The morning news. [volume], June 06, 1897, Page 20, Image 20

About The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900

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20
IN DEADLY PERIL.
BY C. Y. HARGREAVES,
Author of "Friend or Traitor.’’ "The Soul of Kathleen.”
Copyrighted, INS*, hy C. Y. Hargreaves.
"Fire up the tar barrel, lads; fire it up
higher still. That light wouldn't bring a
herring boat in, must less a brig. Fetch
more wood —more wood, Dick; there,
that's better. Lor! how she blazes!”
The speaker rubbed his hands together,
chuckling with noisy delight, which had
something almost elfish in it. The lurid
flaming glow from the bonfire sent savage
gleams across the rocks, lighting up every
hole and cranny with its searching rays.
It sent a glow, too, across the troubled
tossing waters of the mighty Atlantic,
lashed now into fury by the on-coming
storm. Cracking, spluttering, blazing like
some hideous funeral pyre, fed by unholy
hands, the light shot upwards toward the
heavens, while far away across the tum
bling waste of waters, men's eager eyes,
starching In the storm for place of refuge,
caught the reflection of the gleams, anl
running their barque ahead toward what
seemed to promise anchorage and safety,
were caught full in the blast, scarcely a
mile away from the cruel rocks of Criven
1 The little party of wreckers, swarthy,
low-browed and brutal, stood on the sum
in it together, watching with eager yet
Pitiless eyes the struggle of the gallant
little barque, whose skipper, realizing now
the trap into which he had fallen, strain
ed every nerve to steer away from those
fatal rocks.
Hut the fury of the storm was now at
Us bight, and tossed hither and thither
by the waves, sucked down one moment
into the throat of some whirlpool, the next
dashed high above the surf, his boat
drifted helplessly like a splinter of wood
before the wind. It mattered little
w hether he found anchorage now, or per
ished in the storm. He. and his barque
with her valuable cargo, must, fall at the
turn of the tide Into the hands of those
lawless wretches, to whom mercy was un
known, and whose whole livelihood often
depended upon what they could wrest
from the clutches of the sea.
Times have changed since the poor- ill
fated Mary Augusta of Cardift went
ashore that terrible night on the rocks
of Criven I’olnt. Legislation, with her
powerful hand, has checked this brutal
trade, and what the sea yields up is no
longer the possession of the finder; but In
the year of which I spenk wrecking was
the rule rather than the exception, and
lawless bands of men Infested every Inch
of dangerous coast-line, seeking by their
bonfires to attract some gallant ship to
her ruin.
The tide had already turned, and was
running out, the fury of the storm seemed
to be abating somewhat, hut the little
barque struggled no longer. She hud gone
to pieces on the sharp rocks, and the
■wild waste of the tossing waters was
strewn with dark masses of floating de
bris. When morning dawned an attempt
would be made to reach the main portion
of the wreck, but at present the hardy
fisherman contented themselves with
snatching from the ruthless grasp of the
waters, such floating flotsafir and Jetsam
as could be easily procured.
It was a wild weird scene, but not with
out a picturesque element. The moon had
risen now. as if to aid the men in their
unholy search, but the bonfire, no longer
required, was burning down to a dull red
glow, the heat in its vicinity almost in.
sufferable. I'erhaps a woman who until
then had been a passive s|>eetator of the
wild scene, standing motionless on one of
the narrow ledges of rock, found this
warmth more penetrating than welcome,
for she moved suddenly away, when, ow
ing to the fall of a piece of timlier. a
bright flame of spurke shot out in her di
rection, bringing with it an intensified
heat.
She loosed the coarse shawl in which,
until now, she had been wrapped, and
allowed It to fall, revealing the lissome
lines of her shapely figure. Hhe was tall,
considerably above the average hlght for
a woman, easy in her gait, with an agility
which spoke volumes for the free open
air she lived.
“A bad work, a bad work,” she mur
mured, striking her clenched hand upon
the rock. "Ah, these poor doomed
wretches! May God have mercy upon
them, for man will not!”
Her eyes, searching the wild waves,
Beemed to take in every detail. She could
eee the men, waist deep In water, light
ing with the waves and each other, for a
share of the spoil, their voices, oaths,
and shouts coming clearly up to her above,
the moaning of the wind. Further away,
motionless upon the wreck-strewn shore,
lay two figures. It was no new eight lo
her—she had seen such often before—but
even now, familiar though the acene had
grown, a slight shudder convulsed ner.
Then she turned, and ran lightly down the
rocks. A minute later she was amongst
the busy crowd. There were women
there, too; loud-voiced, brazen, lacking In
every softer feminine attribute, and eager
as the men for their share of the spoil.
Just as Joan Mallory reached the shore,
another body hail been brought in; that
of a tall slim man, whose dress, although
minus coat and waistcoat, testified to his
rank In lire. There was a slight scuttle
betwien the two men who had drugged him
up on to the shore, ltut the find was a
rich one; quite a little store of gold fell
out Into their eager hands as they rifled
his pockets. One or two things, auch as
old letters, a hunch of keys and a lead
pencil, they flung away with an oath,
leaving the man there amongst his 111-fated
companions. Joan Mallory bent over him.
Ills face, with its aquiline features and
waves of eurly hair, was of Indescribable
l>eauty; he seemed as much removed front
tier world IS if he were a creature of an
other hemisphere. She tore open tils ruffled
shirt, placing her hand upon Ids heart. It
wtlll tteat faintly.
Just then one of the men came up to her.
A swathy, dark-eyed man, with a dare
devil beauty which appalled even while tt
attracted.
