Newspaper Page Text
Ode To Mem ry.
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JMueh V s veupt • rec v 7 *<*i'" ix of h h for
.l ;• noi al be b ight nor plea .
yy.,. . Mo*r >• ,f.oin thy tb* le!
n , a * v t *1 - & our yc - e long spent
R 1 r v .K; mid lon.'st us through
iho eae ‘-i*/! In,
Wi' hwe enjoyed ii.d tlie.i *ud thought lor
ever go.'e. •
>’o! we’.’ o 1 i ' .1 thcoaaonrf lend;
a hi ;i incite and of censuring thee,
We il gua i pr© momenta as they
Jill s,
Aru f.ien we know Uiy fuittreLß© wll ptease
J. w. w.
Preserving the Forests.
The hi! I whir * h.us been introduced n.io the
United b r.u , Heimte by Senator Miller of New
York, to protect ihe forests on ir >ve. ;i t
lands, *sd J rcct<Hi toward securing veny in. <• 1
nee*' and tegisiition. This bill provides V at
11. re ervednatural loi’ests and timber land*
;hwith ’rawn from the market • *d
Tthc control •*! a . •• im
■[live tll. T *t> — 10t...
M . This •
lint lll I •;i- 1 il 11. Hi " ! •)..
into tin-.
9|
.-t •• 111. :i:!il 11.-
9p
to- t lllbrl I' il'!'
)•:
has bci 11 caivi. .1 •> up >.l at
sc;. ie for u number of years p .1
consequence of which hundreds of thousands
of acres of public land have boon denuded of
their forests grow th. The commission Is to ap
praise and sell the first two classes of liv'd in
uantitles not exceeding i25.000 acres, al auc
tion, but neve- be’ow the appraisal, and Js to
have the ossifdai’ce of the land and naval for
ces of the 1‘ dted States in protecting the fo.-
csts under its charge. Suitab’c lines :i ml penal
ties m*e provided for the cuvi
or destroying of timber on the Inn s. >r for re
moving o' p rchasing the 111 mb* r. ml ,’! e
tors of • ustoms, before granting clearance i
tlnil>er laden • ossein must a i certain that their
cargoes were not t k< 11 from th ;uibl:c dom
ai a. So far as the th'. - ' cler.s of land Is con
cerned, th*s to remains open, to homestead
entry; but ©©h pe son imp! n/ for pub[
land must tile proof that the land ho asks for
is worth more for farming th .1 it is for tlm
ber. Thi bill Is In certain wavs a supplement
lo the Edmunds bill, which was introduced at
the last s< 'Sion of Congie--, that, act having
for it tbject the creutl on of a forest, res.-rva
tbm ‘ ■ be Rocky mount. “is at the head wav
era of the Missouri and Columbia rivers.
The Florida Tlmes-Unlon brings account
of a wonderful plant which it says a. a. Hub
ers, of Macon, Ga., has succeeded in liybridiz.
ing between the cotton plant that grows wild
.ft Flo< ‘da with the common okra. Il is thus
<R e ‘bed: It retains the okra stalk and the
foliage of the cotton. The plant has an aver
age height of two feet,and each plant lias only
one bloom. Tit's is a magnificent flower, „ very
like the great magnolia in fragrance,
and equally as large. Like the cotton bloom,
th flower is white for several days after it op
ens, after which ft is first pale pink, a.id grad
ually assume* darker shades of this color un
i:i it becomes red, when it drops, disclosing
a wonderful bon. FOl about ten days this boll
resembles leo co 1,. on boll, and thon its growth
suddenly iucrea : as if by magic until it
rt:che tee size cf a blgcocoi nut. Not unt'l It
leaches ti. is size dws the tint anpear. Thou Its
snowy tin ords b t from the holl
butf •*. fcccurelv he*d in p 1 ace by t’ie okra lik e
thornsorpoints that line uic boll. One inex
perlencod picker can easily gather eight hun
c’red pounds a day, end fast hands much more
Were the only saving that of labor in g.oh
ering the lint, the result ofMr.l Huber’s ex i>eri
incut would entitle him to the everlasting
gratitude of the Bouthcru farmer. But this is
not a‘l—there are no seeds in the lint. Each
boil produces about two pounds of very long
stapled co urn, su}erior U> the Hea Island, and
at the bottom of the boll there are from four
to sixsecJo. resembling per dm moil s#* t. This
new cot on,' ierefoe. neeos no ginning. Such
a plant b ds fab* to revolutionize the world’s
cotton bus* ness.
