Image provided by: University of Nebraska-Lincoln Libraries, Lincoln, NE
About Omaha daily bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 187?-1922 | View Entire Issue (March 13, 1904)
The Diamond Derelict Being the Record of a You Man Who Finally Won Out By Edward Marshall (Copyright. All Klghts Reserved, by K L. Marshall.) CIIAITKK XXlf. No mutter how nice the dock Is, you can't stuy moored there always. What 11 ships Hook of Tim for Ih to Kuil. The Iaik l,ynuv. 1 tlVIO wicks later :i Aim autumn M day drew near to Its close Mint i ". the waning sunshine lilleO the 'LjiVJ hollows of tho Cape Cod sand " 'bin, i Diiiuiuno, Westward tho blue cxjue;e of Cape Cod buy rippled In thn Into afternoon light. Kuxtwiird th" dwpi-r, mum metallic blue of tln Atlantic glowed between the ncriih I'lnox. 'I Ik captain sat in a huge chair Upon the pt.izza of his home and chewed gloomily upon, the stem of :iu untlghtcd pipe. The tnn of many yearn had faded from Mm rugged face, and It wan somewhat thinner than it had been when he was stricken, but there were few other signs Of the lllnctta which hud left him as vig orous on over In mind, but uncertain as to legs. Near him sat Mrs. Burgee, busy with her knlttlriK. and occasionally (and as If anxious not to have the action observed) Wiping her eyes with the completed end of the blue sock which was under construc tion by her needles. A pleasant breeze stirred the loose locks of Norali's hair as she, seuted on the top step of the piazza, leaned back against her husband's knees. Hhe was gazing Into tho glimmering eastern Blow, but It was plain to see that her thoughts were not on the culm Krandeur of the se:i. l'urton himself, In a barrel chulr above her, somewhat ner vously puffed the smoke from u cigar Into tho gentle (sidles of a llKht breeze, and watched It us It drifted. (Inu hand rested upon Norah's shoulder, where It caroused a loosened lock of lialr. The other bent und unhetil the paper of u letter which was held open In It. The captain was the first to spenk. "What makes me so John mad," he Bald, "Is the Idee of gcttin' up at such an hour. I don't care u IJulney uhout your goln' back there to Potith Afrleky, but it uin't civilized to expect no man not no sick man, unyway to Kit up nt no such hour . M 5 o'clock. Adams'. I might Jest aa well be buck to sea ag'in. If they can't run their tralna at more resectable hours than that, I'm K"ln' to move off the Cape. Yea, Ir, by John Uulncy Adums I'm a-goln' to novo to some place' whero you don't have to stay up all night In order to Kit started In th' niornln'. What's th' use, anywayT Hey? What's th' use? Whafa th' use o' Ilvln' on. th' Cape? There's Lyddy there. She'll he a-hawlin' around here soon' a you're gone; an' I s'pose that woman there that Nory that you all talk a'much about ' If he was all they waa on earth she'll be creoc.hln' -all over th' place within a minute after you git good un' gone. No, air, by John! I'm a-gin' to move off the Cape. "Don't know where I'm goln' to move to; don't know an' don't give a I don't give a damn! There, now, Lyydy Skolfeld, you jest muke th' most o' that, will you? I don't give a damn! That's th' first time rve took th' name o' the Ijord amy God in vain for a John (Julncy Adams long time. Hut I don't give a damn. An' an' what's th' use?" No ono answered, so after waiting a while be went on: "You Kngllsh folka make me mad that's what you do. You make me, mad. Va United Statosers come out of you, and I guess we ilHln't come none too Boon. If we'd stayed with you a few yearn longer 'fore we wrote our declaration I guess we'd been Jest th' same helpless, useless sort o' trash that you be. Hut I don't give a damn! Now If you want to git mail at me, Lyddy, 'cause I've been swearln' you git mad! That's all. Git mad!" "I ain't a-gUtln' mad. Obed." said Mrs. Burgee, somewhat weakly, and wiping her eyes. "Guess I feel 'bout th' same's you do, only I don't put It quite that way." 8 he paused for a moment as if consider ing the matter of whether she, too, might not get some satisfaction out of profane wearing. "I d' knows It's a very bad way. though. F I thought I'd git any comfort out of It. I'd say it. too. Hut It don't seem to me that it'd muke me feeling any wlllln'er to let him go Jest to say 'dnmn.' If you gU comfort out