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WAKULLA
A STORY OF ADVENTURE IN FLORIDA
BY KIRK MUNROE
CONTENTS
I. PREPARING TO LEAVE THE OLD HOME
II. THE SCHOONER "NANCY BELL"
III. "CAPTAIN LI'S" STORY
IV. A WRECK ON THE FLORIDA REEF
V. MARK AND RUTH ATTEND AN AUCTION
VI. A QUEER CHRISTMAS DAY
VII. ARRIVAL AT THE NEW HOME
VIII. THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AND MORE MYSTERIES
IX. MARK DISCOVERS THE GHOST AND FINDS HIM IN A TRYING POSITION
X. A RUNAWAY'S STORY, AND ITS HAPPY ENDING
XI. "THE ELMER MILL AND FERRY COMPANY"
XII. THE GREAT MILL PICNIC
XIII. FIGHTING A FOREST FIRE
XIV. HOW THE BOYS CAUGHT AN ALLIGATOR
XV. A FIRE HUNT, AND MARK'S DISAPPEARANCE
XVI. BURIED IN AN UNDERGROUND RIVER
XVII. TWO LETTERS AND A JOURNEY
XVIII. THE BURNING OF THE "WILDFIRE"
XIX. UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S "GREAT SCHEME"
XX. EDNA MAY MARCH
WAKULLA
CHAPTER I.
PREPARING TO LEAVE THE OLD HOME.
Over and over again had Mark and Ruth Elmer read this paragraph, which
appeared among the "Norton Items" of the weekly paper published in a
neighboring town:
"We are sorry to learn that our esteemed fellow-townsman, Mark Elmer,
Esq., owing to delicate health, feels compelled to remove to a warmer
climate. Having disposed of his property in this place, Mr. Elmer has
purchased a plantation in Florida, upon which he will settle
immediately. As his family accompany him to this new home in the Land
of Flowers, the many school-friends and young playmates of his
interesting children will miss them sadly."
"I tell you what, Ruth," said Mark, after they had read this item for a
dozen times or more, "we are somebodies after all, and don't you forget
it. We own a plantation, we do, and have disposed of our PROPERTY in
this place."
As Mark looked from the horse-block on which he was sitting at the
little weather-beaten house, nestling in the shadow of its glorious
trees, which, with its tiny grass-plot in front, was all the property
Mr. Elmer had ever owned, he flung up his hat in ecstasy at the idea of
their being property owners, and tumbled over backward in trying to
catch it as it fell.
"What I like," said Ruth, who stood quietly beside him, "is the part
about us being interesting children, and to think that the girls and
boys at school will miss us."
"Yes, and won't they open their eyes when we write them letters about
the alligators, and the orange groves, and palm-trees, and bread-fruit,
and monkeys, and Indians, and pirates? Whoop-e-e-e! what fun we are
going to have!"
"Bread-fruit, and monkeys, and pirates, and Indians in Florida! what
are you thinking of, Mark Elmer?"
"Well, I guess 'Osceola the Seminole' lived in Florida, and it's
tropical, and pirates and monkeys are tropical too, ain't they?"
Just then the tea-bell rang, and the children ran in to take the paper
which they had been reading to their father, and to eat their last
supper in the little old house that had always been their home.
Mr. Elmer had, for fifteen years, been cashier of the Norton Bank; and
though his salary was not large, he had, by practising the little
economies of a New England village, supported his family comfortably
until this time, and laid by a sum of money for a rainy day. And now
the "rainy day" had come. For two years past the steady confinement to
his desk had told sadly upon the faithful bank cashier, and the
stooping form, hollow cheeks, and hacking cough could no longer be
disregarded. For a long time good old Dr. Wing had said,
"You must move South, Elmer; you can't stand it up here much longer."
Both Mr. Elmer and his wife knew that this was true; but how could they
move South? where was the money to come from? and how were they to live
if they did? Long and anxious had been the consultations after the
children were tucked into their beds, and many were the prayers for
guidance they had offered up.
At last a way was opened, "and just in time, too," said the doctor,
with a grave shake of his head. Mrs. Elmer's uncle, Christopher Bangs,
whom the children called "Uncle Christmas," heard of their trouble, and
left his saw-mills and lumber camps to come and see "where the jam
was," as he expressed it. When it was all explained to him, his
good-natured face, which had been in a wrinkle of perplexity, lit up,
and with a resounding slap of his great, hard hand on his knee, he
exclaimed,
"Sakes alive! why didn't you send for me, Niece Ellen? why didn't you
tell me all this long ago, eh? I've got a place down in Florida, that I
bought as a speculation just after the war. I hain't never seen it, and
might have forgot it long ago but for the tax bills coming in reg'lar
every year. It's down on the St. Mark's River, pretty nigh the Gulf
coast, and ef you want to go there and farm it, I'll give you a ten
years' lease for the taxes, with a chance to buy at your own rigger
when the ten years is up."
"But won't it cost a great deal to get there, uncle?" asked Mrs. Elmer,
whose face had lighted up as this new hope entered her heart.
