New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1917-10-04

Once or twice have spoken with the ghosts
Of things that men call dead. Sometimes |
have heard voices speaking very quietly from
old graves. This day week ago listened,
by queer chance, TO the spirits Of some famous
ships talking to each other in the twilight.
II was strange adventure, coming to me,
rs all adventures come, by mere accident |
had jumped off tramcar at the end of the
Vauxhall Bridge, with an hour to spare and
the Tate Gallery not far away. But taking
a step or two my eyes were caught By the
pale gold Of September afternoon cleaning
on two white Agurehesds above the gateway
Of an old timber yard. IL was the entrance
to Castles ship-breaking yard, and as gazed
up to those two great wooden effigies-the
fgureheads Of the Orion and the Primers
Royals voice spoke TO me very clearly from
above. II said Come in, friend. Here is the
graveyard of fame. Here are giants who
have gone to dust This is the lumber yard
of mighty ships"
was startled. There was no one near me,
and the words had a curious signing sound,
like a little voice speaking from sea she'll
held to the ear. glanced sharply up at the
Princess Royal, at this placid womsn's face
carved in wood and whitened by the painters
brush, and it seemed to me that the last rays
Of the sinking sun played trick with my
vision. could have sworn that the Princess
Royal smiled to me!
A little fear took hold of me. But went
under the wooden archway to the yard, won
dering what was to follow The strong,
sweet scent of old wood stole into my
senses-the smell Of wood that has been sea
soned by years of weather, by salt water, by
hot sun and the grip Of ice. 1t seemed to me
also Though | admit this was a freak OF
fancy that minging with this aroma Of old
teak there was faint smell Of blood, Of stale
blood split long years ago, and having now
IAN ancient and a fish-like smell"
To the left of me was en- immense pile of
wooden blocks such as burn brightly on the
hearthstones of Mayfair, leaving whitish
ash when the freight fickers low and the
heart of a pretty woman shoulders also and
grows cold, perhaps, with the ashes of burnt
out hopes. These wooden blocks on my left
hand were chopped up from the tmbers OF
old British batteships. Strange TO think
what stories may be told, what light-hearted
laughs may rise, what dainty feet may be
warmed in the glow of faggots which once
formed the part Of famous ship on which
great admrals went to victory or defeat.
Farseeing, Heroic Eyes
On my right hand stood a number of ships
hgureheads, gigantic and rather ghostly in
the twilight that was now creeping into the
timber yard. But as passed them and gazec
up, a mere pygmy to these nonstrous figures,
was struck with the calm dignity, the noble
gravity of those wooden heads. Vaguely re-
mcmbered the Hellyer family whose sons for
generations scuptured the fgureheads of our
fighting ships, until iron-built vessels killed
their art. They were good scuptors. good at
a portrait and carving their great blocks OF
wood with a certain majesty OF line and eX-
preston. With placid, farseeing, heroic eyes
these figures still stare away, as though gaz-
ing into immeasurable seas.
| stood looking into the fixed, stern, I'M
penetrable eyes of the Duke of Wellington.
II was the fgurehead OF the battleshp which
had first been the Windsor Castle, and was
then rechristened on the death day of the
Iron Duke. | was on the ship that Sir
Charles Napier had issued his famous order
on the outbreak of war with Russia: Lads,
sharpen your cutlasses, and the day is your
own" Next 70 this fgurehead was gigan-
tic Highlander in the plumed headdress of