v J
.? j ' ' - " .
TOILERS op the COLUMBIA
1
By Paul DeLaney
Author of "Lord of the Desert," "Oregon Sketches,"
and other Pacific Coast Stories
CHAPTER III Continued.
Left master of the situation, old Sea
dog pursued his investigations. The
ship had filled with sand in the neigh
borhood of the captain's quarters. It
was this very point that attracted the
crafty fisherman's attention.
& hove I s we're secured and the boys
were ordered to delve their way into
the captain's room. It was easy to find
the door since the sand only extended
about half way to the ceiling of the
cabin.
While the boys were shoveling back
the dripping eand, old Seadog was al
ternately on the lookout inside and out.
lie let nothing on the stranded vessel
escape his observation and kept a con
stant vigilance out over the bay to see
that no one was approaching.
"If I can make sure that they were
aboard toy future is no longer an un-
ceitainty," eaid the old man as he
mused to himself. "It was impossible
for any one to survive," be continued
"The whole crew and all aboard went
to the bottom of the serf and the crabs
will have disfigured their bodies be
yond recognition before they rise to the
surface. And even should they escape
these busy scavengers they may drift
back to the ocean where they will iurn
' ish food for the larger fish."
The fishermen were already suspici
ous of old Seadog and when driven from
the wreck at the muzzle of his gun they
immediately returned to the village
and spread the news.
"The officers ought to take the mat
ter in hand," said one.
"Yes, he is up to stealing the ship
and cargo," said another.
The justice of the peace was appeaied
to as well as the village constable, but
these two functionaries declared that
they had only jurisdiction on the land
and not on the sea.
" "But the pillaging should be stop
ped," insisted the honest fishermen.
When the justice of the peace saw
that his neighbors were bent on some
Kind of legal action, he informed them
that the higher courts had jurisdiction
on the waters; that the government
itself would act if it were informed;
that the vessel was a foreign one and
that the consul of the country from
which the vessel came would protect it
from the hands of the land pirates.
Astoria then had her customs offi
cials and she had a United States com
missioner. Cape Dissappointment had
her lighthouse, but it was before the
days of telephone and telegraph service
at that point and there was no way to
communicate with the government
authorities at Astoria, sixteen miles
away on the south bank of the river,
except by crossing the stream in a
email boat.
But those men of the river were not
slow in arranging for the trip. A small
eail boat was launched and three of the
most intelligent went aboard and were
noon cutting their way across north of
Sand Island as fast as the wind could
carry them.
Old Seadog's watchful eye did not
let them escape unnoticed, and he
knew that ordinary matters did not
prompt his neighbors on such a jour
ney.
"Dig for your lives,- boys; lift out
that sand ! We may have trouble be
fore our job is done. Some of those
lialfbreeds have gone to Astoria to
raise trouble and we must get well and
through before the storm blows back."
Old Seadog did not mean to disturb
the property left on the vessel. He
bad a personal motive in view. His
mission was not in quest of gold;
neither would he have carried away
the smallest thing of intrinsic value,
but would have risked his life and' that
of his boys for that which he sought.
While delving their way into the
cabin they came upon many valuables.
These were cast aside as so much rub
bish. Gold and silver trinkets were
thrown upon the heaps of eani( as if
they were of no value.
It was several hours after they had
begun work and old Seadog was already
casting uneasy glances toward the
south side of the river when the boys
struck the sea captain's iron chest.
While battling with the storm the
w rocking, tossing vessel had ehaken this
heavy receptacle from its usual place
and had hurled it about the room like
a ping pong ball. But like a wedge it
had been driven into a heap of fur
niture and baggage jammed together in
one corner of the room and backed by
these and the heavy bank of sand piled
upon the top of the whole, it seemed a
thing as solid and immovable as the
hull of the vessel itself.
It was at this crisis that old Seadog
discovered a revenue cutter approach
ing from the south, at whose helm
floated the stars and stripes.
