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Title: Wakulla
Author: Kirk Munroe
Release Date: August, 2003 [Etext# 4393]
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WAKULLA
A STORY OF ADVENTURE IN FLORIDA
BY KIRK MUNROE
CONTENTS
I. PREPARING TO LEAVE THE OLD HOME
II. THE SCHOONER "NANCY BELL"
III. "CAPTAIN LI'S" STORY
IV. A WRECK ON THE FLORIDA REEF
V. MARK AND RUTH ATTEND AN AUCTION
VI. A QUEER CHRISTMAS DAY
VII. ARRIVAL AT THE NEW HOME
VIII. THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AND MORE MYSTERIES
IX. MARK DISCOVERS THE GHOST AND FINDS HIM IN A TRYING POSITION
X. A RUNAWAY'S STORY, AND ITS HAPPY ENDING
XI. "THE ELMER MILL AND FERRY COMPANY"
XII. THE GREAT MILL PICNIC
XIII. FIGHTING A FOREST FIRE
XIV. HOW THE BOYS CAUGHT AN ALLIGATOR
XV. A FIRE HUNT, AND MARK'S DISAPPEARANCE
XVI. BURIED IN AN UNDERGROUND RIVER
XVII. TWO LETTERS AND A JOURNEY
XVIII. THE BURNING OF THE "WILDFIRE"
XIX. UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S "GREAT SCHEME"
XX. EDNA MAY MARCH
WAKULLA
CHAPTER I.
PREPARING TO LEAVE THE OLD HOME.
Over and over again had Mark and Ruth Elmer read this paragraph,
which appeared among the "Norton Items" of the weekly paper
published in a neighboring town:
"We are sorry to learn that our esteemed fellow-townsman, Mark
Elmer, Esq., owing to delicate health, feels compelled to remove
to a warmer climate. Having disposed of his property in this
place, Mr. Elmer has purchased a plantation in Florida, upon which
he will settle immediately. As his family accompany him to this
new home in the Land of Flowers, the many school-friends and young
playmates of his interesting children will miss them sadly."
"I tell you what, Ruth," said Mark, after they had read this item
for a dozen times or more, "we are somebodies after all, and don't
you forget it. We own a plantation, we do, and have disposed of
our PROPERTY in this place."
As Mark looked from the horse-block on which he was sitting at the
little weather-beaten house, nestling in the shadow of its
glorious trees, which, with its tiny grass-plot in front, was all
the property Mr. Elmer had ever owned, he flung up his hat in
ecstasy at the idea of their being property owners, and tumbled
over backward in trying to catch it as it fell.
"What I like," said Ruth, who stood quietly beside him, "is the
part about us being interesting children, and to think that the
girls and boys at school will miss us."
"Yes, and won't they open their eyes when we write them letters
about the alligators, and the orange groves, and palm-trees, and
bread-fruit, and monkeys, and Indians, and pirates? Whoop-e-e-e!
what fun we are going to have!"
"Bread-fruit, and monkeys, and pirates, and Indians in Florida!
what are you thinking of, Mark Elmer?"
"Well, I guess 'Osceola the Seminole' lived in Florida, and it's
tropical, and pirates and monkeys are tropical too, ain't they?"
Just then the tea-bell rang, and the children ran in to take the
paper which they had been reading to their father, and to eat
their last supper in the little old house that had always been
their home.
Mr. Elmer had, for fifteen years, been cashier of the Norton Bank;
and though his salary was not large, he had, by practising the
little economies of a New England village, supported his family
comfortably until this time, and laid by a sum of money for a
rainy day. And now the "rainy day" had come. For two years past
the steady confinement to his desk had told sadly upon the
faithful bank cashier, and the stooping form, hollow cheeks, and
hacking cough could no longer be disregarded. For a long time good
old Dr. Wing had said,
"You must move South, Elmer; you can't stand it up here much
longer."
Both Mr. Elmer and his wife knew that this was true; but how could
they move South? where was the money to come from? and how were
they to live if they did? Long and anxious had been the
consultations after the children were tucked into their beds, and
many were the prayers for guidance they had offered up.
At last a way was opened, "and just in time, too," said the
doctor, with a grave shake of his head. Mrs. Elmer's uncle,
Christopher Bangs, whom the children called "Uncle Christmas,"
heard of their trouble, and left his saw-mills and lumber camps to
come and see "where the jam was," as he expressed it. When it was
all explained to him, his good-natured face, which had been in a
wrinkle of perplexity, lit up, and with a resounding slap of his
great, hard hand on his knee, he exclaimed,
"Sakes alive! why didn't you send for me, Niece Ellen? why didn't
you tell me all this long ago, eh? I've got a place down in
Florida, that I bought as a speculation just after the war. I
hain't never seen it, and might have forgot it long ago but for
the tax bills coming in reg'lar every year. It's down on the St.
Mark's River, pretty nigh the Gulf coast, and ef you want to go
there and farm it, I'll give you a ten years' lease for the taxes,
with a chance to buy at your own rigger when the ten years is up."
"But won't it cost a great deal to get there, uncle?" asked Mrs.
Elmer, whose face had lighted up as this new hope entered her
heart.
"Sakes alive! no; cost nothin'! Why, it's actually what you might
call providential the way things turns out. You can go down, slick
as a log through a chute, in the Nancy Bell, of Bangor, which is
fitting out in that port this blessed minit. She's bound to
Pensacola in ballast, or with just a few notions of hardware sent
out as a venture, for a load of pine lumber to fill out a contract
I've taken in New York. She can run into the St. Mark's and drop
you jest as well as not. But you'll have to pick up and raft your
fixin's down to Bangor in a terrible hurry, for she's going to
sail next week, Wednesday, and it's Tuesday now."
So it was settled that they should go, and the following week was
one of tremendous excitement to the children, who had never been
from home in their lives, and were now to become such famous
travellers.
Mark Elmer, Jr., as he wrote his name, was as merry, harum-scarum,
mischief-loving a boy as ever lived. He was fifteen years old, the
leader of the Norton boys in all their games, and the originator
of most of their schemes for mischief. But Mark's mischief was
never of a kind to injure anybody, and he was as honest as the day
is long, as well as loving and loyal to his parents and sister
Ruth.
Although a year younger than Mark, Ruth studied the same books
that he did, and was a better scholar. In spite of this she looked
up to him in everything, and regarded him with the greatest
admiration. Although quiet and studious, she had crinkly brown
hair, and a merry twinkle in her eyes that indicated a ready humor
and a thorough appreciation of fun.
It was Monday when Mark and Ruth walked home from the post-office
together, reading the paper, for which they had gone every Monday
evening since they could remember, and they were to leave home and
begin their journey on the following morning.
During the past week Mr. Elmer had resigned his position in the
bank, sold the dear little house which had been a home to him and
his wife ever since they were married, and in which their children
had been born, and with a heavy heart made the preparations for
departure.
With the willing aid of kind neighbors Mrs. Elmer had packed what
furniture they were to take with them, and it had been sent to
Bangor. Mark and Ruth had not left school until Friday, and had
been made young lions of all the week by the other children. To
all of her girl friends Ruth had promised to write every single
thing that happened, and Mark had promised so many alligator
teeth, and other trophies of the chase, that, if he kept all his
promises, there would be a decided advance in the value of Florida
curiosities that winter.
As the little house was stripped of all its furniture, except some
few things that had been sold with it, they were all to go to Dr.
Wing's to sleep that night, and Mrs. Wing had almost felt hurt
that they would not take tea with her; but both Mr. and Mrs. Elmer
wanted to take this last meal in their own home, and persuaded her
to let them have their way. The good woman must have sent over
most of the supper she had intended them to eat with her, and
this, together with the good things sent in by other neighbors, so
loaded the table that Mark declared it looked like a regular
surprise-party supper.
A surprise-party it proved to be, sure enough, for early in the
evening neighbors and friends began to drop in to say good-bye,
until the lower rooms of the little house were filled. As the
chairs were all gone, they sat on trunks, boxes, and on the
kitchen table, or stood up.
Mark and Ruth had their own party, too, right in among the grown
people; for most of the boys and girls of the village had come
with their parents to say good-bye, and many of them had brought
little gifts that they urged the young Elmers to take with them as
keepsakes. Of all these none pleased Ruth so much as the album,
filled with the pictures of her school-girl friends, that Edna May
brought her.
Edna was the adopted daughter of Captain Bill May, who had brought
her home from one of his voyages when she was a little baby, and
placed her in his wife's arms, saying that she was a bit of
flotsam and jetsam that belonged to him by right of salvage. His
ship had been in a Southern port when a woman, with this child in
her arms, had fallen from a pier into the river. Springing into
the water after them, Captain May had succeeded in saving the
child, but the mother was drowned. As nothing could be learned of
its history, and as nobody claimed it, Captain May brought the
baby home, and she was baptized Edna May. She was now fourteen
years old, and Ruth Elmer's most intimate friend, and the first
picture in the album was a good photograph of herself, taken in
Bangor. The others were only tin-types taken in the neighboring
town of Skowhegan; but Ruth thought them all beautiful.
The next morning was gray and chill, for it was late in November.
The first snow of the season was falling in a hesitating sort of a
way, as though it hardly knew whether to come or not, and it was
still quite dark when Mrs. Wing woke Mark and Ruth, and told them
to hurry, for the stage would be along directly. They were soon
dressed and down-stairs, where they found breakfast smoking on the
table. A moment later they were joined by their parents, neither
of whom could eat, so full were they of the sorrow of departure.
The children were also very quiet, even Mark's high spirits being
dampened by thoughts of leaving old friends, and several tears
found their way down Ruth's cheeks during the meal.
After breakfast they said good-bye to the Wings, and went over to
their own house to pack a few remaining things into hand-bags, and
wait for the Skowhegan stage.
At six o'clock sharp, with a "toot, toot, toot," of the driver's
horn, it rattled up to the gate, followed by a wagon for the
baggage. A few minutes later, with full hearts and tearful eyes,
the Elmers had bidden farewell to the little old house and grand
trees they might never see again, and were on their way down the
village street, their long journey fairly begun.
CHAPTER II.
THE SCHOONER "NANCY BELL."
It lacked a few minutes of nine o'clock when the stage in which
the Elmers had left Norton drew up beside the platform of the
railway station in Skowhegan. There was only time to purchase
tickets and check the baggage, and then Mark and Ruth stepped, for
the first time in their lives, on board a train of cars, and were
soon enjoying the novel sensation of being whirled along at what
seemed to them a tremendous rate of speed. To them the train-boy,
who came through the car with books, papers, apples, and oranges,
and wore a cap with a gilt band around it, seemed so much superior
to ordinary boys, that, had they not been going on such a
wonderful journey, they themselves would have envied him his life
of constant travel and excitement.
At Waterville they admired the great mills, which they fancied
must be among the largest in the world; and when, shortly after
noon, they reached Bangor, and saw real ships, looking very like
the pictures in their geographies, only many times more
interesting, their cup of happiness was full.
Mark and Ruth called all the vessels they saw "ships;" but their
father, who had made several sea-voyages as a young man, said that
most of them were schooners, and that he would explain the
difference to them when they got to sea and he had plenty of time.
The children were bewildered by the noise of the railroad station
and the cries of the drivers and hotel runners--all of whom made
violent efforts to attract the attention of the Elmer party. At
length they got themselves and their bags safely into one of the
big yellow omnibuses, and were driven to a hotel, where they had
dinner. Mark and Ruth did not enjoy this dinner much, on account
of its many courses and the constant attentions of the waiters.
It had stopped snowing, and after dinner the party set forth in
search of the Nancy Bell. By making a few inquiries they soon
found her, and were welcomed on board by her young, pleasant-
faced captain, whose name was Eli Drew, but whom all his friends
called "Captain Li."
The Nancy Bell was a large three-masted schooner, almost new, and
as she was the first vessel "Captain Li" had ever commanded, he
was very proud of her. He took them at once into his own cabin,
which was roomy and comfortable, and from which opened four state-
rooms--two on each side. Of these the captain and his mate, John
Somers, occupied those on the starboard, or right-hand side, and
those on the other, or port side, had been fitted up, by the
thoughtful kindness of Uncle Christopher, for the Elmers--one for
Mrs. Elmer and Ruth, and the other for Mark and his father.
"Ain't they perfectly lovely?" exclaimed Ruth. "Did you ever see
such cunning little beds? They wouldn't be much too big for Edna
May's largest doll."
"You mustn't call them 'beds,' Ruth; the right name is berths,"
said Mark, with the air of a boy to whom sea terms were familiar.
"I don't care," answered his sister; "they are beds for all that,
and have got pillows and sheets and counterpanes, just like the
beds at home."
Mr. Elmer found that his furniture, and the various packages of
tools intended for their Southern home, were all safe on board the
schooner and stowed down in the hold, and he soon had the trunks
from the station and the bags from the hotel brought down in a
wagon.
The captain said they had better spend the night on board, as he
wanted to be off by daylight, and they might as well get to
feeling at home before they started. They thought so too; and so,
after a walk through the city, where, among other curious sights,
they saw a post-office built on a bridge, they returned to the
Nancy Bell for supper.
Poor Mr. Elmer, exhausted by the unusual exertions of the day, lay
awake and coughed most of the night, but the children slept like
tops. When Mark did wake he forgot where he was, and in trying to
sit up and look around, bumped his head against the low ceiling of
his berth.
Daylight was streaming in at the round glass dead-eye that served
as a window, and to Mark's great surprise he felt that the
schooner was moving. Slipping down from his berth, and quietly
dressing himself, so as not to disturb his father, he hurried on
deck, where he was greeted by "Captain Li," who told him he had
come just in time to see something interesting.
The Nancy Bell was in tow of a little puffing steam-tug, and was
already some miles from Bangor down the Penobscot River. The
clouds of steam rising into the cold air from the surface of the
warmer water were tinged with gold by the newly-risen sun. A heavy
frost rested on the spruces and balsams that fringed the banks of
the river, and as the sunlight struck one twig after another, it
covered them with millions of points like diamonds. Many cakes of
ice were floating in the river, showing that its navigation would
soon be closed for the winter.
To one of these cakes of ice, towards which a boat from the
schooner was making its way, the captain directed Mark's
attention. On this cake, which was about as large as a dinner-
table, stood a man anxiously watching the approach of the boat.
"What I can't understand," said the captain, "is where he ever
found a cake of ice at this time of year strong enough to bear him
up."
"Who is he? How did he get there, and what is he doing?" asked
Mark, greatly excited.
"Who he is, and how he got there, are more than I know," answered
"Captain Li." "What he is doing, is waiting to be taken off. The
men on the tug sighted him just before you came on deck, and sung
out to me to send a boat for him. It's a mercy we didn't come
along an hour sooner, or we never would have seen him through the
mist."
"You mean we would have missed him," said Mark, who, even upon so
serious an occasion, could not resist the temptation to make a
pun.
By this time the boat had rescued the man from his unpleasant
position, and was returning with him on board. Before it reached
the schooner Mark rushed down into the cabin and called to his
parents and Ruth to hurry on deck. As they were already up and
nearly dressed, they did so, and reached it in time to see the
stranger helped from the boat and up the side of the vessel.
He was so exhausted that he was taken into the cabin, rolled in
warm blankets, and given restoratives and hot drinks before he was
questioned in regard to his adventure.
Meantime the schooner was again slipping rapidly down the broad
river, and Mark, who remained on deck with his father, questioned
him about the "river's breath," as he called the clouds of steam
that arose from it.
"That's exactly what it is, the 'river's breath,'" said Mr. Elmer.
"Warm air is lighter than cold, and consequently always rises; and
the warm, damp air rising from the surface of the river into the
cold air above is condensed into vapor, just as your warm, damp
breath is at this very moment."
"But I should think the water would be cold with all that ice
floating in it," said Mark.
"It would seem cold if we were surrounded by the air of a hot
summer day," answered his father; "but being of a much higher
temperature than the air above it, it would seem quite warm to you
now if you should put your bare hand into it. We can only say that
a thing is warm by comparing it with something that is colder, or
cold by comparison with that which is warmer."
When Mark and his father went down to breakfast they found the
rescued man still wrapped in blankets, but talking in a faint
voice to the captain; and at the table the latter told the Elmers
what he had learned from him.
His name was Jan Jansen, and he was a Swede, but had served for
several years in the United States navy. On being discharged from
it he had made his way to New Sweden, in the northern part of
Maine; but, a week before, he had come to Bangor, hoping to obtain
employment for the winter in one of the saw-mills. In this he has
been unsuccessful; and the previous night, while returning from
the city to the house on its outskirts in which he was staying, he
undertook to cross a small creek, in the mouth of which were a
number of logs; these were so cemented together by recently formed
ice that he fancied they would form a safe bridge, and tried to
cross on it. When near the middle of the creek, to his horror the
ice gave way with a crash, and in another moment he was floating
away in the darkness on the cake from which he had been so
recently rescued. That it had supported him was owing to the fact
that it still held together two of the logs. He had not dared
attempt to swim ashore in the dark, and so had drifted on during
the night, keeping his feet from freezing by holding them most of
the time in the water.
After breakfast Mr. Elmer and the captain held a consultation, the
result of which was that the former offered Jan Jansen work in
Florida, if he chose to go to the St. Mark's with them; and
Captain Drew offered to let him work his passage to that place as
one of the crew of the Nancy Bell. Without much hesitation the
poor Swede accepted both these offers, and as soon as he had
recovered from the effects of his experience on the ice raft was
provided with a bunk in the forecastle.
CHAPTER III.
"CAPTAIN LI'S" STORY.
All day the Nancy Bell was towed down the broad river, the
glorious scenery along its banks arousing the constant enthusiasm
of our travellers. Late in the afternoon they passed the gray
walls of Fort Knox on the right, and the pretty little town of
Bucksport on the left. They could just see the great hotel at Fort
Point through the gathering dusk, and soon afterwards were tossing
on the wild, windswept waters of Penobscot Bay.
As they cleared the land, so as to sight Castine Light over the
port quarter, the tug cast loose from them and sail was made on
the schooner. The last thing Mark Elmer saw as he left the deck,
driven below by the bitter cold, was the gleam of the light on
Owl's Head, outside which Captain Drew said they should find the
sea pretty rough.
The rest of the family had gone below some time before, and Mark
found that his mother was already very sea-sick. He felt rather
uncomfortable himself, and did not care much for the supper, of
which his father and Ruth eat so heartily. He said he thought he
would go to bed, before supper was half over, and did so, although
it was only six o'clock. Poor Mark! it was a week before he again
sat at table or went on deck.
During this week the Nancy Bell sailed along the coasts of Maine,
New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New York, New Jersey, Delaware,
Maryland, Virginia, and North Carolina. She went inside of
Martha's Vineyard, through Vineyard Sound, in company with a great
fleet of coasters; but when they passed Gay Head, and turned to
the westward into Long Island Sound, the Nancy was headed towards
the lonely light-house on Montauk Point, the extreme end of Long
Island. From here her course was for the Cape May lightship on the
New Jersey coast, and for some time she was out of sight of land.
So they sailed, day after day, ever southward, and towards the
warmth which was to make Mr. Elmer well again.
Although Mark was very ill all this time, Ruth was as bright and
well as though she were on land. This was very mortifying to her
brother; but "Captain Li," who went in to see him every day,
comforted him by telling him of old sailors he had known who were
always sea-sick for the first few days of every voyage they
undertook.
The schooner was off Cape Hatteras before Mark felt able to leave
his berth. At last, one evening when the sea was very quiet,
"Captain Li" said, "Come, Mark, I want you to turn out and go on
deck to see the last of Hatteras Light. You know Cape Hatteras is
one of the worst capes along our entire Atlantic coast, and is
probably the one most dreaded by sailors. When coming home from
the West Indies, they sing an old song which begins:
"'Now if the Bermudas let you pass,
Then look for Cape Hatteras.'"
Slowly dressing, with the captain's aid, Mark, feeling very weak,
but free from the horrible sickness from which he had suffered so
long, managed to get out on deck. He was astonished at the change
that one week's sailing southward had made in the general
appearance of things. When he was last on deck, it and the rigging
were covered with snow and ice. Now not a particle of either was
to be seen, and the air was mild and pleasant. A new moon hung low
in the western sky, and over the smooth sea the schooner was
rippling along merrily, under every stitch of canvas that she
could spread.
Mark received a warm welcome from his father, mother, and Ruth,
who were all on deck, but had not expected to see him there that
evening.
"Quick, Mark! Look! Hatteras is 'most gone," said Ruth, pointing,
as she spoke, to a little twinkle of light so far astern that it
seemed to rest on the very waters. Half an hour later the captain
said, "Now let's go below, where it is warmer; and if you care to
hear it, I will spin you a yarn of Hatteras Light."
"Yes, indeed," said Ruth and Mark together.
"By all means; a story is just the thing," said Mr. and Mrs.
Elmer, also together, at which they all laughed, hooked little
fingers, and wished.
When they had made themselves comfortable in the cabin, Mark being
allowed to occupy the lounge on account of his recent illness, the
captain began as follows:
"Ten years ago this winter I made my first voyage of any length,
though before that I had made some short runs on a little coaster
between New York and down-East ports. Getting tired of this, and
wanting to see something more of the world, I shipped in New York,
early in December, on board the very prettiest craft I ever set
eyes on, for a voyage to the West Indies. She was the hundred-ton
schooner-yacht Mirage, and her owner had determined to try and
make her pay him something during the winter by running her as a
fruiter. She carried a crew of five men, besides the captain,
mate, and steward--all young and able seamen. I was the youngest
and least experienced, but was large for my age, and passed muster
with the rest.
"We had a pleasant run down to Havana, passing Moro Castle and
dropping anchor on the seventh day out from New York, but found
some trouble there in getting a cargo for the home voyage. The
delay worried our skipper considerably, for he had calculated on
being home with his wife and baby at Christmas; but we of the crew
enjoyed the city, and I for one got leave to go ashore whenever I
could, and made the most of my opportunity to see the sights.
"We had laid there about ten days, when one morning, as the old
man came up the after companion-way from the cabin, a big gray rat
rushed out on deck ahead of him, scampered to the side, and
plumped overboard. We all saw it in the water, swimming for the
quay, which was but a short distance from us, and, quick as a
thought, the skipper had jumped back into the cabin for his
pistol, and before the beast had got more than half-way he had
fired several shots at it. The bullets struck all around the rat,
but didn't hit it, and we saw him disappear through a crevice
between the stones of the quay.
"Our captain was a very superstitious man, and this incident
troubled him, for I heard him say to the mate that he never knew
any ship to have good luck when once the rats began to leave her.
"Soon after this we took in our cargo of pineapples and bananas
and started for home. Our first three days' run was as pretty as
ever was made, and with the Gulf Stream to help us, it seemed as
though we might make New York in time for Christmas, after all.
Then there came a change--first a gale that drove us to the
westward, and then light head-winds, or no winds at all; and so we
knocked round for three days more, and on the day before Christmas
we hadn't rounded Hatteras, let alone made Sandy Hook, as we had
hoped to do.
"It was a curious sort of a day, mild and hazy, with the sun
showing round and yellow as an orange. The skipper was uneasy, and
kept squinting at the weather, first on one side and then the
other. We heard him say to the mate that something was coming, for
the mercury was falling faster than he had ever seen it. Things
stood so until sunset, when the haze settled down thicker than
ever. I was at the wheel, when the skipper came on deck and
ordered all canvas to be stripped from her except the double-
reefed main-sail and a corner of the jib. He sung out to me to
keep a sharp lookout for Hatteras Light, and then went below
again.
"When I caught sight of the light, about an hour later, and
reported it, it wasn't any brighter than it looked when you came
on deck, a while ago, Mark, and we were heading directly for it.
When the skipper came up and looked at it he told me to 'keep her
so' while he took a squint at the chart.
"He hadn't more than gone below again when there came such a gust
of wind and rain, with thunder and lightning close after, as to
hide the light and keep me busy for a few minutes holding the
schooner up to it.
"The squall passed as suddenly as it came, and there was the
light, right over the end of the flying-jib-boom, burning as
steady as ever, but looking mighty blue, somehow. I thought it was
the effect of the mist, and tried to keep her headed for it. As I
was getting terribly puzzled and fussed up by what I thought was
the strange action of the compass, and by the way the little
spiteful gusts of wind seemed to come from every quarter at once,
the skipper came on deck. Before he had cleared the companion-way
he asked,
"'How does Hatteras Light bear?'
"'Dead ahead, sir,' said I.
"As he stepped on deck he turned to look at it, and I saw him
start as though he saw something awful. He looked for half a
minute, and then in a half-choked sort of voice he gasped out,
'The Death-Light!'
"At the same moment the light, that I had took to be Hatteras,
rolled slowly, like a ball of fire, along the jib-top-sail stay to
the top-mast head, and then I knew it was a St. Elmo's fire, a
thing I'd heard of but never seen before.
"As we all looked at it, afraid almost to say a word, there came a
sound like a moan over the sea, and in another minute a cyclone,
such as I hope never to see again, laid us, first on our beam
ends, and then drove us at a fearful rate directly towards the
coast.
"We drove this way for an hour or more, unable to do a thing to
help ourselves, and then she struck on Hatteras sands. Her masts
went as she struck, and as they fell a huge sea, rushing over the
poor craft, swept overboard the captain and two men. It was some
time before we knew they were gone, for we could see nothing nor
hear anything but the howl of the tempest.
"At last we got rid of the floating wreck of spars by clearing the
tangled rigging with our knives, and, thus relieved, the schooner
was driven a good bit farther over the sands. Finally she struck
solid, and began to break up. One of her boats was stove and
worthless, and in trying to clear away the other, a metallic life-
boat, another man was swept overboard and lost.
"The mate and two of the crew besides myself finally got away from
the wreck in this boat, and were driven in to the beach, on which
we were at last flung more dead than alive.
"The next morning we made our way to the light-house, where we
were kindly cared for, but where our Christmas dinner was a pretty
sad affair.
"The captain's body was washed up on the beach, and a week from
that day we took it and the news of his death together to his wife
in New York.
"Since then I have always felt easier when I have left Hatteras
Light well astern, as we have for this time, at any rate. Well,
there's eight bells, and I must be on deck, so good-night to you
all, and pleasant dreams."
"Is there any such thing as a 'death-light' that warns people of
coming disaster?" asked Ruth of her father, when the captain had
left them.
"No, my dear," he answered, "there is not. The St. Elmo's light,
or St. Elmo's fire, is frequently seen in tropical seas, though
rarely as far north as Cape Hatteras; and as it is generally
accompanied by cyclones or hurricanes, sailors have come to regard
it as an omen of evil. It is not always followed by evil
consequences, however, and to believe that it foretells death is
as idle and foolish as superstitions of all kinds always are."
CHAPTER IV.
A WRECK ON THE FLORIDA REEF.
After leaving Hatteras not another evidence of land was seen by
the passengers of the Nancy Bell for three days. At last one
afternoon "Captain Li" pointed out and called their attention to a
slender shaft rising apparently from the sea itself, far to the
westward. He told them that it was the light-house at Jupiter
Inlet, well down on the coast of Florida, and they regarded it
with great interest, as giving them their first glimpse of the
land that was so soon to be their home.
The weather had by this time become very warm and instead of
wearing the thick clothing with which they had started, the Elmers
found the very thinnest of their last summer's things all that
they could bear.
