THE SURPRISE AND DISAPPOINTMENT--NAMING THE FAWN--SAM’S
STORY--DEPRESSION AFTER EXCITEMENT--GREAT MISFORTUNE
Had there been nothing to excite them the company might have overslept
themselves on the following morning. But shortly after daylight they
were awaked by an incident that hurried them all out of bed. It was
nothing less than hearing Frank exclaim, in a laughing, joyous tone, "O
father, howdy! howdy! I am so glad you have come!"
The dull ears of the sleepers were caught by these welcome words, and
all sprang to their feet.
"Father! Father! Is he here?" they asked. "Where, Frank? where!"
"Yonder," said he, sitting bolt-upright in bed, rubbing his half-opened
eyes with one hand, and with the other pointing to a corner of the tent.
"Isn’t that father? I saw him there just now."
It was only a dream. Frank had been thinking more than usual of home
during the day and night past, and it was natural that his visions of
the night should be of the same character with his dreams of the day.
He fancied that his father had found the lost boat, and having tied it
at the landing, was coming to the tent. Poor fellow! he was sadly
disappointed to learn that it was all a dream. The picture was so
vivid, and his father looked so real, that for a moment he was perfectly
confused. Mary tried to comfort him by saying, "Never mind, buddy; we
_will_ see him coming some of these days. But though father is not
here, you remember that Sam is, and that he is going to tell us about
home, as soon as he is able to talk. Come, let us get up, and see how
he is." The history of the preceding day dawned slowly upon the mind of
the bewildered child, and the sense of disappointment was gradually lost
in the hope of hearing Sam’s story.
The wounded man had spent a night of suffering. His leg pained him so
intensely, that several times he had been on the point of calling for
assistance; but hearing from every one that peculiar breathing which
betokens deep sleep, and remembering that they had undergone immense
fatigue, he stifled his groans, and bore his sufferings in silence.
While Robert and Harold were occupied with kind offices around the
couch, Mary and Frank went to see after the fawn. Its neck was somewhat
sore to the touch, but otherwise it appeared to be doing well. They
gave it more water, hay and sassafras leaves. Frank offered it also a
piece of bread; but wild deer are not used to cookery, and the fawn
rejected it; though, after becoming thoroughly tamed, it became so fond
of bread of every kind, that it would follow Frank all over the woods
for a piece no bigger than his finger. "What shall we call her?" asked
Frank.
"We will have a consultation about that," replied Mary, as she saw the
others approaching. "Cousin Harold, what name would you give?"
"Snow or Lily, I think, would suit her colour very well," he answered.
"Brother Robert, what is yours?"
"As she came from among the flowers," he said, "I think Flora would do
very well."
"Yes," added Mary, "and very pretty names all Frank, what is yours?"
"Anna," said he, "I would like to talk to her sometimes, and to make
believe that she was Sister Anna."
"That would sound almost too much like Nannie," Mary objected, and then
asked, "Did you say, brother, that you gave her to me?" He replied,
"Yes." "Then," she added, "I will call her Dora, for I heard father say
that that name means a gift."
"Dora let it be," said Robert, patting its delicate head. "Miss Dora, I
wish you a speedy cure, and a pleasant captivity."
About nine o’clock Sam awakened from a refreshing sleep, and the anxious
company assembled at his side to hear what he had to tell about home.
"I a’nt got much to tell," said Sam, "I lef so soon a’ter you all, dat
you know most all sept what happen to me and Riley on de way."
"Let us hear it all," said Robert.
"But before you begin," interrupted Mary, "do tell us about William.
Was he drowned or not?"
(For the sake of the reader who may not be familiar with the lingo of
southern and sea-coast negroes, the narrative will be given in somewhat
better English, retaining, however, the peculiarities of thought and
drapery.)
"O, no, Misses," he replied to Mary’s question. "He only fell backward
into the water, and was a little strangled. He rose directly, and gave
the alarm. I suppose the reason that you did not hear him was that he
was under the wharf, holding tight to a post, for fear some of the fish
might come and take hold of him too. He came with me to Riley’s
Island."
"Now do you begin at the beginning," said Robert, "and tell us one thing
after another, just as it happened. If there is anything of which we
wish to hear more particularly, we will stop you to inquire."
"Well," said Sam, "you know that when you left I was working in the back
room. I was putting in the window sash, when I heard your father
talking to some one at the door, and saying, ’Stay here, I will be out
in a moment!’ He went into his room, came out with something in his
hand, and spoke a word to the man at the door, when we heard William’s
voice, crying out, ’Help! help!’ as if he was half smothered. Your
father said, ’What can be the matter?’ I heard him and the stranger
running towards the bluff, and I ran too. When I reached a place where
I could see you (for the little cedars were between the house and the
water), your father had just fallen upon his knees. He had his two hands
joined together, and was praying very hard; he was pale as a sheet, and
groaned as if his heart was breaking. For a while I could hardly take
my eyes off from him; but I could see you in the boat, going over the
water like a dove through the air, leaving a white streak of foam
behind. Presently your father rose from his knees, and said, ’It is a
devil fish! He cannot hold that gait long. Sam, do you and William (for
William had by this time come up from the water), get the canoe ready in
a minute, and let us pursue them;’ then he wrung his hands again, and
said, ’O, my God, have mercy, and spare my children!’
