vain; for the frailcreature bound to the mother's corpse with a silken scarf has still thestrength to cry out:--"Maman! maman!" But time is life now; and thetiny hands must be pulled away from the fair dead neck, and the scarftaken to bind the infant firmly to Feliu's broad shoulders,--quickly,roughly; for the ebb will not wait ...
And now Feliu has a burden; but his style of swimming has totallychanged;--he rises from the water like a Triton, and his powerful armsseem to spin in circles, like the spokes of a flying wheel. For now isthe wrestle indeed!--after each passing swell comes a prodigiouspulling from beneath,--the sea clutching for its prey.
But the reef is gained, is passed;--the wild horses of the deep seem toknow the swimmer who has learned to ride them so well. And still thebrown arms spin in an ever-nearing mist of spray; and the outersand-bar is not far off,--and there is shouting Mateo, leaping in thesurf, swinging something about his head, as a vaquero swings his noose!... Sough! splash!--it struggles in the trough beside Feliu, and thesinewy hand descends upon it. Tiene!--tira, Miguel! And their feettouch land again! ...
She is very cold, the child, and very still, with eyes closed.
--"Esta muerta, Feliu?" asks Mateo.
--"No!" the panting swimmer makes answer, emerging, while the wavesreach whitely up the sand as in pursuit,--"no; vive! respira todavia!"
Behind him the deep lifts up its million hands, and thunders as inacclaim.
IV.
--"Madre de Dios!--mi sueno!" screamed Carmen, abandoning herpreparations for the morning meal, as Feliu, nude, like a marine god,rushed in and held out to her a dripping and gaspingbaby-girl,--"Mother of God! my dream!" But there was no time then totell of dreams; the child might die. In one instant Carmen's quick,deft hands had stripped the slender little body; and while Mateo andFeliu were finding dry clothing and stimulants, and Miguel telling howit all happened--quickly, passionately, with furious gesture,--the kindand vigorous woman exerted all her skill to revive the flickering life.Soon Feliu came to aid her, while his men set to work completing theinterrupted preparation of the breakfast. Flannels were heated for thefriction of the frail limbs; and brandy-and-water warmed, which Carmenadministered by the spoonful, skilfully as any physician,--until, atlast, the little creature opened her eyes and began to sob. Sobbingstill, she was laid in Carmen's warm feather-bed, well swathed inwoollen wrappings. The immediate danger, at least, was over; and Feliusmiled with pride and pleasure.
Then Carmen first ventured to relate her dream; and his face becamegrave again. Husband and wife gazed a moment into each other's eyes,feeling together the same strange thrill--that mysterious faintcreeping, as of a wind passing, which is the awe of the Unknowable.Then they looked at the child, lying there, pink checked with the flushof the blood returning; and such a sudden tenderness touched them asthey had known long years before, while together bending above theslumbering loveliness of lost Conchita.
--"Que ojos!" murmured Feliu, as he turned away,--feigning hunger ...(He was not hungry; but his sight had grown a little dim, as with amist.) Que ojos! They were singular eyes, large, dark, and wonderfullyfringed. The child's hair was yellow--it was the flash of it that hadsaved her; yet her eyes and brows were beautifully black. She wascomely, but with such a curious, delicate comeliness--totally unlikethe robust beauty of Concha ... At intervals she would moan a littlebetween her sobs; and at last cried out, with a thin, shrill cry:"Maman!--oh! maman!" Then Carmen lifted her from the bed to her lap,and caressed her, and rocked her gently to and fro, as she had donemany a night for Concha,--murmuring,--"Yo sere tu madre, angel mio,dulzura mia;--sere tu madrecita, palomita mia!" (I will be thy mother,my angel, my sweet;--I will be thy little mother, my doveling.) And thelong silk fringes of the child's eyes overlapped, shadowed her littlecheeks; and she slept--just as Conchita had slept long ago,--with herhead on Carmen's bosom.
Feliu re-appeared at the inner door: at a sign, he approachedcautiously, without noise, and looked.
--"She can talk," whispered Carmen in Spanish: "she called hermother"--ha llamado a su madre.
--"Y Dios tambien la ha llamado," responded Feliu, with rudepathos;--"And God also called her."
--"But the Virgin sent us the child, Feliu,--sent us the child forConcha's sake."
