_ It was the 20 hour
of the slack, but the sea still heaved in mountainous waves from the
effects of the hurricane. I was borne violently into the channel of
the Str?¶m, and in a few minutes was hurried down the coast into the
'grounds' of the fishermen. A boat picked me up--exhausted from
fatigue--and (now that the danger was removed) speechless from the
memory of its horror. Those who drew me on board were my old mates
and daily companions, but they knew me no more than they would have
known a traveller from the spirit-land. My hair, which had been
raven-black the day before, was as white as you see it now. They say
too that the whole expression of my countenance had changed. I told
them my story--they did not believe it. I now tell it to you--and I
can scarcely expect you to put more faith in it than did the merry
fishermen of Lofoden."
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH
(NORTHERN ITALY)
The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had
ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its avatar and its
seal--the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains,
and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with
dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body, and especially upon the
face, of the victim were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid
and from the sympathy of his fellow-men.
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