The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1893-08-01
A STORY OF THE SEA
AS Told by Crazy Nell to Sum-
mer-Day Visitor.

ing village, with its queer, rambling
streets, it's ancient houses, its old
wharfs, once the scene of activity, now
silent and deserted" etc.
/ stood at the end of the landing
place and looked down the long street
with the walk on one side and the har-
Dor on the other, then turned to watch
the crowd rush past to take the town
by storm, staring in at the windows of
the houses, overrunning the quiet little
graveyard, intruding everywhere; in
fact, doing everything that rude, van
dial excursionists do the world over.
'Desecratorsr' thought, ''how shall
/ avoid you? Here / take what sup
pose to be an out-of-the-way trip to an
out-of-the-way place to get httleres
and, if possible, new ideas, but instead
of 8. quiet boat and leisurely sail, you,
the great uncouth, overlooking with
animal spirits and lunch baskets, are
before me. yea, your crumbs are upon
me, and the marks of your children's
clammy hands and the sound of their
anguished sobs are even yet mine.
After which elegant apostrophe
desperately struck into a struggling
side street, and in few short moments,
to my establishment, they were left far
behind.
stopped and looked about.
Behind me the town lay, narrow
fringe of gray, colorless houses
bordering the inner harbor. Here
and there a thin penciled column of
smoke rose straight up as from fire
in desert, the air was so still and hot.
Before me stretch of binding
yellow sand, sparkling with glints OF
amethyst and pearl from the dis
integrated sea shells which formed
part of the drift that lay heaped up in
odd, monstrous, angular dunes, tufted
with occasional punches of vivid green
wire grass; a veritable sea serpent's
lair; domain of desolation.
Beyond, sea so calm, SO translucent
that the horizon line is lost, melted
away into the sky.
A monotonous droning filed the ear,
reminding one of the cicadas of Prov
ence. From some shipyard came the
dull-measured stroke of a caulker's
hammer, sounding like the tapping of q
woodpecker; again the peep! peepp'
of sand bird; these are the only evil
dences of life. The spell Of sleep is
over everything, and / stand looking
unconsciously right ahead till the sud
den noise of the excursion boat blow
ing off steam arouses me, and see 8
low cottage, the last on the lane, sur
rounded by meager yard fenced with
driftwood held together by pieces OF
rigging.
Before the door is pretentious porch
or arbor constructed of the gray, bleach
ing ribs of whale. An enterprising
morning-glory vine is endeavoring to
envelop and clothe its ghastliness, but
it protrudes and stands out from the
fiabby, sun-killed wreaths like whited
sepulcher. A cobble-stone walk edged
with pink conch shells completes the
dreary ensemble.
/ am about to turn back to the town,
for it is not very pleasant padding about
in the shifting sands under the broiling
sun, when I see a little crouched-up
figure sitting on a block of wood in the
shadow OF an old dory, and SO much the
color of the surroundings as to be al
most unnoticed.
1t is woman, gray and bent with
years, looking fxedly at me with queer,
canny eyes, her lips moving as she
counts the stitches of the knitting in
her hands.
/ push open the gate on its rope hinges
and enter. asking politely for drink
of water. Never stopping she mods
toward the well. help myself and
then sit down near her, remarking:
This is beautiful day"
"Sun draw water in the mornin'
Sailors take warnin','
she answers, never taking her eyes of
me. 1t was so unexpected started,
but rallying said:
"Well, nice fresh breeze wouldn't
hurt u.s."
In sad, monotonous tone, she re
piled:
When winds blow fresh1cross the main
And mist scuds up from the lea
There's apt to be some rain
And choppy sou'east sea-"
We'll, WELL" l laughed, pleasantly,
though l didn't feel mite that way
you're quite a rhymster, mother; got
verses for all kinds of weather"
The laugh seemed to please the old
sybil for an instant, then the small eyes
grew sad again and she said, nodding
toward the village:
''Stayin' below?"
mo, just came down and going right
back"
"Then nobody sent you hereP" lean
ing forward.
mo; just strayed this way to avoid
the crowd Why do you askP"
''They send people here to bother me.
They say Pm crazy, crazy Nell, you
know; ever hear tell of herP'
mo; but tell me, mother, how do
you live in this wilderness?"
''All the day knit stockin's an mits
an lots of nippers for the fishermen to
wear when they're fishin'. They're not
all bad They give me food and things
for them, sometimes little tea; but
it's poor life, lad, poor an sorrow
full life for old crazy Nell, with only her
thoughts and the seas means for COM
pany; an death passes me, that only
longs to go, and takes the young an
strong, that wants to live; but the day
is nigh at hand now; soon will see my
Malcolm, my bonny boy, my husband
gone, lad, gone, gone, and only married
one day; think of it, me all alone,
alone for forty weary winters and forty
wearier summers, waitin to die an go
to him. Do you think he has forgiven
me?"
Suppose you tell me your story"
said, gently, rather touched by her
plaintiveness.
MY story9 aye; and what joy would
We find in the vagaries and mumblin's
of an old crazy woman like me, | Gamma
tell.
"He built this house for me, his
bride. Oh, but was happy girl then;
yes, an one of the tidiest and prettiest
Of the village, and often | was told OF
it, and he was the smartest and bravest
of all the fisher lads that went out to
the Banks; every one loved him, myself
most of all, tho was bit pert and
liked my own way; well, well, the day
Of rest is nigh to me now. Hearken,
then, sir, an I'll tell We tale of the
sad, sad sea; tale of its cruelty to one
| loved; tale that's brimful with pain,
an woes, an griefs; ah, God, that he
should gol wild an awful the tempest
ragged when he dared an perishedl'
After few moments of weeping and
muttering to herself she began her dis
jointed narrative anew:
softly the gray mists hung far Ger
the smiling bay, an the sun sparlSled
on the little ripples that were so weak
they hardly broke on the shore that
fair September morn we two were mar
ried. But as night came on, great dark
towerln' storm clouds, leaden-hued,
scurried across the heavens, an the
fierce, red hghtnings glowered an
a. \ fl,aad ux-lf