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<t-w~+iGOLDEN DAYS:s=-
July 8, 1882.
entered upon its brief competition with
the Cunarders, the time consumed in
the voyage was further reduced to an
average of thirteen days in 1860, and
eleven and a halt in 1865.
In 1867, the City of Paris made the
voyage in eight days, three hours and
one minute; and late in 1869 the City of
Brussels ran from New York to Queens-
town in seven days, twenty hours and
thirty -three minutes. This remained
e best time on record up to 1875, and
in ‘chat year the average time was eight
and one-half days.
In September, 1875, the City of Berlin
made the eastward run in seven days,
eighteen hours and two minutes, and in
October she cut down her fecord to
seven days, fourteen hours and twelve
minutes,
In May, 1880, the Arizona made the
westward passage in seven days, nine
hours and twenty-three minutes, but in
April of the present year, the Alaska,
which, like the Arizona, belongs to te
Guion Line, beat her mate’s record b:
making the trip in seven days, six hours
and twenty minutes.
The Alaska, since then, has beaten her
own record, and her latest eastward voy-
age was made in siz days, nineteen hours
and twenty-five minutes.
In these comparisons, the time is reck-
oned from Sandy Hook to Queenstown.
The usual time required for steaming
from Queenstown to Liverpool is about
seventeen hours.
DARCY. .
BY FRANK H. < H. CONVERSE.
CHAPTER XIX.
Itis one o'clock A. M., and the great
city is buried in slumber. This is the
poetical way of putting it, but prosaic
fact shows that a portion at least of the
population of great cities, instead of be-
ing buried in slumber atthat hour, are
remarkably wide awake.
There are the shelterless ones dodging
‘from deep doorway to dark alley, seek-
ing some place to lay their heads, where
the watchful eye of thre wakeful police
cannot spy them out. The drunkard is
reeling to his wretched home, while fast
young men, inflamed with wine, are
hastening with unsteady step from some
scene of ‘dissipation. The night-workers
of the press, the watchers by the sick
and dying, skilled burglars and prowl-
ing thieves—all these’ are very wide
Tt might be supposed that Mr. Galla-
gher, the night watchman on board the
ship Water Witch—alongside of which
the cutter Shadow, with whose ship’s
eoinpany we are somewhat acquainted,
is laying—would naturally be among the
wakeful ones.
t Mr, Gallagher, from long experi-
ence, Shad acquired the art of indulging
- in gentle slamber even while pacing the
eck, or leaning contemplatively over
the rail, as one who meditates upon the
beauty ‘of the nizht.
He had promised to keep an eye
the cutter, in connection with his daty of
watching the ship, which, for a brief
space, was without officers or crew—
‘aptain Drew having taken a flying visit
home while the ship was undergoing
some repai
“Sure, the cutter’s all right; the har-
bor'’s clear uv boats; there's niver asign
of a livin’ soul on the pier beyant, an’ I
think, now me pipe is shmoked out, that.
I'll be takin’ a bit of a nap,” remarked
Mr. Gallagher, meditatively, as he glanc-
ed over the rail.
Taking a nap when on duty was of it-
selt bad ¢ enough, but Mr. Gallagher pro-
ceeded to take! something much worse—
a drink of bad liquor from a flask in his
pocket. And then, leaning comfortably
against the main rigging on the Jand-
ward side, he composed himself to sleep
with the calm consciousness that his
erect attitude was an otfset to his closed
“Meanwhile, a light skiff was stealin,
along in the shadows of the moored
steamers and s » carefully avoiding
the open water 3 the river which lay
peaceful and fair in the moonlight, its
calin only disturbed by passing tow boats
or river steamers.
“Easy, Pat,” whispered one of the
boat’s occupants, a lithe-looking young
fellow of sixteen, or thereabouts, as the
little craft swung under the counter of
the Water W: iteh—“ easy, whilst’ I take
a peek at old Gallagher on deck, and see
if he’s snoozin’, as he gen’lly is about
this time.”
