Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-03-23

steering gear to avoid a collision, the SOL
occupant Of the Orinocois deck-it was
Goble: he was steering while Hughie and
Walsh took their turn I'M the stokehold
and Allerton slept-did not deem the oc-
casion sufficiently important to merit
report until hey was relieved from duty
two hours later.
But this encounter provided that pawky
philosopher with valuable clue as to
their whereabouts.
"She was a Ben liner" he intimated to
Hughie in describing the event Il saw
the twa bit stripes roond her funnel, and
her name. Ben Cruachan, on her stern
They're Glasgow boats, and sail every
other Thursday tae Buenos Aires, calling
at Neville. on Tough Foyle, tae tax up
Irish passengers. It's no near Cape Clear
We are. anyway. We're somewhere on
the north coast O. Ireland, sir. l kenned
fine We We're near land-thiS is a ground
swell that's THROWN us ABBOTT moo. Aiblns
Well be gettin' dunt against the Giants
Causeway il were no. canny.
There was something in Coolies conclu-
sions, for after they had steamed dead
slow all night the rising sun licked up the
fog. and there ten miles to the south of
them. lay long, green seacoast. and
straight before them uproSe what looked
like a rocky island, with q homely looking
white lighthouse perched half way up its
rugged face.
IF that land to the right is Ireland"
said Hughie, I'VE can't be very far from
ahead Of us can be. Lucky We didn't
reach it q couple Of hours ago.
Don't you think suggested Allerton,
putting his head out Of the engine-room
hatchway. that as we have pukka Scot
on board we had better rouse him up and
see If he can identify his native land?'
1t was Coolies turn for sleep, but Aller-
toms suggestion was adopted and he was
hailed on deck.
do you happen to recognize that island
CTR i0hf q Mr 10 rod
Hughie.
Goble surveyed the rock and the light
house. and though his countenance re-
manned unmoved, his eye lit up with pro-
prietary pride.
Island? Yon's no. an island.'' he re-
piled. "'Tis Scotland herself Sir, tits
the Null O. Kintyre! 1t rims straight
ava back tae Argyllshire. We're at the
varra mouth O. the Clyde. We MIGHT haze
been drawed there across the Atlantic by
a bit string! God presairve us. it's a
miracle!"
'The clyde?" shouted Hughie. 1t
seemed too utterly good to be true. "Are
you you sure. Goble? Is that really the
''Sure?" Coolies expression was a mix
ture of pity and resentment. Man, I'm
tellin' We I sailed roond it twice a week
for the best part O. twa years. I was
awful sick the first time. The second
All this time the Null of Kintyre was
growing nearer.
Whats the course?" queried Walsh. |
leaning over the bridge. do 1 turn UP
New Cut. Mr.. Goble. or keep straight
along the Blackfriars road?"
EverybOdy's spirits were soaring mar |
velously at the sight of the blessed green |
land. Walsh's wife was within twenty |
four hours of him.
keep yon heap o. stanes on your left |
hand. ma mamie" replied the greatly in
fated Goble. facetiously indicating the |
towering headland before them. land |
then straight on Ailsa Craig. You're daen |
fine. Mr.. Marrable, will you rim her up |
gle cry in at Cambeltown bay? It's
jist roond the corner"
Hang it! We'll take her all the way |
now we have got SO far" said Hughie. |
We're home! / was reckoning on bring
ing up in Plymouth sound: but that's a |
detail. Come on. Allerton. let's go below |
and fire up for the last time. Well bring !
her in in style!'
And SO it came about that not many |
hours later the Orinoco. a rotting hulk, |
clogged with weed. corroded with rust. |
caked with salt, feebly churning up the |
water with her debilitated propeller, |
steamed painfully but grandly past the |
Cloch light and into the mouth of the |
Clyde. A sorry object she may have |
seemed to the butterfly host of natty |
paddle steamers which was pouring down |
the river under the forced draught Of
triple competition, carrying the Glasgow |
HidA, TcIcdSeu ATOHi OiiCc, W DuUOOH anu |
Rothesay and other summer repositories |
for wife and family. But to those who |
knew. she was no uncleanly tramp, but |
a hRttle-scarred veteran-a ship that had |
deserved we'll OF the republic Of the high |
seas-another little Golden Hind though |
laden with nothing nearer to Spanish in |
gots than bottles of imitation French |
claret. Every scar on her sides was an |
honorable wound; every groan and creak |
that rose from her starting timbers |
paean: every cough and wheeze that pro-
ceeded from her leaky cylinders a prayer |
of joyful thanks. The Orinoco had gradu- |
ated high in the nameless but glorious |
band of those who have illustrated, not |
altogether without profit and pride, the |
homely truth that
Life amt holdln' good cards:
It's playin' a poor hand well.
And so she turned the last corner Of her |
long and painful Odyssey. and came home |
to lay up her bones by the Clyde, which |
had given them birth. And by happy |
chance the unconscious Hughie, instead |
of navigating her to the Tail Of the Bank |
as he had intended. changed his mind, |
put over his helm, and conned her up to |
the head Of that beautiful Gareloch,
which. many many years ago. had given |
the little ship her maiden name.
There, swinging at her rusty cable, |
with the clear. green water laying her |
weary forefoot. and the hills above Rose |
meath and Shandon smiling reassuringIy |
down upon her in the glow of the evening |
sun, We will leave her. Molliter ossa Gu
bent!
(To be continued tomorrow
CHEERS GREET SENTIMENTS