Mark had almost forgotten his sea-sickness, and spent much of his
time with Jan Jansen, who taught him to make knots and splices, to
box the compass and to steer. Both Mark and Ruth were tanned brown
by the hot sun, and Mr. Elmer said the warmth of the air had
already made a new man of him.
Before the light but steady trade-wind, that kept the air
deliciously cool, the Nancy Bell ran rapidly down the coast and
along the great Florida Reef, which, for two hundred miles, bounds
that coast on the south.
Captain Drew stood far out from the reef, being well aware of the
strong currents that set towards it from all directions, and which
have enticed many a good ship to her destruction. Others, however,
were not so wise as he, and at daylight one morning the watch on
deck sang out,
"Wreck off the starboard bow!"
This brought all hands quickly on deck, and, sure enough, about
five miles from them they saw the wreck looming high out of the
water, and evidently stranded. As her masts, with their crossed
yards, were still standing, "Captain Li" said she must have struck
very easily, and stood a good chance of being saved if she could
only be lightened before a blow came that would roll a sea in on
her.
"Are you going to her assistance?" asked Mr. Elmer.
"Certainly I am," answered the captain. "I consider that one of
the first duties of a sailor is to give aid to his fellows in
distress. Besides, if we succeed in saving her and her cargo, we
stand a chance of making several thousand dollars salvage money,
which I for one do not care to throw away."
"You are quite right," said Mr. Elmer. "It is seldom that we are
offered an opportunity of doing good and being well paid for it at
the same time, and it would be foolish, as well as heartless, not
to render what assistance lies in our power."
The schooner was already headed towards the wreck, but approached
it very slowly, owing to the light breeze that barely filled her
sails. As the sun rose, and cast a broad flood of light over the
tranquil scene, the captain anxiously scanned the line of the reef
in both directions through his glass.
"Ah, I thought so!" he exclaimed; "there they come, and there, and
there. I can count six already. Now we shall have a race for it."
"Who? what?" asked Mark, not understanding the captain's
exclamations.
"Wreckers!" answered the captain. "Take the glass, and you can see
their sails coming from every direction; and they have seen us
long ago too. I actually believe those fellows can smell a wreck a
hundred miles off. Halloo there, forward! Stand by to lower the
gig."
"What are you going to do?" asked Mr. Elmer.
"I am going to try and reach that wreck before any of the boats
whose sails you can see slipping out from behind those low keys.
The first man aboard that ship is 'wreck-master,' and gets the
largest share of salvage money."
So saying, "Captain Li" swung himself over the side and into the
light gig, which, with its crew of four lusty young Maine sailors,
had already been got overboard and now awaited him. As he seized
the tiller ropes he shouted, "Now, then, give way! and a hundred
dollars extra salvage to you four if this gig is the first boat to
lay alongside of that wreck."
At these words the long ash oars bent like willow wands in the
grasp of the young Northern giants, and the gig sprang away like a
startled bonito, leaving a long line of bubbles to mark her
course.
The wreck was still three miles off; and, with the glass, small
boats could be seen shooting away from several of the approaching
wrecking vessels.
"It's a race between Conchs and Yankees," said Jan Jansen to Mark.
"What are Conchs?" asked the boy.
"Why, those fellows in the other boats. Most of them come from the
Bahama Islands, and all Bahamians are called 'Conchs,' because
they eat so many of the shell-fish of that name."
"Well, I'll bet on the Yankees!" cried Mark.
"So will I," said the Swede. "Yankee baked beans and brown bread
make better muscle than fish, which is about all the fellows down
this way get to live on."
As seen from the deck of the schooner, the race had by this time
become very exciting; for, as their boat approached the wreck on
one side, another, manned by red-shirted wreckers, who were
exhibiting a wonderful amount of pluck and endurance for "Conchs,"
as Jan called them, was rapidly coming up on the other. It was
hard to tell which was the nearer; and while Mark shouted in his
excitement, Mrs. Elmer and Ruth waved their handkerchiefs, though
their friends were too far away to be encouraged by either the
shouts or wavings.
At last "Captain Li's" boat dashed up alongside the wreck, and
almost at the same instant the wrecker's boat disappeared from
view on the opposite side.
With their glasses, those on the schooner saw their captain go up
the side of the ship, hand over hand, along a rope that had been
thrown him, and disappear over the bulwarks. They afterwards
learned that he reached the deck of the ship, and thus made
himself master of the wreck, just as the head of his rival
appeared above the opposite side.
The wreck proved to be the ship Goodspeed, Captain Gillis, of and
for Liverpool, with cotton from New Orleans. During the calm of
the preceding night she had been caught by one of the powerful
coast currents, and stealthily but surely drawn into the toils.
Shortly before daylight she had struck on Pickle Reef, but so
lightly and so unexpectedly that her crew could hardly believe the
slight jar they felt was anything more than the shock of striking
some large fish. They soon found, however, that they were hard and
fast aground, and had struck on the very top of the flood tide, so
that, as it ebbed, the ship became more and more firmly fixed in
her position. As the ship settled with the ebbing tide she began
to leak badly, and Captain Gillis was greatly relieved when
daylight disclosed to him the presence of the Nancy Bell, and he
greeted her captain most cordially as the latter gained the deck
of his ship.
By the time the schooner had approached the wreck, as nearly as
her own safety permitted, and dropped anchor for the first time
since leaving Bangor, a dozen little wrecking craft, manned by
crews of swarthy spongers and fishermen, had also reached the
spot, and active preparations for lightening the stranded ship
were being made. Her carefully battened hatches were uncovered,
whips were rove to her lower yards, and soon the tightly pressed
bales of cotton began to appear over her sides, and find their way
into the light draught wrecking vessels waiting to receive them.
As soon as one of these was loaded, she transferred her cargo to
the Nancy Bell and returned for another.
While the wreckers were busily discharging the ship's cargo, her
own crew were overhauling long lines of chain cable, and lowering
two large anchors and two smaller ones into one of the wrecking
boats that had remained empty on purpose to receive them. The
cables were paid out over the stern of the ship, and made fast to
the great anchors, which were carried far out into the deep water
beyond the reef. Each big anchor was backed by a smaller one, to
which it was attached by a cable, and which was carried some
distance beyond it before being dropped overboard.
When the anchors were thus placed in position, the ends of the
cables still remaining on board the ship were passed around
capstans, and by means of the donkey-engine drawn taut.
At high tide that night a heavy strain was brought to bear on the
cables, in hopes that the ship might be pulled off the reef; but
she did not move, and the work of lightening her and searching for
the leak continued all the next day.
While all this work was going on the Elmers spent most of their
time in exploring the reef in the captain's gig, which was so
light that Mr. Elmer and Mark could easily row it.
As the clear water was without a ripple, they could look far down
into its depths, and see the bottom of branching coral, as
beautiful as frosted silver. From among its branches sprang great
sea-fans, delicate as lace-work, and showing, in striking contrast
to the pure white of the coral, the most vivid reds, greens, and
royal purple. These, and masses of feathery seaweeds, waved to and
fro in the water as though stirred by a light breeze, and among
them darted and played fish as brilliant in coloring as tropical
birds. The boat seemed suspended in midair above fairy-land, and
even the children gazed down over its sides in silence, for fear
lest by speaking they should break the charm, and cause the
wonderful picture to vanish.
By noon the heat of the sun was so great that they sought shelter
from it on a little island, or key, of about an acre in extent,
that was covered with a luxuriant vegetation, and shaded by a
group of stately cocoa-nut palms. Mr. Elmer showed Mark how to
climb one of these by means of a bit of rope fastened loosely
around his body and the smooth trunk of the tree, and the boy
succeeded in cutting off several bunches of the great nuts that
hung just below the wide-spreading crown of leaves. They came to
the ground with a crash, but the thick husk in which each was
enveloped saved them from breaking. The nuts were quite green, and
Mr. Elmer with a hatchet cut several of them open and handed them
to his wife and children. None of them contained any meat, for
that had not yet formed, but they were filled with a white, milky
fluid, which, as all of the party were very thirsty, proved a most
acceptable beverage.
After eating the luncheon they had brought with them, and
satisfying their thirst with the cocoa-nut milk, Mark and Ruth
explored the beach of the little island in search of shells, which
they found in countless numbers, of strange forms and most
beautiful colors, while their parents remained seated in the shade
of the palms.
"Wouldn't it be gay if we could stay here always?" said Mark.
"No," answered the more practical Ruth; "I don't think it would be
at all. I would rather be where there are people and houses;
besides, I heard father say that these little islands are often
entirely covered with water during great storms, and I'm sure I
wouldn't want to be here then."
It was nearly sunset when they returned to the schooner, with
their boat well loaded with the shells and other curiosities that
the children had gathered.
At high tide that night the strain on the cables proved sufficient
to move the stranded ship, and, foot by foot, she was pulled off
into deep water, much to the joy of Captain Gillis and those who
had worked with him.
The next morning the entire fleet--ship, schooner, and wrecking
boats--set sail for Key West, which port they reached during the
afternoon, and where they found they would be obliged to spend a
week or more while an Admiralty Court settled the claims for
salvage.
CHAPTER V.
MARK AND RUTH ATTEND AN AUCTION.
Although Mr. and Mrs. Elmer regretted the delay in Key West, being
anxious to get settled in their new home as soon as possible, the
children did not mind it a bit; indeed, they were rather glad of
it. In the novelty of everything they saw in this queerest of
American cities, they found plenty to occupy and amuse them.
The captain and their father were busy in the court-room nearly
every day, and Mrs. Elmer did not care to go ashore except for a
walk in the afternoon with her husband. So the children went off
on long exploring expeditions by themselves, and the following
letter, written during this time by Ruth to her dearest friend,
Edna May, will give an idea of some of the things they saw:
"KEY WEST, FLA., December 15, 188-.
"MY DEAREST EDNA,--It seems almost a year since I left you in dear
old Norton, so much has happened since then. This is the very
first chance I have had since I left to send you a letter, so I
will make it a real long one, and try to tell you everything.
"I was not sea-sick a bit, but Mark was.
"In the Penobscot River we rescued a man from a floating cake of
ice, and brought him with us. His name is Jan Jansen, but Mark
calls him Jack Jackson. A few days before we got here we found a
wreck, and helped get it off, and brought it here to Key West. Now
we are waiting for a court to say how much it was worth to do it.
I shouldn't wonder if they allowed as much as a thousand dollars,
for the wreck was a big ship, and it was real hard work.
"This is an awfully funny place, and I just wish you were here to
walk round with Mark and me and see it. It is on an island, and
that is the reason it is named 'Key,' because all the islands down
here are called keys. The Spaniards call it 'Cayo Hueso,' which
means bone key, or bone island; but I'm sure I don't know why, for
I haven't seen any bones here. The island is all made of coral,
and the streets are just hard white coral worn down. The island is
almost flat, and 'Captain Li'--he's our captain--says that the
highest part is only sixteen feet above the ocean.
"Oh, Edna! you ought to see the palm-trees. They grow everywhere,
great cocoa-nut and date palms, and we drink the milk out of the
cocoa-nuts when we go on picnics and get thirsty. And the roses
are perfectly lovely, and they have great oleanders and cactuses,
and hundreds of flowers that I don't know the names of, and they
are all in full bloom now, though it is nearly Christmas. I don't
suppose I shall hang up my stocking this Christmas; they don't
seem to do it down here.
"The other day we went out to the soldiers' barracks, and saw a
banyan-tree that 'Captain Li' says is the only one in the United
States, but we didn't see any monkeys or elephants. Mark says he
don't think this is very tropical, because we haven't seen any
bread-fruit-trees nor a single pirate; but they used to have them
here--I mean pirates. Anyhow, we have custard apples, and they
sound tropical, don't they? And we have sapadilloes that look like
potatoes, and taste like--well, I think they taste horrid, but
most people seem to like them.
"It is real hot here, and I am wearing my last summer's best straw
hat and my thinnest linen dresses--you know, those I had last
vacation. The thermometer got up to 85 degrees yesterday.
"Do write, and tell me all about yourself and the girls. Has Susie
Rand got well enough to go to school yet? and who's head in the
algebra class? Mark wants to know how's the skating, and if the
boys have built a snow fort yet? Most all the people here are
black, and everybody talks Spanish: it is SO funny to hear them.
"Now I must say good-bye, because Mark is calling me to go to the
fruit auction. I will tell you about it some other time.
"With love to everybody, I am your own lovingest friend,
"RUTH ELMER.
"P.S.--Don't forget that you are coming down here to see me next
winter."
Before Ruth finished this letter Mark began calling to her to
hurry up, for the bell had stopped ringing, and the auction would
be all over before they got there. She hurriedly directed it, and
put it in her pocket to mail on the way to the auction, just as
her brother called out that he "did think girls were the very
slowest."
They had got nearly to the end of the wharf at which the schooner
lay, when Ruth asked Mark if he had any money.
"No," said he, "not a cent. I forgot all about it. Just wait here
a minute while I run back and get some from mother."
"Well," said Ruth, "if boys ain't the very carelessest!" But Mark
was out of hearing before she finished.
While she waited for him, Ruth looked in at the open door of a
very little house, where several colored women were making
beautiful flowers out of tiny shells and glistening fish-scales.
She became so much interested in their work that she was almost
sorry when Mark came running back, quite out of breath, and
gasped, "I've got it! Now let's hurry up!"
Turning to the left from the head of the wharf, they walked
quickly through the narrow streets until they came to a square, on
one corner of which quite a crowd of people were collected. They
were all listening attentively to a little man with a big voice,
who stood on a box in front of them and who was saying as fast as
he could,
"Forty, forty, forty. Shall I have the five? Yes, sir; thank you.
Forty-five, five, five--who says fifty? Fifty, fifty, forty-five--
going, going, gone! and sold at forty-five to Mr.--Beg pardon; the
name, sir? Of course, certainly! And now comes the finest lot of
oranges ever offered for sale in Key West. What am I bid per
hundred for them? Who makes me an offer? I am a perfect Job for
patience, gentlemen, and willing to wait all day, if necessary, to
hear what you have to say."
Of course he was an auctioneer, and this was the regular fruit
auction that is held on this same corner every morning of the
year. Many other things besides fruit are sold at these auctions;
in fact, almost everything in Key West is bought or sold at
auction; certainly all fruit is. For an hour before the time set
for the auction a man goes through the streets ringing a bell and
announcing what is to be sold. This morning he had announced a
fine lot of oranges, among other things, and as Mrs. Elmer was
anxious to get some, she had sent Mark and Ruth to attend the
auction, with a commission to buy a hundred if the bids did not
run too high.
The children had already attended several auctions as spectators,
and Mark knew enough not to bid on the first lot offered. He
waited until somebody who knew more about the value of oranges
than he should fix the price. He and Ruth pushed their way as
close as possible to the auctioneer, and watched him attentively.
"Come, gentlemen," said the little man, "give me a starter. What
am I to have for the first lot of these prime oranges?"
"Two dollars!" called a voice from the crowd.
"Two," cried the auctioneer. "Two, two, two and a half. Who says
three? Shall I hear it? And three. Who bids three? That's right.
Do I hear the quarter? They are well worth it, gentlemen. Will no
one give me the quarter? Well, time is money, and tempus fugit.
Going at three--at three; going, going, and sold at three
dollars."
Several more lots sold so rapidly at three dollars that Mark had
no opportunity of making himself heard or of catching the
auctioneer's eye, until, finally, in a sort of despair he called
out "Quarter," just as another lot was about to be knocked down to
a dealer at three dollars.
"Ah!" said the auctioneer, "that is something like. It takes a
gentleman from the North to appreciate oranges at their true
value. A quarter is bid. Shall I have a half? Do I hear it? Half,
half, half; and sold at three dollars and a quarter to Mr.---what
name, please? Elder. Oh yes; good old name, and one you can live
up to more and more every day of your life. John, pick out a
hundred of the best for Mr. Elder."
The oranges selected by John were such beauties that neither Mark
nor his mother regretted the extra quarter paid for them. After
that, during the rest of their stay in Key West, whenever Mark
went near a fruit auction he was addressed politely by the
auctioneer as "Mr. Elder," and invited to examine the goods
offered for sale that day.
One day Mark and Ruth rowed out among the vessels of the sponging
fleet that had just come in from up the coast. Here they scraped
acquaintance with a weather-beaten old sponger, who sat in the
stern of one of the smallest of the boats, smoking a short pipe
and overhauling some rigging; and from him they gained much new
information concerning sponges.
"We gets them all along the reef as far as Key Biscayne," said the
old sponger; "but the best comes from Rock Island, up the coast
nigh to St. Mark's."
"Why, that's where we're going!" interrupted Ruth.
"Be you, sissy? Wal, you'll see a plenty raked up there, I reckon.
Did you ever hear tell of a water-glass?"
"No," said Ruth, "I never did."
"Wal," said the old man, "here's one; maybe you'd like to look
through it." And he showed them what looked like a wooden bucket
with a glass bottom. "Jest take an' hold it a leetle ways down
into the water and see what you can see."
Taking the bucket which was held out to her, Ruth did as the old
man directed, and uttered an exclamation of delight. "Why, I can
see the bottom just as plain as looking through a window."
"To be sure," said the old sponger; "an' that's the way we sees
the sponges lying on the bottom. An' when we sees 'em we takes
those long-handled rakes there an' hauls 'em up to the top. When
they fust comes up they's plumb black, and about the nastiest
things you ever did see, I reckon. We throws 'em into crawls built
in shallow water, an' lets 'em rot till all the animal matter is
dead, an' we stirs 'em up an beats 'em with sticks to get it out.
Then they has to be washed an' dried an' trimmed, an' handled
consider'ble, afore they's ready for market. Then they's sold at
auction."
The sponge crawls of which the old man spoke are square pens make
of stakes driven into the sand side by side, and as close as
possible together. In some of them at Key West Mark and Ruth saw
little negro boys diving to bring up stray sponges that the rakes
had missed. They did not seem to enjoy this half as much as Mark
and his boy friends used to enjoy diving in the river at Norton,
and they shivered as though they were cold, in spite of the heat
of the day.
When the children told Mr. Elmer about these little, unhappy-
looking divers that night, he said,
"That shows how what some persons regard as play, may become hard
and unpleasant work to those who are compelled to do it."
Several days after this Mr. Elmer engaged a carriage, and took his
wife and the children on a long drive over the island. During this
drive the most interesting things they saw were old Fort Taylor,
which stands just outside the city, and commands the harbor, the
abandoned salt-works, about five miles from the city, and the
Martello towers, built along the southern coast of the island.
These are small but very strong forts, built by the government,
but as yet never occupied by soldiers.
In one of them the Elmers were shown a large, jagged hole, broken
through the brick floor of one of the upper stories. This, the
sergeant in charge told them, had been made by a party of sailors
who deserted from a man-of-war lying in the harbor, and hid
themselves in this Martello tower. They made it so that through it
they could point their muskets and shoot anybody sent to capture
them as soon as he entered the lower rooms. They did not have a
chance to use it for this purpose, however, for the officer sent
after them just camped outside the tower and waited patiently
until hunger compelled the runaways to surrender, when he quietly
marched them back to the ship.
In all of the forts, as well as in all the houses of Key West, are
great cisterns for storing rain-water, for there are no wells on
the island, and the only fresh-water to be had is what can be
caught and stored during the rainy season.
It was a week after the orange auction that Mr. Elmer came into
the cabin of the schooner one afternoon and announced that the
court had given its decision, and that they would sail the next
day.
This decision of the court gave to the schooner Nancy Bell five
thousand dollars, and this, "Captain Li" said, must, according to
wrecker's law, be divided among all who were on board the schooner
at the time of the wreck. Accordingly, he insisted upon giving Mr.
and Mrs. Elmer each two hundred dollars, and Mark, Ruth, and Jan
each one hundred dollars. As neither of the children had ever
before owned more than five dollars at one time, they now felt
wealthy enough to buy the State of Florida, and regarded each
other with vastly increased respect. While their father took
charge of this money for them, he told them they might invest it
as they saw fit, provided he and their mother thought the
investment a good one.
At daylight next morning the Nancy Bell again spread her sails,
and soon Key West was but a low-lying cloud left far behind. For
three days they sailed northward, with light winds, over the warm
waters of the Gulf of Mexico. On the evening of the third day a
bright light flashed across the waters ahead of them, and "Captain
Li" said it was at the mouth of the St. Mark's River. As the tide
was low, and no pilot was to be had that night, they had to stand
off and on, and wait for daylight before crossing the bar and
sailing up the river beyond it.
CHAPTER VI.
A QUEER CHRISTMAS-DAY.
All night long the Nancy Bell sailed back and forth within sight
of the light that marked the mouth of the river. Soon after day-
light a pilot-boat was seen approaching her in answer to the
signal which was flying from the main rigging. As the boat ran
alongside, a colored pilot clambered to the deck and declared it
did him good to see a big schooner waiting to come into the St.
Mark's once more.
"Uster be a plenty of 'em," said he to "Captain Li," "but dey's
scurcer'n gole dollars now-adays, an' I'se proud to see 'em comin'
ag'in."
By the time breakfast was over and the Elmers came on deck, they
found the schooner running rapidly up a broad river, between wide
expanses of low salt-marshes, bounded by distant pine forests, and
studded here and there with groups of cabbage palms. The channel
was a regular zig-zag, and they ran now to one side and then far
over to the other to escape the coral reefs and oyster bars with
which it is filled. This occupied much time; but the breeze was
fresh, and within an hour they had run eight miles up the river,
and were passing the ruins of the old Spanish Fort of St. Mark's.
A few minutes later sails were lowered, and the schooner was
moored to one of the rotten old wharves that still remain to tell
of St. Mark's former glory.
"And is this St. Mark's?" asked Mrs. Elmer, looking with a feeling
of keen disappointment at the dozen or so tumble-down frame
buildings that, perched on piles above the low, wet land, looked
like dilapidated old men with shaky legs, and formed all that was
to be seen of the town.
"Yes, miss," answered the colored pilot, who seemed to consider
her question addressed to him. "Dis yere's St. Mark's, or what de
gales has lef' of hit. 'Pears like dey's been mighty hard on de
ole town, sence trade fell off, an' mos' of de folkses moved away.
Uster be wharves all along yere, an' cotton-presses, an' big
war'houses, an' plenty ships in de ribber; but now dey's all gone.
Dem times we uster hab fo' trains of kyars a day; but now dere's
only one train comes tree times in de week, an' hit's only got one
kyar. Ole St. Mark's a-seein' bad times now, for sho."
As soon as he could get ashore, Mr. Elmer, accompanied by Mark and
the captain, went up into the village to find out what he could
regarding their destination and future movements. In about an hour
he returned, bringing a package of letters from the post-office,
and the information that Uncle Christopher Bangs's place was at
Wakulla, some six miles farther up the river. As the river above
St. Mark's is quite crooked, and bordered on both sides by dense
forests, and as no steam-tug could be had, the captain did not
care to attempt to carry the schooner any farther up. Mr. Elmer
had therefore chartered a large, flat-bottomed lighter, or scow,
to carry to Wakulla the cargo of household goods, tools, building
material, etc., that they had brought with them.
As "Captain Li" was anxious to proceed on his voyage to Pensacola
as quickly as possible, the lighter was at once brought alongside
the schooner, and the work of discharging the Elmers' goods into
her was begun.
"By-the-way, Mark," said Mr. Elmer, as the schooner's hatches were
removed, "I am just reminded that this is Christmas-day, and that
there is a present down in the hold for you from your Uncle
Christmas. It will be one of the first things taken out, so see if
you can recognize it."
He had hardly spoken before the sailors, who had gone down into
the hold, passed carefully up to those on deck a beautiful birch-
bark canoe, with the name Ruth painted on its bows.
"That's it, father! that's it! I'm sure it is. Oh! isn't she a
beauty?" shouted Mark, wild with delight. "Oh! father, how did he
know just exactly what I wanted most?" and the excited boy rushed
down into the cabin to beg his mother and Ruth to come on deck and
see his Christmas present.
The canoe was followed by two paddles painted a bright vermilion,
and as they were placed in her, and she was laid to one side of
the deck, she was indeed as pretty a little craft as can be
imagined, and one that would delight any boy's heart.
"I knew we were going to live near a river, my dear," said Mr.
Elmer, in answer to his wife's anxious expression as she looked at
the canoe, "and as Mark is a good swimmer and very careful in
boats, I thought a canoe would afford him great pleasure, and
probably prove very useful to all of us. So when Uncle Christopher
asked me what I thought the boy would like most for a Christmas
present, I told him a canoe."
"Well, I hope it will prove safe," sighed Mrs. Elmer; "but I wish
it were flat-bottomed, and built of thick boards instead of that
thin bark."
"Oh, mother!" said Mark, "you might as well wish it were a canal-
boat at once."
"Yes, I believe canal-boats are generally considered safer than
canoes," answered his mother with a smile. "By-the-way, Mark"--and
she turned to her husband--"one of the letters you brought was
from Uncle Christopher, and he says he thinks he forgot to tell us
that there is a house on his place, which he hopes we will find in
a fit condition to occupy."
Mr. Elmer had expected to have to build a house, and had
accordingly brought with him sashes, doors, blinds, the necessary
hardware, and in fact everything except lumber for that purpose.
This material was now being transferred from the schooner to the
lighter, and now it seemed almost a pity to have brought it; still
they were very glad to learn that they were likely to find a house
all ready to move into.
It wanted but two hours of sundown when the last of the Elmers'
goods were stowed in the lighter, and as there was nothing to
detain him any longer, "Captain Li" said he should take advantage
of the ebb tide that night to drop down the river and get started
for Pensacola. As rowing and poling the heavy lighter up the river
would at best prove but slow work, and as there was no hotel or
place for them to stay in St. Mark's, Mr. Elmer thought they too
had better make a start, and take advantage of the last of the
flood tide and what daylight still remained.
So good-byes were exchanged, and feeling very much as though they
were leaving home for the second time, the Elmers left the
comfortable cabin that had sheltered them for nearly a month.
Followed by Jan, they went on board their new craft, and the lines
were cast off. The crew of four strong colored men bent over the
long sweeps, and followed by a hearty cheer from the crew of the
schooner, the scow moved slowly up the river. In a few minutes a
bend hid St. Mark's and the tall masts of the Nancy Bell from
sight, and on either side of them appeared nothing but unbroken
forest.
The river seemed narrow and dark after the open sea to which the
Elmers had been so long accustomed, and from its banks the dense
growth of oak, cedar, magnolia, palm, bay, cypress, elm, and sweet
gum trees, festooned with moss, and bound together with a net-work
of vines, rose like walls, shutting out the sunlight. Strange
water-fowl, long-legged and long-billed, flew screaming away as
they advanced, and quick splashes in the water ahead of them told
of the presence of other animal life.
At sunset they were nearly two miles from St. Mark's, and opposite
a cleared spot on the bank, where was piled a quantity of light-
wood or pitch-pine. Here the captain and owner of the lighter, who
was a young white man named Oliver Johnson, proposed that they
should tie up for the night.
To this Mr. Elmer consented, and as soon as the boat was made fast
to the bank, active preparations were begun for cooking supper,
and for making everything as snug and comfortable as possible.
A large sail was stretched across some poles, in the form of a
tent, over the after-part of the lighter, and beneath this two
comfortable beds were made up from the abundant supply of
mattresses and blankets belonging to the Elmers. Jan Jansen and
Captain Johnson, who, Mark said, must be related, as their names
were the same, spread their blankets in the forward end of the
boat. On shore the negro crew built for themselves a thatched
lean-to of poles and palm-leaves beside the fire, that was already
throwing its cheerful light across the dark surface of the river.
