d above these ever-changing shores the twin
vastnesses of heaven and sea begin to utter the tremendous revelation
of themselves as infinite forces in contention, then indeed this sense
of separation from humanity appalls ... Perhaps it was such a feeling
which forced men, on the tenth day of August, eighteen hundred and
fifty-six, to hope against hope for the coming of the Star, and to
strain their eyes towards far-off Terrebonne. "It was a wind you could
lie down on," said my friend the pilot.

... "Great God!" shrieked a voice above the shouting of the
storm,--"she is coming!" ... It was true. Down the Atchafalaya, and
thence through strange mazes of bayou, lakelet, and pass, by a rear
route familiar only to the best of pilots, the frail river-craft had
toiled into Caillou Bay, running close to the main shore;--and now she
was heading right for the island, with the wind aft, over the monstrous
sea. On she came, swaying, rocking, plunging,--with a great whiteness
wrapping her about like a cloud, and moving with her moving,--a
tempest-whirl of spray;--ghost-white and like a ghost she came, for her
smoke-stacks exhaled no visible smoke--the wind devoured it! The
excitement on shore became wild;--men shouted themselves hoarse; women
laughed and cried. Every telescope and opera-glass was directed upon
the coming apparition; all wondered how the pilot kept his feet; all
marvelled at the madness of the captain.

But Captain Abraham Smith was not mad. A veteran American sailor, he
had learned to know the great Gulf as scholars know deep books by
heart: he knew the birthplace of its tempests, the mystery of its
tides, the omens of its hurricanes. While lying at Brashear City he
felt the storm had not yet reached its highest, vaguely foresaw a
mighty peril, and resolved to wait no longer for a lull. "Boys," he
said, "we've got to take her out in spite of Hell!" And they "took her
out." Through all the peril, his men stayed by him and obeyed him. By
midmorning the wind had deepened to a roar,--lowering sometimes to a
rumble, sometimes bursting upon the ears like a measureless and
deafening crash. Then the captain knew the Star was running a race
with Death. "She'll win it," he muttered;--"she'll stand it ...
Perhaps they'll have need of me to-night."

She won! With a sonorous steam-chant of triumph the brave little
vessel rode at last into the bayou, and anchored hard by her accustomed
resting-place, in full vi