The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1908-10-22
CHAPTER xyi-fContinued.l


Ernst rolled back under the lids, and his
called by the pleading voice and the face
OF tragedy before him; how many times
the whipping tongue of Macready mum
bled, forgetting its object, while his senses
reeled against the burning walls of his
brain how many times the splendid spirit
of the woman recalled her own lowlier
faculties TO action and the terrible mean
ing of the quest-only God and these
knew. But the little boat held its PROV
to the desolate shore.
They gained the Sugar Landing at last,
and strange sounds came from the lips Oh
Ernst, as he pointed to the hulk or the
launch, burned to the water line. Gray
covered heaps were sprawled upon the
shore, some half-covered by the incoming
tide, some entirely awash. Pelee had
brought down the city; sud the fre-tiger
had rushed in at the kill. He was kissing
and CT inching still. under the ruins. The
woman moaned and covered her face.
There is nothing alive she said with
dreadful stress.
What else could you LUX fur" Mac
ready demanded. wait till we get over
tn hill, and you'll hear tn burrds sing
In the naygurs laughin' in the fields an
wonderin' why the milkman don't come"
Il can live-yes. l can live-until / see
our house crushed to the hill. all coated
with paste, and those heaps lying about
on the ground, A woman can't
be friend like a man. You will stand
and uncover your heads-when you see
your friend lying upon the ground-and l
Il will die.
She was walking between them, up to-
ward the market place, fighting back her
terrors, which added to the burdens of the
men. The opened space was filled with
the stones from the houses, hurled there
as from a dice box. Smoke and steam
oozed forth from every ruin The silence
was awful as the sight of death. Rue
Victor Hugo was effaced, the way up to-
ward the morne undiscernible. A breath
ing pile of debris barred every way. 1t
was plain that they must make their way
southwark along the shore.
IF cud on'y get holt o. that barna-
Gle av a sharks toot,' Pugh-if cud on'y
get him here vance bare-futted," Denny
gasped-"sure I'd lie happy holdin' ay
him Ha don't sthep therer
lie pulled her away from puddle OF
uncongealed stuff as hot as running iron.
Once he had stepped upon what
seemed to be an ash-covered stone. Ii
was soft, springy, and vented a wheezy
sigh. Rain and rock-dust had smeared
all things alike in this gray, roasting
shambles.
'.Speak-won't you please speak?" the
woman cried suddenly.
1T luks like rain, ma'am," Macready's
quick tongue offered.
They were on the shore, nearing the
rise of the Morne d'Orange- Saint Pierre
had rushed to the sea-at the last. The
mountain had found the women with the
children, as all manner of visitations find
them-and the men a little apart. There
was nothing to do by the way, no lips
to moisten, no voice of pain to hush, nc
dying thing to ease. Pelee had not fal-
Sec murmur in the air. nor crawling
thing beneath, not moving wing in the
hot gray sky. They traversed a shore
of death absolute-these three-and the
woman was thinking ahead.
From the shoulder of the morne Lara
turned back one look. Saint Pierre was
like a mouth that had lost its pearls. The
land ahead was a husk Invested of its
fruit. Pelee had cut the cane fields, suck.
ed the juices, and lefr the blasted stalks
In his paste. The plantation house push
ed forth no shadow CT an outline. 1t might
be felIed, or lost in The smoky distance
The nearer landmarks were gone-home.
that had frightened the morne in theii
day, whose windows bad flashed the rays
OF the afternoon sun as it rode down over
sea-le relied like the fields Of cane There
was no balm, no saving grace. Pelee had
swept far and left only his shroud, anC
the heaps upon the way, to show that the
old sea-road, so white, so beautiful. haC
been the haunt of man. The mangoe.
had lost their vesture; the palms wer,
gnarled and naked fingers pointing to tn,
pitiless sky.
She had know this highway in tn,
mornings, when JOY was not dead, wher
the songs of the toilers and the laughter
Of children glorifed the fields; in tn,
white moonlight, when the sweet draught.
from the sea met and mingled with tn,
spice from torrid hills, and scent of jas
mine and rose gardens. - tn,
dark eyes under the huge helmet wer,
staring ahead; her lips were parted ant
white. Though they had passed the ra
dius of terrific heat, she seemed slowl,
to be suffocating. Macready remembered
his voice.
Things are o1eer by the sea, ma'am
Now, if Id ha' tux Pugh be III t'roat L,
be iAtertainin' Mr.. Constable presently il
the bottom av tn ship, logged out hea,
an fut in irons fur tn occasion, an he,
say, 'Dinny, why didn't you sthand be tn
lady whin / tould you? Perhaps you cal
stand be tn bunkers betther, me son. G.,
to thin, We goat' Ernst, lad
you're intertainin', you're loquenchus."
The woman was stepping forwar,
swiftly between them. Words died upoi
Macready's tongue when he saw her fac
and thought Of what she would fin,
ahead. He believed that she would keel
her word-that she would break, brair
and body-if the mountain had shown n,
mercy at their journeys end.
And Macready did not hope. The maj
to whom he had tied his own life would
Be down like the others, and the grea
house about him! All that a soft Irisl
heart could feel of terror and bereaye
M. Z had waged in his breast for hours
To let the woman succumb among be-
dead waJ more than he could bear.
The ruins of the plantation house wav
cred forth from the fog. The prayer ha,
not availed the day still lived. A swool
had not fallen pitifuliy upon the woman
He was allowing her 20 walk forward t,
her end this beautiful creature who's
Courage was more than a mans!
Her fingers were upon his sleeve, pullin,
him forward. She had no need of word
from him now. Life remained in her t,
reach the place ahead She did not wan
more life. if the dead were there.
wait, ma'am!' he pleaded.
mo, no! l cannot waltz"
Fur ould Dinnyl''
II thank you both. You have been yer,
brave and kind; but, Denny, don't keel
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