REMOVAL TO THE PRAIRIE--NIGHT ROBBERY--FOLD--DANGEROUS TRAP--MYSTERIOUS
SIGNALS--BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT
On Monday morning, the wind blew so favourably up the river, that even
before the tide began to rise, the young movers had loaded their raft,
prepared a rude sail, and were ready to start. The raft which had been
constructed for the purpose of rescuing Sam, had been originally so
small, and the logs were now so thoroughly soaked with water, that to
make it carry what they wished at their first load they were compelled
to add to its dimensions. But this did not detain them long, and after
all was completed, and the baggage stowed away, Sam, by the help of
Harold’s crutches, hobbled to the beach, and seated himself at the helm,
while Harold took the oars, and Robert, Mary and Frank went by their
well marked path through the woods, to meet them at the orange landing.
The passage by water occupied nearly three hours, and when the clumsy
float slowly approached the shore, Harold could see through the narrow
strip of woodland, that Robert had felled two palmettoes on the edge of
the other river, and was now engaged in cutting them up.
"Can it be, Robert," he asked, on landing, "that some bird of the air
has carried to you the message I wanted to send? Are you not preparing
another raft?"
"I am," he replied. "It occurred to me that if we could complete this
raft by the turn of the tide, we might take the load to the _prairie
landing_, and yours might be floated hack to the old encampment for
another cargo."
The idea was so valuable, that the boys scarcely allowed themselves time
to eat or to rest until it was accomplished; and when at last the tide
was seen moving towards the sea, they separated, Robert, Mary, and Sam
going to the prairie landing, where they soon had the tent spread, and a
fire burning; and Harold and Frank floating back to the place of their
former residence, where they secured the raft, and calling Nanny, Dora,
and the kids, returned overland to join the company at the new home.
For several days they were occupied with the labour of transporting
their baggage, and fitting up their present abode with comforts and
conveniences. The tent was not established at the landing where it was
pitched the first night, but on the edge of the prairie, a furlong
distant, and within a stone’s throw of the spring.
On the third night after their removal, they experienced a loss which
caused them to feel both sad and anxious. Nanny and her kids, having no
place provided for them, had selected a nice retreat under the shelter
of a mossy oak, and made that their lounging place by day, and their
sleeping place by night. At the time referred to the boys had just
retired to bed, when they heard one of the kids bleating piteously, and
its cry followed by the tramp of the others running to the tent for
protection. Harold and Robert sprang to their guns, and calling the
dogs, seized each a burning brand, and hurried in the direction of the
kid, whose wail of pain and fear became every moment more faint, until
it was lost in the distance. The depredator was without doubt a
panther. Such a circumstance was calculated to dishearten the boys
exceedingly; for it forewarned them that not only were they likely to
lose all their pets, but that there was no safety to themselves, and
particularly none to Frank, if he should incautiously straggle into a
panther’s way. They called Nanny to a spot near the tent, fastened her
by the dog’s chain to a bush, threw a supply of wood on the fire
sufficient to burn for some hours, and retired to bed sad and uneasy.
Returning from their unsuccessful sally, Harold significantly shook his
head, and said, "I will be ready for him before he has time to be hungry
again."
There was no other disturbance that night. Frank was asleep at the time
of the accident, and knew nothing of it until the next morning, when
seeing Nanny fastened near the tent, he asked why that was, and where
was the other kid. "Poor Jinny!" he exclaimed, on hearing of its fate
(the kids, being a male and female, had been called Paul and Virginia).
"Poor Jinny! So you are gone!" He went to Nanny, the chief mourner,
and patting her smooth side said, in a pitying tone, "Poor Nanny! Ain’t
you sorry for your daughter? Only think, Nanny, that she is eaten up by
a panther!" Nanny looked sorrowful enough, and replied, "Baa!" But
whether that meant, "I am so sorry my daughter is dead," or, "I wish you
would loose my chain, and let me eat some of this nice grass," Frank
could not determine. After a breakfast, by no means the most cheerful,
Harold said,
"Robert, we must make a picket fence for the protection of these poor
brutes. But as I have a particular reason for wishing some fresh
venison before night, I want to arrange matters so that either you or I
shall go out early enough to be sure of obtaining it."