Pat, a shock-headed Irish boy, with a
low forehead and retreating chin, noise-
lessly took in his oars and ‘drew the boat
directly under the ship’s mizzen chan-
Ss.
- “Can ye rache, Joe?” he asked, in a
similar whisper,
For answer, Joe sprang lightly on the
thwart, and, seizing one of the chain-
plates, swung himself up to the quarter
with the agility of a monkey.
“He: 's good ‘for an hour, though he is
asleep standin’,” said Joe, witha silent
chuckle, as, after @ moment’s observa-
tion, he rejoined his companion. “ Now,
Pat, for a ‘tenstrike.
“Tn afeard nothin’ll come of it, 7 ren
turned Pat, under his breath, as the boat
was drawn cautiously alongside the cut-
ter; ‘there’s too many of ’em aboord.”
A contemptuous gesture was the only
reply of the young river desperado, who,
in his bare feet, stepped silently to the
Shadow’s deck, and, bending his head
over the open skylight, through which
he had watched the incantious display of
Captain Arnold’s bonds in the evening,
listened intently.
deep breathing of the two boys
blended pleasantly with the occasional
snore of Captain Arnold, and Joe—or
“Slippery Joe,” as he was termed bya
select Pireloot admiring friends—nodde a
approvingly.
“Five thousan’ dollars in bon’s is
wu'th runnin’ a little risk for,”? he mut-
tered,as he peered down the companion-
way.
Asa general thing, the gangs of young
river thieves which infest North and
East River content themselves with such
articles as they can pilfer from vessels’
decks, though manya bold cabin rob-
bery has been traced to these youthful
marauders—and even the more terrible
crime of murder.
lippery Joe was aiming for higher
game than coils of rope or sailors’ cloth-
ing. Stealing (literally) down the com-
panionway steps, with a footfall as soft
as that of a thievish eat, he stood still a
moment at the bottotn, “‘to take his
bearings,” as he inentally expressed it.
al sleeps i in there, I s’pose,”” he
muttered: as by dim light of the
cabin lamp be saw Wahe door ot a tiny
state-room iminediately behind the com-
panionway steps, adjoining which was a
still smaller toilet-room, with water fix-
tures and all complete.
era moment’s hesitation, he ste
ped silently tothe side of the captain’s
berth, and peercd eagerly in.
“Under his piller, jest as I thought,”
aaid Slippery Joe, as the japanned end of
the little trunk was revealed by a rest-
less movement of the sleeper’s head.
Joe looked eagerly around the cabin,
as though in search of something, and a
glean ‘Of. satisfaction appeared on his
sharp features as he saw a feather-duster
hanging in one corner.
Pulling a long feather from this, he
knelt down by the berth, and, reaching
up, gently tickled the nose of ‘the sleep-
ing captain, who, after one or two appli-
cations of the kind, drowsily slapped his
«Shoo! shoo! you tarnal critter!”
murmured Ca; aptain Arnold, drowsily 5
and the kneeling Joe indulged i in an in-
ward chuckle, as the e captain inoved his
head a little further toward the vesel’s
id
Taking hold of the end of the trunk,
Joe gave a gentle pull, but the weight of
the unconscious sleeper’s head still held
it. Another application of the feather,
and Captain Arnold gave himself a re-
sounding whack on the forehead, which
roused him to momentary wakefulness.
**Consarn my buttons!” he exclaimed,
half-aloud, as he vigorously punched his
pillow and turned it fora cool spot. “111
nave musketer bars rigged to these here
berths direc’ly we get back,” he added,
in an audible voice; : but in ‘another mo-
ment he was fast asleep again, and this
tine with his head pushed up in the
corner of the berth, to escape his sup-
posed winged tormentor.
Rising on tiptoe, Joe drew a long
breath, and with every nerve tense with
excitement, gently pulled the coveted
box from beneath the pillow.
