As the first gray light of morning struggled through the mist still
enveloping the marsh, Ted started up and looked about him. His attention
was at once attracted to a white sand-hill crane fully five feet in
height standing on a point of the little island about fifty yards
distant.
Seizing his long stick, the boy crept toward the fowl behind the screen
offered by the cassina bushes. He hoped to knock it down, thinking that
even the fishy flesh of a crane would be found palatable by two
half-starved boys. But the wary bird spread wide its wings and flew away
in the mist long before Ted was near enough to use his weapon. He smiled
faintly as he faced his failure, calling to mind the story told him when
a very little boy that he could catch any bird in existence if he could
get near enough to put salt on its tail. He remembered at least one
unsuccessful attempt to catch a mocking-bird by such means, before he
appreciated the joke, and reflected that it would be about as easy to
salt a crane's tail as to creep up near enough to knock it down with a
stick.
Both Ted and Hubert found themselves suffering with sore throat and
their limbs were numb and cold; but they felt more or less rested and
their hunger was less sharp than on the night before. On the whole, they
felt better, and were eager to go forward in the hope of improving their
condition. Ted said that if they could see the island they had left the
day before, he would favor going straight back there; but that if they
attempted to return in the fog, there were a thousand chances to one
that they would go astray, and he therefore thought that they had better
take the risk of pushing forward. Hubert agreed, preferring to leave the
decision to his more experienced cousin in any case.
So they struggled through the "trembling" and breaking "earth"
surrounding the little island, got their log afloat, pushed it out into
the little stream, and swam with the slow current as on the day before.
Although their exertions soon began to tell on them, weakened for lack
of food as they were, they pushed forward heroically for hours, landing
to rest two or three times on the dreary and inhospitable "houses."
Toward mid-afternoon, while swimming with one arm over the rear end of
the log, Hubert's feet became entangled in the rushes; and, losing his
hold on the log, he was drawn beneath the water just as a faint cry
escaped him. Ted looked back in time to see him go down, and, swimming
to his aid, succeeded in extricating him after he had swallowed several
gulps of water and was partially strangled.
Meanwhile the log had floated with the current and lodged among the
"bonnets" nearly two hundred yards down stream. This distance Ted was
obliged to swim without artificial aid, meanwhile supporting Hubert, who
was almost helpless. The last few yards was the scene of a desperate
struggle to keep above water until the log could be grasped.
After resting on their log until somewhat revived, they painfully made
their way to the nearest "house," realizing that they could travel no
further that day. Indeed, Ted secretly feared that they might never be
able to leave the island without help, so feverish and exhausted had
both he and Hubert become. The first thing he did after landing and
resting, therefore, was to tie his handkerchief to one end of his long
stick and thrust the other end into the soft ground in an open spot,
hoping thus to attract the attention of any boat that might pass the
neighborhood.
That night was even more trying and uncomfortable than the preceding.
They were again unable to start a fire, and lay down as before on
cypress bark and damp moss, the hunger that gnawed them becoming more
and more hard to endure. Though he made a brave effort, Ted found
himself unable to appear to be as cheerfully optimistic as on the night
before. In his feverishness and misery words often failed him, but he
unselfishly maintained an attitude of tenderness and sympathy toward
Hubert whose lachrymal ducts knew no restraint and discharged their
entire store of tears.
"Never mind, we'll get out of this to-morrow," promised Ted in his
gentlest voice, over and over; but, struggle as he might, there was lack
of genuine hopefulness in his tone.
The morning of the third day dawned bright and clear. Not a vestige of
the fog was to be seen anywhere on the great marsh. Although now really
ill, their heads throbbing with fever and pain, the boys felt cheered by
this change. In every direction except one they were unable to see
anything but an expanse of marsh dotted with "houses"; but in that one
direction they clearly discerned, not more than two or three miles away,
a wall of green pines, indicating either the mainland or a large island.
With great satisfaction they noted also that the intervening marsh,
though covered with water at points, was not of a character to
necessitate swimming.
Hopeful once more, they started eagerly toward the green wall of pines,
soon finding, however, that it was no easy matter to cross this portion
of the marsh, scantily covered with water though it was. Much of it was
treacherous quagmire, and the boys sometimes sank down suddenly in the
mud to their armpits. Once Hubert sank up to his neck, and nothing but
his long stick saved him. They had left their log behind, but
fortunately carried their long poles.
It was near noon when they at length reached the high land where the
pine trees grew. After plunging into a neighboring pool of
comparatively clear water in order to wash the mud and slime from their
bodies and clothing, the boys climbed wearily up the slope and lay down
in the warm sunshine, shading their faces with palmetto leaves. Here
they rested several hours, for the most part in troubled, feverish
slumber.
Rousing himself at last, Ted coaxed Hubert to his feet, and again they
pushed forward wearily. The vegetation of the island, if island it were,
was found to be unusually dense and wild. After gaining the crest of the
slope, where, on the other islands, a comparatively open pine ridge was
usually found, they were confronted by the brambles of the jungle and
immense thickets of blackjack or scrub-oak. An hour later they emerged
upon an open pine barren, where the underbrush consisted chiefly of
tyty, hemleaf and fan-palmetto. Here progress was easier, but now Hubert
fell rather than sat upon the grass, declaring that he could go no
further.
"I feel as if my head would burst," he said, staring about him stupidly.
After trying in vain to encourage him to further effort, Ted, who really
felt no better, decided to push on alone.
"You stay here and rest, Hu," he said, "while I look around for a good
place to camp. The matches are dry now and I think we can have a fire
to-night."
