Day breaks through the flying wrack, over the infinite heaving of the
sea, over the low land made vast with desolation. It is a spectral
dawn: a wan light, like the light of a dying sun.
The wind has waned and veered; the flood sinks slowly back to its
abysses--abandoning its plunder,--scattering its piteous waifs over bar
and dune, over shoal and marsh, among the silences of the mango-swamps,
over the long low reaches of sand-grasses and drowned weeds, for more
than a hundred miles. From the shell-reefs of Pointe-au-Fer to the
shallows of Pelto Bay the dead lie mingled with the high-heaped
drift;--from their cypress groves the vultures rise to dispute a share
of the feast with the shrieking frigate-birds and squeaking gulls. And
as the tremendous tide withdraws its plunging waters, all the pirates
of air follow the great white-gleaming retreat: a storm of billowing
wings and screaming throats.
And swift in the wake of gull and frigate-bird the Wreckers come, the
Spoilers of the dead,--savage skimmers of the sea,--hurricane-riders
wont to spread their canvas-pinions in the face of storms; Sicilian and
Corsican outlaws, Manila-men from the marshes, deserters from many
navies, Lascars, marooners, refugees of a hundred
nationalities,--fishers and shrimpers by name, smugglers by
opportunity,--wild channel-finders from obscure bayous and unfamiliar
chenieres, all skilled in the mysteries of these mysterious waters
beyond the comprehension of the oldest licensed pilot ...
There is plunder for all--birds and men. There are drowned sheep in
multitude, heaped carcasses of kine. There are casks of claret and
kegs of brandy and legions of bottles bobbing in the surf. There are
billiard-tables overturned upon the sand;--there are sofas, pianos,
footstools and music-stools, luxurious chairs, lounges of bamboo.
There are chests of cedar, and toilet-tables of rosewood, and trunks of
fine stamped leather stored with precious apparel. There are objets de
luxe innumerable. There are children's playthings: French dolls in
marvellous toilets, and toy carts, and wooden horses, and wooden
spades, and brave little wooden ships that rode out the gale in which
the great Nautilus went down. There is money in notes and in coin--in
purses, in pocketbooks, and in pockets: plenty of it! There are silks,
satins, laces, and fine linen to be stripped from the bodies of the
drowned,--and necklaces, bracelets, watches, finger-rings and fine
chains, brooches and trinkets ... "Chi bidizza!--Oh! chi bedda
mughieri! Eccu, la bidizza!" That ball-dress was made in Paris
by--But you never heard of him, Sicilian Vicenzu ... "Che bella
sposina!" Her betrothal ring will not come off, Giuseppe; but the
delicate bone snaps easily: your oyster-knife can sever the tendon ...
"Guardate! chi bedda picciota!" Over her heart you will find it,
Valentino--the locket held by that fine Swiss chain of woven
hair--"Caya manan!"
And it is not your quadroon bondsmaid, sweet lady, who now disrobes you
so roughly; those Malay hands are less deft than hers,--but she
slumbers very far away from you, and may not be aroused from her sleep.
"Na quita mo! dalaga!--na quita maganda!" ... Juan, the fastenings of
those diamond ear-drops are much too complicated for your peon fingers:
tear them out!--"Dispense, chulita!" ...
... Suddenly a long, mighty silver trilling fills the ears of all:
there is a wild hurrying and scurrying; swiftly, one after another, the
overburdened luggers spread wings and flutter away.
Thrice the great cry rings rippling through the gray air, and over the
green sea, and over the far-flooded shell-reefs, where the huge white
flashes are,--sheet-lightning of breakers,--and over the weird wash of
corpses coming in.
It is the steam-call of the relief-boat, hastening to rescue the
living, to gather in the dead.
The tremendous tragedy is over!