Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 August 1877 — WHEN THE SHIP COMES IN. [ARTICLE]

WHEN THE SHIP COMES IN.

A aweet-faced woman and a sweet-fared child are wandering among the shipping docks of the great city. The woman is plainly dressed, but evidently in her best attire, and there is a touch of gentility in her finery, in the real lace collar, relic of better days perhaps; the pearl ear-rings and the neat gloves. The child is neatly dressed, too, and as she clasps the woman’s hand, looks love at her guardian. But the woman’s face is not at its best now; there is an anguished expression upon it, a careworn look, and a faint wrinkle upon the pale forehead that ages her and lessens the charm of her features. She is inquiring of the dock men, of the stevedores, of the loungers about the wharves, whether the brig “ Good Luck” has come in. She always receives the same reply to her eager question, and that reply is, that the brig “ Good Luck” has been lost a month ago, dashed on a lee shore and ground to pieces by the sea, and will never come in—never—nevermore. If they told her, she wouldn’t believe them, for this woman and her child have supreme faith —feel as sure as God rules, that the brig “Good Luck” will come in, and oome in soon with cargo and crew, though they have been asking the same question and breathing the same prayer tor many and many a day. Then she goes "across the street and winds her way among the bales and boxes and passing carts, and through all the hubbub anil bustle of the wharf, and climbs a flight of stairs to where the Brig’s owners have their office. They are used to seeing- her. They smile sadly when she enters with the child, and look significantly at one another, as much as to say: “Poor thing! she’s mad. No wonder, no wonder!” Mad! Yes, she is mad with “hope deferred,” with anxiety to meet her husband, Caleb Seller, Master of the brig Good Luck; to meet the Master of the brig, her husband and the father of this child. God of Heaven! why does he stay away from her so long? “Is the Good Luck in yet?” she asks of a clerk. “ Not yet, ma’am.” “She’s expected, of course, to-day?” “Of course.” “There’s a vessel coming in now. I see the tall masts. Look! look!” pointing out of the office window to the river front. “ Maybe it! Ellie dear, look! there’s father’s vessel, with father on board!” The child clasps her little hands at the sight. “Horry to say that ain’t it, ma’am,” says the clerk, relapsing into his calculations, and paying no more attention to the woman. She stares out of the open window at the approaching vessel, drawn by a tug, and then, with a blank look upon her face and a moan that is heart-rending, says: “No, Ellie, no! That is not the Good Luck. I see the figure-head; the figurehead of the Good Luck is an angel; a white and gold angel. No, no! that isn’t it.” “But papa will come home soon, won’t he, mamma?” whispers the child. “Yes, yes, yea 1 To-day, my darling, to-day.” Old Mr. Tawrnan, who is the head of the establishment here, now comes from behind his desk, and, approaching the woman, says, in a kindly tone: “Mrs. Belter, sit down; make yourself as comfortable as you can in a dingy office like this. Here little one, come here; five me a kiss. A bright, pretty little ear, Mrs. Belter.” “She looks pale,” said the mother. “She is tired; she has been walking too much.” “ Mamma, ?I don’t mind walking to find father. I’m not tired.” \ The old gentleman sits down and lifts the little girl on his knee and kisses her. She winds her arms about his neck and exclaims: “ You’ll tell my papa to come soon, won’t you ?” “ Yes, dear." It was the habit of this firm to pay a sort of pension monthly to the widows of CaDtains who were lost in their service. It was not much of a stipend, being only half-pay, but it was certainly a blessing in very many cases. Mrs. Belter had always received her husband’s money here while he was at sea, or it was sent to her when she was sick, or the weather bad. “ Ah, Mr. Tawrnan, I’m sure the Good Luck will be in to-day!” “ Certainly it will! What’s to hinder it?" he answers. He puts tne child down and goes over to his desk, and unlocking a drawer he takes out an account book and begins writing a receipt. Then goes over into the Cashier’s room. While he is there tire telegraph clerk calls him over. Click, clicklty click! goes the magic instrument, repeating its dot and dash message. - Hear that.!”,,, jaya the operator. “That’s news for you!” The proprietor could read every word by its sound. “ It’s like a message from God," says Mr. Tawrnan, reverently. “ I must not tell her." He comes back to where the woman idi sitting, his face flushed with emotion; some strange excitement. He throws into her lap a bundle of bank notes. “There, Mrs. Belter, now go home. Take a car at the don?." “Oh, I’m not tired. Ant) I should like to be here when the brig comestn. Butl thank you so much, so much."