It was now late in the afternoon and Ted realized that he must exert
himself. Pushing forward, he chanced upon something like a trail,
followed it for nearly a mile, and, just as the sun sank out of sight,
he stole guardedly through an oak thicket, halted on its borders, and
looked into an open space where a camp fire burned.
Everywhere in the little clearing there were evidences of a long
sojourn. The stumps of several trees showed that the felling had been
done months, perhaps a year or more, before. Curing hides hung against
the trees; tools and cooking utensils lay about on the grass. A pot
swung over the fire from a tripod of three long sticks, and in it there
evidently simmered a savory stew. No dog was aroused by Ted's approach,
and the boy looked long, without interruption, at everything, including
the sole occupant of the clearing, an old man with a long white beard
who sat on the ground near the fire, his back to the observer. Ted
turned quietly, retraced his steps through the thicket, and hurried back
over the trail.
"Oh, Hubert," he cried, as soon as he was within speaking distance,
"I've found a camp and an old man cooking supper!"
But the younger boy merely looked up stupidly and spoke of his aching
head. Resolutely employing all his remaining strength, Ted lifted Hubert
to his feet, and, with his arm around him, coaxing and dragging, he
forced him slowly along the trail toward the stranger's camp. Arrived
within the fire-lighted circle just after night had fallen, he allowed
Hubert to collapse upon the grass, and then, holding out appealing
hands, he cried:
"Help us--please help us!"
The old man started up in amazement and, judging from the expression of
his face, even alarm. He appeared not to have heard the approaching
footsteps because of deafness, and now seemed to expect a further
invasion of the privacy of his camp.
"Who're you?" he asked in a bewildered way. "Whur in the dickance did
you boys come from?"
Ted did not answer. His remaining strength failed him, and he dropped
upon the grass by Hubert's side, but his eyes still appealed.
"Are you sick?"
"Starving," answered Ted, hardly above a whisper.
A wave of compassion swept over the old man. He almost leaped to the
fire; and, quickly dipping something from the pot into a tin cup, he
blew his breath upon it several times in order to cool it, then hurried
back to the prostrate boys, knelt beside them, and offered the cup to
Ted. But the boy gently pushed it away and motioned toward his cousin,
indicating that Hubert was in the greater need and should be attended to
first.
Having partaken of the nourishment which presently was offered him in
turn, Ted fell asleep, or fainted--he could not afterward tell
which--and there followed a blank. When he again opened his eyes and
looked about him, he lay on a bed of moss covered with blankets in what
was evidently a log cabin of one large room. In a few moments the door,
which stood ajar, was thrown wide, and the old man of the long white
beard entered the room, a cheerful expression appearing on his kindly
face as he met the boy's eye.
"You feel better now, I reckon," he said, seating himself on a pile of
moss near Ted's bed.
"Where am I?" The boy's voice was weak but eager.
"In my house," was the reassuring reply. "You've been pretty bad
off--sort o' wanderin' in yer mind. But you're all right now."
"Where's Hubert?" The boy's voice was now stronger, but indicated
anxiety.
"He's outside. He got up and went out this mornin'. He's all right. He
had fever from cold and exposure, but you was the sickest of the two.
You've been on a harder strain, I reckon."
"How long have I been here?"
"Three days. I was afraid it was goin' to be typhoid, but it was jes' a
nervous fever from starvation and so much exposure. It was mighty high,
though, for a while. T'other boy tole me how you-all's been lost and
a-wanderin' in the swamp. You boys sure has seen sights."
"Are we out of the swamp at last?" asked Ted eagerly.
"Not by a long jump. You're on Blackjack, one o' the biggest islands."
Noting the boy's sigh of disappointment, the old man added: "But don't
worry. You lay quiet till to-morrow, and then I'll tell you more about
it, and show you the way out o' the swamp."
"Oh, thank you. You are very kind."
With such a prospect in view, it would be easy to lie quiet until the
morrow, it being now late in the afternoon. Ted wanted to ask many
questions, but he submitted when his host bade him be quiet and
withdrew. A few minutes later Hubert entered, with a smile on his face,
and the boys congratulated each other.
"I think we are safe at last," said Ted, relaxing on his bed and
beginning really to rest.
"Yes, I think we are," said Hubert. "That Mr. George Smith is very kind,
though he is a queer old duck. He looks just like a ram-goat with that
long beard running down into a point. He's been camping and trapping
here for years. I was afraid to tell him that we had been kept prisoners
on Deserters' Island. I haven't said a thing about the slackers."
"Perhaps that was just as well," said Ted, dreamily, and soon fell
asleep.
An hour or more later his eyes filled with tears of gratitude as his
elderly host brought in a delicious quail stew for his supper.
"To-morrow," the old man promised, "I'll show you how I shoots them
partridges."
Ted knew that he should have said quail instead of partridges, but was
too polite to correct him.
"Do you think we could start out to-morrow?" asked the boy, after he had
eaten and thanked his host.
"Better wait a little longer. It'll be a long pull and you ought to be
rested up," advised the old man. "Hubert says you want to git to Judge
Ridgway's. I know where that is. We kin boat it a piece o' the way and
then tramp it till I put you on the trail. You strike the trail on a big
peninsula runnin' in the swamp. Then all you got to do is to follow that
trail about ten miles till you git to your uncle's neighborhood."
All Ted's anxieties dropped from him as he listened. Home had not seemed
so near since the day he and Hubert were lost in the swamp, and when he
fell asleep he dreamed that he was actually there.