"William and I ran a few steps toward the canoe, but I came back to tell
master that the canoe could not float--a piece of timber had fallen from
the wharf, and punched a great hole in it. Then the soldier spoke, and
said, ’The Major has a fine sail boat, Doctor. If you can do no better,
I will ride very fast, and ask him to send it.’ ’Do, if you please,’
master said. ’Tell the Major he is my only help on earth. Lay your
horse to the ground, good soldier, I will pay all damages.’ The soldier
turned short off, clapped his spurs to his horse, and made him lay
himself almost straight to the ground.
"When your father came to the canoe, he said quickly, ’We can mend that
hole, and set off long before the boat comes from Tampa. Peter, make a
fire here at once--quick! quick! Judy, run to the house, and bring down
a pot, and the cake of wax, and a double handful of oakum. William, do
you go to the house too, and bring the side of harness leather, two
hammers, and a paper of the largest tacks. And Sam,’ said he to me,
’let us take hold of the boat, and turn it over ready for mending.’ The
hole was big as my head, and there were two long cracks besides; but we
worked very fast, and the boat was ready for the water in less than an
hour. Your father worked as hard as any of us, but every once in a
while he turned to watch you, and looked very sorrowful. At last you
went so far away that we could barely see you, like a little speck,
getting smaller and smaller. When you were entirely out of our sight,
your father took his other spy glass, went on top of the shed, and
watched you till we were ready to go. Then he came to us, and said to
me and William, ’I have concluded to send you off alone; you can row
faster without me. I will wait for the Major’s boat. The children are
now passing Riley’s Island, and turning down the coast. Make haste to
Riley, and say from me, that if he brings me back my children I will
give him whatever he asks. If he needs either of you, do you, Sam, go
with him, and do you, William, return to me; otherwise do you both keep
on so far as you can with safety, and if you succeed, I will give you
also whatever you ask. If you can hear anything of them from Riley,
make a smoke on the beach; if you learn anything good make two smokes,
about a hundred yards apart; I will watch for them. And now, my good
fellows, good-bye! and may the Lord give you a safe passage and good
success!’ Neither I nor William could say one word. We took hold of
master’s hands, knelt down, and kissed them. And, somehow, I saw his
hand was very wet; we could not help it, for we love him the same as if
he was our father, and the tears would come.
"We reached the island about twelve o’clock. Riley was gone. His wife
said he saw the boat pass, knew who was in it, and went after it,
without stopping for more than a calabash of water. When we heard that,
we jumped into our own boat again, and pushed on. Riley’s wife brought
down a bag of parched corn, a dried venison ham, and his gun and
ammunition, saying that if he went he would need these things. We
begged her to make two fires on the beach; for we thought that although
it was not the best news in the world to hear that you had been carried
so far away, it was good news to hear that you had not been drowned, and
that Riley had gone after you.
"In about an hour we met Riley coming back. He had gone to a high
bluff, on an island south of his, and watched you until you had passed
out of sight. He was now returning home, uncertain whether to go after
you in the morning, or to give you up altogether. When we gave him your
father’s message, he said he would go, for that the Doctor was a good
man, but that he must return home for a larger boat; that the coast
below was dangerous, and that the boat in which he was was not safe. So
we came to his island, where I staid with him that night, and William
returned to Bellevue.
"As we left the island at daybreak we saw a vessel sailing towards
Tampa, but too far for us to hail. That day we did not search the coast
at all, more than to keep a sharp look out, for we knew that you had
gone far beyond. But the next three days we went into every cove and
inlet, though not very far into any of them. Riley said that since the
change of Indian Agents, many of his people were hostile to the whites,
and to all Indians who were friendly with them, and that perhaps he
should not be safe.
"We saw some Indians on the first few days, but the last day we saw none
at all. Riley said that this coast was barren and bad; nobody visited
it. The Caloosa Indians, he said, used to live here, but they had been
starved out. There was only a narrow strip of ten miles wide, between
the sea and the swamps within, and a great fire had swept over it a few
summers before, and burnt up almost all the trees. The Indians supposed
that this part of the coast was cursed by the Great Spirit.
"All that day we found the coast so full of reefs and shoals, and
covered with breakers, that we could scarcely get along; and we talked
several times of turning back. These breakers that you see from the
bluff, stretch from a great ways above. Riley did not like to pass
them. He said he was afraid we could not stop anywhere, except on an
island, which no Indian dared to visit; for that it was always enchanted
with _white deer_,[#] and the curse of the Great Spirit was so strong
upon it that no Indian could go there and live.
