That mute adieu to lovely
Dolores moves him. "May God deal with you, Hardin, as you deal with
my wife and child," solemnly says Valois. The lips of Francois
Ribaut piously add "Amen. Amen."
Padre Francisco comes back to the boat. With French impulsiveness,
he throws himself in Valois' arms. He whispers a friend's blessing,
a priest's benediction.
The ORIZABA glides out past two or three watchful cruisers flying
the Stars and Stripes. The self-devoted Louisianian loses from sight
the little knot of dear ones on the wharf. He sees the flutter of
Dolores' handkerchief for the last time. On to Dixie! Going home!
Out on the bay, thronged with the ships of all nations, the steamer
glides. Its shores are covered with smiling villages. Happy homes
and growing cities crown the heights. Past grim Alcatraz, where
the star flag proudly floats on the Sumter-like citadel, the boat
slowly moves. It leaves the great metropolis of the West, spreading
over its sandy hills and creeping up now the far green valleys. It
slips safely through the sea-gates of the West, and past the grim
fort at the South Heads. There, casemate and barbette shelter the
shotted guns which speak only for the Union.
Valois' heart rises in his throat as the sentinel's bayonet glitters
in the sunlight.
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