106 AN ISLAND GARDEN 



pile themselves slowly, superb white heights of 

 thunder-heads warmed with a brassy glow that 

 deepens to rose in their clefts toward the sun. 

 These clouds grow and grow, showing like Alpine 

 summits amid the shadowy heaps of looser vapor ; 

 all the great vault of heaven gathers darkness ; 

 soon the cloudy heights, melting, are suffused 

 in each other, losing shape and form and color. 

 Then over the coast-line the sky turns a hard 

 gray-green, against which rises with solemn move- 

 ment and awful deliberation an arch of leaden 

 vapor spanning the heavens from southwest to 

 northeast, livid, threatening, its outer edges 

 shaped like the curved rim of a mushroom, 

 gathering swiftness as it rises, while the water 

 beneath is black as hate, and the thunder rolls 

 peal upon peal, as faster and faster the wild arch 

 moves upward into tremendous heights above our 

 heads. The whole sky is dark with threatening 

 purple. Death and destruction seem ready to 

 emerge from beneath that flying arch of which 

 the livid fringes stream like gray flame as the 

 wind rends its fierce and awful edge. Under it 

 afar on the black level water a single sail gleams 

 chalk-white in the gloom, a sail that even as we 

 look is furled away from our sight, that the frail 

 craft which bears it may ride out the gale under 

 bare poles, or drive before it to some haven of 

 safety. Earth seems to hold her breath before 

 the expected fury. Lightning scores the sky from 

 zenith to horizon, and across from north to south 

 "a fierce, vindictive scribble of fire" writes its 

 blinding way, and the awesome silence is broken 



