Macon beacon. [volume] (Macon, Miss.) 1859-1995, 1896-05-23

Dicks crnmped script. "And 30 Of 'em
wimin, and Lalor says the captain died
cussin' the owner as the sens 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, ne was not born until yenrs
after this terrible event, yet the memory
of 1t 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 fg-
urehead Knocked him with staring cyesl
"The hull is breaking upl" 1t Is no
longer the flsherman'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, rs though to crush the trembling
fabric; listen to the crealing Of the
overstraincd timbersI The water is
slowly rising yonder, where the cabin
floor is lowest. Who are these that
crowd down the OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES
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 terrible cry
| tBaxton cannot hear that cry, but lie
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
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,
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. dashed to the miyzen
shrouds, the captain. trumpet in hand
sees not the coming avalanche-hia
glance rests only On tne luce tndt IL
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, "tbe murderer
Baxtonl Curses on you-curses on you
curses!" In a second it was over
The monstrous hill of water, the double
wave that marks the flood-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 a
| splintering of timbers. Then rises a
great shrek that pierces to heaven over
the tumult of the sea (Baxton 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 a
few scattered spars, few battered
corpses (ghastly playthings of the tide)
and-that is all.