The Poet-Waiter Who Drowned in Seattle Harbor

The body of C. W. Chantrell, who was drowned from the steamer Idaho Monday at the Arlington wharf, was recovered early yesterday morning by the aid of grappling irons. Coroner Horton decided that death was due to accidental drowning, and the remains were then removed to Bonney & Stewart's morgue.

Chantrell had been a waiter on Puget Sound steamers for a long time and, it is said, has relatives in Victoria. He came from a wealthy French family, the home of which is in St. Germain, France. For some cause not known the dead man's father came to British Columbia twenty-one years ago and, according to the story of his son, had plenty of opportunities to have been one of the wealthiest men in Victoria. He drank, however, and on one night alone is said to have spent [a large sum]. The son, who now lies at the morgue, inherited the desire for drink and, when he received money from his mother in France, his father having been dead for some time, he never stopped until it was spent, always in the same old way, for whisky. About twelve months ago Chantrell came to this city and roomed with Joseph Weinberg at the Clifton house on South Fifth street. For the last nine months, or until he got work a few days ago on the steamer Idaho, he was living on the charity of Mr. Weinberg. The latter saw him a few hours before he was drowned, and at that time Chantrell said he had a good job and intended to hold it.

Chantrell was a clever man with the pen and could make clever sketches. He also had a mania for poetry and, according to his friends, would repeat verse after verse at the slightest provocation. It is not positively known that he composed the following verses that were jotted down on an envelope found in his pocket, but the presumption is that he did:

LOVE, TO H. O'B. May 30, 1894.

Deep in the morning depths Of yellow wine I swore I'd drown your face, Oh love of mine; All clad in yellow hue So fair to see, You crouched within my cups And laughed at me.

Twice o'er a learned page I turned to see, For I could not forget the love I lost, All torn and robed in gloom You read it, too. I could not see the words, I saw only you.

Within the hungry mass I thought to kill You, love, who hunted thus Without my will. But in the gentle gaze Your look disarmed my hand And shook my arm Beneath a dark lash, I swore you'd drown.

Sink in the laughing blue, Dive in, go down; But no! while bathing there Right joyously, Out from your liquid eyes You laughed at me.

Among the letters found on Chantrell's body was one with a black border, informing him that his brother Tennyson had died of convulsions, and that the funeral services would be held May 6. Following this was a half-page of printed matter naming the members of the family and relatives.

It appears that there had been trouble in the family, for the drowned man wrote a letter to his mother, in which he spoke harshly of his brother Tennyson before that brother's death. This called forth a letter of remonstrance from his mother after that event, which occurred on May 6, in which she said: "Tennyson died unconscious of your cruel words, and under the belief I did not know of your whereabouts." The remainder of the letter referred to the life of Tennyson, and how he had thrown his life away.

On August 9 last Chantrell wrote a letter to his mother, in which he complained of not hearing from home, and said that he had been expecting money. He was in destitute circumstances, broken down physically and ready to go home. In affectionate terms he speaks of his brother Tennyson.

No arrangements have been made for the disposal of the body.