Rensselaer Journal, Volume 12, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 October 1902 — THE PHANTOM COACH [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE PHANTOM COACH

By HESTER A. BENEDICT.

' ICopjright, 1800, by H«st«r A. Benedict.) We bad been three years absent from America, loitering here and there, as inclination prompted and ample leisure allowed, until, with a feeling of homesickness strong within ns, we turned our faces homeward, crossed over from India to Hongkong and took passage OXi the Mltsu Bight steamer Hiroshima Slam for Yokohama, three weeks’ sail ftom the Golden Gate. Jack Erie, the poet of our party, had fallen in down below with a quiet, pale faced New Englander whom he had met in India, and the first morning out he brought him up to become one of ns, as he did straightway. We all liked him immensely from the tart. He was of fine presence, six feet high, well built and well mannered, witty and intelligent. He was, however, apparently wanting in energy and inclined to cynicism. Those seeming defects we at once attributed to the enervating Influence of life in the orient and thought no more about them. He interested us hours at a time with quietly told stories of his travels, for be bad seen not only the places we had visited, but scores of others yet unknown to us. But Maurice Wilson, for so I will call him, had also the pathetic smile and the appealing blue eyes that all unmeaningly make willing fools of women. Who never can know And never can understand that the language of such is impersonal and born of blood, not heart. Yet Wilson had a heart, and a tender one, and some way, as the days went by, the feeling grew upon one of us at least that he could tell us a story, if he so minded, of personal sacrifice and pain in some Gethsemane of which the world knew not. • **•*••

While still In the Yellow sea the glass changed suddenly one morning, and In less than two hours the order **AJI passengers below!” was beard above the shrieking of the wind and that low, almost human, groaning of a Ship’s strained joints when the typhoon's breath first touches it For hours we were tossed helplessly about the cabin, the sharp cries of the second class passengers coming to us now and then from the prison under the batches and mingling with the moans of women whom we vainly tried to comfort I can see now the look In Wilson’s styes as when once again we were on 4eck be said solemnly: "That was a loud call, seems to me, and down there,” nodding toward the Sabin —“down there in such an hour Cue thinks rapidly. N’est ce pas? And With a mighty tug at his heart and something In his throat like a knife throat through he wishes—wishes—that he had been a better boy.” Somehow after the storm things Seemed not quite the same again. Unseat was everywhere. We who were &vored haunted the captain’s room, listened to his yarns, drank sparingly of his wine and freely of his cheer. Set a cloud no larger than a man’s band perhaps, and yet large enough' to «a»t a shadow, seemed hanging over the ship, affecting officers, passengers and crew alike, gainsay It as we might. Every one was brightened visibly by the half day’s stay at Nagasaki, and in the excitement of the trip through the thland sea the typhoon was forgotten, and we became quite our usual selves again, all except Wilson, who still seemed restless and 111 at ease. “When are we due at Kobe?” he asked after tiffin was over and we were all tn the captain’s room, as usual, when be was off duty. “About dark,” the captain replied absently, adding after a moment's {Ause, “and—well, I’ve slowed up a bit so we can get a look at the phantom coach, you know.” "The phanton coach!” echoed Jack. "What is that?’ "Never heard of it? No? It’s a queer story, and I’m bound to find out for myself if there’s any truth in it Haven't happened along here at the right time since the ghost first put in an appearance. It shows up only at desk, they say.” "Tell us the story, captain, do!” “All right," he said, and, lighting a ft»h cigar and swinging himself (Bound in his chair so that he faced Ifce low hills covered with frosty tea plants, he began the tale of the phantom coach. aou all remember, no doubt,” he “bow the British ship Bombay into the United States eorvet Oneida in the harbor of Yokohama JanL 24, 1870, causing the loss of the Onwla and of the lives of 112 of her men. Years later, the story goes, a son of ope of the officers who went down with the ship came over from your country just to see the place where his father died, he said, and the land of which he had heard Buch fairy tales. I shall call him Brown, but that wasn’t his name. You may be his cousins for aught I know, with a certain prejudice against geishas. “Be was a splendid fellow, everybody affirmed, of the finest New England stock. Rich, handsome, affable end ‘a very dear,’ the ladies said.” I thought I heard a moan from over where Wilson sat, but no doubt It was a delusion, for when I glanced at him be was sitting quietly, his cheroot between his fingers and his eyes upon the shore line, half a mile away. . "He spent a few months traveling ewer Japan,” the captain resumed, “and then —then the usual thing happened. He fell in love with a geisha whom be met In a chaja, ojr teahouse, ■p by the famous waterfall in Kobe mad made her his wife, In the usual emy, es course, bat she had faith In It, poor seal, as most of the geishas have. Be found a home for her, or made It,