While the men were busy arranging the shelters and bedding, Mrs.
Elmer and Ruth, assisted by one of the negroes, were cooking
supper over a bed of coals that had been raked from the fire. A
huge pot of coffee sent forth clouds of fragrant steam, and in two
frying-pans some freshly caught fish sizzled and browned in a most
gratifying and appetizing manner. In a couple of kettles hung over
the fire hominy and sweet potatoes bubbled, boiled, and tried to
outdo each other in getting done. Fresh-made bread and a good
supply of butter had been brought from the schooner. When the
supper was all ready, and spread out on a green table-cloth of
palm-leaves, Mark and Ruth declared that this picnic was even
jollier than the one on the island of the Florida Reef, and that
this was after all one of the very best Christmases they had ever
known.
After supper, and when the dishes had all been washed and put
away, the Elmers, Captain Johnson, and Jan sought the shelter of
the canvas awning from the heavy night-dew which had begun to fall
as soon as the sun went down. They lifted the sides, so that they
could look out and see the fire around which the crew were
gathered. After a while one of these started a plaintive negro
melody, which sounded very sweetly through the still air. The
others took it up, and they sang for an hour or more, greatly to
the delight of the children, to whom such music was new. Many of
the words were composed as they sang, and Mark and Ruth could not
help laughing at some of them, which, though sung very soberly,
sounded funny. One song which they afterwards remembered was:
"Oh, dey put John on de islan'
When de Bridegroom come;
Yes, dey put John on de islan'
When de Bridegroom come;
An' de rabens come an' fed him
When de Bridegroom come;
Yes, de rabens come an' fed him
When de Bridegroom come.
An' five of dem was wise
When de Bridegroom come;
Yes, five of dem was wise
When de Bridegroom come;
An' five of dem was foolish
When de Bridegroom come;
Yes, five of dem was foolish
When de Bridegroom come.
Oh, gib us of yo' ile
When de Bridegroom come;
Oh, gib us of yo' ile
When de Bridegroom come;
Fo' you'll nebber get to heaben
When de Bridegroom come;
No, you'll nebber get to heaben
When de Bridegroom come;
Aless you's ile a-plenty
When de Bridegroom come;
Aless you's ile a-plenty
When de Bridegroom come."
In the midst of the singing a voice called out from the tree-tops,
"Who, who, who, who's there?" or at least so it sounded.
Immediately the singing stopped, and one of the negroes answered,
"Some folkses from de Norf, Marse Owl, an' Cap'n Johnsin, an' me,
an' Homer, an' Virgil, an' Pete."
"What does he mean by that?" asked Mr. Elmer of the captain.
"Oh," answered he, "it's one of their superstitions that they'll
have bad luck if they don't answer an owl politely when he asks
'Who's there?' and give the names of all the party, if they know
them."
Soon after this all hands sought their blankets, good-nights were
said, the fire died down, and all was quiet in the camp, though
several times some sleepy negro roused himself sufficiently to
answer the owl's repeated question of "Who's there?"
It must have been nearly midnight when the camp was startled by a
crash, a series of smothered cries, and a loud splashing in the
water. It was evident that something serious had happened, but
what it was no one could make out in the darkness.
CHAPTER VII.
ARRIVAL AT THE NEW HOME.
Some light-wood splinters were quickly thrown upon the smouldering
remains of the fire, and as it blazed up brightly, the lighter, in
which the whites had been sleeping, was seen to be on its beam
ends. One side rested high up on the bank and the other down in
the mud at the bottom of the river, just on the edge of the
channel. Some little distance down stream a sorry-looking figure,
which was hardly recognizable as that of Jan, was floundering
through the mud and water towards the bank. On the lower side of
the lighter the canvas, that had been spread like a tent over the
afterpart, had broken from its fastenings, and was now tossing and
heaving in a most remarkable manner. From beneath it came the
smothered cries of the Elmers, who had been suddenly wakened to
find themselves mixed together in the most perplexing way, and
entangled in their blankets and the loose folds of the canvas.
Captain Johnson seemed to be the only person who had his wits
about him, and who was in a condition to render any assistance. As
soon as he could pick himself up he made his way to the other end
of the boat and dragged the canvas from off the struggling family.
First Mr. Elmer emerged from the confusion, then Mrs. Elmer and
Ruth were helped out, and last of all poor Mark, who had been
buried beneath the entire family, was dragged forth, nearly
smothered and highly indignant.
"It's a mean trick, and I didn't think--" he began, as soon as he
got his breath; but just then his eye fell upon the comical figure
of Jan. He was walking towards the fire, dripping mud and water
from every point, and Mark's wrath was turned into hearty laughter
at this sight. In it he was joined by all the others as soon as
they saw the cause of his mirth.
After the Elmers had been helped up the steep incline of the boat,
and were comfortably fixed near the fire, Captain Johnson and Jan,
who said he didn't mind mud now any more than an alligator, took
light-wood torches and set out to discover what had happened. As
Jan climbed down the bank into the mud, and held his torch beneath
the boat, he saw in a moment the cause of the accident, and knew
just how it had occurred.
As the tide ebbed the lighter had been gradually lowered, until it
rested on the upright branches of an old water-logged tree-top
that was sunk in the mud at this place. The water falling lower
and lower, the weight upon these branches became greater and
greater, until they could support it no longer, and one side of
the lighter went down with a crash, while the other rested against
the bank. Jan, who had been sleeping on the upper side of the
boat, was thrown out into the water when it fell, as some of the
Elmers doubtless would have been had not their canvas shelter
prevented such a catastrophe.
The rest of the night was spent around the fire, which was kept up
to enable Jan to dry his clothes. By daylight the tide had risen,
so that the lighter again floated on an even keel. By sunrise a
simple breakfast of bread-and-butter and coffee had been eaten,
and our emigrants were once more afloat and moving slowly up the
tropical-looking river.
About ten o'clock Captain Johnson pointed to a huge dead cypress-
tree standing on the bank of the river some distance ahead, and
told the Elmers that it marked one of the boundary-lines of
Wakulla. They gazed at it eagerly, as though expecting it to turn
into something different from an ordinary cypress, and all felt
more or less disappointed at not seeing any clearings or signs of
human habitations. It was not until they were directly opposite
the village that they saw its score or so of houses through the
trees and undergrowth that fringed the bank.
As the Bangs place, to which the children gave the name of "Go
Bang"--a name that adhered to it ever afterwards--was across the
river from the village, the lighter was poled over to that side.
There was no wharf, so she was made fast to a little grassy
promontory that Captain Johnson said was once one of the abutments
of a bridge. There was no bridge now, however, and already Mark
saw that his canoe was likely to prove very useful.
The first thing to do after getting ashore and seeing the precious
canoe safely landed was to find the house. As yet they had seen no
trace of it, so heavy was the growth of trees every-where, except
at the abutment, which was built of stone, covered with earth and
a thick sod. From here an old road led away from the river through
the woods, and up it Mr. and Mrs. Elmer and Captain Johnson now
walked, Mark and Ruth having run on ahead. The elders had gone but
a few steps when they heard a loud cry from Ruth, and hurried
forward fearing that the children were in trouble. They met Ruth
running back towards them, screaming, "A snake! a snake! a horrid
big snake!"
"I've got him!" shouted Mark from behind some bushes, and sure
enough there lay a black snake almost as long as Mark was tall,
which he had just succeeded in killing with a stick.
Mrs. Elmer shuddered at the sight of the snake, though her husband
assured her that it had been perfectly harmless even when alive.
Not far from where the snake had been killed they found a spring
of water bubbling up, as clear as crystal, from a bed of white
sand, but giving forth such a disagreeable odor that the children
declared it was nasty. Mr. Elmer, however, regarded it with great
satisfaction, and told them it was a sulphur spring, stronger than
any he had ever seen, and that they would find it very valuable.
They all drank some of the water out of magnolia-leaf cups; but
the children made faces at the taste, and Mark said it made him
feel like a hard-boiled egg.
A path leading from the spring at right angles to the road from
the river took them into a large clearing that had once been a
cultivated field, and on the farther side of this field stood the
house. As they approached it they saw that it was quite large, two
stories in height, with dormer windows in the roof, but that it
bore many signs of age and long neglect. Some of the windows were
broken and others boarded up, while the front door hung
disconsolately on one hinge.
The house stood in a grove of grand live-oaks, cedars, and
magnolias, and had evidently been surrounded by a beautiful
garden, enclosed by a neat picket-fence; but now the fence was
broken down in many places, and almost hidden by a dense growth of
vines and creepers. In the garden, rose-bushes, myrtles,
oleanders, and camellias grew with a rank and untrained
luxuriance, and all were matted together with vines of honeysuckle
and clematis.
The front porch of the house was so rotten and broken that, after
forcing their way through the wild growth of the garden, the party
had to cross it very carefully in order to enter the open door.
The interior proved to be in a much better condition than they had
dared hope, judging from the outside appearance of the house. It
was filled with the close, musty odor common to deserted
buildings, and they quickly threw wide open all the windows and
doors that were not nailed up. On the first floor were four large
rooms, each containing a fireplace and several closets, and up-
stairs were four more, lighted by the dormer windows in the roof.
A broad hall ran through the house from front to rear, opening
upon a wide back porch which was also much out of repair. Beneath
this porch Mr. Elmer discovered a brick cistern half full of dirty
water, which he knew must be very foul, as the gutters along the
roof were so rotten and broken that they could not have furnished
a fresh supply in a long time.
Behind the main house, and surrounded by large fig-trees, they
found another building, in a fair state of preservation,
containing two rooms, one of which had been the kitchen. In the
huge fireplace of this kitchen they were surprised to see freshly
burned sticks and a quantity of ashes, while about the floor were
scattered feathers and bones, and in one corner was a pile of moss
that looked as though it has been used for a bed. Beyond the
kitchen were the ruins of several out-buildings that had fallen by
reason of their age, or been blown down during a gale.
Having thus made a hasty exploration of their new home, the party
returned to the landing, to which their goods were being unloaded
from the lighter by Jan and the crew. Leaving Mrs. Elmer and Ruth
here, Mr. Elmer and Mark crossed the river to the village to see
what they could procure in the way of teams and help.
Of the twenty houses in the village, many of which were in a most
dilapidated condition, only two were occupied by white families,
the rest of the population being colored. There were no stores nor
shops of any kind, the only building not used as a dwelling-house
being a small church very much out of repair. The white men living
in the village were away from home, but from among the colored
people, who were much excited at the arrival of strangers in their
midst, Mr. Elmer engaged two men and their wives to cross the
river and go to work at once. He also engaged a man who owned a
team of mules and a wagon, and who would go over as soon as the
lighter was unloaded and could be used to ferry him across.
On its return to the other side, the canoe was followed by a skiff
containing the newly engaged colored help, whose amazement at
everything they saw, and especially at the canoe, was unbounded.
One of the men expressed his wonder at the little craft by saying,
"Dat ar trick's so light, I reckon it's gwine leab de water some
fine day, an' fly in de yair, like a duck."
Mrs. Elmer provided the women with brooms, mops, and pails, and
took them up to the house, where they proceeded to put the lower
story in order for immediate occupation. Mr. Elmer armed the men
with axes, and soon had them engaged in a struggle with the
tangled growth in the front yard, through which they cut a broad
path to the house. While they were doing this, Mr. Elmer and Jan
cut and placed in position some temporary supports under the
rickety porches, and Mark was set work at the windows. From these
he knocked away all the boards, letting in floods of blessed
sunlight, that drove from their snug retreats numbers of bats and
several comical little owls.
One of the colored women--"Aunt Chloe Cato," as she called
herself, because she was Cato's wife--was sent into the kitchen to
clean it and to make a fire in the great fireplace. She could not
explain the traces of recent occupation, but "'lowed 'twere de
ghoses, kase dis yere ole Bang place done bin hanted."
"Well, it'll be 'hanted' now by the Elmer family," said Mark, who
overheard her, "and they'll make it lively for any other 'ghoses'
that come round."
"Don't ye, now, honey I don't ye go fo' to set up yo'sef agin de
ghoses, kase dey's powerful pernickety when dey's crassed," said
the old woman, whom Mark, with his love for nick-names, had
already called "Ole Clo."
At noon all hands stopped work to eat a hasty lunch, and soon
afterwards the lighter, being unloaded, was poled across the river
for the team. With the help of Captain Johnson and his crew, who
had agreed to remain over that night, most of the household goods
were moved up to the house during the afternoon and placed under
shelter.
While this work was going on, one of the white men from the
village came over to see his new neighbors. He brought with him a
wild-turkey, half a dozen ducks, and a string of freshly caught
fish, as cards of introduction. His name was Bevil, and he
welcomed the Elmers most heartily, and said that he considered
their coming a sign of better times for that section of the
country. He told Mr. Elmer that the Bangs place used to be
considered one of the finest plantations in the county, and that
its lands were as rich now as ever.
Before night the lower story of the old house looked quite
comfortable, and almost homelike; and when the family sat down to
dinner, it was with the keen appetites resulting from hard work.
The dinner was a bountiful meal, largely composed of Mr. Bevil's
game and fish; and before they ate it Mr. Elmer offered up a
heart-felt thanksgiving for the mercies that had been granted them
thus far, and prayed for a blessing on their new home.
That evening he arranged with Captain Johnson to start at daylight
and go with his lighter to the nearest saw-mill, sixty miles away,
for a load of lumber and shingles. He also commissioned him to buy
and bring back a large skiff, such as were used on the river.
The tired household went early to bed that first night in their
new home, and though their beds were made down on the floor, they
all slept soundly.
All but Mark, who, after sleeping for some hours, woke suddenly to
find himself sitting bolt-upright in bed, and staring at the
broken window in front of him, through which a flood of moonlight
was pouring. He was as certain as he could be of anything that he
had seen a face at that window as he started up--a wild, haggard
face, framed by long unkempt hair. He sprang from his bed and
looked out, but could see nobody, and heard no unusual sound
except the distant "who-who-whoo" of an owl.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL, AND MORE MYSTERIES.
It must be confessed that, before getting to sleep again, Mark
thought of what Aunt Chloe had said about the "ghoses"; but having
been taught to disbelieve in such things, and always to seek for
some natural explanation of whatever appeared supernatural or
unreal, he made up his mind to wait and make the attempt to
unravel this mystery by himself before saying anything about it.
The four days that remained of the week were very busy days for
the Elmers and those whom they had employed to help them. During
this time the interior of the old house was thoroughly cleansed
and sweetened by the energetic use of soap and water, and straw
matting was laid on the floors of the rooms down-stairs. The
broken windows were all repaired by Mark, who found several boxes
of glass and a bladder of putty among the building material they
had brought from Bangor, and who, after a few trials, became quite
a skilful glazier. The cistern was emptied of its stagnant water
and thoroughly cleansed, and the gutters were repaired as well as
they could be before the arrival of Captain Johnson and the
lumber.
It was not until the windows and gutters were repaired that Mrs.
Elmer would allow any of the furniture, not absolutely needed, to
be unpacked, for fear it might be injured by the dampness. Among
the packages that thus remained boxed up, or wrapped in burlaps,
was one which none of them could remember having seen before. It
was large and square, and different in shape from anything that
had stood in their house in Norton. What could it be? Mark and
Ruth asked each other this question a dozen times a day, and, but
for their mother's refusal to allow them to do so, would have long
since solved the riddle by opening the package.
On Friday night the house was pronounced to be practically water-
tight, and at breakfast-time the following morning Mrs. Elmer said
they would unpack and arrange the furniture that day.
"And the mystery?" cried Mark. "May we open that first?"
"Certainly," replied his mother; "you may, if you wish, open that
the moment you have finished breakfast."
"That's this very minute, ain't it, Ruth? Come along. We'll soon
find out what's inside those burlaps," exclaimed the boy, pushing
back his chair, and rising from the table as he spoke.
He brought a hammer with which to knock off the rough frame of
boards that almost formed a box around the package, and Ruth ran
for the shears to cut the stitches of the burlaps.
The frame quickly fell to pieces under Mark's vigorous blows, and
then his penknife assisted Ruth's shears. Beneath the burlaps was
a thick layer of straw; then came heavy wrapping-paper, and, under
this, layers and wads of news-paper, until the children began to
think the whole package was nothing but wrappings.
At last the papers were all pulled away, and there stood revealed,
in all its beauty of structure and finish, a little gem of a
cabinet organ. To one of its handles was tied a card, on which was
printed in big letters:
"A Christmas Present, with wishes for a very merry Christmas, from
Uncle 'Christmas' to his grandniece Ruth Elmer."
"Oh! oh! oh! ain't it lovely?" cried Ruth. "Dear old 'Uncle
Christmas!' And I thought he had forgotten me, and only remembered
Mark, too."
The organ was placed in the parlor, and from that day forth was a
source of great pleasure, not only to Ruth and the Elmer family,
but to their neighbors across the river, who frequently came over
in the evening to hear Ruth play.
Among the events of that week were two that impressed Mark deeply,
as they seemed to be connected in some way with the face he had
seen at the window. One of these was the mysterious disappearance,
on that same night, of a loaf of bread and a cold roast duck from
the kitchen. The other was the appearance, two days later, at the
kitchen door, of a poor wounded dog, who dragged himself out from
the woods back of the house, and lay down on the step, evidently
in great pain.
Ruth saw him as he lay there, panting and moaning, and ran to tell
Mark, and her father and mother, of their visitor and his wretched
plight. They all went to see him, and after a careful examination
of the suffering animal, Mr. Elmer said he had been cruelly
treated and badly wounded; but that, with proper treatment and
care, he could be cured. "He is a cross between a pointer and a
hound," continued Mr. Elmer, "and looks like a valuable dog. The
wounds from which he is suffering are those caused by a charge of
small shot, that must have been fired into him quite recently. I
will do what I can for him, and then I shall turn him over to you
and Ruth, Mark, and if he recovers he shall belong to you both.
His present owner has forfeited all claim to him by cruel
treatment, for without our care now the poor beast would certainly
die. The first thing to do is to give him water, for he is very
feverish."
The dog seemed to know, as well as his human friends, that the
pain he suffered, while most of the shot were extracted on the
point of a pen-knife, was for his good; for while he moaned and
whined during the operation, he lay perfectly still, and did not
offer the slightest resistance. After his wounds had been dressed,
he was carefully removed to a bed of soft moss on the back porch,
and here he lay quietly, only feebly wagging his tail whenever any
of his new friends came to see him.
"Who could have shot this dog?" and "Why did the animal drag
himself to our kitchen door?" were questions that puzzled Mark
considerably during the rest of that day and for some days
afterwards.
During that week Jan Jansen and the two negroes had worked hard at
cutting away the undergrowth immediately around the house, and by
Saturday night they had wonderfully improved the general
appearance of things. The garden in front of the house had been
cleared of everything except the ornamental shrubs properly
belonging there. The fence had been freed from its crushing weight
of vines, and its broken panels repaired, so that it now only
needed a coat of paint to make it look as good as new. Back of the
house they had cleared an acre of what had formerly been the
kitchen-garden, and had opened a broad avenue down to the river,
so that the back windows of the house now looked out upon it and
the village beyond.
Late on Saturday evening Captain Johnson returned to Wakulla with
a lighter-load of shingles, window-blinds, fence-pickets, and
assorted lumber. He also brought the skiff that Mr. Elmer had
commissioned him to buy.
The next day being Sunday, every member of the little community
was prepared to enjoy a well-earned rest. During the morning they
all crossed the river to the village, leaving "Go Bang" closed,
and unprotected save by "Bruce," as the children had named the
wounded dog.
In the village they found the little church closed and empty; so
they went to the house of Mr. Bevil, whom they found at home, and
who introduced them to his family. Mrs. Bevil expressed great
pleasure at meeting Mrs. Elmer, and apologized for not having
called; and Ruth was delighted to find that the eldest of the
three Bevil children was a girl of about her own age, named Grace.
In reply to Mr. Elmer's inquiries, the Bevils said that no regular
services were held in the church, and that it was only opened when
some preacher happened to visit them.
Mr. Elmer proposed that they should organize a Sunday-school, to
be held in the church every Sunday, and that they should make a
beginning that very day.
To this the Bevils gladly consented, and two servants were
immediately sent out--one to open the church and ring the bell,
and the other to invite all the colored people of the place to
meet there in an hour.
Then the Elmers and Bevils went together to the house of Mr.
Carter, the other white man of the village. Here were two
children, a girl and a boy, both younger than Ruth; and Mr. and
Mrs. Carter readily agreed to help establish the Sunday-school,
and promised to be at the church at the appointed time.
When the Elmers entered the church they found nearly fifty men,
women, and children assembled, and waiting with eager curiosity to
see what was going to be done. The church was as dilapidated as
most of the buildings in the village, and many of its windows were
broken. In that climate, where snow is unknown and frost comes but
seldom, this made little difference, and this Sunday was so warm
and bright that the breeze coming in through the broken windows
was very refreshing.
Mr. Elmer made a short address to the people, telling them that he
and his family had come to live among them, and that he thought it
would be very pleasant for them all to meet in that house every
Sunday, for the purpose of studying the Bible and mutually helping
one another. Then he asked all who were willing to help him
establish a Sunday-school to hold up their hands, and every hand
was immediately raised.
Mr. Bevil moved that Mr. Elmer be made superintendent of the
Sunday-school, Mr. Carter seconded the motion, and it was
unanimously carried.
The rest of the hour was occupied in forming classes and giving
out lessons to be learned for the next Sunday. As most of the
colored people could not read, it seemed important that they
should be taught this first, and both Mark and Ruth were made
teachers of ABC classes composed of the younger children.
Before the meeting closed Mr. Bevil made some remarks, in which he
thanked the Elmers for what they had undertaken, reminded the
school that the next day was the first of a new year, and said
that, as he had already told Mr. Elmer, the coming and settling of
these strangers among them marked the dawn of a new era of
prosperity for Wakulla.
As the Elmers neared their home after Sunday-school they heard
Bruce bark loudly; but when they reached it they found him cowed
and whimpering. His eyes were fixed upon the point of woods
nearest the house, and he exhibited signs of great fear. They also
found the kitchen door standing wide open, though Mrs. Elmer was
certain she had fastened it before leaving.
Again Mark thought of the "ghoses," but still he said nothing, and
the opening of the door was finally credited to the wind.
That afternoon Mr. Bevil came over to make a call, and was much
interested in the improvements already made and proposed. He
declared that it reminded him of old times, when that side of the
river was inhabited by a dozen or more families, and when Wakulla
was one of the most prosperous towns in the State. He showed Mr.
Elmer the sites of the old foundry and mills that once stood on
that side of the river, and told him of the wharves that had lined
both banks, the great cotton-presses, and the many vessels that
used to fill it from bank to bank as they lay awaiting their loads
of cotton. In those days a line of steam-ships plied regularly
between Wakulla and New Orleans, and a steam-tug was kept
constantly busy towing vessels between the town and the mouth of
the river. Then a fine plank-road reached back from Wakulla a
hundred miles into the country, and the two hotels of the place
were constantly crowded with invalids, who came to receive the
benefits of its famous sulphur and mineral springs. In those days
six large stores were hardly sufficient for the business of the
place, and then the land on both sides of the river for miles was
cultivated, and produced heavy crops of cotton.
Now all that remained to tell of this former prosperity were a few
rotten piles in the river where the wharves had stood, the bridge
abutments, a handful of tumble-down houses, and here and there in
the dense woods traces of cultivated fields, and an occasional
brick chimney or pile of stone to mark the site of some old
plantation house.
Mr. Elmer was much interested in all this, and mentally resolved
that he would do all that lay in his power to revive the old-time
prosperity of the place in which he had established his home.
"What we most need here now," concluded Mr. Bevil, "is a bridge
over the river and a mill. It ought to be a saw-mill, grist-mill,
and cotton-gin all in one."
The next morning Mr. Elmer said that he must go to Tallahassee,
the nearest city, on business, and that he might be absent several
days. Before going he laid out the work that he wanted each one to
do while he was away. Mark was to take him down the river to the
railroad station at St. Mark's, in his canoe, and on his return he
and Jan were to go into the woods after as many cedar fence-posts
as they could cut. The colored men were to prepare the large
cleared field in front of the house, in which were about ten
acres, for ploughing, and to dig post-holes around it on lines
that he had marked. Captain Johnson and his crew were to unload
the lighter and haul all the lumber and shingles up to the house.
When he and Mark went down to the canoe, it seemed to the latter
that she was not just where he had left her the day before, and he
thought she looked as though she had been recently used; but as he
could not be certain, he said nothing about it to his father.
Mr. Elmer took a light rifle with him in the canoe, saying that
there was no knowing but what they might find a chance to use it
going down the river, and that Mark could bring it back. Mark was
glad of this, for he inherited a love for shooting from his
father, and having been carefully instructed, was a capital shot.
The day was unusually warm and bright for that season of the year,
and as they floated quietly down-stream they surprised a number of
alligators lying on the banks sunning themselves. As they were the
first of these great reptiles that either Mr. Elmer or Mark had
ever seen, they watched them with curiosity not unmixed with fear
lest they should attack and upset the light canoe. They afterwards
learned that their fears were groundless, and that cases of this
kind are almost unknown.
They reached St. Mark's in time for Mr. Elmer to catch the train,
and after he had gone Mark got the mail, of which quite a quantity
had collected here for them, there being no post-office in
Wakulla, and started for home.
On the way up the river the boy was strangely oppressed by the
solitude and almost unbroken silence about him, and was very glad
when he found himself within a mile of home.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a cry so terrible and agonized
that he was for a moment nearly petrified with fright. He quickly
recovered his presence of mind, and the first cry being followed
by screams for help and a crashing of the bushes on a small wooded
point that jutted into the river just ahead of him, he hastily ran
the canoe up to the bank, seized his rifle, and sprang ashore.
CHAPTER IX.
MARK DISCOVERS THE GHOST AND FINDS HIM IN A TRYING POSITION.
Mark dashed through the bushes for a hundred yards, heedless of
the clinging thorns of the rattan vine that tore his clothes, and
scratched his face and hands until they bled, before reaching the
scene of what sounded like a terrible struggle. The screams for
help told him that at least one of the contestants was a human
being in sore distress, and in thus rushing to his assistance Mark
did not give a moment's thought to his own safety. As he burst
from the bushes he found himself in a little open glade on the
opposite side of the point from that on which he had landed. Here
he came upon a struggle for life such as rarely takes place even
in the wilder regions of the South, and such as but few persons
have ever witnessed.
On the farther side of the glade, clinging with the strength of
despair to the trunk of a young magnolia-tree, lay a boy of about
Mark's own age. His arms were nearly torn from their sockets by
some terrible strain, and his eyes seemed starting from his head
with horror. As he saw Mark he screamed, "Fire! Fire quick! His
eyes! I'm letting go."
Looking along the boy's body Mark saw a pair of great jaws closed
firmly upon his right foot, though the rest of the animal,
whatever it was, was hidden in a thicket of bushes which were
violently agitated. He could see the protruding eyes; and,
springing across the opening, he placed the muzzle of the rifle
close against one of them, and fired.
The horrid head was lifted high in the air with a bellow of rage
and pain. As it fell it disappeared in the bushes, which were
beaten down by the animal's death struggle, and then all was
still.
