ON TO DEATH RIVER!
Some day I shall write an ode, not to sleep but to the pleasure of
awaking when the sleep has been deep and dreamless, when the day is
ushered in by smiling skies, a laughing earth, and a forest of joyous
songsters. More especially beautiful is the face of nature after a
storm-swept night, for then, indeed, the blinking dawn itself reflects
the gratitude of mundane things for their deliverance. In the forest one
hears a water-drip--aftermath of rains; a gentle, almost noiseless fall
of crystal drop on crystal drop tapping the loamy soil, and imagination
sings in whatsoever key the soul is tuned.
But with what reaches of farther imaginings do we greet the day, and how
variously! Our eyes do not require a visual picture of the lone wild
turkey on his cypress roost to know that he is ruffling his feathers,
craning his neck inquisitively downward in all directions, before
chancing to descend to earth and breakfast; nor need we see the panther
skulking from his lair to know that he has stopped to lick his paw and
pass it over his face--the feline morning ablution. Each creature has a
particular mode of resurrection after its hours of mimic death; and so
I, on a bed of whatsoever it may be, yawn hideously and stretch my arms
and grumble: O, Lord, how I hate to get up! Indeed, how variously do we
greet the day!
Smilax had opened our duffle and hung out several things to air. But
the provisions, ammunition, matches and--glory be!--my tobacco, had been
packed in tins and were dry. I could not say as much for the clothes I
wore, and quickly stripped them off to hang before the fire he was
building.
As these and the coffee pot were steaming I walked to the beach and
followed it to a westernmost point, being curious to see if from there
we could get a glimpse of the islands, and also if our camp were
securely hidden from anyone passing the entrance of the Cove. Most of
all, of course, did I want to search the horizon, and for several
minutes stood beneath the solitary palm that had resumed its majesty. So
white was the sand, sloping from a violet-tinted fringe of sea-grape
stalks to the lapping waves, so green and sparkling, yet so drowsy, was
the Gulf, that I could not realize, were my present nudeness less
constantly a reminder, that since the setting sun these peaceful things
had been lashed with a devil's fury. No sail showed anywhere; only the
palm and I seemed to be alone in this balmy wilderness. But my faith in
Gates whispered that the _Whim_ was safe. Looking back, I realized also
that our camp lay well concealed; to the south the islands were cut off
by an opposite strip of land; eastward and northward stretched primeval
forests, swamps and prairies for half a hundred miles. I seemed to be
the only human animal upon the earth.
A hungry osprey circling in the sky dropped as a plummet, struck the
water and, after a momentary struggle, arose with his fish, ingeniously
holding it head-foremost to facilitate flight. From another point now
came a scream, well known to me, and I turned to see an eagle
approaching with tremendous speed. Here before my eyes was to be
committed "an overt act of piracy" that has for untold centuries caused
a strained relationship between these birds. By feints at darting, but
with no real intention to harm, he drove the osprey upward--for in
aerial combats amongst the feathered tribes advantage lies in the higher
altitude, and the hawk excitedly strove for this while the eagle coolly
permitted it. In such a manner the fight was carried skyward until the
combatants looked small. Then it entered its second, and last, phase.
Quite master of the situation the eagle now rose to the upper plane and
began his attack from above, whereupon to save itself the hawk released
its fish and took to flight--which was, of course, exactly what the
eagle wished. Here was his opportunity for the spectacular. Diving
straight downward--first, however, increasing his speed with two swift
strokes of his powerful wings which then became set in a half curve--he
overtook the falling breakfast in mid air, seized it, swung gracefully
outward and disappeared over the forest.
Shame, thought I, that our National Bird, secure from discovery at
Washington, should be practising this thoroughly un-American
might-makes-right business! Yet through my being came a sympathetic
whisper. I had never felt it while in contact with other people, but
here I was stripped as a savage--alone with the woods and the ocean. If
the Florida peninsula had been formed when my ancestors went naked, one
of them might have loitered near this very spot, and I smiled as I
wondered if he, too, had been planning to carry off some female from her
watchful tribe!
It was good to be in the wilderness, good to be savage, good to be
unclothed beneath God's high heaven and know that by my muscle and my
cunning I was king. No ordinary king who went about with a jeweled
crown upon his head could ever feel this exuberance of being, and in
pure delight I plunged into the water.
Out, out and out I swam, joyously diving for handsfull of shells that I
held aloft as a pagan offering to the gods. I put in bursts of speed,
then rested on my back upon the cradling waves, watching the streaks of
feathery clouds that stretched across the sky--streamers, flying far
behind the tempest. And then, with tingling blood, I would flip my body
and swim down, down for more shells. I was King of the great
out-of-doors; a reincarnated primordial monster, holding high carnival
with the elements!
Smilax, having come in search of me and seeing my head far from shore,
followed at once. It was then, as he approached, that I received my
first disillusionment of being king by the right of muscle, because he
sped through the water as an oiled torpedo, putting to shame my skill
that had been somewhat thought of in the Athletic Club tank at home.
Almost immediately followed my second jolt, as he glanced over his
shoulder, saying:
"Lookout, maybe whole lot shark!"
