Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1886-05-28
A CRUEL WRECK.
A More Writing-Woman Shat
.erg Il Captains Bright Idyl.

a More Writing-Woman Shat
.ers Captains Bright Idyl.
Y. is August in the tropics, or, 10 be
exact, in the scmi-tropics; the earth is
ashen, the sun red ball looking like
nothing but toy balloon; the bay n
sheet of glass. on 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 rs long as old Juan Espada re-
members, which is n very long while
indeed OldJuan is 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 and his sandalcd companions
the friars going up the valley to fav-
orablc spot and building the first mis-
sion church of California, the soldiers
encamping ut the preside, in sight of
the calm ocean, and playing at war.
Juan's father was then but small lad,
looking much like u gay-wingcd 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 melody, and from his
withercd old throat cvoEes sounds that
tell of the Guadalquivir's rlppling
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 II tall youth, played, and
who, as years went on, BECAME bride,
then the mother of Juan, and in the
course of things an ancient Spanish
dame. telling her beads in shadowy
corner of the church or scolding the
maid for forgetting to put the pinch of
red-pcpper in the broth. But at last
she followed Jose to the walled church,
yard, leaving Juan, an old man now,
TO tend the sheep and dry the peppers
And so he sits before his dwelling in
the remorseless sun, II 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 friend who comes
to chat with him daily, asking him the
most entcing questions about the times
when his father sang and his mother
danced in the preside and each fiesta
was the occasion of bull-iight with
matadors right from Spain itself She
is, in moderate way, Il blue-stocking,
and concocts romanccs for filthy lucrc.
He is to her just so much material" "
but he does not know it, and delightedly
and uncOnsciously maundcrs on about
the famous shecp-shcaring up the Sia
Juana and the earthquake that rang
the mission bells and cracked his own
adobe walls. On this particular day,
however, it is not the scribbler who
turns the corner of the low house, but n
blonde man with slight roll in his
gait. He looks like young viking,
with his tanned checks and fair hair,
but he is only Marshall Mel, master of
the staunch schooner Pelican, now un-
loading redwood lumber at the wharf
Juan rises to receive him, holding out
hand in true Mexican fashion, his
mind unconsciously turning to peculiar
brand of cigarettes which the captain has
knack of finding in a certain shop in
San Francisco. The cigarettes lose no
timein finding their way to Juan brown
palm, and soon the smoke from one
goes upward towards the top of the
eucalyptus trees about the door. Con-
tinucd association with the hated Yam
KEGS has eliminated any patios from the
speech of the old Spaniard. He has Il
linguistic taste and has acquired the ac-
cents of the usurpcr.
Captain" he says, lyon are most
welcome.
Thank you, Senor, answers the cap
tain. Il thought as much, for cigar
ettc TO Spaniard is as acceptable as a
rose to lovely woman"
And how have you been since you
last sailed from here? / did not look
for you so soon again, andI thought
you were the little New York lady until
you spoke?"
but who is this mysterious ladyP"
''She is n relative OF the Nictors upon
the hill. She writes for magazines.
But do not let that prejudice you against
her he adds uneasily, turning his head
10 sec if that well-worn, gray gown may
not be alarmngly near.
She is surely coming now with light
step and gay laugh, Mel turns to See
the sunny face whic!i ought to 90 with
fuch happy laugh and springing step.
But il is not sunny face. 1t is the Wis
age of a woman who has seen much of
the darker side Of life-a face chiseled
y experience, the only perfect sculptor.
liut Mel has seen beautiful faces that he
liked less. Juan's knowledge of the
cUnventionalities of Gociety fails him.
He makes an awkward matter of the in
PRODUCTION, but Miss Brantome is equal
10 the occasion.
Juan has told you my name, and
sUn are Captain Mel of that three
masted schooner at the wharf. Now we
know each otner.h But Mel does not
seem so exceedingly well acquainted as
rhe indicates by her words. He is shy
man, at his ease TO be sure, when with
the bellies of Humboldt County, but he
has never before met lady from New
York who writes for the press. 1t
pleases her TO draw out this bashful
captain, who tries 50 hard to be social,
pDd who scsigpaly fails But he an
E"St5 'H an 1ft MUMMY l"plSH' iHcit
surely must be some subject on which
he can talk. Amy man can talk shop.
She will encourage him to do it.
"How many tons does your schooner
carry, captainP" she inquiries, innocent
ly. All! he wakes up, and, after tell
Ing her Of his ships burthen. launches
into a talk Of ships in general OF ono
he sailed In Tho Indian ocean. of Il
yacht he commanded on . pleasare.triE