“We an In tuck's way to-night, Joan."
hi- aald, placing his hand familiarly upon
her shoulder. "Such a rare haul, un.l
mine no poor share. Another night like
this, and you and I can set up our tent to
gether. What are you doing with this
fellow? Ah, my girl, hl pockets were
rifled some tim.- since; thi tv Is nothing
lor your pretty Angers. A pity, too, -luce
you are not over fond of poking sbinit
dead men. Brought your tnln.l to your
situation, eh? It’s time. The wife of
a wrecker can't iffortl to have fine f.-el
lugs.”
"He hus nothing worth taking.” she said,
rising from her knees with apparent Indif
ference, hut a keen observer might have
noticed that she remained standing In su.-h
a position that her skirts partially shel
tered the prostrate man. "Is this night’s
work over yet?”
"Pretty nearly. Coins, confess now.
Joan; It la n easy way of making a liveli
hood."
"An easy, but a cruel way," she return
ed
He frowned a little, elutohlng her shoul
der with .1 grip that pained her.
"Don’t he a fool," he sal.t, roughly. "If
It were anew game one might excuse
your squenmlshness, hut huveti’t vou spent
all your life |u u. Hah, m> girl, what
la the difference? Home hum animals,
and some hunt men. It *ah the same in
Utt! long run,’’
She seemed as If alsout to speak, check
ed herself and was silent. The wind blew
now in gusts. Joan's hair had become un
loose) and was blowing about her face in
curly tendrils. Steve Bathurst’s face
changed, he drew the girl nearer to him,
pressing his lips a moment to her pale
cheek.
T couldn't give up the work, even if I
would—because it Is the only way I can
make a home for you,” he muttered, his
voice vibrating with a fierce passion! then
he pushed her a little roughly away, and
went back to join his fellows.
Joan looked afler him. In her eyes was,
an expression half dread, half fascination.
He was to be her husband—this man, who
held human life so lightly that he would
take it with careless indifference, as he
might wring a sparrow’s neck. Already
the glamor of their early courtship had
faded. She was longing now only to be
free. As she moved, her glance fell on
the prostrate man. Ills eyes were o|ien,
staring at her in dazed bewilderment. The
cruel waves had done only half their work,
buffeted, tossed about, bruised by the
rocks, he was still alive, and conscious.
Thought is quick, and thought accelera
ted hy apprehension, quicker still.
"He silent—for your life," murmured
Joan, bending over him, and though but
faintly understanding, the man obeyed.
She knew well what he did not—that this
desperate band of wreckers would think
nothing of taking away what little life re
mained to their victim. Living, he might
still witness against them—dead, he would
be harmless.
All the woman in Joan Mallory’s heart
awoke into being. She would save this
man—save just this one, and hy doing so,
ease at least some of the intolerable smart
of conscience, which was her portion day
and night. But It would be no easy task.
She bent down on pretense to fasten her
shoe. Byes and ears were all around them.
"Do you understand me?” she said, in a
rapid whisper. "You are In peril of your
life here, but I will save you, If I can.
Listen; can you move, do you think?"
He whispered back a faint affirmative.
The wind had fallen to a curious quiet
ness, even the booming of the waves was
less distinct. Joan Mallory's practiced
eyes, looking seawards, saw coming what
might he the man's salvation. Slowly it
moved onwards, even broadening, bit by
bit, misty, impalpable, white and opaque,
clinging like smoke-wreaths around the
sharpened points of the rocks, hiding even
their rugged fronts, rendering more and
more indistinct the knots of men, busy
at their grewsome work.
This sea fog, all unexpected as It was,
gave Joan Mallory her chance. She tight
ened her fingers on the man's wrist.
"Now—come with me,” she whispered.
"Don't speak, don’t uttor a word. Your
life, perhaps mine, hangs on our secrecy."
He raised himself with an effort, stifling
a moan of pain between his clenched
teeth. It seemed to Forbes Devereux as
if every bone tn his body were out of
joint, but where this girl exhibited such
bravery, he could scarcely show himself a
coward. Well was it for Jean Mallory now
that she could, even blindfolded, have
found her way from east to west of Criven
Point.
Devereux stumbled along beside her.
Half-perished with cold, dazed, suffering
and exhausted, It seemed to him, in his
enfeebled condition, that they must have
walked for miles, although in reality the
distanc© scarcely measured four hundred
yards. Around them the fog was thicken
ing. lie could scarcely distinguish the
outlines of his companion's figure.
At last the girl stopped, and feeling cau
tiously about, seemed to be moving aside
some bushes, which probably concealed
the mouth of a cave.
"It is only a poor shelter," she said,
apologetically, "but anything Is better
than the open beach. Come, bend your
head, because the entrance is so low. Y’ou
are quite safe at present."
Devereux obeyed; a moment later they
were out of the fog, It Is true; but In
Pitchy darkness. Joan Mallory, who had
produced a tinder box from somewhere,
struck a light. Devereux looked round
him in surprise. Despite the pain he was
suffering, his curiosity had been keenly
aroused by the events of the last -four
minutes; all this savored of romance, and
to a highly strung, imaginative man like
Forbes Devereux, romance possesses a
keen fascination.
The cave was a large one, torn by some
terrible convulsion of nature, In the heart
of one of those mighty rocks, which made
the coast line of Criven Point such a ter
ror to mariners. It was a rude enough
shelter, but as Joan had said, would serve
their purpose.
Two ledges of rock, jutting out from the
wall, made a convenient resting place, and
upon one of these was thrown a skin rug.
The floor was covered by a carpet of
rushes, and the atmosphere of the cave,
although by no means airy, was far from
unpleasant. To Devereux, after the chill
ing cold and fog outside, it felt like
heaven, lie sank on to one of the ledges,
rubbing his chilled hands together, in a
vain eifori to Induce some warmth.
