Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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flhe T . . .By HO WA'R Copyright. 1908, ERE are two matters which may help to give me a nook of your mind for a few min utes. If you haven't heard of one, you very likely have heard of the other. First, I am the only original sur vivor of the Delphic, that was lost at sea in May of 1887; second, in partner ship with Tom Campbell I discovered the Golden Bush mine in Idaho. The wreck of the Delphic figures in this! story; the Gold en Bush mine merely stands in the background as a source, of affluence. I was five years old when f the Delphic was lost. With my father and moth er and infant sister I had sail 'ed from Liver pool in this ill -- fated vessel, which was in collision before THE sHOULDER.B she got out oi. sight of the harbor. She returned and was laid up for several days, not very much damaged, but most of the passengers were sent forward by another ship. My parents chose to stay by the Delphic, I know iot why. It has always been supposed that she struck an iceberg off the banks. I can -tell you only that the disaster was at night. I remember the awak ening, the thrill of half realized ter ror, the wild noises and the trampling. My father was carrying me, wrapped in a coat, my mother following with little Hilda. Then something crashed. I recall no feeling of a blow, but my consciousness went out like a candle. The next thing I knew it was dawn and I was in a boat with one sailor who had a wounded head and was cov ered with blood. It has been sup posed that this boat was lowered end foremost in true panic style and all aboard her were pitched out except the wounded sailor and myself. Eventually we were picked up by a sailing vessel, my companion uncon scious and dying. I was taken to Bos ton and sent on thence to an uncle in New York, by whom I was reared. He died when I was thirteen, leaving a small property In trust. I attended Co lumbia college and school of mines and eventually took my inheritance and went west Two years later came the affair of the Golden Bush, and I was rich. The larger part of the year 1907 1 spent in New York and thereabouts. I had everything except a home. On uie 23d of Degember of that year I was lyving in luxurious bachelor apart ments, more lonely than I was in the week that I spent on the Golden Bush ch.im with only the haggard faces of the mountains for company. On the evening of the day that ii have named I returned from a rather early and very lonesome dinner and found a young man named Connor waiting for me. I had never met him before. He was a sturdy, pleasant fel low, Celtic and Dutch on the face of ,and he introduced himself by pre - senting a letter from a very es timable an d charming young ma tro n, Mrs. ME l' Leslie Gil bert. whose some what misguided Km charities had oc-j L ~ casionally ap I' pealed to my1 S pocket. "Mr. Connor 1will tell you a '1 surprising sto Al r, wrote this ad."I would have liked to tell at - . youmyefbu BROTHER!" SAID he insists upon SHE' his right. He -S journalist, and this is his story. My rtiest congratulations." In my apartments the tables were ttered with photographs, as they al-' ays are. My fad since I was a boy as been the study of the different! inds of men and the faces that they ear. I do not study horses,, but it ppened that I had some photographs at had been sent up from a friend's ock farm in Kentucky, and it seem-! to me that. Connor saw these beforei fairly got into the room. He did t notice any of the portraits of peo e, but plumped straight down upon e picture of a horse which he recog ed Instantly, though there was no ering on It. 'Humbert'" he cried and went on to e me the horse's pedigree-Bertram one side and Humble on the other, all the rest off it-but suddeu!y ke off this strain :mnd came to the iness that had brought him there. 