The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1893-12-29

raised myself ana looked at MIN.
az remember now you caught me as l
was going out the cabin hatchway before
hit my head Thank you"
at would have been better, poor little
chap, to IA let you 60. You wouldn't "a
suffered any more But thought of your
mother "
"And my sister-don't forget her.
shall tell her how brave you are. was
dreaming of home when | woke"
l looked at the men, somber and wan as
if cut from gray granite. The captain,
grown suddenly shrunken and old, twisted
his beard in his wrinkled hand. Jackson
looked vacantly ahead. Stinson and Carr
were gloomy and silent, restlessly chang
ing their cramped positions. The foreign
er prayed all the time in his native tongue,
forgetting in his fright the few words of
English he knew-of all us lonely human
beings the most forlorn and pitiful.
The second mate was the only one who
kept alive the bright hope of rescue. He
had fearless look in his big, dark eyes.
His olive skin was as smooth as a girls,
and around his forehead the damp curls
clustered. He had no cap, and his flannel
shirt was dripping wet. He cheered us all,
talking of home, singing song now and
then, and though we did not know it
keeping us all alive-a task indeed, for,
freezing, we wanted to let go and sleep.
The long hours passed, and the monot-
onous Tapping of our signal of distress
sounded ever in our ears The shrill wind
Kissed and stung our swollen faces, and
our lips grew parched and dry. Like
beaten brute the brig rose sullenly on the
waves and FLASHED backward, while the
water gurgled in the hold with a curious,
hollow sound.
"Drop that lingol" growled old Stinson,
next the Corsican. "You can chatter like
an ape for week, but it won't help you
any,"
"He's saying his prayers in his own
language" interposed the second mate.
"Let him alone. Think-he can't under
stand a word we sayp'
"He needs his prayers" sighed the cap
tain. GA few more hours, by the looks of
the sky, and we won't any of US be here.
To think mother wanted me to quit the
sea, and 1 promised after this voyage, and
this wreck half my savings Now Dicks
a captain, she says to me, you ought to
stay ashore. You know my boy Dick,
Gus-captain of ship, and only 81. He
began like little 10 there, and worked his
way up-no cabin window promotion for
him.
'It's mighty pleasant in the old town
these September days" went on the cap
tain, 1.-THE trees all turning, the woods col
ored like a sunset Hetty and Nell out
gathering leaves, probably, never dream
ing in those peaceful woods of their old
father hanging on the irink of eternity.
They had my picture wreathed in leaves
when came home last voyage, all pressed
and vanished.
He paused and began again; "Mother's
out ON the front porch knitting, and the
cats are wandering in the flowerbeds that
are gay with asters in purple and white.
wonder if old Hally, the dog, is watch
ing for the captainl Mother says he does
when Pm first away. Perhaps he'll howl
tonight, mournfullike, for dogs sometimes
know when friends dead, and then
mother will worry"
He rambled on, half to himself, speak
ing of the old town that most of us called
home. The Corsican, unheeding us, pray
ed aloud, and looked at the second mate
at his bright, fearless eyes and smiling
mouth.
"When he is afraid" l said to myself,
az shall let go and sink down in the sea.
l am only boy, and am tired"
"What's the user" said StiDson sud
denly. "Capt'n, jest tell the folks, if you
survive"
He leaned over the edge, looking darkly
into the sea, but the second mate caught
his shoulder and there was for moment
an awful, voiceless struggle. Then the
older man sank down, painting and beaten.
"You have no right to give up" cried
the mate at is cowardly. The madness
and weakness grow on us all We might
follow like a flock of sheep. I'll be the
last to go. It's loosing faith in the AL
mighty"
l cried silently, hiding my face on my
sleeve. l loathed that desert sea, where
there was no living thing but us few sur
vivors-no bird nor glancing CLEAN Of sea
monster in the waves.
Stinson and Carr talked of the lost men
how this one passed like flash, white
face for "a moment against the blackness !;
how one cried for help, and one despaired
and said he knew the end had come, and
how strange we of 16 should be saved.
"When Dick, Captain Dick now," NUT
tered the captain, twas bit of boy, he
took one of his mothers linen sheets and
made a sail on a raft, and there found
him in the pond below the hill. 1t was
blowing sharp, and he couldn't manage
his sail, but he sings out when he sees me,
Don't come, dad I'll huff her in a min
ute. He wasn't but 6 then-a born sailor,
my boy Dick. Queer 1 think of him now
all the time-feel as if he was near me.
He might have gone down in the storm. F"
We were silent for awhile, but gave
a sudden cry as a spiteful gust of wind
seized our signal of distress, ripped it
from the stick and whirled it merrily into
the sea.
"a ship can see us just as well, said
the mate cheerfully. "That is no loss.
Keep up heart, Jo."
Carr broke into torrent of angry words
against heaven and earth, but the captain
silenced him sternly, and then the old
man lifted his haggard face and prayed
for help.
had heard him in the prayer meeting
at home, but never such words as these.
They gave us comfort. We said no more
in bitterness, but waited the end in 81
lence. He spoke of bright tomorrow
but we did not apply il 10 time on earth.
Tomorrow the sea would sweep over the
wreck, and we should lie below the rolling
waves, for night was coming, and wind
and sea were rising. Each lurch of the
wreck nearly sent us to our refuge.
rose on my knees, cramped and tired
and turned for a new position. My eyes
sought the west, for soon the sun would