He did not answer at once; he seemed to be thinking verydeeply;--Carmen anxiously scanned his impassive face.
--"Who knows?" he answered, at last;--"who knows? Perhaps she hasceased to belong to any one else."
One after another, Feliu's luggers fluttered in,--bearing with themnews of the immense calamity. And all the fishermen, in turn, lookedat the child. Not one had ever seen her before.
V.
Ten days later, a lugger full of armed men entered the bayou, andmoored at Viosca's wharf. The visitors were, for the most part,country gentlemen,--residents of Franklin and neighboring towns, orplanters from the Teche country,--forming one of the numerousexpeditions organized for the purpose of finding the bodies ofrelatives or friends lost in the great hurricane, and of punishing therobbers of the dead. They had searched numberless nooks of the coast,had given sepulture to many corpses, had recovered a large amount ofjewelry, and--as Feliu afterward learned,--had summarily tried andexecuted several of the most abandoned class of wreckers found withill-gotten valuables in their possession, and convicted of havingmutilated the drowned. But they came to Viosca's landing only to obtaininformation;--he was too well known and liked to be a subject forsuspicion; and, moreover, he had one good friend in the crowd,--CaptainHarris of New Orleans, a veteran steamboat man and a market contractor,to whom he had disposed of many a cargo of fresh pompano, sheep's-head,and Spanish-mackerel ... Harris was the first to step to land;--someten of the party followed him. Nearly all had lost some relative orfriend in the great catastrophe;--the gathering was serious,silent,--almost grim,--which formed about Feliu.
Mateo, who had come to the country while a boy, spoke English betterthan the rest of the cheniere people;--he acted as interpreter wheneverFeliu found any difficulty in comprehending or answering questions; andhe told them of the child rescued that wild morning, and of Feliu'sswim. His recital evoked a murmur of interest and excitement, followedby a confusion of questions. Well, they could see for themselves,Feliu said; but he hoped they would have a little patience;--the childwas still weak;--it might be dangerous to startle her. "We'll arrangeit just as you like," responded the captain;--"go ahead, Feliu!" ...
All proceeded to the house, under the great trees; Feliu and CaptainHarris leading the way. It was sultry and bright;--even the sea-breezewas warm; there were pleasant odors in the shade, and a soporificmurmur made of leaf-speech and the hum of gnats. Only the captainentered the house with Feliu; the rest remained without--some takingseats on a rude plank bench under the oaks--others flinging themselvesdown upon the weeds--a few stood still, leaning upon their rifles.Then Carmen came out to them with gourds and a bucket of fresh water,which all were glad to drink.
They waited many minutes. Perhaps it was the cool peace of the placethat made them all feel how hot and tired they were: conversationflagged; and the general languor finally betrayed itself in a silenceso absolute that every leaf-whisper seemed to become separately audible.
It was broken at last by the guttural voice of the old captain emergingfrom the cottage, leading the child by the hand, and followed by Carmenand Feliu. All who had been resting rose up and looked at the child.
Standing in a lighted space, with one tiny hand enveloped by thecaptain's great brown fist, she looked so lovely that a generalexclamation of surprise went up. Her bright hair, loose and steeped inthe sun-flame, illuminated her like a halo; and her large dark eyes,gentle and melancholy as a deer's, watched the strange faces before herwith shy curiosity. She wore the same dress in which Feliu had foundher--a soft white fabric of muslin, with trimmings of ribbon that hadonce been blue; and the now discolored silken scarf, which had twicedone her such brave service, was thrown over her shoulders. Carmen hadwashed and
repaired the dress very creditably; but the tiny slim feetwere bare,--the brine-soaked shoes she wore that fearful night hadfallen into shreds at the first attempt to remove them.
--"Gentlemen," said Captain Harris,--"we can find no clew to theidentity of this child. There is no mark upon her clothing; and shewore nothing in the shape of jewelry--except this string of coralbeads. We are nearly all Americans here; and she does not speak anyEnglish ... Does any one here know anything about her?"
Carmen felt a great sinking at her heart: was her new-found darling tobe taken so soon from her? But no answer came to the captain's query.No one of the expedition had ever seen that child before. The coralbeads were passed from hand to hand; the scarf was minutely scrutinizedwithout avail. Somebody asked if the child