The regular salting of cattle cows
especially —is popularly supposed
to lie not only beneficial, but
indispensable. It is somewhat of
a shook to the general confidence
placed 111 scientific experiments
made by professional investigators
to learn that l>r. Sturtevant of the
New Y. rk Experiment Station
reports that cows are just as well
off without saltas with it.whileProf
Muncey, of the lowa Agricultural
College states that salt is benef
icial and desirable, and that it sho
uld be given regularly once a week.
With salt thus given the cows in
better flesh and have given a better
} io-ld of milk.
Tiie Great West is looming up as
a buttermaking country. lowa has
650 creameries, Illinois 470, Wis
consin 430 and Minnesota 130.
This is a total of 1,989 creameries
in four States.
TI SHIP COIS HOME.
By Walter Besant and James Bice.
JLuthors of u The Golden Butterfly; ” ü ßy
Celia'* Arbor ; n **Shepherd* All and
Maidens Fair ; * 449 Two* in Tra
falgar's Bay f* etc., etc,
CHAPTER IL
“murder on board.”
I worked ray way to Melbourne on foot
boarding my money, as if in some vague
way it was going to assist me in my pur
pose. Heaven help me with my purpose!
In the morning I was resolute and confi
dent. I would get back to London; on the
voyage I would set down all that I could
remember, to the smallest detail—every lit
tle fact of that happy by-gone time before
this evil tiling fell upon me. No donbt I
should find a clew at last; somehow
I / uld follow it up, step by step, till
u/ proofs accumulated to irresistible
/ deuce. I pictured myself, un
ar the glamor of that bright
sunshine of Australia, standing before tha
prosperous devil who had done the deed—
he wa always prosperous and happy in my
dreams—and dragging him before justice.
I was myself standing before the old man—
my benefactor—denouncing his readiness
to believe, his unrelenting persecution when
he did believe; always harrying onward a
full and complete revenge, till not one of
those who had had a hand in my unmerited
ruin should remain without his share of a
cup of bitterness.
In the night I saw things in their grim
reality. I saw how weak I was, I saw
the hopelessness of my task, and I foresaw
how I was to creep back to my native
country, pardoned, it is true, for good con
duct, but branded till death with the gal
lows-tree mark of forger and thief. And
at such a time I was willing to go back to
my prison, aud serve out the rest of my
lifo in the apothecary’s room.
Lurid hope that seemed golden, or dark
despair, it mattered nothing, lieoause in
hope or despair my miserable lifo was b>
fore me—lifo stretches long before the
eyes at twenty five— and it had to be got
through somehow.
Always in those days the thought of
myself and my wrongs! The wrong was
so great, the ruin so overwhelming, that
there was no room left in my mind for any
other feeling. For instance, I arrived in
the colony of Victoria in the days when
the whisper of gold was running liko
wild-fire through its scattered hamlets and
along its giant sheep-runs; but when otuer
men's nerves thrilled at the chance of
boundless wealth waiting to be picked up,
I listened coldly. Again, to this day, I
have no senso or recollection of what the
country was like through which I toiled
alone, from station to station, in my reso
lut on to get to the place where my face at
least, if not my name, should be unknown.
I know 1 walked through wild and savage
districts, where there were dangers of
thirst, dangers of reptiles, and dangers of
treacherous natives. I believe that I some
times slept out for days together. I know
that I was alwayi alone, except that some
times a friendly shepherd in an up-country
station gave me tea and damper. What
it was like, that great continent through
which 1 journeyed on foot, I cannot say.
because I along with open eyes
which saw not, ears which never heard,
and senses which never felt anything.
Only, as I said before, the light mid sun
shine witched me into confidence, which
the darkness tore away. And the agony
was liko the agony of Prometheus when
the eagle tore away his liver.
I think in those days I must have been
mad, I must have known that there was
still one heart somewhere in England beat
ing with love for me, one voice going up in
prayer for mo day and night, but if I
thought of Ruth at all it was to remember
how my ruin was hers, and it made ne
more fiercely mad.
It was not difficult at Melbourne to get
a ship bound for London. The harbor was
full of ships whose crews had deserted and
gone olf to the gold-fields. Now and then
the captains had deserted their ships as
well. They all seemed bound lor London,
because the port of Melbourne was then a
very little place, and its trade was small;
the trouble was that there were no crows
to carry back the ships. I had to cast
about and wait. The only trouble was to
cast about and wait. I was the only man.
I believe, in all that colony who neither
looked to find gold for himself in the dig
gings, nor tried to make money out of
those who wore starting for the diggings.