King or no king, I went shoreward like a scared cat. Anyone could have
had my crown then for the mere trouble of picking it up. Curiously,
there flashed into my mind a game I used to play as a youngster:
What-Would-You-Rather-Be-Eaten-Up-By! We boys would pompously answer
lions, puffing ourselves out bravely and pretending we didn't care, but
I remembered one little girl who aroused our contemptuous laughter by
answering "goldfish." And now, after all these years, for the first time
I found myself marveling at her sagacity. Indeed, she was off and on in
my thoughts until I had clothed myself in dry garments and partaken of
a grown man's breakfast; after which I dropped into a state of
retrospective contentment, divided between the annoyances that beset
kings, Azurian princesses, and the culinary skill of Smilax.
That ebony giant of strength was not aware of my mission here, nor,
indeed, of anything that had passed aboard the _Whim_, so when he had
cleaned the dishes I lit my pipe and called to him. It seemed but fair
that he should know the dangers of our expedition before joining it. His
perception was quicker than his speech, and more than once he
anticipated my narrative with some word suitable to its climax.
"We get lady," he said, at last.
"After a while," I corrected. "Just now we're to see where she is, how
she's guarded, and how many guards there are. But we're not to start
anything till the others get back. You don't happen to know this
country, I suppose?"
"Not right here; but two day walk there," he pointed a little east of
north, "yes, good. Mother live with Seminole one time, over there."
"I thought you were from Jamaica," I said; for, indeed, we had got that
impression.
"No, me nigger raised by Seminoles. Been to Jamaica on ship, heap time."
"Then you speak Seminole?"
"Some," he answered, modestly.
I should have recognized in his way of talking, which was neither
Jamaica nor American negro, the Seminole influence. Now this further
light upon his past accounted for the many ways he had shown himself a
woodsman; things that had astonished and pleased me, since I had not
looked for them in a seafaring man who later became a fisher of
sponges. It brought me a feeling of greater assurance for the task ahead
of us, because Smilax, with an Indian training added to his stupendous
strength, would be scout, warrior, pack-horse, all in one; really, an
invaluable asset.
The chart that should have come in the second boat--with Tommy, alas,
and Bilkins--was missing, but I remembered pretty well the lay of the
land and knew that the island area began only a short distance south of
our Cove. This I discussed with Smilax, who added light by his general
knowledge--hearsay, for the most part. Yet when I suggested leaving our
things cached where they were while we made a reconnoissance, he
strenuously objected.
"Lady maybe fifteen, twenty, mile 'way," he said. "We take camp 'long."
"That's very well if you take it," I laughed, "but I've no idea of
lugging that stuff half over Florida. Why not carry the things we need?"
"Maybe need all," he answered, then smiled: "Camp light."
At this he arose with a subtle power that reminded me of a huge black
leopard and began making our things into a pack. Never had I seen,
anywhere from Newfoundland to the Rockies, a bundle of duffle more
skillfully arranged, and I said with no small degree of admiration:
"I'd take off my hat to you, Smilax, if the storm hadn't blown it away!"
He grinned, feeling the praise if not understanding its medium; then
asked:
"We go now?"
"Let's wait half an hour to see if the _Whim_ comes in sight," I told
him. "There's a lot to talk over, anyway, before we start. For one
thing, if we get separated how shall we find each other?"
"If you lose me, you hunt good place to wait, and wait. Me find you."
For some time we discussed other details. Finally I asked:
"How far down in those islands do you think they are?"
He was sitting with his knees drawn up, his arms crossed upon them, and
now let his forehead, too, rest there in meditation.
"One place," he slowly answered, "no white hunter ever get. Injuns know
it, but 'fraid to go 'cause evil spirit live there--near mouth of river
Seminole call Il-lit; in white man tongue, mean Death. Me think maybe
find 'em there."
"Death river's a good place for that old scoundrel to hang out," I
agreed. "How far?"
"Maybe fifteen mile, maybe ten, maybe twenty; no can say. We see."
"By the way, Smilax, how do you say 'damn old scoundrel' in Seminole?"
He raised his head and appreciatively grinned, answering:
"Hal-wak esta-had-kee, mean 'bad white man.'"
"That's neither bad nor short enough. What else?"
"Host-cope-e-taw, mean thief."
"Good but too long. I want something I can remember; to christen him,
understand? What's your shortest word?"
"Shee."
"That's more like it. What's 'shee' mean?"
"Feathers."
"But, hell, Smilax," I burst out laughing, "there'd be no sense in
calling him feathers!"
"Efaw," he said again, "mean dog; kotee, toad; chesshe, rat. Maybe him
dog-toad-rat!"
"That only begins to be him," I declared, with the same glorious
contempt for pronouns. "In the prospective waters of Death river I
christen him Efaw Kotee, the dog-toad!"--But in my heart I offered an
apology to the canine family, many of whose sons and daughters have been
among my most loyal friends.
"We go; maybe find him," the black giant grinned again, bending backward
to get his shoulders beneath the ropes and then straightening up as
though two, and not two hundred, pounds of weight came with him.
I walked quickly out to the point and took one more look, a searching,
lingering look across the green water. Nowhere was the _Whim_, nowhere
even a speck of sail or any other craft. Except for a pelican of sober
mien, rising and falling with the waves, the Gulf seemed barren of any
life. But something told me that the yacht was safe.
A scrub jay, in a near-by thicket of mangroves, mocked my solitude with
a raucous note; yet it gave me heart, for I saw in it the call of the
land and knew that thoughts of the _Whim_ must be put aside. So I went
back to Smilax, and together we strode through the fringe of palms into
a shadowy jungle; our faces set toward a mysterious place, unknown to
us, where Death river meets the sea.