Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, October 24, 1903, Page 2

= ' i i i | i | | i z The ~ o ~ : Curse | Carrington By K. TEMPLE MOORE. CHAPTER V. “Fire!” Night on the Atlantic—a night of brooding mystery—dense, starless— all pervading. Up and down the deck of the Dolphin, up and down, two fig ures paced. One that of a man, square-built, white-bearded, energetic in movement; the other a woman, small of stature, graceful of carriage, veiled and crepe- clad from head to feet. They were very silent, these two, as they walked the length of the ship and back again—once, twice. All day had turbulence ruffled the breast of the mighty Atlantic. All day had dark clouds gone scudding gloom- ily over the sky. Ali day had the wind’s wierd voices been muttering aloft in the rigging. And all day had rebellion ruled the heart of the sailors. Dark frowns had crossed and crowded their rugged, sun-burned faces; from stem to stern had their voices been hissing and whispering fierce discontent. And the lurid sun had at last gone down in the waters biood red. And the night was come. “I am sorry the weather is so un- | pleasant the first evening you have ventured on deck,” the captain said to | his companion, She put up one band suddenly, and , flung her veil aside with a quick, | stifling cry. “Yes, yes! what a night it is! And yet, I could not stay below. I—I feel smothering! It is so still—so awfully calm and still, and—and ominously op- pressive!” “It is ominous, this quiet,” in mourz- ful acquiescence.. “The storm will be upon us soon. And—why, how you are trembling! You have been ill?) 1 thought so the first day you came on | board—when you fainte “{ remember,” wearily. “I saw a face that”—speaking with an effort— “that was like another [ knew well. Of course there could be no connection | between the two, for he—he of whom I speak, is a gentleman of wealth and | position, while this man was only— only a common sailor.” “On this ship?” “Yes. I caught barely a glimpse of him, but I was still weak from recent illness, and it unnerved me.” “Was it not rash to venture on so fatiguing a voyage so soon?” he ques- tioned, kindly. “Oh,” and the sweet, childish voice was very low and heartsi I wish T hhadn’t come! [I don’t know just how it happened that I did! My father —died,” with a queer break in the young voice, “very suddenly, and the shock was too much for me. For a while I was ill—seriously ill. When 1 recovered they told me—papa’'s old friends—tbat | must go to my grand- father, who wanted me—to America.” She lifted one slight hand and ‘brushed the soft hair off her forehead, as if its touch oppressed her. “I refused at first to go; but they talked so, they argued so, they said he was my only living relative, and—and — Oh,” with a long, quivering sigh, “it seems all so vague and confused tome yet! But I came!” ~ “My poor child!” And then for a while again there was silence. “You are faint!” the old captain | cried, suddenly, noticing with quick, self-reproach, her lagging step. “I } have quite tired you out. Forgive me!” | He drew forward a camp stoo! and | made her sit down. “You are better, Miss Laurie—you are sure you are better?” and the gruff voice had grown as gentle as a woman’s. “Lord, Lord, child, they shouldn’t have let you cross the ocean so soon! Perhaps I shouldn't talk so much about your affairs—perhaps it isn’t my place; but I've a daughter at home just about your age—and some- time it seems to me,” growing ungram- matical in his fervor, “that you are her.” A man emerging from the compan- ; ionway paused as the sound of Capt. | Merrick’s apologetic voice, and _ the | low, protesting murmur that followed it, fell upon his ear. Then he moved stealthily across the deck, tili he stood but a few feet behind the speakers, the dense darkness screening him completely. He dropped his lighted cigar into the black flood below. Perhaps a few wreaths he had puffed had floated to the quiet figure before him and had } brought him to her recollection, for she looked up suddenly. “Captain!” “Yes.” “Who is he? You know who I mean —your only other cabin passenger. Who is he?” . “You do not know him?” amazedly. “No, how should I? But I—oh,” with a quick, hysterical catching of her breath, “I am afraid of him—I am afraid of him!” “You are afraid of him,” blankly— “of him? has he,” in swift, flerce sus- picion, “spoken to you—offended you—” “Oh, no, no, no! I have only seen him a few times in passing through the cabin. I cannot explain it. Ihave heard of such dislikes—foolish and un- grounded. Such, I suppose, is mine. 1 try to reason—to laugh myself out of it sometimes; but it is like struggling against a force mightier than my strength. 