Upon firing, Mark had quickly thrown another cartridge from the
magazine into the chamber of his rifle, and held it in readiness
for another shot. He waited a moment after the struggles ceased,
and finding that no further attack was made, turned his attention
to the boy, who lay motionless and as though dead at his feet. His
eyes were closed, and Mark knew that he had fainted, though he had
never seen a person in that condition before.
His first impulse was to try and restore the boy to consciousness;
but his second, and the one upon which he acted, was to assure
himself that the animal he had shot was really dead, and incapable
of making another attack. Holding his rifle in one hand, and
cautiously parting the bushes with the other, he peered, with a
loudly beating heart, into the thicket. There, stretched out stiff
and motionless, he saw the body of a huge alligator. It was dead--
dead as a mummy; there was no doubt of that; and without waiting
to examine it further, Mark laid down his rifle and went to the
river for water.
He brought three hatfuls, and dashed them, one after another, in
the boy's face before the latter showed any signs of
consciousness. Then the closed eyes were slowly opened, and fixed
for an instant upon Mark, with the same look of horror that he had
first seen in them, and the boy tried to rise to his feet, but
fell back with a moan of pain.
Mark had already seen that the boy's right foot was terribly
mangled and covered with blood, and he went quickly for more water
with which to bathe it. After he had washed off the blood, and
bound the wounded foot as well as he could with his handkerchief
and one of his shirt sleeves torn into strips, he found that the
boy had again opened his eyes, and seemed to have fully recovered
his consciousness.
"Do you feel better?" asked Mark.
"Yes," answered the boy. "I can sit up now if you will help me."
Mark helped him into a sitting position, with his back against the
tree to which he had clung when the alligator tried to drag him
into the water. Then he said,
"Now wait here a minute while I bring round the canoe. I'll get
you into it, and take you home, for your foot must be properly
attended to as soon as possible."
Hurrying back to where he had left the canoe, Mark brought it
around the point, very close to where the boy was sitting, and
pulled one end of it up on the bank. Then going to the boy, he
said,
"If you can stand up, and will put both arms around my neck, I'll
carry you to the canoe; it's only a few steps."
Although he almost cried out with the pain caused by the effort,
the boy succeeded in doing as Mark directed, and in a few minutes
more was seated in the bottom of the canoe, with his wounded foot
resting on Mark's folded jacket.
Carefully shoving off, and stepping gently into the other end of
the canoe, Mark began to paddle swiftly up the river. The boy sat
with closed eyes, and though Mark wanted to ask him how it had all
happened, he waited patiently, fearing that his companion was too
weak to talk. He noticed that the boy was barefooted and
bareheaded, that his clothes were very old and ragged, and that he
had a bag and a powder-horn slung over his shoulders. He also
noticed that his hair was long and matted, and that his face, in
spite of its present paleness, was tanned, as though by long
exposure to the weather. It had a strangely familiar look to him,
and it seemed as though he must have seen that boy somewhere
before, but where he could not think.
Just before they reached the "Go Bang" landing-place the boy
opened his eyes, and Mark, no longer able to restrain his
curiosity, asked,
"How did the alligator happen to catch you?"
"I was asleep," answered the boy, "and woke up just in time to
catch hold of that tree as he grabbed my foot and began pulling me
to the water. He would have had me in another minute, for I was
letting go when you came;" and the boy shuddered at the
remembrance.
"Well," said Mark, a little boastfully, "he won't catch anybody
else. He's as dead as a door-nail now. Here we are."
Jan and Captain Johnson were at the landing, and they listened
with astonishment to Mark's hurried explanation of what had
happened. The captain said they would carry the boy to the house,
while Mark ran on and told his mother who was coming, so that she
could prepare to receive him.
Mrs. Elmer was much shocked at Mark's story, and said she was very
thankful that he had not only been the means of saving a human
life, but had escaped unharmed himself. At the same time she made
ready to receive the boy, and when the men brought him in she had
a bed prepared for him, warm water and castile soap ready to bathe
the wounds, and soft linen to bandage them.
Captain Johnson, who called himself "a rough and ready surgeon,"
carefully felt of the wounded foot to ascertain whether or not any
bones were broken. The boy bore this patiently and without a
murmur, though one or two gasps of pain escaped him. When the
captain said that, though he could not feel any fractured bones,
the ankle-joint was dislocated, and must be pulled back into place
at once, he clinched his teeth, drew in a long breath, and nodded
his head. Taking a firm hold above and below the dislocated joint,
the captain gave a quick twist with his powerful hands that drew
from the boy a sharp cry of pain.
"There," said the captain, soothingly, "it's all over; now we will
bathe it and bandage it, and in a few days you will be as good as
you were before you met Mr. 'Gator. If not better," he added, as
he took note of the boy's wretched clothes and general appearance.
After seeing the patient made as comfortable as possible, Mark and
the two men went out, leaving him to the gentle care of Mrs. Elmer
and Ruth.
"Mark," said Captain Johnson, "let's take the skiff and go and get
that alligator. I guess Miss Ruth would like to see him. One of my
men can go along to help us, or Jan, if he will."
"All right," said Mark, and Jan said he would go if it wouldn't
take too long.
"We'll be back in less than an hour," said the captain, "if it's
only a mile away, as Mark says."
So they went, and it took the united strength of the three to get
the alligator into the skiff when they found him. He measured ten
feet and four inches in length, and Captain Johnson, who claimed
to be an authority concerning alligators, said that was very large
for fresh-water, though in tide-water they were sometimes found
fifteen feet in length, and he had heard of several that were even
longer.
While Mark was showing them just where the boy lay when he first
saw him, Jan picked up an old muzzle-loading shot-gun and a pair
of much-worn boots, that had heretofore escaped their notice. Both
barrels of the gun were loaded, but one only contained a charge of
powder, which surprised them.
"What do you suppose he was going to do with only a charge of
powder?" asked Mark, when this discovery was made.
"I've no idea," answered the captain; "perhaps he forgot the shot,
or hadn't any left."
When they reached home with the big alligator, the whole household
came out to look at it, and Mrs. Elmer and Ruth shuddered when
they saw the monster that had so nearly dragged the boy into the
river.
"Oh, Mark!" exclaimed Ruth, "just think if you hadn't come along
just then."
"How merciful that your father thought of taking the rifle!" said
Mrs. Elmer. "I don't suppose we could keep it for Mr. Elmer to
see, could we?" she asked of Captain Johnson.
"Oh no, ma'am, not in this warm weather," answered the captain;
"but we can cut off the head and bury it, and in two or three
weeks you will have a nice skull to keep as a memento."
"And what will you do with the body?"
"Why, throw it into the river, I suppose," answered the captain.
"Wouldn't it be better to bury it too?"
"Hi! Miss Elmer; yo' sho'ly wouldn't tink of doin' dat ar?"
exclaimed Aunt Chloe, who had by this time become a fixture in the
Elmer household, and had come out with the rest to see the
alligator.
"Why not, Chloe?" asked Mrs. Elmer, in surprise.
"'Kase ef you's putten um in de groun', how's Marse Tukky Buzzard
gwine git um? Can't nebber hab no luck ef you cheat Marse Tukky
Buzzard dat ar way."
"That's another of the colored folks' superstitions," said Captain
Johnson. "They believe that if you bury any dead animal so that
the turkey buzzards can't get at it, they'll bring you bad luck."
"'Taint no 'stition, nuther. Hit's a pop sho' fac', dat's what!"
muttered Aunt Chloe, angrily, as she walked off towards the house.
So the head of the alligator was cut off and buried, and the body
disappeared, though whether it was buried or served to make a meal
for the buzzards no one seemed exactly to know.
That afternoon Captain Johnson went off down the river with his
lighter, saying that he could always be found at St. Mark's when
wanted, and Mark and Jan went into the woods to look for cedar
fence-posts.
After the day's work was finished, and the family were gathered in
the sitting-room for the evening, Mark had a long and earnest
conversation with his mother and Ruth. At its close Mrs. Elmer
said, "Well, my son, wait until we hear what your father thinks of
it;" and Ruth said, "I think it's a perfectly splendid plan."
Mark slept in the room with the wounded boy, whose name they had
learned to be Frank March, that night, and was roused several
times before morning to give him water, for he was very feverish.
He talked in his sleep too, as though he were having troubled
dreams, and once Mark heard him say,
"Fire quick! No, it's only powder; it won't hurt him. I didn't
kill the dog."
CHAPTER X.
A RUNAWAY'S STORY, AND ITS HAPPY ENDING.
During the three days that passed before Mr. Elmer's return, the
large field was made ready for ploughing, most of the post-holes
were dug, the soil being so light as to make that an easy matter,
and Mark and Jan had cut a number of cedar posts, and got them
ready to be rafted down the river.
During this time, also, Frank March had improved so rapidly that
he was able to sit up and take an interest in what was going on.
He had become much attached to Mrs. Elmer, and seemed very happy
in her company. Neither she nor the children had asked him any
questions concerning his past life, preferring to wait until he
should tell the story of his own accord.
On the third evening of his being with them he was helped into the
sitting-room, and lay on the sofa listening intently to Mrs. Elmer
as she read to Mark and Ruth a chapter from a book of travels that
they had begun on the schooner. As she finished and closed the
book, the boy raised himself on his elbow, and said,
"Mrs. Elmer, I want to tell you something, and I want Mark and
Ruth to hear too."
"Well, my boy," said Mrs. Elmer, kindly, "we shall be glad to hear
whatever you have to tell, if it won't tire and excite you too
much."
"No, I don't think it will," replied Frank. "I feel as if I must
tell you what a bad boy I have been, and how sorry I am for it.
More than a month ago I stole father's gun and dog, and twenty
dollars that I found in his desk, and ran away from him. Ever
since then I have been living in the woods around here, hunting
and fishing. When the weather was bad I slept in the kitchen of
this house, and when you folks moved in, it seemed almost as if
you were taking possession of what belonged to me. The first night
you were here I crept into the kitchen and stole a loaf of bread
and a duck."
"There!" interrupted Mark, "now I know where I saw you before. It
was you who looked into the window and frightened me that first
night, wasn't it?"
"Yes," said Frank; "and I meant to scare you worse than that, and
should have if the alligator hadn't caught me. I saw you and your
father go down the river that morning, and heard him say he was
going to Tallahassee, and I waited then for you to come back
alone. I drew out the shot from one barrel of my gun, and was
going to fire a charge of powder at you when you got close to the
point. I thought perhaps you would be so scared that you would
upset your canoe and lose your rifle overboard. Then I thought I
might get it after you had gone, for the water is shallow there,
and I wanted a rifle awfully."
"Oh! what a bad boy you are," said Ruth, shaking her pretty head.
"Yes, I know I am," said Frank, "but I ain't going to be any
longer if I can help it."
"How did that alligator get you, anyway?" asked Mark, who was very
curious upon this point.
"Why, I pulled off my boots because they were wet and hurt my
feet; then I lay down to wait for you, and went to sleep. I
suppose the 'gator found it warm enough that day to come out of
the mud, where he had been asleep all winter. Of course he felt
hungry after such a long nap, and when he saw my bare foot thought
it would make him a nice meal. I was waked by feeling myself
dragged along the ground, and finding my foot in what felt like a
vise. I caught hold of a tree, and held on until it seemed as
though my arms would be pulled out. I yelled as loud as I could
all the time, while the 'gator pulled. He twisted my foot until I
thought the bones must be broken, and that I must let go. Then you
came, Mark, and that's all I remember until I was in the canoe,
and you were paddling up the river."
"Was that the first time you were ever in that canoe?" asked Mark,
a new suspicion dawning in his mind.
"No; I had used her 'most every night, and one night I went as far
as St. Mark's in her."
"What made you bring the canoe back at all?" asked Mrs. Elmer.
"'Cause everybody round here would have known her, and known that
I had stole her if they'd seen me in her," answered the boy.
"And did you shoot poor Bruce?" asked Ruth.
"Who's Bruce?"
"Why, our dog. He came to us more than a week ago, shot so bad
that he could hardly walk."
"Yes, I shot him because he wouldn't go into the water and fetch
out a duck I had wounded; but his name is Jack. I didn't kill him
though, for I saw him on your back porch last Sunday when you were
all over the river, and he barked at me."
"My poor boy," said Mrs. Elmer, "you have certainly done very
wrong; but you have been severely punished for it, and if you are
truly sorry and mean to try and do right in the future, you will
as certainly be forgiven." So saying, the kind-hearted woman went
over and sat down beside the boy, and took his hand in hers.
At this caress, the first he could ever remember to have received,
the boy burst into tears, and sobbed out,
"I would have been good if I had a mother like you and a pleasant
home like this."
Mrs. Elmer soothed and quieted him, and gradually drew from him
the rest of his story. His father had once been comfortably well
off, and had owned a large mill in Savannah; but during the war
the mill had been burned, and he had lost everything. For some
years after that he was very poor, and when Frank was quite a
small boy, and his sister a baby, his father used to drink, and
when he came home drunk would beat him and his mother. One night,
after a terrible scene of this kind, which Frank could just
remember, his mother had snatched up the baby and run from the
house. Afterwards he was told that they were dead; at any rate he
never saw them again. Then his father left Savannah and came to
Florida to live. He never drank any more, but was very cross, and
hardly ever spoke to his son. He made a living by doing jobs of
carpentering; and, ever since he had been old enough, Frank had
worked on their little farm, about twenty miles from Wakulla. At
last he became so tired of this sort of life, and his father's
harshness, that he determined to run away and try to find a
happier one.
Mark and Ruth listened in silence to this story of an unhappy
childhood, and when it was ended, Ruth went over to the sofa where
her mother still sat, and taking Frank's other hand in hers, said,
"I guess I would have run away too, if I'd had such an unpleasant
home; but you'll stay with us now, and let mother teach you to be
good, won't you?"
For answer the boy looked up shyly into Mrs. Elmer's face, and she
said, "We'll see when father comes home."
At this moment Bruce began to bark loudly, and directly a sound of
wheels was heard. Then a voice called out,
"Halloo! Go Bang, ahoy! Bring out a lantern, somebody."
"It's father! it's father!" exclaimed Mark and Ruth, rushing to
the door with shouts of welcome. Mrs. Elmer followed them, leaving
Frank alone in the sitting-room.
"How glad they are to see him," thought the boy. "I wonder if I
should be as glad to see my father if he was as good to me as
theirs is to them?"
While Frank's mind was full of such thoughts, he heard a quick
step at the door, and looking up, saw the very person he had been
thinking of--his own father!
"Frank, my boy!" exclaimed Mr. March, "can it be you? Oh, Frank, I
didn't know how much I loved you until I lost you, and I have
tried in every way to find you and beg you to come home again."
With these words Mr. March stooped down and kissed his son's
forehead, saying, "I haven't kissed you since you were a baby,
Frank, and I do it now as a sign that from this time forward I
will try to be a good and loving father to you."
"Oh, father," cried the happy boy, "do you really love me? Then if
you will forgive me for running away and being such a wicked boy,
I will never, never do so again."
"Indeed I will," answered his father. "But what is the matter,
Frank? Have you been ill? How came you here?"
While Frank was giving his father a brief account of what had
happened to him since he ran away from home, the Elmers were
exchanging the most important bits of news outside the front gate.
They waited there while Mr. Elmer and Jan unhitched from a new
farm-wagon a pair of fine mules that the former had bought and
driven down from Tallahassee that day.
When the children ran out to greet their father, one of the first
things Ruth said was, "Oh, we've got a new boy, father, and he's
in the sitting-room, and his name's Frank March, and an alligator
almost dragged him into the river, and Mark shot it."
Almost without waiting to hear the end of this long sentence, a
stranger who had come with Mr. Elmer opened the front gate, and
quickly walking to the house, disappeared within it.
"Who is that, husband, and what has he gone into the house for?"
asked Mrs. Elmer, in surprise.
"I don't know much about him," answered Mr. Elmer, "except that
his name is March; and as he was recommended to me as being a good
carpenter, I engaged him to come and do what work was necessary to
repair this house."
"I wonder if he is Frank's wicked father?" said Ruth; and then the
whole story had to be told to Mr. Elmer before they went into the
house.
When he heard of Mark's bravery, he placed his hand on the boy's
shoulder and said, "My son, I am proud of you."
As they went in and entered the sitting-room, they found Mr. March
and Frank sitting together on the sofa, talking earnestly.
"I hope you will excuse my leaving you and entering your house so
unceremoniously, Mr. Elmer," said Mr. March, rising and bowing to
Mrs. Elmer; "but when your little girl said a boy named Frank
March was in here I felt sure he was my son. It is he; and now
that I have found him, I don't ever intend to lose him again."
"That's right," said Mr. Elmer, heartily. "In this country boys
are too valuable to be lost, even if they do turn up again like
bad pennies. Master Frank, you must hurry and get well, for in his
work here your father will need just such a valuable assistant as
I am sure you will make."
"Now, wife, how about something to eat? I am almost hungry enough
to eat an alligator, and I expect our friend March would be
willing to help me."
Aunt Chloe had been busy ever since the travellers arrived, and
supper was as ready for them as they were for it. After supper,
when they were once more gathered in the sitting-room, Mr. Elmer
said, "I got a charter granted me while I was in Tallahassee--can
any of you guess for what?"
None of them could guess, unless, as Mark suggested, it was for
incorporating "Go Bang," and making a city of it in opposition to
Wakulla.
"It is to establish and maintain a ferry between those portions of
the town of Wakulla lying on opposite sides of the St. Mark's
River," said Mr. Elmer.
"A FERRY?" said Mrs. Elmer.
"A FERRY?" said Ruth.
"A ferry?" said Mark; "what sort of a ferry steam-power, horse-
power, or boy-power?"
"I expect it will be mostly boy-power," said Mr. Elmer, laughing.
"You see I kept thinking of what Mr. Bevil told us last Sunday,
that what Wakulla needed most was a bridge and a mill. I knew we
couldn't build a bridge, at least not at present; but the idea of
a ferry seemed practicable. We have got enough lumber to build a
large flat-boat, there are enough of us to attend to a ferry, and
so I thought I'd get a charter, anyhow."
Mark could hardly wait for his father to finish before he broke in
with,
"Speaking of mills, father, your ferry will be the very thing to
bring people over to our mill."
"Our mill!" repeated his father. "What do you mean?"
"Why, Jan and I discovered an old mill about half a mile up the
river, while we were out looking for cedar. It's out of repair,
and the dam is partly broken away; but the machinery in it seems
to be pretty good, and the wheel's all right. I don't believe it
would take very much money to fix the dam; and the stream that
supplies the mill-pond is never-failing, because it comes from a
big sulphur spring. We found the man who owns it, and had a long
talk with him. He says that business fell off so after the bridge
was carried away that when his dam broke he didn't think it would
pay to rebuild it. He says he will take five hundred dollars cash
for the whole concern; and I want to put in my hundred dollars
salvage money, and Ruth'll put in hers, and Jan'll put in his, and
mother says she'll put in hers if you think the scheme is a good
one, and we'll buy the mill. Now, your ferry can bring the people
over; and it's just the biggest investment in all Florida. Don't
you think so, father?"
"I'll tell you what I think after I have examined into it," said
Mr. Elmer, smiling at Mark's enthusiasm. "Now it's very late, and
time we all invested in bed."
That night Mark dreamed of ferry-boats run by alligator-power, of
mills that ground out gold dollars, and of "ghoses" that turned
out to be boys.
CHAPTER XI.
"THE ELMER MILL AND FERRY COMPANY."
Mr. Elmer made careful inquiries concerning the mill about which
Mark had told him, and found that it was the only one within
twenty miles of Wakulla. He was told that it used to do a very
flourishing business before the bridge was carried away, and
things in that part of the county went to ruin generally. Both Mr.
Bevil and Mr. Carter thought that if there was any way of getting
over to it, the mill could be made to pay, and were much pleased
at the prospect of having it put in running order again.
Mr. March having been a mill-owner, and thoroughly understanding
machinery, visited the one in question with Mr. Elmer, and
together they inspected it carefully. They found that it contained
old-fashioned but good machinery for grinding corn and ginning
cotton, but none for sawing lumber. Only about thirty feet of the
dam had been carried away, and it could be repaired at a moderate
expense. Mr. March said that by raising the whole dam a few feet
the water-power would be greatly increased, and would be
sufficient to run a saw in addition to the machinery already on
hand. He also said that he knew of an abandoned saw-mill a few
miles up the river, the machinery of which was still in a fair
condition and could be bought for a trifle.
The result of what he saw and heard was that Mr. Elmer decided the
investment to be a good one, and at once took the necessary steps
towards purchasing the property. This decision pleased Mark and
Jan greatly, and they began to think that they were men of fine
business ability, or, as Mark said, were "possessed of long
heads."
That same evening a meeting of the "dusty millers," as Ruth called
them, was held in the "Go Bang" sitting-room. Mr. Elmer addressed
the meeting and proposed that they form a mill company with a
capital of one thousand dollars, and that the stock be valued at
one hundred dollars a share.
This proposition met with general approval, though Mark whispered
to Ruth that he didn't see how father was going to make a thousand
dollars' worth of capital out of five hundred unless he watered
the stock.
"Now," said Mr. Elmer, after it was agreed that they should form a
company, "what shall the association be called?"
Many names were suggested, among them that of "The Great Southern
Mill Company," by Mark, who also proposed "The Florida and Wakulla
Milling Association." Finally Mr. March proposed "The Elmer Mill
Company," and after some discussion this name was adopted.
Meantime Mr. Elmer had prepared a sheet of paper which he handed
round for signatures, and when it was returned to him it read as
follows:
THE ELMER MILL COMPANY.
WAKULLA, FLORIDA, January 10, 188-.
The undersigned do hereby promise to pay into the capital stock of
The Elmer Mill Company, upon demand of its Treasurer, the sums
placed opposite their respective names:
Mark Elmer $200
Ellen R. Elmer 200
Mark Elmer, Jun 100
Ruth Elmer 100
Harold March 100
Jan Jansen 100
After these signatures had been obtained, Mr. March said that he
had a proposition to lay before the company. It was that he should
superintend the setting up of the mill machinery and its running
for one year, for which service he should receive a salary of one
hundred dollars. He also said that if the company saw fit to
accept this offer he would at once subscribe the one hundred
dollars salary to its capital stock in addition to the sum already
set opposite his name.
This proposition, being put to vote by the chairman, was
unanimously accepted, and the amount opposite Mr. March's name on
the subscription list was changed from one hundred dollars to two
hundred dollars.
Then Mr. Elmer said that he wished to lay some propositions before
the company. One of them was that if they would accept the ferry
franchise he had recently obtained, he would present it as a free
gift. He also wished to propose to Mr. March and Master Frank
March that they should build the ferry-boat, for which he would
furnish the material. To the company he further proposed that if
Mr. Frank March would agree for the sum of one hundred dollars to
run the ferry-boat for one year from the time it was launched, his
name should at once be placed upon the subscription list, and he
be credited with one share of stock.
All of these propositions having been accepted, the name of Frank
March was added to the list, and the books were declared closed.
Mr. Elmer said that the next business in order was the election of
officers, and he called for nominations.
Mrs. Elmer caused Mark to blush furiously by speaking of him in
the most flattering terms as the originator of the scheme, and
nominating him as president of the company.
The list of officers, as finally prepared and submitted to the
meeting, was as follows:
President Mark Elmer, Jun.
Vice-President and General Manager Mark Elmer, Sen.
Treasurer Ellen R. Elmer.
Secretary Ruth Elmer.
Superintendent of Mills Harold March.
Superintendent of Ferries Frank March.
And a Board of Directors, to consist of Jan Jansen, Esq., and the
officers of the company ex-officio.
This ticket being voted upon as a whole and unanimously elected,
Mr. Elmer resigned his chair to the newly made President, who
gravely asked if there was any further business before the
meeting.
"Mr. President," said Mr. March, "I wish to move that the name
'Elmer Mill Company,' which we recently adopted, be changed so as
to read 'Elmer Mill and Ferry Company.'"
"All right," said the President; "you may move it."
"I second the motion," said Mr. Elmer, laughing, "and call for the
question." "Nobody's asked any," said Mark, looking rather
bewildered.
"I mean, Mr. President, that I call upon you to lay the motion
just made by our distinguished superintendent of mills, and
seconded by myself, before the meeting, that they may take action
upon it."
"Oh," said Mark; and remembering how his father had done it, he
put the motion very properly, announced that the yeas had it, and
that the name of the company was accordingly changed.
Then the President made an address, in which he said that, after a
most careful examination into the affairs of the Elmer Mill and
Ferry Company, he was able to report most favorably as to its
present condition. He found that they owned valuable mill
buildings and machinery, and had contracted for a first-class
ferry-boat, which was to be built immediately, and which had been
paid for in advance. He also found that the two salaried officers
of the company, the superintendent of mills and the superintendent
of ferries, had been paid one year's salary in advance.
In spite of these great outlays, he was informed by the treasurer
that a cash balance of three hundred dollars remained in the
treasury, and he congratulated the stockholders of the company
upon its healthy and flourishing condition. This address was
received with loud and prolonged applause.
Before the meeting adjourned it was decided that the election of
officers should be held annually, and that the Board of Directors
should meet once a month.
A meeting of this Board was held immediately upon the adjournment
of the meeting of stockholders, and the general manager was
instructed to purchase saw-mill machinery, and to begin the
rebuilding of the dam at once.
"Well, Ruth," said Mark, after all this business had been
transacted, "now we ARE property owners sure enough. That
newspaper was about right after all."
After the others had gone to bed, Mr. Elmer and Mr. March talked
for some time together, and this conversation resulted in the
latter agreeing to move to Wakulla, and build a small house for
himself and Frank on Mr. Elmer's land. He told Mr. Elmer that
meeting him and his family had given him new ideas of life, and
aroused a desire for better things both for himself and his son.
The Sunday-school was well attended the next Sunday; and as Mr.
Elmer had brought a package of song-books with him from
Tallahassee, the scholars learned to sing several of the songs,
and seemed to enjoy them very much.
Monday was a rainy day, but as a rough shed had been built to
serve as a temporary workshop, the ferry-boat was begun. On it Mr.
March laid out enough work to keep all hands busy except Frank,
who was still confined to the house.
The rain fell steadily all that week, until the Elmers no longer
wondered that bridges and dams were swept away in that country,
and Mark said that if it did not stop pretty soon they would have
to build an ark instead of a ferry-boat.
As a result of the rainy week, the boat was finished, the seams
were calked and pitched by Saturday night, and it was all ready to
be launched on Monday. By that time the rain had ceased, and the
weather was again warm and beautiful.
On Monday morning Frank March left the house for the first time
since he had been carried into it, and was invited to take a seat
in the new boat. The mules were then hitched to it, and it was
dragged in triumph to the edge of the river. It was followed by
the whole family, including Aunt Chloe and Bruce, who had shown
great delight at meeting his old master, Mr. March, and appeared
to be ready to make up and be friends again with Frank, who had
treated him so cruelly.
At the water's edge the mules were unhitched, a long rope was
attached to one end of the boat, stout shoulders were placed under
the pry poles, and with a "Heave'o! and another! and still
another!" it was finally slid into the water amid loud cheers from
the assembled spectators. These cheers were answered from the
other side of the river, where nearly the whole population of
Wakulla had assembled to see the launch.
Mark and Frank begged so hard to be allowed to take the boat
across the river on a trial trip that Mr. Elmer said they might.
Armed with long poles, they pushed off, but in a moment were swept
down stream by the strong current in spite of all their efforts,
and much to the dismay of Mrs. Elmer, who feared they were in
danger.