of It, though, Obed. why, you cuss. I won't say nothln.' now nor never If you cuss about his goln.' Only Weil, course, they two knows heat. They know what's right for them to do. But It docs Jest seem well, It Jest seems hard. I s'pose It's harder ylt for them, Ohtd, than It la for us two, though. They're, goln' to be sep'rated by It. Hut 1 Jest as soon you'd cuss ugln, Obed, If it don't make Henry or Nory feel bad to hear you." She turned to the young people. "Does It, children?" she asked. "Go on." said l'urton. "I like It." Norah sat silent for a moment, and then she gently disengaged hcrpelf from Par ton, and. going first to the captain and then to his wife, kissed Lhem both. Then she sat down again In her chair and lean ing her head over until It rented upon Parton's shouldi r, began to weep iiiclly. "Stow It," nald the captain slowly. "Stow that, Nory! If you don't stow It I'll be ii-bellerln' myself. That'd be nice now, wouldn't It? You folks make me all ferglt what I started In to sny. What I was a-goln' to say was that you Britishers make me mad! You ain't got no eddici tlon. That's what's th' mnttcr with you no eddicatlon. Nothln' worth mcntlonin.' anyhow. I'd Jest be 'shamed!" "Why, Obod!" wild his wife reproach fully. "Why. Obed." "Well," went on the captain, "I mean it. If Parton thero'd been proper brought up. he'd know how to do somethln' or other for himself. lie c'ld bo a carpenter, or a plumber, or a farmer or somethln'. He wouldn't ho Jest a John helpless luna tic, wantln' to go back to South Afrleky to dig for little stuns. I ain't a-blumln' him any, nn' I'd know as Nory's goln' to be much bother to Lyddy whils t you're gone. Hut now I tell you what It makes me all choke up to think of your leln' such a little fool when you was young as not to git no useful eddicatlon at some prac tical trade or other, so's't you could make a Ilvln" here on the Cape without goln' off to some outlandish place or other, an' leavln' all your folks behind to worry!" No one attempted to make any reply to this extraordinary speech, but the captain went on rapidly ns If to avoid any po. slble Interruption. "Now don't he a-tellln' me we ain't your folks. What Is a man after another man has saved hla lire? Ain't he that man's folks? And what's a woman after a man has saved her husband's life? Ain't she his folka, too? Well I Jest want to know if she ain't?" Mrs. Burgee got up slowly and went into the house. When she reappeared she had her sunbonnet on. It was the first time she bad shown any signs of really breaking down under the prospect of parting from these young folks whom Bhe had learnrd to love so well, and whom the old captain, now thut ho was partially restored to health, had done nothing less than appro priate as a sort of glorified daughter and adored son. "Well, I'm a-goln' down to th' postofflce." she said simply. " K I stay here any longer a-llstenin' to you I'll be bellerin' like a fog horn." Mrs. Burgee's pilgrimages to the rost offlce had become as regular as the coming of the days. They punled the captain, for he assured her that there was no one who could possibly write to her, but Mrs. Bur gee only smiled and went. Sometimes she took a letter from the groceryman who at tended to the business of the mail? a let ter with the Imprint of the government hydrographlc office In Its corner and bear ing no postage stamp. Most of those who received letters at the little Cape Cod ottlce were Impatient and opened them teforn they left the store, but not so Mrs. Bur gee. She always waited until on her way home she had reached a point between two dunes that hid her both from the vilige and her home. There ahe gleaned eagerly at the contents of the official envelope. The enclosures had so far been most unsat isfactory. They had ever read as follows: "The I'nlted States hydrographlc rflW regrets that it bus received no word that any vessel has sighted a derelict barken tlne answering to the description of the I.ydia Skolfeld." She noticed that they were always signed with a rubber stamp and wondered If the hands that pressed It to the paper bail any notion of the misery Its message took to her. She bad torn each of the notices to small hits and carefully burled them deep in the Cape Cod sands. In her heart only was there any hope that the I.ydia