The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1896-05-20
had he heard of that ship? "Buceph-


aius-Bucephalus." he repeated, reflect
lively, to himself. "Oh, yes, the ship the
old figurehead came FROM" and he
began to unite the dusty package.
But slowly 1T came back to him thar
he hal heard the name before he came
to Coffin beach "Whrre?" AS he asked
the question newspaper, bearing the
date 1856, lay spread before him, and
his eyes rested on the headlines: clip
per Ship Bucephalus. Liverpool to New
York, Ashore on Coffin Beach, April
owned by H. B. Baxton & Co., - Front
ctreet, this city, missed it's reckoning
and ran ashore en- Coffin beach at
three o'clock on the morning of Tues
day last and became a total wreck.
The life-saving crew at this place, one
of the most dangerous points on TIE
coast, is not on duty at this season Of
the year. At ten o'clock on the follow
ing morning, before anything could be
gers, the ship went to spie..es in the
terrific surf that was running. OF the
ships company, SO steerage passengers.
six cabin passengers and "a OF the crew
were drowned The second mate, Mr..
T.alor, and three sailors came ashore
alive on pieces of interchangeable sole
survivors of the disaster. The captain.
w. B. Wilkins. persisted with his ship
Mr.. Labor, who was seen by a CORE
spondent of this paper yesterday, states
that the vessels loss was due to the
foo hof hoy ho1 nnnloofoI IN
provide proper thermometer, although
repeatedly warned of the peril run by
the lack of this essential instrument.
Mr.. Baxton is noted amdhg metropol
itan merchants for his great wealth and
extreme parsimony. 1t is said that ti:c
matter will be laid before the anthori.
ties, in order that the cause of the
wreck may be thoroughly sifted, and
the blame for this terrible sacrifice of
innocent lives placed where it belongs"
In pencil across the margin of the
clipping was scrawled in Calamity
Dicks cramped script: "And 30 of 'em
wimin, and Labor says the captain died
cussin' the owner as the seas swept
them pore folks often the deck into the
SURF
BaXton stared at the paper before
him. My God! 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-
phalus Murderer" he had heard some
body say in his 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
urehead Knocked him with staring eyes!
1.-THE hull is breaking up!" 1t is no
longer the fisherman's house, but the
cabin of a 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 creaking of the
overstrained timbers! The water is
slowly rising yonder, where the cabin
floor is lowest. Who are these that
crowd down the companionway-wo
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 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 huddlcs
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. 81 pray Thee, o Father, if
it be Thy will. take me and spare him."
= Il Now the pale lips of the wom
an are still, her head sinks on her breast
and the son rises with a terrible cry
iBaXton 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 timbers shrink and creak 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 heaving floor where mother
and son lie dead in each others arms,
,.aooboc Tho onrpnon ooinc tho