"Don't be alarmed, my dear," said her husband; "they are not in
any danger in that boat. It will teach them a good lesson on the
strength of currents, and they'll soon fetch up on one bank or the
other."
They did "fetch up" on the opposite side of the river after a
while, but it was half a mile down stream. When they got the boat
made fast to a tree, both boys were too thoroughly exhausted to
attempt to force it back to Wakulla.
Just as they had decided to leave the boat where she was and walk
back through the woods, they heard a shout out on the river, and
saw Jan and a colored man coming towards them in the skiff.
The men took the poles and the boys, jumping into the skiff, made
it fast to the bow of the boat with a tow-line; and, by keeping
close to the bank, they finally succeeded, after two hours' hard
work, in getting back to Wakulla. They left the boat on that side
of the river for the time being, and all crossed in the skiff.
The rest of that day was spent in planting two stout posts, one on
each side of the river, close to the old bridge abutments, and in
stretching across the river, from one post to the other, a wire
cable that Mr. Elmer had bought for this purpose. A couple of iron
pulley-wheels, to which were attached small but strong ropes, were
placed on the cable, its ends were drawn taut by teams of mules,
and anchored firmly in the ground about twenty feet behind each
post.
The ropes of the pulley-wheels were made fast to the bow and stern
of the boat, and the forward one was drawn up short, while the
other was left long enough to allow the boat to swing at an angle
to the current. Then the boat was shoved off, and, without any
poling, was carried by the force of the current quickly and
steadily to the other side.
A tin horn was attached by a light chain to each post, the ferry
was formally delivered to Master Frank March, and it was declared
open and ready for business.
CHAPTER XII.
THE GREAT MILL PICNIC.
The rates of ferriage were fixed at twenty-five cents for a team,
fifteen cents for a man on horseback, ten cents for a single
animal, and five cents for a foot-passenger. Two cards, with these
rates neatly printed on them by Ruth in large letters, were tacked
up on the anchorage posts, so that passengers might not have any
chance to dispute with the ferryman, or "superintendent of
ferries," as he liked to be called.
Leaving him in charge of the boat--for he was not yet strong
enough for more active work--and leaving Mr. March at work upon
the house, Mr. Elmer, Mark, Jan, and four colored men, taking the
mules with them, set out bright and early on Tuesday morning for
the mill, to begin work on the dam.
They found the pond empty, and exposing a large surface of black
mud studded with the stumps of old trees, and the stream from the
sulphur spring rippling along merrily in a channel it had cut for
itself through the broken portion of the dam. While two men were
set to digging a new channel for this stream, so as to lead it
through the sluice-way, and leave the place where the work was to
be done free from water, the others began to cut down half a dozen
tall pines, and hew them into squared timbers.
A deep trench was dug along the whole length of the broken part of
the dam for a foundation, and into this was lowered one of the
great squared timbers, forty feet long, that had six mortice-holes
cut in its upper side. Into these holes were set six uprights,
each ten feet long, and on top of these was placed as a stringer,
another forty-foot timber. To this framework was spiked, on the
inside, a close sheathing of plank. Heavy timber braces, the outer
ends of which were let into mud-sills set in trenches dug thirty
feet outside the dam, were sunk into the stringer, and the work of
filling in with earth on the inside was begun. In two weeks the
work was finished; the whole dam had been raised and strengthened,
the floodgates were closed, and the pond began slowly to fill up.
In the mean time the saw-mill machinery had been bought, the frame
for the saw-mill had been cut and raised, and Mr. March, having
finished the repairs on the house, was busy setting up the
machinery and putting it in order.
By the middle of February, or six weeks after the Elmers had
landed in Wakulla, their influence had become very decidedly felt
in the community. With their building, fencing, ploughing, and
clearing, they had given employment to most of the working
population of the place, and had put more money into circulation
than had been seen there at any one time for years. Their house
was now as neat and pretty as any in the county. The ten-acre
field in front was ploughed, fenced, and planted, half in corn and
half--no, not with orange-trees, but half was set out with young
cabbage-plants; a homely crop, but one which Mr. Elmer had been
advised would bring in good returns. The ferry was running
regularly and was already much used by travellers from
considerable distances on both sides of the river. The mill was
finished and ready for business, and the millpond, instead of a
mud flat, was a pretty sheet of water, fringed with palms and
other beautiful trees. Above all, Mr. Elmer's health had so
improved that he said he felt like a young man again, and able to
do any amount of outdoor work.
One Sunday morning after all this had been accomplished, Mr. Elmer
announced to the Sunday-school that on the following Wednesday a
grand picnic would be given in a pine grove midway between the
Elmer Mill and the big sulphur spring, that the ferry would be run
free all that day, and that all were cordially invited to come and
enjoy themselves. He also said that the Elmer Mill would be opened
for business on that day, and would grind, free of charge, one
bushel of corn for every family in Wakulla who should bring it
with them.
This announcement created such a buzz of excitement that it was
well it had not been made until after the exercises of the morning
were over, for there could certainly have been no more Sunday-
school that day.
For the next two days the picnic was the all-absorbing topic of
conversation, and wonderful stories were told and circulated of
the quantities of goodies that were being made in the "Go Bang"
kitchen. Aunt Chloe was frequently interviewed, and begged to tell
exactly how much of these stories might be believed; but the old
woman only shook her gayly turbaned head, and answered,
"You's gwine see, chillun! you's gwine see; only jes' hab pashuns,
an' you's gwine be 'warded by sich a sight ob fixin's as make yo'
tink ole times back come, sho nuff."
At last the eagerly expected morning dawned, and though a thick
fog hid one bank of the river from the other, sounds of active
stir and bustle announced to each community that the other was
making ready for the great event.
By nine o'clock the fog had lifted, and the sun shone out bright
and warm. Before this Jan and the mules had made several trips
between the house and the mill, each time with a heavy wagon load
of--something. Mr. Elmer, Mr. March, and Mark had gone to the mill
as soon as breakfast was over, and had not been seen since.
Aunt Chloe had been bustling about her kitchen "sence de risin' ob
de mo'nin' star," and was, in her own estimation, the most
important person on the place that day. As for Bruce he was wild
with excitement, and dashed at full speed from the house to the
mill, and back again, barking furiously, and trying to tell
volumes of, what seemed to him, important news.
As soon as the fog lifted, the horn on the opposite side of the
river began to blow impatient summonses for the "superintendent of
ferries," and busy times immediately began for Frank.
What funny loads of black people he brought over! Old gray-headed
uncles, leaning on canes, who told stories of "de good ole times
long befo' de wah"; middle-aged men and women who rejoiced in the
present good times of freedom, and comical little pickaninnies,
who looked forward with eagerness to the good times to come to
them within an hour or so.
And then the teams, the queer home-made carts, most of them drawn
by a single steer or cow hitched into shafts, in which the bushels
of corn were brought; for everybody who could obtain a bushel of
corn had taken Mr. Elmer at his word, and brought it along to be
ground free of charge.
One of the men, after seeing his wife and numerous family of
children safely on board the boat, went up to Frank with a beaming
face, and said,
"Misto Frank, I'se bought a ok. Dar he is hitched into dat ar
kyart, an' oh! he do plough splendid!"
The "ok," which poor Joe thought was the proper singular of
"oxes," as he would have called a pair of them, was a meek-looking
little creature, harnessed to an old two-wheeled cart by a perfect
tangle of ropes and chains. He was so small that even Frank,
accustomed as he was to the ways of the country, almost smiled at
the idea of its "ploughing splendid."
He didn't, though; for honest Joe was waiting to hear his purchase
praised, and Frank praised it by saying it was one of the
handsomest oxen of its size he had ever seen. Joe was fully
satisfied with this, and when the boat reached the other side,
hurried off to find new admirers for this first piece of actual
property he had ever owned, and to tell them that "Misto Frank
March, who know all about oxes, say dis yere ok de han'somes' he
ebber seed."
Of course the Bevils and Carters came over to the picnic. Grace
Bevil, of whom Ruth had already made a great friend, waited with
her at the house until the last boat-load of people had been
ferried across. Then Frank called them, and after helping them
into the canoe and telling them to sit quiet as 'possums, paddled
it up the wild, beautiful river to the mill.
This was a novel experience to the little Wakulla girl, who had
never in her life before travelled so easily and swiftly. She
afterwards told her mother that, as she looked far down into the
clear depths of the water above which they glided, she thought she
knew how angels felt flying through the air.
By the time they reached the mill more than a hundred persons were
assembled near it, and Mr. Elmer was talking to them from the
steps. They were in time to hear him say,
"The Elmer Mill is now about to be opened for business and set to
work. A bushel of corn belonging to Uncle Silas Brim, the oldest
man present, has been placed in the hopper, and will be the first
ground."
Then Mark, who, as president of the Elmer Mill and Ferry Company,
was allowed the honor of so doing, pressed a lever that opened the
floodgates. A stream of water dashed through the race, the great
wheel began to turn, and, as they heard the whir of the machinery,
the crowd cheered again and again. In a little while Uncle Silas
Brim's corn was returned to him in the form of a sack of fine
yellow meal. After that the bushels of corn poured in thick and
fast, and for the rest of the day the Elmer Mill continued its
pleasant work of charity.
As the novelty of watching the mill at work wore off, the people
began to stroll towards the grove near the sulphur spring, in
which an odd-looking structure had been erected the day before,
and now attracted much attention. It was a long, low shed, or
booth, built of poles thatched with palm-leaves woven so close
that its interior was completely hidden. Mrs. Elmer, Mrs. Bevil,
Mrs. Carter, Ruth, Grace, and Aunt Chloe were known to be inside,
but what they were doing was a mystery that no one could solve.
"Reckon dey's a-fixin' up sandwitches," said one.
"Yo' g'way, chile! Who ebber heerd ob sich nonsens? 'Tain't no
witches ob no kine; hits somefin' to eat, I tell yo'. I kin smell
hit," said an old aunty, who sniffed the air vigorously as she
spoke.
This opinion was strengthened when Aunt Chloe appeared at the
entrance of the booth, before which hung a curtain of white
muslin, and in a loud voice commanded all present to provide
themselves "wif palmetter leafs fo' plateses, an' magnole leafs
fo' cupses."
When all had so provided themselves, they were formed, two by two,
into a long procession by several young colored men whom Mr. Elmer
had appointed to act as marshals, the white curtain was drawn
aside, and they were invited to march into the booth. As they did
so, a sight greeted their eyes that caused them to give a sort of
suppressed cheer of delight. The interior was hung and trimmed
with great bunches of sweet-scented swamp azalea, yellow jasmine,
and other wild spring flowers, of which the woods were full. But
it was not towards the flowers that all eyes were turned, nor they
that drew forth the exclamations of delight; it was the table, and
what it bore. It reached from one end of the booth to the other,
and was loaded with such a variety and quantity of good things as
none of them had ever seen before. On freshly-cut palm leaves were
heaped huge piles of brown crullers, and these were flanked by
pans of baked beans. Boiled hams appeared in such quantities that
Uncle Silas Brim was heard to say, "Hit do my ole heart good to
see sich a sight ob hog meat."
Every bit of space not otherwise occupied was filled with pies and
cakes. Knives and forks had been provided for everybody, and there
were a few tin cups which were reserved for coffee. As plates were
very scarce, palmetto leaves had to be used instead; and for those
who wished to drink water, the magnolia leaves, bent so that the
ends lapped, made excellent cups.
How they did enjoy that dinner! How savagely the hams were
attacked! How the beans and crullers were appreciated, and how
rapidly the pies and cakes disappeared! How the coffee, with
plenty of "sweet'nin'" in it, was relished. In other words, what a
grand feast it was to them. How much and how quickly they ate on
that occasion can still be learned from any resident of Wakulla;
for they talk of "de feed at de openin' ob dat ar Elmer Mill" to
this day.
Mark says it was the opening of about a hundred mills, all
provided with excellent machinery for grinding.
After dinner they sang, and listened to the music of Ruth's organ,
which had been brought from the house for the occasion, and placed
at one end of the booth. Then some one produced a fiddle, and they
danced. Not only a few danced, but all danced--old and young; and
those who stopped to rest patted time on their knees to encourage
the others.
About four o'clock in the afternoon, or about "two hour by sun in
the evening," as the Wakulla people say, the last bushel of corn
was ground. What remained uneaten of the dinner was distributed
among those who needed it most, and the picnic was ended. With
many bows and courtesies to their hosts, the happy company began
to troop, or squeak along in their little ungreased carts, towards
the ferry, where Frank was already on hand waiting to set them
across the river.
CHAPTER XIII.
FIGHTING A FOREST FIRE.
Although the day of the picnic was warm and pleasant, a strong
breeze from the southward had been blowing since early morning,
and during the afternoon it increased to a high wind. As the
Elmers rode home after the last of the happy picnickers had
departed, they noticed a heavy cloud of smoke in the southern sky,
and Mr. Elmer asked Mr. March what he thought it was.
"It looks as though some of the settlers down there were burning
grass, though they ought to know better than to start fires on a
day like this," answered Mr. March.
"But what do they do it for?" asked Mr. Elmer.
"So as to burn off the old dead grass, and give their cattle a
chance to get at that which immediately springs up wherever the
fire has passed. But the practice ought to be stopped by law, for
more timber and fences, and sometimes houses, are destroyed every
year than all the cattle in the country are worth."
"Well, I hope it won't come our way tonight," said Mr. Elmer, "and
first thing in the morning I will set the men to work clearing and
ploughing a wide strip entirely around the place. Then we may have
some chance of successfully fighting this new enemy."
Instead of dying out at sunset, as it usually did, the wind
increased to a gale as darkness set in, and Mr. Elmer cast many
troubled glances at the dull red glow in the southern sky before
he retired that night.
Mark and Frank occupied the same room, for Mr. March had not yet
found time to build a house, and it seemed to them as though they
had but just fallen asleep when they were aroused by Mr. Elmer's
voice calling through the house,
"Wake up! Everybody dress and come downstairs as quickly as you
can. Mark! Frank! Hurry, boys!" "What is it, father?" asked Mark,
as he tumbled down-stairs and burst into the sitting-room only
about half dressed, but rapidly completing the operation as he
ran. "What's the matter? Is the house on fire?"
"No, my boy, not yet, but it's likely to be very soon if we are
not quick in trying to save it. The piney woods to the south of us
are all in a blaze, and this gale's driving it towards us at a
fearful rate. I want you and Frank to go as quickly as you can
across the river and rouse up every soul in the village. Get every
team and plough in Wakulla, and bring them over, together with
every man and boy who can handle an axe."
Mr. Elmer had hardly finished before both boys were out of the
house and running towards the river. Although it was still several
miles off, they could already hear the roar of the flames rising
above that of the wind, and could smell the smoke of the burning
forest.
They were soon across the river, and while Mark ran to the houses
of Mr. Bevil and Mr. Carter to waken those gentlemen, Frank
bethought himself of the church-bell, which hung from a rude frame
outside the building, and hurrying to it, seized the rope and
began to pull it violently.
The effect of the loud clanging of the bell was almost
instantaneous, and the colored people began pouring from their
tumble-down old houses, and hurrying towards the church to see
what was the matter. Many of them in their haste came just as they
had jumped from their beds; but the darkness of the night and
their own color combined to hide the fact that they were not fully
dressed, until some light-wood torches were brought, when there
was a sudden scattering among them.
Frank quickly explained the cause of the alarm, and the men
hurried off to get their teams, ploughs, and axes; for Mr. Elmer
had been so kind to them that all were anxious to do what they
could to help him in this time of trouble.
Among the first boat-load that Frank ferried across the river was
Black Joe, with his "ok" attached to a very small plough, with
which he felt confident he could render most valuable assistance.
By the light of the approaching flames surrounding objects could
already be distinguished, and as they hurried up to the house the
first comers found Mr. Elmer, Mr. March, and Jan hard at work.
They were clearing brush and hauling logs away from the immediate
vicinity of the out-buildings, and had got quite a space ready in
which the ploughs could be set to work.
In the house Mrs. Elmer, Ruth, and Aunt Chloe had collected all
the carpets, blankets, and woollen goods they could lay their
hands on, and piled them near the cistern, where they could be
quickly soaked with water, and placed over exposed portions of the
walls or roof. They were now busy packing up clothing and lighter
articles of furniture, ready for instant removal.
As fast as the teams and ploughs arrived, Mr. Elmer set them to
work ploughing long furrows through the dry grass about a rod
outside the line of fence nearest the approaching flames. Inside
this line he and Mr. March set the grass on fire in many places.
They could easily check these small fires as they reached the
fence by beating them out with cedar boughs.
Meantime the flames came roaring and rushing on, leaping from tree
to tree, and fanned into fury by the fierce wind. Above them
hundreds of birds fluttered and circled with shrill cries of
distress, until, bewildered by the smoke and glare, they fell,
helpless victims, into the terrible furnace.
Wild animals of all kinds, among which were a small herd of deer,
dashed out of the woods ahead of the fire, and fled across the
open field unmolested by the men, who were too busy to give them a
thought.
In his zeal to do his utmost, and to show what a splendid animal
he had, Black Joe was ploughing far ahead of the others, when
suddenly he saw rushing from the forest, and coming directly
towards him, a bear. Terror-stricken at this sight, and without
stopping to reflect that the bear was himself too frightened to
harm anybody just then, Joe dropped the plough-handles and ran,
leaving his beloved ox to its fate. The ox thus left to himself
tried to run, too, but the plough became caught on a small tree
and held it fast.
As the flames approached, the poor animal bellowed with fear and
pain, and struggled wildly, but unsuccessfully, to get free. It
would have certainly fallen a victim to the flames had not Mark,
who had been busy lighting back-fires, seen its danger and ran to
its rescue. Cutting the rope traces with his pocket-knife, he set
the ox free; and following the example of its master, it galloped
clumsily across the open field. The ox fled with such a bellowing
and such a jangling of chains that poor Joe, who was hidden behind
a great stump on the farther side of the field, was nearly
frightened out of his few remaining senses when he saw this
terrible monster charging out the fire and directly upon him. He
threw himself flat on the ground, screaming "g'way fum yere! g'way
fum yere! Luff dis po' niggah be; he ain't a-doin' nuffin."
Afterwards he was never known to speak of this adventure but once,
when he said,
"I allus knowed dat ar ok was somfin better'n common; but when I
see him come a-rarin' an' a-tarin', an' a-janglin' right fo' me, I
'lowed 'twas ole Nick hise'f come fo' Black Joe, sho nuff."
As the other ploughmen were driven from their work by the heat and
the swirling smoke, they set back-fires all along the line, and
retreated in good order to the house. Here, although the heat was
intense and the smoke almost suffocating, they made a stand. Mrs.
Elmer and Ruth had already taken refuge on the ferry-boat, from
which they watched the progress of the flames with the most
intense anxiety.
Under Mr. Elmer's direction the men covered the walls and roof of
the house, which had already caught fire in several places, with
wet blankets and carpets, and poured buckets of water over them.
From these such volumes of steam arose that poor Ruth, seeing it
from a distance, thought the house was surely on fire, and burst
into tears.
So busy were all hands in saving the house that they paid no
attention to the out-buildings, until Aunt Chloe, who had been
working with the best of the men, screamed, "Oh, de chickuns! de
chickuns!"
Looking towards the hen-house, they saw its roof in a bright
blaze, and Aunt Chloe running in that direction with an axe in her
hand. The old woman struck several powerful blows against the side
of the slight building, and broke in two boards before the heat
drove her away. Through this opening several of the poor fowls
escaped; but most of them were miserably roasted, feathers and
all.
This was the last effort of the fire in this direction, for the
portion of it that met the cleared spaces, new furrows, and back-
fires, soon subsided for want of fuel; while beyond the fields it
swept away to the northward, bearing death and destruction in its
course.
While most of the men had been engaged in saving the house and its
adjoining fences, a small party, under the direction of Mr. March,
had guarded the mill. They, however, had little to do save watch
for flying embers, it was so well protected by its pond on one
side and the river on the other.
By sunrise all danger had passed, and heartily thanking the kind
friends who had come so readily to his assistance, Mr. Elmer
dismissed them to their homes.
It took several days to recover from the effects of the great
fire, and to restore things to their former neat condition; but
Mr. Elmer said that, even if they had suffered more than they did,
it would have been a valuable lesson to them, and one for which
they could well afford to pay.
Soon after this Mr. Elmer decided to go to Tallahassee again to
make a purchase of cattle; for, with thousands of acres of free
pasturage all around them, it seemed a pity not to take advantage
of it. Therefore he determined to experiment in a small way with
stock-raising, and see if he could not make it pay. This time he
took Mark with him, and instead of going down the river to St.
Mark's to take the train, they crossed on the ferry, and had Jan
drive them in the mule wagon four miles across country to the
railroad. On their way they came to a fork in the road, and not
knowing which branch to take, waited until they could ask a little
colored girl whom they saw approaching. She said, "Dis yere
humpety road'll take yo' to Misto Gilcriseses' plantation, an' den
yo' turn to de right ober de trabblin' road twel yo' come to Brer
Steve's farm, an' thar yo' be."
"Father, what is the difference between a plantation and a farm?"
asked Mark, as they journeyed along over the "humpety" road.
"As near as I can find out," said Mr. Elmer, "the only difference
is that one is owned by a white, and the other by a colored man."
They found "Brer Steve's" house without any difficulty, and, sure
enough, there they were, as the little girl had said they would
be; for "Brer Steve" lived close to the railroad, and the station
was on his place.
Mark was delighted with Tallahassee, which he found to be a very
pleasant though small city, built on a hill, and surrounded by
other hills. Its streets were shaded by magnificent elms and oaks,
and these and the hills were grateful to the eye of the Maine boy,
who had not yet learned to love the flat country in which his
present home stood.
They spent Sunday in Tallahassee, and on Monday started for home
before daylight, on horseback and driving a small herd of cattle,
which, with two horses, Mr. Elmer had bought on Saturday. As
Saturday is the regular market-day, when all the country people
from miles around flock into town to sell what they have for sale,
and to purchase supplies for the following week, Mark was much
amused and interested by what he saw. Although in Tallahassee
there are no street auctions as in Key West, there was just as
much business done on the sidewalks and in the streets here as
there.
It seemed very strange to the Northern boy to see cattle and pigs
roaming the streets at will, and he wondered that they were
allowed to do so. When he saw one of these street cows place her
fore-feet on the wheel of a wagon, and actually climb up until she
could reach a bag of sweet-potatoes that lay under the seat, he
laughed until he cried. Without knowing or caring how much
amusement she was causing, the cow stole a potato from the bag,
jumped down, and quietly munched it. This feat was repeated again
and again, until finally an end was put to Mark's and the cow's
enjoyment of the meal, by the arrival of the colored owner of both
wagon and potatoes, who indignantly drove the cow away, calling
her "a ole good-fo'-nuffin'."
Mark said that after that he could never again give as an answer
to the conundrum, "Why is a cow like an elephant?" "Because she
can't climb a tree;" for he thought this particular cow could
climb a tree, and would, if a bag of sweet-potatoes were placed in
the top of it where she could see it.
It was late Monday evening before they reached home with their new
purchases, and both they and their horses and their cattle were
pretty thoroughly tired with their long day's journey. The next
day, when Ruth saw the horses, one of which had but one white spot
in his forehead, while the other had two, one over each eye, she
immediately named them "Spot" and "Spotter." Mark said that if
there had been another without any spots on his forehead he
supposed she would have named him "Spotless."
CHAPTER XIV.
HOW THE BOYS CAUGHT AN ALLIGATOR
Hi! Mark," shouted Frank from his ferry-boat one warm morning in
March, "come here a minute. I've got something to tell you. Great
scheme."
"Can't," called Mark--"got to go to mill."
"Well, come when you get back."
"All right."
Mark and Frank had by this time become the best of friends, for
each had learned to appreciate the good points of the other, and
to value his opinions. Their general information was as different
as possible, and each thought that the other knew just the very
things a boy ought to know. While Mark's knowledge was of books,
games, people, and places that seemed to Frank almost like foreign
countries, he knew the names of every wild animal, bird, fish,
tree, and flower to be found in the surrounding country, and was
skilled in all tricks of woodcraft.
Since this boy had first entered the Elmer household, wounded,
dirty, and unkempt as a young savage, he had changed so
wonderfully for the better that his best friends of a few months
back would not have recognized him. He was now clean, and neatly
dressed in an old suit of Mark's which just fitted him, and his
hair, which had been long and tangled, was cut short and neatly
brushed. Being naturally of a sunny and affectionate disposition,
the cheerful home influences, the motherly care of Mrs. Elmer,
whose heart was very tender towards the motherless boy, and, above
all, the great alteration in his father's manner, had changed the
shy, sullen lad, such as he had been, into an honest, happy
fellow, anxious to do right, and in every way to please the kind
friends to whom his debt of gratitude was so great. His regular
employment at the ferry, the feeling that he was useful, and, more
than anything else, the knowledge that he was one of the
proprietors of the Elmer Mill, gave him a sense of dignity and
importance that went far towards making him contented with his new
mode of life. Mark, Ruth, and he studied for two hours together
every evening under Mrs. Elmer's direction, and though Frank was
far behind the others, he bade fair to become a first-class
scholar.
Mr. Elmer was not a man who thought boys were only made to get as
much work out of as possible. He believed in a liberal allowance
to play, and said that when the work came it would be done all the
better for it. So, every other day, Mark and Frank were sent down
to St. Mark's in the canoe for the mail, allowed to take their
guns and fishing-tackle with them, and given permission to stay
out as long as they chose, provided they came home before dark.
Sometimes Ruth was allowed to go with them, greatly to her
delight, for she was very fond of fishing, and always succeeded in
catching her full share. While the boys were thus absent, Mr.
Elmer took charge of whatever work Mark might have been doing, and
Jan always managed to be within sound of the ferry-horn.
On one of their first trips down the river Mark had called Frank's
attention to the head of a small animal that was rapidly swimming
in the water close under an overhanging bank, and asked him what
it was.
For answer Frank said, "Sh!" carefully laid down his paddle, and
taking up the rifle, fired a hasty and unsuccessful shot at the
creature, which dived at the flash, and was seen no more.
"What was it?" asked Mark.
"An otter," answered Frank, "and his skin would be worth five
dollars in Tallahassee."
"My!" exclaimed Mark, "is that so? Why can't we catch some, and
sell the skins?"
"We could if we only had some traps."
"What kind of traps?"
"Double-spring steel are the best."
"I'm going to buy some, first chance I get," said Mark; "and if
you'll show me how to set 'em, and how to skin the otters and
dress the skins, and help do the work, we'll go halves on all we
make."
Frank had agreed to this; and when Mark went to Tallahassee he
bought six of the best steel traps he could find. These had been
carefully set in likely places along the river, baited with fresh
fish, and visited regularly by one or the other of the boys twice
a day. At first they had been very successful, as was shown by the
ten fine otter-skins carefully stretched over small boards cut for
the purpose, and drying in the workshop; but then, their good
fortune seemed to desert them.
As the season advanced, and the weather grew warmer, they began
frequently to find their traps sprung, but empty, or containing
only the foot of an otter. At first they thought the captives had
gnawed off their own feet in order to escape; but when, only the
day before the one with which this chapter opens, they had found
in one of the traps the head of an otter minus its body, this
theory had to be abandoned.
