418
Martinique
Sketches.
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. . . . VII. A N D 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 w a n e s ; — t h e 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 gra-