Joan meanwhile was kindling a lire from
some dried sticks ut the further end of
the cave. It blazed brightly up, warm
ing the atmosphere, although rendering it
perhaps a little choky. Devereux was In
no mind to cavil at this. He coughed
once or twice, but it was better to be
warm and partially stifled here, thun per
ish outside.
Joan handed him a bottle. She had un
corked it, and a strong smell of spirits
floated up to him. Devereux drank It eager
ly. A slow lire began to burn Ut Ills
veins, circulation, hitherto slow, quick
ened, a grateful warmth itervade.l every
nerve, already he felt refreshed. Invigor
ated, as .f new life had been put Into him.
“It Is good stufr.” he said, handing the
bottle back to her.
A Imlf-smlle dawned In the girl’s brill
iant eyes.
"Yea,” she said, "there has been no duty
paid on that, so It tastes better. We are
prlmltlvo folks out here in the west.”
"Very primitive," he said slowly. “So
primitive that your companions are will
ing lo lure a gallant barque to her ruin,
oaring teas for the valuable lives she car
ries Ilian the Indifferent merchandise with
which she Is loaded. Tel! me now—l don’t
understand. Why have you saved iny life
—you Is'long to them?"
He was staring at the girl’s handsome
face. What a healthy, spirited incarna
tion of womankind she appeared, standing
there In the lurid light of the tire, the
magnificent lines of face and figure
brought Into bold relief against that ruddy
background A quick glow of shame burn
ed on, her checks.
"Yes, 1 am one of them, Got! help me,"
she said sorrowfully. "Hut It is by no
choice of mine.”
"Your father, your brothers, have part
In this brutal traffic?"
Joan Shook her head,
”1 have neither ope nor the other. They
rescued me, a watf from the ocean, Mn.l so
I have lived With them ever since. In
Iheir lough way they have been good lo
me, and -1 cannot betray them. Still I
have longed to go away, to tarn my living
by -I work, but w hat can a poor, Ig
norant fisher girl do? I am hound hand
arid foot. I did not know- always the ter
rible secrets of Driven Point, or that gal
lant ships were lured by fats*' liearon* to
wreck and ruin. If I could find means of
escape I would.”
Her Milßln* eyes were gazing Into the
tin, the bright color had faded from Iter
THE MOKNING NEWS: SUNDAY, JUNE 0, 1897.
cheek*. Devereux crossed the cave to
her. He moved slowly, and with difficulty.
“Why don't you escape?" he said eager
ly. "Come, you have saved my life, let
me save yours, for indeed it is no life,
which you live here. It Is death; a living
death—nay worse than death.”
Joan caught her breath, staring back at
him with startled, distended eyes.
"1 will help you,” he urged.
It was a strange scene. The rude cave,
blackened with smoke wreaths, the two
figures standing motionless there in the
strong light, Devereux's handsome face,
pale with agitation, his shirt soaking wet,
torn and besmirched with blood stains,
pleading with Joan as he might have
pleaded with a sister. The girl’s curious
charm and fascination, which had so dom
inated even the lawless heart of Steve
Bathurst, asserted itself again, making
Devereux as a reed in this new pas
sion, which was as fierce as it was unac
countable.
Men have tumbled into love as rapidly
as they have tumbled into hate—and in
deed the girl was very beautiful.
"But whal should I do in your world?”
She said sadly. "No, it is Impossible. I
must remain here, marry, and bring up
children to this same hateful life."
"Never!” he exclaimed. "I will save
you In spite of yourself.”
"But your own life is not even assur
ed yet.” she said, with a wistful smile.
“It hangs on a thread. Discovery here
would mean certain death to you. We
must move warily."
"Does anybody know of this cave be
sides yourself?” he asked.
"One other; the man I have promised to
marry."
Devereux frowned, and was silent.
"1 dare not keep you here very long,"
she went on rapidly. "Before morning
you must have lett. it the storm abates
I will procure a boat and row you up the
coast as far as Bardet. There you w ould
be safe and could make your way across
country to the nearest town. Have you
any money?"
Devereux examined his pockets.
“No," he said, half comically. “Your
friends have taken means to prevent my
becoming a spendthrift.” Joan blushed
scarlet with shame. Devereux took her
hands suddenly in his own.
“Listen to me," he exclaimed. “1 will
not leave this place without you, of that I
am determined. If escape is possible,
then let us escape together.”
There was a pause. Suddenly Joan
started away from him. Placing her fin
ger on her lips, she crept stealthily to the
entrance of the cave. Her practised ears,
ever on the alert, had caught the sound
of footsteps loud, dominant footsteps,
which chased every atom of color from
her cheeks. Then came a rustling of the
bushes.
"Quick,” whispered Joan In an agony of
apprehension, motioning Devereux to the
darkest corner of the cave. "It is Bath
urst.”
Devereux couehed'low. Ho was no cow
ard, but his heart beat unpleasantly fast.
Whatever the strength of a man's cour
age the consciousness that he ts absolute
ly unarmed and at his enemy’s mercy
might be excuse enough for apprehension,
and if Devereux was done to death here
there would be no witness against his
murderer save one frail woman, whose
life hung also In the balance.
"Are you there, Joan?” called a strong
voice with a note of command In its
tones.
“Yes,” answered Joan; "what do you
want, Steve?”
"You,” he laughed, and pushing aside
the bushes, strode In. “X missed you, and
so I started in search. Truly a wild
night to hide yourself here, Joan.”
“I came for something I had left yes
terday,” she said tranquilly. "What have
you there, Steve?”
Bathurst laughed again. He was dang
ling a long gold chain before her eyes.
Devereux in his corner could see it glit
ter, as the chain swung slowly too and
fro.
■'Something for your pretty neck, my
Joan. It is part of to-night's spoil, and I
claimed It in my share. Will Treasady
fought me for it, but my thews and sin
ews are stronger than his. Come, let me
fasten it round you.”
