Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1899-08-09

hands.
There we're other reasons why Iwould not
consent to be separated from my friends
even had they been willing (Which they
were not), the weightiest of which not being
the danger of transshipment, but one /
deemed unnecessary to mention, and which
as yet would not fully acknowledge to my
self.
Knowing nothing of the march of events,
I confided to the captain my fears of Gen.
Sullivan's safety, and told him what had
the relief of Pigot, hoping he would be able
to transmit warning to the American
general in time to prevent surprise.
Thus suddenly relieved of care, we sailed
away under mainsail foresail and jib, and
had made the remainder of the voyage with
out incident. 1t was with emotions al
most boyish and uncomfortable that
marked the mingled reds, yellows and blues
of the great clay foreland of Gay head, doub-
ly brilliant in the light of the westering sun.
By then our cohsort was well to the north
west, but now feared neither the British
nor the devil, for, if closely pursued by the
former, / should have run the Phantom
ashore and taken to the woods, even though
it broke my heart to do it.
But no further necessity for heroic action
presented itself, and we slipped into the
haven of Holmes Hole and dropped the only
anchor we had left, creating flutter among
the inhabitants of the hamlet, who were
nightly alarmed at seeing a schooner bear
ing no flag sail up within gunshot of the
shore and round to as though for broad
side. Heretofore they had not been mo-
Tested, but perhaps it was an inward sense
of trouble impending which made them
quake at the mysterious action of the Phan-
tom, for barely fortnight was to elapse
ere Grey, the Hand Of 1ron," sailed up as
| had done, and under the guns of the fleet
demanded the usual tribute of blood and an
unusual one of forage.
But now, saving few fishermen drawn
up on the beach, there was not craft in the
harbor. The peace of the evening, the
quiet beauty of the green land, and the feel
ing of safety fell on my spirits like bene-
diction after an impressive sermon, and
breathed as one breathes on waking from the
horrors of nightmare. War and danger had
| vanished as had vanished the storm clouds
of the day before, and, indeed, SO far as
the events of the past few days had affected
| me, they had been but as nightmare or
| as had been the storm to the land, leaving
| but few marks to tell Of its fearful reality.
In week had recovered from the ter
| rible strain to which had been subjected,
noticing only that my head had taken on
few white threads had never seen be-
fore, but my nerves, which had been my
mainstay through life, We're neither loosened
nor frayed by the desperate tune circum-
| stance had thrummed upon them.
had suddenly shot from an era of con-
| flict to one of peace, l thought, nor did l
| dream / should be aroused again, unless /
voluntarily took the field. 1 became a
hero, too, nor was my notoriety cheap one.
From Edgartown to the heights of Gays
head the fame of my achievements spread,
even the half-breed Indians, whose ground
lay about the latter point, being unstinted
in their sober congratulations to the "Big
| Thorn" as was called by them.
| Seafarers and those drawing their sub
sistence from the sea are stolid to apparent
indifference as to the fortune, be it good or
bad, fate deals out to them. They become
Injured to the fickleness of the great element
| which is at once a threat and mainstay,
and the rack of uncertainty on which they
are stretched for most of their lives makes
wild demonstration impossible, be their Joys
mighty or their griefs deep.
i And so, when appeared before my moth
er, who, as / feared, had given me over as
dead, these was no violence of emotion;
only stunned, ghost-seeing look on her
white face as entered her presence and
opened my arms to her, and the single ar
ticulate cry of My son! my son!" as she fell
into them. 1t was but little more from my
sister, who had been brought up in the
same stoical school, and by the time my long
story had been told, much as am telling il
here, the quiet round of daily life had been
regained, the sick and wounded transferred
to the small house overlooking the sound,
and the doctor, full Of protestations as to his
good intentions, and yet surly withal, in.
stalled medical attendant.
4 After my arrival my earliest business was
to clear up my mind of two responsibilities
weighing thereon: the first to get word tc
Gen. Sullivan of the intended move of Sir
Henry Clinton, as feared that by some
slip my first message through the Jenny's
captain might have miscarried; the second
to have the PhantonTs cargo delivered al
New London.
The news of the arrival of Howe and the
departure from Newport of the French tc
. fight him had already reached the Vine
yard, but was not deceived by this into
thinking that Clinton had worked ahead Of
his expressed intention of relieving Pigot in
the course of two weeks. 1t would be toe
anlike the man to act with such promptness
and there had been no force landed to sue
cor the beleaguered royalists. Lord Howe's
maneuver hid been move to open the
gates for reinforcement. and it had beer
successful. The doughty British general tt
whom had offered personal violence would
, hardly have altered his plans because they
had been breathed into the ear of one who
according to report, had never escaped tt
| trap Smit a WARMING and who NOW y,ras, m
ably lay dead at the bottom Of the ocean
With his mistress he doubtless felt vii
ainous satisfaction on hearing that the
Phantom, with Beverly Ames on board, had
lot followed the Sprite into New York
but had foundered in the great storm.
to this day wonder as to their thoughts ne
garding Gertrude King (who to them hat
entirely disappeared). To the man sh
must have been sword of Damocles, which
dropped at time when he had gotten t,
live in the fancied security of believing i
would never fall
II my conjectures regarding Clinton
movements were right, had something
,, like week in which to act, and, as lucl
would have it, there staggered into tn
harbor privateer sloop-of-war, storm
scared, under jury mast and in sinkin
condition, with half her men lost in tn
tempest. And hardly had her anchor reaches
bottom when she suddenly tilted and fol
lowed it, taking with her most of her re
naming crew, and to-day her oaken ribs Ii
petrifying in the salt sands Just east of Yves
Chop, from whose bluff the red eye of tn
lighthouse now winks its warning.
Her captain, whom well knew, was
Providence man, though his ship hailed fror
New London las did most of the privateer
cruising to the east, SO to him committe
the Phantom and my message to Sullivan
and within three days, from the pine height
abreast of the house, saw my schooner dis
, appear west of Naushon, and felt that m
duty had been done.
CHAPTER XVI.
CONCLUSION.
The series of adventures in which Donal
Thorndyke played SO well the part of tn
hero have now been nearly told. We wi
| record only two more incidents, one when h
learned that he was loved by the best won