Robert urged him to go at once, but disliking the appearance of avoiding
labour, he preferred to remain, and aid them through the most laborious
part of the proposed work. The palisade was made of strong stakes,
eight or ten feet long, sharpened at one end, and driven into a narrow
trench, which marked the dimensions of the enclosure. Harold assisted
to cut and transport to the spot the requisite number of stakes; and
shortly after noon took Frank as his companion, and left Robert and Sam
to complete the work. He had not been gone more than an hour and a
half, before Robert heard the distant report of a heavily loaded gun, in
the direction of the spot where the brant and ducks had been shot.
"Eh! eh!" said Sam, "Mas Harrol load he gun mighty hebby for a rifle!"
"Yes," said Robert, "and he has chosen a very poor weapon for shooting
ducks."
The workmen were too intently engaged to reflect that the report which
they heard could not have proceeded from a rifle. In the course of half
an hour another report, but of a sharper sound, was heard much nearer,
and appearing to proceed from the neighbourhood of the orange-trees, on
the tongue of land. Robert now looked inquiringly at Sam, and was about
to remark, "That gun cannot be Harold’s--it has not the crack of a
rifle;" but the doubt was only momentary, and soon passed away. Long
afterwards the familiar sound of Harold’s piece was heard in the west,
and a little before sunset Harold and Frank appeared, bearing a fat
young deer between them.
"That looks nice; but you have been unfortunate, Harold," said Robert,
who having finished the pen, and introduced into it Nanny and the two
young ones, had wiped his brows, and sat down to rest.
"Why so?"
"In getting no more."
Harold looked surprised, but considering the remark as a sort of
compliment to his general character, returned,
"O, that must be expected sometimes. But come, Robert, if you are not
too weary, I shall be glad of your assistance in a little work before
dark. I wish to post up a notice here, that night robbers had better
keep away."
By their united efforts they succeeded in constructing a very simple
though dangerous trap, which Harold said he hoped would give them a dead
panther before morning. He laid Riley’s rifle upon two forked stakes,
about a foot from the ground, and fastened it so that any movement
forwards would bring the trigger against an immovable pin, and spring
it. He then tied a tempting piece of venison to a small pole, which was
bound to the rifle in a range with the course of the ball. And to make
assurance doubly sure, he drove down a number of stakes around the bait,
so that nothing could take hold of it, except in such direction as to
receive the load from the gun.
"Now," said he, after having tried the working of his gun, by charging
it simply with powder and pulling at the pole, as he supposed a wild
beast would pull at the bait, then loading it with ball and setting it
ready for deadly use--"Now, if there is in these woods a panther that is
weary of life, I advise him to visit this place to-night."
The dogs were tied up, and the work was done. So long as the boys were
engaged in making and setting their trap their minds were absorbed in
its details, and they conversed about nothing else. But when that was
finished, Harold referred to Robert’s remark about his hunting, and
said, "I was unfortunate, it is true, but it was only in going to the
wrong place; for I got all that I shot at. But what success had you,
for I heard your gun also."
"My gun!" responded Robert, "no, indeed. I heard two guns up the river,
and supposed you were trying your skill in shooting ducks with a rifle."
Harold stopped, and stared at him in the dim twilight. "Not your gun,
did you say? Then did Sam go out?"
"No. He was working steadily with me, until a few minutes before you
returned."
The boys exchanged with each other looks of trouble and anxiety. "Did
you hear any gun in reply to mine?" Harold asked. Robert replied he had
not.
"Then," said Harold, in a voice tremulous with emotion, "I am afraid
that our worst trouble is to come; for either there are Indians on the
island, or our friends have come for us, and we have left no notice on
our flag-staff to tell them where we are."
Robert wrung his hands in agony. "O, what an oversight again! when we
had resolved so faithfully to give every signal we could devise. I’ll
get my gun! It may not be too late for an answer."