1 distrust him—I fear him! Who is he?” The captain laughed cheerily. “Now, to prove to you how needless- ly nervous you have been, and that he of whom you speak is more worthy your confidence than doubt, I will tell you who he is. He is your grand- father’s stepson—Cuthbert Bracken.” “He?” in startled dismay. She remembered how her grandfath- er had written of him—his scorn, his hatred. She rose up, shivering strange- ly. “I am afraid my forebodings were right, after all. He is part of my new life—of my veiled and shrouded new life! Ah, the old was sweet—so sweet!” A faint wind had risen, and was stir- ring her heavy draperies. She stood with clasped hands and dreamy eyes, and looked far away to where the black sea kissed the blacker sky. “It was filled with papa!” she went on, softly. It was such a glad life— such a good life! He was all the world to me, and—I lost him!” There was strange pathos in the very simplicity of her grief “Your grandfather will take his place,” the captain began kindly. But she lifted one slender hand in | swift resentment. “Oh, no! Not his place! could ever take that to me!” She drew her soft wraps round her and prepared to go below. “He is very wealthy,” the captain volunteered, after a pause. “He will make you his heiress.” “Yes; I believe he wrote something of the sort to my father.” The man in the shadow behind them brought his teeth together with a sharp snap. “She inherit! heaven!” A swift, fiery flash tore across the No one Not while I live, by sky. He shrank back a little as the captain and his charge brushed by him. Once in her cabin Laurie Lisle flung off her shaw] and bonnet and went up to a little woman who sat reading by the light of a swinging lamp. “Did you think I was never coming down? Capt. Merrick was so kind to me, and | think the air, the little there was of it, did me good.” The small, keen-eyed, rosy-cheeked, gray-haired lady before her shook her head in sad disbelief. “You are absolutely colorless, my dear; you must try and have a good sleep. Hark!” A crash of thunder rolled across the waters, hoarse and ominous. Laurie changed her dress for a wrapper—a soft, white, flowing wrapper of finest cashmere—and sat down to read the tedious hours away. All her beautiful hair was unbound and rippled over her shoulders, burnished and billowy. Ten! How fierce the storm was growing! The lightning glared about the room like the eyes of hungry woives; the thunder muttered andj roared; hoarse and more hoarse grew the howl of the waters; higher and higher the great white waves leaped. Eleven! Oh, God, what a night! for the sea and the sky were’ leagued— leagued against man! And whenever ‘here came a lull—a merciful, breath less pause—out leaped the whips of the wind and lashed the storm anew. | In the narrow, stifling cabin, Laurie Lisle stood erect, and listened to the turmoil overhead, to the cries and sounds that told her of the brave souls | burning, the brave hands toiling, the brave hearts struggling—for life! Her eyes were dilated and black | with fear, but the soft, girlish lips | were compressed into one soft and | rigid line. Could they hold out much longer, those earnest workers above? Oh, } where was He of Galilee, to whisper “Peace, be still!” Every timber in the ship was creak- ing. 4 The wind was shrieking like a thing in pain. Up, down; up, down—from billow to billow the vessel was dashed, like the toys of a child. Midnight! Hark! that wail of de- spair! It sobbed through the dense and starless night; it rang out to the ragged and stormy sky; it shivered over the world of waters, boundless, fetterless, shoreless. “Fire!” Fire! Fire at midnight—fire at sea! Above the crash of the ceaseless thun- der, above the roar of the hungry ocean, above the wail of the wad- dened wind, that cry arose and out- shrilled— ; “Fire, fire, fire!” CHAPTER VI. “Better Death!” The crew was on deck, every man of them, working as never worked men before. And the fire fled faster than they could follow. It leaped the rig- ging, it climbed the masts, it licked the sails, it belched its black smoke in their faces. Death was above them, death below them, death about them. They saw it with eyes that shrank from seeing, and shrinking, looked | b again; they felt it with their hands that, scorched and blistered, still fought its fury back; they drank it in breath that passed the). lips Fea, 16 murse its, ini? | now no longer darkness reign- oe rover the raging sea the fire ‘flashed and the lightning tore through the midnight sky, a path of flame. “Lower the boats!” And the words were the death-knell of the Dolphin. The order passed from lip to lip. They