Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 July 1886 — A BIRO OF PASSAGE. [ARTICLE]

A BIRO OF PASSAGE.

The good ship Tidal Wave was almost home. The voyage had bee* long and tempestuous, and captain and crew had thought more than once that the end of it all had come—the end of the journey so hopefully commenced, the end of the gallant ship that had been their home, and the end of the wild life they had loved, all finished together. But the sunshine had driven the black storm from the sky, the tempest s rage had spent itself in unavailing fury, and now the-great green waves turned their faces up to the warm, and blue, and cloudless sky, aud smiled and dimpled under the strong hand of the fresh breeze. The good ship Tidal Wave was almost home. The sun was bright, the air was pure, and fresh, and dear. The waves rolled lazily along the sides of the vessel. Great flocks of birds—birds whose homes were on shore among the rocks, but who- dearlyloved the sea —came close about the vessel. Their discordant cries made music in the ears of the sailors, for they told them of homeAfter a time one of the birds, a large one, pure white, settled oh the rigging, aud stood looking down upon the deck and the busv men who were gathered there. “Did you ever see a bird like that?” asked the mate of Captain Harmon. “I never did,” answered the captain, who had a genuine love and a generous knowledge regarding natural history. “It is new to me. Jgero, Jack," he added, turning to a sailor who stood near,'“go below and bring me my rifle. Let us have a nearer view of this strange bird.” Jack brought the weapon.- Captain Harmon took it into his hands in that indescri-

bable wav which betokens love for the weapon, tod a complete understanding and mastery of its use. All eyes were turned towards the strange bird. There was a pause fox a moment as the captain slowly raised the rifle towards his shoulder. “Captain Harmon, I should never have believed that of you. Let.the bird go.” All turned to see the source of the clear and musical voice. The bird, forgotten, was left to rest upon the mast or join his ocean-fellows at his own pleasure. The speaker was a young woman, dressed in some soft fleyec white raiment, slight and supple, quick aud graceful, a wealth of soft brown hair falling all about her

shoulders, and a pair of earnest and bright brown eyes looking oat from under a high forehead, and gravely regarding the astonished captain. Coining upon them so unexpectedly, standing almost upon tiptoe, with her whole frame bent earnestly forward, she might almost hare seenied like some great brown-eypd, white-coated bird herself, who Bad suddenly .settled down among them. Bertrand Harmon prided himself on his quick and ready politeness. I believe that he regretted, to the end of his life, the fact that his cap remained on bis'head a second Or two longer”than it should have done. Surprise was to blame for that. But he had it in his hand, and stood with bared head gravely bowing to the lady just a little later, only a little, than would have been true courtesy, had he met one he knew, in the street of his native town. His-crew, admirers and imitators of all he did, removed their hats and caps, and tried to look as grave and dignified as he did. “The bird mar go free. I am always glad to grant a lady’s wishes I" said he. “Thank you. 1 hat is like the Bertrand Harmon of whom I have been told.” Then, coming a step nearer, and laying her hand upon his own, she said, with great eamestnees, “Promise me that you will never kill a bird who comes to your ship. ” “l promise,” he said. After a pause, “Why are you here? Where did you come from?” he asked, with curiosity. “Why pry into the past? lam here. Is not that enough#” Her answer seemed to mock his question, but her manner was grave enough, and perhaps a little troubled. “Have yon been concealed in the hold all this long and stormy voyage?” ——J 4»he turned and walked slowly away from him for a dozen yards at so, and then returned as slowly. Settling her hands more lightly over her dress, which was smooth, and white, and stainless, she answered his qnestioii by asking another, “Does this look like it?” . “Indeed it does not. But you must pardon me. You must be hungry; you must be half famished.” For'answer, she turned her face towards him.” Her cheeks were round and full, and rosy with health and strength. She threw back her head, and a rich, musical laugh rang out on the air, sweet and shrill as a bird-song. “I am not hungry, Captain Bertrand