Joan shrank away from him.
“Ah, don't—don't ask me to take it,
Steve,” she wailed, forgetting in her hor
ror even her own safety and Devereux's.
"It is the price of blood. I should see the
stains always.”
Bathurst flung it down with an oath,
shaking her roughly by the shoulders. I>e
vereux caught his breath, for one moment
passion had almost overmastered him.
"You dare to si>eak to me like that?”
foamed the man, half choked with rage.
"This is all I get for my love and devotion
to you. Scorn, gibes, abuse. Do you think
I am made of flesh and blood, or stone?
By heavens, hut I’ll teach you better than
that. I’ll be played with no longer!”
His powerful frame was quivering with
anger, the veins on his forehead stood out
like whipcord. Joan, tall, pilert, strong
though she was, seemed but a child in his
grip.
"1 believe you care even more for the
body of that dead man, whom I found you
hanging over on the beach, scarce two
hours ago, than you do for me,” he went
on, stamping the chain under his foot.
"But I warn you, I warn you, that I’ll
bring you to your knees yet.”
Bathurst banged out of the cave. Joan,
with her face buried in her hands, was
sobbing piteously.
"Ah what have 1 done?” she wailed be
neath her breath. “Fool that I am; when
I should have conciliated him, lulled his
suspicions 1 have made things doubly dif
ficult. We are undone.”
Devereux did his best to console her.
Hope Is an Important factor in the human
breast. It could not he that, after all
these hairbreadth escapes luck would for
sake him now.
Joan dashed her tears nide. She was
silent, and seemed to he thinking deeply.
"Walt here," she said at last. "I must
go out, and search. There Is no time to
lose now."
"But,” he urged, filled with chivalrous
fear for her, "you may be running Into
danger, Ferhnps they have even guesseO
at my escape. At least let me come with
you and take the risk also.”
"That would serve no good purpose,”
said Joan, putting him hack with a reso
lute hand. "I must go alone. It Is pos.
slide ltathrust may ls> outside; and if so
lie might—l do not know.”
"Girl!” exclaimed Devereux. speaking
hy force of her example in low. guarded
tones, "you cannot surely dream of mar
rying this man, steeped as he ts, as he
must he, from head to foot in crime? You
would participate in his sin.”
“So," she said, In a low, troubled voice.
"I have told him over and over again thai
until lie gives up tills horrible work 1 will
never marry him.”
"There would be still the past. Hideous
memories lo crowd about your heart and
soli every Innocent thought of the present.
Joan—your name is Joan, Is tt not?—l be
seech you hy everything you hold sacred
to come away with me now. to shake the
dust of this accuresed place from your
feet, forget Bathurst and his brutal com
panions, and live anew life elsewhere.'
"Thai Is for the future to decide,” said
Joan, quietly. “I must consider our pres
ent safety. Do not detain me any longer,
sir. I*et me see what help 1 can find."
Josh Mallory went out. A m* mor.v had
darted Into tier mind of having earlier In
the day seen a ls>at drawn up on the shin
gle at the fool of the rock which ut pres
ent gave them shelter. If It were there
stilt, slut uninjured by ihe storm, then
their safety—provided, of course, she had
not Sieve Bathurst to reckon with—was
assured.
The fog was clearing rapidly away— al
most too rapidly. Joan feared, because in
ihf keen, searching rays of the moonlight
her movements could Is' distinctly seen.
Still there was no help for It, the danger,
whatever It might prove, must tie faced,
I She could not ut llrsl determine exactly
where the boat lay; surely it had been al
most directly in front of their hiding place,
but now It had disappeared. Oh, no,
thank Heaven, there it was; a little more
to the right, but there still, untouched,
unharmed by the terrible storm. Joan’s
practised eye ran over the desolate waste
of shingle. There would be little or no
difficulty to launch the boat here, and once
afloat. She clasped her hands together,
looking wistfully about. After all, this
place, this lonely little Driven Point, had
been her home, and its people, after their
fashion, kind to hei. Some self-reproach
mingled with that wild intoxicating hope
of freedom.
Must she leave them thus, without a
single look, a whispered word of thanks
and farewell? She bent down to examine
the boat, then started, a half-uttered cry
of apprehension on her lips. The boat was
Bathurst’s—the "Joan Mallory.” In his
first flush of pride and passion Bathurst
had christened his good craft by the name
of. the woman hi' loved. Many a pleasant
hour had Joan passed in it, and now at
last she was putting it to a treacherous
use, and the “Joan Mallory" must serve
as a means of escape. She sat down in
the stern, burying her face in her rough
hands. Up there in the cave Forbes Dev
ereux waited impatiently.
"I want to do right, I want to do right,
but the way is very hard,” murmured
Joan beneath her breath. Presently she
became aware of voices—steps.
Only just in time to escape observation.
Joan knelt down behind the boat, holding
her breath, for fear of detection. The ac
tion Itself was unwise, but Joan did not
pause to think. Indeed, she had no time;
for the speakers, who had emerged from
behind a low group of boulders, detached
fragments from the mighty rocks above,
were close upon the boat almost before
Joan had crouched behind it for shelter.
She recognized Bathurst’s voice. and
trembled violently. If they should make
an attempt to launch the boat, she must
be discovered. One of the men sat down
upon it; she could feel the boat shift under
his weight, and hear the dull swish of
water which had collected in the bottom.
"What is this cock-and-bull story go
ing about amongst the women?” said
Bathurst's rough voice.
The second man laughed. He was dig
ging holes in the shingle with the heels
of hts heavy boots.
