The Newberry herald. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1865-1884, 1884-04-24

to sing over her work-old Scottish
ballads, or perhaps some hymns
handed down from the time when
the old Covenanters worshipped
God, and de6ed man among the
purple heather. They never lured
him home to help her, though.
The years rolled on, and even
this one sting of conscience ceased
it's paining. In those days there
were no such beings as sober sailors,
nor captains Of temperance princi-
pies Hard drinkers were most old
salts, and most young ones. Sandy
drank with the erest. He grew broad
and stout. His Geek was bronZed,
his light hair changed its tint, his
voice grew deep and coarse. He
was in no way a good man, but he
was a good sailor. AS the years
passed he came to be an officer
first mate Of the Agamemnon. His
pockets were full enough for ali his
purposes. The sea was better chan
land to him, and when on shore he
led that kind Of boisterous life that
drives the thought Of ''mother' from
mems very souls. He had friends,
at least he thought so, men who
knew him when his pay jingled
in his pockets. lie was not niggard-
ly--nay, once he had emptied his
remaining dollars in to q beggars S
hand. Sandy was the bravest of the
brave; but he had never been gen.
erous enough nor brave enough to
60 back to the eastward seaport.
whers his mother had left the can
die burning for him in the window
never, never.
Five years were gone, and ten
and fifteen and twenty. A man
nearly forty years Of age stood in
Sandy Caneron's shoes--a man
who led the widest life under the
moon ashore; q man to whom frely
brandy was as water to a child; a
man who remembered God only in
his oaths; when the Agamemnon
came after a long and stormy roy-
age just within sight of the coast
within sight Of it's lighthouse, at
least, for in the darkness of q
stormy night nothing else was visi-
BILE. Battered with storms already,
brusied by the waves, wounded by
rocks, still the Agamemnon fought
her way homeward; by the morrow
eve sound earth would be beneath
the feet of the wave-weary mariners
for once, at least, all longed ior
it, even wild Sandy Cameron. He
was glad. He watched the tower
ing lamps with joy, and swore that
they were pleasant sights. Before
he slept he stood a long while lean
ing over the taffrail, smoking, and
thinking, if lie ever thought. 1t
was an evil lingering for the Aga
memnon. A spark from the cigar
held in unsteady hand, regarded by
eyes not brighter for recent draughts
of brandy, made its way somehow,
wind borne or demon-borne, into
the places where the cargo Of the
vessel had been stored away, and
at the dead Of night they ofthe mid
watch saw stealing through the
planks beneath them red and yellow
tongues o: flames. The vessel was
on fire.
Fire fire fire - the word rang
its way to heaven. shouted by every
tongue on board.
The scene that :.ollowed beggars
description. Non: VINO lived to re-
member ever copll forget. There
was nc hope from the first, none
save in the boats. They were filled
at once. Who could forget it.
Or, who could forget it. The
Old man pointing to the lights
on shore and crying:
Il wanted to see the children once
be fore | died.
The captain, deathly pale, show
ing that stran 5e bravery which sal
lOrs only POSSESS at such time,