"I never heard of an otter's gnawing off his own head," said
Frank, as he examined the grinning trophy he had just taken from
the trap, "and I don't believe he could do it anyhow. I don't
think he could pull it off either; besides, it's a clean cut; it
doesn't look as if it had been pulled off."
"No," said Mark, gravely; for both boys had visited the traps on
this occasion. "I don't suppose he could have gnawed off, or
pulled off, his own head. He must have taken his jack-knife from
his pocket, quietly opened it, deliberately cut off his head, and
calmly walked away."
"I have it!" exclaimed Frank, after a few minutes of profound
thought, as the boys paddled homeward.
"What?" asked Mark--"the otter?"
"No, but I know who stole him. It's one of the very fellows that
tried to get me."
"Alligators!" shouted Mark.
"Yes, alligators; I expect they're the very thieves who have been
robbing our traps."
The next day at noon, when Mark finished his work at the mill, he
hurried back to the ferry to see what Frank meant when he called
him that morning, and said he had something to tell him.
Frank had gone to the other side of the river with a passenger,
but he soon returned.
"Well, what is it?" asked Mark, as he helped make the boat fast.
"It's this," said Frank. "I've seen a good many alligators in the
river lately, and I've had my eye on one big old fellow in
particular. He spends most of his time in that little cove down
there; but I've noticed that whenever a dog barks, close to the
river or when he is crossing on the ferry, the old 'gator paddles
out a little way from the cove, and looks very wishfully in that
direction. I know alligators are more fond of dog-meat than
anything else, but they won't refuse fish when nothing better
offers. Now look here."
Going to the other end of the boat as he spoke, Frank produced a
coil of light, but strong Manila line that he had obtained at the
house. To one end of this rope were knotted a dozen strands of
stout fish-line, and the ends of these were made fast to the
middle of a round hickory stick, about six inches long, and
sharply pointed at each end. These sharp ends had also been
charred to harden them.
"There," said Frank, as Mark gazed at this outfit with a perplexed
look, "that's my alligator line; and after dinner, if you'll help
me, we'll fish for that old fellow in the cove."
"All right," said Mark; "I'm your man; but where's your hook?"
"This," answered Frank, holding up the bit of sharpened stick.
"It's all the hook I want, and I'll show you how to use it when we
get ready."
After dinner the boys found several teams on both sides of the
river waiting to be ferried across; then Mark had to go with Jan
for a load of fence posts, so that it wanted only about an hour of
sundown when they finally found themselves at liberty to carry out
their designs against the alligator.
Frank said this was all the better, as alligators fed at night,
and the nearer dark it was, the hungrier the old fellow would be.
Taking a large fish, one of a half a dozen he had caught during
the day, Frank thrust the bit of stick, with the line attached,
into its mouth and deep into its body. "There," said he, "now you
see that if the 'gator swallows that fish he swallows the stick
too. He swallows it lengthwise, but a strain on the line fixes it
crosswise, and it won't come out unless Mr. 'Gator comes with it.
Sabe?"
"I see," answered Mark; "but what am I to do?"
"I want you to lie down flat in the boat, and hold on to the line
about twenty feet from this end, which I am going to make fast to
the ferry post. Keep it clear of the bank, and let the bait float
well out in the stream. The minute the 'gator swallows it, do you
give the line a jerk as hard as you can, so as to fix the stick
crosswise in his gullet."
"All right," said Mark; "I understand. And what are you going to
do?"
"Oh, I'm going to play dog," answered Frank, with a laugh, as he
walked off down the riverbank, leaving Mark to wonder what he
meant.
Frank crept softly along until he was very near the alligator
cove, just above which he could see the fish, which Mark had let
drop down-stream, floating on the surface of the water. Then he
lay down, and began to whine like a puppy in distress. As soon as
Mark heard this he knew what his friend meant by playing dog, and
he smiled at the capital imitation, which would have certainly
deceived even him if he had not known who the puppy really was.
Frank whined most industriously for five minutes or so, and even
attempted two or three feeble barks, but they were not nearly so
artistic as the whines. Then he stopped, for his quick eye
detected three black objects moving on the water not far from the
bank. These objects were the alligator's two eyes and the end of
his snout, which were all of him that showed, the remainder of his
body being completely submerged. He was looking for that puppy,
and thinking how much he should enjoy it for his supper if he
could only locate the whine, and be able to stop it forever.
Again it sounds, clear and distinct, and the sly old 'gator comes
on a little farther, alert and watchful, but without making so
much as a ripple to betray his presence.
Now the whine sounds fainter and fainter, as though the puppy were
moving away, and finally it ceases altogether.
Mr. Alligator is very much disappointed; and now, noticing the
fish for the first time, concludes that though not nearly so good
as puppy, fish is much better than nothing, and he had better
secure it before it swims away.
He does not use caution now; he has learned that fish must be
caught quickly or not at all, and he goes for it with a rush. The
great jaws open and close with a snap, the fish disappears, and
the alligator thinks he will go back to his cove to listen again
for that puppy whine. As he turns he opens his mouth to clear his
teeth of something that has become entangled between them.
Suddenly a tremendous jerk at his mouth is accompanied by a most
disagreeable sensation in his stomach. He tries to pull away from
both the entanglement and the sensation, but finds himself caught
and held fast.
Mark gives a cheer as he jumps up from his uncomfortable position
at the bottom of the ferry-boat, and Frank echoes it as he dashes
out of the bushes and seizes hold of the line.
Now the alligator pulls and the boys pull, and if the line had not
been made fast to the post, the former would certainly have pulled
away from them or dragged them into the river. He lashes the water
into foam, and bellows with rage, while they yell with delight and
excitement. The stout post is shaken, and the Manila line hums
like a harp-string.
"It'll hold him!" screams Frank. "He can't get away now. See the
reason for that last six feet of small lines, Mark? They're so he
can't bite the rope; the little lines slip in between his teeth."
The noise of the struggle and the shouts of the boys attracted the
notice of the men on their way home from work at the mill, and
they came running down to the ferry to see what was the matter.
"We were fishing for minnows," explained Mark, "and we've caught a
whale. Take hold here and help us haul him in."
The men caught hold of the rope, and slowly but surely, in spite
of his desperate struggles, the alligator was drawn towards them.
Suddenly he makes a rush at them, and, as the line slackens, the
men fall over backward in a heap, and their enemy disappears in
deep water. He has not got away, though--a pull on the line
assures them of that; and again he is drawn up, foot by foot,
until half his body is out on the bank. He is a monster, and Jan
with an uplifted axe approaches him very carefully.
"Look out, Jan!" shouts Frank.
The warning comes too late; like lightning the great tail sweeps
round, and man and axe are flung ten feet into the bushes.
Luckily no bones are broken, but poor Jan is badly bruised and
decidedly shaken up. He does not care to renew the attack, and
Frank runs to the house for a rifle. Taking steady aim, while
standing at a respectful distance from that mighty tail, he sends
a bullet crashing through the flat skull, and the struggle is
ended.
That evening was spent in telling and in listening to alligator
stories, and Frank was the hero of the hour for having so
skilfully captured and killed the alligator that had been for a
long time the dread of the community.
CHAPTER XV.
A FIRE HUNT, AND MARK'S DISAPPEARANCE.
Besides showing Mark how to catch otter and alligators, Frank
taught him how to kill or capture various other wild animals.
Among other things he made plain the mysteries of fire hunting for
deer, and this proved a more fascinating sport to Mark than any
other. As explained by Frank, fire hunting is hunting at night,
either on foot or horseback, by means of a fire-pan. This is an
iron cage attached to the end of a light pole. It is filled with
blazing light-wood knots, and the pole is carried over the
hunter's left shoulder, so that the blaze is directly behind and a
little above his head. While he himself is shrouded in darkness,
any object getting within the long lane of light cast in front of
him is distinctly visible, and in this light the eyes of a wild
animal shine like coals of fire. The animal, fascinated by the
light, as all wild animals are, and being unable to see the
hunter, stands perfectly still, watching the mysterious flames as
they approach, until perhaps the first warning he has of danger is
the bullet that, driven into his brain between the shining eyes,
permanently satisfies his curiosity.
When he goes afoot, the hunter must take with him an assistant to
carry a bag of pine knots to replenish the fire; but on horseback
he can carry his own fuel in a sack behind the saddle.
Some fire hunters prefer to carry a powerful bull's-eye lantern
strapped in front of their hats; but our boys did not possess any
bull's-eyes, and were forced to be content with the more primitive
fire-pans.
A method similar to this is practised by the hunters of the North,
who go at night in boats or canoes to the edges of ponds to which
deer resort to feed upon lily-pads. There this method of hunting
is called "jacking" for deer, and the fire-pan, or "jack," is
fixed in the bow of the boat, while the hunter, rifle in hand,
crouches and watches beneath it.
Their first attempt at fire hunting was made by the boys on foot
in the woods near the mill; but here they made so much noise in
the underbrush that, though they "shined" several pairs of eyes,
these vanished before a shot could be fired at them. In
consequence of this ill-luck they returned home tired and
disgusted, and Mark said he didn't think fire hunting was very
much fun after all.
Soon after this, however, Frank persuaded him to try it again, and
this time they went on horseback. Both the Elmer horses were
accustomed to the sound of fire-arms, and warranted, when
purchased, to stand perfectly still, even though a gun should be
rested between their ears and discharged.
This time, having gone into a more open country, the hunters were
successful; and having shot his first deer, and being well smeared
with its blood by Frank, Mark came home delighted with his success
and anxious to go on another hunt as soon as possible.
The country to the east of Wakulla being very thinly settled,
abounded with game of all descriptions, and especially deer. In it
were vast tracts of open timber lands that were quite free from
underbrush, and admirably fitted for hunting. This country was,
however, much broken, and contained many dangerous "sink holes."
In speaking of this section, and in describing these "sink holes"
to the Elmers one evening, Mr. March had said,
"Sinks, or sink holes, such as the country to the east of this
abounds in, are common to all limestone formations. They are
sudden and sometimes very deep depressions or breaks in the
surface of the ground, caused by the wearing away of the limestone
beneath it by underground currents of water or rivers. In most of
these holes standing water of great depth is found, and sometimes
swiftly running water. I know several men who have on their places
what they call 'natural wells,' or small, deep holes in the
ground, at the bottom of which flow streams of water. Many of
these sinks are very dangerous, as they open so abruptly that a
person might walk into one of them on a dark night before he was
aware of its presence. Several people who have mysteriously
disappeared in this country are supposed to have lost their lives
in that way."
This conversation made a deep impression upon Mark, and when the
boys started on horseback, one dark night towards the end of
March, with the intention of going on a fire hunt in this very
"sink hole" country, he said to Frank, as they rode along,
"How about those holes in the ground that your father told us
about the other night. Isn't it dangerous for us to go among
them?"
"Not a bit of danger," answered Frank, "as long as you're on
horseback. A horse'll always steer clear of 'em."
When they reached the hunting-ground, and had lighted the pine-
knots in their fire-pans, Frank said,
"There's no use our keeping together; we'll never get anything if
we do. I'll follow that star over this way"--and he pointed as he
spoke to a bright one in the north-east--"and you go towards that
one"--pointing to one a little south of east. "We'll ride for an
hour, and then if we haven't had any luck we'll make the best of
our way home. Remember that to get home you must keep the North-
star exactly on your right hand, and by going due west you'll be
sure to strike the road that runs up and down the river. If either
of us fires, the other is to go to him at once, firing signal guns
as he goes, and these the other must answer so as to show where he
is."
Mark promised to follow these instructions, and as the two boys
separated, little did either of them imagine the terrible
circumstances under which their next meeting was to take place.
Mark had ridden slowly along for some time, carefully scanning the
lane of light ahead of him, without shining a single pair of eyes,
and was beginning to feel oppressed by the death-like stillness
and solitude surrounding him. Suddenly his light disappeared, his
horse reared into the air, almost unseating him, and then dashed
madly forward through the darkness.
The fire-pan, carelessly made, had given way, its blazing contents
had fallen on the horse's back, and, wild with pain, he was
running away. All this darted through Mark's mind in an instant;
but before he had time to think what he should do, the horse, with
a snort of terror, stopped as suddenly as he had started--so
suddenly as to throw himself back on his haunches, and to send
Mark flying through the air over his head.
Thus relieved of his rider, the horse wheeled and bounded away. At
the same instant Mark's rifle, which he had held in his hand, fell
to the ground, and was discharged with a report that rang loudly
through the still night air.
The sound was distinctly heard by Frank, who was less than a mile
away; and thinking it a signal from his companion, he rode rapidly
in the direction from which it had come. He had not gone far
before he heard the rapid galloping of a horse, apparently going
in the direction of Wakulla. Although he fired his own rifle
repeatedly, he got no response, and he finally concluded that Mark
was playing a practical joke, and had ridden home after firing his
gun without waiting for him. Thus thinking, he turned his own
horse's head towards home, and an hour later reached the house.
He found Mark's horse standing at the stable door in a lather of
foam, and still saddled and bridled. Then it flashed across him
that something had happened to Mark, and, filled with a sickening
dread, he hurried into the house and aroused Mr. Elmer.
"Hasn't Mark come home?" he inquired, in a husky voice.
"No, not yet. Isn't he with you?" asked Mr. Elmer, in surprise.
"No; and if he isn't here something dreadful has happened to him,
I'm afraid"; and then Frank hurriedly told Mr. Elmer what he knew
of the events of the hunt.
"We must go in search of him at once," said Mr. Elmer, in a
trembling voice, "and you must guide us as nearly as possible to
the point from which you heard the shot."
Hastily arousing Mr. March and Jan, and telling them to saddle the
mules, Mr. Elmer went to his wife, who was inquiring anxiously
what had happened, and told her that Mark was lost, and that they
were going to find him. The poor mother begged to be allowed to go
too; but assuring her that this was impossible, and telling Ruth
to comfort her mother as well as she could, Mr. Elmer hurried
away, mounted Mark's horse, and the party rode off.
Frank knew the country so well that he had no difficulty in
guiding them to the spot where he and Mark had separated. From
here they followed the star that Frank had pointed out to Mark,
and riding abreast, but about a hundred feet apart, they kept up a
continual shouting, and occasionally fired a gun, but got no
answer.
At length Mr. March detected a glimmer of light on the ground, and
dismounting, found a few charred sticks, one of which still glowed
with a coal of fire.
"Halloo!" he shouted; "here's where Mark emptied his fire-pan."
They all gathered around, and having brought a supply of light-
wood splinters with which to make torches, they each lighted one
of these, and began a careful search for further evidences of the
missing boy.
A shout from Jan brought them to him, and he showed the broken
fire-pan which he had just picked up.
A little farther search revealed the deep imprints of the horse's
hoofs when he had plunged and reared as the burning brands fell on
his back; and then, step by step, often losing it, but recovering
it again, they followed the trail until they came upon the rifle
lying on the ground, cold and wet with the night dew.
Mr. March, holding his torch high above his head, took a step in
advance of the others as they were examining the rifle, and
uttered a cry of horror.
"A sink-hole! Good heavens! the boy is down there!"
A cold chill went through his hearers at these words, and they
gathered close to the edge of the opening and peered into its
black depths.
"We must know beyond a doubt whether or not he is down there
before we leave this place," said Mr. Elmer, with forced
composure, "and we must have a rope. Frank, you know the way
better than any of us, and can go quickest. Ride for your life
back to the house, and bring that Manila line you used to catch
the alligator with. Don't let his mother hear you--a greater
suspense would kill her."
While Frank was gone the others carefully examined the "sink
hole," and cut away the bushes and vines from around its edges. It
was an irregular opening, about twenty feet across, and a short
distance below the surface had limestone sides.
Begging the others to be perfectly quiet, Mr. Elmer lay down on
the ground, and reaching as far over the edge as he dared, called,
"Mark! my boy! Mark!" but there was no answer. Still Mr. Elmer
listened, and when he rose to his feet he said,
"March, it seems as though I heard the sound of running water down
there. Listen, and tell me if you hear it. If it is so, my boy is
dead!"
Mr. March lay down and listened, and the others held their breath.
"Yes," he said, "I hear it. Oh, my poor friend, I fear there is no
hope."
The first faint streaks of day were showing in the east when Frank
returned with the rope and an additional supply of torches.
"Now let me down there," said Mr. Elmer, preparing to fasten the
rope around him, "and God help me if I find the dead body of my
boy."
"No," said Frank, "let me go. He saved my life, and I am the
lightest. Please let me go!"
"Yes," said Mr. March, "let Frank go. It is much better that he
should."
Mr. Elmer reluctantly consented that Frank should take his place,
and the rope was fastened around the boy's body, under his arms,
having first been wound with saddle blankets so that it should not
cut him. Taking a lighted torch in one hand and some fresh
splinters in the other, he slipped over the log which they had
placed along the edge, so that the rope should not be cut by the
rocks, and was gently lowered by the three anxious men into the
awful blackness.
Thirty feet of the rope had disappeared, when it suddenly sagged
to the opposite side of the hole, and at the same instant came the
signal for them to pull up.
As Frank came again to the surface the lower half of his body was
dripping wet, and his face was ghastly pale.
"He isn't there," he said; "but there is a stream of running water
so strong that, when you let me into it, I was nearly swept away
under the arch. It flows in that direction," he added, pointing to
the south.
CHAPTER XVI.
BURIED IN AN UNDERGROUND RIVER.
When Mark felt himself flying from his horse's back through the
air, he of course expected to strike heavily on the ground, and
nerved himself for the shock. To his amazement, instead of
striking on solid earth he fell into a mass of shrubbery that
supported him for a moment, and then gave way. He grasped wildly
at the bushes; but they were torn from his hands, and he felt
himself going down, down, down, and in another instant was plunged
deep into water that closed over his head. He came to the surface,
stunned and gasping, only to find himself borne rapidly along by a
swift current. He did not for a moment realize the full horror of
his situation, and with the natural instinct of a swimmer struck
out vigorously.
He had taken but a few strokes when his hand hit a projecting
rock, to which he instinctively clung, arresting his further
progress. To his surprise, on letting his body sink, his feet
touched bottom, and he stood in water not much more than waist
deep, but which swept against him with almost irresistible force.
His first impulse was to scream, "Frank! oh, Frank!" but only a
dull echo mocked him, and he received no reply but the rush and
gurgle of the water as it hurried past.
Then in an instant he comprehended what had happened. He had been
flung into a "sink hole," and was now buried in the channel of one
of those mysterious underground rivers of which Mr. March had told
them a few nights before. That was at home, where he was
surrounded by his own loving parents and friends. Should he ever
see them again? No; he was buried alive.
Buried alive! he, Mark Elmer? No--it couldn't be. It must be a
dreadful dream, a nightmare; and he laughed hysterically to think
how improbable it would all seem when he awoke.
But he felt the cold water sweeping by him and knew it was no
dream. The reality stunned him, and he became incapable of
thinking; he only moaned and called out, incoherently, "Mother!
father! Ruth!"
After a while he began to think again. He had got to die. Yes,
there was no escape for him. Here he must die a miserable death,
and his body would be swept on and on until it reached the Gulf
and drifted out to sea; for this running water must find its way
to the sea somehow.
If he could only reach that sea alive! but of course that was
impossible. Was it? How far is the Gulf? And the poor boy tried to
collect his thoughts.
It couldn't be more than five miles in a straight line, nor, at
the most, more than three times as far by water. Perhaps there
might be more "sink holes" opening into this buried river. Oh, if
he could only reach one of them! He would then die in sight of the
blessed stars, and perhaps even live to see the dear sunlight once
more.
These thoughts passed through his mind slowly, but they gave him a
ray of hope. He determined that he would make a brave fight with
death, and not give up, like a coward, without making even an
effort to save himself.
Thus thinking, he let go his hold of the projection to which he
had clung all this time, and allowed himself to be carried along
with the current. He found that he could touch bottom most of the
time, though every now and then he had to swim for greater or less
distances, but he was always carried swiftly onward. He tried to
keep his hands extended in front of him as much as possible, to
protect himself from projecting rocks, but several times his head
and shoulders struck heavily against them.
Once, for quite a distance, the roof was so low that there was
barely room for his head between it and the water. A few inches
lower would have drowned him, but it got higher again, and he went
on.
Suddenly the air seemed purer and cooler, and the current was not
so strong. Mark looked up and saw a star--yes, actually a star--
twinkling down at him like a beacon light. He was in water up to
his shoulders, but the current was not strong; he could maintain
his footing and hold himself where he was.
He could only see one star, so he knew the opening through which
he looked must be very small; but upon that one star he feasted
his eyes, and thought it the most beautiful thing he had ever
seen.
How numb and cold he was! Could he hold out until daylight? Yes,
he would. He would see the sunlight once more. He dared not move,
nor even change his position, for fear lest he should lose sight
of the star and not be able to find it again.
So he stood there, it seemed to him, for hours, until his star
began to fade, and then, though he could not yet see it, he knew
that daylight was coming.
At last the friendly star disappeared entirely, but in its place
came a faint light--such a very faint suspicion of light that he
was not sure it was light. Slowly, very slowly, it grew brighter,
until he could see the outline of the opening far above him, and
he knew that he had lived to see the light of another day. Then
Mark prayed, prayed as he had never dreamed of praying before. He
thanked God for once more letting him see the blessed daylight,
and prayed that he might be shown some means of escape. He prayed
for strength to hold out just a little while longer, and it was
given him.
When Frank March was drawn to the surface, and said he had been
let down into a swift current of water, Mr. Elmer buried his face
in his hands, and groaned aloud in the agony of his grief.
"Why did I bring him to this place?" sobbed the stricken man. "To
think that his life should be given for mine. If we had only
stayed in the North my life might have been taken, but his would
have been spared. O, Heavenly Father! what have I done to deserve
this blow?"
For some time the others respected his grief, and stood by in
silence. Then Mr. March laid his hand gently on the shoulder of
his friend, and said,
"You are indeed afflicted, but there are others of whom you must
think besides yourself. His mother and sister need you now as they
never needed you before. You must go to them." Turning to Frank,
he said, "I will go home with Mr. Elmer, but I want you to ride
with Jan in the direction you think this stream takes, and see if
you can find its outlet or any other traces of it. There is a bare
possibility that we may recover the body."
So they separated, the two gentlemen riding slowly and sadly
homeward, and Frank and Jan riding southward with heavy hearts.
They had not gone more than half a mile when they came to a little
log-house in the woods, and as the sun had risen, and they and
their horses were worn out with their night's work, they decided
to stop and ask to be allowed to rest a while, and for something
to eat for themselves and their animals.
The owner of the house was a genuine "cracker," or poor white--
lean, sallow, and awkward in his movements, but hospitable, as men
of his class always are. In answer to their request he replied,
"Sartin, sartin; to be sho'. Light down, gentleMEN, and come
inside. We 'uns is plain folks, and hain't got much, but sich as
we has yo' 'uns is welkim to. Sal, run fo' a bucket of water."
As Frank and Jan entered the house, a little-barefooted, tow-
headed girl started off with a bucket. They were hardly seated,
and their host had just begun to tell them about his wonderful
"nateral well," when a loud scream was heard outside. The next
instant the little girl came flying into the house, with a terror-
stricken face, and flung herself into her father's arms.
"Why! what is it, gal? So, honey, so! Tell yer daddy what's a-
skeering of ye"; and the man tried to soothe the child, and learn
the cause of her sudden fright.
At length she managed to sob out, "It's the devvil, pa; the
devvil's in our well, an' he hollered at me, an' I drapped the
bucket an' run."
At these words Frank sprang to his feet, exclaiming, "What! a
voice in the well? And you said it was a natural well, mister? Oh,
Jan, can it be?" And then turning fiercely to the man, "Show us to
the well, man, quick! What do you sit there staring for?"
Without waiting for a reply he rushed from the door, and running
along a little pathway leading from it, was in another minute
lying flat on the ground, looking down a hole of about six feet in
diameter, and shouting, "Halloo! down there."
Yes, there was an answer, and it was, "Help! he-l-p!"
The two men had followed Frank from the house, and Jan had been
thoughtful enough to bring with him the Manila rope that had hung
at the pommel of Frank's saddle.
There was no need for words now. Frank hastily knotted the rope
under his arms, handed it to Jan, and saying, "Haul up gently when
I call," slipped over the curb and disappeared.
One, two, three minutes passed after the rope slackened in their
hands, showing that Frank had reached the bottom, and then those
at the top heard, clear and loud from the depths, "Haul away
gently."
Very carefully they pulled on that rope, and up, up, up towards
the sunlight that his strained eyes had never thought to see
again, came Mark Elmer.
When Jan, strong as an ox, but tender as a woman, leaned over the
curb and lifted the limp, dripping figure, as it were from the
grave, he burst into tears, for he thought the boy was dead. He
was still and white, the merry brown eyes were closed, and he did
not seem to breathe.
But another was down there, so they laid Mark gently on the grass,
and again lowered the rope into the well.
The figure that appeared as they pulled up this time was just as
wet as the other, but full of life and energy.
"Carry him into the house, Jan. He isn't dead. He was alive when I
got to him. Put him in a bed, and wrap him up in hot blankets. Rub
him with whiskey! slap his feet!--anything!--only fetch him to,
while I go for help."
With these words Frank March, wet as a water-spout, and more
excited than he had ever been in his life, sprang on his horse and
was off like a whirlwind.
That that ride did not kill the horse was no fault of Frank's; for
when he was reined sharply up in the "Go Bang" yard, and his rider
sprang from his back and into the house at one leap, he staggered
and fell, white with foam, and with his breath coming in gasps.
In the sitting-room Mr. Elmer was just trying to break the news of
Mark's death to his wife as gently as possible, when the door was
flung open, and Frank, breathless, hatless, dripping with water,
and pale with excitement, burst into the room shouting,
"He's alive!--he's alive and safe!"
Over and over again did he have to tell the marvellous story of
how he had found Mark standing up to his neck in water, at the
bottom of a natural well, nearly dead, but still alive; how he had
knotted the rope around him and sent him to the top, while he
himself stayed down there until the rope could again be lowered;
how Mark had fainted, and now lay like dead in a farm-house--
before the parents could realize that their son, whom they were a
moment before mourning as dead, was still alive.
Then the mules were hitched to the farm-wagon, a feather-bed and
many blankets were thrown in, Mr. and Mrs. Elmer, Ruth, and Frank
climbed in, and away they went. John Gilpin's ride was tame as
compared to the way that wagon flew over the eight miles of rough
country between Wakulla and the house in which Mark lay, slowly
regaining consciousness.
The meeting between the parents and the son whom they had deemed
lost to them was not demonstrative; but none of them, nor of those
who saw it, will ever forget the scene.
A solemn "Thank God!" and "My boy! my darling boy!" were all that
was heard; and then Mark was lifted gently into the wagon, and it
was driven slowly and carefully home.
An hour after he was tucked into his own bed Mark was in a raging
fever, and screaming, "The star! the star! Please let me see it a
little longer." And it was many a day before he again left the
house, and again breathed the fresh air out-of-doors.
CHAPTER XVII.
TWO LETTERS AND A JOURNEY.
It was late in April before Mark rose from the bed on which for
weeks he had tossed and raved in the delirium of fever. He had
raved of the horrible darkness and the cold water, and begged that
the star should not be taken away. One evening he woke from a
heavy, death-like sleep in which he had lain for hours, and in a
voice so weak that it was almost a whisper, called "Mother."
"Here I am, dear"; and the figure which had been almost constantly
beside him during the long struggle, bent over and kissed him
gently.