“ Here, little one,” says the good-heart-ed Tswmna. “here’s something for you to buy candles with,” He puts into her tiny outstretched palm a bright quarter of a dollar, and laughs at the wonder and delight of tbo little recipient. “I’ll keep this for my papa.” Poor little thing, she Is weary unto sleep. She cuddles herself In the big chair and sinks into sluanber in an instant. “ Now, Mrs, Belter, you’re had no dinner,” says Tasman. “Oh, yes, sir,” “Yesterday, perhaps) but I mean today. Go down with Mr. Pelton here, our young man, and get something to eat. You see wo hare arrangements here for the comfort of our clerks. We give them a hot dinner, and a good dinner, too. There’s nobody there now. Everybody’s dined. Go down there, and ask the waiter, George,” addressing Mr. Pelton, whom he Lad summoned, “to give tnis good lady a cup of tea and a piece of toast, some chicken, and all that.” Then, pausing a moment, as if propriety and philanthropy are struggling for mastery in his mind, “ No, no, George. Tell Henderson to send the dinner up into my room here; that’s better!” The young roan leaves the room. Then Mr. Tawinan enters the office again and consults the telegraph operator. "Bend this message at once, Mr. Lindlay, if you please.” He w.rites sometiling, and the operator clicks it off at once. It’s a long message, a very long message, indeed; but the President’s message itself is not so important, so interesting, to those whom it concerns.” Then, by the time tho message is sent, the dinner is ready in Mr. Tawinan’s private office, when Mrs. Belter partakes of it, but does not think proper to waken the weary child, that she may eat, also. Then Mr. Tawinan says: “Now, you had better go. I’ll see to the child; I’ll bring the little girl up with me to-night.” “No, no!” exclaims the mother. “I must Lave my Ellie with me always, sir. You are so very good, though, sir; so very good! And is there no news of the Good Luck ?’’ “ Not a word, I’m sorry to s«.y.” “It can’t be possible. The brig must come in to-day." “ I’m sure I hope so, with all mv heart and soul, Mrs. Belter.” “ I know you do,” she responds, with a sigh. “Now, go. I’m sorry you have to wakcu the child, but I suppose you can’t help it.” “ Come, Ellie,” says the mother, touching her lightly on the shoulder. The child with a start awakes and cries: “Is it my papa? Dear, dear papa!” Then seeing her disappointment, ahe bursts into tears. “ Don’t cry, dear, don’t cry. The brig will come in! Don’t cry!” the good old man speaks soothingly to the sobbing child; and the mother catching her hand walks slowly and sadly away, followed by Mr. Tawraan, who lifts the little girl down the stairs, and helps both her and her mother into a car. The next morning the woman is again loitering about the wharves with the same agonized inquiry. She again puts the question to the wharfmen, and again receives only the same answer. Then, as before, she seeks the office of the brig owners, still accompanied by her little girl, and asks: “ Has the brig Good Luck come in yet?” “Notyet, ma’am.” She sighs and looks out of the window at the shipping. Bhe says she will wait for Tawinan, and sits down. When Mr. Tawman comes in, as usual, he greets her veiy kindly, and kisses the little girl and says: “ I’m sorry the brig isn’t in yet!” “ Will it be in to-dav?” “I hope so.” And he goes behind his desk and looks over his letters. He has not been long engaged in his correspondence, when a scream from the woman startles nim. She has risen and is pointing excitedly out of the window. “Here is a ship, coming in; look, look!” “That’s not it,” says a clerk; “that’s a schooner.” “Oh, no!” adds Mr. Tawman; “that’s not the Good Luck.” “It is! it is!” She darts from the office, dragging the child after her, runs across the crowded street, across the hustling wharf out to the very edge ot the water. Mr. Tawman rushes to the window, opens it and calls to her. To no purpi.se, however. All the clerks cluster about the window to watch her. “The woman is mad,” says one. “ She’s going to drown herselt.” Tawman says quietly to the telegraph operator: “ It’s the Mary.” The schooner is being towed up the river by a tug. She is making preparations to anchor in the stream, opposite the wharf. All this time Mrs. Belter is standing in the midst of a crowd of excited people, waving her handkerchief, and the little girl is waving hers. “Look! look there! There’s a man overboard 1” cries one of the clerks. A cry of alarm goes up from the wharf. “Thunder!” exclaims Mr. Tawman, thoroughly aroused. “What does that mean?” “ He’s swimming like a fish,” says a clerk. “He has landed. Hark at thecheersl” “ God of Mercy? look! look!” shouted the operator. “She is hugging him; so ia the little girl. It’s Capt. Belter!” “Thank God!” exclaimed Tawman, “ and pray Heaven she may not sink under the shock! Poor woman. How she clings to the drenched man. Dear! dear!" Then he puts on his hat and runs downstairs like a boy, and darts over to where husband and wife and child are, united and happy. “ The Good Luck’s come in!" yells Tawman, lustily. “Ah!” he exclaimed, shaking the Captain by the hand, and not caring for tbe gaping and wondering crowd all around nim, “this is good luck, my boy, isn’t it, eh ? Did you get my telegram ?” When the man can apeak he answers: “Yes.” • “ I planned it all!” chatters old Tawman. “ You see, I got a dispatch, yesterday, from the Breakwater, saying that Capt. Belter had been picked up on a raft by the schooner Mary, bound in, and that you were coming up by rail from Lewes. I telegraphed back word for you to come up in the schooner, for a certain purpose. The shock would have been worse to her if I hadn’t. I told her when I put her in the car yesterday, that the brig would come in, and come in it did. Over to the office, every one of you, and after dinner and dry clothes, Cap., we’ll have a talk about business. Come on!” In a paper read recently by Mr. E. G. Ravenstein before the Statiftfcal Society London, on the populations of Russia and Turkey, he stated some facts of especial interest at present. Russia has a population of 84,584,482, while Turkey has only 25,986,858. The increase of the former is 1.1 per cent, per annum, the Jews being the most prolific of the inhabitants; but toTurfeey—tfae-author believes that the Turks proper do not increase at all, owing to the vicious habits of the women and the losses entailed in defending the empire. In Russia there are 100 Russians to every fifty of other nationalities, and 109 Christians to eveiy sixteen Mohammedans and pagans, while in Turkey there are only 100 Turks to every 197 of other inhabitants. A vert precise person, remarking upon Shakespeare’s line “The good men do is oft interred with their hones,” carefully observed that this interment can generally take place without crowding the bonea.