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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (July 14, 1899)
I PHANTOM SHIP —OR— | The Flying Dutchman. **•-BY CAFTAN MARI TAT. I .. fTITTTTTTv ..... CHAPTER XXXI.—(Continued.) "Holy Virgin!” exclaimed the cap tain, hi pathless; "I have known ships to go down, but never to come up be fore." "The Phantom Ship—the ‘Flying Dutchman,’" shrieked Fchrifter.; "I told you so, Philip Vanderdecken; there Is your father—He, he!" Philip’s eyes had remained fixed on the vfgsel; he perceived that they were lowering down a boat from her quar ter. "It Is possible,” thought he, ”1 shall now he permitted!" and Philip put his hand into his bosom and grn«ped the relic. Shortly afterward the splash of oars was heard alongside, and a voice call ing out; "I say, my good people, give us a rope from forward." No one answered or complied with the request. Schrlften only went up to the captain and told him that If they offered to send letters they must not be received or the vessel would be doomed and all would perish. A man now made his appearance from over the gunwale, at the gang way. “You might as well have let me bad a side rope, my hearties,” said he, as he stepped on deck; "where is the capniu?" 4 Here," replied the captain, trem bling from head to foot. The man waj accosted him appeared a weather-beat en seaman, diessed in a fur cap and canvas petticoats "W a. do >ou want?" at last scream ed '.he captain. "Yes—what do you want?” continued Schrif'en. “He! he!" "What, you here, pilot?" observed the nan; "well, 1 thought you had gone to Davy's locker long enough ago " lie. he," replied scnrmen, wraiu* away. "Why. the fact la, captain, we have had very foul weather, and we wish to tend letters home; I do believe that we shall r ?ver get round this Cape." "I can’t take them!” cried the cap tain. "Can’t take them! Well, It's very odd; but every ship refuses to take our letters. It's very unkind; seamen should have a feeling for brother sea men, especially in distress. God knows wc wish to see our wives and families again; and it would .be a matter of com fort to them if they only could hear from us.” ”1 can not take your letters—-the saints preserve us!" replied the cap tain. "We have been a long while out," saU! the seaman, shaking his head. "How long?” Inquired the captain "We can’t tell; our almanac was blown overboard, and we have lost our reckoning We never had our latitude exact now, for we cannot tell the sun’s declination for the right day. "Let me see your letters,” said Phil ip. advancing and taking them out of the seaman’s hands. "They must not be touched!’’ scream ed achriften. "Out, monster!” replied Philip; "who dare interfere with me?" "Doomed! doomed! doomed!” shriek ed 3chriften. running up and down the deck, ar.d then breaking into a wild fit of laughter. "Tcucu not the letters," said the captain, trembling as if In an ague fit. Philip made no reply, but held his hand out for the letters. "Hero is one from our second mate to his wife at Amsterdam, who lives on Waser Quay." "Wa-er Quay has long been gone, my good friend; there Is now a large dock for ships where it once was,” re plied Philip. "impossible: replied tne man; ' nere is another from the boatswain to bis father, who lives in the old market* place.” "The old market place has long been pulled down, and there now stands a church upon the spot.” •'Impossible!" replied the seaman; "here Is auolher from myself to my sweetheart. Vrow Reiser with money to buy her a new brooch." Philip shook his head, "1 remember seeing an old lady of that name buried some thirty years agu." "Impossible! I left her young and bite in lug Here's one for the bouse of Hluta A Co., to whom the ship be longs'* "There's no such house now." re plied Philip; "but I have heard that many years ago there was a firm of that name.” "Inpiolble! you must be laughing at me Here Is a letter frum our rap tala to bis sob —“ "Give It me." rrled Philip seising the letter- He was about to break tke seal, when gcbrlftea snatched It out of kla band, and threw It over the lee goawate I hat s a scurvy trick for an old •hlpaMle." observed th - seaman •rhriftea made so reply hut catching Up the other letters which Phillip hat laid down on tha capstan he hurled them after the tret Tho strange soagtaa shed tears, and walked again to the aide "It la vary hard- very unbind.