Harmon," the said, "and I don't know that I shall need to trespass more noon yoar hospitality thnn to bpg (he privilege of a chair in which I may rest here <>n the sunny deck until you anchor in the harbor. It is not much 1 ask. is it?" The color deepeoeji in Bertrand Harmon’s bronZcif fiicc-at 1 the implied rebuke. “You are welcome, snd more than welcome, to anything I con offer,” he hastened to say; "and I beg your pardon if my questions have seemed unkind or impertinent. Still—still-" i “Bayit." shfi Baid withagmilc; “say. it, Captain Harmon.” "I was tnereiygoing to sfty that when a captain finds a woman perfect in her wardrobe, her manners, her conversation, on she deck of his ship, after weeks of tempest and storm—when he finds her looking as ’fresh ns though she never knew anything so rough as even the best accommodations 1 cotdn have given her on the Tidal Wave —whep he finds her strong and ruddy ns though she had never wanted food, and as bright-eyed as though she had lost no sleep —any curiosity which any son of Eve—" She tapped hor foot impatiently on the deck. ffTf ———-

. “W ns her curiosity an advantage to Eve, or was it not?” she added. Harmon shrugged Iris shoulders. - ------ “He jt so,” he said. Then added, “Am I to leave a name hv which to call you?" “Would ‘lhe friend of the birds’—/’ she commenced, saying what little she did with a very evident effort, but stopping at something she saw in the captain's face. “Alv nnme is Beatrice Oiseau,” she said. —He cared away at the distant headlands, and at the forests and hills and iields beyond. The day seemed suddenly to have lost its brightness for him. The land seemed so far away and unreal, though the ocean seemed to have narrowed until his life was bound and hampered by itß limits. His good ship—his and his father's before him—looked poor nnd mean, all at onfte, to the man who looked from it to the brown eyes opposite his nnd then away to the everlasting hills. Something new was stirring in _ his heart. Something new had come into his life. He looked away and w aited. He w aited for her to say more. But she had evidently said ajl she meant he should hear. The crew had taken the new-comer into their affection at once, it seemed, for they were talking of her while Harmon looked away to the west nnd waited. “She is our luck, and has been all this time,” said one. “Yes,” said another; “and I would go anywhere in the ship if she.were with us.” “So would I,” saida third; “but I wouldn’t venture again with' her gone.” “And her death would mean wreck and ruin.” "■ • a— . .* . • • • * «

“I love you, Beatrice Oiseau,” Captain Harmon said to her one night in the sweet summer weather, as they wandered together along tjie bench, in his native village, where she had been staying with his friends. “I love yon, Beatrice; will you make my life glad and happy by being my wife?” “Do vou care for me, just as I uin?" “I do. love, I do!” “Without knowing or caring how or when I came upon your ship?” “Without knowing, certainly!” “Nor caring?” 'lf you wish it so, yes; without caring.” “Without knowing or caring who l am?”. “Yes.” “Nor what I am?” “Yes.” “Your love is faithful?” “Y’es; faithful as life itself!” “And everlasting?” “Until death—and beyond it!” She laid her hand earnestly upon his arm. He could see-the'eager hope in her face as the moonlight shone down upon it. She asked him her one last question. “You will always keep in remembrance any wish I have ever expressed, and keep it in its very spirit?”. “I will! You know I will!” She let her head fall upon his shoulder. He could see the happy tears in her eyes. He had his answer without need of words, but. she gave him words, too. “I have been -so miserable. Now lam so happy. I will be your wife, and my whole life shall be devoted to your happiness and your good! I have loved you longer than you will ever guess or ever know. “

The next voyage of the Tidal Wave took the youuc bride upon her wedding tour. The one following she remained at home. The time seemed long. The ports visited were numerous. The kinjls of trade lead i barter in which the Captain was engaged were many. But all was prosperous; all was successful; skies were fair; breezes weTe favorable. -It-aeemedTB —though" 1 everything in sea and air were working together for the good of Captain Bertrand Harmon. When the ship came home at last, after being gone more than half a year, there was

a new joy in store for the broad-shouldered apd black-bearded Captain. There was a tiny baby girl in the little home, lying upon the pillow beside the happy face of Beatrice Harmon-a little life which came to bless her and her lover husband just as his ship came sailing up the bay. Baby Elsie was the pride of her father’s heart. Each time he went to-sea it became harder to leave Beatrice and her. Every time be came home he brought wonderful gifts to them both. v Elsie could have told strange stories about her mother had she known enough of’ the world to know that anything her own dear mother did was strange, or could be. She could have, told her how she would stand at the east window. for hours,. when the wind blew tod the ocean roared, and

