, and broke in rainbows around the
naked babies wading in, and the dipping
wings of birds. Ny pencil seemed
possessed of magic; fame danced before
my eyes, resplendent shape. Stella
should lament the day she forscok this
painter of pictures for that imbecile
wealth. And all of once | turned the
canvasses to the wall-my heart was
breaking.
The Flight had been due on the mid
night tide. OF course, had Stella signi
fed the wish, she would have been there
even earlier. The day drew on to night
fall. Other sails flew huddling in,
pleasure boats and stately ships aud
fishing fleets made anchor, and found
haven from the gathering storm; but
there was no sign of the Flight. The
roaring east wind camo driving all the
mists across the land; the world was
wrapped in rain. All night the tempest
ragged, and swept across the gardens, and
| beat down the blossoms on the terraces
of flowers, sent great boughs flying
through the air; all night hearts stopped
wi its every fresh gust; all night the
land shook with its shock; all night the
sea replied; and when st last day dawn
ed great racks of pearly cloud lay off in
the low eastern sea, n zephyr only moved
from the south, and all the sapphire
| that blazed above and blazed below, as
| if the storm had been an evil dream.
But it was no dream-the coast was
strewn with wrecks; more than one
corpse among the rocks and weeds look
ed up with blank eyes to the morning
| light. There was q glorious sea On, and
crowds were out surveying it's splendor.
Crowds, too, were wasting their wonder
on the Flight. Where was she? Who
had spoken her? Had she foundered
and gone down -? Had she blown off the
coast Would any one ever see her
again come sweeping into harbor with
all sail set, tower of snow and light,
with the music and dancing? There
were none to say. No one had spoken
! her; and search the horizon with burning
eyes, no sign of her white sails, her gold
en- pennon, was TO be seen.
And day followed day the same. And
a thrill of horror went to more hearts
than one at the thought of the gay party
going down with flying, and the world
that had known them suspended for
little time its festivity, or turned its
mourning into pleasure by yachting up
and down tie coast in search, putting
into harbor every sundown. But when
ten days had passed, with most doubt
had settled into certainty, and the little
world was taking on its old ways again.
Only they missed the tawny beauty of
the Peroival girl upon the drive, the
reckless dash of De Luyster, the solemn
stiffness of old Montmoreney-they
missed, indeed, that airy vision of I'M
real beauty whose absence made the
place desert: at least it did to me.
The Rittener villa, dark as any Jail, no
longer with snowy clouds blowing from
the windows, no longer with gay groups
upon its lawns, seemed to mock the
blooming of the flowers that lifted their
scarlet and gold and azure gayly as ever
to the Indifferent skies from bed and
vase and urn.
"And so they're giving up the Fight,
/ hear" said old Simpson, the lobster
man, as | wandered down the beach l
haunted all day long, and where he had
looked up at me so often with re assuring
eyes, rs he mended his nets or tumbled
out his wrigghng load. "Well, don't
you be any mans fool, sir, and follow
such suit" he said. s'Ben Burnham
was never at her helm for nothing.
When Ben Burnham piloted in Boston
| Bay, and knew he couldn't make High
land Light. he put her helm hard down
and scud for Squam. He was in blue
water before the first whisper of that