The Portland daily press., 1890-03-08
LOST ON SANDY NOOK.
A Long Night Tramp Through
cedars and sand Dunes.
New York World.


enough is the word "lost" at any time,
but coupled as it is in this instance with
q waste of sand dunes bristling with
the bones of lost ships and dead men, it
becomes doubly portentous. Yes, was
lost on Sandy Hook, and in the darkest
night that ever threw pail over lonely
sea and shore. How came to be wan
dering wayfarer on that lonely, aye, God
forsaken strand matters but little. Suf.
ficeit to say that late one afternoon had
paid a visit to little grave far up on the
hillside of the eternal Highlands of Nave.
sink.
LOOKING BACKWARD.
AS / stood beside that tiny tomb recol-
lections of another sainted one came
over me, and SO real did her presence
seem that with her hand in mine we two
wandered in the spirit down through the
old drives and by the old alder trees.
which she once knew so well, and on by
the twin lighthouses and across the dark,
flowing river to the sea beach, where we
two had SO often strolled before. And
she led me thus unheeding my where
abouts, only needing her presence and
the same old love light in her eyes. Twas
thus she led me down these old paths,
her memory floating back out of the past
like half forgotten song, until sudden
ly the deep diapason of the surf swelled
up and swallowed the song of our loves.
That sweet voice was lost. I called for
her in vain. The waves roared mock
ing reply that sounded like "Nevermore.
In vain did / plead for that sweet
voice. Again did the great organ of the
surf respond remorselessly in grand
chorus, "Nevermore. In inane rage
flung myself on the strand. Then cooler
moments interviewed, and there on the
wet sand, with none but God and the
ripping river to hear, I poured out my
soul in sorrow. And the starlight fell
like benediction ON my upturned face,
and the running river sang dirge.
Had I been laboring under a spell?
Had she really returned to me, or was it
all a dream? What it was know not
Only this, l was lost on Sandy Hook.
Alone there on desert shore, alone with
my conscience. l remember I thought
of my situation as likened to that Of
Robinson Crusoe, but my night was
darker than any of Juan Fernandez, rem
dered doubly dark by the black wings Of
remorse that tapped about me. Dark as
divine wrath was the blackness about,
unillumined by star or lights far out at
sea, for the dwarf cedars hid both from
me. Yet now and then there came float.
ing in over the waters the sound Of sig
nal bells at sea, ringing out warnings to
the wanderers Of the deep.
At last, worn out with exertion, half
tumbled upon what had been the spar Of
lost ship. Placing my hand for sup
port upon the sand at my side, 1t touched
something. The knowing nerves Of the
hand telegraphed to my fevered brain
what that something was. 1t was a
human skull, the melancholy memorial
of mans mortality. Aghast, I threw it
from me. The spot seemed accursed,
and rose and tottered on, human will
prevailing over the weakness of the body.
AS I mounted big dune cry of joy is
sued from my lips. There, like diamonds
set In the ebon field of night, cleaned
the twin lights, and beneath them in a
sable bank lay the everlasting Highlands.
Endeavoring to keep those Jewels ever in
my view, l wandered on, but they, alas,
were again lost behind the veil of cedar
and sand.
LOST 200 YEARS AGO. t
Recollections of the wrecks of other
years came over me, and thought I
wandered through vast charnel house.
Again fell and my hand struck what
seemed like the base of shattered
tombstone. Although had never be-
fore visited that spot knew that the
shattered marble was erected in men,
DRY of British frigate's boats crew
which, led by young nobleman, was
lost in the snow in the same place almost
200 years before. With sympathetic An \
gers / traced out the craven words near
the base of the stone, Erected by his
mother, Lady -" and there the legend
ended. But right roundly in that dark
and lonesome spot cursed the vandals
who had desecrated that cemetery and
destroyed that everlasting tribute of a
fond mothers love. Somewhere near by
knew from history lay the bones Of
several refugees killed soon after the re.
treat of the British from Monmouth. I
am uncertain that / found the place of
their burial, but quite near at hand !
found a section of human frontal bone,
which l carefully placed in an inner
pocket of my peajacket.
Again wandered on cr,Ting for human
aid until / entered tiydy grove. Sud-
denly light blazed fullfin my face from
the hastily opened DOOR of habitation
and rough voice exclaimed:
Whats the matte,f9 Lost?"
Eyes" was the h.esitating reply, for I
half feared the PLACE was pirates den.
"This is the Hotel McGinty and am
Pierre Troutman, the proprietor. Way
farers are welcome, and we still have a
few rooms on 'Sne lower floors left. Come
In, stranger, and welcome"
Too dazed to speak, accepted the In
vitation and entered the Hotel McGinty,
whirhv arude one story frame shanty,
2x16 feet and lined with rows
1unks arranged as on shipboard.
man said that he ara his men,
ere ali asleep, were saving tnat
I of the cargo Of the wrecked bark
.ania that had washed ashore on
y Hook. The Germania was wrecked
Long Branch, he said, on the night Of
Nov. 81.
After hearty meal, friendly smoke,
Is yarn or two and song, the writer was
tucked snugly In lower berth to seek
rest for his weary body and overwrought
hvafr. IN daax, axa