Malbone: An Oldport RomanceHigginson, Thomas Wentworth
General
Malbone: An Oldport Romance
Higginson, Thomas Wentworth
Newport (R.I.) -- Fiction
Suddenly something vast towered amid the mist above them. It was the
French war-ship returned to her anchorage once more, and seeming in that
dim atmosphere to be something spectral and strange that had taken form
out of the elements. The muzzles of great guns rose tier above tier,
along her side; great boats hung one above another, on successive pairs
of davits, at her stern. So high was her hull, that the topmost boat and
the topmost gun appeared to be suspended in middle air; and yet this
was but the beginning of her altitude. Above these were the heavy masts,
seen dimly through the mist; between these were spread eight dark lines
of sailors’ clothes, which, with the massive yards above, looked
like part of some ponderous framework built to reach the sky. This
prolongation of the whole dark mass toward the heavens had a portentous
look to those who gazed from below; and when the denser fog sometimes
furled itself away from the topgallant masts, hitherto invisible, and
showed them rising loftier yet, and the tricolor at the mizzen-mast-head
looking down as if from the zenith, then they all seemed to appertain
to something of more than human workmanship; a hundred wild tales of
phantom vessels came up to the imagination, and it was as if that one
gigantic structure were expanding to fill all space from sky to sea.
They were swept past it; the fog closed in; it was necessary to land
near the Fort, and proceed on foot. They walked across the rough
peninsula, while the mist began to disperse again, and they were buoyant
with expectation. As they toiled onward, the fog suddenly met them at
the turn of a lane where it had awaited them, like an enemy. As they
passed into those gray and impalpable arms, the whole world changed
again.
They walked toward the sound of the sea. As they approached it, the dull
hue that lay upon it resembled that of the leaden sky. The two elements
could hardly be distinguished except as the white outlines of the
successive breakers were lifted through the fog. The lines of surf
appeared constantly to multiply upon the beach, and yet, on counting
them, there were never any more. Sometimes, in the distance, masses
of foam rose up like a wall where the horizon ought to be; and, as the
coming waves took form out of the unseen, it seemed as if no phantom
were too vast or shapeless to come rolling in upon their dusky
shoulders.
Presently a frail gleam of something like the ghost of dead sunshine
made them look toward the west. Above the dim roofs of Castle Hill
mansion-house, the sinking sun showed luridly through two rifts of
cloud, and then the swift motion of the nearer vapor veiled both sun and
cloud, and banished them into almost equal remoteness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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