* It’s mine,” he whispered, exultantly ;
but, as he turned away, he suddenly saw
that which for the moment riveted his
feet to the
Now, France, accustomed to sleeping
in a large, airy room, with abundant
ventilation, had found~ her tiny state-
room anything but comfortable, She
tossed and turned, and listened wearily
to the many-voiced city clocks as they
told the hour, and finally, when one
o'clock was proclaimed from church-
towers far and near, Franee could en-
dure it no longer.
will go on deck and sit in the
moonlight till I am sleepy,” she thought
to hers
Lighting the little wall-lamp, France
quietly dressed_ herself, and threw open
her state-room door at the very moment
that Joe, with the tin trunk under his
arm, turned away from Captain Arnold’s
th.
Framed in the doorway against the
background of light stood France, for the
moment as motionless as the midnight
intruder, whose unexpected presence
was suddenly revealed to her startled
eyes. It was a tableau of contrasts, in
truth. France, with her sweet, winning
face, from which every particle of color
had fled, her Jong dark hair hanging un-
confined in flowing masses below her
waist, and her sle! ender, girlish form
clothed in some dark, clinging material ;
Joe, with his sharp-cut, cunning features,
on which yas a momentary look of inde-
cision, his tattered clothing, and the
ize for which he had risked | so much
hugged closely under his left a
CHAPTER XX.
,as I have before stated, among
the useful precepts which Captain Ben
Arnold had been particular to impress
n the minds of his two children was
tke very important one of keeping cool
ina tine of emergency,
“Don’t holler, But oh think, ” France had
heard her father Say 2 hundred times;
and, repressing the hysteric desire to do
the first with all the strength of a healthy
pair of tungs, her mind grasped the se-
cond suggestion, and a dozen thoughts
flashed through her brain in an instant
—the uppermost of which was how she
might save her father’s money—followed
by | another, which did more credit to
ber better nature than to her better judg-
mei
“ Why, he’sa mere boy,” she said to
herself, trying to check the excited
throbbings of her heart... “Perhaps I
may save him from committing a great
crime—I have read of such thi ings—an
save father’s money, tvo.’”’
Acting on this sudden impulse, France
placed her finger on her lips, and, glid-
ing softly into the cabin, took her station
between Joe and the companionway
te
TGive it back,” she whispered, ex-
tending her hand—« give it back, and
will make no alarm.”
For there was something in Joe’s face
that was not altogether bad; or so it
seemed to pure-minded France, whose
tender heart was, for the moment, touch-
ed with a strange feeling of pity for the
young criminal, scarcely older than
Fred, who stood speechless before her.
But ‘Joe quickly recovered from his
stupor of astonishinent, and his native
cunning asserted its
“An? you won't blow on a poor fello
that’s be’n driv’ to priggin’ through
misfortin ?”” he said, in a cautious whis-
er, glancing froin the sleepers in their
erths to the companionway behind
France, as he calculated the chances of
encaps with his b
Wit dim comprehension of his
meaning. France nodded her head as-
sentingly. But, instead of complying
with her request, Joe suddenly thrust
his hand into the bosom of his coarse
blue shirt, and drew out an ugly-looking
dirk-kn
wOne, whimper,” he whispered, with
a fierce imprecation, “and you’rea gone
goose. Now, stan’ outer the way, or—”
A_ significant shake of the uplifted
knife completed the sentence. ut if
Joe was desperate, France was courage-
ous. Instead of fainting, or indulging
in hysterics, she stood her ground with-
out flinchin
ss ie dare not kill me,” she thought.
But Tam not certain that France was
right. Three cold-blooded murders are
known to have been committed by New
York river thieves, not over sixteen
years of age, within the past ten years,
and Slippery Joe was one of the most
hardened and reckless of his class,
At the very moment when Joe drew
his knife, Dar—who had been dreaming
of aride ona very hard- trotting night-
mare—awoke witha sudden start.
