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Shadowy Reflections Owen Chase ivriting the "Wreck of the Essex" THE PURE GOLDEN glow of the candle flame spread a halo of light. It confined itself to the small area at which he was writ ing. The rest of the room submitted to a velvety darkness. Ah! — there gathered shades of the departed. Did they grimace in mock derision? No! — he felt no malice in their presence. There was Matthew P. Joy; only a sad, melancholy smile seemed to emanate from the reflected image in the mirror before him. If only the mate could step out of the vespertine glass and grasp his hand again! How many times had these apparitions appeared to him? Uncounted numbers, and usually at eve, in the soft twilight, when the tenseness of daytime activity gave way to the cool, relaxed tranquility of the evening, and so it was now. He felt as if the specters in the gloom were directing his pen, compelling him to put down in human writing the saga of their tortuous voyage. They commanded that this mortal must record the courage, intrepidity and unselfishness of their united endeavor in the face of certain death — how they, with stubborn boldness, came to direct this, their wooden shell, toward an unattainable goal. This delicate boat, made for quick maneuver and ease of handling: solely to facilitate the short and final dash to the whale, there to provide the quietus of the huge mammal; this done, to return to the mother ship. It was many sea-weary days, added as if step by step to their doom, that they spent aboard her: the horrible slants to wind ward, frustrating inch long reaches. Conversely, favorable wind tides smashed at the frail craft, seeping through hastily repaired ribs and planking. The continual bailing was attended to with uncomplaining faithfulness. At eve their vittles were meted out: they were reduced now to a mug of water and a large sea-biscuit. It was merely a teaser for a stomach rumbling its displeasure. It was torture to even open their sun-baked, salt-encrusted lips, and then hardly enough moisture to get the food past swollen tongus. This accentuated the extreme hazard of their position. The nerve now breaks; they turn their bony faces to the planking — thus their mates will not see the tears engendered by their anguish. To ease the terrible heat of the tropic sun they bare their anatomy for a brief immersion in the cool ocean. Their body bones stick out, they look like skeletons. It is then that some, eyeing the emaciated forms, may have recourse to remember old dog "Trey" back home. How they had brutally kicked the old hound