** oheerved he as pa Ics.erded. (he time may come ■baa you mar wish that y*«ur family should know your situation * ho say lag h* disappeared, la h hr* •»< • aa heard th# sound of the oars re treating Inmb the ship "Holy Cl Antontu!** eac'aim d tao - - - - --V V V V captain, ”1 am lost In wonuer and fright. Steward, bring me up the ar rack.” The steward ran down for the bot tle; being as much alarmed as his cap tain, he helped himself before he brought It up to his commander. "Now,” said the captain, after keeping his mouth for two minutes to the bot tle, aud draining it to the bottom, "what Is to be done next?” "I’ll tell you,” said Schriften, going up to him; “that man there has a charm hung round his neck; take It from him and throw It overboard, and your ship will be saved; If not, it will he lost, with every soul on board.” “Yes, yes, It’s all right, depend up on It,” cried the sailors. “Fools,” replied Philip; "do you be lieve that wretch? Did you not hear the man who came on board recognize him and cell him shipmate? He Is the party whoso presence on board will prove so unfortunate." "Yes, yes.” cried the sailors; "IPs all right; the man did call him ship mate.” "I tell .on It’s all wrong"’ cried Schriften; “that is the man; let him give up the charm." “Yes, yes; let him give tip the charm,” cried the sailors, and they rushed upon Philip. Philip started back to where the cap tain stood. "Madmen, know ye what you are about? It is the holy cross that 1 wear round my neck. Throw It overboard If you dare, and your souls are lost forever," and Philip took the relic from his bosom and showed it to the captain. "No, no, men!" exclaimed the cap tain, who was now more settled In his nerves; "that won’t do—the saints pro tect us." The seamen, however, became clam orous; one portion were for throwing Schriften overboard, the other for throwing Philip; at last the point was decided by the captain, who directed the small skiff hanging astern to be lowered down, and ordered both Philip and Schriften to get into it. The sea men approved of the arrangement, as it satisfied both parties. Philip made no objection; Schriften screamed and fought, but he was tossed into the boat. There he remained trembling in the stern-sheets, while Philip, who had seized the sculls, pulled away from the vessel in the direction of the Phantom Ship. CHAPTER XXXII. In a few minutes tin; vessel which Philip and Schrlften had left was no longer to bo discerned through the thick haze; the Phantom Ship was still in sight, but at a much greater dis tance from them than she was before. Philip pulled hard toward her, but, al though hove-to, she appeared to In crease her distance from the boat. For a short time he paused on his oars to regain his breath, when Scbriften rose up and took his seat in the stern-sheets of the boat. "You may pull and pull, Philip Vandcrdecken," observed Sehrlf ten, “but you will not gain that ship no, no, that cannot be—we may have a long cruise together, but you will be as far away from your object at the end of it as you are now at the commence ment. Why don't you throw me over board again? You would be all the lighter. He! he!" "I threw you overboard In a state of frenzy,” replied Philip, "when you at tempted to force from me my relic." "Auil have I not endeavored to make others take It from you this very day? Have 1 not? He! he!” "You have." rejoined Philip; "but I ' am now convinced that you are a* un j happy as myself, and that in what you ! are doing you are ouiy following your I'-’iny. as 1 am mine. Why and where I fore I cannot tell, but we are both eu I gaged in the same mystery; if (he sue ! cess of my endeavors depend* upon I guarding the relic, the sucees* of yours depend* upon your obtaining it, and de feating my purpose by so doing. In | this matter we are both agent*, and you have been, as far a* my mission is concerned, my most active enemy. Hut. Schrtflen, I have not forgotten, and never will, that you kindly did advise my poor Amine; that you prophesied to her what would be her fate If she did not listen to your counsel; that you were no enemy of hers, although my enemy; for her sake I forgive you. and will not attempt to harm you " You do then forgive your enemy. Philip Vanderde* ken," replied nchrlf ten, mournfully, "for such I acknowl edge myself to be." “1 do. with all my heart, with all my •out.” replied Philip Then you have coueoered me. I'hll : ip Y'anderdechen; you have m*d# me ) your friend, and your wtehe* are about i to be acromplishesi You would know | who I am I.iaten When your father, ' defying the Almighty’s