"I ain't dead, am I, mother?" he whispered.
"No, dear, you are alive, and with God's help are going to get
well and strong again. But don't try to talk now; wait until you
are stronger."
For several days the boy lay sleeping, or with eyes wide open
watching those about him, but feeling so weak and tired that even
to think was an effort. Still, the fever had left him, and from
the day he called "Mother" he gradually grew stronger, until
finally he could sit up in bed. Next he was moved to a rocking-
chair by the window, and at last he was carried into the sitting-
room and laid on the lounge--the same lounge on which Frank had
lain, months before, when he told them what a wicked boy he had
been.
Now the same Frank, but yet an entirely different Frank, sat
beside him, and held his hand, and looked lovingly down into his
face. Each of them had saved the other's life, and their love for
each other was greater than that of brothers. Mark had been told
of how Frank had gone down into the "sink hole" after him, and
stayed there in the cold, rushing water while he was drawn to the
top, but he could remember nothing of it. He only remembered the
star, and of praying that he might live to see the sunlight.
How happy they all were when the invalid took his first walk out-
of-doors, leaning on Frank, and stopping many times to rest. The
air was heavy with the scent of myriads of flowers, and the very
birds seemed glad to see him, and sang their loudest and sweetest
to welcome him.
After this he improved in strength rapidly, and was soon able to
ride as far as the mill, and to float on the river in the canoe,
with Frank to paddle it; but still his parents were very anxious
about him. He was not their merry, light-hearted Mark of old. He
never laughed now, but seemed always to be oppressed with some
great dread. His white face wore a frightened look, and he would
sit for hours with his mother as she sewed, saying little, but
gazing wistfully at her, as though fearful that in some way he
might lose her or be taken from her.
All this troubled his parents greatly, and many a consultation did
they have as to what they should do for their boy. They decided
that he needed an entire change of scene and occupation, but just
how to obtain these for him they could not plan.
One day Mrs. Elmer sat down and wrote a long letter to her uncle,
Christopher Bangs, telling him of their trouble, and asking him
what they should do. To this letter came the following answer:
"BANGOR, MAINE, May 5, 188-.
"DEAR NIECE ELLEN,--You did exactly the right thing, as you always
do, in writing to me about Grandneph. Mark. Of course he needs a
change of scene after spending a whole night hundreds of feet
underground, fighting alligators, and naturally having a fever
afterwards. Who wouldn't? I would myself. A good thing's good for
a while, but there is such a thing as having too much of a good
thing, no matter how good it is, and I rather guess Grandneph.
Mark has had too much of Floridy, and it'll do him good to leave
it for a while. So just you bundle him up and send him along to me
for a change. Tell him his old Grandunk Christmas has got some
important business for him to look after, and can't possibly get
on without him more than a week or two longer. I shall expect a
letter by return mail saying he has started.
"Give Grandunk Christmas's love to Grandniece Ruth, and with
respects to your husband, believe me to be, most truly, as ever,
Your affectionate uncle,
"CHRISTOPHER BANGS."
"P.S.--Don't mind the expense. Send the boy C.O.D. I'll settle all
bills. C.B."
In the same mail with this letter came another from Maine,
directed to "Miss Ruth Elmer." It was from her dearest friend,
Edna May; and as Ruth handed it to her mother, who read it aloud
to the whole family, we will read it too:
"NORTON, MAINE, May 5, 188-.
"MY OWN DARLING RUTH,--What is the matter? I haven't heard from
you in more than a week. Oh, I've got SUCH a plan, or rather
father made it up, that I am just wild thinking of it. It is this:
father's ship, Wildfire, has sailed from New York for Savannah,
and before he left, father said for me to write and tell you that
he couldn't think of letting me go to Florida next winter unless
you came here and spent this summer with me.
"The Wildfire will leave Savannah for New York again about the
15th of May, and father wants you to meet him there and come home
with him. His sister, Aunt Emily Coburn, has gone with him for the
sake of the voyage, and she will take care of you.
"Oh, do come! Won't it be splendid? Father is coming home from New
York, so he can bring you all the way. I am sure your mother will
let you come when she knows how nicely everything is planned.
"I have got lots and lots to tell you, but can't think of anything
else now but your coming.
"What an awful time poor Mark has had. I don't see how he ever
lived through it. I think Frank March must be splendid. Write just
as quick as you can, and tell me if you are coming.
"Good-bye. With kisses and hugs, I am your dearest, lovingest
friend,
"EDNA MAY."
These two letters from the far North created quite a ripple of
excitement in that Southern household, and furnished ample subject
for discussion when the family was gathered on the front porch in
the evening of the day they were received.
Mr. Elmer said, "I think it would be a good thing for Mark to go,
and I should like to have Ruth go too; but I don't see how you can
spare her, wife."
"I shall miss her dreadfully, but I should feel much easier to
think that she was with Mark on this long journey. Poor boy, he is
far from strong yet. Yes, I think Ruth ought to go. It seems
providential that these two letters should have come together, and
as if it were a sign that the children ought to go together,"
answered Mrs. Elmer.
Mark, who had listened quietly to the whole discussion, now spoke
up and said, "I should like to go, father. As long as I stay here
I shall keep thinking of that terrible underground river over
there. I think of it and dream of it all the time, and sometimes
it seems as if it were only waiting and watching for a chance to
swallow me again. I should love dearly to have Ruth go with me
too, though I am quite sure I am strong enough to take care of
myself"; and he turned towards his mother with a smile.
Ruth said, "Oh, mother, I should love to go, but I can't bear to
leave you! so, whichever way you decide, I shall be perfectly
satisfied and contented."
It was finally decided that they should both go. Mark was to
accompany Ruth as far as Savannah, and see her safely on board the
ship; then, unless he received a pressing invitation from Captain
May to go with him to New York, he was to go by steamer to Boston,
and there take another steamer for Bangor.
This was the both of May, and as the Wildfire was to sail on or
about the 15th, they must be in Savannah on that day; therefore no
time was to be lost in making preparations for the journey.
Such busy days as the next three were! such making of new clothes
and mending of old, to be worn on the journey! so many things to
be thought of and done! Even Aunt Chloe became excited, and
prepared so many nice things for "Misto Mark an' Missy Rufe to eat
when dey's a-trabblin'" that Mark actually laughed when he saw
them.
"Why, Aunt Clo," he explained, "you have got enough there to last
us all the time we're gone. Do you think they don't have anything
to eat up North?"
"Dunno, honey," answered the old woman, gazing with an air of
great satisfaction at the array of goodies. "Allus hearn tell as
it's a powerful pore, cole kentry up dar whar you's a-gwine.
'Specs dey hab somfin to eat, ob co'se, but reckon dar ain't none
too much, sich as hit is."
The good soul was much distressed at the small quantity of what
she had provided, for which room was found in the lunch-basket,
and said she "'lowed dem ar chillun's gwine hungry heap o' times
befo' dey sets eyes on ole Clo agin."
It had been arranged that Mr. and Mrs. Elmer and Frank March
should go with the travellers as far as Tallahassee, and see them
fairly off from there. Bright and early on the morning of the 13th
the mule wagon, in which comfortable seats were fixed, was driven
up to the front door, the trunks, bags, and lunch-basket were put
in, and everything was in readiness for the start.
Mr. March, Jan, Aunt Chloe, and several of the neighbors from
across the river had assembled to see them off, and many and
hearty were the good wishes offered for a pleasant journey and a
safe return in the fall.
"Good-bye, Misto Mark an' Missy Rufe," said Aunt Chloe; "trus' in
de Lo'd while you's young, an' he ain't gwine fo'git yo' in yo'
ole age."
"Good-bye, Aunt Clo! good-bye, everybody!" shouted Mark, as the
wagon rattled away. "Don't forget us!" And in another minute "dear
old Go Bang," as the children already called it, was hidden from
view behind the trees around the sulphur spring.
They stopped for a minute at the mill to get a sack of corn for
the mules, and as they drove from it its busy machinery seemed to
say,
"Good-bye, Mr. President, good-bye, Mr. President, good-bye, Mr.
President of the Elmer Mills."
They reached Tallahassee early in the afternoon, and went to a
hotel for the night. From the many cows on the street Mark tried
to point out to Ruth and Frank the one he had seen climb into a
cart on his previous visit, but none of those they saw looked able
to distinguish herself in that way. They concluded that she had
become disgusted at being called "a ole good-fo'-nuffin," and had
carried her talents elsewhere.
The train left so early the next morning that the sadness of
parting was almost forgotten in the hurry of eating breakfast and
getting down to the station. In the train Mark charged Frank to
take good care of his canoe and rifle, Ruth begged him to be very
kind to poor Bruce, who would be so lonely, and they both promised
to write from Savannah. Then the conductor shouted, "All aboard!"
hurried kisses and last good-byes were exchanged, and the train
moved off.
Ruth cried a little at first, and Mark looked pretty sober, but
they soon cheered up, and became interested in the scenery through
which they were passing. For an hour or two they rode through a
beautiful hill country, in which was here and there a lake covered
with great pond-lilies. Then the hills and lakes disappeared, and
they hurried through mile after mile of pine forests, where they
saw men gathering turpentine from which to make resin. It was
scooped into buckets from cuts made in the bark of the trees, and
the whole operation "looked for all the world," as Mark said,
"like a sugar-bush in Maine."
At Ellaville, sixty-five miles from Tallahassee, they saw great
saw-mills, and directly they crossed one of the most famous rivers
in the country, the Suwannee, and Ruth hummed softly,
"'Way down upon de Swanee Ribber,
Far, far away."
Soon afterwards they reached Live Oak, where they were to change
cars for Savannah. They made the change easily, for their trunks
had been checked through, and they had little baggage to trouble
them. A few miles farther took them across the State line and into
Georgia, which Ruth said, with a somewhat disappointed air, looked
to her very much the same as Florida.
Now that they were in Georgia they felt that they must be quite
near Savannah, and began to talk of Captain May, and wonder if he
would be at the depot to meet them. Letters had been sent to Uncle
Christopher Bangs, to Edna, and to Captain May, as soon as it was
decided that they should take this journey, and Mr. Elmer had
telegraphed to the captain from Tallahassee that morning, so they
felt pretty sure he would know of their coming.
At a junction with the funny name of "Waycross" their car was
attached to an express train from Jacksonville, on which were
numbers of Northern tourists who had been spending the winter in
Florida and were now on their way home. These people interested
the children so much that they forgot to be tired, though it was
now late in the afternoon. At last, as it was beginning to grow
dark, the train rolled into the depot at Savannah. Taking their
bags and holding each other's hands tight, for fear of being
separated in the crowd, the children stepped out on the platform,
where they were at once completely bewildered by the throng of
hurrying people, the confusion, and the noise.
As they stood irresolute, not knowing which way to turn nor what
to do, a cheery voice called out,
"Halloo! here we are. Why, Mark, my hearty, this is indeed a
pleasure--and little Ruth, too! Won't my Edna be delighted!" And
Captain May stooped down and kissed her, right there before all
the people, as though he were her own father.
"Oh, Captain Bill!" said Mark, greatly relieved at seeing the
familiar face, "we are so glad to see you. We were just beginning
to feel lost."
"Lost, eh?" laughed the captain; "well, that's a good one. The
idea of a boy who's been through what you have feeling lost--right
here among folks too. But then, to one used to the water, this
here dry land is a mighty bewildering place, that's a fact. Well,
come, let's get under way. I've got a carriage moored alongside
the station here, and we'll clap sail on to it and lay a course
for the Wildfire. Steward's got supper ready by this time, and
Sister Emily's impatient to see you. Checks? Oh yes. Here, driver,
take these brasses, and roust out that dunnage; lively, now!"
When they were in the carriage, and rolling quietly along through
the sandy streets, Captain May said they were just in time, for he
was ready to drop down the river that night.
"Then I'd better go to a hotel," said Mark.
"What for?" asked Captain May.
"Because I'm to go to Boston by steamer from here, and Ruth is to
go with you."
"Steamer nothing;" shouted Captain Bill. "You're coming along with
us on the Wildfire. Steamer, indeed!"
This seemed to settle it, and Mark wrote home that evening that,
having received a "pressing invitation," he was going to sail to
New York with Captain Bill May in the Wildfire.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BURNING OF THE "WILDFIRE."
"Aunt Emily," as the children called her at once, because she was
Edna May's aunt, welcomed them as warmly as Captain May had done,
and everything in the cabin of the Wildfire was so comfortable
that they felt at home at once. Supper was ready as soon as they
were, and as they sat down to it Mark said he wished "Aunt Clo"
could see it, for he thought it would give her some new ideas of
what Yankees had to eat.
After supper each of the children wrote a letter home, and Mark
and Captain May walked up to the post-office to mail them.
About nine o'clock a tug came for the ship, and very soon they had
bid good-bye to Savannah, and were dropping down the muddy river
towards the sea. As it was a fine moonlit night, the children
stayed on deck with Mrs. Coburn to see what they could of the
river, which here forms the boundary line between the States of
Georgia and South Carolina. On both sides, as far as they could
see, the marshes were covered with fields of growing rice, and
every now and then they heard the sound of music coming from the
funny little negro cabins which were scattered here and there
along the banks.
They passed the old forts Jackson and Pulaski, both on the south
side of the river, and both deserted and falling to ruin, and very
soon had left behind Tybee Island, with its flashing light, at the
mouth of the river. The tug left them when they reached the siren
buoy that keeps up a constant moaning on the outer bar; one after
another of the ship's sails were loosed and "sheeted home," and
then Captain May said it was "high time for the watch below to
turn in."
The sea was so calm and beautiful the next day that even Mark did
not feel ill, nor was he during the voyage. As for Ruth, she knew,
from her experience on the last voyage they had taken, that she
should not be sea-sick, and so everybody was as happy and jolly as
possible.
During the afternoon, after they had all been sitting on deck for
some time, talking of the dear ones left at home, and of the many
friends whom they hoped soon to meet, Ruth said she was going down
to open her trunk and get out the album containing the pictures of
her girl friends in Norton, and see if they looked as she
remembered them. It was so long since she had opened this album
that she had almost forgotten whose pictures were in it. She soon
returned with it in her hand, and with a very puzzled expression
on her face.
"Mark," she said, "did you ever think that Frank March looked like
anybody else whom we know?"
"I don't know," answered Mark. "Yes, come to think of it, I have
thought two or three times that his face had a familiar look, but
I never could think who it was he resembled. Why?"
Placing the album in his hand, and opening it to the first page,
on which was the photograph of Edna May, Ruth said, "Do you think
he looks anything like that?"
"Why, yes! of course he does," exclaimed Mark, startled at the
resemblance he saw. "He looks enough like the picture to be Edna's
brother."
"Aunt Emily," said Ruth, turning to Mrs. Coburn, who sat near
them, "do you know in what Southern city Captain May found Edna?"
"Yes, it was in the one we have just left--Savannah."
"And Frank came from Savannah, and he lost his mother and little
sister there, and Edna's own mother was drowned there. Oh, Mark,
if it should be!" cried Ruth, much excited.
"Wouldn't it be just too jolly?" said Mark.
Mrs. Coburn became almost as interested as the children when the
matter was explained to her; but Captain May was quite provoked
when he heard of it. He said it was only a chance resemblance, and
there couldn't be anything in it. He had made inquiries in
Savannah at the time, and never heard anything of any father or
brother either, and at any rate he was not going to lose his Edna
now for all the brothers and fathers in the world. He finally said
that unless they gave him a solemn promise not to mention a word
of all this to Edna, he should not let her visit them next winter.
So the children promised, and the captain was satisfied; but they
talked the matter over between themselves, and became more and
more convinced that Frank March and Edna May were brother and
sister.
After this the voyage proceeded without incident until the evening
of the third day, when they were sitting at supper in the cabin.
The skylights and port-holes were all wide open, for in spite of
the fresh breeze that was blowing, the cabin was uncomfortably
close and hot. Mark said the further north they went the hotter it
seemed to get, and the others agreed with him. Captain May said
that if the breeze held, and they were lucky in meeting a pilot,
they would be at anchor in New York Harbor before another supper-
time, and he hoped the hot spell would be over before they were
obliged to go ashore. While he was speaking the mate put his head
down the companion-way and said,
"Captain May, will you be good enough to step on deck a moment,
sir?"
As the captain went on deck he noticed that all the crew were
gathered about the forecastle, and were talking earnestly.
"What's in the wind now, Mr. Gibbs?" he asked of the mate, who at
that moment stepped up to him.
"Why, sir, only this, that I believe the ship's on fire. A few
minutes ago the whole watch below came on deck vowing there was no
sleeping in the fo'k'sle; that it was a reg'lar furnace. I went to
see what they was growling at, and 'twas so hot down there it made
my head swim. There wasn't any flame nor any smoke, but there was
a powerful smell of burning, and I'm afraid there's fire in the
cargo."
Without a word Captain May went forward and down into the
forecastle, the men respectfully making way for him to pass. In
less than a minute he came up, bathed in perspiration, and turning
to the crew, said, "My men, there's no doubt but that this ship is
on fire. It's in among the cotton; but if we can keep it smothered
a while longer, I think, with this breeze, we can make our port
before it breaks out. I want you to keep cool and steady, and
remember there's no danger, for we can make land any time in the
boats if worse comes to worse. Mr. Gibbs, have the men get their
dunnage up out of the forecastle, and then close the hatch and
batten it."
Going aft, the captain found his passengers on deck waiting
anxiously to learn the cause of the commotion they had already
noticed. He told them the worst at once, and advised them to go
below and pack up their things ready for instant removal in case
it became necessary.
"Oh, William," exclaimed his sister, "can't we take to the boats
now while there is time? It seems like tempting Providence to stay
on the ship and wait for the fire to break out. What if she should
blow up?"
"Now, don't be foolish, Emily," answered the captain. "There's
nothing on board that can blow up, and it would be worse than
cowardly to leave the ship while there's a chance of saving her.
The boats are all ready to be lowered instantly, and at present
there is no more danger here than there would be in them."
Not a soul on board the Wildfire went to bed or undressed that
night, and Mark and Ruth were the only ones who closed their eyes.
They stayed on deck until midnight, but then, in spite of the
excitement, they became too sleepy to hold their eyes open any
longer, and Mrs. Coburn persuaded them to take a nap on the cabin
sofas.
All night the ship flew like a frightened bird towards her port,
under such a press of canvas as Captain May would not have dared
carry had not the necessity for speed been so great. As the night
wore on the decks grew hotter and hotter, until the pitch fairly
bubbled from the seams, and a strong smell of burning pervaded the
ship. At daylight the American flag was run half-way up to the
mizzen peak, union down, as a signal of distress. By sunrise the
Highlands of Navesink were in sight, and they also saw a pilot-
boat bearing rapidly down upon them from the northward.
As soon as he saw this boat Captain May told his passengers that
he was going to send them on board of it, as he feared the fire
might now break out at any minute, and he was going to ask its
captain to run in to Sandy Hook, and send despatches to the
revenue-cutter and to the New York fire-boat Havemeyer, begging
them to come to his assistance.
Mrs. Coburn and Ruth readily agreed to this plan, but Mark begged
so hard to be allowed to stay, and said he should feel so much
like a coward to leave the ship before any of the other men, that
the captain finally consented to allow him to remain.
The ship's headway was checked as the pilot-boat drew near, in
order that her yawl, bringing the pilot, might run alongside.
"Halloo, Cap'n Bill," sang out the pilot, who happened to be an
old acquaintance of Captain May's. "What's the meaning of all
that?" and he pointed to the signal of distress. "Got Yellow Jack
aboard, or a mutiny?"
"Neither," answered Captain May, "but I've got a volcano stowed
under the hatches, and I'm expecting an eruption every minute."
"You don't tell me?" said the pilot, as he clambered up over the
side. "Ship's afire, is she?"
The state of affairs was quickly explained to him, and he readily
consented that his swift little schooner should run in to the Hook
and send despatches for help. He also said they should be only too
proud to have the ladies come aboard.
Without further delay Mrs. Coburn and Ruth, with their baggage,
were placed in the ship's long-boat, lowered over the side, and in
a few minutes were safe on the deck of the pilot-boat, which
seemed to Ruth almost as small as Mark's canoe in comparison with
the big ship they had just left.
As soon as they were on board, the schooner spread her white wings
and stood in for Sandy Hook, while the ship was headed towards the
"Swash Channel."
As she passed the Romer Beacon Captain May saw the pilot-boat
coming out from behind the Hook, and knew the despatches had been
sent. When his ship was off the Hospital Islands he saw the
revenue-cutter steaming down through the Narrows towards them,
trailing a black cloud behind her, and evidently making all
possible speed.
By this time little eddies of smoke were curling up from around
the closely battened hatches, and Captain May saw that the ship
could not live to reach the upper bay, and feared she would be a
mass of flames before the fire-boat could come to her relief. In
this emergency he told the pilot that he thought they had better
leave the channel and run over on the flats towards the Long
Island shore, so as to be prepared to scuttle her.
"Ay, ay, Cap; I can put her just wherever you want her. Only give
the word," answered the pilot.
"I do give it," said Captain May, as a cloud of smoke puffed out
from the edge of one of the hatches. "Put her there, for she'll be
ablaze now before many minutes."
As the ship's head was turned towards the flats the revenue-cutter
ran alongside. Her captain, followed by a dozen bluejackets,
boarded the ship, and the former, taking in her desperate
situation at a glance, said to Captain May, "You must scuttle her
at once, captain; it's your only chance to save her."
"Very well, sir," answered Captain May. "I think so myself, but am
glad to have your authority for doing so."
As the ship's anchors were let go, her carpenter and a squad of
men from the cutter, armed with axes and augurs, tumbled down into
her cabin, and began what seemed like a most furious work of
destruction. The axes crashed through the carved woodwork,
furniture was hurled to one side, great holes were cut in the
cabin floor, and the ship's planking was laid bare in a dozen
places below the water-line. Then the augurs were set to work, and
in a few minutes a dozen streams of water, spurting up like
fountains, were rushing and gurgling into the ship.
While this was going on in the cabin, the ship's crew, assisted by
others of the revenue men, were removing everything of value on
which they could lay their hands to the deck of the cutter.
Suddenly those in the cabin heard a great cry and a roaring noise
on deck and as they rushed up the companion-way they saw a column
of flame shooting up from the fore-hatch, half-mast high.
Half the people had sprung on board the revenue-cutter as she
sheered off, which she did at the first burst of flame, and now
the others filled the boats, which were quickly lowered and shoved
off. As the boats were being lowered a second burst of flame came
from the main-hatch, and already tongues of fire were lapping the
sails and lofty spars.
Mark had worked with the rest in saving whatever he could lift,
and did not think of leaving the ship until Captain May said,
"Come, Mark, it's time to go. Jump into this boat."
Mark did as he was told, and as Captain May sprang in after him,
and shouted "Lower away!" not a living soul was left on board the
unfortunate vessel.
As the men in the boats rested on their oars, and lay at a safe
distance from the ship, watching the grand spectacle of her
destruction, they saw that she was settling rapidly by the stern.
Lower and lower she sank, and higher and higher mounted the fierce
flames, until, all at once, her bows lifted high out of the water,
her stern seemed to shoot under it, then the great hull plunged
out of sight, and a mighty cloud of smoke and steam rose to the
sky. Through this cloud the flames along the upper masts and yards
shone with a lurid red. At this point the fire-boat arrived; a
couple of well-directed streams of water from her powerful engines
soon extinguished these flames, and the three blackened masts,
pointing vaguely upward, were all that remained to show where, so
short a time before, the great ship had floated.
The pilot-boat had already transferred Mrs. Coburn and Ruth and
their baggage to the cutter, and she now steamed up the bay,
carrying the passengers, crew, and all that had been saved from
the good ship Wildfire.
This disaster to his ship, which would have been so terrible had
it happened out at sea instead of almost in port, as it did,
obliged Captain May to remain in New York several days. Of this
Mark and Ruth were very glad, for it gave them an opportunity to
see some of the wonders of the great city of which they had read
so much, and which they had longed so often to visit.
Mrs. Coburn, who had at one time lived in New York, and so knew
just what was best worth seeing, took them to some new place every
day. They saw the great East River Bridge that connects New York
and Brooklyn, they took the elevated railroad, and went the whole
length of Manhattan Island to High Bridge, on which the Croton
Aqueduct crosses the Harlem River, and on the way back stopped and
walked through Central Park to the Menagerie, where they were more
interested in the alligators than anything else, because they
reminded them so of old friends, or rather enemies.
They visited museums and noted buildings and stores, until Ruth
declared that she wanted to get away where it was quiet, and she
didn't see how people who lived in New York found time to do
anything but go round and see the sights.
They were all glad when Captain May was ready to leave, and after
the noise and bustle of the great city they thoroughly enjoyed the
quiet night's sail up Long Island Sound on the steamer Pilgrim.
At Fall River they took cars for Boston, where they stayed one
day. From there they took the steamer Cambridge for Bangor, where
they arrived in the morning, and where "Uncle Christmas," as jolly
and hearty as ever, met them at the wharf.
"Sakes alive, children, how you have growed!" he said, holding
them off at arm's-length in front of him, and looking at them
admiringly. "Why, Mark, you're pretty nigh as tall as a Floridy
pine."
He insisted on taking the whole party to dine with him at the
hotel, and at dinner told Mark that that little business of theirs
had got to wait a while, and meantime he wanted him to run over to
Norton, and stay at Dr. Wing's until he came for him.
This was just what Mark had been wishing, above all things, that
he could do, and he almost hugged "Uncle Christmas" for his
thoughtful kindness.
After dinner the happy party bade the old gentleman good-bye, and
took the train for Skowhegan, where they found the same old
rattlety-bang stage waiting to carry them to Norton.
As with a flourish of the driver's horn and a cracking of his whip
they rolled into the well-known Norton street, a crowd of boys and
girls, who seemed to have been watching for them, gave three
rousing cheers for Mark Elmer, and three more for Ruth Elmer, and
then three times three for both of them.
The stage stopped, and in another instant Ruth was hugging and
kissing, and being hugged and kissed, by her "very dearest,
darlingest friend" Edna May, and Mark was being slapped on the
back and hauled this way and that, and was shaking hands with all
the boys in Norton.
CHAPTER XIX.
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S "GREAT SCHEME."
How pleasant it was to be in dear old Norton again! and how glad
everybody was to see them! Good old Mrs. Wing said it made her
feel young again to have boys in the house. She certainly had
enough of them now; for the Norton boys could not keep away from
Mark. From early morning until evening boys walked back and forth
in front of the house waiting for him to appear, or sat on the
fence-posts and whistled for him. Some walked boldly up to the
front door, rang the bell, and asked if he were in; while others,
more shy, but braver than those who whistled so alluringly from
the fence-posts, stole around through the garden at the side of
the house, and tried to catch a glimpse of him through the
windows.
All this was not because Mark kept himself shut up in the house.
Oh no! he was not that kind of a boy. He only stayed in long
enough to sleep, to eat three meals a day, and to write letters to
his father, mother, and Frank March, telling them of everything
that was taking place. The rest of the time he devoted to the
boys--and the girls; for he was over at Captain May's house
almost as much as he was at the Wings'. He was enjoying himself
immensely, though it didn't seem as though he was doing much
except to talk.
If he went fishing with the boys, they would make him tell how he
and Frank caught the alligator, or how the alligator caught Frank,
and how he killed it; and when he finished it was time to go home,
and none of them had even thought of fishing since Mark began to
talk.