After a few weeks of restless waiting
each day that kept me from a visionary
revenge was a day lost —I discovered thut
a vessel would probably sail immediately.
I got this information, in an indirect way,
from a man whose business it was to
plunder the diggers at starting. He was a
great scoundrel, 1 remember, and I used to
compare him, piling up money hand over
hand by dishonest tricks aud cheatings,
with myself, the released felon of a blame
less life. He asked me no questions, e.ther
where I was from or whither I was going.
He took the money from my board, and he
hade me hold myself in readiness for a
start; and one day I got the word, and
went on board the clipper sailing vessel
“Lucy Derrick,” IxrandLfrom Melbourne to
London. I was a steerage passenger—the
only one, because no other poor man in his
senses would leave Melbourne at such a
time. There was only one saloon passenger,
and she was a young lady; of course no
one but a lady would leave Melbourne
when the very air was dry with thirst for
gold. She was under the charge, I learned,
of the captain, and was sent home in order
that her father, a lawyer by profession,
might go up to Ballarat and make his for
tune in the gold-fields.
The captain was a gray-headed man of
sixty five or so, a man with a face scarred
and scoped in a thousand lines. It was a
hard and stern face. This was well, be
cause he had hard, stern work before him.
The chief officer, a yonug fellow of tive
and twenty, on the contrary, on the con
trary, showed in his face, which was mild
and soft-eyed, that he was not the man to
command a crew of roughs and rowdies.
I say nothing against him, and in the
end he fought it out to the death. There
were a second and a third mate too —one
was a boy of sixteen, not yet out of his
articles; the other was a rough, trusty fel
low, every inch a sailor. As for the saloon
passenger—she was to be my queen and
mistress. Helen Elwood was her name.
Her father brought her on board half an
hour after I embarked, and took a hasty
Rave of her. I noticed neither him nor
her, because, in truth, I was still dazed by
my iong dream, in which I had walked all
the way from Sydney to Melbourne—my
dream of a purpose. I sat in the bows, with
my bundle beside me, hardly noted when the
anchor was weighed, and presently the
ship spread her white sails, and we slipped
away out to sea.
Then I began to look about me. The
first thing I noticed was that the men were
drunk; and I learned afterward that if they
had not been drunk they would not have
been got on board at all. Then I saw the
captain and officers drive them to work
with blows. The men were like brute
beasts, but I never saw brute beasts so
knocked down and belabored; they were
drunk, but they understood enough to turn
round when tho officer was pasv. and swear
savagely. On the quarter deck, clinging to
the talTrail, anl gazing at the receding
shores, was the young lady, all alone. At
the wheel stood a man with his legs wide
apart, his eyes screwed up, and his head on
one side; he was an oldish mau. I put him
down as the quartermaster or boatswain,
and I was right. Every now and then he
jerked his head in the direction of the young
lady, and I knew that he was encouraging
her ; but of course I could not hear what he
said, if, indeed, he did say anything.
All that first day the captain and the of
ficers drove and ordered the men about, as
if they had been so many negro slaves.
When night fell things were a little ship
shape, and the men seemed gradually com
ing round. When I turned in the watch
was set, and though neither the captain
nor the chief officer left the deck, it was
manifest that some sort of order was estab
lished, and that the captain meant to have
things his way.
His own way it was for a month or two.
I suppose there was never got together,
since ships first began to sail the ocean, a
crew so utterly blackguard as the crew of
the “Luck Derrick.” Asa steerage pas
senger my place was forward, and I sat all
clay close to the forecastle, listening per
force to the oaths with which thoy inter
larded their language and the stories told
Now, as an ex-couvict returning from Syd
ney, there ought to have been nothing in
the whole scale of human wickedness un
familiar to me. Truth to say there was
very little. He who has beeu in a convict
ship, and hat made the dismal voyage
across the ocean with her majesty’s felons,
has ha l every opportunity of learning
what a hell might be made of this lair
earth if men had their own wicked way.
Somehow it might have l>een that my ab
ject misery at the time blinded my eyes
aud stopped my ears. The voyage, with
its sufferings by night, its dispair by day,
and the horror of my c ompanionship, was
all forgotten; so that, as I lay upon the
deck, tho imprecations and foul
language of tho crew of tho “Lucy
Derrick,” as thoy got together on
the forecastle awakened nn from
that stupor of thought into which I wa<
fallen, as some unexpected noise at night
fulls upon the ears of an uneasy dreamer,
and awakens him into reality. No one in
th? ship said anything to me, or took any
notice of me. “It is because I am a con
vict,” I whispered to myself. It was not.
