Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1894-08-31


Lionetti continued: ''The saddest
part of the story is yet to come. Three
weeks before the disaster little cutter,
which was going to the Crimea, like the
Semillante, was wrecked in the same
way in nearly the same place, only this
time we managed to save the crew and
20 soldiers who were on board. We
took them to Bonifacio and kept them
there at the station with us for two
days.
''Once thoroughly dry and on foot
again, it was goodby, good luck. They
returned to Toulon, from which port
they embarked again several days later
for the Crimea And imagine on what
ship! On the Semillante. We found
them all-all 20-lying among the dead
just where we are now. l picked up
myself a handsome brigadier, with a
long blond mustache, a STRIPPING from
Paris, whom l had taken to my own
house, and who made us laugh all the
time with his stories To see him there
crushed me. o holy mother!"
Thereupon the good Lionetti, much
moved, shook the cinders from his pipe,
and rolling himself in his cape wished
me good night.
For some time longer the sailors
whispered among themselves. Then,
one after the other, the pipes went out.
No one spoke. The old shepherd hob
bled away, and was left alone to dream
away the hours in the middle of the
sleeping crew.
Still under the influence of the lugu-
brious tale which had heard, tried to
rebuild in my fancy the poor departed
ship and the story of this agony of
which the sea gulls were the only wit
nesses. Several details which had struck
me-the captain in gala Dress the chap
lain's stole, the 20 soldiers me
to imagine all the scenes of the drama.
I saw the frigate leaving Toulon in the
night. She loses sight of the port. The
sea is bad, the wind high. The captain
is valiant officer, and every one on
board is undisturbed. In the morning
mist rises from the sea. They COM
mence to be uneasy. All the crew are
on deck The captain does not leave the
bridge Between decks, where the SOL
diers are shut up, it is dark; the air is
close. Some are i'll, lying on their KNAPP
sacks The ship pitches horribly. 1t is
impossible to stand up Sitting on the
floor, talking in groups, they cling to
the benches It is necessary to shout
to be heard Some begin to be fright
ened Listen, then. Wrecks are frequent
in the waters The sailors are there to
say So and what they say is not reas-
surfing. Their brigadier, too, Partisan
who always talks wildly, makes their
flesh creep with his jokes. ga wreck!
Oh, wreck is amusing, very. We will
be well out of it after our iced bath.
Then they will take us to Bonifacio to
eat b1ackbirds with old Lionetti. R"
Suddenly a crash. What is it? What
can it be?
''The helm is gone" cries dripping
sailor who goes running between decks.
"Bon voyage!" shouts that mailman,
the brigadier But no one laughs now.
A great tumult on the bridge. The fog
prevents their seeing one another. The
sailors go and come, cropping along
frightened The helm is gone. 1t is i'm
possible to guide the ship. The Semil-
lante, adrift, flies before the wind. It is
at this moment that the douanier sees
her pass. 1t is half after l l. just ahead
they hear, like the roar of cannon, the
breakers! The breakers! 1t is finished.
There is no hope. They are going
straight on the rocks. The captain goes
down to his cabin. He comes up in a
moment to take his place on the bridge
! in his full uniform. He wishes to meet
death in brave attire.
Between decks the soldiers, in mortal
terror, gaze at one another without a
word The sick try to sit up; the little
brigadier laughs no longer. Then the
door opens, and the chaplain with his
stole appears on the threshold.
''To your knees, my childrenH' ALI
obey In ringing voice the priest be-
gins the prayer for the dying.
Suddenly fearful shock, a great cry,
upstretched arms, clinging hands, wild
eyes, before which the vision of death
has flashed. Miserere!
1t was thus that passed the night
dreaming. bringing back through 10
years the souls who had persisted in the
poor ship whose debris surrounded me.
Far away in the strait the tempest
ragged. The flame Of the fire bent under
the blast, and I heard our bark thrash
ing and straining at her moorings at
the foot Of the rocks.-Romance.