"Sakes alive! no; cost nothin'! Why, it's actually what you might call
providential the way things turns out. You can go down, slick as a log
through a chute, in the Nancy Bell, of Bangor, which is fitting out in
that port this blessed minit. She's bound to Pensacola in ballast, or
with just a few notions of hardware sent out as a venture, for a load
of pine lumber to fill out a contract I've taken in New York. She can
run into the St. Mark's and drop you jest as well as not. But you'll
have to pick up and raft your fixin's down to Bangor in a terrible
hurry, for she's going to sail next week, Wednesday, and it's Tuesday
now."
So it was settled that they should go, and the following week was one
of tremendous excitement to the children, who had never been from home
in their lives, and were now to become such famous travellers.
Mark Elmer, Jr., as he wrote his name, was as merry, harum-scarum,
mischief-loving a boy as ever lived. He was fifteen years old, the
leader of the Norton boys in all their games, and the originator of
most of their schemes for mischief. But Mark's mischief was never of a
kind to injure anybody, and he was as honest as the day is long, as
well as loving and loyal to his parents and sister Ruth.
Although a year younger than Mark, Ruth studied the same books that he
did, and was a better scholar. In spite of this she looked up to him in
everything, and regarded him with the greatest admiration. Although
quiet and studious, she had crinkly brown hair, and a merry twinkle in
her eyes that indicated a ready humor and a thorough appreciation of
fun.
It was Monday when Mark and Ruth walked home from the post-office
together, reading the paper, for which they had gone every Monday
evening since they could remember, and they were to leave home and
begin their journey on the following morning.
During the past week Mr. Elmer had resigned his position in the bank,
sold the dear little house which had been a home to him and his wife
ever since they were married, and in which their children had been
born, and with a heavy heart made the preparations for departure.
With the willing aid of kind neighbors Mrs. Elmer had packed what
furniture they were to take with them, and it had been sent to Bangor.
Mark and Ruth had not left school until Friday, and had been made young
lions of all the week by the other children. To all of her girl friends
Ruth had promised to write every single thing that happened, and Mark
had promised so many alligator teeth, and other trophies of the chase,
that, if he kept all his promises, there would be a decided advance in
the value of Florida curiosities that winter.
As the little house was stripped of all its furniture, except some few
things that had been sold with it, they were all to go to Dr. Wing's to
sleep that night, and Mrs. Wing had almost felt hurt that they would
not take tea with her; but both Mr. and Mrs. Elmer wanted to take this
last meal in their own home, and persuaded her to let them have their
way. The good woman must have sent over most of the supper she had
intended them to eat with her, and this, together with the good things
sent in by other neighbors, so loaded the table that Mark declared it
looked like a regular surprise-party supper.
A surprise-party it proved to be, sure enough, for early in the evening
neighbors and friends began to drop in to say good-bye, until the lower
rooms of the little house were filled. As the chairs were all gone,
they sat on trunks, boxes, and on the kitchen table, or stood up.
Mark and Ruth had their own party, too, right in among the grown
people; for most of the boys and girls of the village had come with
their parents to say good-bye, and many of them had brought little
gifts that they urged the young Elmers to take with them as keepsakes.
Of all these none pleased Ruth so much as the album, filled with the
pictures of her school-girl friends, that Edna May brought her.
Edna was the adopted daughter of Captain Bill May, who had brought her
home from one of his voyages when she was a little baby, and placed her
in his wife's arms, saying that she was a bit of flotsam and jetsam
that belonged to him by right of salvage. His ship had been in a
Southern port when a woman, with this child in her arms, had fallen
from a pier into the river. Springing into the water after them,
Captain May had succeeded in saving the child, but the mother was
drowned. As nothing could be learned of its history, and as nobody
claimed it, Captain May brought the baby home, and she was baptized
Edna May. She was now fourteen years old, and Ruth Elmer's most
intimate friend, and the first picture in the album was a good
photograph of herself, taken in Bangor. The others were only tin-types
taken in the neighboring town of Skowhegan; but Ruth thought them all
beautiful.
The next morning was gray and chill, for it was late in November. The
first snow of the season was falling in a hesitating sort of a way, as
though it hardly knew whether to come or not, and it was still quite
dark when Mrs. Wing woke Mark and Ruth, and told them to hurry, for the
stage would be along directly. They were soon dressed and down-stairs,
where they found breakfast smoking on the table. A moment later they
were joined by their parents, neither of whom could eat, so full were
they of the sorrow of departure. The children were also very quiet,
even Mark's high spirits being dampened by thoughts of leaving old
friends, and several tears found their way down Ruth's cheeks during
the meal.
After breakfast they said good-bye to the Wings, and went over to their
own house to pack a few remaining things into hand-bags, and wait for
the Skowhegan stage.
At six o'clock sharp, with a "toot, toot, toot," of the driver's horn,
it rattled up to the gate, followed by a wagon for the baggage. A few
minutes later, with full hearts and tearful eyes, the Elmers had bidden
farewell to the little old house and grand trees they might never see
again, and were on their way down the village street, their long
journey fairly begun.