ON THE KEY.
Jake’s preparations for landing were very carefully made. The brig was
held firmly by the reef, with no danger of sinking, and it had been
possible to work to the greatest advantage, except so far as lack of
proper material was concerned.
The raft was a heavy, unwieldy-looking affair, but it had the merit
of being sufficiently buoyant to float the shipwrecked party and a
certain amount of stores which were to be taken ashore on the first
trip. In the lazarette Jake found a new top-gallant sail, as well as
a couple of bolts of canvas, and these he had loaded onto the clumsy
craft at first, for the duty of putting up some kind of a shelter to
protect them from the sun during the day and the dew at night was of
the greatest importance. A small breaker of water, some canned meat and
a box of biscuit made up the list of provisions, which Ben thought very
scanty until the cook explained his plans.
“The weather has got a settled look now, an’ the old hooker will hold
together until another storm comes on. We shall have plenty of time to
freight ashore all the things we need, so it’s not necessary to load
our Dutch style of clipper too deep on the first trip. What we’ve got
here will serve until mornin’ in case we don’t have a chance to come
back before sunset, so we sha’n’t be very near starvation.”
Some spare rope to lash down the tent, which was to be made of the
sail, and an ax comprised the remainder of the first load. It was not
until after all these had been carefully stowed, and one end of a coil
of rope made fast to the timbers, with the other end secured to the
capstan, that the passengers were invited on board.
When old Chloe looked down from the rail at the raft, her desire to go
on shore was greatly lessened. She was well aware how much flesh she
possessed, and was positive her weight alone would be sufficient to
sink the “clipper.”
“I’se powerful willin’ to leave dis yere vessel dat’s broke hisself
mos’ to pieces, fo’ a fac’, but dat ar’ little pile of wood’ll smash
all up when ole Chloe jumps on it.”
“Don’t fret about that, aunty,” Jake said impatiently. “It’ll hold a
dozen just like you, an’ we can’t fool round here very long if we want
to land before dark.”
“I can’t trus’ my ole bones on dese yere little pieces ob wood,” and
the old woman looked at the cook much as if surprised that he did not
immediately begin to remedy the defects she had pointed out.
“Then you’ll have to stay here. I ain’t sure but the brig will be as
good a place to sleep in as a tent on the island, but I didn’t want to
run the risk of a storm comin’ up in the night. Gertie, you an’ Ben
jump aboard, an’ perhaps when we come back aunty will be ready to take
her chances on the raft.”
This remark, which sounded in the old woman’s ears very like a threat,
was sufficient to conquer her fear of the frail-looking craft, and she
waddled toward the rail with a martyr-like expression on her face, as
she said in a doleful tone:
“I’se gwine wid you, Massa Jake, an’ I’se gwine fo’ to git drownded
suah.”
“You’re to be landed on that island, an’ you don’t begin to stand as
many chances of seein’ Davy Jones’ locker as you have any day since the
brig was dismasted.”
“I’se got nuffin’ to do wid Massa Jones, ’less he’s a Savannah
gen’leman, kase den he’d know how to treat a po’ ole nigger woman,”
Chloe replied stiffly as she peered down into the water, and Gertie
did her best to soothe the wounded feelings by saying as she took the
wrinkled, black hand in hers:
“There isn’t any danger, aunty, for if there was Jake wouldn’t ask us
to go. All you have to do is get aboard the raft, and in a few moments
we shall be on the land once more.”
“Bress you, chile, dat’s whar I pines to be; but I don’ wanter hab my
po’ ole bones drownded a-gettin’ dere.”
“Hold on to me an’ I’ll let you down like as if you was a big basket
of eggs,” Jake said as he grasped the old woman firmly by the arms,
and in a short time, thanks to Ben’s timely aid, she was crouching on
the canvas, hardly daring to move her head lest the raft should be
overturned; but all the while moaning and groaning as if she truly
believed the time of her death was very near at hand.
In a few seconds the other members of the party had left the brig, and
Ben and Jake were tugging manfully at the long sweeps as they propelled
the unwieldy mass of timbers toward the shore. The rope which was
attached to the raft and the Simoon’s capstan, slowly paid out as the
cook’s “clipper” forged sluggishly ahead, and decidedly retarded the
progress; but neither of the rowers made any complaint because of this,
for after it had once been stretched from the wreck to the shore it
would be a slight task to pull the rude craft to and fro.
Gertie was rather timid when she first stepped upon this apology for
a ferry-boat, but as it floated several inches out of water after all
hands were on board, her fears took flight, and she was the only merry
one of that sad-visaged party. Old Chloe lost none of the terror which
assailed her when she first saw the raft; the martyr-like expression
never left her face until after the hatches grated upon the sand of the
key, and she had been forced to wade through several inches of water to
the shore.
Then, however, the old woman gave way to the most extravagant
demonstrations of joy. She executed a sort of elephantine dance
until she was forced to cease from lack of breath, and she embraced
Gertie and Ben with a fervor that was really painful because of the
strength of her arms. She acted very much as if about to bestow the
same attention upon Jake, but he baffled any attempt of that kind by
gathering up the canvas and starting off toward the center of the
island.
“I’se done gone lef’ off gwine to sea, honey,” she said to Gertie, as
the latter began to help Ben carry the canned provisions high up on the
beach beyond the reach of the waves. “Ef Moses wants for to see his ole
mammy he’s got to come in de steam-keers after her.”
“Why, this is an island like Robinson Crusoe’s, aunty, and there are
no steam-cars near here. We’ve got to stay until some vessel comes and
takes us away.”
“Den I s’pects I’se got to wash fur some ob de folks what lives hyar
ef I wants enuff to eat, ’less dat good-fur-nothin’ Mose sends some
money, for I ’clar to goodness I ain’t gwine out on de water any mo’.”
