Edgefield advertiser. [volume] (Edgefield, S.C.) 1836-current, 1902-05-28

"Ye. may go down to the shore i
ye like, Annie Doom; but one thing y
will not see, an that's the Bonnie
Ann weather the Beacon. For Shell
never come into Portknockie again
Oh, my son, my bonnie man, that
hae dandled on my lsnee!"
She was an old woman, upon whose
face many sorrows had set their seal
Have you ever looked at the face:
Of seafaring folk who live close tt
the great deep, and whose lives depend
oD its mercy from the cradle to the
grave? If you have, you do not need
me to tell you of the pathos, the
patient, hungry, waiting look, which
speaks of hearts not stayed intrust
but rather prepared for the worst, even
the greatest tragedy of all.
1t was an October night on the shores
of the North Sea- The sun had gone
down in red wrath, leaving a long
yellow glare on the horizon, which the
inky blackness of the storm speedily
swept into the sea. 1t was hard to
say which month of the year gave the
stormiess record; but perhaps if you
had asked the weather-wise, they
would have said that the gale to be
dreaded above all others on that trea-
cherous coast was the gale of the Equi-
nox in the late autumn. 1t waSa wild,
magnificent, awful coast, with many
beautiful but few kindly spots. The
cliffs rose sheer from the stony
beaches, and were torn by great gullies
and wonderful caves, which people
came from distant parts to see
when the weather was fine and there
was nothing to frighten or frown at
them.
Here and there in the clefts' of the
rocks handful of red roofs or little
spire proclaimed the habitations of
those who go down to the sea in ships.
Here, too, there would be strip Of
shingly beach, and natural harbor,
affording even at the best Of times
a precarious shelter And here they
lived and moved and had their being,
%ept and loved a~d suffered, those
WHO strove to wrest a scanty living
from the great deep.
On that wild night two women stood
: by an open cottage door, with shawls
tied about their heads, their strained
eyes peering out into the blackness
Of the night The noise of the mighty
rushing wind and the boom of the sea
against the rocks where the salt spray
dashed into the air made it difficult
sfor them to hear one another's voices
which were shrill and high and
striking the note of pain.
''Dinna say that, auntie," said the
girl, and shivered as another great bill
low broke in thunder on the shore:
go back into tn: house, and will
run to the harbor and hear if there's
any news"
She-pueT-rSrvr- -rst,o--t----
.----.ae.r1-s ngure, and gently pushed her
back into the house. She did not de-.
mur. She was old, and the wind but-
feted her; she was no longer able to
face and fight it. So she crept back
to the desolate hearth. aud sat down
by the red embers to watch and pray.
The girl closed the door, wrapped her
shawl more closely about her, and
turned to face the blast. 1t was only
a few steps to the harbor mouth, but
more than once she wavered, feeling
as if the next gust must sweep her
into the sea.
A group of women, few old men,,
and a handful of children crouching
at their mothers skirts were huddled
under the frail shelter of the harbor
wall. There is untold pathos always
about the watchers when there is peril
on the sea; the women and children
and the old men, who wait at home
for the safe return of the bread-winnefs.
The harbor lights cleaned fitfully upon
anxious faces and appealing eyes turn
ed, ever turned, to the angry sea.
Scarce a word was spoken, and when
Annie Doom joined them she became
part of the silence. They fell apart
a little to let her into the circle, and
one of the women laid kindly hand
on, her shoulder. For they knew that
she feared for the man she loved, the
stalwart skipper of the Bonnie Ann.
There's little use to stand here, nee
bors." said one of the old men at
length. Until the wind fas the open
seas their safest Bit
"But auntie saw the Bonnie Ann Off
the Beacon, Davie Duffus." said the
girl feverishly; "just on the back O.
six o'clock"
"She dreamed it, lassie. Francie
Scott wad never come near the Beacon
in a nor'-easter like this, that is, un-
less he took leave o his seevin senses,
which is not likely"
But think saw her myself, Davie,
when the moon arose afore the rain
came on. And whaur can she be
now?"
ION the Beacon" he answered grim
ly. "Uuless he made for Portknockie
harbor. Wheessht! What's that?"
Through the boom Of the storm
came the distant clangor of bell.
Its the bell of Portllnockie! She's
on the Beacon" said the girl, in low,
anguished. voice, and her fingers work
ed convulsively with the fringes of her
shawl.
"Then there may be chance. The
coast-guard's oot afore the bell rings
Lord help them az" said the old man
and the crowd began to separate, as
if their suspense and watching had
come to an end.
1t had only, however, entered on
a new phrase, and those who were able
began to climb the steep brae face tc
the summit of the cliff, whence could
be seen the cove at Portknockie, and
the light on the dreaded Beacon Rocks
The Beacon was sharp, sheer ledge
of rock, which ran far out into the sea
and was always submerged though al
low water its black, cruel outline could
bo defined by the troubled passage d