He ran with great agitation into the tent, and brought out his gun, but
hesitated. "What if those we heard were fired by enemies, instead of
friends?"
"In that case," replied Harold, "we must run our risk. If those were
Indian guns, it will be vain to attempt concealment. They have already
seen our traces; and if they are bent on mischief, we shall feel it.
Let us give the signal."
They fired gun after gun, charging them with powder only, and hearing
the echoes reverberate far away in the surrounding forest; but no sound
except echoes returned. The person who fired those mysterious guns had
either left the island, or was indisposed to reply.
Many were the speculations they now interchanged upon the subject, and
gravely did the two elder boys hint to each other, in language
intelligible only to themselves, that there was now more to fear than to
hope. They ate their supper in silence, and Mary and Frank went
sorrowfully to bed. Robert, Harold and Sam sat up late, after the
lights were extinguished, watching for the dreaded approach of Indians,
and devising various plans in case of attack. At last they also
retired, taking turns to keep guard during the whole night. All was
quiet until near morning; when, in the midst of Sam’s watch, they were
aroused by hearing near at hand the sharp report of a rifle. In an
instant the excited boys were on their feet, and standing beside their
sentry, guns in hand, prepared to repel what they supposed to be an
Indian attack. But Sam sung out in gleeful tone:
"No Injin! no Injin! but de trap. Only yerry[#] how he growl! I tell
you he got de lead!"
[#] Yerry, hear.
The boys hastily kindled a torch, loosed the dogs, ran to the trap, and
found, not a panther indeed, but a large wild cat, rolling and growling
in mortal agony. The dogs sprang fiercely upon it, and in less than two
minutes it lay silent and motionless, its keen eye quenched, and its
once spasmed limbs now softly flexible in death. They took it up. It
was nearly as large as Mum, being quite as tall, though not so heavy.
Before they had ceased their examinations the grey streak of dawn
gleamed above the eastern woods, and instead of retiring to rest again,
as their weariness strongly prompted, they prepared for the duties of
the opening day.
These duties appeared to be so contradictory, that they scarcely knew
what plan to pursue. It was clear that some one or more should go
without delay to the coast, to ascertain whether their friends were or
had been there. But who should go, and who should stay? If there were
Indians abroad, it would be dangerous to divide their little force; and
yet all could not go, for Sam was lame. Harold offered to go alone; but
the others, burning with the hope that their father might yet be on the
island, or within sight, insisted on bearing him company. Sam also
helped to settle the question, by saying:
"Go, Mas Robbut, and little Missus, and Mas Frank; go all o’ you. Don’t
be ’fraid for me; s’pose Injin come, he nebber trouble nigger."
This remark was based upon the well known fact that Indians seldom
interfere with negroes. And encouraged thus to leave him a second time
alone, the young people resolved to go in a body to the coast; agreeing
with him, however, that if he saw any danger he should give them timely
warning by setting on fire a fallen pine-top.
Carrying what arms they could, and sending their dogs on either side as
scouts, they walked swiftly along their well known path to the seacoast.
No accident happened, no sign of danger appeared; everything was as
usual on the way, and at the place of their old encampment. But
scarcely had they reached the oak, before Harold, pointing to the earth,
softened by a rain two nights before, cried out:
"Look here, Robert! The tracks of two persons wearing shoes!"
Robert’s unpractised eye would never have detected the signs which
Harold’s Indian tuition enabled him so readily to discover; he could
scarcely distinguish, after the closest scrutiny, more than the deep
indentation of a boot-heel. But that was enough; a boot-heel proved the
presence of a boot, and a boot proved the presence of a white man. That
one fact relieved them from all apprehension that the visitors were
Indians.