'rst, with inimitable brevity and he sketched the wreck of the ice. ." said he in closing, "were the rvivor." iristmas g D FIE L7 IVG .. . by C. N. Lurie "I have found another," said he "There floated away from that wretch- ( ed vessel, heaven knows how, a sort of life raft, very small and not prop- r erly a part of the regular equipment u of the ship, though It was stenciled i with her name. There is a tradition c that one of the officers of the Delphic a invented this style of raft or was in- I terested In it in some way. Anyhow. n it was aboard, and it floated and was o picked up by a fishing schooner out of j Newfoundland. It bore the dead body e of a man and a living child. The man had saved this child even after his h own death, for his stiffened arms held p it. A little girl" T took Connor by the shoulder. s "You are going to tell me," said I, r "that this girl was my sister. Don't 1i do it unless you're sure. I am very a much alone in the world. A sister b would mean to me-well, perhaps rath- C er more than you could easily believe." c He took some sheets of paper from k his pocket. They were folded and fas- n tened together at a corner. a "Tbere's a list," said he, "of every g human being on the Delphic. I told a you that nearly all the original pas- a sengers -. ere transferred to another p vessel. What resulted? Why. just this-there was only one girl baby on the ship!" The simplicity and force of this statement staggered me. There re mained, of course, many questions. but I was unable for the moment to frame one. "Let me tell you," said he, "how I first got on the track of this. It was through Mrs. Gilbert. She is interested in the Woman's Exchange, as you're aware, and thus she came to know a very beautiful and charming girl who brought embroideries to the exchange to be sold. This girl fell ill, and-well, she was pretty hard up; that's the fact about It." The tears rushed to my eyes. Ill and destitute, my sister, and I so rich that people pointed me out In public places as the Golden Bush man! "Mrs. Gilbert was very good4to her," continued Connor, "but I guess the best thling she did for her was to tell me that the young lady was a survivor of the Delphic and had been brought up by foster parents at a place in NewfoundIEnd. I thought I saw a story, and I telegraphed to our corre spondent in Newfoundland on my own account. When I got his answer which was, a peach, as you'll see-I made some investigations here through the agents of the line to which the Dephic belonged and had the luck to' tumble straight on one old fellow who knew everything and had records and j all that. Then I went to Mrs. Gilbert and told her what I had learned. You .. may imagine her surprise in view of her acquaintance with you and thef fact that she didn't know that you were the original T)elphic survivor." e "I never told her," said I, "but I sup posed she knew. It has been printed ~ often enough." b "Mrs. C:ibert says she never reads t< the papers." replied Connor. "There 1 was only one kink in the story, and that was the reason why the rescue g of your sister was kept so extraor dinarily quiet. Why didn't your unc]e t hear of it? I don't know yet, but that can't alter the fact As to her being cg a survivor of the Delphic, my man in Newfoundland says there is no shadow of doubt whatever. You will see in his story" He was interrupted by a ring at my telephone. I heard the voice of Mrs. -. Gilbert: "Oh, Mr. Owen, is that you? Has he told you ?" "Yes," .1 answered. d "Isn't it wonderful? isn't it beauti- ri ful? I've told her! You must come up-you must come right up. Take i an electric, you and Mr. Connor. I'll wait for you right here. The doctor he is with her now." h This overwhelmed me, accustomed as I was to Mrs. Gilbert's exuberant style of conversation> I could only gasp, "Where are you ?"I "At the drug store on the corner," she replied. "Mr. Connor will know. t Hurry!" It appeared that Mr. Connor really e did know, and we obeyed instructions and hurried. We found Mrs. Gilbert'.t and she led us a little way along a rather poor street, but not squalid, and si into a bleak hall bedroom in a lodging ouse. I That was the room my sister had used before Mrs. Gilbert had trans ferred her to a better one. It was a a: "hall room," somewhat larger than a prison cell, sparely but neatly furnish- e ed, unprovided with any means for heating except a wretched apparatus fitted to the gas fixture. My sister had tu lived there. She had lain ill in that narrow bed without care. without at- bl tendance. doubtless poorly fed. I thought of it. and I remnembe,red that T~ evenings extravagant dininer with nau- e I am not ashamed to say that my knees shook under me when I was summoned to the larger' room. There og was a bed with its head against the vy wall opposite the door. I saw only a.I part+ of it, ust a whieness