will, la his rage tuuh my life he •*• vouchsafed a : choice of hie doom being canceled I through the merits of hie soa I had . also my appeal. *bt*b was foe veage ' anew. It ess greatest that I should | remeie an earth and thwart your srtii That as long as we were en*m<*e you (should net succeed hut that when you had conformed to the hlgheat eltnh . of t'hrtatianity, prosed oa the holy j erean that of forgiving your enemy your tssh sh»ui<J he to A led Ph . ; \aadeideshea, you base forgiven your enemy, find both onr destinies are now accomplished.” As Schrifien spoke Philip’s eyes were fixed upon him. He extended his hand to Philip—It was taken; and as It was pressed, the form of the pilot wasted as it were Into the air, and Philip found himself alone. Philip then pulled toward the Phan tom Ship, and found that she no long er appeared to leave; on the contrary, every minute he was nearer and near er, and at last he threw in his oars and climbed up her sides, and gained her decks.” Jhe crew of the vessel crowded around him. "Your captain,” said Philip; "I must speak with your captain.” "Who shall I say. sir?” demanded one, who appeared lo be the first mate. “Who?" replied Philip. ‘ Tell him his son would speak to him—his son, Phil ip Vanderdecken." Shouts of laughter from the crew fol lowed this answer of Philip, and the mate, as soon as they had ceased, ob served with a smile: "You forget, sir; perhaps you would say his father.” "Tell hirn his son, If you please,” re plied Philip; “take no note of grey hairs." "Well, sir, here he Is coming for ward," replied the mate, stepping aside, and pointing to the captain. "What is all this?” inquired the cap tain. "Are yon Philip Vanderdecken, the captain of this vessel?” "I am, sir.” replied the other. "You appear not to know me! Bu*. how can you? You saw me when I was only three years old; yet may you remember a letter which you gave to your wife." “Ha!” replied the captain. "And who, then, ate you?" “Time has stopped with you, bat with those who live in the world he stops not; and for those who pass a life of misery he hurries on still faster. In me behold yunr son. Philip Vander decken, who has obeyed your wishes; and. after a life of such peril and mis ery us few have passe l, lias at last fulfilled his vow, and now offers to his father the precious relic that he re quired to kiss.” .My son, iny son! exclaimed he, ris ing aud throwing himself into Philip's arms; "my eyes are opened—the Al mighty knows how long they have been obscured," Embracing each other, they walked aft, away from the men, who were still crowded at the gang way. The eider Vanderdecken knelt down; Philip did the suine, still embracing each other with one arm, while they raised on high the other and prayed. For the last time the relic was taken from the bosom of Philip aud handed to bis father- and bis father raised his eyes to heaven aud kissed it. And, as he kissed it, the long, tapering upper spars of the phantom vessel, the yards aud sails that were set, fell into dust, fluttered in the wind, and sank upon the wave. The mainmast, foremast, bowsprit, everything above the deck crumbled info atoms and disappeared. I Once more did he put the sacred em blem to ills lips, aud the beams and , timbers separated, the decks of the | vessel slowly sank, and the remnants j of the hull floated upon the water; and as the father and son the one young and vigorous, the other old and de crepit—still kneeling, still embracing with their hands raised to heaven, sank slowly under the deep blue wave, the i lurid sky was for a moment illuminated : by a lightning cross. Then did the clouds which obscured the heavens roll away swift as thought ! —the sun again burst out In all its i splendor—the rippling waves appeared 1 to dance with joy. The screaming sea- ; gull again whirled in the air, and the I scared albatross once more slumbered on the wing; the porpoise tumb.ed and tossed In their sportive play, the albl core and dolphin leaped from the sparkling sea. All nature smiled as if it rejoiced that the charm was dis solved forever, and that the I’hantom Ship was no more, THE END. *‘ICsr(li<|u»k<- KrhuM,” Mr. John Milne gives this name to certain vibrations, which his delicate Instruments have revealed, running through the crust of the earth after the occurrence of distant earthquake*. The apparent symmetry of these puls ations, resembling the rhythm of mu steal sounds, leads him to suggest that an earthquake may be "a blow or ' blows, which come to an end with musical vibrations Inside the world." I The blows probably come from the slipping or falling of rock within the earth Mr. Milne, at his observatory on the Isle of Wight, photographs vibrations of bis sel»niographtc pendu lums, Induced by earthquakes many thousands tf n»l'»s away, and In a re s'nt letter he .peaks of "a magnlltcent set of waves which arrived from Me«* tco on the night of Jan till." Sul Mush ut the tegel, UlM til. 1‘rlson chaplain Ah. you have a pet. I «ee Convict tea. ihts rat I feed, him •very day I think iiuwe o* that 'ere rat than say other livin’ creature I’ri 'i* chaplain th in .very ctsn there • tomeihlng uf the angel laft. If <<n« can only had It Mow came you to take os'k a fsa* y to that rat* Convict Mi hit th warder T.4 Itita, Wat Msrn It's a very happy lit It# family, laa t It*" t’h dear, no' M*r b'.sbatol la ye*. | m* of he. pi* 'Hr ahd her (youdla la i jealous at her hotsy aad the taky *.rt«# I H>t «u father all the time " TM Mtto CHAPTER V.—(Continued.) It was Miss Branscombe. The hood Dt her light mantle was drawn over her head and face, and as she came swiftly on, with downcast head, she was unconscious of my presence until she almost touched me. At the flrst recognition she gave a little cry and started back, the next Instant she had recovered herself, and something of the womanly dignity which I had ad mired In her at our flrHt meeting re turned to her bearing. She made no apology or excuse for her presence there on such a night and at such an hour; she merely bowed her head with a murmured "Thank you,” as I threw open the door and stood back for her to precede me into the hall. She did not, as I half expected, try to excuse or account for her late walk, but with another bow she passed on and up the wide staircase. The light from a hang ing lamp fell upon her face as she turned to mount the steps, and I saw that her eyes were swollen with tears and her cheeks deadly pale. She held tightly by the carved oak balustrade too a« she went slowly up and out of my sight, "And bo." 1 said to myself, as, haunted by a spirit of unrest, I paced the floor of my room long after mid night—"so dies the last lingering rem nant of my faith In womanhood.” But It was dying hard; It was hydra headed, apparently, and sprang Into fresh life as fast as I set my heel upon the last quivering fragment; and at last, when I sought my bed, I knew that neither my faith, nor a mad love, as wild and impossible as the love of the wave for the star, was dead wiLu.n me. I had found a hundred excuses, a hundred reasons, which left Nona Branscombe my pure sweet Ideal still; and withal, 1 was the most unhappy man In the United Kingdom. Had Miss Branscombe been the penniless girl her friends and neighbors had pre possible for Mr. Fort to remain with you until after the funeral; but it is a point l can hardly press, as he has teen good enough to give us already so much of his valuable time.” “We should indeed be glad,” said Miss Elmslle, looking appealingly at me. Ho I was Impelled by the Irresistible force of fate Into the current which ■ could only bear me to disastrous ship wreck. “I could return,” I said, answering the appeal of Miss Elmslle. And oh, what a rush of dangerous Joy thrilled through my veins at the thought of once mow* being under the same roof with Nona Uranscombe! "My arrange ments are made for to-day, as you know. I must run up to town; but If I can assist you by returning to Forest Lea, I will do eo immediately—as soon as I have seen my partners." “It will be the greatest comfort,” Miss Elinslie assured me, with tears In her eyes. And so It was settled. "I will drive with you to the sta tion,” the rector said, as the dog-cart come round; "1 have business there. Are yoti a good whip? No?”—as I shook my head. “Well, I will take the reins then. Mason”—to the groom— "cut across the park while we drive round, and leave word at my house that I have gone on to Westford. We will pick you up at the end of Park Lane. The fact Is,” he confided to me, as soon as the man was out of ear shot, "that scamp, Charlie Uranscombe, has been seen hanging about the place; the purport of the poor old colonel's will will soon ooze out—If it hasn’t done so already—and Master Charlie Is quite capable of bullying his cousin In the first flush of his disappointment. It was my good old friend’s last Injunc tion that Charlie should not be ad mitted to the Lea. and Miss Nona Is tender-hearted In that quarter." A