LIFE ON THE LONELY ISLAND.
The influence of a brisk wood-fire on a dark night is remarkable.
Not only does it give freely of its heat and light, but gloom and
despair are banished by its ruddy glow, while cheerfulness and hope
spring forward as if by magic to occupy their vacant places. At least,
this was the effect of the cheery blaze our canoemates had at length
succeeded in coaxing into life, and though it had cost them two of
their half-dozen cartridges, they felt that these had been well
expended. Their prospects had looked dismal enough when they had been
compelled to contemplate an existence without a fire; but with it to
aid them, they felt equal to almost any emergency, and they turned to
the preparing of their ducks for supper with renewed energy. Surely
fire is well worthy of being classed with air and water as one of the
things most necessary to human life and happiness.
Now that they had time to think of it, the boys were very hungry, for
since an early breakfast they had eaten but a light lunch of crackers
and jam. So they barely waited to assure themselves that their fire
was going to burn, before the feathers from their ducks were flying in
all directions. When the birds were plucked and cleaned, two sharpened
sticks were thrust through their bodies. These were rested on one
rock, with another above them to hold them in place, so that the ducks
were lifted but a few inches above a great bed of glowing coals. Then
the hungry lads sat down to watch them, and never, to their impatient
belief, had two fowls taken so long to roast before. They began testing
their condition by sticking the points of their knives into them
long before there was a chance of their being done. At length Sumner
declared that he was going to eat his even if it were still raw, and
the half-cooked ducks were placed on two broad palm leaves that served
at once as tables and plates.
"My! but isn't this fowl tough!" exclaimed Worth, as he struggled with
his share of the feast. "Sole-leather and rubber are nothing to it."
"Yes," replied Sumner; "ten-ounce army duck would be easier eating than
this fellow. I wish we could have stewed them with rice, a few bits of
pork, a slice or two of onion, and a seasoning of pepper and salt. How
do you think that would go?"
"Please don't mention such things," said Worth, working at a drumstick
with teeth and both hands.
"Ducks ought always to be parboiled before roasting," remarked Sumner,
wisely.
"I believe this fellow would be like eggs," replied Worth; "the more
you boiled him the harder he would get."
However, hunger and young teeth can accomplish wonders, so it was not
very long before two little heaps of cleanly-picked bones marked all
that was left of the ducks, and though they could easily have eaten
more, the boys wisely decided to reserve the doves for breakfast.
Although the darkness rendered it a difficult task, Sumner managed to
cut a few armfuls more of palmetto leaves. These, shredded from their
heavy stalks and spread thickly over the floor of the lean-to, made a
couch decidedly more comfortable than a bed on the bare ground would
have been.
They could do nothing more that night, and lying there in the firelight
they had the first opportunity since discovering the loss of their
canoes to thoroughly discuss the situation.
"What would our mothers say if they could see us now, and know the fix
we are in?" queried Worth, after a meditative silence.
"I'm awfully glad they can't know anything about it," replied Sumner.
"But I wish some one could know, so that they could send a boat for us.
I am sure that we don't want to stay on this island for the rest of our
lives."
"Of course not, and I don't propose to, even if no boat comes here."
"What do you propose to do?" inquired Worth, leaning on his elbow, and
gazing at his companion with eager interest.
"Well, in the first place, I propose to explore this key thoroughly
to-morrow, and see if any traces of the canoes are to be found, as well
as what it will afford in the way of food and lumber. Then, if we don't
find the canoes, and no boat comes along, I propose to build some kind
of a raft, on which we can float over to Indian Key. While boats rarely
pass this way, some are certain to pass within a short distance of it
almost every day. So from there we would have little difficulty in
getting taken off."
"Well," said Worth, regarding his companion admiringly, "I'm sure I
couldn't build a raft with only a hatchet, and I'm awfully glad that
I'm not here all alone. What can possibly have become of our canoes,
anyway?"
"I'm sure I can't imagine," replied Sumner, "unless some one stole
them, and I don't know of any one on the reef mean enough to do that.
Besides, we haven't seen a sail all day, nor a sign of a human being.
They couldn't have gone adrift, either--at least, I don't see how they
could. So, on the whole, it's a conundrum that I give up. You'd better
believe that I feel badly enough, though, over losing _Psyche_. That
worries me a great deal more than how we are going to get away from
here, for I never expect to own another such beauty as she is. But
there's no use crying over what can't be helped, so let's go to sleep,
and prepare for a fresh start to-morrow. Whenever you wake during the
night you want to get up and throw a fresh stick on the fire, and I
will do the same, for we can't afford to let it go out."
"All right," said Worth. "But, Sumner, there aren't any wild beasts or
snakes on this key, are there?"
"I don't believe there are any snakes," was the reply, "while there
certainly aren't any animals larger than 'coons, and they won't hurt
any one. No, indeed, there is nothing to be afraid of here, and you may
be as free from anxiety on that score as though you were in your own
room in New York City. More so," he added, with a laugh; "for there
you might have burglars, while here there is no chance of them. I only
wish there was; for burglars in this part of the country would have to
come in boats, and we might persuade them to take us off the key. Now
go to sleep, old man, and pleasant dreams to you."
"Good-night," answered Worth, and closing his eyes, the boy made a
resolute effort to sleep. Somehow he found it harder to do so now
than it had been on his first night of camping out. The loss of the
canoes seemed to have removed an element of safety on which he had
depended, and to have suddenly placed him at an infinite distance
beyond civilization, with all its protections. It was so awful to be
imprisoned on this lonely isle, in those far-away southern seas. He
wondered what his father and mother and Uncle Tracy were doing, and
if there was a dance at the Ponce de Leon that night, and what his
school-fellows in New York would say if they knew of his situation.
He wondered and thought of these and a thousand other things, until
finally he, too, fell asleep, and the silence of the lonely little camp
was unbroken save by the voice of the great hoot owl, who called at
regular intervals, "Whoo, whoo, whoo-ah!"
It still wanted an hour or so of moonrise, when the waning firelight
half disclosed a human figure that emerged from the woods behind the
lean-to, and stealthily crouched in the black shadow beside it. For
some moments it remained motionless, listening to the regular breathing
of the boys. Then it moved noiselessly forward on hands and knees.
Suddenly Worth awoke, and sprang into a sitting posture. At the same
time he uttered a startled cry, at the sound of which the creeping
figure drew quickly back, and disappeared behind the trunk of a tree.
"What is it?" asked Sumner, who, awakened by Worth's cry, was also
sitting up.
"I don't know," answered the boy, "but I am almost certain that some
one was trying to pull my gun away."