THE CASTAWAYS.
IT was lucky for the captain that he was wise to the resources of the
Florida coast. A stranger to the country would not have known where to
look for food and would likely have soon perished of hunger. Although
he had no other weapon than his sheath knife, he went about his task
with the air of a man who was confident of success. Before leaving the
island, he cut a long, straight cypress pole and sharpened one end to
a keen point. With this in his hand, he made his way down to the Gulf.
The tide was high again but there was a mass of rock some two hundred
feet from shore which protruded a couple of feet above the water.
Removing his shoes, he waded cautiously out, prodding the bottom before
him with his pole and picking his way carefully to avoid stepping on a
stingaree.
The rock reached, he perched himself on its edge and sat peeping down
into the water which was clear as crystal. He had not long to wait. In
a few minutes a fish swam slowly past close to the rock, and, taking
careful aim, the old sailor dove his rude spear down with all his
force. Its point struck just behind the fish's head, passing entirely
through its body. It died without a struggle, and the captain lifted it
out upon the rock with a shout of triumph. It was a beautifully-specked
sea trout about three feet in length and weighed at least twelve
pounds. Although there was plenty of other fish within sight, the
trout was enough for their present needs and, scaling and washing it
carefully, the captain waded ashore with his prize. But he was not yet
quite satisfied. Laying his fish down upon a bunch of clean sea moss,
he examined carefully the muddy beach near the water's edge. Here and
there, tiny jets of water squirted up from the mud, and, where they
seemed to be most numerous, he began to dig. In a few minutes he had
unearthed a couple of dozen large clams. With these and the fish, and a
huge armful of moist sea moss in his arms, he made his way back to camp
where Chris was eagerly awaiting his return.
"I sho' wish I could get up from hyah," mourned the little negro.
"Golly! I reckon, I'd show you how to cook dat fish so dat you nebber
could eat nuff ob hit."
"You jes' lie still thar," commanded the captain. "I'm a Cape Cod man,
an' thar ain't any cook living that can show a Cape Cod man how to cook
this kind of grub. You just watch and learn somethin'."
Chris watched him with professional jealousy and interest. He
firmly believed that no one on earth could cook as good as he but
he reluctantly admitted to himself that the old sailor made his
preparations with considerable promise of success.
First, he scooped out a hole in the ground about three feet deep and
two feet square and kindled a small fire in the bottom upon which he
placed a layer of small rocks, as soon as it was going good, then, he
paused to remark regretfully,
"I wish we had some potatoes. I never heard of a clam bake yet without
potatoes."
"Dar's something jes' as good as 'taters," declared Chris, pointing to
a low-growing plant. "Jes' you dig up some ob dem roots an' try 'em.
Hit's wild cassava, an' hit taste jes' like Irish 'taters."
The captain dug down with his sheath knife and unearthed several tubers
a couple of feet in length and about three inches in circumference. He
regarded them dubiously, but, on Chris' repeated assurances that they
were good and wholesome, he cut off several pieces and washed them
carefully. By the time this was done, the fire in the pit had burned
low, and the stones were smoking hot. Cutting several broad, green,
palmetto leaves, he laid them on the stones and spread over them a thin
layer of the moist sea moss. Upon the moss he laid the fish and over it
spread another layer of moss upon which he placed the clams, covering
them with more moss, upon which he placed the cassava, and, piling a
thick layer of sea grass over the whole, built a small fire on top of
it. Then he sat down and watched the fire while he and Chris waited
hungrily the slow cooking of their meal. At last, the captain declared
that it must be done. The fire on top was raked away, the contents of
the pit were taken out and placed upon green, clean palmetto leaves,
and the two castaways fell-to with appetites sharpened by their long
wait. And what a feast it was,--the clams cooked to perfection in their
own juice, the fish juicy and delicious, the cassava snow-white and
mealy and all rendered doubly delicious by the salt spicy taste of the
seaweed in which they had been cooked. And what a joy it was to feel
that the worst of their troubles were over. Chris getting better, the
boys soon to be back with help, all the worry and anxiety they had
suffered past, the next few days to see them all safely back in Tarpon,
where they would all wait in comfort and safety, ready to claim their
ship when the Greeks brought her in, and, after that, they would return
for the gold and with it they would secure the many things they had
longed for all their lives.
