The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1885-03-21 00:00:00

Y. MARCH 21, 1885

EALL MGM'S RESERVED.I
STRIVE AND THRIVE.

CIIAPTER I.

THE WRECK.
ICOT a few of the residents of New York, or
of its immediately adjacent cities, will remember
the
appalling cry which rang from the lips of
a thousand newsboys on a pleasant afternoon
some thirty summers ago, announcing the burning
of the steamboat Henry Clay, almost at the wharves,
and the destruction of nearly a hundred human lives.
lu the broad light of thy, in full view of many spec-
tators oh the shore, which was vocal with the shouts
of Men and the screams of dying women, the dreadful
tragedy was enacted which will ever constitute one of
the most mournful memories associated with the
beautiful Hudson.
On the rear deck of the doomed boat, for half an
h0n,,,t11. Preceding the catastrophe alluded to, stood,
—""g many other passengers, a young English gen-
tleman, who had long been engrossed in viewing the triking scenery
which he was passing.
Reward Belmont (such was his name) was an in-
land, traveling chiefly for the benefit of his health.
I•tle had landed at Quebec, and having spent about
slil.ree months in Canada, had passed into the State of
York only on the day preceding that on which he
taken passage at Albany in the ill-fated vessel.
Of his family, or its history, it is unnecessary here to
!Peak ; but his travelling appointments, as well as the
&act that lie was accompanied by a man-servant, pro-
claimed him to be provided with ample means for the
colufortable prosecution of his journey.
Mr. Belmont had passed most of the day in looking
at the beautiful and ever-changing panorama which
711ied to be gliding past him. He had varied this
fecreation with an occasional though very rare use of
hisn, note-book, with a little reading, and a little more
fol-
lowed with a large Newfoundland dog, which
him as closely as his shadow, and looked often
stfullY in his face, and long and inquiringly intc
the water, and upon the not distant shore, as if most
curious to know what it was that engaged so much
of Lis master's attention there.
"hen the fearful cry of "Fire !" first reached the
after part of the boat, Belmont so little comprehended
Its Meaning that lite looked earnestly toward the
nearest shore, expecting to discover the conflagration
of some farm-house or country seat, and it was some
112rinents before the commotion around him recalled
is attention to the true cause of the alarm, while a
Pillar of black smoke rising from the vessel at a point
nearly amidships, and which was already followed by
large tongues of flame, indicated the dangerous head-
Way which the threatening element had attained.
The existence of the fire had been concealed as far
I,ts Possible from the passengers while any hope re-
mained of its extinction, and is was only when con-
e'salinent was no longer possible, and when no hope of
Eating the boat remained, that the fearful tidings had
n freely and rapidly divulged.
The shore was near at hand, and the vessel
Was at oner.; turned towards it at the point which
6eerried to offer the best opportunity for beaching her,
With a soleview to the escape of her crowd of appalled
113aSsengers ; but long before this could be effected the
„arnes had so diffused themselves over the central
"arts of the vessel as to effectually cut off all corn-
, il_uication between the two extremes, and the
aqterrified crowd upon the after-deck found themselves
,Parated from the shore by an interval of seventy or
ght yards of deep water, even after the bow of the
unrning boat had struck the land.
se,F° ,raost of the females and to those of the other
who could not %Tim, this space was as impassable
as if it had been miles instead of yards; and the ap-
proach of the fire and the suffocating vapour which
101.!c, °lnPanied, or rather preceded it, was too rapid to
..rutoit of any deliberate plan of escape. Many leaped
antically into the river, and sank after brief and
liiolent Struggles; others rushed as madly into the
CiTes, seeking to force their way through to the bow,
Ch almost touched the shore, and afforded a ready
',Leans of escape.
Belmont's first alarm was augmented by a con-
scious
ness of debility produced by recent illness,
ta"&.lich he believed would incapacitate him from swim-
t,Ling even half way from the boat to the shore,
as he would have considered the task under
her Circumstances But on the other hand, lie knew
hisat he might depend upon the assistance of both
servant and his dog, if the former could possibly
ret access to him, and if the latter should not be
a Wildered and frightened by the dreadful sights
htld sounds which might well terrify either man or
-rUte.
Bil.tt his first impulse for .self-preservation was
as`-;";',_1157 superseded by an earnest desire to render
—s'ance to some of the helpless people around
many of whom of course were women and
.`l4ldren
Utter , though not a few were apparently able
ahu vigoro terrified us men, into imbecility and
incapacity to use the power which belonged
to them.
While he tried to collect his thoughts, and by the
exercise of a strong will to beat down the unmanly
a Ictrpl, which._ was communicating itself to his own
spirit, he caught slgny or
who at once excited his strongest sympathy.
A young lady, leading a beautiful boy of five or six
Years, had stopped momentarily before him, and was
casthig a look of horror upon the approaching flames,
Which lit up her countenance with its baleful
beams, and revealed the intensity of such an anguish
as he had never before seen depicted on human
features.