hastened to obey. The captain stood at the ship’s side and watched them fulfill their task. : In the general confusion two figures came up the companionway unob- served. The elder woman was muffled in wraps; the younger had neglected to protect herself against the night. She wore only the white, trailing wrap- per donned an hour before. They had no wish to attract atten- tion. They stood quite close together in the shadow, trembling, but com- posed. Around them was the hissing fury of the sea, the lurid glances of the lightning, the red glow of the fire. And breaking the sacred silence of. the night was the roar of sea and sky, the hoarse howling of human voices, the crackling of the flames. “Look at that sailor!” Laurie whis- pered. Mrs. Grey looked in the direction indicated, and saw a man, tall, large- limbed, muscular-looking, who worked with the powerful strength, the fierce enrgy of a young giant. His back was to them, They could not see his face. Even as they looked they saw him dash up to where Merrick stood, shout- ing his orders. “Captain, you have women cn board, have you not? Give them. the first boat—the first chance. “Good Lord, 1 was forgetting them!” the old man cried, in startled dismay. He turned and rushed toward the j cabin. “Here, Capt. Merrick!” Laurie cried: “Bless my soul, child, how cool you are! Cores; the first boat!” - He hurried them on to the deck’s side. A crowd of unruly sailors were climbing over the gunwales and drop- ping into the boats below. “Hold, you cowards!” the captain shouted. “How dare you! You know there are women on board!” “Where is the use?” the elder wom- an cried, frantically, and flung up her hands with a gesture of despair. “It is only a choice of the manner of death—by fire or flood.” The sailor who had first approached the captain now caught him by the arm. “For God’s sak, captain,” in brusque impatience, ‘get them into a boat—get them out of this hell! There some- thing may happen; a change of wind— | a passing sail—a—anything—anything | is better than this certain death!” The heat was growing unbearable. It was scorching and choking them. The first boat had pulled away. A few mutinous men were clambering into; the second. A terrible oath crashed between Merritt’s set teeth. He whipped a_re- volver out of his pocket. “Back, there! Back I say! vn shoot the first man who touches “the ropes—TI will, so help me, God!” Already the tall young sailor had lowered Mrs. Grey into the boat be- low For a’ moment the rebels staggered | back—just for a moment. There was | in the sight of the white-haired old man, erect against a background of flame, something of grandeur, some- thing which told of an unflinching de- termination and capability of putting his threat into execution, which awed and dismayed them. The lightning came less frequently; the thunder was dwindling to a dull growl. The dense smoke upreared its black flag like a standard of death The fire had driven the remaining crew to the extreme edge of the vessel. On the intense silence that followed’ the captain’s words a voice broke-—a man’s thin, sharp, excited voice: “Pull away, men—pull away!” Merrick sprang one step forward, beside himself with rage. e !” he shouted, purple with pas- sion, “you are at the bottom of thi: you it is who are making men cow- ards and murderers of women. Cuth- Bracken! Oh, you dog—you dastard!” A weird scene! Before, a black sea; behind, a wall of fire. In the shadow | a man and a woman standing, stunned and ¢pecchless. In the lurid fore ground two figurss—one old, white- bearded and trembling with honest anger; the other standing, half-afraid, half defiant. One hand still grasped the rope he had clutched preparatory to lowering himself to the boat below, when he had issued his order a moment be- fore. The otber was thrust behind bim. He spoke; and his quick, brutal words—brutal in their import—were distinetly audible through the crack- ling of the flames: “Take that!” There was a quick movement, a flash of steel, a report. The figure of the old man swayed heavily from side to side, then reeled and fell on the deck, shot through the heart! A faint cry of horror went up from those in the waiting boat below. Bracken heard, and was about to swing himself over when a voice rang out—a young, loud, stentorian voice: “Hold! Back there! You shall not go, by heaven, while a woman waits!” Leaping over the prostrate body of him who had died a sacrifice to duty and chivalry, came a tall, lithe, tow- ering figure, blue-clad and bare-headed. “You!” with a contemptuous laugh— you, a common sailor!” “Aye,” in a ringing response—‘a common sailor, but a man—every inch |" of me!” Bracken