“You can start a laundry, and we’ll all give you our trade,” Ben said
laughingly; “but I don’t believe the others we shall find here will
help you along much, for the turtles down this way haven’t got in the
habit of using handkerchiefs or stockings.”
Chloe looked at him wonderingly for a moment, but before she could make
any reply Jake shouted:
“Come on, Ben, an’ help me stretch this canvas, for I want to get back
to the brig again before dark.”
The cook had selected a spot between two mangroves as the site for the
camp, since from this point an unobstructed view could be had of the
gulf, and in a short time the sail was spread in such a manner as to
form a slanting roof with two ends, and a flap which could be let down
over the front in case of a storm. The bolts of canvas were unrolled
for a carpet, the water-breaker and bread-box set up in one corner, and
the camp was completed.
As a dwelling it did not boast of many modern conveniences. The air of
comfort apparent in the cabin of the Simoon was wholly lacking, but it
was a remarkably good shelter for shipwrecked people, and those who
were to occupy it believed they had every cause to be thankful that the
sea had allowed them to save so much.
“I reckon that will make a right nice shanty for us unless we get
introduced to a tornado or a norther,” Jake said in a tone of
satisfaction as he stepped back a few paces to survey his work. “Now,
you women folks can do whatever you want to while me an’ Ben pull back
to the brig.”
“What are you going there for now?” Gertie asked in surprise.
“We’ve got plenty of time to make another trip before dark, an’ as
there’s no tellin’ how soon the wreck may slide off into deep water, we
must save what we can while she’s on the reef.”
Ben recognized the necessity of immediate and unremitting action, and
he started at once for the shore, Gertie calling after him:
“Be sure to bring a pot to make tea in, or else Mammy Chloe will
be going out to buy one. She says she can’t stay if she don’t have
something warm to drink.”
“Rather than have her leave sudden-like we’ll get whatever she wants,”
Jake shouted cheerily, his usual look of melancholy taking flight for
the instant before old Chloe’s threat of leaving the island.
The small hawser which had been dragged ashore was made fast to the
nearest tree, and over it was passed the bight or middle of a rope,
after which the two ends were secured to the raft. There was now no
danger that the ferry-boat would drift away while the wreck remained
in its present condition, and the timbers could be easily and quickly
moved through the water.
The return to the brig was soon effected, and after the raft had been
fastened alongside, the work of taking out supplies was begun. Acting
upon Jake’s suggestion, Ben occupied himself with putting into the
smallest possible compass such of the bedding from the state-rooms
as would suffice for Gertie and old Chloe, and when that was done he
brought from the steward’s pantry all the packages of provisions which
could be most readily transported.
For his share of the work the cook had taken from the carpenter’s room
a few tools, a small quantity of cooking utensils from the lazarette,
and a collection of odds and ends such as Ben thought not worth the
labor of carrying away.
The one thing lacking to make up a plentiful supply was water, and of
that the small breaker which had been taken ashore on the first trip
was all that could be found. There was undoubtedly sufficient of the
precious fluid in the hold, but the labor of getting at it would be
more than Jake and Ben could perform in a week.
“We’ve got about as much as the clipper will carry dry,” the cook said
after his vain search for more water was brought to a close, “an’ we
may as well start. To-morrow we’ll come early, an’ I reckon something
drinkable will be found before the day is ended.”
When all the goods were loaded the raft was so deep in the water that
but very little more would have been needed to sink her beneath the
surface. As it was, the waves broke over the timbers several times
during the passage to the shore, greatly to the detriment of some of
the provisions.
Gertie and Chloe were on the beach when the wreckers arrived, and did
their share toward transferring the goods from the raft to the camp,
otherwise the task would not have been accomplished until after the
darkness had settled down over the tiny island. The night came when
the weary castaways were finally seated in front of the canvas shelter
enjoying the rest all so sadly needed.
Great as was old Chloe’s desire for tea, it could not be satisfied on
this day, for it was too late to hunt for materials with which to make
a fire, and another cold meal was partaken of with the promise from
Jake that on the following day “aunty” should have all the hot drinks
she wanted.
“Only agree that you won’t go away from this key to-night, an’ I’ll
stir myself right smart to-morrow to fix up a place where some cooking
can be done,” Jake said, and old Chloe gravely and seriously promised
to remain with the party under those conditions.
The bedding was spread beneath the canvas, and there was enough to make
Jake and Ben quite comfortable in the corner of the camp which they had
chosen as their own. The goods which might be injured by moisture were
piled under the shelter, and Jake had proposed that “all hands turn
in,” when the old negress said solemnly:
“De Lawd God ob Israel hab brought us up outer de waters same’s He did
His chillern from de Red Sea, an’ it ’pears like we’d oughter jes’ let
Him know we wasn’t ongrateful trash what forgets all about Him when
dere ain’t nuffin’ to git scared over.”
There was a perfect silence for some moments, during which Gertie laid
her hand on the black fingers, and then Jake, after moving uneasily
around, said:
“I reckon you’re right, aunty, an’ if you want to put in a word or two
for me, seein’s how sich an old shell-back as I am has kinder got outer
the way of prayin’, I’ll agree to everything you say, an’ thank you.”
Chloe did not stop for any mental preparation. Her heart was
overflowing with thanksgiving because of the peril which she had so
happily escaped, and from the fullness of it did the words flow freely.
Kneeling on the sand just outside the tent, the others in the same
position around her, with no covering save God’s jewel-studded sky, and
no noise to break the stillness save the sobbing of the waters held in
“the hollow of His hand,” the black woman gave thanks to her Maker in
speech that did not sound faulty because of the devotion which made the
trembling voice seem clear and sweet.