Surely the prospect was bright enough to make the two lonely castaways
chatter brightly, cheerfully, and hopefully over their evening meal.
They could not see the dangers, worries, and misfortunes yet to befall
them, and it was well they could not for it would have robbed the two
of the happiest hour they had had in many days.
At last, the feast was over and Chris had paid the cook the highest
compliment of which he could conceive.
"Golly! Massa Capt., you cooked dem tings might nigh as good as I could
have done."
Although there were many things which the captain wished to do,
darkness was fast coming on and he had to complete his final
preparations for the night. First, he cut a lot of small boughs which
he piled up under the shelter close to Chris to serve as his own bed.
This done, he gathered piles of wood which he spread in a circle around
the big cedar and set on fire to protect them both from chance visits
of snakes during the night. By the time this was finished, it was dark
and he crept in under the shelter close to his dusky little companion
in misfortune, and, after a short, simple prayer full of thankfulness
for their deliverance from the dangers that had threatened them, he
quickly fell into the deep sleep of total exhaustion. But sleep did not
come so readily to Chris. He had slept, or been unconscious, much of
the time since his accident and the stimulating effect of the palmetto
medicine helped to drive slumber away from him. He lay very quiet to
avoid disturbing the old sailor's rest, but, try as he would, he could
not get to sleep. At last he gave up the attempt and lay with eyes
wide open looking out at the stars and the twinkling camp-fires. From
the marsh about came strange noises of the night, the croaking of
multitudes of frogs, the cackle of marsh hens, the squawking of cranes,
and the rustling of the marsh grass in the wind. Slowly the circle of
fire died down, smouldered and went out. Only the big main camp-fire
was left a glowing mass of embers.
Suddenly the wakeful little negro's ears caught another sound mingled
with the voices of the night,--a slow, heavy, creeping noise. For a
time he lay quiet listening, his hearing strained to the utmost to
catch the new strange sound. He waited until there was no doubt that it
was close at hand and steadily drawing nearer, then, he reached over
and shook his snoring companion.
"Wake up, Massa Captain," he cried, "dar's some wild beast a creepin'
into de camp."
"I hear it," agreed the captain, instantly wide awake. "Jes' lay still,
lad, an' don't be frightened. I'll stir up the fire a bit, that will
run it off."
He arose from his couch and strode boldly for the smouldering fire.
"Look out!" Chris yelled, suddenly, "Foah de Lawd's sake, look out!"
His keen eyes had caught a glimpse of a black shape passing between the
old sailor and the mass of glowing embers, but his warning came too
late,--the captain was upon the moving shape before he saw it.
A swishing noise rent the air, a loud thud, the old sailor was knocked
backward several feet flat on the ground, and, with a loud, sharp
bellowing, the mysterious visitor glided away into the darkness.
"Is you hurt? Is you hurt, Massa Cap?" cried the terror-stricken lad.
"A little bit, a little bit," called back the old sailor, his voice
hoarse with pain.
He came creeping back into the shelter on hands and knees.
"It was a big bull alligator," he explained, painfully. "Must have been
twelve feet long. It caught me a fearful blow on the legs with its
tail. I hope thar ain't no bones broken but it feels as though thar
was."
A close examination proved his fears groundless, but the terrible blow
had done all but break the bones. In spite of the pain, however, he
crawled forth again and replenished the fire, but he was faint and
giddy with pain before he succeeded in getting back into the shelter
and stretched out on his couch once more.
"I reckon, I'll be all right by morning," he said, hopefully, "but I
don't calculate I'll be able to sleep any more to-night, my legs hurt
too bad for that. Don't make any difference though, I 'low I've had
enough sleep for one night--it can't be more than a couple of hours
'till daylight."
It proved to be even less and with the coming of light he removed his
trousers and examined his limbs anxiously. He had indeed received a
terrible blow from the prowling monster, both legs were bruised and
swollen where the tail had struck it and it seemed a miracle that the
bones had not been broken. It caused him exquisite pain to rise upon
his feet, but there was work which had to be done, and, in spite of his
suffering, he must do it. So, hiding his pain as well as he could, he
prepared to sally forth to secure food for the day.
But in spite of all his efforts he could not entirely hide his intense
suffering.
"You jes' lay down an' let me go out an' find grub, Massa Cap," Chris
pleaded. "I feels jes' as well as can be again now."
But the sturdy old sailor would not listen to his pleadings.