made an effort to clambor over. Only an effort, for the other was upon him in a flash. He had dropped his revolver—he must trust to muscle. They clinched—they fought; and it, was a fight for life, BPs the heart of death? ee ie The deck was cracking and steam- ing beneath their feet; the dense smoke blinded them; the thick air choked them. Higher and higher the flames were leaping—kigher and higher; closer and closer they crept, and whirled, and eddied round them—closer and closer. The storm had died down. Below, the small boat lay, and its crew— waited. A little further back a girl stood, ghastly, and shivering with womanly horror. And still those two in the red glare fought, and slipped and struggled. With a swift,-sudden motion the taller man freed himself, and lifting his arm, struck the other down. He swung round and held out his hand in chivalrous assistance to Laurie Lisle. “Come!” he cried. “The boat will hold one more—come!” And the hot flame scorched cheek as she came—came over deck, blackened and drenched, slippery with the blood spilled in defense. She stood before him, a white, state- ly figure, with a face which looked as though carved from marble. For the first time he saw her fully—for the first time, Wrapped in the weird, red light of the blazing ship, he recognized her. her the and her Coops for Judging Fowls. At the Wisconsin State fait last week we noticed what was to most people anew feature in coops to be used in judging. These were made open on both sides, This gives the light a full passage around the birds and the judges have no trouble in see- ing the specimens they are to pass upon, without removing them from the coops. The judges do their work on the opposite side from the crowd, which is another advantage of this arrangement. Of course the birds are taken out of the coops and handled when necessary, in any event. With the old style of coops, those open on one side, there was; always a semi- twilight when the judge, clerk and owners of the birds got around them. Then, too, it was always a nuisance to have people crowding in between the judge and the clerk making rec- ords for him. Now these two officials have a whole row of coops between themselves and other interested per- sons. He flung out his arms with a cry—a yearning, jeyous, agonized cry, that wailed out over the waters: “Laurie, Laurie! Oh, my darling— my darling!” “Clive!” For one instant the light in his eyes illuminated her own; for one moment of blind joy her face was glorious; for one second she was unconscious of misery, and danger, and death—uncon- scious of all save that he was with her —her lover! And that she loved him, she loved him, she loved him! For one brief second only, then she staggered back from his outstretched arms, with a shuddering sob of hor- ror. She flung out her hands as if to keep him from her; she turned her white, wild face away from him. “Oh, no, no, no!” she panted hoarse- ly, hysterically. “Better death than life at your hands—better death! Oh, my God, better death!” (To Be Continued.) TROUBLES OF THE FAT MAN. Especially When He Tries to tie His Shoestring. _The fat man who was_ passing through the corridor of the county courthouse wanted to tie his shoe, and he knew his limitations. So he hunt- ed around for something upon which to rest his foot. Beside the wall was a box, and on this he placed his foot, followed it with a fair proportion of his weight, and the box collapsed with a crash. He wiped his brow and moved on to where a ladder was lean- ing against the wall. On this he put his foot, and the next instant the lad- der came within an inch of falling upon him. He delivered himself of one forceful word and waddled out of the building, dragging his shoestrings behind him.—New York Evening Post, Troublesome, but Delicious. | Stuffed potatoes go well with the fish course. Bake long, medium- sized potatoes for a little more ‘than half an hour. Then open them length- wise and remove the pulp. Run the pulp through a ricer and with it mix tomatoes ,chopped green pepper and chopped onion that have been cooked together in butter for fifteen minutes. Season with salt, pepper and butter and mix thoroughly with the potato. The proportions required will be the pulp of one tomato, a teaspoonful each of green pepper, onion and butter to every potato. Refill the potatoes with the mixture and bake for fifteen minutes. As to Gambling. “I never gamble,” said the good man, “and speculation is gambling.” “Of course,” returned the man who was not so good; and then he added casually: ‘What did you do with that property out on the West side?” “Oh, I've got it yet.” was the reply. ‘Tt looked like a good