Rensselaer Union, Volume 5, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 July 1873 — The Story of Last Island. [ARTICLE]

The Story of Last Island.

LvppincMVs Magazine for July tells this realistic tale of the South : Nine days after a storm in the Gulf of Mexico, u traveler, finding his way from the salt-pans of Western Louisiana, toon a little fishing-craft. There was that fresh purity iu the air and the sea which fol lows "the bursting of the elements.. The numerous ‘‘bays" and keys that indent the shore looked fresher and brighter, and there was that repentant beauty in nature which aims to soothe us into forgetfulness of its recent angry passions. The whitewinged sea-birds flew about, and tall water fowl stood silently over their shadows, like a picture above and below. The water sparkled with salt freshness, and the roving winds sat in the shoulder of the sail, festing and riding to port. The little bark slipped along the shores and shallows, and in and out, by key and inlet, seeing its shadow on the pure white sand that seemed so near its keel. The last vestige of the storm was gone, am) -the little Gulf-world seemed fresher and gladder for it. The tropical green grasses and water-plants hung their long, linear, hair-like sheaths in graceful curves, and patches of willow palid and palmetto, in many an intricate curve and involution, made a labyrinth of verdure. The wild loveliness of the numerous slips and channels, where never a boat seemed to have sailed since the Indian’s waterlogged canoe was tossed on the shadowy hanks, was enhanced by the vision of distant ships, with' their sails even with the water, or broken by the white buildings of a sleepy plantation in its bower of tig and olive and tall moss-clustered pines. Suddenly the traveler fancied he heard a cry, but the fisherman said no, it was the scream of water-fowl or the shrill call of an eagle far above dropping down fism the blue zenith; and they sailed on. Again he heard the distant cry, and told of the panther in the. bush and wild birds that drummed and called with almost human intonation; and ,they sailed on again. But again the mysterious, troublqjLcry arose from the labyrinth ol green, .and the traveler entreated them to go in quCst of it. The -fishers had their freight for the market—delay would deteriorate its value; but the anxious traveler

