Daily public ledger. [volume] (Maysville, Ky.) 1892-191?, 1896-05-16


cussin' the owner as the seas swept
them pore folks often the deck into the
surf"
Baxton stared at the paper before
him. My Godl he had heard of the
Ducephalus before.
True, he was not born until years
after this terrible event, yet the memory
of it had poisoned all of his mothers
remaining days, "Baxter, the Buce-
phalrs Murderer" ne had heard some
body say IN lis fathers lifetime, but
until tonight he never knew the mean
ing of the words. And here, on the very
scene of the horror, the son of its author
was domiciled under the cabin walls.
of that long-lost ship. Yonder it's fig
lrehead Knocked him with staring eyes!
The hull is breaking up!" 1t is no
longer the fisherman's house, but the
cabin of sinking ship. See how the
timbers strain and wrench as the keel
pounds on the remorseless sand; hear
how the waves thunder on the deck
above, as though to crush the trembling
fabric; listen TO the crealling of the
overstrained timbersl The water Is
slowly rising yonder, where the cabin
floor is lowest. Who are these that
crowd down the companionway--wom-
en- scantily clad-terror in their eyes,
their hands bleeding, their naked feet
raw from contact with the cruel ropes?
One is an aged gentlewoman who leans
feebly on the shoulders of a young man
her gray hair streams over her brow,
her dim eyes look with mothers ten
der love on her sons resolute young
face. All these poor creatures are
chilled with exposure, weak with suf-
fering. Two OF the women lead, an
other carries child. Better to drown
here" says one, bitterly, than to
freeze to death on deck" (Baxton does
not hear these words, but he sees the
lips move and knows what they are say
ing) Then the little group huddles
close together in the gloom, the mothers
gather their children to their breasts,
and one, an ancient gentlewoman, prays
silently, as she locks hands with the
STRIPPING. Il pray Thee, o Father, If
it be Thy will, take me and spare him"
Now the pale lips of the wom-
an are still, her head sinks on her breast
and the son rises with a terrible cry
(BaXton cannot hear that cry, but he
sees the mans awful eyes and knows
what he says). "My mother is dead!"
Then the waves pound harder on the
deck, the timbcrs shrink and creal1 and
groan, the fabric lifts and falls with
dull, terrible thuds--it is high tide
the ship is breaking up. Although it
is day, the cabin grows darker and
darker. The water rises higher. Bax-
ton must save himself. He staggers
across the hcaving floor where mother
and son lie dead in each others arms,
reaches the companionway, gains the
deck-and then, before him, over the
shattered bulwarks, to which clings
half hundred miserable, drowning
creatures, looms a great towering wall
of green water. Lashcd TO the miZZen
shrouds, the captain, trumpet in hand,
sees not the coming avalanche-his
glance rests only on the face that is
emerging from the companionway--
BaXton's face. Casting off the rope that
holds him to this place of safety, with
livid stare and blazing eye, he points
straight at BaXton.
"See, see," he cries, "the murderer
Baxton! Curses on you-curses on you
-curses!" In a second il was over.
The monstrous hill of water, the double
wave that marks the food-tide, strikes
the shattered ship a full, fair blow,
mounts as high as the yardarm, clear
over the decks, skaters the weakened
hull to fragments and bears down mast
and bowsprit in one common ruin, amid
an awful grinding and crushing and
splintering of timbers. Then rises
great shrek that pierces to heaven over
the tumult of the sea (Bavton cannot
hear that shrek. but he feels it,, fol-
lowed by the boiling seethe of waters
and the wave passes on, leaving naught
to tell the fate of the Bucephalus save
few scattered spars, a few battered
corpses (ghastly playthings of the tide)
and-that is all.
The following is from the Daily Rec
ord of April IS, Is:
strange accident happened at COZ
fin Beach on Friday last. Clarence Bax.
ton, "a well-known New Yorker, went
down on Thursday for a bit of snipe
shooting, expecting to return that
night. Prevented from doing so by the
storm, he sought refuge in a fisher
mans cabin on the beach, where the
life patrol left him at 10 o'clock in the
evening, comfortably housed and pro-
vided with light and fuel. The tide rose
10 an extraordinary height during the
night, so much so that the food wave
(as the last wave of the high tide Is
called) swept clear over the sand dunes
that line the beach, overwhelmed the
cabin and swept it out to sea, carrying
with it the Unfortunate gentleman,
whose body was cast up on he shore by
the returning tide next morning. Not
q vestige of the cabin remained, save the
fgurehead of ship, which formed part
OF the structure. 1t is curious 10 note
that the succeeding ebb tide, which was
alxr lattr 4 L.