still floated, and she spoke It to none of thoje seuted at home. As she started nut this night, she re solved that if she found no news she would abandon toping, too. Bhe planned a little ceremony which should tako place as Bhe return d along the rood and Interred the scraps of the official notice. She felt de pressed nnd gloomy, but as she passed down the graveled path between the solemn rows of box plants she turned and bravely smiled. CHAPTER XXIII. You can bear the chug of hrr paddlewheels further than you can a steamboat's whit tle. A lovin" woman's heart-throls will reach heaven quicker than the loudest preacher prayln' 'cause he's paid to. The Log Hook of the Lyddy. Mrs. Burgee's walk toward the postoflio.e was us little pleasant as any she had e er made across the Cape Cod sand. She loved this sand, but thut afternoon It seemed very h-rd to tramp through. She loved the little pines that straggled on Its dunes, but that afternoon they seemed like sturt. d symbols of dead hopes. At the summit of tho little hill whence she waved her fare well back to the group on the port h she could see salt water stretching both to east and west. She loved tjie sea, but that afternoon it had a heartless glitter. "Drat you!" she said, and both wcrds left her lips italicized. "Drat you!" she said again. "You're greedy like a 6 month's child, you are. 'Tul n't ns If the things could be any use to you. If they was pretty things thnt you could toss around and wear to make ycur waves look nice, I wouldn't care ao much. But they ain't pretty yet he told me so. Said they wouldn't be till after they was polished up and cut. "You got lots o' little stuns a heap sight prettier than they be now, and care so lit tle for 'em that you throw 'em out upon the brach. You'll never git 'em cut and polLshed. They ain't no use to you at a'l. You'll leave 'em down amongst the shad ders In your Innards an' never give 'em any chance to even try to shine. And by a keepln' 'em you're robbln' me you're rob bin' me of what I've longed for all my life." Mrs. Burgee stopped and stamped hr foot there In the sand. She looked around her cautiously. Then she went with many glances around to see that she was uncb erved a little distance into the dwarf for est of scrub pine. And there, In the sad silence of the little solltudo a silence emphasized by the con stant moaning of the pea and the dead rat tling of the sorry limbs above her she threw herself upon the sand and wept. She had taken the young people to ber heart with that fierce mother love which Is not rare In bleak New England. Durlrg all the years since Bhe had married her long ing for a child had been Intense. That she was to die without one she had years be fore accepted with fatalistic but occasion ally rebellious resignation. But when these two young Uvea came into hers it was al most as delightful as that other warmth of Joy which she had felt when as a girl she had first felt certain of Obed's love for her, but it was wholly different About the future she had not cared or dared to think too much. Obed had been restored to her from the Valley of the Shadow. These two children had been given to her from some mystery of radiance hidden somewbere In God's un-understand-ablo munificence. Ho when at last the blow fell on her In his announcement that he must go back to the Cape to fight again for fortune, it dazed her. Hers was not a demonstrative nature, and she had said little of her woe, but aa she knelt there on the sand her heart wept, cried out very softly, and she prayed. Then, hurrying in the twilight, she al most ran down to the postoffleo. It was the night when news should come from the Hydrographlc office, and her heart Jumped a little as the postmaster passed out the envelope with the Imprint of the office. Tills, she presumed, would bold an an swer to tho last careful, stiff-fingered note she had Bent asking them to acquaint her tho moment news should reach them of the sighting of the I.ydia Skolfeld, derelict. All her hopes were centered now in the finding of that hulk. The Lydia bad ceased to Interest her as a ship she had liecome tho casket which held the magic key to happiness the diamonds that would make it possible for Parton to stay away from Africa, and news of her must come through ' this office in Washington. She