It was only because no one took the trouble
to ascertain who and what the only steer
age passenger was. I took my meals with
the second and third mates, and wo ex
changed little conversation. I suppose
they thought 1 was sulky. Between meals
I went on deck, and staid there, ami for
want of anything to do looked about m *
and watched the men.
In a few weeks after leaving land 1 be
came awaie of several significant things.
The first was tfiat tho officers never went
forward alone, and that they were always
armed; then that they were gloomy, and
seemed to be watching tho men. 1 noticed,
too—being, so to speak, among tho sailors
—that they whispered together a great
deal. Among them was a young fellow of
fiveand-twenty or so, wh* seemed the
leader in tho whisperings. Ho never passed
another sailor without saying something in
a low voice; and when ho passed me, he
had a way, which exasperated me, of grin
ning and nodding. He was a smooth-faced
man, with what seemed at first to be an
upward twist of the right lip. This, which
was the scar cf a knife wound, caught
probably in some midnight broil, gave him
a Minister appearance. His eyes were
close together and bright: his fore
head was high, but receding; and
he looked, in spite of his seagoing
dress, less like a sailor than
any man I ever saw afloat. Yet he was
handy aloft or oil deck: and I have seen
him on a windy day astride on tho end of
a yard, marline-spike in hand, doing his
work as fearlessly and as well as the best
of them. Whatever tho high whispered to
gether, I made up my mind that this fel
low was tho leader; and I road—out of ray
convict ex{>eriencQ—in his face that he was
as reckless a ruffian as ever shook an un
chained log outside a jail. Other things 1
noticed. Tho boatswain, who at first
seemed to spend his whole time at the
wheel, sometimes gave up his post to tho
fourth officer, and came forward. Then
there were no whisperings; but the men
kept aloof from him, all but Boston Tom,
which was the name of the smooth
cheeked villain. Boston Tom always
spoke to him, and spoke him fair, ad
dressing him as as “Mister Croil.”
lieu Croil, as I afterwards learned to call
him, was a man of five-and-fifty or six
ty years of age; short of stature, thin anil
wiry ; his hair cropped close, ami quite
grey: his faco covered all over with crows’
feet; his eyes, which he had a trick of
shutting up one after the other while he
looked at you, of a curiously pale and del
icate blue. Asa young man, Ben Croil
must have been singularly bauds Mne, as
indeed he was proud of telling. In his age
he had a face which you trusted; and as
for his mind—but wo shall come to old
Ben’s inner self presently. For his sako I
love and respect tne race of boatswains,
quartermasters, and non-commissioned of
ficers generally of her majesty’s navy, and
of all tho ships, steamers, and ocean craft
afloat. For if Merchant Jack is rude and
rough, drunken and disreputable, his im
mediate superior is, as a rule, steady as a
lion, temperate as a Newfoundland dog,
and as true as the queen of my heart.
There was a ship’s boy on board—there
always is. I have heard it stated thut the
bodies of ships’ boys are inhabited by the
souls of those who wore once cruel ships’
captains; other people think that they are
possessed by the souls of ships’ provision
ers, ships* outfitters, pursers, navy agents,
and crimps. Ido not know which is tho
true theory. Both sides agree that the lot
of all ships’ boys is miserable, that none of
them ever arrive at years of maturity, and
that their sufferings, while in tho flesh for
the second time, are regulated by the evil
they wrought in their former lives. Our
boy was a curly-headed youngster *of
twelve; not a nice boy to look at, because
he never washed, and was ignorant of a
comb. I soon found out that ho not only
knew what was going on in the forecastle,
but that ho went aft and told tho boat
swain everything he knew; so one day I
got that boy alone, while he was coiling
gome rope, and I said to him:
“Dan, tell Mr. Croil that ho may
depend upon me. I know what you pre
tend to \h) so busy at the wheel for; I guess
what you tell him; and I have seen you
listening among the men. You tell Mr.
Croil that he may depend upon me if he
wants me.” The boy fell to trembling all
over, and he looked round carefully to see
if any of the men wore within hearing.
As there was no one, he told me in a quick,
hurried way, that if he was found out he
would be murdered; that there was ojilot
among the men, Tiuaued 'by “Boston Tom;
and that he told everything—that is as
much as he could learn—to the boatswain.
Also that the men knew perfectly well that
the captain and officers were all armed to
the teeth; but that thoy were waiting for
an opportunity, and would make or find
one before long, lor they were all mad to
be back at the gold fields.
