The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1886-05-20
A CRUEL WRECK.

Wv ILL V1t1lO1A
A Mere Writing-Woman Shat
ters a Captains Bright Idyl.
1t is August in the tropics, or, to be
exact, in the semi-tropics; the earth is
ashen, the sun a red ball looking like
nothing but a toy balloon; the bay a
sheet OF glass. Off to the southwest
rise the mountains of Mexico; back a
few miles from the coast towers San
Miguel, gray, bare and majestic; across
the harbor bar the breakers dash Just
as they have been dashing ever since
the earth left its Creators hands, or at
least as long as old Juan Espada re-
members, which is a very long while
indeed. Oldham is a link between to-
day. with its telephones and carshops,
and the golden age of Spanish occupa-
ton. His father came in the shining
train of soldiers that followed the Padre
JuniperO n his sandaled companions
the friars going up the valley to a fav.
orable spot and build ng the first mis-
sion church of California, the soldiers
encamping at the preside, in sight of
the calm ocean, and playing at war.
Juan's father was then but a small lad,
looking much like a gay-winged butter
fly with his bright costume, his flying
ribbons, and his tiny guitar, brought
all the way from sunny Spain. Juan
has that guitar yet, and he sometimes
sits and thrums a melody, and from his
withered old throat evokes sounds that
tell of the Guadalquivir's ripping
waters or of the home in far CASTLE. In
due time another butterfly winged
its way to the dull adobe fort-a little
girl who danced the cachucha when
Jose, now a tall youth, played, and
who, as years vent on, became a bride,
then the mother of Juan, and in the
our of things an ancient Spanish
dame. telling her beads in a shadowy
corner of the church or scolding the
maid for forgetting to put the pinch of
red-pepper in the broth. But at last
she followed Jose to the walled church.
yard, leaving Juan, an old mar now,
TO tend the sheep and dry the peppers.
And so he sits before his dwelling in
the remorseless sun, a bit of the last
century left over-an archaic relic of
the days when the Spaniards were the
lords of the land, before the hated
Yankees came in and possessed it.
Juan is looking for a friend who comes
to chat with him daily, asking him the
most enticing questions about the times
when his father sang and his mother
danced in the preside and each fiesta
was the occasion of a bull-fight with
maaadors right-from Spain itself. She
is, in a moderate way, a blue-stocking,
and concocts romances for filthy lucre.
He is to her just so much material
but he does not know it, and delightedly
aud unconsciously maunders on about
the famous strengthening up the Sis
Juana AND the earthquake that rane
the mission bells and cracked his owr
adobe walls. On this particular day,
however, it is not the scribbler who
turns the corner of the low house, but 6
blonde man with a slight roll in hi:
gait. He looks like a young viking
with his tanned cheeks and fair hair
but he is only Marshall Mel, master O
the staunch schooner Pelican, now I'm
loading redwood lumber at the wharf
Juan rises to receive him, holding on
a hand in true Mexican fashion, hi
mind unconsciously turning to a peculia
brand of cigarettes which the captain ha
a knack of finding in a certain shop il
San Francisco. The cigarettes lose n,
time in finding their way to Juan's BROW
palm, and soon the smoke from on,
goes upward towards the top of tn
eucalyptus trees about the door. Con
tinued association with the hated Yam
KEGS has eliminated any patios from tn
speech of the old Spaniard. He has
linguistic taste and has acquired the &C
cents of the usurper.
Captain" he says, lyon are mos
welcome
Thank you, Senior, answers the car
tain. Thought as much, for a cigar
cite to a Spaniard is as acceptable as
rose to n lovely woman"
And how have YOU been since yo
last sailed from here? / did not loo
for you so o again, andI though
O were the little New York lady unit
you spoke?"
''But who is this mysterious lady?"
'sShe is a relative of the Victors upo
bttO NH ohC "lltCo ~ lat dLlitC.
But do not let that prejudice you again.
her." he adds uneasily, turning his hea
to see if that well-worn, gray gown ma
not be alarmingly near.
She is surely coming now with a ligl
step and gay laugh. Mel turns to St
the sunny face which ought to 60 wit
such a happy laugh and s%pringing ste]
But it is not a sunny face. 1t is the vi
age of a oma who has seen much
the darker side of life-a face chisele
by experience, the only perfect sculpto
But Mel has seen beautiful faces that |
liked less. Juan's knowledge of Il
conventionalities of society fails hin
He makes an awkward matter of the il
PRODUCTION, but Miss Brantome is equ
to the occasion.
Juan has told you my name, ar
you are Captain Mel of that tire
masted schooner at the wharf. Now v
know each other" But Mel does n
seem so exceedingly well acquainted
she indicates by her words. He is a 81
man, at his ease to be sure, when wi
the bellies of Humboldt County, but
has never before met a lady from Ne
York who writes for the press.
pleases her to draw out this bashf
captain. who tries so hard to be soci;
and who so signal y fails. But he a
swers in abrupt monosy1lables. The
surely must be some subject on viii,
he can talk. Any man can talk sho
She will encourage him to do it.
"How many tons does your schoon
carry, captain?' she inquiries, innocer
ly. All! he wakes up, and, after te
ing her of his ships burthcn, launch
into a talk of ships in general-of o.
he sailed in the Indian ocean,. of
yacht he commanded on a pleasure-tr
with the English Lord Her taco is