hurried off desperately to her little retreat among the pines and tore the letter open. She scarcely dared to look at It. Her hands trembled as she held It. At last sho slowly turned her gaze and deciphered in the fading light the heading of the olnce, the date, the words "Dear Madame." She gave one helpless look up at tho fading brilliance of the sky, which in Its dropping seemed to plead humbly with the sea It Burveycd for an instant. Then, with bands shaking Jerkily and with eyes strained In. the dim light she slowly de ciphered the brief message. Without a word she fell Iforward on the sand and gripped hands full of It between her tense and straining lingers. She rubbed her face down in its cool and pleasant softness. She did not cry, ,she did not laugh. Hhe lay quito still and tried to think. It waa fully five minutes later that r.he sat up, and tho shadows there among the deadened pines had deepened ho that she was unable to read the welcome words again, no matter how sho strained her eyes. She rose and started slowly toward the bouse. Bhe had gone 100 yards, perhaps, when she stopped suddenly. She retraced her steps and again sunk to her knees. "Oh, Lord, you've been real good to me," Bhe said. "I most forgot to thank you; and you've been real good to me." Then she turned and, stumbling aa she ran, went quickly toward the village. CIIATTKH XXIV. No matter how mis'rable the voyage may have been, we all chirk up on landin' day. The Log Book of The Lyddy. . After Mrs. Burgee hud left the house the remaining three sat almost silent on the little porch and looked out at the sea. The young people would have been unhappy had not their youth been hopeful of great things to come. To Parton the prospect of another period of strain and Btruggle was unwelcome, but he knew that he would start with bet ter courage and a stronger determinatioa because of the tremendous stake he had t work for happy years at home witfc Norah. To her the prospect was more dreadful, but she glorified In his courage and would do naught to break it down. Ixve is won derful, and she waa learning It. Norah' dreaming eyes were suddenly arrested by the sight of the strange craft and its low lying tow. She sprang up cheerfully. "Sail ho!" she cried. She got the cap tains battered old marine glass for him, and held It to his eye with one hand, while Bhe adjusted the focus with the other ac cording to his orders. The captain peered squlntlngly. "One turn ahead," he said, instructing her, "now back It Just a mite. There. That'll do. It's almost too dark to see." For a moment be gazed, interested as he always was In anything that showed movement on the sea. "It's John Sears, and that there monhad rner of hia'n the Susy," said the captain. "She's towln' suthin", but I can't see what It Is. Looks like a raft he's picked up some'rs." He let his head drop back and Norah lowered the glass, offering It to Parton. He declined and she put it to her own eye for a moment. "Yes, It's a raft," said she. "Sure the little tug's having hard work pulling It along." "'Taln't a tug." tho captain said. "Ife a flshin' boat. Don't seem Jest respectable to mo to fish from Bteam craft, but I s'pose they have to do It now to keep their wages paid. Wonder what old plun der John's picked up now. He's alius bringln suthin' into port. Found Ned Bristow's body, one dark night, a-floatln out to sea. an' brought It in next day. Took it to Ned's wldder. Day or two later, after th' fun'ral. he went to her an' sug gested that Bhe pay suthin' or other to him for salvage. " 'No. sir.' says she. 'I've been thlnkln for five years of glttln' some divorce law yer an' payln' him for glttln' shot of Ned S'Kse I'm goln' to give you money for llngln' of him back to me an' puttin me to all th' expense of buryin' of him? You c'n guess again." says she. " 'Nother time Cap'n Silas Ketchum lost his smack an' Jest got away, he said, with bis life, up near th' Banks. He rowe around In small boats till they picked 'em up. It was real nice weather, an' they had time to git lots o' food and water In th' small boats, so It wasn't what you'd call a desp'rate shipwreck. Ho had It In sured for three thousand, and he swore that It was worth all of five and that he had 8T0 quintal in It besides. "Well, what does that old tnenhadenej;