The Pioche weekly record. [volume] (Pioche, Nev.) 1877-1900, 1894-08-30

overhead, as lne lght Frightened and
the east broadened, the mist grew thin
ner until it was a faint opal shroud
about us waiting but for touch of Il
blessed, merciful hand to lift completely
And behind that pale curtain | was
presently aware the great sun was rising
and | staggered to my feet in my sea
rotten rags and my agony to welcome
the coming of my death day-tottered
and leaned against the tent edge, and
looked around at the blactened faces Of
the dead and the dying at my feet and
then overhead and about. As looked,
all the east flushed red, and behind the
thin screen Of the curtain the sunrise be-
gan, and the color and the light went
climbing up into the sky-green and
golden and crimson and satfrOn-behind
a delicate drapery Of vapor that yelled
without lessening their splendor! Higher
and higher they climbed until the whole
wide vault of the heaven was splendidly,
softly prisnatic from edge to edge.
Brighter and brighter came the blessed
light, creeping through the strands of
the mist until every blade of grass on
the rocks about flashed like jeweled
weapons in its golden sheen; lighter and
lighter stretched the sea haze until I'M
der its lifting foot came the long flash
and glitter Of the sun on the water,
spangling the rim Of that lifting curtain
with gittering fringe of silver and
yellow 1t was 50 wonderful, so hopeful
all about, so like great rainbow ante
room to the courts of heaven, that |
laughed horrible dry rattle of pleasure
down in my burning throat and hid my
bloodshot eyes from the brightness for
moment.
And when looked up the mist in the
east was spun out so thin that it was
but a fine something in the air, and
through it was shining the outline of
hills and trees, and-was | mad?-Of ga
bles and spires few poor hundred
yards away! | glared and rubbed my
eyes, and tottered out upon hillocll. A
soft southern breath rolled up the last
of that thin screen, and out of the sea,
not a quarter Of mile away, grew
pleasant green coast, with fields and
homesteads, and yonder-homely, white
and red and gray-lay waterside town,
so near that | could see the men at work
upon the quays, and the color of the
tavern sign down by the road, and the
flap Of the linen on the drying lines, and
the glitter of pail as a woman dipped
water at the green tide steps.
With dreadful cry Of wonder and
hope and fear | startled the souls back
into those gray, contOrted bundles down
by the tent, the living came at my call
painfully crawling out from among the
dead and saw what saw, and tossed
their arms and laughed and wept and
grinned and staggered to their feet, and
fell about upon each other, and muttered
incoherent things down in the dry cav
erns of their hollow chests, and pointed
thin, trembling fingers, and at last, as
the full truth dawned upon them all
Went mad together it seemed, and
prayed and wept, and cried about me in
the strangest, grimnest parody of Joy
ever a man looked upon.
What need to tell more! Soon some
of those jolly plump louugers on the
quay caught sight of us upon the islet at
the entrance of their harbor mouth, and
clustered i'll knots and pointed-when a
boat was launched and men came off,
hailed us and guessed what had hap
pened even before they could understand
a word Of the incoherent sounds of our
frantic delight, and 50 we were rescued!
We had been days and nights starry
ing within the very smell of plenty. A
scanty ell or two of southwark drift
when we had come out Of the storm
through the sea fog and had landed upon
that accused rock would have taken
us straight down into the harbor and
blessed food and shelter: one common
shout when we found it was but an
island we were upon would have tray
eled to those friendly ears; dozen more
strokes of those oars we had pulled de-
spairingly day and night through the
| dreadful wastes Of the storm, one effort
of strong swimmer, would have got us
shelter and comfort, and we had not
known it! We had landed and despaired
and died on the very threshold of album
dance, and it was this which made the
wreck of the Golden Verify story al
most unique of its kind, even in the
| fertile annals Of the sea.-Edwin Les
ter Arnold in Black and White.