For a brief second he lay staring in a
dazed sort of way at the strange tableau
before him. France, with her white, re-
solute face and flowing hair; the wiry-
looking young fellow, with a desperate
look on his sharp features, and his right
hand in the bosom of his’ shirt—seemed
to be ‘characters in a new phase of his
unpleasant dream. But only for a brief
. e saw the uplifted knife,
the 1 reality of the scene burst
mind with startling suddenness.
ringing from “the berth mattress on
which he had lain down without remoy-
ing anything but coat, vest and shoes,
Dar threw hiinself like lightning before
France, while, at the same time, he grasp-
ed the trunk with both hands and wrest-
ed it from under Slippery Joe’s arm, ty
as Captain Arnold and Fred, arouse
the seuffle, scrambled from iheir respon.
tive berths.
“The game’s up!’ muttered Slippery
Joe. Take that, my covey, for spilin’
my night’s work
“That ? was a savage knife-thrnst that
Dar received in the fleshy part of his
arm, which he involuntarily threw up
in front of his breast.
Thrusting France aside with less vio-
lence than might have been expected
from such a young desperado, he bound-
the companionway and was in the
boat: before Captain Arnold had fairly
recovered from his bewilderment.
“Pull, Pat—the thing is bu’ sted !” he
exclaimed, breathle: ssly.
And in another moment the light boat
as skimming swiftly over the water,
followed bya pistol-shot or two from the
revolver of Mr. Gallagher, who had
managed to awaken in time to render
this delicate attention.
“But, Francy, why didn’t you give the
alarm. the minute you saw him?” said
the captain, as, promptly stripping. t up
Dar’s shirt-sleeve, he brouzht the edges
of a rather ugly cut together with ‘his
fingers, and directed Fred where to find
the sticking-plaster and some soft linen
rags, which, with a bottle of liniment,
formed the Shadow’s tnedicine-chest.,
“Why, father,” returned France, with
a little tremor in her voice, “ you always
have told Fred and me never to hol!er,
but tothink in any sudden emergency,
and I was trying so hard to think what
was best, that 1 almost forgot everything
else. But I shall always remember how
brave you were, Dar,”’ she added, gently,
as she extended her small white hand to
the poy.
too,” said Fred, ungrammati-
cally, iat with considerable emphasis.
‘or ine,” observed Captain Arnold,
a Tittle “huskily, as he laid his hand ten-
derly on Dar’s wounded shoulder, I’m
a poor hand at thanking folks, but I
shan’t forget this night’s service very
soon.”” . .
And to Dar’s relief, the captain’s voice
failed him, and he turned away.
“Tf any of you say another word,”’ re-
turned Dar, trying to laugh, “I shall go
ashore and spend the rest of the night.”
But, though the captain remarked that
there was no danger—lightning seldom
struck twice in.the same place—there
was but little sleep on board the cutter
for the remainder of the night, I’red
even insisting upon standing \ watch till
daylight.
After breakfust, a serious - looking,
ale-faced man, attired in a suit of rusty
lack, was seen coming down the pier,
carrying in his hand a small, black-
leather valise, who, when he had found
his way on board, was welcomed by the
captain with considerable effusion, and
formally introduced to the others as Mr,
Reginald P-
There was Rot the slightest sign of the
sharper or genteel villain about him, as
Dar, in his half-formed prejudice, had
imagined might be the case. He was
gentlemanly and quiet in his manner,
and Dar began to feel ashanied of his
former suspicions, But he had yet to
learn that bad or unscrupulous men do
not always carry their character x ritten
in their face—tfiction to the eontra
One of the greatest villains I ever met
had as open, genial a countenance as any
man I ever knew, yet 2 more cold-bloo
ed, red-handed wretch never lived.
CHAPTER XXI.
The sails were hoisted, lines cast off,
and, with a favoring breeze, fhe Shadow
be; egan her homeward pass
“Quite an adventure indeed, Mr. Pyle
remarked, as the captain narrated the
events of the preceding night, “and itis
fortunate that your heroic daughter”’—
here he smiled pleasantly upon France,
—‘escaped with her life, for some of
our younger river thieves rival their
“I
“| o