Weekly Calaveras chronicle., 1867-01-05

B SON''N
over, but Lucy was so set ont, and
mustn' lose 10 more time. By the looks
o the clouds we'll have stormy night
and the Lord help them that are out to
sea along this cruel shore !''
And so he babe the revelers a "Good
night sand looked his last at the rud-
dy glow Of the drift wood fire and Lucy 5
sweet face, flushed by its radiance-or
something else-as she stood adjusting
a late rose in Barbara Clihe's gold mist.
ed hair.
"Ill walk down to the shore with ye,
neighbor Penrith," said old Truman
Clitfe, pulling on his dreadnought coat
"Somehow, I've been a sailor so long,
can't bear to keep indoors when the
wind is BLOWN up like it does now"
The late autumnal sunset was firing
ing the overhanging clouds with sullen
fire-such fire as burns itself out in
stormy reflections, leaving a track like
bloody footsteps across the tides-the
winds were moaning sullenly along the
barren shore, aud the distant thunder
of the ground swell sounded like the
grand bass chords of Natures organ
"Y GU re right, Isaac" said Truman
Cliffe, ''it's goin' to be an awful night
Thare's mischief in them clouds; and
if there ever was murder in the sound
of the breakers, it's there Tonight
Why, what's the matter Y'
For Isaac Penrith had uttered cry
that made the old sailors blood grow
chill in his veins.
"The boat! Merciful Father. the
boat is gone p
1t was true; the loop had somehow
become loosened and the little bark was
rocking somewhere on the waves beyond
sight or sound.
"Truman, [ must have your boat, and
as quick as possible. The sun is nearly
down but l can reach the lighthouse
yet before lighting time"
He spoke in a husky voice, while the
beating of his heart seemed like strokes
of muffled drum.
Truman Cliffe turned white dis
mayed face toward his old companion.
"Our boat is down to Kilcoran, with
Jared and his girls; they won't be back
till tomorrow morning."
There was an instant's silence, then
Isaac spoke, still in the same hoarse,
unnatural ,oice. ...
"Is there no other boat I could get?"
''Ihere's Hugh Donnelly's down to
the point but that's two miles off,"
"I'll 60 for it''
Truman stopped him as he was turn,
| ing blindly toward the shore.
mo, Isaac, you're lame and stiff and
Pm good walker. Keep your strength
for the hard rowin' you'll have to do,
and I'll be back as quick as mortal man
can 60 and come Sit down on the
rock, old friend, and rest-you're tremb-
lin like leaf!'
Isaac Penrith obeyed, mechanically,
and dropped his head upon his hands,
sitting motionless while the bloody track
upon the waves grew purpler and more
indistinct, and the far-off thunder of the
ground-swell seemed to mutter menaces
in his ear ...
Two miles away! and the brief twi-
light was already setting in How slow
ly Truman Cliffe plod1ed along; and
yet those idiots on the shore had always
called him swift walker He would
go himself, and he started up, but only
to sink back again weak and helpless.
81 have no strength left" he thought
II must wait. l must wait for that
snail to creep along the sands. They
were right; it will be fearful night at
sea And there is no light in the light
house to warn homeward bound ships
off the reefs -
AS he closed his eyes he could almost
see che stately ships drifting upon their
death, and going to pieces along the
sunken rocks, while their crews were
looking out in vain for the red signal
star of danger. He could hear the
creak and groan of shivering timber
the crash of mast and yard-arm-the
dying shrek of human creatures He
shuddered convulsively.
"And shall be murderer /! o God
why did desert my post p
And in this moment of agony and re-
pentance Dorr Martins mocking face
rose up before him, full of evil exulta-
ton.
Gle always said I could not be trust
ed, and he was right -
Dorr Martins triumph was the Bit
terest drop in the bitter cup that Isaac
Penrith drained to the dregs that stormy
night.
'.The sun has set-the hour of grace
is past" be muttered to himself. 81
will not live to have widows asking me
where are the husbands who perished
on those reefs-I will not look little
children in the face and hear them
whisper that I murdered their fathers
| will not see Dorr Martin triumph in
my ruin No, better a quiet grave at
the bottom of the deep sea than life of
remorse and dishouor. My little Lucy
had better mourn me dead than live to
blush for me! Good-by, my fair-haired
darling l shall never see your bonny
face more.
How the wind blew his gray uncov-
cred hair about, as, murmuring faint
half-forgotten prayer, he crept down
the beach, going to seek his death,
where the cruel, white -fringed waves
writhed up along the shore! An instant
he paused, to look last adieu to the
world, the sky, the far-stretching shore,