"Exert yourselves, boys, exert your
selves for your lives, or all is for
naught! those fools have informed the
officers and they will soon be upon us,"
eaid the old man.
Then they all put to and gave
their energy to securing the iron chest.
The old man abandoned his lookout
and joined the boys in the work. The
timbers were interlocked about it and
at the same time deeply imbedded in
the sand.
"Get the capstan lever, boys; get
the capstan. We must have her now
or it will be too late!" exclaimed the
excited old Seadog.
Some ciowbars had been unearthed
from the ship's tool room and with the
addition of the capstan lever they set
to work with renewed vigor.
"Pry down to the left, boys, pry
down to the left!" shouted the father.
Already the exhaust of the govern
ment launch could be heard as it slowed
up to weigh anchor at a safe distance
from the sandbar.
It would only require the lowering
of a boat and a few strokes of the oars
to land the officers upon the fishermen.
Fortune had always favored old Sea
dog and it favored him again. With a
heavy lurch they brought the chest
from under the timbers that held it
down.
Fortune doubly favored him. When
the iron receptacle had been turned
round it was found that the keys, still
remained in the lock. The captain
had possibly attempted to open it at
the last moment and had been driven
out by the waves.
"Rush outside, boys; rush outside;
I will do the rest!" commanded the
stern old parent. The boys were
barely in time. They were confronted
by the officers immediately upon climb
ing to the deck.
"In the name of the government,
men, we proclaim you our prisoners,"
calmly spoke one of the officers.
The boys looked bewildered but
spoke not in the absence of their fath
er, to whom they had always looked
for advice and guidance.
But the old man was busily engaged.
With a surprising quickness he had
opened the chest and tore from it the
register roll. Then he closed the
chest, locked it and cast the keys into
the water at the lower end of the hole.
Then he climbed out through a port
hole at the rear, hurriedly secreted
the roll in the sand at a safe distance
from the vessel, climbed back through
and joined his boys who were prison
ers on deck. But befoie he had hidden
the parchment upon which the ship's
register was made he had turned
through it quickly. His eyes had
rested upon two names. This brought
from him the ejaculation :
"Old Seadog rejoices at last; old
Seadog rejoices at last; old Seadog has
cause to rejoice! In the language of
the convict who swam to the Diamond
Isles, 'the woild belongs to old Seadog
now! "
CHAPTER IV.
Odd Companions.
After releasing the old man and the
child from their entanglement they
were carried to the nearest fisherman's
cabin. The man, though lashed to the
spar and pinioned to the earth by the
driftwood was held no closer than was
the babe. His arms held it like a
vise. They had been so long about it
that they had formed like clasps
around the body and, benumbed by
the cold, they were as difficult to pry
apart as are the cieepers which hold a
vine in its upward climb.
Young as it was, only a few weeks
old, the infant posse sed more vitality
than did its aged protector. It
stretched forth its little hands and legs
with surprising strength and cried piti
fully, though in a voice that showed
that its lungs were still strong and
healthy.
'But the old n.an sarcely breathed.
He opened his dull eyes for a rroment
and stared blankly into the faces of
those directly in the line of his vis
ion, and then closed them. He was
unconscious of all that was going on
about him. His long gray hair hung
in strands about his face and neck.
His silken gray beard was matted with
the sand and trash of the beach. But
for the slow pulsation of his heart he
would have been pronounced dead by
those around him.
The women were running about as
busy as only women can be when they
are doing some great at of charity,
and their devotion was increased by
the fact that some dead mother's chi d
had fa'len into their hands, and each
felt a double responsibility on this ac
count. .
Some were bringing dry clothing
from the wardrobe of their own chil
dren, others were warming ow'8 milk
in a small basin on the stove, white a
more houghtfu1 mother was sharing
the breast of her own babe with the
little waif. And those good women
smiled with tears in their eyes as the
little stranger tugged greedily at its
new found mother's breast.
"Oh, it will get along all right,"
said one.
"Yes, so long as it eats; the signs are
good," said another.