lu, As he sprang impulsively to her side, she cried to
te_
" °l,' save him! save him! Save this dear boy!
'-'avc our little Frank!"
" And who will help you?" asked Belmont, "if I
save the child, which I certainly will try to do."
" Will you ? will you? Oh, Heaven bless you for
ever for t•he words. Don't cry, Franky."
Nis': And Y°l-i7 you, I say? Have you made any pro-
.on for yourself ?"
No—there is no hope for me! Never mind!
e Frank—only save Frank, and let him see dear
earrieui more. He is little, and can be easily
Dear Franky, good-bye !"
ie-:311e Pressed the child to her heart as she spoke, and
c'.,Printed a succession of passionate kisses on his
"eeks and neck.
p" You must come with us, Eda," replied the boy.
,aPa 'wants you too. You must go with us."
Vil;:res--Yes,' replied the girl, very hoarsely; "
billcome if it is God's will. Perhaps I can swim; I
atartevlea olv sitnlgeap over and try."
Ilile this hasty conversation went on, Howard
in his mind by what means he should
bZ11.11)t to save the two lives which seemed thus to
he ,been confided to his care, at a time when
ktfet3e.l.t utterly inefficient to secure even his own
wwating dig young friends to stand still, he rushed
tet„-r,s the upper saloon, and though he speedily re-
rsiCed with word that the heat was too great to ad-
bactOf entering the saloon, he had picked up a low-
pilired, arm-chair in another quarter of the deck
ted" he believed might be of some use to them.
saicla gazed upon him with a look which plainly
ho: Is that all ?" and at once abandoning all further
se for herself, she again implored her friend to
ilottire his own and the child's safety if he could, and
Eff or itirther endanger their lives by making useless
ts for her.
111:1Ge ! go ! " she said. "You can do nothing for
Ge, while I have yet strength and reason re-
"nag to assist in getting dear Frank down to you."
CC _
Pli,s';ourage, my child! We
will go together!' re-
bu Belmont. "You cannot stay here. Anything
},et.tter than this! And there may be hope for us
th As he spoke he seized the crying boy, placed him in
boeusir, and, passing his handkerchief around his
tied him securely to the rounds.
he said, with as much of cheerfulness as he
Tait' command ; "it is impossible to delay longer.
Ite courage and trust in God."
indeed time to quit the deck, on which they
b 71 no longer speak or breathe, except gaspingly;
hi:," Perhaps no danger or suffering less extreme could
tlrLe iMPelled Eda to the feArful leap which she was
to make.
The
de space immediately around them had become gra-
se:llY cleared of most of its occupants. Many of them had
haciiired such aid for floating as they could find, ma
in trine over the sides of the vessel, some to perish
in e waters, and others happily to mach the shore
. thekrlfetY• A few had swooned, and lay senseless on
inch;Leelr, and others, whom no consideration could
Peri-,r to Make the fearful leap, were despairingly,
Th,,1,38 resignedly, awaiting death.
been - terrified child, whose crying they had before
tsiietescarcely able to check, seemed to be awed into
(t
as he was lifted in his chair to the railing an
m.eseert-tia glimpse of the river in which he was to
e
layin7l3l,l him there until I am down," said Howard,
aria 'u s hand upon the arm of the trembling girl,
teach feea'king with great distinctness; "and then
sr,‘e chair as far down as you can, and let it fall.
as I have secured him I will call to you,
d.rop. 3111 must lower yourself by your hands and
'Worth "0 not fear. One minute of real courage is
tia,lrallions now!"
that si:,Ltig exacted the most solemn promise from haa
EtreilZ Would faithfully follow his instructions if her
ed ir and reason sufficed, he threw off coat, vest,
4/Ivokrts, and glancing momentarily upwards as if
,ttoo‘i
cod
iltahi4 uter id
aid
sEleae.v en, he climbed the railing and
o The e, Carl; come!" he said.
ase,g,. Placed his feet on the balustrade and looked
,when '1 uticertain what was required of him; but
gailds andsaw his master rapidly lower himself by his
tdarn,drop off, he gave a cry of either joy or
1,00, and bounded quickly after him.
r!roal Eda with difficulty sustained the chair
113Doi4te113ing from her trembling grasp before the
keWardtime; but when she heard the loud voice of
rtbriaing back from the abyss—" Now, Eda,
_
aCha.h. mighty effort of resolution she detached
4,l(kitutn?.._ the railing, lowered it at arm's length,
• tettl heierhlonfd.through every fibre of her frame,
letilillt.§:relirft the mornent almost as if she were the
• t‘ZkY,.._ 4" brckhGr ; but, at the next instant, a
wOcrva °arne back from the depths:
•Ter • , tcla •
Able as ' Come "
,as the ordeal. it was less thin that she