light flashed upon me. It was ON THE SPOT, YES; BUT NOT IN THE HOUSE,” MR. HEATHCOTE AN SWERED GRAVELY. maturely declared her to be, there would have been neither presumption nor madness In the passion which had taken possession of me, for I was well born, my prospects were good, and 1 could have entered the lists fearlessly against all comers. But Miss Brans combe, the heiress, the owner of fifteen thousand a year, was separated from me by a barrier which I recognized as Insurmountable. I groaned In spirit as I remembered that my own hand had helped to raise the barrier. And then 1 fell into a short troubled slumber. Just as the restless twittering of the little birds beneath my window • old that the day was breaking. CHAPTER VI. Karly as It was when I descended to the breakfast room that morning. MU* KlmsIU was already down and In deep and anxious conference with the ree. tor. Th*y ceased speaking as 1 en tered. and Mr lleatbcote came for ward to greet me. •T am aorry you are leaving Purest |.ea thla morning.'’ he said, as Ml** Klmalle busied herself with the tea urn. "These ladle* need -er—er -In fart, some member of our •** sadly Jual now I wish you cuuld have re mained " “You are on the spot .'* I suggested fighting with an impulse which tempt ed me to forget my duty alike to my firm and to myself, and to Itagei In the sunshine which could only scorch me. "On the spot, yes, hut not In the hoits* Mr Ileal heote answered gravely, accepting the rup of tea which Miss Rlmslie offered him "Yuri are singularly destitute ,»f male relative#, Mteu Mlmslte?" he added, addressing hse, ‘ Yes." eh» sigh**!, "there la ikes utaly no one The dear ewtoael rep reeaated our whole family, except "Yes yes1" interrupted the rector haettly You are entirely uapruted* •d, aafortoaately i «t«h It had haea Charlie whom she had met In the shrubbery last night—who had smoked that prime Havana and brought those tears to his cousin's sweet eyes; and to Charlie, no doubt, I thought, with a swift pang of jealousy, she had given her young love- the treasure he would squander as remorselessly as he had wasted the more tangible treasures In his hands. And upon me, of all men, by the cruel Irony of fate, was forced the task of separating her from the man she loved! Nothing could come to me but pain, disappointment and odium. "There Is more than one element of danger In the ease," said the worthy rector. "Charlie may make a disturb* a nee at the l.ea, and seriously ctnbar ra.-s those two unprotected women, or he may work upon the feelings of a susceptible and romantic girl like Nona, and neutralise all the wise pro visions of his uncle There Is no tell ing what. In the first emotional work ing* of such a character as this sweet young girl's. Charlie may make her do for him - give up Korea! I*ea. 1 shouldn't tie surprised, and ruin her self and all who depend upon her. The fellow Is, I am sorry to say. utterly irreclaimable money runs through hts bauds as If they were sieve*. The poor old colonel gave him chance after I chance, and hr threw them nway one after the other It Is a hopelesa rase " "And Miss Mranstombe " I said, for ! dag myself to utter the words which i i hohed me 'Ml** ltran*>omt>« U at tached to her cousinT 1 fear so. answered the rector ! gi< mil) ' at wife thinhs so, unfur innately I am syeahlag cwaAdeatlalfy II Knri he sided turning i abruptly to me 1 Wi '.awsift like doctors urn* In fur the secret st a gosni many faml ! I tee," I aas" ed fur waal of sum* j thing belt# o #a» " ‘■Joel au, aseeaisd the rector, ‘"and I we went your help Mr Kurt You see . it )• important to heap ihl* young a peg > •> e .Mil nf the ■» |> Your piss cnee at the Lea, and tha exercise ot the tact and friendly kindness you have already shown”—I bowed—"will be in valuable to us at this Juncture. After the funeral. Miss Elmsllc and Miss Branscombe will leave the place, and a year or two of foreign travel, with fresh scenes and associations, will, I have no doubt, make a great differ ence in Miss Branscombe’s views and feelings. She has been brought up In a secluded way, and has seen few peo ple hitherto. All we want is to gain time. But here Is my fellow; we must hurry up to catch the 11.10 express. The 11:10 express was a favorite train evidently. I congratulated my self on having secured a corner seat next the door, as my carriage filled rapidly. At Wlvenhoe, the first stop ping station, two seats—that opposite to me, on which I had deposited my black hag and the light