rather, of whav had once been a yedoya, or inn, a p«ace hidden away in a hollow among the pines and so esqulsite, so beautiful within and without, as to seem the abode of fairies. He gave her a score of servants, dozens of the finest crepe kimonos, everything luxurious, In fact, that a woman loves the world over, no matter what her race. “And so, lulled by the faint music of a hundred temple; bells and happy with her telsblu (husband), little Orookson lived her year of wedded life. They say It was beautiful, the light in her lovely face when she met him In the doma when he came, and that wonderful to listen to was the music of her voice when she bung upon his arm, saying softly, ‘Telshiu, telsblu!’ he smiling down upon her as only he knew how to smile. “Everybody in Kobe knew them well by sight, and she was the envy of every woman because of her coach and ponies, which had been brought pver from the States for her especial use. Ponies were scarce In Japan, you know, and, as for coaches—well, Jlnrikishas served often for even the nobility. “Their favorite drive was to the spot where for years since, in the dusk of warm eves, has been seen the phantom coach—ghost, it is said, of that which was Orookson’s pride.” “Did be love her?' I ventured to ask. The captain took a few long whiffs of bis cigar, and the stillness grew oppressive. “Y-o-s,” he said musingly, “in a way, you understand. She loved him, at any rate v and"— “And he her! I swear it by the Eternal!” We all turned to look at Wilson. He had risen suddenly and crossed to the window, where he stood with his back toward us for fully a long minute, while no one spoke or moved. Then he turned upon us a face that was drawn and white and saying, in a voice so low that we bent our heads to listen, “One should not judge where be cannot know,” resumed his seat quietly and relighted his cheroot.

“You are right,” replied the captain. “But this man, if be loved at all, loved and rode away or sailed away, whioh Is one and the same thing, and he never came back, though be left In Its cradle the boy that came to them but a month before he went away. He left plenty of money for them, however, with the United States consul at Kobe, so she staid home with the boy and, growing paler day by day and often praying behind the sbojl of her tokonoma, waited for the ‘music feet’, of her telshiu. Sometimes, though rarely, she drove with her boy and bis abma to the old place on the Deach, but the sea made her sad, she said. Ob, If s an old. old story In Japan!” “Yes, but the phantom coach, captain?’ “Oh, well, from one of those drives little Orookson never returned to the house among the pines. No one knows bow it happened, but coach, coachman, geisha and child went into the sea together. The nurse, who alone escaped, said the ponies were frightened and that her mlstresß held her baby high over her head as the coach went down and cried with an awful cry. Telshiu, telshiu I' Her heart was broken, the ahma said. It was well she was not to suffer any more," A loud thud startled us, and we all rushed to the rescue of Wilson. He lay In a tumbled heap where he had fallen, and for awhile we thought him dead. The captain's brandy brought him round, however, and we helped him to his stateroom, laughing at his quaint remarks about “that infernal climate” that had made a woman of him. He

wished to be left alone, he said. He needed nothing and would take a siesta. Guessed “the typhoon had shook him up too much,” and so on. The afternoon waned, and the dnsk crept down from the hills and out upon the sea. The ship slowed up under orders nntil as we reached Phantom point she was barely creeping. We were all on deck, watching the shore line eagerly, though none of us expected to see anything unusual. Oh, no! Wilson, still pale and trembling a little, I fancied, stood leaning over the rati, his eyes strained out through the half dusk and that wonderful smile of his playing at hide and seek among the shadows about his perfect mouth. “I’ve had such a jolly time with you boys,” he said quietly, slipping bis arm through Jack's and-beaming upon us aIL “It's been quite as if I were in my own land. Strange? N’est ce pas? Yet, after all, It is blessed to go home!” “Look! Look!" whispered Jack. And, sure enough, facing the sea, bat plainly seen against the evening sky, stood ponies, mother and babe, half covered by clouds of mist, yet half revealed to our wondering gase.

"The phantom coach!” cried the captain. Look r 'The phantom coach!” echoed every one on deck. We saw It, however, but a moment, for. with a wild cry of “My wife, my Child!” a cry that most have entered he&ven itself, Wilson leaped the rail and disappeared under the waves that dosed forever above him. Every effort was made to save him, but in vain, and no trace of his body was ever found. In bis stateroom a note addressed to the captain read as follows: “I hope to make amends, but If tonight I see the phantom coach I shall know it Is too late. Pray for my souL” • •••••* I am told that from that day the phantom coach has not again been teen. The dead are satisfied.

Plainly seen against the evening sky stood ponies, mother and babe.