Now this information, which corobora
ted my suspicions, served to rouse me alto
gether from my brooding, and I began to
think what a selfish, heartless creature I
must be to sit in the corner, and mope
over my own misfortunes, when there was
this danger hanging over ship and cargo.
And being, as one may say, wide awake
again, of course I remembered the young
lady wo had on board; and my heart grew
mad to think of her falling into the hands
of Boston Tom and his gang of ruffians.
So I was glad to think I had sent that mes
sage. and resolved to do my own duty.
However, there was nothing to do just then
but to wait until I should have a message
from the boatswain; so I sat in my usual
place a waited.
The boy took my message, but no an
swer came that day at all In the night a
strange thing happened. It was fair
weather sailing, with the trade-wind blow
ing nearly aft, so that all sails were set,
and the ship slipped through the water
without so much as rolling I was sound
asleep in my bunk, when I heard voices, as
it seemed, in my oar. They were brought
to mo, I am sure, by a special act of Prov
idence, for I never could understand other
wise how I managed to hear them ~ First,
there fell a faint buzzing in my ear, which
I, being drowsy and heavy to sleep, did
not much listen to; then I heard words
plalu, and I listened; the conversation
came to me in bits, but I made out enough.
It was evident that the crew intended to
mutiny—to choose tho very next night, as I
gathered (but I was wrong), for their pur
pose, and to carry the ship back to Aus
tralia, where they would scuttle her, and
land as near the gold fields as possible.
Once there they would separate; and so,
every man for himself. And then I heard
my own name mentioned, but I could not
hear what was to be done with me.
After that the voices were silent,
and I lay awake thinking what
to do next. Now this sort of
talk was not likely to make me sleep,
therefore I got up, di'essed quickly, and
was ready, as v.-e'.l as broad awake, when,
half an hour later, just after one in the
morning, 1 heard steps and a whispering
of men outside the door of my abin.
which was unlocked. “I’ll do it at once,”
I heard a voice say, which I thought I
knew for that of Boston Torn—“l will do
it at once; and if anybody asks after him,
say he must have fallen overboard.
Where’s tho spike?” One of tho two went
away; I heard his bare feet on the boards.
I stepped lightly out of the bunk, and put
my hand upon my knife—such a knife as
diggers and up country men used to carry
—a knife that would do for any purpose;
at all events I would sell my lifo as dearly
as 1 could. Tho door opened and I slipped
to the side of tho cabin, which, as in most
old-fashioned sailing ships, was of a good
size, though, of course, not a state cabin.
I could feel the breath of the murderer, as
he pushed his head in, and called me. It
was afterward that I remembered how
strange a thing it was that he should know
my real name, because I had shipped
under another. “You, Warnoford,” ho
said in a hoarse voice, “get up and come
on deck. Wake tin, ho you hear? Come
out, forging convict, and see the captain.
Sulkin,’ are you? Then this will wake you
up.” I heard a blow—two blows—on tho
pillows of tho bunk, and stepping swiftly
behind him, f found myself on the forward
companion in total darkness. 1 kuew
where I was, however, and tho way. As
quick as thought l ran up tho ladder and
over tho deck, breathing more freely.
Hero I was safe, because it was not the
watch of tho men below, and at least there
were throe hours left for consideration.
There was nothing unusual in my ap
pearance cn dock at night. The air was
hot and oppressive below: on deck it was
cool. I had often stretched myself on such
night, on the tarpaulins, and slept as
soundly upon them as in my cabin; no one
among tho conspirators would think it
strange to find me thus. Presently I pulled
myself together a bit, and made up my
mind, things being as they were, to go
straight to tho officer of the watch. Ho
was walking up and down, a boatswain’s
whistle hanging round his neck. When he
saw me, ho held it in readiness.
“Murder on board, sir,” I reported, as
calmly as I could.
“Ay, ay,” he replied. “Y r ory liko; go
aft and see tho bo’s’ll.”
It was a strango reply, but I understood,
later on, that it had boen already resolved
to accept my services, and to trust me with
firearms. So when I went aft, the boat
swain pulled out a revolver, a knife, and
some ammunition, which he hail ready for
me.
“There!” he said, “do your duty by the
ship, young fellow; we shall want you to
morrow night, belike, or maybe sooner.
But go below and turn in.”
This I would not do. I waited for the
officer, and begged him to listen to me
again while I told him my story.
