Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1892-09-25
TIE MHIrE DEATH.
The Dreaded storms Which Wreak De-
struction in Sand Hills
Hdrper's Nd0d-tHG

struction in Sand Hills
Rdrper's Na0d-tHG
The White Death is q naked. gleam-
ing, shifting flood OF sand, moving ever
inland from the ocean shore, inch by
inch, foot by foot. in huge white waves
of glistening grit, memorable as fate,
silent as the grave, swallowing and de-
stroying everything that lies before 1t
in its way. The wind blows the shift
ing surface up the crest Of each tower
ing wave and over the edge In q spark
ling mist. Beyond the crest the dry
mist falls, and so the wave moves
steadily, resistlessly forward, envelop-
ing all things In universal white.
Standing at the edge OF q marshy nat,
the eye looks far away across the level
OF coarse sedge grass to the white line
of the sand hills and the black line OF
pine woods In the distance. Here and
there the fiat is lush and green, where
shallow lakes, blooming with white
lilies and blue arrow heads, battle the
arid soil; here and there IL Is burned
yellow and brown, where the hot
smooth sand, stretching In from the
ocean shore drinks up water and life,
and leaves all dead. The level Hat,
reaching far away into the distance, Is
like the plane of life one has TO travel;
the black streak OF a gloomy pine woods
is the Valley of Shadows, and the white
waving line of sand is likeness OF
death; and as in real life, so here
neither death nor it's shadow looks sim
lister seen from such distance.
To travel across the level fat is a
mimic image OF the journey Of life. The
mimic lakes, so pretty In the distance,
are muddy, and smell rank and dank
TO the nostrils; they are full or tadpoles
and lizards and crawling things. Here
and there little deserts Of arid sand are
passed; they burn the soles OF the feet
and scorch the face with a reflected
glare, and mosquitoes rise In the clouds,
like pretty troubles, to bite and sting.
There are quicksands under the feet
where the grass looks the freshest and
the greenest, and hiding the dead levels
OF sand, a mirage covers the desolation
with a soulless sheet OF visionary water.
First come the hot black shadows
the shadows Of the pines-and then the
foot hills as IL were of Death. All Is
breathless silence, except for the shrek
ing OF the fish hawk high up In the
air. and the mysterious whispering oil
the ceaselessly moving and shifting
sand. Here aud there a stark gray tree
trunk, already dead in the clutch OF the
oncoming death, reaches helpless skele'
ton arms up into the air, Each is an
empty hollow shell Of bark; each Is soul
less and void OF life, excepting, perhaps,
for a nest OF wood peckers or OF mics
suualid metempsychosis OF the spirit OF
the pine tree.
Beyond the foothills lies, grim and
still, the silent bosom OF the White
Death-hIlls and valleys of llfeless sand,
binding, burning parched and dry. The
breathless curtain OF silence stretches
between the glare of the sky above and
the whispering whiteness beneath. The
sliding feet sink deep into the shifting
surface, and the traveller stands face To
face with Israfael in simile.
So the Gates OF Death are passed and
journey is ended.
Then suddenly as the head rises above
the crest OF the last white wave, all Is
instantly transformed. The last hill Is
climbed with painting breath, and then
Death itself is left behind.
Before the eye there stretches away
the eternal ocean, glorious purple
sparkling with dancing white caps and
dotted with shining sails. The cease
less surf shouts jubllantly on the beach
and the cool, pure air rushes upward,
bathing the hot face like newer and
purer life. The ocean, the sails, the
rushing breeze all tell Of something vast
and limitless that lies beyond.
Behind was left the limited plain,
bounded by the black shadows and the
White Death. Before is an image OF
limitless immensely.