investment when I bought it, and I am hopeful that it will yet be worth enough to give me a good profit, but just now it shows a Joss.” The man who was looked thoughtful. “It’s a mighty lucky thing for your conscience,” he said at last, “that it was land and not wheat you bought.” —Chicago Post. not so good Now It’s the Deadly Toothbrush. Now the toothbrush has been put un- der the ban of the medical experts. A British authority comes out with the statement that in addition to carrying germs concealed among its bristles, it is one of the causes of appendicitis. The germs can be killed by washing the brush in an antiseptic solu- tion, it s admitted, but it is not so easy to get rid of appendicitis. This dread, but fashienable malady, is caused, says the British physician, by the bristles becoming loosened, being swallowed and lodging in the appen- dix. Thus far no suggestion has been made for a substitute for the tooth brush.—New York Press. Religious Note. “{ hear that Brown was requested to stay away from church. Is that true?” “Yes. He snored so loud he woke up the entire congregation.”—Chicago Record-Herald . Untrustworthy. “Is her husband such an awful liar?” “«Absolutely. She says she cannot even believe what he says in his sleep.”"—Brooklyn Life. f Feeding Squabs. William E. Rice, in a United States Department of Agriculture bulletin on squab raising, says: No suceess can be expected unless proper kinds of food are procured and the birds are regularly fed. Long continued feed- ing on cracked corn and wheat alone invariably fails to produce as good squabs or as many as when a further Squabs (‘‘peepers’’), 12 hours old. variety of grains is fed. In their free state, pigeons can select a variety of grains, avoiding one kind and choosing another, as their appetites dietate, but when they are kept im a smali en- closure they must of course take what the breeder gives them. Hence, it becomes highly important that the breeder have good judgment as to kinds and quality of food to set be- fore them, and that he have interest enough in his flock to avoid stinting the quantity or feeding too largely of one kind. The six principal feeds are cracked corn, Canada peas, wheat, German millet, kafir corn and hemp. On the floor of each pen keep about a peck ef elean sand evenly spread. Procure three boxes about the size of small cigar boxes; fill one about one-third full of fine table salt; the second with eracked oyster shells, pigeon size, and the third with ground charcoal, about Squabs (“squeakers”), 24 hours old. as fine as ground coffee. These three substances are very essential to the health of pigeons. Clean out and re- plenish each of these boxes weekly. For the morning ration give equal parts of cracked corn, wheat and peas, well mixed. Im the afternoon use eracked corn, kafir corn, millet and )peas in equal parts. Twice a week feed hemp instead of millet. A small quantity of rice may be fed ance a week with advantage. The morning feed should be at about 7 o’cloek and ‘the afternoon feed at 4 o’clock in sum- mer and 3 in winter. This afternoon time is necessary in order that the ‘birds may have ample opportunity to fill themselves and feed their young ‘before nightfall. Some wonder why squabs die in the nest or get on the floor and do rot fatten up properly. Very frequently Squabs (‘‘squealers”), 28 days old, ready for market. the reason is because the old birds are not properly fed. We should constant- ly bear in mind that a squab is very different from a chick. A newly- hatehed chick can run about and help itself to feod and water. The squab, on the other hand, is utterly helpless at birth. I¢ is unable to walk and must be fed in the nest with whatever the ‘parent bird brings to it. For about five days nature provides a special food commonly called “pigeon milk,” a creamy substance contained in the erops of the pigeons, and which they have the power to eject from their mouth into the mouths of their young. After a few days of such feeding, the squab is fed on such grains as the pigeon gets, and by the same process of transfer from the parent’s mouth to its own. Hence it is essential] that proper food he given the pigeons. That “First” Creamery. J. H. Monrad, writing in New York Produce Review, says: I notice that friends of C, W. Gould of Elgin are calling down the Iowa people who claimed John Stewart’s creamery not only to be the first in Iowa, but also the first in the world, and make the Jatter-claim for C, W. Gould, who in response to an inquiry wrote: “Your letter in regard to the date of the. establishment of the ‘Home’ creamery reached here in due time. I erected the building in 1865 for the manutacture