CHAP’S ALLIGATOR.
The preparations for the night were very simple. Adam, whose previous
experience in camping and rough life had made him think, before leaving
the steamer, of a good many little things that might be useful on a
journey such as the one proposed, had brought with him a long, thin
rope, something like a clothes-line.
“There’s nothin’ like havin’ plenty of line along,” he said, as he
fastened one end of this to a low branch of a tree. “It always comes in
useful. I’m goin’ to hang the tarpaulin on this, and make a tent of it.”
“The rope is long enough,” said Phœnix.
“Yes,” said Adam; “but you can’t have a rope too long. The nearest tree
that ’twould do to tie it to might be a hundred feet away, don’t you
see?”
There was a suitable tree, however, not a dozen feet from the one just
mentioned, and to a low branch of this Adam made his line fast, tying
it in a slip-knot, and coiling the slack rope on the ground. This
proceeding was made the text of another sermon from the prudent sailor.
“Never cut a line, if you can help it,” he said. “Use what you want,
and coil away the slack. The time will come when you’ll want the
longest line you can get.”
The tarpaulin was thrown over the low rope, and its edges held out by
cords and pegs, which Adam had prepared while the supper was being
cooked.
“It’ll be pretty close quarters,” he said, looking into the little
tent, “but you fellers can squeeze into it, and I can sleep outside
as well as not. The sand is as dry as a chip, and if you put on your
overcoats, and take your carpet-bags for pillows, you’ll be just as
comfortable as if you was at home in your feather beds.”
“A good deal more so, I should think,” said Phil, “in mild weather like
this.”
The boys would not allow Adam to sleep outside. As the tarpaulin was
arranged, if there was room enough for three, there was room enough for
four. The tent was open at both ends, and they lay in pairs, with their
feet inside and their heads near the open ends, so as to get plenty of
air.
Adam was soon asleep, but the boys did not close their eyes for
some time. The novelty of the situation as they thus lay on the soft
dry sand, with the tropical foliage all around them, the broad river
rippling but a short distance away, and the darkness of this night
in an almost foreign land, relieved only by the flashes of the dying
camp-fire and the bright stars in the clear sky, kept them awake.
Far off in the river they heard, every now and then, a dull pounding
noise, as if some one were thumping at the door of a house. This, Adam
told them before he went to sleep, was caused by the drum-fish, who
make these loud sounds as they swim near the bottom of the river.
Now and then they heard a distant snort or roar, but from what sort of
animal it came they did not know. They were aware that in the woods of
Florida there were panthers, bears, and wild-cats; but Adam had told
them that in this part of the country these animals were very shy and
seldom disturbed any one if not disturbed themselves.
After a time Phil and Phœnix fell asleep, but Chap did not close his
eyes. He was an excitable fellow, and he was thinking what he should
do if a wild beast should invade their camp. There were no firearms in
the party, but he thought of several ways in which four active persons
could seize a wild-cat, for instance, and hold it so that it could harm
no one of them.
After a time the moon rose, and then Chap, lying with his face turned
toward the river, was fascinated by the strange beauty of the scene.
While gazing thus, he saw two small animals slowly creeping across the
sand and approaching the tent. The sight of them startled him, and he
was about to give an alarm, when he suddenly checked himself. These
could not be wild-cats, he thought; they were too little and their
movements too slow.
As they came nearer and turned their heads toward him, he saw by the
now bright rays of the moon that they had light triangular faces, gray
bodies, and rat-like tails, and that they were opossums. He had seen
these animals in the North, and laughed quietly when he thought they
had frightened him. They were evidently after some pieces of fish
which lay near the dead ashes of the camp-fire, and were soon making a
comfortable meal.
“I never saw such tame creatures,” thought Chap. “They must know there
are people about.”
Then he gave a low, soft whistle. The opossums looked up, but did not
move. There was a piece of stick within reach of his hand, and picking
it up, he whirled it toward them. They looked up again, but still did
not move.
Slowly drawing himself out of the tent so as not to disturb the others,
Chap rose to his feet and approached the opossums. One of them turned
and ambled slowly to a short distance, but the other stood still.
Chap walked close up to him, but the creature merely arched its back
and looked at him.
Picking up a stick which was lying near the ashes, Chap gave the stupid
creature a little punch. The opossum merely twisted itself up a little
and opened its mouth.
“Upon my word!” said Chap; “if you are not the tamest wild beasts in
the world! I don’t believe either of you ever saw a man before, and
don’t know that you ought to be afraid of him. But I’m not going to
hurt a non-resistant. You can go ahead and eat your supper, for all I
care.”
And so he slipped quietly back into the tent, and left the opossums to
continue their meal.
It might have been supposed that when Chap did close his eyes, he would
sleep longer than the others, but this was not the case. Either because
he did not rest well in a new place, or because his mind was disturbed
by his responsibilities as captain of the party, he awoke before any of
the others. It was broad daylight, and again he slipped out of the tent
without disturbing any of his companions.
The opossums were gone, and Chap walked along the water’s edge, looking
at the hosts of birds which were flying above him. There were gulls
and many others which he did not know, and near the other side of the
river was a small flock of very large birds, which he supposed must be
pelicans.