They fired their guns, to attract if possible the attention of the
strangers; giving volley after volley, in repeated succession, and
scanning the coast in every direction; but it was without the desired
result--the persons were gone. Their dogs had by this time gone to a
spot near the bluff, where there had been a fire, and were engaged in
eating what the boys discovered, on inspection, to be a ham-bone and
scattered crumbs of bread. On descending the bluff, where footprints
were sharply defined in the yielding sand, Frank exclaimed:
"Here is _William’s_ track! I know it--I know it is William’s!"
The others examined it, and asked how he knew it was William’s.
"I know it," said he, "by that W. When father gave him that pair of
thick boots for bad weather, William drove a great many tacks into the
sole; and when I asked him why he did so, he said it was to make them
last longer, and also to know them again if they should be stolen, for
there was his name. In the middle of one sole he drove nine tacks,
making that W., and in the other he drove seven, so as to make an H.;
for he said his name was William Harper. Yes, look here," pointing to
the other track, "here is the H., too."
There was now not the shadow of a doubt that the track thus ingeniously
identified was William’s. Then whose was that other, formed by a light,
well shaped boot? Every heart responded. The elder boys looked on with
agitated faces; Mary burst into tears, and Frank, casting himself
passionately down, laid his wet cheek upon that loved foot-print, and
kissed it.
But he was gone now--though he had been so near--gone without a word, or
a sign, to say that he was coming back. Gone? Perhaps not. Perhaps a
smoke might recall him, if the guns did not. Harold silently ascended
the bluff, and with one of Frank’s matches fired the grass placed
beneath the heap of wood near the flag-staff. The smoke rose; it
attracted the attention of the others, and soon they heard Harold call
from a distance, "Come here, all of you! Here is something more."
They ran together, Robert and Mary taking each a hand of Frank; and when
they reached the flag-staff, saw a paper fastened to it by wooden pins
driven into the bark, and on the paper, written in large round
characters:
"_Five Thousand Dollars Reward_
"Will be cheerfully paid to any one who shall restore to me in safety a
boat’s company, lost from Tampa Bay on the 26th of October last. They
were dragged to sea by a devil-fish, and when last seen were near this
island. The company consisted of my nephew, Harold McIntosh, aged nearly
fifteen, having black hair and eyes; and my three children, Robert
Gordon, aged fourteen; Mary Gordon, aged eleven; and Frank Gordon, aged
seven years; all having light hair and blue eyes.
"The above reward will be paid for the aforesaid company, with their
boat and boat’s furniture; or one thousand dollars for any one of the
persons, or for such information as shall enable me to know certainly
what has become of them.
"Information may be sent to me at Tampa Bay, care of Major ----,
commanding officer; or to Messrs. ---- & Co., Charleston, S. C.; or to
R. H----, Esquire, Savannah, Georgia.
"Dec. 9, 1830.
"CHARLES GORDON, M.D."
Underneath was the following postscript in pencil:
"P.S. The aforesaid company have evidently been upon this island within
ten days past. I have searched the coast and country here in almost
every direction. They appear to have left, and I trust for home. Should
any fatality attend their voyage, they will probably be heard of between
this island and Tampa Bay. C. G."
The young people were overwhelmed. "Poor father!" Mary said with a
choking voice, "how disappointed he will be when he reaches home, and
finds that we are not there! And poor mother! if she is there I know it
will almost kill her."
"But father _will_ come again--he will come right back--I know he will,"
Frank murmured resolutely through his tears.
"Yes, if mother is not too sick to be left," conjectured Mary.
"Come, children," said Robert, with an air of sullen resolve, "it is of
no use to stand here idle. Let us go back to the prairie, and build our
boats."
"But not before we have left word on the flag-staff to tell where we are
to be found," Harold added. A bitter smile played around the corners of
Robert’s mouth, as muttering something about "locking the door after the
steed is stolen," he took out his pencil, and wrote in deep black
letters,
"The lost company, together with Sam, a servant, are to be found at a
small prairie three or four miles south-east from this point. We have
lost our boat, and are building another.
"Dec. 10, 1830. ROBERT GORDON."
They collected another pile of wood and grass for a fire signal near
their flag-staff, and then with slow, sad steps, turned their faces once
more to the prairie.