of piled 1ore like feeling il.11 . Viig. I Ier eived the doctor in the shadows be ond the bed, watching. The girl's eyes were blue. They eemed very large in her pale and thin ace. They spoke to me in a silent an uage that I knew. They reached out i my soul with a natural, deep long suwi I extended my hand to her. and she I rasped it with a quick. childish clutch. I "My brother!" said she. and the tears ushed from her eyes. I have since been informed that I equitted myself admirably. Three 6itnesses have testified in my favor our, indeed, if I include my sister. vhose emotional state may be held to npair the value of her testimony. "You were a dear," declared Mrs. rilbert. 'I could have hugged you." But this is the way it appeared to ae: That I was confronted by a sit ation utterly impossible and beyond aortal tact and discretion; that of two ourses open to me I chose the worse nd might have done much better than did even with that. You must take 2y evidence against that of all the thers, for I alone was competent to adge of my conduct., as you will pres ntly see. My sister told me that she had been :nown as Della Gray. the first name robably- having been derived from' )elphie. Gray was the name of the kipper of the fishing vessel that had esened her. In his home she hlO ved until her ninth year. when a lady. summer visitor in Newfoundland. ad taken her away to the town of ha'ham, N. H. Why the Grays had i onsented to have her go she did not now, but it was something about oney. The lady from Chatham was Mrs. Lawrence, and she lived in a ood home. At her death two years go my sister had come to New 'York nd had been employed -e- a stenogra her in the office of a lawyez, a cousin INI [ARDENBERG AN~D CONNOR BOTi STARI f her late patron. He dieaI wrtnm a aw months, and then began the days1 t dire; poverty, the days of embroid Mrs. Gilbert described her meeting ith my sister and spoke with tears in er eyes of the efforts she had made 1 induce my sister to accept "the least ttle thing." "She won't let anybody do anything1 r her." she declared. "Except her brother," said!I. and the uin hand that still lay in 'ine thrilled -Rh happiness as it answered my, tasp). Then I told her that her real uame -as Hilda Owen and that if there was nything in the world that she wanted'i er big brother Bob would go right 1 t and get it. To which she replied y saying "Robert" several times very 1 ftly and sweetly. The hour was up, and we were all cluded, leaving Hilda with Dr. Har enberg and a nurse who had just ar ved. Mrs. Gilbert rode home in her Rr, while Connor and I walked aim ~ssly for a matter of half an hour. hen I led him to Dr. Hardenberg's use. The doctor was at work with is microscope. "This is the best result I've had," he t tid. "This Is absolutely confirmatory." He had been studying a part of a 1 rop of blocd 1aken from my' sister's nger tip. wherein he saw the germ, e infinitesimal enemy that warred t ~ainst her health, and recognized the -eature by its aspect. "Doctor" said 1, "you have permit d me to hold a somewhat exciting 1 iterview with your patient. I hope < 2e has taken no harm." t "Harm!" he cried. "I should think ot. She'll get well in half the time." e "What result would follon,-' I ask- I , "if she should now be told that I c not her brother?" r Hardenberg and Connor both start- r back from me, staring. "Good heavens!" cried the doctor. I What do you mean? I wouldn't have! s at happen for a mint of money!" But you know that I'm not her rother, don't you ?"r "I?" he gasped. "No. You must be. here was no other female child ex at your sister1 on that ship. TIow, in we doubt?' "You have seen us bot:h." said 1-- n you who can recognize the features t that iflcrosco'pie''-creature which ( ou have to magnify a thousand times,. suppose, in order to see it at all." t "I'v go t 1,50 on It tonight," said '* tmat.chbox. But W11at of it N "If you meau that she doesu't look e Ike you," said Connor, "I tell you -ou're dead wrong. There's a strong i amily resemblance." r "'And you're the man," said 1, "who ;aw a horse for a few minutes two ears ago and spotted a photograph of lim tonight at a glance. Do you sup t >ose I could go to the nearest stable md buy a horse-and a good one, too -and pass him off on you as a son of1 Bertran and Humble?" "But your sister isn't a horse," pro :ested Connor. "She's a human being. r'here's a thundering sight of differ mece." "There's this difference," said I 'that it's easy to find a man who inows something about a horse. And iow let me tell you what this young C ady is whom 1 have had the peculiar peasure of meeting tonight. She is a horoughbred Saxon, the last one left dlive. I should suppose; certainly the nost beautiful example. it what Im I?" "English," said 'Connor promptly. 