[#] It is surprising to learn how widespread is the superstition among
semi-civilized and uncivilized nations that white deer are connected
with enchantment.
"We kept on, however, as well as we could, and hoped to find some place
where we could pass the surf upon the shoals, and reach the shore,
before we came to that terrible island. But the wind was against us,
and also blowing on shore; and we made so little headway, that towards
evening we had to force our way through the smoothest place we could
find, and even then were nearly swamped more than once. When we landed
it was dark. We saw a fire afar off, and thinking it might be yours, I
tried to persuade Riley to go to it; but perhaps he thought it was on
_that island_, though he did not say so; he replied only that we were
going to have a storm soon, and that we must be preparing for it. We
drew the boat as high on the beach as possible, and made it fast by his
painter, made of twisted deerskins.
"After we landed I cut some wood, and tried to make a fire; but before
we could set it a-blazing the wind came and the tide rose. We went to
the boat, and drew it up higher on shore, and then higher still; but
after a while the wind blew so hard, and the waves rolled so high, that
it was not safe to be near the boat at all. Yet we could not afford to
lose it; so we went down for the last time to draw it up, when all at
once a big wave came and pitched it upon us as I told you.
"I had a terrible night. The water from the beach dashed over me while
lying under the cedar tree to which I had crawled, and the rain poured
down. The wind kept such a roaring that I suppose if a cannon had been
fired a mile off you could not have heard it.
"The next morning I tried to set my broken bones. Then I dragged myself
to the edge of the bluff to see if Riley’s body, or the boat, or
anything was in sight. But nothing was to be seen except the black
water rolling in from sea. As the light became stronger, I saw afar off
your tent and smoke, and I was then sure that the fire we saw the night
before was yours. I tried every way to make you see me. I took Riley’s
rifle, and snapped it, but the powder inside was wet. Then I went to a
bush, and with my one hand cut a long switch, to which I tied my
handkerchief, and waved and waved it; but nobody saw me. I could see
_you_ very well (for my sight is good) sitting down, or walking about,
as if you were in trouble about something. Then I tried to raise a
smoke. Everything was wet; but the tree near me had a hollow, and in
the hollow was some dry rotten wood. I spread some powder on the driest
pieces, and by snapping the rifle over it several times, set it on fire;
but it was a long time before I could find anything to burn well. While
I was trying at the fire, you, Mas Robbut and Mas Harrol, went off; but
I kept on throwing into the fire whatever trash and small wood I could
collect by crawling after them, until I was sure Miss Mary and Mas Frank
would see it. At last I heard their guns, and knew by their motions
that they saw me; and for a time I felt safe. But you were so long time
away, and I was in such pain, that it seemed to me I must die before you
could help me, though I saw you come to the tent, and heard your guns.
And when, late in the evening, I saw that you had got a boat, or
something of that sort, and were coming over the river to me, I was so
glad that I--I--"
Sam did not finish the sentence. The tears were streaming down his
black face, and the young people were weeping with him. There were but
few questions to be asked. Sam’s narrative had been so full and
particular, that it anticipated almost every inquiry.
The severe labours of the day before, together with excitement and loss
of rest, had so far relaxed the energies of the larger boys, that they
did little more that day than hang about the tent, and converse with Sam
and each other about home and their own adventures. Several times Harold
proposed to Robert to join him in visiting the beach, to ascertain
whether their signal had stood the storm, and if not, to replant it; but
Robert ever had some reason ready for not going just then. At last,
late in the afternoon, they took the spade and hoe, and went to the
beach. The flag was prostrate, and lay half buried in the sand; and
what was their dismay, on approaching the bluff, to see a vessel that
had evidently passed the mouth of the river just beyond the shoals, and
was now about four miles distant, sailing to the southward.
"O, cousin!" exclaimed Robert, "there is our vessel--gone! It is the
cutter! Father is aboard of her! They came as near as they could,
looking for our signal--and there it lies! Oh--h!" said he, wringing
his hands, "why did we not come sooner?"
"I believe you are correct," replied Harold, looking sadly after the
departing vessel; "we have missed our chance."
There remained one solitary hope. It was possible, barely possible,
that some one on board might be looking that way with a spy-glass, and
that the signal might yet be seen. The boys eagerly seized the
flag-staff; they set the lower end upon the ground; they waved it to and
fro in the air; they shook their handkerchiefs; they tossed up their
hats and coats, and shouted with all their might (vain shout!), "Brig
ahoy!" They gathered grass, leaves, twigs, everything inflammable, and
raised a smoke, as large as possible, and kept it rising, higher,
higher. They were too late; the vessel kept steadily on her way. She
faded gradually from sight, and disappeared for ever.
The two boys sat down, and looked sorrowfully over the distant waters.
They were pale with excitement, and for a long time neither said a word.
"They may return," said Harold; "let us plant our flag-staff."
They dug a deep hole, set the pole in the middle, threw in the dirt,
packed it tightly with the handle of the hoe, and then returned slowly
to the tent, to inform the others of their sad misfortune.