| Mine is a wild, strange story,—the strangest you ever heard; |
| There are many who won't believe it, but it's gospel, every word; |
| It's the biggest drama of any in a long, adventurous life; |
| The scene was a ship, and the actors—were myself and my new-wed wife. |
| |
| You musn't mind if I ramble, and lose the thread now and then; |
| I'm old, you know, and I wander—it's a way with old women and men, |
| For their lives lie all behind them, and their thoughts go far away, |
| And are tempted afield, like children lost on a summer day. |
| |
| The years must be five-and-twenty that have passed since that awful night, |
| But I see it again this evening, I can never shut out the sight. |
| We were only a few weeks married, I and the wife, you know, |
| When we had an offer for Melbourne, and made up our minds to go. |
| |
| We'd acted together in England, traveling up and down |
| With a strolling band of players, going from town to town; |
| We played the lovers together—we were leading lady and gent— |
| And at last we played in earnest, and straight to the church we went. |
| |
| The parson gave us his blessing, and I gave Nellie the ring, |
| And swore that I'd love and cherish, and endow her with everything. |
| How we smiled at that part of the service when I said "I thee endow"! |
| But as to the "love and cherish," I meant to keep that vow. |
| |
| We were only a couple of strollers; we had coin when the show was good, |
| When it wasn't we went without it, and we did the best we could. |
| We were happy, and loved each other, and laughed at the shifts we made,— |
| Where love makes plenty of sunshine, there poverty casts no shade. |
| |
| Well, at last we got to London, and did pretty well for a bit; |
| Then the business dropped to nothing, and the manager took a flit,— |
| Stepped off one Sunday morning, forgetting the treasury call; |
| But our luck was in, and we managed right on our feet to fall. |
| |
| We got an offer for Melbourne,—got it that very week. |
| Those were the days when thousands went over to fortune seek, |
| The days of the great gold fever, and a manager thought the spot |
| Good for a "spec," and took us as actors among his lot. |
| |
| We hadn't a friend in England—we'd only ourselves to please— |
| And we jumped at the chance of trying our fortune across the seas. |
| We went on a sailing vessel, and the journey was long and rough; |
| We hadn't been out a fortnight before we had had enough. |
| |
| But use is a second nature, and we'd got not to mind a storm, |
| When misery came upon us,—came in a hideous form. |
| My poor little wife fell ailing, grew worse, and at last so bad |
| That the doctor said she was dying,—I thought 'twould have sent me mad,— |
| |
| Dying where leagues of billows seemed to shriek for their prey, |
| And the nearest land was hundreds—aye, thousands—of miles away. |
| She raved one night in a fever, and the next lay still as death, |
| So still I'd to bend and listen for the faintest sign of breath. |
| |
| She seemed in a sleep, and sleeping, with a smile on her thin, wan face,— |
| She passed away one morning, while I prayed to the throne of grace. |
| I knelt in the little cabin, and prayer after prayer I said, |
| Till the surgeon came and told me it was useless—my wife was dead! |
| |
| Dead! I wouldn't believe it. They forced me away that night, |
| For I raved in my wild despairing, the shock sent me mad outright. |
| I was shut in the farthest cabin, and I beat my head on the side, |
| And all day long in my madness, "They've murdered her!" I cried. |
| |
| They locked me away from my fellows,—put me in cruel chains, |
| It seems I had seized a weapon to beat out the surgeon's brains. |
| I cried in my wild, mad fury, that he was a devil sent |
| To gloat o'er the frenzied anguish with which my heart was rent. |
| |
| I spent that night with the irons heavy upon my wrists, |
| And my wife lay dead quite near me. I beat with my fettered fists, |
| Beat at my prison panels, and then—O God!—and then |
| I heard the shrieks of women and the tramp of hurrying men. |
| |
| I heard the cry, "Ship afire!" caught up by a hundred throats, |
| And over the roar the captain shouting to lower the boats; |
| Then cry upon cry, and curses, and the crackle of burning wood, |
| And the place grew hot as a furnace, I could feel it where I stood. |
| |
| I beat at the door and shouted, but never a sound came back, |
| And the timbers above me started, till right through a yawning crack |
| I could see the flames shoot upward, seizing on mast and sail, |
| Fanned in their burning fury by the breath of the howling gale. |
| |
| I dashed at the door in fury, shrieking, "I will not die! |
| Die in this burning prison!"—but I caught no answering cry. |
| Then, suddenly, right upon me, the flames crept up with a roar, |
| And their fiery tongues shot forward, cracking my prison door. |
| |
| I was free—with the heavy iron door dragging me down to death; |
| I fought my way to the cabin, choked with the burning breath |
| Of the flames that danced around me like man-mocking fiends at play, |
| And then—O God! I can see it, and shall to my dying day. |
| |
|
| There lay my Nell as they'd left her, dead in her berth that night; |
| The flames flung a smile on her features,—a horrible, lurid light. |
| God knows how I reached and touched her, but I found myself by her side; |