sing songs which the baby brain could not understand, in & clear and bird-like voice, She could have told of the fear that she had seen written on her mother’s face many times when there was a stolffi abroad, and of the tears 6he had seen so often. But when papa came there were no fear, nor sorrow, nor tears. So she never spoke. And Beatrice never asked her husband to give up the sea, although she would nestle close to him when he sometimes spoke of a future in which he should be at home with her and little Elsie. Good fortune had followed the Tidal Wave for so long that her crew came back one by one, until, when Captain llarmon announced one day to his wife that the voyage on which he was to start that day would be his last one, he added th&t with the exception of those who were dead and gone it would be his old crew who would Sail with him. „ ‘ How it stormed! Hardly was the ship out of the bay before the wind and rain were beating in fierce fury .around the home of -Beatrice and Elsie. -W-.- - Time brought little change. One day would be a day of tempest. The next would be a day of dull rain from a leaden sky. Then would come the tempest again. . After a time there were days when the sky was clear, but the wind moaned in a sad undertone through them all, like a mad -creature not yet satisfied with the evil it had wrought. “t* Elsie lay in her little bed in frightened silence more than once, and watched her mother pace baefe and forth the whole long i length of their great room. Poor little - baby Elsie wiil always remember the white face,: the bitter tears, and the tightlyclasped hands which the poor mother showed to her young and wandering eyes njght after night, while the careworn mother

f believed the childish eyes were locked in slumber. jj ' .'] The terror Reached its climax one wild Decemberni£ht. There was note cloud in all the sky. The, moon rose calm and peaceful oVer. this distant sea. But the wind seemed to hurry on its way as it never hat! Indore. Elsie could not remember, to ; have ever beard so terrible a storm. Ttfe | mother’s -hand trembted' lMrshe undressed the baby girl, nnd her lip quivered as she kissed her good night. But she Was too good and bruve to wfish tb make a mere child share in her hitter sorrow and dreads and She kept hack her emotions for the dreary night itself. Elsie, after a few hours fitful slumber, woke and rooked around her./ The moonlight poured into the room in a broad, golden flood, looking so still and peaceful compared with the hurrying roar of the angry night outside. At the window stood her mother, looking like a cold white statue in the moonlight. Her, hands hung weak and helpless at her sides, instead of her fingers, writhing iu the frantic twistings which Elsie had so often watched. There were no tears on her face. It seemed to Elsie that they had frozen at their very'source. There were no words of wild song on her lips. She seemed to have lost all thought and all] memory. All powers but two seemed gone. Else trembled at the look in those great eyes. In heaven’s name, what could she j see? She trembled at the tell-tale poise of. j that head. No one had ever listened more ! intently than she was doing. What was ( it, beyond the horizon’s edge, beyond the j power of storm to keep from .her, that j she could hear? For God’s sake, what ; was it? Hhe leaned forward. The great broad' window was open. All at once a smile came into her face. She began to sing: “I love you sol I love you sol . Across the.night I coma ; - j But faithful be, j hv love, to me, And I will guide you homo! Your wave-venal ed dock Shall know no wreck, j Though wild the winds, may blow, - h If you are true As I to you. Because I love " It was a simple and homely song enough, j but poor baby Elsie will cry ovey it always, for it stands in her memory side by side w;jth the strangest and most terrible events she had ever known. At the end of the j second line there was a quick, rustling beat, like the flap of great wings. The moonlight fell in an unbroken flood through the window upon the floor. The clear nud birdlike voice she loved so well rose and fell on the wintry air. shrill and easily heard despite the storm. But her mother was gone. There was no doubt of that. Her place at the window was empty. Still the slow sojig sobbed on. Still the baby eyes watched the vacant place in the moonlight where her mother had stood. Still she waited—waited for the end. “If you are true As I to you, Because I love ” Then there was a sudden report; and her mother stood in her place at the window again. Stood there, clutching at the curtains and at the empty air. Stood there for half a minute, to go down in a shapeless heap upon the floor at the end of it. Wounded! Dead! Dead when Elsie's voice had brought help! Dead when they reaehed her! iahot through the breast with a rifle ball. Who killed her? Thtmjertectives have found no clue. God onlyknows. We may guess what we will. So you know the story thafpoor Htua Daßy Elsie has for her papa when he comes home. She watches for him every day. They think it is better so, although I think they would never make her believe them if they told her he would never comer But he never will. For another thing they do not dare tell her yet is, that the maimns§t, with its rigging, and with a great white bird tangled among the ropes, a great dead bird, which is unlike any bird the natural historians tell about, a bird with a rifle ball through its breast, is ail that ’was left of the Tidal Wave, It is all that has been found. It is enough! .