VI.
BRRRRRRRRRRR! … The steam-winch is lifting the anchor; and the
Guadeloupe trembles through every plank as the iron torrent of
her chain-cable rumbles through the hawse-holes. … At last the
quivering ceases;—there is a moment's silence; and Violet-Eyes
seems trying to catch a last glimpse of her faithful bonne among
the ever-thickening crowd upon the quay. … Ah! there she is—
waving her foulard. Mademoiselle Lys is waving a handkerchief
in reply. …
Suddenly the shock of the farewell gun shakes heavily through
our hearts, and over the bay,—where the tall mornes catch the
flapping thunder, and buffet it through all their circle in
tremendous mockery. Then there is a great whirling and
whispering of whitened water behind the steamer—another,—
another; and the whirl becomes
a foaming stream: the mighty
propeller is playing!. … All the blue harbor swings slowly
round;—and the green limbs of the land are pushed out further on
the left, shrink back upon the right;—and the mountains are
moving their shoulders. And then the many-tinted façades,—and
the tamarinds of the Place Bertin,—and the light-house,—and the
long wharves with their throng of turbaned women,—and the
cathedral towers,—and the
fair palms,—and the statues of the
hills,—all veer, change place, and begin to float away …
steadily, very swiftly.
Farewell, fair city,—sun-kissed city,—many-fountained city!—
dear yellow-glimmering streets,—white pavements learned by
heart,—and faces ever looked for,—and voices ever loved!
Farewell, white towers with your golden-throated bells!—
farewell, green steeps, bathed in the light of summer
everlasting!—craters with your coronets of forest!—bright
mountain paths upwinding 'neath pomp of fern and angelin and
feathery bamboo!—and gracious palms that drowse above the dead!
Farewell, soft-shadowing majesty of valleys unfolding to the
sun,—green golden cane-fields ripening to the sea! …
… The town vanishes. The island slowly becomes a green
silhouette. So might Columbus first have seen it from the deck
of his caravel,—nearly four hundred years ago. At this distance
there are no more signs of life upon it than when it first became
visible to his eyes: yet there are cities there,—and toiling,—
and suffering,—and gentle hearts that knew me. … Now it is
turning blue,—the beautiful shape!—becoming a dream. …