| I thought she was living a moment, I forgot that my Nell had died. |
| |
| In the shock of those awful seconds reason came back to my brain; |
| I heard a sound as of breathing, and then a low cry of pain; |
| Oh, was there mercy in heaven? Was there a God in the skies? |
| The dead woman's lips were moving, the dead woman opened her eyes. |
| |
| I cursed like a madman raving—I cried to her, "Nell! my Nell!" |
| They had left us alone and helpless, alone in that burning hell; |
| They had left us alone to perish—forgotten me living—and she |
| Had been left for the fire to bear her to heaven, instead of the sea. |
| |
| I clutched at her, roused her shrieking, the stupor was on her still; |
| I seized her in spite of my fetters,—fear gave a giant's will. |
| God knows how I did it, but blindly I fought through the flames and the wreck |
| Up—up to the air, and brought her safe to the untouched deck. |
| |
| We'd a moment of life together,—a moment of life, the time |
| For one last word to each other,—'twas a moment supreme, sublime. |
| From the trance we'd for death mistaken, the heat had brought her to life, |
| And I was fettered and helpless, so we lay there, husband and wife! |
| |
| It was but a moment, but ages seemed to have passed away, |
| When a shout came over the water, and I looked, and lo, there lay, |
| Right away from the vessel, a boat that was standing by; |
| They had seen our forms on the vessel, as the flames lit up the sky. |
| |
| I shouted a prayer to Heaven, then called to my wife, and she |
| Tore with new strength at my fetters—God helped her, and I was free; |
| Then over the burning bulwarks we leaped for one chance of life. |
| Did they save us? Well, here I am, sir, and yonder's my dear old wife. |
| |
| We were out in the boat till daylight, when a great ship passing by |
| Took us on board, and at Melbourne landed us by and by. |
| We've played many parts in dramas since we went on that famous trip, |
| But ne'er such a scene together as we had on the burning ship! |
| |
| George B. Sims. |
| A sad-faced little fellow sits alone in deep disgrace, |
| There's a lump arising in his throat, tears streaming down his face; |
| He wandered from his playmates, for he doesn't want to hear |
| Their shouts of merry laughter, since the world has lost its cheer; |
| He has sipped the cup of sorrow, he has drained the bitter glass, |
| And his heart is fairly breaking; he's the boy who didn't pass. |
| |
| In the apple tree the robin sings a cheery little song, |
| But he doesn't seem to hear it, showing plainly something's wrong; |
| Comes his faithful little spaniel for a romp and bit of play, |
| But the troubled little fellow sternly bids him go away. |
| All alone he sits in sorrow, with his hair a tangled mass, |
| And his eyes are red with weeping; he's the boy who didn't pass. |
| |
| How he hates himself for failing, he can hear his playmates jeer, |
| For they've left him with the dullards—gone ahead a half a year, |
| And he tried so hard to conquer, oh, he tried to do his best, |
| But now he knows, he's weaker, yes, and duller than the rest. |
| He's ashamed to tell his mother, for he thinks she'll hate him, too— |
| The little boy who didn't pass, who failed of getting through. |
| |
| Oh, you who boast a laughing son, and speak of him as bright, |
| And you who love a little girl who comes to you at night |
| With smiling eyes, with dancing feet, with honors from her school, |
| Turn to that lonely little boy who thinks he is a fool, |
| And take him kindly by the hand, the dullest in his class, |
| He is the one who most needs love, the boy who didn't pass. |
| Yes, it's a quiet station, but it suits me well enough; |
| I want a bit of the smooth now, for I've had my share o' rough. |
| This berth that the company gave me, they gave as the work was light; |
| I was never fit for the signals after one awful night, |
| I'd been in the box from a younker, and I'd never felt the strain |
| Of the lives at my right hand's mercy in every passing train. |
| One day there was something happened, and it made my nerves go queer, |
| And it's all through that as you find me the station-master here. |
| |
| I was on at the box down yonder—that's where we turn the mails, |
| And specials, and fast expresses, on to the center rails; |
| The side's for the other traffic—the luggage and local slows. |
| It was rare hard work at Christmas, when double the traffic grows. |
| I've been in the box down yonder nigh sixteen hours a day, |
| Till my eyes grew dim and heavy, and my thoughts went all astray; |
| But I've worked the points half-sleeping—and once I slept outright, |
| Till the roar of the Limited woke me, and I nearly died with fright. |
| |
| Then I thought of the lives in peril, and what might have been their fate |
| Had I sprung to the points that evening a tenth of a tick too late; |
| And a cold and ghastly shiver ran icily through my frame |
| As I fancied the public clamor, the trial, and bitter shame. |
| I could see the bloody wreckage—I could see the mangled slain— |
| And the picture was seared for ever, blood-red, on my heated brain. |
| That moment my nerve was shattered, for I couldn't shut out the thought |
| Of the lives I held in my keeping, and the ruin that might be wrought. |
| |
| That night in our little cottage, as I kissed our sleeping child, |
| My wife looked up from her sewing, and told me, as she smiled, |