"Oh, so yofi heard it?" he said, and
Joan recognized the speaker—her foster
brother, Hewson Mallory. "A cock-and
bull story, truly. The women say there
were five bodies washed up on the shore,
and now there are but four for the parson
to bury. One must have walked; only
dead men don’t often walk.”
"I seem to remember seeing five my
self," said Bathurst, slowly.
“Been drinking, eh?”
"I hadn’t time for even a nip at the
whisky bottle this night, but I did see
live.”
"Oh, gammon; you're worse than the
women. What's running In your head
now?"
“Bve a mind to look for that fifth man,"
went on Bathurst. “Maybe I could find
him.”
Joan’s heart stood still.
"What, going to look now?” There
was unmistakable derision in Hewson Mal
lory’s voice.
“No, not now; I’ll wait a bit. Time
enough; he cant get away in a hurry. May
be Joan knows something of this.”
“Joan?—bless the girl, not she. What
put that Into your head?”
“I reckon that’s no business of yours,”
said Bathurst, sullenly.
“But she wasn't even on the beach. 1
saw her up there by the Catch
Joan amongst that work. Y’ou know her
better.”
“Well, she was there, that's all, for 1
talked with her,” retorted Bathurst.
"Quarrelled again? Why don’t you leave
the girl alone? She’ll never marry you.”
"Won’t she?” Bathurst rapped out an
oath between his teeth. “We'll see about
that."
“Hallo, where are you going?” shouted
Mallory. His companion had evidently
made a movement to depart. The boat
gave a great lurch, squeezing Joan’s fin
gers as if in a trap. With difficulty she
repressed a scream.
”1 left my dog on guard up there by the
cliff,’’ said Bathurst. Joan could just
make out the words, although the speaker
was now some distance away. “Trapped
a couple of gulls, so I am going for them.”
A moment later Hewson Mallory also
moved off. Crunch, crunch, crunch, his
heavy steps went across the shingle. Joan
did not dare to move. She must give him
a few minutes' clear start.
It was Just possible he might seek her
In the cave, but she felt sure that If he did
he would call out to her first, and, failing
to receive an answer,would not go in. Joan
fervently prayed that tills might be so.
She simply dared not disclose herself now,
Devereux must take the risk. Her pres
ence at this late hour of the night, and
here amongst the rocks, would only Inten
sify the danger. So she remained crouch,
ing there behind the boat. Meanwhile the
fog continued to lift.
Now. as ill luck would have It, Mallory
did go to the rave in search of Joan, but,
contrary to what she had hoped, not re
ceiving any answer, he went boldly In.
Forbes Devereux, warned In time by the
heavy steps and Mallory’s voice humming
a rollicking song, had retreated to the
further corner of the cave, hiding himself
under the rug. which he had hastily drag
ged down. From this hiding place he
could take stock of his enemy and calcu
late the chance of victory If it came to a
struggle between them.
In this one Instance Devereux had cause
to congratulate himself. Mallory was by
no means Bathurst's equal in size or
strength, so that while In an encounter
with the latter Devereux would have been
but as a reed, he could, he fancied, make
short work of the new-comer. There was
not much time to lose, either. Any mo
ment Joan might return. He must make
things sure before she did so. Besides,
Devereux's blood was up and itching to
lie at his enemy. He would show scant
mercy, for had not this man, in common
with others, lured the 111-fated Mary Au
gusta to her ruin, and her helpless crew
to their death?
Meanwhile he waited his opportunity.
It went 11 KM ins t the grain to take any mat)
at a disadvantage and attack him from
liehlnd. but he bad the girl's safety also
to consider. His own defeat might mean
to her—what? He scarcely dared think.
Mallory sat down at last on a short
legged stool near the lire. It was chilly
outside, and he rubbed his hands togeth
er us If tiie warmth here were pleasant.
Ihvereux's hand closed upon a coil of
rope near to him. He would have need of
that. Then, quickly, cautiously, with ba
ted breath, and noiseless tread, he stole
forth from his hiding place.
One slop, two, three, then Dcvereux,
coming In contact with a projection of
rook in the floor, kicked his foot against
It. There wns n harsh scrape, a bang—
Mallory Jumped to his feet, facing I>eve
reux in the dim light, starting us If he
had seen a ghost.
Taking advantage of Ibis one second's
Indecision, pevereux flung himself upon
hla enemy. The deadly struggle begun.
To and fro, to and fro, they rocked, swuy
ed. and wrestled, no sound save a mut
ti red curse, or their savage labored breath
to break the silence; hut ut last superior
weight, muscle ami training began lo tell.
Mallory, who was no match for his an.
tagonlst, fought desperately against the
unequal odd*, hut he was done, the strug
gle grew weaker, he tripped, tried to re
gain his balance, swayed heavily about,
and then went down.
Keeping one knee upon his antagonist's
chest, Devervux reached out hi* hand for
the coll of rope, and firmly pinioned Mal
lory hand and foot, the helpless man mak
ing but feeble resistance.
In the midst of all this. Jonn came In.
Speechless, terrified, she stood by the "n
-tranee of the cavern, looking on with
startled, apprehensive eyes.
MONEY MAKING.
Munyon Teaches You
to Doctor Yourself.
j "It Is not
necessary t o
clan every time
■Qgr you have an
— —- W ache or a pain
If arid pay hixn
v 4 Yi several dollars
A iflmj for counting
A - your pulse and
-p-sWTStW looking at your
Alx tongue,” says
Prof. Munyon.
1 “Neither Is It
I sty V\ Bfc ® wise to neglect
\ nSWM symptoms that
\<n may Indicate
Vlw \ the beginning
Vj| V Wu-dmi L °f serious 111-
ness. The
Y w T <daas'ga fl. -iMßiga symptoms of
{ inwSßsNWt,. Fl 'TPA most diseases
are 80 P laJrl
l !j that you know
Ill'll 1 \WIHbR3' what alls you.