"Just so you don't give it too much,"
remarked an elderly woman who was
watching the proceedings.
"But I fear it is all over with the
old gent," whispered one of the women
who had just returned from the adjoin
ing room where the men were working
wilh the child's elderly companion.
The men were rubbing his arms and
legs, and irons were being heated to
place at hie feet. Some brandy had
been forced through his lips, but it
was slow in showing encouraging
effects.
His eyes were fixed in his head, his
features were as pale as death. His
firm lips were set as if in his last con
scious moment he had fixed his determ
ination npon some given object.
He was a little more than five feet
as he lay upon the bed. Still he was
rather plump and well-kept for his age.
But his ekin was smooth and his mus
cles soft, which indicated that he had
not been a man of toil. ;-
When the hair was pushed back
from his face a broad intelligent fere
head was exposed. Had those fisher
men been able to read phrenological
signs they wonld have discovered that
the aged man before them was no or
dinary being. Bis intellectual fore
head, small feet and hands, dress and
general appearance indicated that he
had followed one of the professions.
In the meantime the village physi
cian arrived and aided in resuscitating
the old man. The child gradually
passed away to sleep after its wants
were satisfied and slept as soundly as
if its own mother still hovered over it.
It was a soft sweet sleep such only as
is seen in the repose of the innocent
before the trials and tribulations of
life have come to their knowledge.
It knew not of its lost mother and
father, the fearful storm at sea, the
hours in the water, the terrible night
among the driftwood1 on tne beach. It
slept in a repose akin to perfect bliss. '
''She's a darling little girl," said
the woman who had shared her own
child's clothing with the little sleeper.
"What pretty blue eyes she "has,"
remarked she who had warmed the
milk.
"Such dainty little limbs," said the
woman who had run about the pla e
nervously trying to do everything and
had accomplished but little.
"But look what pretty features and
sweet lips," said the one who had
nursed the child to sleep, with an air
of superiority.
The child did not exceed one month
in age. It was probably younger. Its
light hair, fair skin and pretty blue
eyes even at so young an age showed
that it was a born beauty. Still its
features were much like those of the
Finlanders, so many of whom had Bet
tied along the Columbia in the fishing
districts.
"They think the old man is dying,"
said one of the women in a whisper
who had been watching the men work
with the ageil sufferer.
"Oh, such a pity," remarked the
women in a subdued chorus.
"We will never learn the child's
name or anything about the late of ita
mother or father."
"It must have been born on the voy
age," said one, "for they say the ship
was a Finnish vessel and has been
many weeks at sea."
"Old Seadog'3 action in the matter
is a mystery to everybody. Why he
made such quick haste to board the
ship is beyond all understanding. And
he actually pointed firearms at the men
when tbey attempted to go aboard t le
vessel," said a woman who had just
been talking with her hut band on the
outside. "But the officers will ravel
the matter out,'' she continued as she
remembered the details ot the episode
as given her by her husband.
Then there was a commotion out
side. A fisherman bad just arrived
from the sand spit. He had brought
news of the arrival of officers at the
scene of the wreck.
"Old Seadog and his boys are all un
der arrest!" was whispered from lip
to lip.
(To te continued)
The Other Fellow's Job.
There's a craze among us mortals that is
cruel hard to name,
Wheresoe'er you find a human you will
find the case the same;
You may seek among the worst of men or
seek among the best.
And you'll find that every person is pre
cisely like the rest.
Each believes that his real calling is
along some other liue .
Than the one at which he's working
take, for instance, yours and mine.
From the meanest "me-too" creature to
the leader of the mob.
There's a universal craving for "the oth
er fellow's job."
There are millions of positions in the
busy world to-day.
Each a drudge to him who holds it, but
to him who doesn't, play;
Every farmer's broken-hearted that in
youth he missed his call,
While that same unhappy farmer is the
envy of us all.
Any task you care to mention seems a
vastly better lot
Than the one especial something which
you happen to have got.