'Just as English as she is." "Both my father and my mother vere born In Wales." said I. "Both iad what you would call Norman an estry on one side and Cymric on the >ther. I am colored like a Norman. but io person who has made even the most ursory study ,of the subject could fail :o recognize my Cymric blood at a ance. On the other hand, there is not he faintest shadow of a possibility :hat this youn-g lady has one drop of :hat blood in her veins." There was a moment's silence, then .onnor said. almost with a sob: "You don't like her." It was the word of a warm hearted [rishman. That good fellow had ear estly rejoiced in the idea that he was orking to make two people happy, Lnd now he was disappointed. I took - TREDBC FO E G. 2s hand, which he was not overwilling : give me. "I will speak to yott," said I, "as to a 'riend and to you, doctor, whom I uave not the pleasure of knowing so! well, as to a man of honor and discre on. I am very deeply and strongly Ltttracted toward this young lady. It would be a strange and hard service hat I would not render her, a bitter acrifice that I should hesitate to make or her advantage. Do I wish she were ny sister? God knows. The question lready begins to press upon my heart. :n the very first instant I knew that she was not, but when I looked into er eyes and saw the loneliness and the onging I would have died rather than crieve her. So I sat there and lied." I "Great!" said the doctor. "You're he man for my money. You lied like gentleman- Nobody could have done t better. I don't know what would' iave happened if you hadn't." "Give me a week." cried Connor. 'and I'll prove she's your sister, noJ natter if you're an Eskimo. Why.1 nan, it's a positive certainty." "And meanwhile what?" said I. t "Go right ahead." said the doctor. I "Accept her affection upon false pre-' enses," said I. "Cheat her into tak ng gifts from a stranger; sit by h'er eand help her to build air castles I rhtevery solid foundation of my noney. And you hav'e been so kind as o call me a gentleman" "If you do the other thing." said the t octor with fervor. "I give you my C rofessional word that the result won'ts ook to you very much like the work f a gentleman. If you value her safe- I y you'li play brother." "That's talking." said Connor. "An:,d. nyhow,. she is your sister, so whatb iarm can thuere be?" When I returned to my apartments I t< eceived word that Mrs. Gilbert had equested me to call her up by tele- ef ihone, whatever the hour might be. t was then midnight. but I obeyed in tructions. "I happened to think," said the lady', that you'd want some help tomor "It's very kind of you." I replied. About what?" "Why. your presents: the things~ oull buy for fIIlldh. Of course sUe *eeds everything, just simply every hing, but don't you buy nece'ssitic's for ~hristmas. No woman wants themi.t Ve want trinkets, luxuries. useless ings. It took me five years to beat(t ia+ into my knsband's had, and even ;uN, anh'o u m n al ts ollidt t( rill enjoy it as cming frm u, ut i ot as gifts. Do you understand?" *I thought I was her brother.- said "Aren't you proceeding on the theo- I y that I'm her husband?" "It wouldn't make any difference If E 'ou were her father," she declared. I t We don't want clothes from our fn hers. We want the ioney for them. ;ut we'll take diamonds. Ob. you must L iuy Iilda lots of pretty things' Isn't t lovely that you can do it? Anid isn't he a dear?" "I surely never dreamed of having a t Ister like her," said 1. ; ' was sur irised to find that I had toid the truth. So Mrs. Gilbert and I went shoppiug ext day at the earliest possible hour. I had not supposed that it was possi- f >le for a man to tell so many lies in I ,ne day. I spent the forenoon with t Irs. Gilbert. and we talked of noth ng but "my sister"-every word of c nine a lie, of course. I spent the aft- I rnoon or most of it with Hilda, whom called by that new name, though I :new It was not hers, and, to make natters worse, she