Ir £ mWMmflr ° et the proper
I i\V y- cw BSTOwI Munyon Reme-
Iva ,\ ivtv Wum/a fly from some
/ \\C I Wiflll druggist a t
I v IN KfMrl once and cure
I V. man 1/ yourself before
I N ull 17/ disease gets
\ E I-, the k est
/ 111 i | gfi cents a bot-
Mrs. Julia B. Fuss. Tampa, Ga., says:
” I have had a complication of ailments
for the past twenty years, and during
that time had six doctors and tried in
numerable remedies without obtaining a
cure. I suffered from sciatic rheuma
tism, pains in all parts of the body, stiff
ness of the joints, pain in the back and
nervous prostration. Two bottles of
Munyon’s Rheumatism Cure have cured
me completely. I am like anew wo
man, and I shall always recommend
Munyon’s Remedies above all other
medicines."
Where you are in doubt, a personal let
ter to Prof. Munyon, 1,505 Arch St..
Philadelphia, Pa, will be answered with
free medical advice for any disease.
“Yes,” said Devereux, grimly. “There
was no other way. He would not have
hesitated to take my life. I have but
taken his liberty.”
Mallory burst into a storm of execra
tions. Joan shrank away, trembling now
in every limb. The little scene had com
pletely unnerved her.
“Hold your tongue,” said Devereux, cm
phasizing his words with a kick. “Have
you forgotten she Is a woman, you
hound?” Then he drew Joan without the
cave. “Y’ou must come now,” he said.
"You cannot stay here.”
“Ah, but to leave him like this, It is
brutal,” she sobbed. “He may starve
here.”
“No fear of that. I will send messen
gers to-morrow. A nights’ fast will do
him no harm. Still, If you wish to re
main ”
Joan was silent. It was evident the
struggle in her mind was long and fierce,
but at last she looked up. Her face was
drawn and pale, but the Are of courage
was burning in her eyes. This was no
time for tears.
“The storm has abated; and just below
us on the shingle there is a boat," she
whispered. “Thd sea is still very rough,
but something must be risked! Y’ou are
tired, exhausted, I know, but ”
"Not too tired to make a struggle for my
life,” he said, gently, “but what about
you?”
“I go also,” she responded, with a sob
just breaking the words. “There is no
place for me now—here.”
Silently, hand in hajid, like culprits flee
ing from justice, the two fugitives made
their way carefully down the uneven slope
which led to the beach below. Every ves
tige of the fog had cleared away, and over
head the moon, sailing through the storm
tossed sky, sent her clear beams across
the rocky coast and wasle of foaming wa
ters.
Neither spoke a word. Discovery meant
death, and were they not facing a peril
almost equal? Surely the chances were
ten to one that this frail boat could live
on such a sea. Well, better death In the
painless waters that death at the cruel
hands of men.
“Help me to push her off,” whispered
Joan, as they reached the boat, which the
receding tide had left high and dry, on the
shingle. “Should we get a good start, we
are out of danger. The other boats are all
half a mile away, and If you can row.
we shall soon be beyond pursuit. I will
lake an oar also.”
The boat grated on the shingle. A fine
line of foam lapped up about them, the
spray was coming up into Devereux's face.
"Courage," he said, gaily, his natural
buoyancy already asserting itself. “We
shall live to fight another day, Joan.”
Joan looked bt hind lier. An exclamation
of terror broke from her lips.
"It's all over.” she said, wringing her
hands in an agony of terror ffhd despair.
"R'e are discovered. Bathurst has seen
us!"
Devereux wheeled round. The figure of
a man was seen running with the speed
of a hare down the little declivity which
led from the cave. Scarcely a hundred
yards separated him from them, and his
voice, raised In a threatening shout, came
to their ears above the moaning of the
wind.
"In with you!" muttered Devereux. sti
ffing an oath between his teeth. ”\Ve will
baffle him yet."
Ho pushed off from the shore, while un
der his lone;, itowerful strokes the boat
plowed gallantly through the troubled
sea. The spray dashed oxer them like
clouds of smoke, Iwneath the hows the
water was gurgling and hissing in impo
tent wrath. A few mort yards and they
would be !n comparative safety. Great
drops of perspiration siood out on Deve
reux's brow. He had by no mentis recov
ered from the effects of hts recent Immer
sion. Joan sat crouched in the mem;
there was no third oar, and In his haste
Devereux had seized the txvo available
ones. They could not change now, al
though possibly, her weight might have
told more than Ills, for she was strong
and hardy amt accustomed to the hi,ivy
sea oars, which he wielded with some dif
ficulty.
Haihurst reached Jhe shore; baffled but
undaunted still, lib raised tils gun to his
shoulder and took steady ultn. There was
n quick report, a whistle. Joan uttered
a little moan and sank helpless forward.
"How on, row on.” she said faintly, "it
Is nothing: Just a little wound, that is all.
You can do nothing for me here."
DeverPtix, sick with horror, ceased row
ing, t>ut a cursory examination proved
nothing to his Inexperienced eye*. She
was wounded tn the chest, but It might lie
the hurt was slight.
"It Is nothing,” she reiterated. "Noth
ing; row on to safety. If we can reach
Bardot we are s.ifej’
Devereux obeyed.T*erhnpa she was right.
He could not help her out on the open sen
If there was bleeding at all It must bo
Inwardly.
Slowly the time passed on. Joan spoke
little, but always encouraging. y, The
wildness of the water was abating. Dev
oroux, though worn out amt weary, could
still hold on hla way.
And then, Just as the flrst pale gleams of
sunlight brightened the eastern heavens
and through the misty shadows Harriet
could Is- seen, nestling peacefully on the
Indented coast, Joan Mallory gave a long
shuddering sigh. dJevercux rested upon
Ills oars, gaxlng at her anxloualy.
