The Greatest Works of Ingersoll Lockwood. Lockwood Ingersoll

on a yellow-greenish hue.

      He was literally dying of fright.

      One morning he threw himself upon his knees in front of me, and with tear-stained cheeks implored me to put back to the African coast again.

      I did all I could to quiet him, but in vain.

      His reason was slowly but surely giving way.

      Calling the mate to me, I put him in command of the vessel, and directed him to confine the captain in his cabin and place a guard over him.

      It cut me to the heart to be obliged to do this, for the poor fellow begged like a dog to be left in command of his ship.

      But I was deaf to his entreaties.

      I felt that now all trouble was at an end.

      The wind was blowing fifteen knots an hour.

      Every stitch of sail had been crowded on.

      We fairly leapt out of the water like a thing of life, half flying half swimming.

      Ever and anon I glanced at the compass.

      She was headed dead south.

      My cheeks tingled and I could feel the flow of warm blood through every vein in my body.

      The moon went up like a shield of burnished gold. The sea glittered like liquid fire. Anon, a porpoise leaped into the air and sent a thousand ripples circling away as he plunged into the water again

      Our good ship cleft the glassy bosom of the sea like some huge black monster of the deep, and left a trail of fire in her wake as far as the eye could reach.

      Towards midnight I went to rest.

      But neither rest nor sleep was possible.

      Half undressing, I threw myself into my hammock, and Bulger took his accustomed place at the door.

      The lanthorn was not strong enough to overcome the light of the full moon. It streamed through the bull’s eyes in weird, fantastic rays, and crowded my cabin with strange and mysterious forms.

      They were seven!

      Their faces and figures were godlike, so white, so beautiful were they.

      There was an indescribable sadness in their full dark eyes.

      They spake not a word.

      Suddenly the paneling of the cabin ceiling parted, and disclosed a staircase wrapped in dim, uncertain light.

      Adown these steps came a most gracious being, so white and fair and lovely that I gazed with bated breath.

      Down, down it came, nearer and nearer.

      She needed but wings to be an angel!

      But, oh! her fair face was so filled with sorrow!

      Her lips were parted, her long black hair fell in confused tresses on her shoulders.

      She stepped into the cabin. And then, with a quick, dread look, her gaze fell upon the seven bowed figures.

      “Paula!” they cried, and drew their white robes over their heads.

      “Land ho! Land ho!”

      What! Could I believe my ears?

      “Land ho! Land ho!”

      With a bound I sprang from my hammock and rushed upon deck.

      Ay, it was true! There, half a mile ahead of us, was a sight that stunned me like the blow of a bludgeon.

      Land it was, but not such a land as in my wildest dreams I had hoped to find.

      Ten thousand lights glimmered on that mysterious shore, and illumined the front of a Roman temple whiter than milk. A marble staircase of the same hue led down to the very water’s edge.

      A sacrifice was in progress.

      From the highest terrace a column of black smoke curled slowly upward.

      No sound reached my ear.

      I stood almost bereft of my senses.

      At last, my power of speech returned. I ordered anchor to be cast, and clinging to the shrouds of my good ship, gazed long and joyfully upon the entrancing scene.

      The land rose in natural terraces from the seashore, and no matter in what direction you looked, your eye caught glimpses of a graceful statue or group of statuary gleaming in the white moonlight, amid the dark foliage, like white-robed figures astray in a wood.

      “It must be!” I murmured to myself.

      “I have found it! This Roman temple, this marble stairway, these groups of statuary, all point to the glorious success of my voyage of discovery. This is the Sculptors’ Isle!”

      How long I stood there gazing upon this beautiful shore I know not. Some one pulling gently at my sleeve roused me from my reverie.

      It was Bulger.

      I stooped and stroked his head for a few moments.

      Suddenly I awoke to a sense of great weariness, and casting another glance toward that mysterious shore, I turned and descended to the cabin.

      I soon fell into a deep sleep.

      The terrible strain upon my nerves since leaving the Cape, caused by the half mutiny of the crew, the insanity of the ship’s master, and the long watches through which I had lain and listened for the cry of land, had at last told upon me.

      The sun was several hours high when I sprang out of my hammock and rushed upon deck.

      Could it all have been a dream? Should I find the noble temple, staircase of marble, and all the towering statues melted away into thin air?

      Ah no!

      That beautiful shore was still there, unrolled before my wondering eyes like some fair picture full of light and grace and delicious coloring.

      “Man the launch!” I called out and in quicker time than it takes to tell it, I was on my way to the shore of the Sculptors’ Isle.

      Faithful Bulger sat beside me, his eyes bright and expressive as he gazed into my face.

      Landing at the foot of the marble stairway, I sprang lightly out of the launch, followed by Bulger, and bounded up the marble steps.

      There were three landings before I reached the level of the temple, from each of which the outlook grew more and more delightful. In truth, it was a glorious approach to produce which art and nature had fairly outdone themselves. At length I cleared the last flight of steps, and with a throbbing heart crossed the tessellated court and paused in front of the entrance to the temple.

      The embers were still smouldering on the altar, around which stood several white-robed priests with low-bowed heads and averted faces. Unwilling to break in upon their solemn office, I turned and followed a broad way, paved with marble and shaded by most graceful trees and trailing vines.

      At every step my eyes fell upon some statue of ravishing beauty—now nymphs; now goddess; now Jove himself; now the great Cæsar; now the fair Graces; now terrible Pluto; now smiling Ceres; now the crescent-crowned Diana, accoutered for the chase; now dancing satyrs; now goat-footed Pan; now some Roman hero or statesman; and ever and anon, came the figure of a maiden, wondrously fair, but with an unutterable look of sadness upon her beautiful face. So often did the same figure meet my gaze that I was led at last to approach its pedestal in hopes of finding some explanation. I gave a cry of pleasure as my eyes fell upon the name sculptured there.

      It was Paula.

      Now every doubt was dissipated.

      I had indeed found the Sculptors’ Isle

      Broad winding paths, leading right and left, now lured my footsteps. No fairy land could be more beautiful.

      Golden fruit glistened ’mid the dark green leaves.

      Flowers of countless