The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1908-10-08
CHAPTER XIV

The launch gained the inner harbor,
and the white ships at anchor were seen
.ague- phantoms in the vapor-French
steamers, Italian barques. and the small
sr West Indian craft-all with their work
10 do and their way TO win. Constable
heard one officer shout to another, in
curing il Saint Pierre was in the usual
place, or had switched sites with Hades.
The day was clearing rapidly, however,
and before The launch reached shore the
haze was so lifted that Pelee could be
seen. floating a pennant of black out to
sea- In the city a large frame ware
house was ablaze. The tinder-dry struc-
ture was being destroyed with almost ex-
plosive speed.
"Wait for me here" Constable said to
the sailor, as the launch scraped the
Sugar Landing.
A blistering heat rushed down from the
expiring building to the edge of the land
Crowds watched the destruction Many
Of the people were IN holiday attire. This
was the Day of Ascension, and Saint
Pierre would shortly pray and praise at
the cathedral Even now the bells were
calling, and there was low laughter from
4 group of maidens. Was it not good to
live, since the sun shone again and the
mountain did not answer the sainted
bells? Il was true that Pelee poure1
forth black streamer with lightning IN
Its folds; true that the people trod upon
the hot gray dust of the volcanoes waste !;
that the heat was such as no man had
ever felt before and many sat IN misery
upon the ground; true, indeed that voices
Of hysteria came from the novels, and the
breath of uncovered death from the by
ways-but the gala spirit was not dead.
The bells were calling; the mountain
was still bright dresses were abroad
for the torrid children of France must
laugh.
Constable fell in with the procession
on the way to the cathedral. Reaching
there, be climbed TO a huge block of stone
In the square, and hurled broadcast the
germ of fight. Many had seen him be-
fore. when his face was haggard. He
was smiling now. There was color in his
skin, fire in his eyes, a ring in his voice.
Fear was not in him.
A carriage was not procurstie, so he
walked toward the Morne d'Drange. 1t
was seven-thirty, and the distance was
two miles to the plantation house. At
eight, or soon afterward, he would be
there-eight on the morning of Ascension
Day; at nine, in the launch again, speed
Ing out to the smile of the bride
Twenty times a minute she required to
him as he walked. There was no waning
nor wearing a wearing brighter,
perheps-of the images she had put in
his mind. The night had brought him
palaces and gardens and treasure houses :
everywhere he turned, new riches broke
upon him. That her face had lain be-
tween his hands; that his hands had
brought that face to his own; that her
whispers, kisses, condolences, her prayers
and passions ard coming years. all found
their center and origin in himself, Ike
bright doves that he'd a cote within his
heart-these thoughts lifted the poor man
to such heights of praise and blessedness
that he seemed to shatter the dome or hu-
man limitations, and emerge crown and
shoulders into the illimitable ether.
The road up the morne stretched blind
Ing white before him. Painting and spent
not a little, he STROBE upward through
The vicious pressure of heat, holdins his
helmet free from his head, that the air
might circulate under the rim. At length,
upon the crest of the morne, he perceived
the gables Of the plantation house, above
the palms and mangoes, gold-brown In the
dazzling haze.