Chapter VI

_Brrrrrrrrrrr!_... The steam-winch is lifting the anchor; and the _Guadeloupe_ trembles through every plank as the iron torrent of her chain-cable rumbles through the hawse-holes.... At last the quivering ceases;--there is a moment's silence; and Violet-Eyes seems trying to catch a last glimpse of her faithful _bonne_ among the ever-thickening crowd upon the quay.... Ah! there she is--waving her foulard. Mademoiselle Lys is waving a handkerchief in reply....

Suddenly the shock of the farewell gun shakes heavily through our hearts, and over the bay,--where the tall mornes catch the flapping thunder, and buffet it through all their circle in tremendous mockery. Then there is a great whirling and whispering of whitened water behind the steamer--another,--another; and the whirl becomes a foaming stream: the mighty propeller is playing!.... All the blue harbor swings slowly round;--and the green limbs of the land are pushed out further on the left, shrink back upon the right;--and the mountains are moving their shoulders. And then the many-tinted façades,--and the tamarinds of the Place Bertin,--and the light-house,--and the long wharves with their throng of turbaned women,--and the cathedral towers,--and the fair palms,--and the statues of the hills,--all veer, change place, and begin to float away... steadily, very swiftly.

Farewell, fair city,--sun-kissed city,--many-fountained city!--dear yellow-glimmering streets,--white pavements learned by heart,--and faces ever looked for,--and voices ever loved! Farewell, white towers with your golden-throated bells!--farewell, green steeps, bathed in the light of summer everlasting!--craters with your coronets of forest!--bright mountain paths upwinding 'neath pomp of fern and angelin and feathery bamboo!--and gracious palms that drowse above the dead! 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....