| That Johnny had made his mind up—he'd be a pointsman, too. |
| "He says when he's big, like daddy, he'll work in the box with you." |
| I frowned, for my heart was heavy, and my wife she saw the look; |
| Lord bless you! my little Alice could read me like a book. |
| I'd to tell her of what had happened, and I said that I must leave, |
| For a pointsman's arm ain't trusty when terror lurks in his sleeve. |
| |
| But she cheered me up in a minute, and that night, ere we went to sleep, |
| She made me give her a promise, which I swore that I'd always keep— |
| It was always to do my duty. "Do that, and then, come what will, |
| You'll have no worry." said Alice, "if things go well or ill. |
| There's something that always tells us the thing that we ought to do"— |
| My wife was a bit religious, and in with the chapel crew. |
| But I knew she was talking reason, and I said to myself, says I, |
| "I won't give in like a coward, it's a scare that'll soon go by." |
| |
| Now, the very next day the missus had to go to the market town; |
| She'd the Christmas things to see to, and she wanted to buy a gown. |
| She'd be gone for a spell, for the Parley didn't come back till eight, |
| And I knew, on a Christmas Eve, too, the trains would be extra late. |
| So she settled to leave me Johnny, and then she could turn the key— |
| For she'd have some parcels to carry, and the boy would be safe with me. |
| He was five, was our little Johnny, and quiet, and nice, and good— |
| He was mad to go with daddy, and I'd often promised he should. |
| |
| It was noon when the missus started,—her train went by my box; |
| She could see, as she passed my window, her darling's curly locks, |
| I lifted him up to mammy, and he kissed his little hand, |
| Then sat, like a mouse, in the corner, and thought it was fairyland. |
| But somehow I fell a-thinking of a scene that would not fade, |
| Of how I had slept on duty, until I grew afraid; |
| For the thought would weigh upon me, one day I might come to lie |
| In a felon's cell for the slaughter of those I had doomed to die. |
| |
| The fit that had come upon me, like a hideous nightmare seemed, |
| Till I rubbed my eyes and started like a sleeper who has dreamed. |
| For a time the box had vanished—I'd worked like a mere machine— |
| My mind had been on the wander, and I'd neither heard nor seen, |
| With a start I thought of Johnny, and I turned the boy to seek, |
| Then I uttered a groan of anguish, for my lips refused to speak; |
| There had flashed such a scene of horror swift on my startled sight |
| That it curdled my blood in terror and sent my red lips white. |
| |
| It was all in one awful moment—I saw that the boy was lost: |
| He had gone for a toy, I fancied, some child from a train had tossed; |
| The local was easing slowly to stop at the station here, |
| And the limited mail was coming, and I had the line to clear. |
| I could hear the roar of the engine, I could almost feel its breath, |
| And right on the center metals stood my boy in the jaws of death; |
| On came the fierce fiend, tearing straight for the center line, |
| And the hand that must wreck or save it, O merciful God, was mine! |
| |
| 'Twas a hundred lives or Johnny's. O Heaven! what could I do?— |
| Up to God's ear that moment a wild, fierce question flew— |
| "What shall I do, O Heaven?" and sudden and loud and clear |
| On the wind came the words, "Your duty," borne to my listening ear. |
| Then I set my teeth, and my breathing was fierce and short and quick. |
| "My boy!" I cried, but he heard not; and then I went blind and sick; |
| The hot black smoke of the engine came with a rush before, |
| I turned the mail to the center, and by it flew with a roar. |
| |
| Then I sank on my knees in horror, and hid my ashen face— |
| I had given my child to Heaven; his life was a hundred's grace. |
| Had I held my hand a moment, I had hurled the flying mail |
| To shatter the creeping local that stood on the other rail! |
| Where is my boy, my darling? O God! let me hide my eyes. |
| How can I look—his father—on that which there mangled lies? |
| That voice!—O merciful Heaven!—'tis the child's, and he calls my name! |
| I hear, but I cannot see him, for my eyes are filled with flame. |
| |
| I knew no more that night, sir, for I fell, as I heard the boy; |
| The place reeled round, and I fainted,—swooned with the sudden joy. |
| But I heard on the Christmas morning, when I woke in my own warm bed |
| With Alice's arms around me, and a strange wild dream in my head, |
| That she'd come by the early local, being anxious about the lad, |
| And had seen him there on the metals, and the sight nigh drove her mad— |
| She had seen him just as the engine of the Limited closed my view, |
| And she leapt on the line and saved him just as the mail dashed through. |
| She was back in the train in a second, and both were safe and sound; |
| The moment they stopped at the station she ran here, and I was found |
| With my eyes like a madman's glaring, and my face a ghastly white: |
| I heard the boy, and I fainted, and I hadn't my wits that night. |
| Who told me to do my duty? What voice was that on the wind? |
| Was it fancy that brought it to me? or were there God's lips behind? |
| If I hadn't 'a' done my duty—had I ventured to disobey— |
| My bonny boy and his mother might have died by my hand that day. |
| |
| George R. Sims. |