“I take it, eir,” said the boatswain, “that
they may try it on to-night. It isn’t a bad
dodge, you see, to get tho day altered a bit
in case of treachery; and if you’ll allow
me, sir, I’ll tell off the passenger for the
young lady.
“Hix pistols against twenty-five men,”
said the officer. “I think we can fight it
out without waking the young lady.”
But the boatswain urged that he had got
everything ready for her; that she would
Le frightened down below, and might come
up on deck in tho thick of tho fight and get
harmed; so that it was finally resolved to
awaken her and bring her up on deck.
“Now, mister,” said the boatswain to me,
“you look liko a man who’s got his eyes
open and his head set on right end up; you
listen to mo. When the young lady comes
on deck, I shall put her in this boat.”
There was a gig hanging to the stern
davits; these were turned round in readi
ness for the boat to he lowered. “If things
go wrong, as they will sometimes go wrong
in this world’s gear, lower away” (he
showed me tho rope), “and sling yourself
in after her then, if no one else comes, cut
her adrift, because we shall bo dead. When
I whistle, or the chief officer whistles,
don’t wait, not even for a parting shot, but
lower yourself away with her, aud take
your chance.”
The prospect of a fight steadiod my
nerves, and after a careful examination of
the rope, on which all might depend, and
looking to my revolver, which was fully
loaded and capped, I began to feel oxcited.
All this took time. Tho fourth officer was
giving orders to the men on watch, which
prevented them noticing me talk at the
wheel; and it struck six bells, which was
three o’clock in tho morning, when Isa w
the young lady dressed aud on the deck.
“What is it!” she asked; “tell mo what
is wrong, Mr. i\ i.
o..iVc, y. u...f uHi.v,’ no n: i; “uoihi. g
is wrong, i . i pi. nty mji> Do. >k.c
t i.-. t v.u the ( upiaiij i'ii imv as he came
.slow *y jui, a.:u j m.u il tne .iiiacK
vi a.-* 1. ao uliM.e tiiUi. li.oi*. M/iiie il lc j.iignL ue
.-**.•111 LOU.*; .lIUCi. K'C 'II|.I O .
“Miss ra wood," he sail, “wo expect a
little mutiny, and wi* are quite ready for
it: but we have asked you on deck t< keep
you as sale as possible. They have got no
firearms, hut we may have an ugly tussle.
Let me help you into the ioat—so. There
are rugs aud wraps, and you must make
yourself as c •my as possible. To-morrow
rooming, if we get safely through the
night, we will have them in irons; but
if they try it on to-night, we must fight
them.”
Tho young lady obeyed with a shudder,
but said no word. Then the captain looked
round. The chief officer, with the third
officer, was forward; with himself wa*
the second mate, and behind him was the
boatswain steering the ship.
“How’s her head, b’o’aiH”
“Nor’west by west, sir.”
“And tho trade straight as a line, the
ship may navigate herself for half an
hour. What’s that forard?” he asked,
pointing.
“Mutineers,” said the boatswain, quietly.
“Steady, ail,” said the captain. “You,
sir ’—he turned to me—“remember your
post.”
In the dim twilight of the star-lit night—
for the moon was down—l saw creeping up
the companion fo’ard one, two, three, half
a dozen black forms. With the others I
watched and waited, my pulse beating
quicker, but my nerves, I think, steady.
| Then there was a shout and a rush. We
heaid the crack, crack of the pistols of the
I two officers forward, and we saw inem re
j treating More the twenty desperadoes,
i who, armed knives stuck ou sticks,
marline-epikos. anti hatchets, press.. on
ward with a roar like so many c > ;apod
devils. The boatswain pushed mo back as
I made a movement with tho captain.
“To your place, sir,” ho said, “and re
member the whistlebut I fired my pistol
once, for in the darkness I saw a figure
creeping under the taffrail toward the
helm. Perhaps it might bo the leader,
Boston Toni; out I could not see. 1 fired,
and he dropped. A moment after I heard
the whistle of the boatswain. In an in
stant I let go the rope, and the boat drop
ped swiftly into Luo water.
In all my life I shall never forget that
scene on the deck which I caught as I
sprang over the side and lowered myself,
hand over hand, into the boat. The pistol
shots were silent now, and it seemed as if,
with a mighty stamping and mad shouting,
there were a dozen figures fighting one,
while the battle raged over the agonized
forms of the dying and the dead. Like a
photograph the image was paintid on my
brain, and has remained there ever since.
Sometimes still, after all these years, I
awaken at night to hear the cries and oaths
of tho sailors, the crack of the captain’s
oistols, and to reproach myself for nos hav
ing none more *iu save the iulp.
my duty.