There's but one sure way to , smother
Envy's heartache and her sob;
Keep too busy, at your own, to want
"the other fellow's job."
Success.
The Word Picnic.
The derivation of the word picnic is
uncertain. In London Notes and Que
ries of 1S53 attempts were made to
trace its origin.
One correspondent says:
"Under a FrencTi form the- word ap
pears in a speech of Robespierre, C'est
icl kqu'il doit m'accuser, et non dans
les piquesniques. An earlier instance
occurs in one of Lord Chesterfield's
letters, dated October, 17-1S."
Another writer of the same date
tries to trace the word from France
Into Italy. Starting with the assump
tion that piquenique in French implies
a party at which each guest provides
some particular dish or performs some
special duty, he finds the Italian ex
pressions nicchia (duty) and piecola (a
trifling service), and from these he
coins piecola nicchia (picnic).
A French encyclopedia, 1S43, has it
that the word is compounded of the
simple English pick (to choose) and I
nick (in the nick of time, on the spur
of the moment). In France the term
Is also used for Indoor picnics.
A Domestic CbeC
Mrs. De Style (after giving her order
for dinner) Can you remember all that!
New Girl Sure, it's a French chef
yes think Oi am.
"It - is our ordinary company dinner.
Guests are expected, you know."
"Wull, mum. Oi'll just make yez an
Oirish stew, an thin yea ' can sort the
things out to suit y'rsilves, an' call thim
as many nose-crackiu French name ai
yes loike"
A SONG. , -
When pallid Dawn comes up the sky,
And Day and Night for moments brief
Touch hands and lips, the waking Sea
Bethinks her of some ancient grief.
Haggard and wrinkled, gray and grim.
She moans the burden of her care, - '
The ghost of that wild thing that leapt
By day the wind's wild sport to share.
' . - v " ' -:
Belike the voices of the dead,
Tossed in her boundless charnel caves
Since man's first ship was drawn to
death.
Haunt her above her beating waves.
Or else there presses on her heart
The weight of immemorial age,
Before the sun brings back to mind
Her youth's eternal heritage.
New York Tribune.
RS. ST. GEORGE sat alone
before her low fire, in her own
cozy sitting-room.
.To-night, for the first time In her
two years of widowhood, Mrs. St
George daid down the widow's cap
which had for so long served to con
ceal the thick auburn braids so artis
tically coiled about the small head.
Eighteen years had passed since she
and Leonard Grover had met. They
had been lovers in that far-oSC time;
but he was poor then, with no whis
per in the air of the rich inheritance
to which he afterward fell heir, just
too late for it to bring happiness to
either.
She had married very young. She
was but '35 now. Would Leonard
find her changed, she wondered he
whose coming she waited here to
night Simultaneously with the thought
came the sound of carriage wheels
and horses' hoofs on the graveled
path.
She started to her feet, pressing
both hands upon her fast-beating
heart.
She was glad oh, so glad! that
the room was dark, when she heard
the quick, firm tread; so glad that
he could not see the quick blush,
which put her matronhood to shame,
when the door was thrown hastily
open, and three or four swift strides
brought him to her side.
"Florence!"
Oh, how his voice thrilled her
half with pleasure, half with pain!
"Are you glad to see me?" he ques
tioned. She strove to answer; but her lips
quivered, and no words came.
"Florence," he then said again, and
he bowed his handsome head lower,
is it too soon to speak?"
"Oh, Leonard," she answered, "can
I yet atone?"
And then the bridge of years was
swept away, and she sobbed out her
happiness upon his shoulder.
"Let me see you," he said at last.
"I have not yet seen the face for
which I have hungered all these
years."
He struck a light, then turned and
loked at her.
"My darling!" he said. "It la still
my beautiful Florence. What have I
done to deserve this hour?"
"Mamma, where are you?" called
out a fresh, girlish voice at this in
stant. The next moment a girl of scarcely
seventeen summers sprang into the
room.
"This is my daughter, Leonard my
only child. Maude, let me present
you to one of your mother's oldest
friends."
