Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1900-03-31


on deck, first Terrifying himself with
glass of whisky. George and Martin were
coming aft, the older man earnestly eX-
planning the orders to the younger. Mr..
Arbuckle., fully earnestly, repeated them.
| enjoining George to stand watch on the
| poop and to not disturb Captain Haskins,
| who was feeling better.
And IN going ashore" he said to Mar
| tin. BE back about midnight Fore you
turn in bring the diusey up to the gang
way"
Martin answered respectfully, and obeyed
| him, while the smiling idiot watched the
| operation. Then Mr.. Arbuckle descended
| the side-ladder, stacking himself carefully
| down by the manropes. These We're two
short, fancifully covered ropes, leading from
| brass stanchions in the rail, one each side
i of the ladder. to within foot of the water
They were covered with ice and hard to
| hold, yet he paused halfway down to re-
peat the command to stand watch on the
poop
Yes. SIR" answered the old sailor. as he
climbed the rail with a pumpbrake in his
hand. THE boy'1l do that all right, but
want to say something first You're going.
George Arbuckle. You've got your money
and discharge, and this is the last well
see o You. I know the trick. You're not
takin your clothes, cause you have none
worth takn'. Wen have TO wait three
days fore we get our money. and then we
| can't find you. You'll lay low and ship
again to cripple more men But I've got
this to say-and, you chew it over, too
you just remember that l had the salts
faction of tellin' you. Hold on, there.
(Mr Arbuckle had moved his hands up
ward.) Don't you come up, or you'll go
down by the run. I'll brain you. you devil.
if you climb that ladder. You stay there
and listen. You've pretty near killed this
crew. You've hammered and dubbed us
to the last man, and one of us you drove
insane-this boy here. Look at him. you
brute. He's your own son. Do you hear?
Your own son--the little boy-that we all
thought died O. starvation. He didn't die
came back to Tompkinsville since this brig
sailed from New York. and she died here.
eight months ago. She fooled you. The
letter l got tells of it. And the boy was a
Salvation Army man, and shipped in this
vessel. She told that, but she didn't know
that he was to meet his father and be
driven insane Look at your work, you
hell hound. Look al your work.
Mr.. Arbuckie descended quickly. The
ropes and steps We're very slippery, but
this may not have been the reason of his
and gibbered. The man in the boat said
nothing When Martin cast off the painter,
he shipped the oars and pulled ShoreWard
He was not back at midnight; he came
at O'Clock, when the flood tide had gath
cred force, and the vessel was failing up
the harbor with the side ladder on the off
shore Side. He hailed he approached,
but the anchor watch, looking down from
the poop rail, did not answer the order to
take the painter, he pulled to the steps
and essayed to climb them with the painter
in his hand. But steps and man ropes were
still Icy. He slipped, scrambled, lost the
painter, and as the boat f1oated sternward.
found himself in the water, holding on TO
the end of the after manrope, with the
side ladder tantaliZingly close, but not
within reach.
The tide was strong and held him away
from the ladder. The water was icy cold,
and his teeth chartered. tttering an angry
curse he pulled himself up-high as his
strength would enable him-and with less
of his body immersed, he swung toward the
ladder; but, strong man though he was, ne
could not support much Of his weight
and water-soaked clothing with one hand.
even to catch the ladder with the other.
With finger nails scraptng the coveted
steps, he slid down the rope. and barely
held on at the end Again and again he
tried, only to fatigue himself in failure.
ION deck, therer' he called at last.
George gi' NE Il hand here! George! On
deck! Hear me? CT me a handt'
George heard. but remained on the poop
rail. silently observing him.
George" he called come down to the
gargway. Stand watch at the gangway
now! Hear me? and send me down bow
line-a runnin bowline. Understand? Make
a runnin' bowline round the after man
rope and slip it down to me. Don't you hear
me, George?
Had there been more of command in the
tone of his voice George might have ODE yei,
in manner. But he spoke pleadingly:
ION deck. there he called again, raising
his voice. Forward. there. Turn out some
body, and gil me hand. Man overheard:
Man overheard! Any one hear me? Help!
Help
The idiot above chuckled and repeated
the call softly: Man overheard; Nan over
boardt'
George, my boy" he begged. help me
up. Call the men. No, call Tom-dont
bother Martin. Go forrard and call Tom
that's a good boy
Good boy. Good boy. Good boy" was
repeated to him.
Yes, George. you are. But help me- I'm
father George 7 inst laarpaI I'm
derstand? Your father. l didn't know it
before. Neither did you. 1 thought you
died when you were little; but You didn't
die. And now I'm going to stand by you,
George: if you'll help me. I'm your father"
Observation-Disclosures = ladder" came
back to him. Then. perhaps because he
had just heard repetitions of Martins de-
mandatory words. he chartered, "Diden die
-diden die-diden die-dden die-you devil
you devil. devil. devil, devil-brute, you
brute, you brute. Look at your work
work worh-look al your work-dtien die.
diden die, diden die and 1t merged into
incoherent driVeI.
The man in the water groaned hoarsely: |
then, with eyes bullying, and veins in his
hands, neck and temples standing out like
cording, he strained his muscles and scraped
the sides with the edges of his shoe soles In |
mighty effort of strength. Then he slid |
down, painting lloarSely and proaned ..I,p1
cramped, I've got the cramps. Help"
His voice was weak now, and he saved it: |
but while he rested both hands gripping the |
rope over ms mead, tho SibberiSh above |
changed to thfs-the clear bell-like voice
echoing on the shore: |
My brave lad he sleeps in his faded coat Of blue
In lonely grave unknown lies the heart beat
He sank faint and hungry among the famished |
brave.
And they laid him sad and lonely within his name |
less grave.
"oh, God. have mercy on my SOUL" NUT
tered the man. the singer ended the |
verse. His eyes were closed now and while |
the boy above hummed the melody softly |
he repeated to himself the words of the /
consul at Callao:
THE wrong we do comes home to us this
side Of the grave, and the men We kill come
back to watch die"
Something brushed him and he opened his
eyes. Within a foot of his face was the
torso OF a man supported by life buoy.
The staring eyes looked into his own With
a gasp and gurgle he let go of the rope
and the two went up the harbor together
What a Retreat is Like.
Corr. Of the London Chronicle.
For an hour and q half W. ro,,red CHI !