"Can 1 do nothing for you?” he oalted,
with a break In hla strong voice.
"I feel so faint and-nml—What la the
matter? 1 was never ilku this before."
She put out her hands towards hfcm,
weakly, half-frightened, as a child migVit
do. Devereux drew them Into his owr;.
A passion of remorse was swelling up into
his heart. But for him this would never
have happened.
"My poor girl! Oh, my poor girl!” he
said brokenly.
“I am so tired. It is growing dark. Has
the night come already?’
A long silence.
No not the night; only the dawning of
eternal day for Joan Mallory.
(The End.)
THE FIRST TIDAL FOM'ER. "
Used in Carolina, to Found Rice Sev
enty Year* Ago.
The efforts being made on Narragansett
Bay, R. 1., and at Los Angeles, Cal., and
at Niagara Falls to harness tides and
waves to the wheels of modern industry
recall the time, three-quarters of a cen
tury ago, when rice was pounded on the
Faccamiw river, in South Carolina, in
mills dependent upon the tides for their
motive power. This was then the only
tidal power in the United States.
A typical mill of the kind was situated
about seven miles from Georgetown, on
the Oak Hill plantation, which belonged
to the fine old Allston family—the family
of Washington Allston, the celebrated
painter, who married the sister of Rich
ard Henry Dana, and of Joseph All
ston, governor, who married Theodosia,
daughter of Aaron Burr. It is proable
that one of the Allstons personally de
signed the mill, for they were progres
sive people, and the old-sehool gentle
man of South Carolina, who sent his
sons to Europe to be educated, had
them take courses in engineering as well
as in art and letters. The Allston mill,
known locally as the "Double-geared
mill,” was possibly the first of Its kind
in the state. It was certainly the last;
for it was destroyed by the West Indian
hurricane of 1893, which swept over the
sea islands with such devastating fury.
The machinery, however, had long since
ceased to revolve, for the emancipation
of the slaves had taken away the only
labor with which the slow and crude
apparatus could be profitably operated.
The immense rice fields at Oak Hill,
surrounded by a dike, served as the stor
age reservoir. The mill was on the em
bankment at the river’s edge, with the
rice fields behind it. The only inlet into
the field at pounding time was a pit un
der the mill, In which there were two
water wheels, one geared to run the ma
chinery as the rising tide rushed Into the
field, and the other geared to run It as the
receding tide brought the level of the rfver
below the level of the water In the field.
From this fact the mill took its name, the
"Double geared mill.’’ There were severaj
other plants operated in a similar man
ner erected later, but they had only one
water wheel, and hence did not approach I
In dignity the “double-geared" one.
As may be imagined, the power gener
ated did not amount to a great deal, as
measured by horse-power units. It took
a long time to pound the crop. But labor
was cheap, time was plenty, and the mas
ter, having barrels of money, did not
need to hurry the crop to market. One
crop could lie in the barns until Its room
was needed for the next one, and it would
make no difference.
A feature of the "double-geared mill”
and one which probably cannot be found
in any similar building in the country,
was its stairways. They would have
graced a mansion. There were two
flights, leading to the immense "loft,”
upon whose polished floor a harvest ball
was given each year. The stairways—
steps, posts, newels—were of solid black
walnut, with carving where It was pos
sible for carving to show to advantage.
The "loft” was panelled with blank wal
nut and the floor was of solid oak. It
was a ballroom used for warehouse pur
poses, except one day and night In the
year.
It is of present as well as historical in
terest to note that this remarkable old
tide-driven mill stood almost within sight
of the mansion in which Bafayette spent
his first night upon American soil. The
histories and biographies are very indefi
nite with regard to Lafayette's landing in
this country. Some of them say he landed
at Georgetown; others say it was near
Georgetown. The fact is that he came
ashore in a surf boat, and landed on the
beach in Prince George Winyah parish,
to the southward of Pawley's Island.
Thence he was conducted across the nar
row neck of land intervening to Prospect
Hill, the mansion of the Huger family.
This mansion was one of the finest of
the magnificent old colonial homes in the
Carolinas, surrounded by grounds of the
area of a mile, planted In the midst of a
slpendid oak grove, flanked on one side
by the slave quarters, or “village,” and
fronting on a gentle slope leading to the
rice fields and the river. The internal
economy of the little community was com
plete. even to the plantation church,
which, in picturesque ruins a few years
ago, has now disappeared. The mansion,
however, stands arid is occupied. And it
preserves to this day its air of distinction,
notwithstanding It let the worse for the
ravages of time, its owners being In cir
cumstances greatly differing from those
enjoyed by its occupants of other days.
The lordly old oaks remain, swinging their
long, gray beards of m,>ss as if in pleas
ant rumination upon the departed glories
of long ago.
It is tradition that Lafayette ate roast
venison for dinner on the evening of his
arrival at Prospect Hill, and later strolled
through the avenues of oaks and listened
to the singing of the slavey In their quar
ters. However that may he, it is certain
that on that evening the basis of the sin
cere, self-sacrificing and liV-long friend
ship between the Marquis and Franc s Kin
loch Huger was formed. It w ill bo recall
ed that Huger's daring and Brilliant res
cue of latfayette from the dunj, eon of the
Austrian fortress at Olmutz, afb'r hts long
confinement and ill-usage thereto, Is one
of the most romantic and thrilling In the
history of those romantic days.
Louis A. Beaty.