The young lady was crouched, trem
bling in the stern of the boat. I reassured
her with a word—there was no time for
more, for almost as soon as I reached the
boat another form came hand over hand
down the rope, and 1 sprang up, pistol in
hand to meet him. But it was the boat
swain; he had a knife, as he descended,
between his teeth, and he hold the rope for
a moment in his hand. Half a dozen faces
appeared in the blackness peering over the
traffrail at him. The night air was heavy
with oaths, shrieks, and groans. “Villains,
murderers, cut-throats!” he cried; “you
shall be hanged, every mother’s son. I
know your names; I’ve got your rec.rd in
my pocket.” He severed the rope with a
dexterous sweep of his knife, instantly tho
great ship seoined half a mile ahead of us,
as slio slipped through the water before
the strong trado-wind. Tho boastswain
shook his fist, at her, os if tho men on
board could see and hear.
“There goes tho ‘Lucy Derrick,’” ho
said; “as sweet a clipper as over sailed the
seas, lost through a crew of mutineering,
cut-throat villains. Thoy shall hang, overy
one—that’s settled —thoy shall all hang, if
I hunt them round the world.”
“Where are tho officers?” I askod.
“Brained, all of them—kuocked on the
head and murdered. There, my pretty—
there, don’t cry—don’t take on. If the
captain’s gone, ho died in defense of his
ship—gone to heaven, tho captain is, with
his three officers. In heaven this minute.
Tliey’vo no call to bo ashamed or afraid.
Done their duty like men. No call; else
what good expecting of a man to do his
duty? Aud as for us, we’ve got a tight
littlo craft, in the tra kof tho clipper ships
or near it, with a supply of provisions and
water, and plenty of room on this broad
ocean in case bad weather conies on. Now,
mister, what's your name, sir?”
“My name is Warneford.”
“Good, sir. You’ll allow mo to com
mand this craft, if you please, through my
being bred to the trade—not a gomloman,
like you.”
“Yes; but perhaps lain not a gentle
man,” I replied.
“Then you are a brave man!” cried tho
girl. “I watched you from tho boat. I
saw you shoot that man creeping along on
the deck liko a snake. And I owe my life
to you aud to Mr. Croil. But, oh! it seems
a poor and selfish thing to thank God for
our lives, with all these good men mur
dered.”
“Look!” cried Bon—l shall call him Ben
for tho future—“they’re ’bout ship, the
lubbers 1 Who'll teach them to navigate
the vessel? Well, they can t sail over us,
that's one comfort.”
It was too dark for me to see more than
the shape of the ship herself, standing out
a black mass, with black masts and black
sails, against the sky; but Ben’s practiced
eye discovered that they wore endeavoring
to alter her course, for some reason of their
own.
We wore tossing like a cockle-shell on
the water, which was smooth, save for a
long, deep swell. We were all three very
silent; and presently I heard a noise.
“They are cruising in search of us,”
said Bon; “see, they've reefed all. Weil,
it’s too dark for them to see us before
daybreak, and if they cruise about till
then Mr. Warnoford, you have your
pistol.”
There was but one chamber discharge 1
in mine; Ben looked to his own. “VY’e
shall be able to speak a boat,” he said, after
a while, “at far-off quarters or close, and
speak her we will to a pretty tune; but on
such a night as this thoy might as well
look for King l’haraoh’s chariot as for the
captain's gig. Heart up, my jffetty! We’ll
stand by you, and in tho morning we’ll be
off on another tack. Heart up!”
Then a curious thing happened—unlucky,
as it seem :d then. I have learned since -
for my dear girl has taught me—to look on
it as a special grace of providence. Sud
denly—having been before in black dark
ness—we became, as it were, the centre of
a great light; all round the boat there burst
from the darkened bosom of the water lurid
Hashes of fire. Tho short crisp waves, as
they rose to a head, broke not in white sea
foam, but in liquid fire; the swell of the
ocean was liko an upheaval of dull red
lava; tho sea was crossed and seamed with
long lines of fire-like lightning, but that
they remained, or seemed to remain, con
stant. As the boat rocked on tho heaving
deep, tho flames, rod and blue, shot from
her sides; the skies, which were now over
cast, reflected light; the wind had
dropped, and nearer and nearer still we
could hear the dropping of the oars from
the boat in search of us. It was the phos
phorescent light of the Indian Ocean.