The gentleman indicated looked
from one to the other from the moth
er to the daughter then back again.
Now he could realize the lapse of time
now he cquld appreciate the
changes years had wrought.
The daughter was a fair counter
part of the mother's beauty.
An uncomfortable sensation rose up
In his breast a dumb warring against
the inevitable an unacknowledged
desire to retrace life's pathway and
conquer time.
Meanwhile the girl pouted the full
red lips, as she thought her mother's
friend strangely absent; and when he
at last forced himself Into a few
words of greeting, they fell upon dull,
unheeding ears.
Then she had gone. The lovers
were alone again; but he no longer
opened wide his arms, but Instead
drew a chair to her side, that they
might discuss more rationally.
II.
"You must teach Maude to love
you," she said to him next morning.
"I want first to reconcile her to my
second marriage before startling her
with its probability. Tell me do you
think her like me?"
"Your second self."
"Ah, I am so glad! You will love
her, then, for my Bake!"
To love, and to be loved! O'er easy
task set by frail woman in her blind
ness. It was Mr. Grover who must
be Maude's companion in her daily
ride8 Mr. Grover who must teach
her to manage the boat in these first
early spinrg days.
Mande looked npon her guest as her
property. She had long ago laughing
ly told him how unceremonious had
been his welcome to her, .and he had
wooed and won absolution.
Sometimes Florence sighed as she
watched them together, while she sat
alone; but she gave to the sigh no
name, and thought the tribute to be
vanished years.
One day came her awakening.
Maude and Mr. Grover had gone for J
OPENING OF THE
Indianapolis Sun.
their afternoon ride, but M: had ex
tended beyond its wont, and she had
grown anxious and ventured forth to
meet them, striking into the forest
path which was their favorite way.
A half-mile from her home she met
Maude's horse, riderless. Pale with
terror, she hastened on, when sudden
ly she stopped, rooted to the spot.
Almost at her feet knelt the man
her heart had loved always, and in his
arms he held Maude's unconscious
form.
"My love! my life!" he said, each
word being borne distinctly to her.
"Speak to me once just once! Oh,
Maude, are you hurt? My 'darling! my
darling!. Would that I might have
given my life for yours,!"
Then he stopped and pressed his
lips to hers. A long, fluttering sigh
escaper them.
"Leonard!" she whispered! "Leon
ard!" "I am here, dear," he said.
And then he laid her down out of
his arms, as though, with returning
life, he remembered the duty it brought
with it.
The mother sprang forward.
"Do not be alarmed," Mr. Grover
said, gently, on seeing her. "Her
horse threw her. I think there is no
serious injury."
When a few hours later they knew
that there was no need for anxiety on
Maude's account, Florence shut her
self up within her own room to fight
her battle.
"I cannot give him up," she moaned,
"He does not know his own mind.
He will forget this child, and she
she cannot love him."
And, for the first time In her life,
there came a feeling of bitter resent
ment, even against her daughter.
They were sitting -together in the
library as she entered.
"Leonard," she said, "I think it is
time we told Maude the truth."
The man's face paled.
She could almost see him gird his
soul for the conflict, and crush, out his
heart behind his honor.
Even Maude looked up, with a sus
picion of coming trouble.
"It is only this, dear," she said, turn
ing to her daughter. "Has not Mr.
Grover told you that he is an engaged
man?"
Then she saw that the steel had
struck home. The girl answered noth
ing as she turned two wet, reproach
ful eyes to him, who dare not meet
their gaze.
"I must congratulate Mr. Grover,"
6he said, calling up all her woman's
pride to her aid.
Then she hastened from the room to
hide the burst of tears.
The two were left alone.
"Does she suspect, do you think?"
Florence asked, gloating over his tor
ture. "She must know," he answered. "I
am ready, Florence, to fulfill my
bond."
"Release me, Leonard. I find I can
not marry you."