—A notice given to Harvard Coif* ge Ob
servatory by Perclval Lowell announces
that Mr. Douglass, nt Flagstaff, finds
that Ganymede rotates In seven days live
and one-tenth hours, plus or minus one
and two-tenths hours, says a Boston dis
patch to the New York Times. Ganymede
Is the third amt largest of the satellites
of Jupiter. It was discovered by Gall'ea,
In IMO, one night when. Using the tele
scope for Ihe first time, he discovered thv*
four satellites, to which nmnlier I’rof. E.
K. Bnrnard has recently added the fifth.
Ganymede Is some 3, 1i0n miles in diameter,
being larger than the planet Mercury, and
fur larger than our moon. It moves tn an
orbit about Its principal distance from the
great planet, about 700,000 miles. It Is dis
tant from us, at Its nearest point, almut
401,000.000 miles, and shine* with the light
of a sixty-magnitude star, very nearly.
'* ■ '
—Dr. Bchull, who has Just returned to
London from Afrlcn, says that "the pub.
lie Impression that the continent of Africa
Is no longer Ihe unexplored urea of the
old maiis is a mistake.” What has been
done Is lo stake out territories along defi
nite routes, but within these lines the
country Is generally ns unknown an In
the time of Mungo Hark. Dr. fichuls tins
traversed and surveyed a vast tract of
country which no white traveler has ever
seen before. This new territory lies be
tween the llrlllsh dominions in the west
and northwest, and the Congo and the
German territories in the southwest nmt
west. Through these unknown lands
flows a large river called by the natives
I'hoho, which empties itself Into the 2am
beze.
fl SUMMER TRIP
On the Inland Seas*
Overland to 'the Lake Porta in Pals
aco Cars*
/111 aboard! Shouts the conductor
the C., H. & D. “Michigan Flyer, 1 *
tts it starts on its journey northward*
and we are off tor Michigan and a ten
laysf tour of the great lakes. The G
U. & D. “Michigan Flyer” is the hand**
*omestt train leaving Cincinnati on any
road. Vestibuled from end to
end. The vestibules extending the
entire width of the ear, making
x continuous parlor car tram, and,
ihiliLren can play (torn one end to the
jther without danger. This new styl*
f vestibule connects the cars together
io firmly that riding is made a pleas
jre, there being no jolting or swaying
motion. The train consists of baggage
;ar, day coaches and parlor car, and is
tquipped with all the latest appliance*
Sor speed, safety and comfort The
windows are of the beet quality French
plate. The interior is finished i a
juartered oak, with carved ornaments.
The parlor car windows are draped,
with silk plush hangings.
The revolving chairs in the main
room aro handsomely upholstered in
plush the smoking room is uphols
tered in leather. The car is lighted
with an ample number of chandeliers,
burning Pintsch gas.
The ladies' toilet contains standard
Bush closet and wash stand, supplied
with pump and drinking water cooler
ind imposing mirrors. At diagonally
apposite corners of the main room are
folding beds that can be made up Into
state-rooms at night. The smoking
rooms at either end of the car are sup.
plied with upholstered sofas and mov
able chaira.
The route of the Michigan flyer is
along the pleasant pastoral scenes of
western Ohio, passing- the busy, enter*
prising cities of Hamilton, Dayton,
Troy, Pi quia and Lima, and through
the Great Oil Fields of the Buckeye
State. So pleasant is the ride that
Toledo is reached before fatigue is
thought of. Tho road bedMs smooth,
the time is fast and the substantial
equipment, together with the elegaaca
of service, makes it a pleasure t<*
travel on this line. Four through ex
press trains leave Cincinnati daily, for
Toledo and Detroit, “morning, noon
and night.” At either of these
ports the passengers can em<
hark on the palatial Steam
ers of the Detroit <fc Cleveland Steam
Navigation Cos., for a sail on the sum
mer seas to Mackinac Island. These
steamers are commodious side-wheel,
steel ships of the latest model, with
every convenience for the comfort and
pleasure of the tourist. The promo*
nade decks are roomy, the salon
and staterooms are perfect in their
appointments, the table is furnished
with the choicest that the north
ern markets afford, to say nothing ol
the numerous dishes of fish which
the chefs of the D. & G Steamer*
tS3
alone know how to prepare If the
passenger boards the steamer at Tole<
do the sail along the west shore oi
Lake Erie and up the Detroit rivet
will be found very interesting. From
Detroit the course is across Lake St.
Clair and through the St. Clair Flats,
that famous fishing region, until Port
Huron is reached, where Iluronia
Beach passengers go ashore. Then
the sail on Lake Huron begins. The
steamer keeping well to the west
shore and landing at all the interest
ing porta Sand Iteach is a port of call,
thence across Thundor Bay to Alpena,
the great Michigan lumber port,
then Cheybogan, at the head of the
inland chain of lakes, and as the great
ship again directs her course North
ward, the island gem, "Mackinac”
looms up from tho clear blue water*
of the atraits. It is then that one fair
ly realizes the inspiration of the poet
Longfellow, in his "Hiawatha.” Many
numerous side trips can bo made from
the island. Life at MacUinao never
drags, sailing, fishing, boating and
dancing aud tho congregating each
year of the youth and beauty of th
Lind, lend a charm to this favored spot,
Such a trip is well worth tho atten.
tfc-n of any one necking perfect rest
an. I recreation. It is not expenslv*
an 6' <*au be mado easily within the
ust.’i’l vacation time of even the bux.v
mart nformation about this trip will
be cheerfully furnished on applicatloe
to l). 0. EDWARDS, Passenger Traflli
Mating or, C., 11. & V. By., Cinciu*
nati, 01
■ ■■
THE BEST 13 THE CHEAPEST—
Your suvtlonery is an Indication of your
manner of conducting business. Hsvo
•vcrythlng - neat and trim, in good last#
and on gog'd material, from the comp! l
printing, lithographing and blank bo l *
manufacturing department of the Mora*
In l News,