The Pacific commercial advertiser. [volume] (Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands) 1885-1921, 1885-01-23
JOHN DORN'S SON.
NEW York Times.1


Long Island. East and west. like wavy
fields of green and brown, the Bellmore
marshes stretched away in unbroken lone
illness to meet the dim beauty of the hori-
zon. The wind had gone down, leaving
the broad bosom of the water as still as
mirror upturned on the level sands. The
sun, shining through countless leagues of
haze cast tremendous shadows toward
the east. and, rising up with
shaded brows to meet its rays, John Dorm,
q CHEEKY fisherman, stood out in sill
houstte against the sky. Fast mingling
with the purple and gray Of the lseward
rim Of sea and sky, a lazy schooner winged
its southwark flight, and when the dusky
distance closed upon it John Dorm and his
weather.b beaten old boat alone broke the
changeless monotony of marsh and
meadow Left high and dry by the re-
ceeding tide. the old boat lay bolt upright
In the soft mud, as taut and trim as though
6noored In her moss grown berth at Bell
more landing. Her sails hung limp and
motionless against her mast, and about
her shining deck a brown-hRired little girl
rompsd and laughed In childish glee
Il was unspeakably lonely out on the
wide-reaching marshes, but as honest
John Dorm shaded his eyes with his rough
brown hand and gazed seward he gayly
whistIed tune that he had learned up in
the little whitesteepled meeting house in
Bellmore village. II did not seem lonely
or dreary out there, for to him it was
home The blue sky above him and the
dimpling shadows before him spoke only
Of home; the marshes had been his play
ground in youth, and the meadows behind
him were as well known as the little gar
den back of his own modest cottage
among a clump of distant trees. Even
though the marshes had not been so
familiar as the stubby fingers on his
weather-beaten hands, and had the sky
been black with clouds and driving rain,
John Dorm would have been just as happy
and free from care, for up IN the little
house among the trees son had been born
TO bless his approaching old age. A
daughter he had already. and another slept
beneath the sea grass in his garden, but
until this day son had been deuied him.
It would not be fair to say that John
Dorm had grumbled at fate when grave
middle life came and saw no sons in bis
family, but somewhere down in the depths
OF his stout heart he argued that, although
girls were good enough in their way, and
perhaps were necessities of an all-wise
scheme, yet only boy could stand his
trick at the wheel or reef the mainsail IN q
gale of wind. John Dorm wanted some
one TO bear him company in his lent
pilgrimages to the fishing grounds and
the oyster beds, and in turn to guide the
old sloop out to sea when he himself
should in the course of time be kept ashore
by the accumulated rheumatism f many
years Of active life And so on this soft
summer day, when little, mewlihg, red
headed son had taken possession of the
household, John Dorm lifted up his honest
soul in thanksgiving, and went away to
work In the marshes as blithely as though
his wedding day was not a score of years
behind him ia the dead but unforgotten
past.
The world was bright and fair to John
Dorm that day, for in the future he saw
his son. strong, sturdy-limbed and ruddy.
steering with heavy hand the laboring
vessel, pulling merrily the weary or, and
on the Sabbath day trudging manfully 20
church with a swarm Of rosy children.
John Dorm smiled and hummed a solemn
hymn, and In the height of his con4snted-
ness stopped down and imprinted upon his
daughters wavy hair 3 forgiving kiss
Henceforth the innocent little girl should
not be denied the love which diSappoInt-
msnE had held for so long q time. AS he
guided his sloop through the serpentine
Channel leading out to the bay his heart
became as water, and in the ennODling in
6uence of that feeling he seemed to lose
bis sunburn and his wrinkles and TO grow
young again.
Quickened by the breath of awakened
loves-the vague ambition Of early lie
came back, and 10 the mirage that some.
how doomed up above the blue surface of
the baY he saw his son, and incl
dentally himself, Drowned with all the
honors that q grateful, respecting local
community could bestow. Unqusstioning
assumption of the probability, or even the
possibility, of future social or political
preferment for his son was proof positive
That no such distinction was likely to be
Rccordsd him, the argument IN the matter
being. in effect, that nothing but the most
disheartening of native plodders could
come of such a combination of dizziness
and unreasoning hope. Had John
Corn's ambition taken definite form,
and sought by such means as lay
within the narrow circle of the life
along shore to carve out the way to the
coming man's ennoblement there might
have been strong grounds for hope, and
willing hRHds from the great city, whose
d0sky confines lay but little beyond the
distant view of earth and sky, might have
been stretched out to help the instinC less
wayfarer over unknown paths that led to
che goal of his ambition; but, at its best,
John DoTn's ambition was as f0rmlsss as
the night, and as discouraging as his wi&e's
inferiOrity. In such a raylsss gloom what
hope for light? Who but a purposeless
enthusiast would see the flower of genius
in such a traeklsss wasteP
An the tendencies of nature were against
John Dorm, but yet, working bltthly on
sbe wild marshes, he sang song that
filed his soul with joy. The chances in
426 WCFo dSd1uSG JONI OOIAS huAD1GOuI
and yet he hoped. In simple truth 1t must
be said that this ambition, never wholly
stationary or definite. changed as often as
the wind Sometimes his much.loved son
guided q stately ship to distant seas;
6ftener he sang cheerily in a fishing boat
In the Great South bay, and once IN a rare
while he stood within the torch-lght's
glare to discuss the burning issues of the
hour. Always 1t was the goal and not
the painful, weary means. that this ambi-
ton touched upon; always results, never
the process of attainment. The vivissc-
ZIONIST is right, though cold and unsym-
pathetic-there was little hope for either
John Dorm or his son.
CLAIMS were plentiful that day, and John
Dorn's broad, flat feet churned them out
Of the thick mud with more than usual
rapidity and ease. Again and again the
wicker basket returned to the waiting
boat. piled high with captured shells,
until, when the tide ceased to run out and
the westering sun dipped angrily toward
the hazy west, John Dorm drew his brown
Mo fad hrOvy and SaiH that