bade them but about and he would bear the loss. It was well they did. There, in the dense coverts of the sea-swamps, amid the brackish water-growths and grasses, they found a man and woman, ragged, torn, starved. For nine days they had hacFno food but the soft pith of the palmetto, coarse muscles, or scant poisonous berries, their bed the damp' morass, and their drink the hrackisli water; and they told the wild and terrible story of Last Island. Last Island was the Saratoga and Long Branch of the South, the soutliermost watering-place in the Gulf. Situated on a fertile coral -island, enriched by innumerable flocks of wild-fowl, art had brought its wealth of fruit and flowers to perfection. The eocoanut-palm, date-palm, and orange orchards contrasted their rich foliage in the sunshine with the pineapple, banana, and the rich soft turf of the mes-quit-grass. The air was fragrant with magnolia and orange bloom, the gardens glittering with the burning beauty of tropical flowers, jessamine thickets, and voluptuous grape arbors, the golden winelike sun pouring intoxicating balm over it; graceful white cottages festooned with vines, with curving chalet or Chinese roofs colored red; pinnacled arbors and shadowy retreats of espaliers, pretty as a coral grove; and a fair, shining hotel in the midst, with arcades and porches, and galleries —the very dream of ease and luxury, as delicate and trim: as if made out of cut paper in mSny foFms of prettiness. Here was the nabob’s retreat; in this balmy garden of delight all that luxury, art, and voluptuous desire could hint or hope for was collected, and nothing harsh, or poor, or rugged, jarred the fullness of its luxurious ease. - Ten nights before, its fragrant atmosphere was broken into beautiful ripples by the clang and harmony of dancing music. It was the night of the “hop.” The hotel was crowded. Yachts and pleasure vessels, pretty as the petals of a flower tossed on the water, or as graceful shells, banked the shores ; and the steamer at twilight came breathing short,excited breaths, with the last relay, for it was the last of the summer season. In their light, air}’ dresses, as the music swam and sung, bright-eyed girls floated in graceful waltzes down the voluptuous waves of sound, and the gleam of light and color was like a butterfly’s ball. The queenly, luscious night sank deeper, and lovers strolled in lamp-lighted arcades, and dreamed and hoped of life like that, the fairy existence of love and peace; and so till, tired of play, sleep and rest came in the small hours. Hush! All at once came the storm, not, as in northern latitudes, with premonitory murmur and fretting, lashing itself by slow degrees into white heat’ and rain. but the storm of the tropics, carrying the sea on its broad, angry shoulders, till, reaching the verdurous, love-clustered little isle, it filing the hulk of waters with all its huge, brawny force right upon the cut-paper prettiness, and broke them into sand and splinters. Of all those pretty children with blue and opalescent eyes, arrayed like flowers of the field; of all those lovers dreaming of love in summer dalliance, and of cottages among figs and olives; of all the vigorous manhood and ripe womanhood, with all the skill ; and courage of success in them, not a tithe was saved. The ghastly maw of the waters covered them and swallowed them. A few sprang, among crashing timbers, on a floor laden with impetuous water —the many, perhaps, never waked at all, or woke to but one short prayer. The few who were saved hardly knew how. they were saved—the many who died never knew how they were slain or drowned. It lias twice* been my fortune in life to see sucli a storm, arid to know its sudden destructiveness: once, to see a low, broad, shelving farm-house disappear to the ground timbers before my eyes, as if its substance had vanished into air, while great globes of electric fire burst down and sunk into the ground ; once, to see.a.pinc forest of centuries’ growth cut down as grass by the mowers’ scythe- I do not think it possible to see a third and survive, and I do not wish my soul to be whirled away in the vortex of such a storm. At noon or later, after the ruin of Last Island, a gentleman of a name renowned in Southwestern story found himself clinging to a bush in the wild waters, lashed by the long whips of branches, half dead with fatigue and fear. For a time the hurly-burly blinded and hid everything, and the long roll rocked and tore at him in desperate endeavor to wrench loose his bleeding fingers. The impulse of the wind and storm at such a time is as of a solid body, and there is a look of solidity in the very appearance of the magnificent force. But as it abated he thought he heard a faint cry, and, looking around, he saw a poor girl in the ribbons of her nightdress, clrngiag,,4o a branch, and slipping from hes ' feeble hold. Tired as he was, and wild and dangerous as the attempt might be, lie did not dare to leave her to perish. Gko&sihg his time in a lull, he struck out to the bush, and -reached it just as her ebbing strength gave way. lie took her in his sturdy aims, ana, ciihging with tooth and nail, stayed them both to their strange anchorage. Faint, half conscious, disrobed as she was iri tlic sweet, delicate features, the curve of the lip, and the raven tresses clothed in sea weed, he recognized the Creole belle of last night’s hop. He cheered and encouraged her, pointing out that the storm was abating—had abated. It could not be long until search boats came, and while he had strength to live she should share it. It proved true. Generous and hardy fishers and ships had come at once to the scene of disaster, and were busy picking up the few spared by wind and wave. They found the two clinging together and to that slight bush, and took them off, wrapping them in ready, tough fishermen’s coats. The reader can see the end of the story. A meeting so appointed had its predestined end in a love match. 80 we leave it and them; the rest of their lives belongs to them, not to us. The pair found by our fishing smack were a wealthy planter and his wife. For nine days of starvation and danger, they had clung together. When I think of the . husband’s manly care in thus abiding bv the wife, I find it hard to reconcile it with the fact that he only valued his life and hers at a few dollars—not enough to compensate the traveler for the loss incurred as demurrage to the fishermen. Now Last Island is but a low sandy reef, on which a few straggling fruit trees try to keep the remembrance of its by, gone beauty. It is as bare and desolate as the hones of those who filled its hu-lls in the cataclysm of that dreadful nights bones which now waste to, whiteness on sterile shores or are wrought into coral in the under-sea. _ —St. Louis has abandoned the project »of holding an- industrial exposition this year.