There was nothing the boys enjoyed more than going out into the
woods, making believe that some of the great spreading oaks were
palm-trees, and lying down under them and listening, while Mark,
at their earnest request, told over and over again the stories of
the wreck on the Florida reef, and the picnic his father and
mother and Ruth and he had under the palm-trees, or of hunting
deer at night through the solemn, moss-hung, Southern forests, or
of the burning of the Wildfire.
"I say, Mark," exclaimed Tom Ellis, after listening with
breathless interest to one of these stories, "you're a regular
book, you are, and I'd rather hear you tell stories than to read
Captain Marryat or Paul du Chaillu."
But there was one story Mark never would tell. It was that of his
terrible experience in the buried river. Of this he tried to think
as little as possible, and when the boys saw that it really
distressed him to talk of it they forbore to urge him to do so.
Of course Ruth did not feel as Mark did about it, and she told the
story many times, and everybody who heard it declared it was a
most wonderful experience. They also seemed to think that in some
way the mere fact that the hero of such an adventure was a Norton
boy reflected great credit on the village.
Both Mark and Ruth saw a greater resemblance in the real Edna May
to Frank March than had been shown by her photograph; but they
remembered their promise to Captain Bill, and did not speak of it
except to each other. It was very hard for Ruth to keep this
promise, for Edna had become much interested in Frank through her
letters, and now asked many questions about him. Ruth told her all
she knew, except the one great secret that was on the end of her
tongue a dozen times, but was never allowed to get any further.
Two weeks had been spent very happily by the children in Norton,
when, one beautiful evening in June, the old stage rattled up to
the Wings' front gate, and from it alighted Uncle Christopher
Bangs.
"Halloo, Mark!" sung out the old gentleman, catching sight of his
grandnephew almost the first thing. "How are you, my boy? Sakes
alive, but you're looking well! Seems as if Maine air was the
correct thing for Floridy boys, eh?"
"Yes, indeed, 'Uncle Christmas,'" replied Mark, as he ran out to
meet the dear old man, "Maine air is the very thing for this
Florida boy, at any rate."
"So it is, so it is," chuckled Uncle Christopher. "Wal, I suppose
you're all ready to go to work now, eh?"
"To be sure I am, uncle; ready to begin right off."
"That's right, that's right; but s'posing we just look in on Mrs.
Wing first, and see what she's got for supper, and then, after
sleeping a bit, and eating again, and sort o' shaking ourselves
together, we'll begin to consider. There ain't nothing to be
gained by hurrying and worrying through the only lifetime we've
got in this world, eh?"
The Doctor and Mrs. Wing welcomed Uncle Christopher most warmly,
for he was a very dear friend of theirs, and they never allowed
him to stay anywhere in Norton but at their house, now that the
Elmers had moved away. After supper Ruth and the Mays came over to
see him, and he entertained them the whole evening with his funny
stories and quaint sayings.
In the morning, after breakfast, they began to "consider," as
Uncle Christopher called it. First he made Mark stand in front of
him, looked him all over from head to foot with a quizzical
expression, and finally said, "Yes, you look strong and hearty,
and I guess you'll do.
"Fact is, Mark, I've got to take a trip down into Aroostook, and
as I'm getting pretty old and feeble--Oh, you needn't smile,
youngster, I am old and I've made so many bad jokes lately that I
must be getting feeble. As I was saying, having reached an
advanced state of infirmity, it has occurred to me that I need a
travelling companion, a young, able-bodied fellow like you, for
instance, to protect me against the dangers of the journey. Who
knows but what we may meet with an alligator, eh? and so I want
you to go along with me."
Of course Mark agreed readily to this proposition, though he had
expected one far different, and the next morning he and Uncle
Christopher took leave of their Norton friends and started for
Bangor. From there another train carried them for miles along the
upper Penobscot River, past the Indian settlement at Old Town,
past the great saw-mills and millions of logs at Mattawaumkeag,
and finally to McAdam Junction in "Europe," as Uncle Christopher
called New Brunswick. Here they took another road, and were
carried back into Maine to Houlton, the county seat of Aroostook
County. After staying overnight here they took a stage, and for a
whole day travelled over pleasant roads, through sweet-scented
forests of spruce and balsam, broken here by clearings and thrifty
farms, until at last the journey ended in the pretty little
backwoods settlement of Presque Isle.
Here Uncle Christopher's lumber business detained him for a week,
and here he introduced Mark to all his friends as "My grandnephew,
Mr. Mark Elmer, Jun., President of the Elmer Mills down in
Floridy," covering Mark with much confusion thereby, and enjoying
the joke immensely himself. Now the real object of bringing the
boy on this trip was disclosed. Mr. Bangs not only wanted Mark to
meet with these practical men, and become familiar with their ways
of conducting a business which was very similar to that which the
Elmers had undertaken in Florida, but he knew that pine lumber was
becoming scarce in that Northern country, and thought perhaps some
of these men could be persuaded to emigrate to another land of
pines if the idea was presented to them properly. So he encouraged
Mark to talk of Florida, and to give them all the information he
possessed regarding its forests of pine and its other resources.
As a result, before they again turned their faces homeward, half a
dozen of these clear-headed Maine men had promised them to visit
Florida in the fall, take a look at the Wakulla country, and see
for themselves what it offered in their line of business.
When Uncle Christopher and Mark returned to Bangor, the latter
began to attend school regularly; not a grammar-school, nor a
high-school, nor a school of any kind where books are studied, but
a mill-school, where machinery took the place of books, where the
teachers were rough workmen, and where each lecture was
illustrated by practical examples. Nor did Mark merely go and
listen to these lectures: he took an active part in illustrating
them himself; for Uncle Christopher had explained so clearly to
him that in order to be a truly successful mill president he must
thoroughly understand the uses of every bit of mill machinery,
that the boy was now as eager to do this as he had been in Wakulla
to learn how to fish for alligators, or fire-hunt for deer.
All that summer he worked hard--two months in a saw-mill, and two
more in a grist-mill--and though he did not receive a cent of
money for all this labor, he felt amply repaid for what he had
been through, by a satisfied sense of having, at least, mastered
the rudiments of what he knew was to be an important part of his
work in life for some years to come.
About the end of September his Uncle Christopher called Mark into
his study one evening, and telling him to sit down, said, "Well,
Mark, my boy, I suppose you're beginning to think of going home
again to Floridy, eh?"
"Yes, uncle; father writes that both Ruth and I ought to come home
very soon now, and I, for one, am quite ready to go."
"So you ought, so you ought. When boys and girls can help their
fathers and mothers, and be helping themselves at the same time,
they ought to be doing it," assented Uncle Christopher,
cheerfully. "Well, Mark, I've got a scheme, a great scheme in my
head, and I want you to tell me what you think of it. In the first
place, I want you and the other directors to increase the capital
stock of the Elmer Mill and Ferry Company, and let me take the
extra shares."
"Oh, Uncle Christopher!"
"Wait, my boy, I haven't begun yet. You see, as I've told you
before, I'm getting old and fee--not a word, sir!--feeble, and my
old bones begin to complain a good deal at the cold of these Maine
winters. Besides, all the folks that I think most of in this world
have gone to Floridy to live, and it isn't according to nater that
a man's body should be in one place while his heart's in another.
Consequently it looks as if I had a special call to have a
business that'll take my body where my heart is once in a while.
Now my business is the lumber business, and always will be; and
from what I know and what you tell me, it looks as if there was
enough of that sort of business to be done in Floridy to amuse my
declining years."
"Yes, indeed there is, uncle."
"Well, that p'int being settled, and you, as President of the
Elmer Mills, being willing to use your influence to have me made a
partner in that concern--"
"Why, of course, uncle--"
"No 'of course' about it, young man; remember there's a Board of
Directors to be consulted. Friendship is friendship, and business
is business, and sometimes when one says 'Gee' t'other says 'Haw.'
Having secured the influence of the president of the company,
however, I'm willing to risk the rest. And now for my scheme.
"Supposing, for the sake of argument, that I am made one of the
proprietors of the Elmer Mills. In that case I want them to be big
mills. I'm too old a man to be fooling my limited time away on
little mills; consequently, I propose to buy a first-class outfit
of machinery for a big saw-mill, ship it to Wakulla, Floridy, and
let it represent my shares of Elmer Mill Company stock. Moreover,
as the schooner Nancy Bell, owned by the subscriber, is just now
waiting for a charter, I propose to load her with the said mill
machinery, and whatever articles you may think the Wakulla colony
to be most in need of, and despatch her to the St. Mark's River,
Floridy.
"Moreover, yet again, as she is now without a captain, Eli Drew
having gone into deep-water navigation, I propose to offer the
command of the Nancy Bell to Captain Bill May, as his ship won't
be ready for some months yet.
"And, moreover, for the third time, I further propose to invite
Mr. Mark Elmer, Jun., President of the Elmer Mill and Ferry
Company of Floridy, Miss Ruth Elmer, Secretary of the same, Miss
Edna May, daughter of the captain, that is to be, of the schooner
Nancy Bell, and the several gentlemen whom we met down in
Aroostook last June, to take this Floridy trip on board the
schooner Nancy Bell with me."
"With YOU, Uncle Christopher!" exclaimed Mark. "Are you going
too?"
"Why, to be sure I am," answered Uncle Christopher. "Didn't I tell
you it was my intention to reunite the scattered members of my
being under more sunny skies than these? Now what do you say to my
scheme, eh?"
"I say it's the most splendid scheme I ever heard of," cried Mark,
jumping from his chair in his excitement, "and I wish we could
start this very minute."
"Well we can't; but we can start towards bed, and in the morning
we'll look after that mill machinery."
The next two were indeed busy weeks for our friends. In Bangor
Uncle Christopher and Mark were fully occupied in selecting mill
machinery of the most improved patterns, and in purchasing a great
variety of farm utensils, groceries, and other things that Mark
knew would prove very welcome in Wakulla. Captain May, who had
gladly accepted the command of the Nancy Bell for this voyage, was
equally busy getting her ready for sea, and superintending the
stowage of her precious but awkward cargo of machinery.
In Norton, Ruth and Edna had their hands full of dressmaking,
packing, and paying farewell visits, and down in Aroostook the six
families of the six gentlemen who had accepted Mr. Bangs's
invitation to visit Florida with him were in a whirl of
excitement, for to these untravelled people the journey from Maine
to Florida seemed but little less of an undertaking than a journey
around the world.
At length everything was ready, and the Nancy Bell only awaited
her passengers. Captain May and Mark ran over to Norton one day to
bid the friends there good-bye, and returned the next, bringing
the girls with them. Both the girls were as excited as they could
be; Edna at the prospect of this the first long journey that she
could remember, and Ruth at the idea of soon being at home with
her own dear parents again, and with anticipating all she should
have to show and tell Edna.
A letter had been sent to Wakulla, saying that Mark and Ruth would
take advantage of the first opportunity that offered to go home,
and that Edna May would come with them; but nothing was said of
Uncle Christopher and the rest of the party, nor of the schooner
and her cargo. All this was reserved as a grand surprise.
How different were the feelings that filled the minds of Mark and
Ruth now, from those with which they had sailed down the Penobscot
in this same schooner Nancy Bell eleven months before. Then they
were leaving the only home they had ever known, and going in
search of a new one in which their father could recover his
shattered health. Even they had realized that it was a desperate
venture, and that its success was very doubtful. Now they were
going to that home, already well established and prosperous. They
knew that their father was again a strong and well man, and they
were taking with them friends and material that were to insure
increased happiness and prosperity to those whom they loved most.
The first of October was a charming season of the year for a
Southern voyage, and with favoring winds the Nancy Bell made a
quick run down the coast. In one week after leaving Bangor she had
rounded the western end of the Florida Reef, and was headed
northward across the green waters of the Gulf. Here she moved but
slowly before the light winds that prevailed, but at last the
distant light-house at the mouth of the St. Mark's River was
sighted. Almost at the same time a slender column of smoke was
seen rising to the east of the light, and apparently at some
distance inland. As the lamp in the light-house shed forth its
cheerful gleam at sunset the column of smoke changed to a deep
red, as though it were a pillar of fire. While they were wondering
what it could be, a pilot came on board, and in answer to their
questions told them that it was the light from the Wakulla
volcano. He said that no living soul had ever been nearer than
five miles to it, on account of the horrible and impenetrable
swamps surrounding it.
Hearing this, Uncle Christopher declared that, before leaving that
country, he meant to go in there and see how nigh he could get to
it, and Mark said he would go with him.
As the breeze and tide were both in their favor, it was decided to
run up to St. Mark's that night. When, about nine o'clock, this
point was reached, it was suggested that all hands should take to
the boats, and tow the schooner the rest of the way up to Wakulla
that same night, so as to surprise the folks in the morning. The
children were wild to have this plan carried out, and finally
Captain May and Uncle Christopher consented that it should be
tried.
All night long the schooner moved slowly up the solemn river
through the dense shadows of the overhanging forests. The boats'
crews were relieved every hour, and shortly before sunrise the
children, who had been forced by sleepiness to take naps in their
state-rooms, were wakened by Uncle Christopher, who said,
"Come, children, hurry up on deck. The schooner has just been made
fast to the 'Go Bang' pier, and we're going to fire a gun to wake
up the folks--a sort of a 'Go Bang' good-morning, you know."
CHAPTER XX.
EDNA MAY MARCH.
Mark, Ruth, and Edna hurried on deck, and reached it in time to
see Captain May load to its muzzle the small brass cannon that was
carried on the schooner for firing signals.
How beautiful and peaceful everything looked! The tide, with which
they had come up, filled the river to the brim, and it sparkled
merrily in the light of the rising sun. The ferry-boat lay moored
to the bank just in front of the schooner, and they could see the
tin horn hanging to its post, and the very card on which were the
ferry rates that Ruth had printed so many months before. The house
was hidden from their view by a clump of trees, but over their
tops rose a light column of smoke, and they knew Aunt Chloe was up
and busy, at any rate.
Suddenly, flash! bang! the small cannon went off with a roar
worthy of a larger piece, and one that woke the echoes for miles
up and down the river, disturbed numerous wild water-fowl from
their quiet feeding, and sent them screaming away through the air,
and set all the dogs in Wakulla to barking furiously. In the midst
of all the clamor the children heard the loud bark of their own
dog, Bruce, and in another moment he came bounding down to the
landing, and was the first to welcome them home.
At the same time a number of colored people, among whom the
children recognized several familiar faces, came running down to
the opposite bank of the river, where they stood rubbing their
eyes and staring at the big schooner, the first that had been seen
in their river in many years.
The children did not pay much attention to them, however, for a
landing-plank was being run ashore, and they were eager to go to
the house. As Mark reached the wharf, and was holding out his hand
to Ruth, who followed, there was a loud hurrah behind him, and
before he could turn around Frank March had thrown his arms round
his neck, and was fairly hugging him in his joy.
"I knew you'd come when we weren't expecting you! I knew you'd
surprise us! and I told 'em so last night when they were worrying
about you," shouted the boy, dancing about them, and almost
inclined to hug Ruth as he had Mark. But he didn't; he only
grasped both her hands, and shook them until she begged for mercy.
As soon as she regained possession of her hands, she said,
"And here's Edna, Frank. Miss Edna May, Mr. Frank March."
"I'm awfully glad to see you, Miss Edna," said Frank; and "How do
you do, Mr. March?" said Edna, as they shook hands and looked at
each other curiously.
Then Frank was introduced to Uncle Christopher, who said, "My boy,
I'm proud to make your acquaintance. So you didn't expect us, eh?"
and the old gentleman chuckled as he thought of the quality and
size of the joke they had played on the inmates of "Go Bang" by
surprising them.
Captain May and the gentlemen from Aroostook had not left the
schooner when the others turned towards the house, talking so fast
as they went that nobody understood, or even heard, what anybody
else was saying.
As they came in sight of the house two well-known figures were
leaving the front gate, and the next minute Mark and Ruth had
rushed into the arms of their father and mother, and the latter
was actually crying for joy.
"It is all your doing, Uncle Christopher," she said to Mr. Bangs,
as soon as she could speak. "I know it is; for you never in your
life have neglected opportunities for giving people joyful
surprises."
"Well, Niece Ellen, I won't say as I didn't have a hand in it,"
answered the old gentleman, his face beaming with delight. "But,
sakes alive! Mark Elmer, is this the place that I let you have
rent free for ten years?" and he pointed to the pretty house, and
swept his hand over the broad fields surrounding it.
"Yes, Uncle Christopher, this is the place. This is 'Go Bang,' as
the children have named it, and we welcome you very heartily to
it."
"Well, well," said Uncle Christopher, mournfully, "what chances I
have thrown away in this life! eh, Niece Ellen?"
"You never threw away a chance to do good or make others happy,
uncle, I am sure of that. But now come into the house and get
ready for breakfast, which will soon be ready for you."
As the others went into the house, Ruth ran around to the kitchen
to see Aunt Chloe, and so surprised that old woman that she just
threw her floury arms about the girl's neck and kissed her,
saying,
"Tank de Lo'd, honey! Tank de good Lo'd you's come home ag'in!
We's all miss yo' like de sunshine, but nobody hain't miss yo'
like ole Clo done."
Mr. March and Jan had gone to Tallahassee the day before, but were
to be back that night.
Mrs. Elmer sent Mark down to the schooner to invite Captain May
and the Aroostook gentlemen to come to the house for breakfast,
but, rather to her relief--for she was not prepared to entertain
so many guests--they declined her invitation, saying they would
breakfast on board, and come to the house to pay their respects
later.
How jolly and happy they were at breakfast. How shy Frank was
before Edna, and how many funny things Uncle Christopher did say
to make them laugh! Little by little the "great scheme" was
unfolded to the three members of the mill company present who had
not heard of it, though Uncle Christopher and Mark had intended to
keep it a secret until they could lay it before a regular meeting
of the directors. But, beginning with hints, the whole story was
finally told, and Mr. and Mrs. Elmer and Frank were only too glad
to sustain President Mark in his promises. They said they should
not only be proud and happy to have the "best uncle in the world"
become a member of their company, but that new saw-mill machinery
was just what they needed, for they found the present mill already
unable to supply the demands upon it for lumber.
While the others were talking business, Ruth and Edna had gone out
on the front porch to look at the garden, and now Ruth came back
to ask whose house the pretty little new one was that stood just
on the edge of the woods to the right.
"Why, that's ours," said Frank, jumping from the table. "Don't you
want to go and look at it?"
They said of course they did, and Mark said he would go too. They
were perfectly delighted with the new house and everything in it,
and praised it for being so tiny and cosey and comfortable, until
Frank thought he had never felt so happy and proud before. It was
no wonder, for this was the first time he had ever known the
pleasure of extending, to those whom he loved, the hospitality of
a pleasant home of his own.
When they returned to the big house they found the rest of their
friends from the schooner there. Captain May started when he saw
Frank March, and on being introduced to him held his hand so long,
and stared at him so earnestly, as to greatly embarrass the boy.
As Uncle Christopher and the Aroostook gentlemen were anxious to
visit the mill, Mr. Elmer invited them to walk up there through
the woods. On their way they passed the sulphur spring, which had
been cleaned out and walled in, and over which a neat bath-house
had been built. Uncle Christopher was delighted with it, and
declared that, to an old "rheumatizy" man like him, that spring
was worth all the lumber in "Floridy."
Mark had asked Edna and Ruth to go up to the mill by water with
Frank and him in the canoe, and they accepted the invitation. At
first Edna was very timid in the frail craft, but she soon gained
confidence, and said "she thought it was the very nicest little
boat, on one of the prettiest rivers she had ever seen."
As they neared the mill its busy machinery seemed to Mark to say,
"Welcome, Mr. President, welcome, Mr. President, welcome Mr.
President of the Elmer Mills"; and when he drew the attention of
the others to it, they declared that they, too, could distinguish
the words quite plainly. The mill looked just as it had when they
last saw it, but at one side were great piles of sawed lumber that
Uncle Christopher and the Aroostook gentlemen were examining
carefully.
That afternoon Mark handed Frank thirty dollars as his share of
the money the former had received from their otter-skins, which he
had carried North and sold. Frank had several more that he had
caught during the summer, but their skins were of little value
compared with those caught during the earlier months of the year.
Mr. Elmer had invited all the gentlemen to dine with him that
evening, much to the consternation of Aunt Chloe, who said "she
was sho' she couldn't see how she was gwine fin' time to po'wide
vittles fo' so many guesses; an' dem po' hung'y Norfeners too.
'Specs dey'll be powerful tickled to git a squar' meal."
The "guesses" spent the afternoon in crossing the river to
Wakulla, and in driving several miles into the great pine forests,
which pleased them greatly.
The dinner turned out to be a most bountiful meal, in spite of
Aunt Chloe's fears; and at half-past six a very merry company
gathered around the long table, which, for want of space
elsewhere, had been set in the wide hall that ran through the
house from front to rear. The evening was so warm that the front
door stood wide open, and when dinner was nearly over, the whole
party were laughing so heartily at one of Uncle Christopher's
funny stories, that no one heard the sound of wheels at the gate,
nor noticed the figure that, with white face and wild eyes, stared
at them from the open doorway.
No, not at them; only at one of them--the fair-haired girl, almost
a woman, who sat at the head of the table, on Mr. Elmer's right
hand, and on whose face the light shone full and strong.
Then a cry rang through the hall, a cry almost of agony, and it
was "Margaret! Margaret! my wife Margaret! Am I dreaming, or can
the dead come to life?"
As the startled guests looked towards the door Mr. March entered
the room, and without noticing any one else, walked straight to
where Edna May was sitting. She, frightened at his appearance and
fixed gaze, clung to Mr. Elmer's arm, and Captain May half rose
from his chair with a confused idea that the girl, whom he loved
as his own daughter, was in danger.
"Who is she, Elmer? where did she come from?" exclaimed Mr. March.
"She is the living image of my dead wife; only younger, much
younger, and more beautiful than she whom I drove from her home,"
he added, with a groan.
Mr. Elmer had noticed the strange resemblance between Frank March
and Edna May, and had determined to speak to his wife about it
that night. Now it all flashed across him as clear as sunlight;
but before he could speak, Ruth sprang to his side, and taking her
friend's hand in hers, cried,
"Don't you see, father, she is his own daughter, the baby he
thought was drowned in the Savannah River so many years ago?
Captain May saved her, and now he has brought her back to her
father and brother. Frank, Edna is your own sister."
Mr. March tried to take Edna into his arms, but she slipped away
from him and ran to Captain May, saying, "This is my father, the
only one I have ever known. As he has loved and cared for me, so
do I love him. I will never, never leave him!" and she burst into
tears.
After soothing and quieting her, Captain May said, "Mr. March, I
suspected this long ago. Mark and Ruth told me of the resemblance
between Edna and your son on our way North together last spring,
and I made them promise not to mention it to her. I hoped it would
prove to be only a fancied resemblance; but, as a Christian man, I
could not keep father and daughter separated, if indeed they were
father and daughter. So I brought her here to meet you face to
face; and from what I have just seen I am inclined to think you
are her own father, but you must prove it to me. Prove the fact
beyond a doubt, and I will yield to you an undivided half interest
in this dear child. Only a half, though. I can't give up the love
that has twined round my heart for nearly fifteen years."
Then Mr. March sat down, and in faltering tones told to the
listening company the sad story of his married life. He gave the
date of the disappearance of his wife and her baby from home, and
he described as well as he could the clothes that each wore at the
time.
As he finished, Captain May went to him and gave him a warm,
hearty hand-grasp. "That's enough," he said. "Gentlemen, I call
you to witness that from this time forth I renounce all claims,
except those of love, to her who has been known for the last
fifteen years as my daughter Edna May. I am satisfied that this
man is her father, and that whatever he has been in the past, he
is now worthy to occupy that position towards her. Edna, my girl,
you have only got two fathers instead of one, and a brother of
whom I think you will live to be very proud besides; your heart
holds enough love for all of us, doesn't it, dear?"
Edna's answer was to throw her arms around his neck, and kiss his
weather-beaten cheeks again and again. Then, with a smile showing
through the tears that still filled her eyes, she went over to Mr.
March, whom she no longer doubted was her own father, but of whom
she could not help feeling very shy, and half timidly held up her
face for him to kiss. The happy father opened his arms and clasped
her to his heart, exclaiming, in a broken voice, "God bless you,
my daughter! That He has restored you to me is the surest sign of
His forgiveness."
Then Frank came to them, saying, "Sister Edna, won't you kiss me
too? The thing I have envied Mark most was his having a sister,
and now that I have got one of my own, I do believe I am the very
happiest boy in the world."
"Sakes alive!" exclaimed good old Uncle Christopher, who had all
this time been blowing his nose very loudly with a great red silk
hand-kerchief, and occasionally wiping his eyes, "with all this
kissing going on, where am I? Grandniece Ruth, come here and kiss
your 'Uncle Christmas' directly." Ruth did as she was bid, and the
old gentleman continued: "What a country this Floridy is, to be
sure. They change March into May, or vicy versy, and each one is
as beautiful as the other. Sakes alive! what an old April Fool I
was not to think of all this myself when I first saw those two
young people together."
Long before this, honest Jan Jansen, who had returned from
Tallahassee with Mr. March, but waited to put up the mules, had
come into the room, and he was now brought forward and introduced
to everybody. Among the Aroostook gentlemen he found an old
acquaintance who had met him in New Sweden, and who now told him
that, owing to the death of a relative in the old country, a snug
little property awaited him, and that a lawyer in Bangor was
advertising and searching for him.
Having now spent almost a year with our Wakulla friends, perhaps
they are getting tired of us, and we had better leave them for a
while, only waiting to draw together the threads of the story, and
finish it off neatly.
Edna May March has been installed mistress of the pretty little
house that Mr. March and Frank built while the young Elmers were
in the North, and she and Ruth receive daily lessons in cooking,
sewing, and all sorts of housekeeping from Mrs. Elmer and Aunt
Chloe; and the latter says "she's proud to 'still Soufern precep's
into deir sweet Norfern heads, bress em!"
The Nancy Bell lay in the St. Mark's River long enough to secure a
load of lumber from the Elmer Mill, and then sailed for the North.
But she will return, for Captain May has bought a half interest in
her from Uncle Christopher, and will hereafter run her regularly
between New York and Wakulla.
The new Elmer Mill is nearly finished, and four of the six
gentlemen from Aroostook have gone home to get their families, and
to buy more machinery with which to erect another saw-mill farther
up the river, and they are expected back on the next trip of the
Nancy Bell.
Jan has gone to Sweden; but they have had a letter from him saying
that he should return soon, and invest his property in Wakulla.
Dear old "Uncle Christmas" is busy preparing for his expedition in
search of the famous Wakulla volcano. He revels in the warmth of
the climate, and in bathing in the sulphur spring, and he says
that if a good thing's good, a better may be better, and he may
find more warmth and more sulphur if he can only find the volcano.
Edna has been taken on several picnics to Wakulla Spring, over the
"humpety road," and "de trabblin' road," past "Brer Steve's" down
to the light-house, and to other places of interest. The contrast
between what is, and what the people of Wakulla hope will be when
they get the great ship-canal across Florida built, and other
schemes carried out, amuses her greatly. She smiles when they come
to her and in strict confidence unfold their plans for future
greatness; but is such a patient listener, and so ready a
sympathizer, that she is rapidly winning their admiration and
love.
THE END
End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of Wakulla, by Kirk Munroe