As he walked round the little clump of trees, under which the tent was
pitched, he saw upon the sand, near the water’s edge, something which
made his heart jump.
It was an alligator, the first Chap had ever seen out of a menagerie.
It was about eight feet long, and was lying in the sunshine, with its
head toward the water.
Chap stood and gazed at it with mingled amazement and delight. He never
thought of fear, for he knew an alligator would not come after him.
Slowly and gradually he came nearer and nearer the strange creature. It
did not move. Was it dead? or asleep? He felt sure it was the latter,
for it did not look dead. What a splendid thing it was to be so near
a live alligator on its native sands! If there were only some way of
catching it! That was almost too glorious to think of. If he had a
rifle he might shoot it; but that would be nothing. But to catch it
alive! The idea fired his soul. He would give anything to capture this
fellow, but how could he do it?
He remembered the account that had so pleased him, when he was a boy,
of the English captain--Waterton, he thought his name was--who sprang
astride of an alligator, and seizing its forepaws, twisted them over
its back so that the creature could not walk, nor reach its captor
with its jaws or tail.
At first Chap thought that he might possibly do this, but he saw it
would be a risky business. The alligator’s paws looked very strong, and
he might not be able to hold them above its back. Even if it got one
paw loose, it might turn round and make things lively.
“If I could only get a rope round the end of his tail,” thought Chap,
“I could tie him to a tree. That would be simply splendid!”
This plan really looked more feasible than any other. The alligator
was lying with his tail turned a little to the left, and the end of
it raised slightly from the sand. It might be possible to slip a rope
around this without waking the creature; but where was the rope? Chap
racked his brain for an instant. Had they a rope?
Then he remembered the line that supported the tent. There was ever so
much of it coiled on the sand, it was already fastened to a tree. If
the loose length would reach the alligator, and if he could get the end
of it around his tail, and the line was strong enough to hold him, he
would have him sure.
Wouldn’t it be glorious to wake up the other fellows and show them the
captive alligator which he had caught all by himself while they were
fast asleep?
Slipping off his shoes, he stole softly around to the foot of the tree
by the tent where the coil of rope lay. Taking the loose end in his
hand, he turned, and slowly crept toward the alligator.
The creature was asleep, and Chap made so little noise as he gradually
came near it, that its repose was not disturbed. To his great joy, Chap
found that the rope was long enough. When he was almost near enough
to touch the tip and of the alligator’s tail, he kneeled on one knee,
ready to spring up in an instant if the creature should awake, and
hesitated for a moment before proceeding to attach the rope.
If he tried to tie it on, the alligator might move before he had time
to make a good knot. It would be better to prepare a slip-noose, and
put that over the end of his tail. Then when he moved or jerked, he
would pull the rope tight.
Chap made a slip-knot and a noose, and, with quickly-beating heart, he
leaned forward, and with both hands he gently put the open noose around
the alligator’s tail.
He did this so cautiously and carefully that the rope did not touch the
creature until it was seven or eight inches above the tip of the tail.
Then he gently pulled it so as to tighten it.
Almost at the first moment that the rope touched the alligator it gave
its tail a little twitch. Chap sprang to his feet and ran backward
several yards. Then the alligator raised its head, looked back, and saw
him.
Without a moment’s hesitation the creature lifted itself on its short
legs and made for the river. Chap trembled with the excitement of the
moment. Would the noose slip off? Would the rope hold?
The noose did not slip off, it tightened; and in a moment the rope was
stretched to its utmost length.
Chap was about to give a shout of triumph, when the alligator, feeling
a tug on his tail, became panic-stricken and bolted wildly for the
water.
The rope, though not heavy, was a strong one, and it did not break, but
the slip-knot around the nearest tree to which it was tied was pulled
loose in an instant, and down came the tent on the sleepers beneath it.
Then there was a tremendous jerk on the branch to which the extreme end
was tied, and in an instant it was torn from the trunk of the tree.
This branch caught in the end of the tarpaulin, the pegs were jerked
out of the sand, and the whole tent was hauled roughly and swiftly over
the recumbent Adam and the two boys. The branch got under Phil’s head
and jerked him into a sitting position almost before it woke him up.
Phœnix thought an earthquake had occurred. In an instant he was
enveloped in darkness; then there seemed to be a land slide over his
head, and flying bits of wood banged about his ears.
Adam made a grab at the tarpaulin as it swept over him, and held fast
to one corner of it. He was instantly jerked about three yards along
the sand, and then the branch, to which the end of the rope was tied,
slipped under the tarpaulin, and Adam and the tent were left lying
together on the ground.
Chap made a wild rush after the branch, but it was pulled into the
water before he could reach it. He could see it floating rapidly along
the top of the water, as the alligator swam away, and he stood sadly on
the bank, watching the disappearance of that branch and his hopes.
Adam, with the two boys, now appeared, half awake and utterly
astounded, and anxiously demanded to know what had happened. Never had
they been awakened in such a startling style. When Chap explained the
state of affairs, Phil and Phœnix burst into a laugh, but Adam looked
rather glum.