had fallen into a < lublous state of mind, and I must re tearse to her all Connor's proofs with mn air of serene and blissful convic ion, for if a mere shadow of doubt ould so affect her spirits what would he plain truth do? On Christmas day Hilda woke to find he plain room from which we dared tot yet remove her bright with many lowers which the nurse had softly set n their places. This was the best day hat Hilda had had since the beginning if her il1ne!s. The tide of returning iealth had begun to run strong. and so ve were able to make it something like real Christmas without*risk of harm. 3ut the climax was reserved for the vening, after Hilda had had her sup er. Then the lights were extin mished, the door was opened and In here walked a Christmas tree, appar .ntly upon Its own legs, but really pro elled by the serviceable Connor. It lazed with candles and glittered with 1 Insel, and its boughs were well laden )etter, indeed, than I was aware-for he wise Mrs. Gilbert had bought some ifts for me from Hilda that the dear i irl might not lack the pleasure of giv ng. I have never seen upon the face of my grown person such an expression >f entrancement in pure joy as glowed n Hilda's in the light of the shining ree. At the sight of It I lost my sense f shame and deception, and a child ike faith took hold upon me that this vould all come right and that I should id a way to make her happy all her ife. By the next day, however, I had re aovered some part of my common ;ense, and the difficulties of the sit. iation were clear to me again, but the ath of escape from them was not lear at all. I spent that day chiefiy n meditation and the next as well. [hen a voice seemed to tell me that [ needed the counsel of a woman, and whom could I appeal to but Mrs. Gil >ert? By this time Hilda had been :ransferred to the Gilbert residence, a ~avor not too great to be accepted by I tyoung lady whose brother owns half >f a very productive gold mine. I se-1 ured a private Interview with Mrs. lilbert and disclosed to her the truth. "Oh. Impossible, impossible!" she1 tried. "Why, you semned to know each j2 >ther at the v'ery first glance!" "As I was five years old when I last ;aw my sister and she was barely ne.'' said I, "a recognition would not imount to very much, even if it had1 >ccurred." "Ah, but there's instinct." "Mrs. Gilbert." saidJ I gently. "there s no more chance that I am this young1 ady's brother than if I were the beard d noudad in the Central par-k zoo." "But what shall we do?" she ex-' ~laimed. "Indeed, this is a ver.y deli ate matter. We cannot tell her now. ihe would not remain in this house. I mow her. She has the strictest ideas Lbout incurring obligations. She would ather die in the street."I At this I went into a panic and vow d that I would keep up the deception o my last hour on earth though it I hould sink my soul beneath the reach 1 f mercy. A few days later Connor came to ny rooms with a very long face. 'There really Is a snag In our story," aid he. "Why In -blazes did those fewfoundland Grays keep this thing I o quiet? Why didn't your uncle find t1 little niece? It is inconceivable hat the Grays did not get a list of the )elphlc's passengers. That would have old them plainly who their foundling 4 ras. She couldn't be anybody else.I nd surely they must have known that t our uncle (whose name, with yours. a ras in every account of the wreck) J rould pay them handsomely for bring- ' 1g the little girl to him. Didn't your ( nle leave any paper-s, diaries or re-c rds of any kind which might throw I ome light on this matter?" C "All my uncle's private p)apers." said l ,"were taken in charge by Judge lahlon of the supreme court. He's I end. but I'll write to his son Jim to 11 ave the house looked over." r I did so and received next day this legram: "I Sent volume your uncle's diary, 1887. V ntaining full explanation of this af- C a,ir to Mrs. Gilbert, Dec. 26. I didn't tell ou this. Understand? J. M. Naturally I called upon Mrs. Gilbert., ut the lady was from home. I would~ I are gone away, but a be!oved voice oated down to me as I stood in thes all. "Go into the drawinz room." it said-.t I wi!!! como to yon." t] o I murst n eet Hilda: without kno-.v b v'iwh't Mr's Gilbert knew. A c'old ill Struck upon me. Dec. 2f!'rThat t -as lays and days ago. and all th'is me Mr's Gilbert had been urging mev treat