bad already undergone, and enlivened by the hcpe
that her brother was yet safe, she climbed the rail,
hung an instant from it, and then, shutting her eyes,
she relinquished her hold.
Long and terrible seemed the time ere she struck
the water, and vast and strange were the thoughts
which flashed through her excited brain; but scarcely
had she parted the plashing stream ere the teeth of the
watchful Carl were in her robes, and Belmont's hand
was upon her arm.
" Courage !" he said; " all is safe yet, and Carl is
behaving nobly. Place your arm across his back
—so."

Keeping the faithful animal between them as a
buoy, and grasping the extended arm of Eda across
it, Howard with his right hand held the chair in an
upright position, heedless of the cries of its struggling
occupant, and indeed unconscious, in that moment
of great excitement, that they were sounding in his
ears.
The change from a state of partial suffocation to
one in which he could freely inhale the vital air was
very great, and was accompanied by a feeling
of exhilaration and an excess of that energy which
the exigency of the moment so imperatively de-
manded.
Help, he believed, must soon come from the shore,
and he made no attempt at progression, which he
knew was impracticable without abandoning some
part of his precious freight. He looked to see if
there were any salient points about the lower parts of
the vessel by which they might hold if their present
support should fail them ; but the only clinging
Places which he saw were the rudder and the lower
part of the tiller chains, and those were alreadrappro-
priated by a crowd of wretches, some of whom, grasp-
ing the chain with one hand, sustained a friend with
the other.
. Some were floating on pieces of furniture, and an
occasional plunge and scream told that others were
yet dropping from the deck or from their precarious
hold by the side of the boat. But while his senses
almost involuntarily took in a knowledge of these
facts, an infant's feeble wail reached his ear, and to
his great horror, Carl, true to his noble instincts,
sprang from under his arm, arid swam towards a
babe, which, buoyed by its yet unsaturated garments,
was floating along at a few yards' distance from
them.
Terror-stricken, he called loudly on the dog to
return; but the animal, quite ignorant of the more
important duty it had abandoned, plunged onward,
seized the child by its dress, and then started for the
shore. Sustaining himself and his young friends with
the greatest difficulty, yet conscious that he could do
so only for a minute or two, he again called with
despairing voice upon his dog.
The animal stopped and looked back, but then, with
an air which seemed to say, "I am sure I am right,"
he turned away, and pursued his course shoreward,
holding the baby nearly out of water, and seeming
fully intent on its preservation.
But once more the now hoarse voice of Belmont
rang :oudly, wildly across the waters, in such implor-
ing accents as might have bee ia addressed to human
ears—
"Here, Carl, here! Here, Carl, here!"
The dog, who had disregarded the word of com-
mand, seemed to comprehend the tones of anguish
which reached his ears, and with a sudden movement
he turned around, and fairly leaped through the
waters towards his still beseeching master.
But the sagacious brute did not relinquish his hold
of the babe, and when he had reached his struggling
friends, who had barely strength to regain their
former position beside him, Howard brought the
ample chair which lie sustained in his right hand (and
which indeed had to some extent proved a support
to him) nearly in front of Carl, who instantly deposi-
ted his new burden within it, beside its now hushed
and wondering occupant. Rejoicing to learn by the
infant's cry that it was living, Eda seemed to accept
the extraordinary incident as a pledge of the general
safety, and, indeed, scarcely another minute elapsed
trfore she had additional reason for the blissful
hope.
The passengers who had escaped from the bow of
the steamer, as well as the people who had been
attracted to the spot by the great calamity, had of
course hastened to attempt the rescue of the suf-
ferers; but unfortunately, only a single boat could
be found near enough at hand to be brought into im-
mediate use. This, without reaching the steamer
was fillcd by half-exhausted people, some of whom
were taken from the water, and some off various
precarious supports, with which they had been vainly
trying to giiin the shore.
But other hastily constructed rafts were now seen
putting off, and ahead of them all, a stalwart man,
erect on a few planks, which had been hastily lashed
together, was plying his improvised paddle with
furious haste, and shouting as he did so—
" Hould on, Masther Howard, if it's alive you are!
Hould on, dear masther, and it's Hugh '1 be with you
in a minute !"