of cheese on the co-opera- tive plan; that is, the neighboring farmers delivered their milk which f manufactured into cheese, charging a certain agreed rate per pound. When the cheese was sold the proceeds were pooled and a dividend declared and the money distributed pro rata among the suppliers of milk according to the amount delivered by each. I had been doing this In a small way in my own private dairy house since 1859, but as the business enlarged it became necessary to provide better facilities, so the factory was built in 1865 and continued in operation during the warm months until fall of 67, when, having quite a run of milk, and butter being high in price, 1 conceived of turning it inte a combined butter and cheese factory, which I did and as the price of butter was very high for a few years the experiment proved very successful and soon many others en- tered into the same business.” It is a little queer that—in view of this—I was not called down in 1892 when I mentioned Dr. Joseph Tefft as having started the first creamery in Mlinois (1870) in an article in the Dairy Messenger, No. 4. I made care- ful inqueries at the time and gave Mr. Gould credit for having made cheese for his neighbors in 1864, and D. E. Wood as having started the first large cheese factory with steam-heated vats in 1866, I confess to a suspicion that Mr. Gould’s claim to a creamery is confined to having partially skimmed his cheesemilk—the first step on the downward path which led to the skim and filled cheese reputation of Ili- nois. However that may be I trust that our Elgin friends will be satisfied with making the claim of having started the first creamery west of Chicago As to the first creamery in the world lam not sure, Denmark started her first creamery at Marslev in 1863 and this, I believe, was the first creamery in Europe. In New York, Orange Coun- ty Milk Association started a butter and cheese factory at Middletown in 1862 with 30 patrons and 550 cows, and this is the first one I know of, but am not positive that it was the first, . in the world. This shows the difficulty of getting at historical facts only forty years back, and I appeal to the various State Dairy Associations to secure and publish such facts, which will be of great interest even if of no monetary value. Washing Cream. A bulletin of the Alabama -tation says: During the last three years con- siderable effort has been made to find a means by which the odor and taste of wild onion and bitter weed may be removed from milk and cream. In the spring of 1901 the writer was re- quested to try a patent compound claimed to remove all kinds of weedy taste from milk, but it proved te be an absolute failure. Cooking soda (saler- atus) was also given a like trial, but failed of the purpose claimed for it by some people. Having failed so far to find anything that when fed to the cows would remove weedy taste in the milk, the next step was treating the milk and cream. Bitter weed taste was removed entirely from cream by thoroughly mixing it with two or more parts of water at any temperature above 70 degrees Fahrenheit, and then running the whole through the sep- arator. Saltpetre dissolved in water was tried as an aid in removing the bitterness, but as good results were secured without it as with it. Rapidly and slowly heating milk and cream to various high temperatures did not re- move bitterness, but often imparted a eooked taste. Butter made from washed cream {as above) was pro- nounced free of all bitterness by the station customers. Bufter made from unwashed cream was decidedly bad and was often rejected by the cus- tomers. No means were found to re- move the bitter weed taste from whole milk. In the spring of 1902 milk and cream were treated for the wild onion flavor the same as in the previous year for the bitter weed taste. To Judge Aroma. Through the persistent advocacy of Chief F. D. Coburn of the Department of Live Stock at the World’s Fair, in the face of considerable opposition from some sources, the butter made there next year during the proposed cow demonstration will be judged by giving a possible credit of 15 its in a total score of 100 to “aroma” and 30 to “flavor,” instead of ignoring the ele. ment of smell or aroma and giving a possible 45 points to flavor alone, Chief Taylor of the Department o Agriculture, under whose supervision the butter will be made and judged, {, heartily in favor of reco; niet, and the representatives of the differ. ent breeders’ associations. furnishing cows for the test are anim: for it. 2 Ay ae nce The most prosperous agricultural communities are those that give a stock. | ewe Place to the growing of live ta A =