Five minutes ago she would have
thought herself incapable of the sac
rifice; yet there she stood quiet and
calm, giving no outward sign of the in
word whirlpool, nor the torture that
wrung her as she watched the weight
lift from his soul at her words.
A little later he came to her, Maude
blushing, radiant with happiness, by
bis side.
"Will you give her to me?" he asked.
"I loved her, Florence, because she
was your second self!" New York
Daily News.
RUSSIA AT CLOSE RANGE.
Canonization of St. Seraphim Called
Together Over 100,000.
The act of canonization of St, Sera
phim on Aug. 1, 1903. was treated by
the Russian authorities as a purely do
mestic concern. Diplomatic representa
tives were not invited. Few foreigners
knew of the matter beforehand, and
those who asked for permission to at
tend were informed that ail the accom
HINTING SEASON.
modations of the monastery had been
assigned. Even the leading British ad
vocate of union between the Anglican
and Orthodox churches fared no better.
An Englishman and myself were, as
far as I know, the only foreigners that
went, and we were made to feel that
our presence was undesired. Notwith
standing this, and the discomforts we
shared with peasants wearing sheep
skin coats and birch bark footgear, we
were richly repaid by the opportunity
to study Russia at close range, and to
witness a marvelous manifestation of
the faith that expects and creates mir
acles. The function of canonization called
together a camp meeting of more than
one hundred thousand people, a verita
ble nation assembled in faith, a theo
cratic witenagemot. Besides at least
ten myriads of peasants, artisans and
small tradesmen Russian accounts
say 350,000 the ceremonies demanded
the presence of the imperial family,
mobilized an army corps and no incon
siderable number of police, and at
tracted a host of civil and military dig
nitaries and clergymen of all grades.
The complicated action and Interaction
of the autocratic, bureaucratic and
hierarchic machinery of church and
state were laid bare to an unusual ex
tent. The Emperor and the court vis
ited the haunts of the hermit, and
drank and laved themselves with wa
ter from the miraculous spring beside
which his hut was built. His uncor
rupted remains were placed In a costly
casket beneath a massive sliver canopy
of monumental proportions, both tha
gifts of his Majesty, and the monastery
was proclaimed a seat of miracles, a
Russian Lourdes Century.
LINCOLN AND LONDON.
The Tower Dedicated to Onr President
in One of England's Churches.
"With charity for all and malice to
ward none" these well-known words
of the great, brave, sagacious Lincoln
appear in large lettering in the creed
of Christ Church, Westminster road.
It is fitting, then, that the imposing
tower of this superb structure, costing
over 02,000 ($310,000), should be dedi
cated to the liberator of a race. Row
land Hill, whose name is linked with
the world's great preachers, founded
Surrey Chapel eighteen years before
the close of the eighteenth century.
Newman Hall was one of his succes
sors, and under his leadership the
church secured this splendid temple
and center of Christian service. When
the building was still in the hands of
the architects, Dr. Hall conceived the
idea of dedicating the tower to Abra
ham Lincoln, the martyred President
of the United States; and to-day with
in the tower you may read the follow
ing inscription:
LINCOLN TOWER.
Inaugurated 4th July, A. D. 1876, by
Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton Bart.
The memorial stone was laid 9th July,
1874,
By the American Minister to this
country.
The cost (7,000) was defrayed equally
by English and American contri
butions obtained by the
Rev. Newman Hall,
LL.B.
It was built in commemoration of tha
abolition of slavery effected in 1865 by
PRESIDENT LINCOLN;
And as a token of international brother
hood. GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST.
St. Nicholas.
Suspicion Not Yet Confirmed.
"Miss Ghellus married Mr. Gayman,
I understand."
"Oh, yes some time ago."
"So she caught him at last, eh V
"No, she hasn't caught him yet, bat
she has her suspicions." Illustrated
Bits. '
A Snob.s Grievance.
"Young man," said Mr. Dustln Stax,
"I had to work for my money."
"Well, father," was the chilly re- ,
ply, "enough people in our set are
throwing that up to me without your
talking about it" Washington Star.