The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1873-02-07

sound earth could be beneath the feet of
wavc-weary mariners for once at least
all longed for it, even wild Sandy Cam
eron. He was glad.
He watched the towering lamps with
JOY, and swore that they were pleasant
sights.
Before he slept he stood long while
leaning over the taffrail, smoking and
thinking-if he ever thought.
1t was an evil lingering for the Aga
memnon.
A spark from the cigar held in an un-
steady hand, regarded by eyes not
brighter for recent draughts of brandy,
made its way somehow, wind-bourne or
demon-bourne, into the place where the
cargo of the vessel had been slowed
away, and at the dead of night they of
the mid-watch saw stealing thrOught
the planks beneath them red and yellow
tongues of flame.
The vessel WAS on fire.
"Fire! fire! firep the word rang its
way 10 heaven, shouted by every tongue
on board.
The scene that followed beggars de-
/ scription. None who survived ever
could forget il.
There was no hope from the first, none
save in the boats.
] They were nlled at once.
Who could forget it? oh, who could
forget it?
The old man pointing to the lights on
shore and crying:
~ wanted to see the children once be-
fore l diedr'
The captain, deathly pale, showing
that strange bravery which sailors only
! possess at such time.
Changing from dictatorial old hard
I drinker to a very hero; clinging in ro-
mantle fOndness to his ship; and while
| he did his best for every other soul on
board, forgetting himself, and vowing to
sink with her.
The Young passenger and his bride
she clinging TO him; the mother with
her babe bound to her breast-praying
on her knees amid the tumult; the or
phan child going home to its grandpar-
ents, wOndeT-stricken, and yet scarcely
conscious of its danger.
The sailors changed, like the captain,
into heroes.
Who could forget all this?
Amidst all, gigantic in his strength,
sotered at last by the scene around him,
toiled Sandy Cameron.
They remembered him well whose
lives he saved. The bronZed man with
light hair, and the grip of Hercules. So
the boats and rafts-sOme to live, some
to die-were all afloat. All gone into
the darkness, and struggling forms had
vanished from the waves, and alone to-
gether, the flames approaching them
like demons, stood old Captain Oaks
and his first mate, Sandy Cameron.
Captain" said Sandy, "its most
over"
"Ay, ay, lad,' said the captain.
"Give us your fist. We've sailed to-
/ gether a good while now. We seem
bound for the long voyage now. Lord
help US, Sandyv'
'sThere's a chance yet, maybe" said
the first mate. "Try for it, captain"
NO." said the sailor, az 90 with her.
No wife waits for me, no child. She's
my wife and children all in one. Try,
you. j go down with her"
That was the last that Sandy COmeron
saw or heard of the captain.
y rush and roar from below, where
the spirits were stored, ended the words.
Then came blindness and silence, and
time passed for him.
At last there was sound again-the
] sound of waters. Sight, the red lamps
of the lighthouse Feeling, that of the
wet sand against his face.
: Some strange providence had saved
! Sandy CamerOn's life.
! Bruised and weak, still he staggered
to his feet at last.
, Above him-his sailor eye used to re-
member such things-tOwered we'll
! known rocks, kissed by a struggling
moonlight.
The sea had flung him into the arms
Of his native seaport; and up above, q
! 4 F,r,n,
ing the lighthouse signals perhaps, was
singing a Methodist hymn:
There's light in the window for thee,
There's a light in the window for thee"
And then the tears rolled down the
sailors checks, and his softened heart
yearned for the mother who had said:
'pll keep a light till ye come back,
Sandy"
Twenty years ago, and she was nearly
fifty then. Probably she was dead; but
some one might be in the old home yet
who could tell him of her.
And SO in the midnight darkness the
sailor staggered up the river-path,
through the changed streets, and, led
by the compass of his heart, TO the lane
where his boyhoOd's home had been so
long before.
houses now; but at the end, or he
dreamt, Sandy saw a candle CLEAN.
He drew nearer. No fancy misled
him.
Yes, between the curtains stood a can
die, in very truth, and in the window Of
his old home
He staggered on, his heart beating
wildly. He struck the door with his
hand.
He waited, trembling, and the door
opened; at il stood an old, old woman
with white hair-his mother. He knew
her stern, strong features and her blue
eyes still.
whats this?" she said, in her Scotch
accent.
And he answered:
"a poor sailor, shipwrecked and need
ing shelter"
"COme in" she said-"come i'm and
warm We. It's bitter night. The can
die led We here, ma dou't. It's burnt
these twenty years. Ye wonder at that
I'd boy once. He left me. The can
die burns for him. Pve a fancy il will
vile him back yet; and I've gone with
: out bread many time to keep IL burn
in. The Others are all dead; but I'll
! not believe he's gone; and l said, I'll
keep light till ye come back, Sandy
; and / will"
; And then, as he flung himself upon his
knees before her, she knew that Sandy
had come back indeed.
He never again forsook her 4 better
son and better man than Sandy came
TO be, those of the seaport say they may
meyer see aOsiiu