“You don’t mean to say,” he exclaimed, “that that ’gator has gone off
with all my rope?”
“He’s got it all,” said Chap; “and I’m sorry now it didn’t break, so
some of it might have been left. But I tell you what we could do, if
we could only get a boat; we could run after that branch--it won’t
sink, you know--and when we got hold of the rope we might haul the
alligator in.”
“Haul him in!” cried Adam; “I’d like to see myself hauling a live
alligator into a boat, even if we could do it, and had a boat. No, that
line is gone for good. He’s turned round and chawed it off his tail by
this time.”
“What did you expect to do with your alligator,” asked Phil, “after you
had fastened him to a tree? We haven’t anything to kill him with, and
he would have raged around at the end of his line like a mad bull.”
“Perhaps Chap thought he could tame it, and take it along with us,”
said Phœnix.
“Look here, boys,” said Chap, “I don’t want any criticisms on this
alligator business. If I’d been acting as your captain, and leading you
in an alligator hunt, you might say what you pleased when the beast got
away; but I was doing this thing in my private capacity, and not as
commander of the party, and you fellows have nothing to do with it.”
“Haven’t we?” cried Phil. “When my head was nearly jerked off, and
three or four yards of tent hauled over my face?”
“And I was scared worse than if I had been pulled out of bed with a
rake?” said Phœnix.
“Nothin’ to do with it!” exclaimed Adam. “When my rope was jerked out
of sight and hearin’ in a minute, and the tarpaulin would ’a’ gone with
it, if I hadn’t grabbed it? I should think we had something to do with
it.”
“Perhaps you had,” said Chap, as he sat down on the sand to put on his
shoes. “But I tell you what it is, fellows,” he added, with sparkling
eyes, “if we could have tied a live alligator to a tree, it would have
been a splendid thing to tell when we got home.”
“There is people,” said Adam, dryly, “who’d tell a story like that
without tyin’ a ’gator to a tree.”
“But we are not that kind,” promptly answered Captain Chap.
“But I guess we won’t cry over spilt milk, or lost ropes, either,” said
Adam; “and the best thing we kin do is to get along to John Brewer’s
house and see about some breakfast.”
“We might catch some more fish,” said Chap, “and have breakfast before
we started.”
“If you kin ketch some coffee,” said Adam, “I’ll be willin’ to talk
about breakfast here; but I don’t want to make another meal off fish
and warm water, if I can help it. John Brewer’s house is just the other
side of that bend, and we’ll be there in half an hour.”
The tarpaulin was rolled up, each of the party picked up his
individual traps, and, headed by Chap, they were soon walking along the
shore of the river.
When they turned the bend above, they were delighted to see that Adam
was right, and that John Brewer’s house was really there. It was not
much of a house, for it was a frame building, one story high, and
containing three or four rooms; but it had an air of human habitation
about it which was very welcome to the wanderers. It stood in a small
clearing, and John Brewer, a little man, with long, brown hair, which
looked as if the wind had been blowing it in several directions during
the night, came out of his front door to meet them. Two of his children
followed him, and the three others and his wife looked out of a
half-opened window.
Mr. Brewer was mildly surprised to see his old acquaintance, Adam, and
the three boys, and when he had heard their story, he took a kind but
languid interest in the matter, and went into the house to see about
getting breakfast.
It was not long before our friends were sitting down to a plentiful
meal of coffee, corn-bread, and very tough bacon, Mr. Brewer and his
family standing at the end of the table and gazing at them as they
ate. Some of them would have joined the breakfast-party had there been
plates and cups enough.
About half an hour after breakfast, as our friends, with Mr. Brewer
and four of the children, were sitting in the shade in front of the
house, and Mrs. Brewer and the other child were looking at them behind
a half-opened window-shutter, Adam remarked,--
“What I want to know is what chance we have of gettin’ up the river to
Titusville?”
“How did you expect to get up?” asked Mr. Brewer.
“Well,” said Adam, “I thought we might get passage in a mail-boat,
if one happened to come along at the right time; and if it didn’t, I
thought there’d be some boat or other goin’ up the river to-day that
would take us.”
“Well, if them’s your kalkerlations,” said Mr. Brewer, gently rubbing
his knees and looking out over the water, “I don’t think you’re going
to get up at all.”
“Not get up at all!” cried the boys; and Adam looked puzzled.
“Well, not for a week or so, anyway,” said Mr. Brewer, his eyes still
fixed upon the rippling waters. “To be sure, the mail-boat will be
along to-day, and she’ll stop if she’s hailed, but she can’t carry you
all, and as for other boats, the long and short of it is, there ain’t
none gone down, and there can’t none come up. There was a boat went up
yesterday with vegetables from Lake Worth, but she won’t be back for
a week, and then it’ll be a good while before she goes up again. Every
boat that’s been down the river this month has gone up, and they tell
me there ain’t nothin’ at Jupiter but the little sloop that belongs to
the light-house keeper, and she’s hauled up to have a new mast put in
her.”
“Then what are we to do?” asked Phil, anxiously.
“Dunno,” said Mr. Brewer.
[Illustration]