Hilda as a sister. Was it pos ble that T omldl be mistaken? No;: Le divine hai(liwork. And yet I would e gi venl !uch for a few words with Irs. Gilberr. It was IIilda. however, ,-ho( appeared. This was the first time to my knowl dge that she had ventured so far as be dra wing room,. yet she walked ithout a sign of w%eakness :nd with nb rle crriage. And. oh. she was S1 wore a sfri of tea gown, I Sup s , inih n h i-e cnl4led. of green fabric. I she carrial a.si1l lack 1:UOk. I hiik my 111m 11111 uist l:lve fallei opon ike a de:(l man's when I s.iw the fig ires ISS7 in gilt upon the book's cover. ly uncle's diary' "Hilda," said I. without pause or pre ace. "I know what that book is. Tell ne what you have found in it. Please ell me straight away." Her blue eyes opened a bit wider. he looked at me, then down at the ook and then at me again. "Why, I haven't found anything," she aid. "I just got it this minute. A. naid gave It to me. I haven't even pened it." Mrs. Gilbert's maid, under orders, ad been waiting for my arrival, of course. What did it mean? "That is a vol ..ume of ylv Un cle's diary," said "Beyond ques tion we shall find here the answer to our riddle. the solu tion of all our doubts." I took it from her hand. "The early June dates should be the IZ ones," said I and would have N WALKED A CHRIST- opened the book, MAS "'WEE. but Hilda's tands closed suddenly upon it. "Oh, not yet," she said faintly. 'Somehow I-I dread it." The palms of my hands were wet, Lnd I was swallowing air, but I man Lged to summon up the appearance of almness. "What do you expect to find here?" asked. "Oh, you will think very meanly of ne," she cried, "but, indeed, I have een overpersuaded and silenced since he very first hour. Then for just that arliest hour I believed, but never aft rward. And I have drifted on and m, not knowing what to do. I could ee no escape from the evidence, and rou were so sure!" "Did Mrs. Gilbert tell you that?" "Why, yes, but I'd have known that ou believed without a word from her. Eou were such a good brother!" And ;he smiled through her tears. "But I mew in my own heart" "Listen," said I. "Answer me. Did ou wish to believe? This may be our ery last minute. 1 think this book an never convince either of us, sure y not me, unless It tells me who you "eally are. But, remember, it may )art us forever. I have known from :he first instant, and I know now, and :always shall know, that we are no nore to each other than cousins :hrough Adam. and so I ask you, do/ rou wish to believe?" "I think not," she whispered, with white lips. "The book!" It opened under my hand at the ages headed June 4 and June 5, and inder the first of these dates I read he following In my uncle's hand: "Captain Enos Gray and hIs wife ~ame today, bringing the child. It has lue eyes and bright golden hair. It ould hardly be more unlike poor little Kilda, who had my dear sister's col ring, brown eyes and dark hair. De scription had e Su it e prepared u ne for this, vet -would take no ~Y 'isk of error and :herefore had the :hid brought to ne. If this waif eally came from he Delphic I\ hink it is the opposed son of irst Officer Al ton, whose body vas found with t upon the raft. Lcording to the j'i' ist, there were -' >n the Delphic ' Charles Alston , .__ infant) and mrse.' I think hat 'C h a r 1II e' "PERHAPs sHE SAW wE tood for Char- LOVED EACH OTHER." tte, as is common in England, and ot for Charles. I shall institute in uiries." Then. evidently wrin i later: "Lieutenant Aiston seems 10 have ad not a relative in the 'world. The bild is undoubtedly his, but it will not e claimed by any one. I have decided o send $20 a month to the Grays for s support. This will give its life an (ded value to them, and they will ear it more carefully." Here were all mysteries explained. be child was kept carefully and some hat secretly because it was a source f revenue. At my uncle's death the 1come ceased, and a stranger was per itted to take the child away. "I have a name for you at last," said "Not my sister's. Charlotte" "I would like Hlilda better." said she :>ty. "You called me that first." "Mrs. Gilbert has had this book since 1e daiy after Christmas," said I, "or j next at the latest. Why did she old L "P'erha:ps she wanted us to wait a lit "Perhaps," said 1I, "she saw just the ery truth, that we loved each other." "We must always be very kind -and