dusteoat which I carried, and a second set next to mine—were the only ones unoccupied. The weather was warm, and I was Just congratulating myself on having es caped any addition to our number, when, even as the guard's whistle sounded, the handle of the carriage door was hastily tumid and a lady, evidently a good deal fluttered at the narrow escape she had made of miss ing the train, sprang lightly In and deposited herself In the vucant place by my side. It had all happened so suddenly— my head had been turned away at the moment of the lady's appearance that I had only time to draw my somewhat long limbs out of her path, and none to catch a glimpse of my new neighbor before she was seated next to me. "Allow me," I said then, offering to relieve her of the small bag and large loose cloak which she held on her knees. “There Is room for these here”—Indicating the opposite seat, on which my own impedimenta reposed. She thanked me with a bow and a few murmured Indistinct words; and, as I took the two articles from her hands, I caught a glimpse of her face. It was covered with a thick gray gos samer veil, such as ladies use at the seaside or for driving In the country; hut the lovely hair that had eacaped from beneath the large shady hat, and something In the whole bearing Etar tled me with a wild impossible idea. Had I gone mad, or was the Image of Nona Branscombe so Imprinted on the rptlna of my eye that to me every woman must bear her likeness? I darted another swift keen glance at my neighbor as I resettled m; self In my place. "They will he quite safe there,” I said, pointing to her possessions, and then I stopped, breathless. It was no fond Illusion of my love-sick fancy. It was Nona herself! The large limpid eyes, which even the thick gossamer veil could not hire, looked Into mine for an Instant with a warning, depre catory expression, the graceful head moved with the scantest, most distant acknowledgment of any courtesy, and then turned resolutely away. Evi dently Miss Branscombe did not choose to recognize me further. I sat for the next ten minutes stunned and bewildered, watching the meadows and trees as they Hew by in endless succession, and trying to steady my mind sufficiently to grasp the situation. Miss Branscombe here alone, unattended she who had hith erto led such a carefully protected life —traveling alone; and whither? I was certain that neither the rector nor Miss Elmslle had known of her projected Journey—the morning’s conversation quite precluded the Idea. How.had she reached the station without being seen by us—the rector or myself? (To be continued.) TO BRING ABOUT SLEEP. The Half Hour Before Bedtime Should He Quietly Spent. Difficulties In going to sleep are sometimes physical more than mental, says the Spectator. The physical, un- ' tier ordinary circumstance#, are due to the circulation. The following are a few practical hints: Some sleep better half sitting up with three pillows, some heller with none; some with lit tle covering, some with much. Hot drinks or a hot bath Just before sleep, hot bottles to the feet, are often useful, Tobacco often increases sleeplessness. Sometimes, after long waking, a small meal will bring sleep. Some, espe cially Invalids, will wake after two tir three hours; a cup of hot, fresh tea will often send them to sleep again. Sometimes the darkness seems exciting atid one cau sleep with a lighted can dle. Intermittent noises, as of a rat tling window, are always had. but a continuous noise Is often a lullaby. Moderate fatigue aids, but exhaustion prevents sleep. Oflenesl sleeplessness Is mental anil springs from a want of self-control Klther one subjaet engrosses the mind or a succession of Ideas. In either case the sleepless must make the effort to slop thought. It Is best done by attending continu ously to some tuonotomnie nnd une« rlting Idea which is self hypnotism Monte count, some breathe slowly as If look at imaginary sheep going tkruugh a gate One of the hast ways la to watch those curious appear ances which unit# to rlowwtl eyes, a purple hare fadia# Into a star, which become* an Irregu'nr line, nnd aaala change* to something else They ran not be seen when 9r«t sought, but will cuts with S little paticu*- I* ill thee# the purpose le to ff» the at tention on some object which util niouae no associations It renutraa steady effort to do this ami Iff present the thought* wandering but exercise lac mates the power to succeed The half hour b»fo»* bedtime should ba agent gutetly.