“Eeems as if the Lord meant to have
another life or two out pf them murdering
mutineers,” said Ben. “Kind of beautiful,
too, ain’t it miss? Lord, I’ve seen it off
Peru, when there was no pirates and mu
tineers in chase, as bright as this! That
was on board the ‘Conqeror,’ hundred-and
twenty-gun-man o’-war; and the chaplain
preached next day on the Lord’s hand!
work. Here they come, Mr. Warneford.
Steady, and aim at the bow-oar; I take
the stroke; fire when I give the word, and
get the sculls ready in case of a miss.”
They ware about a quarter of a mile
astern of us, pulling up hand over hand;
because we never attempted—being in such
bright light—to escape by rowing.
I sat in tho bows, pistol in band, Ben
was in tho stern, and the young lady
amidships.
They hailed us to stop rowing. We were
not pulling at all, so that no answer was
necessary.
“A hundred yards, as I judge. Sculls
out, and pistol ready to land, Mr. Warne
ford. Don’t let them run us down. Now
give her headway—so. When I say ‘Port,’
pull with your left as hard as you know,
ship the sculls, and let mu bo.v-oar have it.
Sit down, my pretty, shut both eyes, and
say your prayer3 for me aud Mr. Warne
ford ’cos both on us needs them badly thin
very moment.”
“Boat ahoy!” It was the voice of Boston
Tom. “You, 'Warneford! You, Georga
. arnoi'ord, cob vict and forger, ’vast row
ing, auu give us up the ho’s’n and the girl,
then you shall go free. If you don’t, we
will murder you as well as him.”
We made no answer.
The boat came near. It was rowed by
four oars, and, as I supposed, Boston Tom
was in the stem.
“Run them down!” cried one of the crew
with an oath. All the time I was pulliug
quietly, so as to keep a steady way upon
her.
“Port!” said Ben, suddenly.
1 obeyed orders, and pulled my left. In
stantly the gig swung round, and the heavy
ship’s boat shot past our stern; and as she
passed, Ben’s pistol fired once, and a yell
of anguish told them tho shot had taken
effect.
As (or myself, I could not recover in
time; but one of the four oars was dis
abled.
“Surrender!” shouted Boston Tom.
“Easy, bow; pull two; we’ll run them
down. Surrender. y convict Warne
ford! If you won’t take those terms, I’ll
give you better. Come on board with nie,
and I’ll show you who really done it, and
put you a bore safe and sound. I’ll give
you your revenge; I’ll establish your in
nocence; I’ll ”
This time as they were turning, I let fly
without orders, aiming at the bow-oar, and
I hit him somewhere, because there was
another yell.
They were within three oars’ length, but
lying broadside on.
“Pull back to your ship,” said Ben.
“pirates and murderers, lest we take more
lives! We’ve shot enough here for ull
your crew. Leave us, and wait for the
time when I hang you all!”
In their haste the> nad forgotten to
bring the doctor’s pistols with them. Per
haps they could not find the powder and
shot. Anyhow, there was not a sign or
sound from tho other boat, but the groan
ing and cries of the wounded men; and,
after a pause, wo saw the two who were
left row back in silence toward the ship.
That fight was over, at any rate. They
passed away from the circle of phospho
rescent light in which we lay, and so iuto
outer darkness.
Then we were silent for the space of an
hour or more. The phosphorence died
away, and tho stars came out again. Pres
ently in the east appeared the first faint
streak of dawn, and Ben Croil broke the
silence:
“What was them words as Boston Tom
addressed to you, Mr. Warneford?”
“He called me convict and thief; and he
said—No!” Here a sudden rush of thought
filled my brain as 1 comprehended, for the
lirst time, all the force of what he did say,
and I could speak no more.
“Convict! Thief!” Ben cried. “And
you as steady as the best man of us all!
Done your duty like a man! Well—after
that—theer ”
Miss Elwood raised her head, and looked
round in the gray of the dawn. She saw
my shameful head bowed between my
hands. Convict and thief!
I felt tho gentle hand in mine as she
murmured, “The night is far spent and the
day is at hand; let us thauk God for our
lives and for His great gifts to man of
courage and fidelity. Let us pray to Him
never let us forget this night, to forgive us
ull our tresspases, and to help us to forgive
them that tresspass against us.”
80, in the lone waters of the Southern
Ocean, when the sun climbed up the rosy
waves, the light fell upon a group of three
in a little boat, kueeling together, and
glorifying God through the mouth of that
innocent girl; and of the three there was
one at least whose heart was humbled and
softened.
“Amen!” cried Bon Croil, clearing his
throat. “And now we will look about us.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
*3®
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