The young man, half-exhausted, was unable to
reply to this call in tones sufficiently loud to reach
his servant, and indicate his own locality; for Hugh,
not discovering him, and indeed very fearful that he
was already lost, was steering his raft at a wide angle
from the direct. line to 0,4a..t15.
bent upon exploring a party of strugglers further down
the stream.
But brute sagacity again accomplished what human
strength might have failed to perform. Carl heard
and recog,nised the voice of Hugh, and instantly re-
sponded by barking loudly and repeatedly.
With a great shout of joy Hugh McCann changed
the course of his frail bark, and in less than a minute
he was at the side of his master, scarcely less delighted
than they whom lie had come to save.
"God bless you, Hugh!" exclaimed Belmont.
"I knew you would not desert me if you were
alive."
"Is it desart you I would?" was the eager reply.
"It's not me father's son would do the like of that,
and you kiln' yourself to save other people too. It's.
like you, Masther Howard, and was like your mother
before you."
Hugh was rather soliloquising than conversing as he
uttered these words in a low and rapid voice, being at
the same time engaged in carefully assisting the half-
submerged party on to the planks.
"Thank God!" said Eda, as she was lifted on the
raft, and saw her brother—the dear object of her
solicitude—placed beside her. "We shall see dear papa
again."
"Will it hold us all ? " asked Belmont, fearing to
add his weight to that which was already on the
boards.
"It'll hold you," said Hugh, leaping off and steady-
ing the little raft while the wearied young man
climbed upon it. "I'll go to the starn, and you shall
see how I'll swim wid you."
McCann, in fact, with his broad chest against the
little raft, was fully equal to its propulsion, and that
at a considerable speed, while Carl, who saw his oc-
cupation gone, swain contentedly by the side o,f the
strange craft, keeping an eye on its load, and patticu-
larly on the baby, which he seemed to consider in his
more especial charge.
With what joy and devout gratitude Mr. Belmont
and Eda stood once more upon the shore, with the
rescued children beside them, it is unnecessary to say.
But the first thought of each, nearly exhausted though
they were, was how to expedite relief for their late
fellow-sufferers, for whom help, to be serviceable, must
be very speedy. McCann, at his master's suggestion,
at once volunteered to return in search of other sur-
vivors of the wreck, and as the Newfoundland dog ac-
companied him, they succeeded in saving several ad-
ditional lives.

CHAPTER U.
THE NEXT OF FEIN.

IT is not easy to imagine the extent of suffering occa-
sioned to surviving friends by such a disaster as the one
we have been obliged to contemplate. Death claims its
few score of victims, but the sting of bereavement
reaches many hundreds of lacerated hearts.
How many social changes such an event creates—
how many business derangements it produces--what
transformations it works in character, what changes
in property—what estates are diverted into new
channels by the loss of owners or of heirs, it is not
difficult to imagine.
The great calamity of which we have spoken, if
not fruitful in such results, was the cause of at least
one, which has something to do with the course of the
following narrative.
Mr. Ebenezer Mink had spent something more than a
score of years, since arriving at manhood, in the most
eager and determined chase after Fortune, who, blind
dame! had been rolling her wheel constantly away
from him.
Eben had tried many roads to wealth, and although
he had failed in all of them, it certainly had not been
owing to any such flimsy impediments as conscience
sometimes interposes in other men's paths.
Then boasted that he was not squeamish; that he
always took care of number one in a bargain, and
that he left number two quite free to do the same.
That was what he cf-lled fair.
Yet Mr. Mink's neighbours did him the injustice to
look suspiciously upon him, and to wonder how it was
that he maintained a showy and expensive style of
riving, while scores of his small creditors were suffer-
ing for want of the dues which they could not collect
of him. But he had adopted the highwayman's
motto, that "the world owed him a living," and by
hook or by crook he meant to get it. Where the
evidence of this indebtedness was, it would be diffi-
cult to say; but the adage was a convenient one.
When Mr. Mink said that the world owed him a
living, lie meant somethingmore than bare subsistence.
He meant that it owed him a fine house in a fashion-
able quarter of the city, stylish furniture and apparel,
plenty of servants and good cheer, and (he rather
thought) a carriage; but he did not insist on the. last
item. Eben had several wealthy connections, and one,
of whom he often boasted, who. was really entitled to
rank high among the second-class capitalists in the
great metropolis.
He was a very old man, too, Mr. Frazer was; but
Mink could entertain but little expectation of fortune
from a man who had a married daughter and a grand-
child to succeed to his great estate. But Frazer's
relations were very few, and Eben, although only his
second cousin, was next of kin, after the two imme-
diate descendants who have been named; and this
thought had sometimes given him a faint hope of the
• succession.
"It's about as near as we ever come to it," he said
to his wife. a woinan of wholli it issufficient to say

