The Chanute times., 1897-07-09

sition was offered to me as being mine
by right. l accepted it for all our
sakes, believing that l should be able
to fulfill its duties in proper manner.
But told them that could do nothing
that night, with the exception OF TAX
ing down their names.
my heart is too full, my lads" I
said, with great effort to keep my
voice steady Ito think of anything else
tonight. The saddest task of all is
before me. My little boy is to be
buried"
then, taking from my pocket a
small memorandum book which l had
by me, desired them to step forward,
one by one, and give me their names,
and what they were.
81 will place my name first said
and l did SO, they calling out their
names in the order here set down:
Amos Beecroft.
James Bowden.
Benjamin Starley.
Fred Cliveley.
Tom Wren.
Alfred Mixture.
James Lovegood.
! Ralph Fortymans
Richard Tippler,
Patrick Bloom.
Robert Smith.
1t did not speak we'll for the crew OF
The Rising Sun that these men were
all sailors; but they attempted to justi
fy themselves afterward by saying that
life was sweet.
"One man has not answered." l said.
There are twelve of us. Here are but
eleven Names"
A sailor answered that Mr.. Farley,
the saloon passenger, had gone away
Immediately l commenced to write the
names We had no time then to look
after him, and | did not attach much
Importance to his leaving us.
[ selected spot where my poor lit
tie Bob was to be buried, and two of
the sailors dug a grave while l pre-
pared the body. There Is no need to
speak of my grief while thus employed;
you will understand it without any
words of mire. The men coming back
to say the grave was ready, l took my
dead boy in my arms and we walked
slowly over the uneven ground. The
night being dark, my comrades had cut
branches from a.resinous tree, and car
ried them lighted in their hands to
show the way. Not a word was spoken
in that solemn march until we reached
the grave. The shadows brought out
by the lighted branches seemed as
than once fancied / saw moving crea-
lures darting from rock to rock, and
as suddenly disappearing. We had no
prayer book among us, but | said as
much as | knew of the burial service,
first over my little Bob, and then for
Pearl, Of whom, as my boys friend and
companion, | thought with, tender in
terest After which, at the request of
the men, repeated the service for all
who had been lost in the wild waters.
These sad duties being performed, my
comrades, with a tender consideration,
softly withdrew and left me to myself.
| knelt by my boys grave, and spent
a few minutes in mental prayer. 1t
was not such praying as could properly
be set down in words, nor, if it were
possible to do so in coherent manner,
was it such as would speak well for a
mans humility, or gratefulness of spir-
it for escape from dreadful peril; it
was, in truth, a bewailing for the great
misfortune of my life, out of which, in
deed, the light now appeared to have
forever departed. l had no hope that
| should ever again see the face of any
whom l loved. Who, indeed, were left
to me, supposing that by some wild
chance we were rescued from our peril
GUS position? No one but my old moth
er, who. for aught l knew, might be
dead and in her grave, as l should soon
be in mine.
Sadly walked back to the fire, which
was blazing merrily away; and before
the men lay down to s,eep l organized
fire watch, so that throughout as
many days and nights as we might live
there should always be two men to
guard and feed the fire. We drew lots,
and 1 was in the second watch. That
matter being arranged, the men
stretched themselves upon the ground,
and every one but myself and the two
who formed the first fire watch was
soon fast asleep.