VII.
AND Dominica draws nearer,—sharply massing her hills against the
vast light in purple nodes and gibbosities and denticulations.
Closer and closer it comes, until the green of its heights breaks
through the purple here and there,—in flashings and ribbings of
color. Then it remains as if motionless a while;—then the green
lights go out again,—and all the shape begins to recede sideward
towards the south.
… And what had appeared a pearl-grey cloud in the north slowly
reveals itself as another island of mountains,—hunched and
horned and mammiform: Guadeloupe begins to show her double
profile. But Martinique is still visible;—Pelée still peers
high over the rim of the south. … Day wanes;—the shadow of
the ship lengthens over the flower-blue water. Pelée changes
aspect at last,—turns pale as a ghost,—but will not fade
away. …
… The sun begins to sink as he always sinks to his death in
the tropics,—swiftly,—too swiftly!—and the glory of him makes
golden all the hollow west,—and bronzes all the flickering wave-backs.
But still the gracious
phantom of the island will not
go,—softly haunting us through the splendid haze. And always
the tropic wind blows soft and warm;—there is an indescribable
caress in it! Perhaps some such breeze, blowing from Indian
waters, might have inspired that prophecy of Islam concerning the
Wind of the Last Day,—that "Yellow Wind, softer than silk,
balmier than musk,"—which is to sweep the spirits of the just to
God in the great Winnowing of Souls. …
Then into the indigo night vanishes forever from my eyes the
ghost of Pelée; and the moon swings up,—a young and lazy moon,
drowsing upon her back, as in a hammock. … Yet a few nights
more, and we shall see this slim young moon erect,—gliding
upright on her way,—coldly beautiful like a fair Northern girl.