that in ambition for display, and in general worldli-
ness of character, she far outstripped her husband.
"Never mind," replied Honora, glancing round her
elegant parlours; "we do pretty well; and Sibbald is
a good, easy man, who will want some one to take
care of his estate for him when he gets it. The
sooner he gets it the better, say I; for we'll never get
anything out of old cousin Sim, particularly in his
present state of imbecility."
"More likely now than when he was himself,"
muttered Eben ; "for such another close-fisted old
hunks / never saw."

"Never mind, I say; Sibbald is a very different
man, and if you play your cards right-"
"Oh, I've thought of all that, too. Let me alone
for that. Yet it provokes me to have to be always
playing second fiddle to some more fortunate fellow,
instead of standing in his shoes. Such a sappy as
that Arthur Sibbald, too!"
"All the better. His sap will make sugar for us;
and as to being second fiddle,. better that than being
out of the orchestra altogether. Our time may come
to be first fiddle."
The conversation, of which the above dialogue is a
fragment, had taken place but a few weeks before the
great casualty with which our story opens. But what
words shall describe the emotions of the harassed man
when, on perusing an account of the terrible accident,
in an afternoon paper, his eye fell upon the names of
"Arthur Sibbald, wife and child," among the record
of the lost
The momentary sense of horror gave immediate way
to a gush of such delight as had never before glad-
dened the heart of the Mammon-worshipper. His
wildest dreams of wealth were to be realised! He was
the direct and only heir of old Frazer, whose hold on
life was like that of the torn and faded leaf of autumn
upon its parent bough, ready to be detached by the
first rough breath of heaven.
Delirious with his sudden joy, Eben, after com-
posing his features into an expression which betokened
an attempt at grief, started for home, buying every
variety of the evening newspapers as he went along,
and finding in each a confirmation of the important
intelligence.
When Eben reached home, he found his gay wife
and daughter just returned from shopping, and look-
ing a little guilty in consequence of some extravagant
purchases which they had made. But, without
deigning a glance at the new dresses, or at the pro-
pitiatory neck-tie for himself, he eagerly inquired if
they had heard of the dreadful accident on the river.
"Oh, yes," replied his wife, with difficulty detach-
ing her thoughts from the more absorbing subject of
dress; "we did hear them talking in one of the stores
something about a steamboat accident, and the horrid
newsboys were crying it, too. But these things are so
common now." _ _ _ _

"Yes, my dear; but do you know that we have lost
friends and relatives by this accident? Friends and
relatives, madam !"
"Good Heavens—no! Who—who do you mean?
Surely not sister Jane, or—"
"Not at all! Not at all! Not your relations, but
mine, Flonora. Arthur Sibbald! And Arthur Sibbald's
wife! And Arthur Sibbald's child!"

•
"You don't say so! Why, it's terrible! shocking!"
exclaimed the lady, with uplifted hands, yet with a
calculating expression of eye, which suddenly gave
way to one of undisguised pleasure.
"I am sorry for them, of course," she added; "but
it's all right for us, Eben— eh? It must be."
"All right? Guess it is. As right as about a
million and a quarter can make it. The good time is
close at hand, too. The old man really cannot last
but a few months. He has gout in the stomach, or
something like that, and Dr. Day says he can do
nothing for him."
Mrs. Mink was greatly excited by the dazzling
prospect which had so suddenly opened before her;
but she paid too much regard to the proprieties of life
to exult openly at such a moment. The Sibbalds
were her husband's cousins, and the families had been,
ostensibly, at least, on terms of friendship.
"Poor Sarah !" she said, with kerchief to her eyes,
and visions of a carriage and servants in livery in her
head. "Poor, dear Sarah! What a tragic end! And
what a terrible--terrible blow it will be for cousin
Simeon." _ _

"Shouldn't wonder if it killed him outright! Come,
there's the dinner bell. Tell John to bring up a bottle
of champagne, for I really feel quite exhausted with
all this excitement."

(To be continua)