JUDSON.[A]
BY noon the two lads estimated that they must have come at least twenty
miles from where they had left the captain and Chris, and, if the old
sailor had been right in his reckoning, they could not be far from
their objective point, the town of Judson. They began now to keep a
sharp watch ahead and ere long were rewarded by the sight of a low
black line projecting out from the marsh ahead. A closer approach
resolved the low black line into a long, shaky, decrepit wharf, its
piling rotting from age and neglect and its timbers and planking fast
falling into decay. On the mainland back of the marsh a few rude
cabins, each at least a half a mile distant from its nearest neighbor,
rose from the middles of wide neglected fields. One lone, aged sloop
rode at anchor near the wharf. The little port and the hamlet itself
seemed to wear an air of deadly decay, sadness and gloom.
"Not a very cheerful or prosperous-looking place," Charley observed as
they clambered up on the wharf and made their way ashore over its shaky
timbers.
"No," his chum agreed, "but I am thankful to reach it, poor as it is.
My feet are getting sore from tramping over these rocks, I can tell
you."
At the shore end of the dock the two paused long enough to take a more
careful survey of the place.
"I declare it looks as though it was deserted or all the inhabitants
dead," Walter said nervously, "See how the roads are all grown up with
weeds as though they were never used. There is no sign of anyone about
either."
"Just notice those cabins," his chum exclaimed, "They look just
like the pictures I have seen of houses the first settlers used to
build during the Indian times. They are built of great logs and have
loopholes like the forts of those days. What a queer place!"
"Well, there's smoke coming from the chimney of that nearest cabin, and
there seems to be someone working out in the field by it," said Walter
with a sigh of relief. "I was beginning to think it was an abandoned
village."
The two bent their steps towards the cabin indicated. It was set in
a square clearing of about twenty acres, that was surrounded by a
strip of pine woods which separated it from its nearest neighbor. As
they drew nearer, they could see a man at work near the cabin. He was
ploughing up the ground with a rude plow hitched to a yoke of oxen.
As the boys stepped out of the road into the clearing, they were
greeted by savage barks, and a pack of dogs lolling around the cabin
woke into sudden life and came tearing towards them.
The man at the plough let go the handles and sprang into the cabin. The
next minute a rifle barrel protruded from one of the loopholes, "Halt
right where you-all is," called a voice from behind the rifle.
"Call off your dogs," shouted Charley, as he and Walter, snatching up a
couple of sticks, endeavored to keep the growling, snapping curs at bay.
"Who are you-alls an' what do you want?" demanded the holder of the
rifle.
"We were shipwrecked twenty-five miles up the coast. We want supplies
and help to bring in two companions, one of whom is badly hurt,"
answered Charley.
"Come closer an' let me have a good look at you-all," commanded the
cabin's occupant, "Here yu Bet, yu Tige, yu Jim, be still thar," he
called to the snarling pack which slunk growling away at his harsh
commands.
The boys drew near the cabin in obedience to his order. A brief survey
of them seemed to convince its owner that they were not what he feared.
The cabin door was flung open, and, rifle in hand, he appeared in the
doorway.
"Come in you-alls an' have a cheer," he invited. "I'll jis' unhitch
them oxen an' then, while I'm rustling up a bit of supper, you-alls can
give me your story."
The tired, hungry boys accepted his invitation with alacrity, and,
while he was busy unharnessing the yoke of steers, they seated
themselves in a couple of rude home-made chairs, and gazed curiously
about them.
The cabin was about twenty feet square. Its rough log walls were
whitewashed, and its pine-slab floor spotlessly clean. At one end
was a big old-fashioned fireplace from the rafters above which hung
home-cured hams, slabs of bacon, and strings of sausages. A barrel
in a corner was heaped high with huge, sweet, sugary yams. Several
boxes beside it were heaped with onions, cabbages, carrots, pumpkins,
and other vegetables. In another corner stood a barrel of home-ground
corn meal and a big hogshead of water. Taken all in all, the little
cabin's interior was a sight to fill the two hungry lads with satisfied
anticipation. They had hardly completed their survey of it when their
strange host entered latching and bolting the heavy door behind him.
He was a man about forty years of age, strongly built, but sallow
with the sallowness of the native Floridian. His face was kindly in
expression but stamped on its every line was a look of uneasiness and
apprehension. It was not an expression of fear but rather the look of
a brave man who was simply on his guard every moment against expected
dangers.
"I sho' have got to ask you-all to excuse me fur the way I dun greeted
you," he apologized, "but, you see, strangers are mighty scarse around
hyar an' one has to be plum' careful. I'se powerful glad to see a new
face though--it's been mighty nigh two years since I had talk with a
stranger. I reckon, you-alls must be some hungry. I'll rustle up a
little supper while you-all gives me your tale."
With a deftness that indicated long batching experience, he cut great
slices of ham and placed them to broil over the coals, mixed a pone
of corn bread and put it to bake in a Dutch oven, and buried a dozen
big yams to roast among the embers. While he was thus engaged, Charley
related the story of their voyage and shipwreck omitting only any
mention of the gold. His story was frequently interrupted by his host's
exclamations, "I swan, an' dew tell." When the lad had finished, the
stranger beamed upon him with evident pleasure. "I swan, hit's jis'
like a novel I read once," he declared, "hit was writ by a fellow
called Russell, Clark Russell, if I don't disremember his name. I don't
reckon his story was true though. I 'lows he just made it up outer his
head--but the vittals is ready now, you-alls jis' back up to the table
thar an' helps yourselves."
The hungry boys needed no second invitation but fell to work on the
tender juicy ham and sugary yams with hearty appetites while their host
as he ate, watched them with evident pleasure at their enjoyment. When
all had finished, he put away the dishes, filled his corn-cob pipe, and
leaned back in his chair against the wall.
"You-alls can't go back to whar yu left the captain an' the little
nigger to-night, noways," he observed.
"No," Charley agreed, "but we would like to start back early in the
morning if we can get a wagon or a boat."
"Thar ain't no fitten road for a wagon leading up the coast," observed
their host. "I owns that little sloop anchored down thar by the dock. I
reckon, you-alls could make out with her. I don't reckon them Wrights
would stop you-alls from going if they understood jis' how things
stood. I don't 'low they would be so pesky pisen mean as all that.
I'd like to go with you-alls an' see that ole captain an' that little
nigger, I sho' would."
"We would like to have you go with us," said Walter, eagerly. "Why
can't you?"
"'Cause I don't ever expect to leave this hyar cabin alive," said his
host, calmly.
The boys stared at him in uneasy astonishment.
"No, I ain't crazy," said the man quietly. "Hush, jis' lis'en' a bit."
A long prolonged growl came from one of the dogs outside. The man arose
and taking up his rifle stepped over to the loophole beckoning to the
lads to follow. The moon lit up the little clearing almost as light as
day. The dogs were moving around outside, sniffing and uttering low
growls.
The boys could see nothing unusual in the clearing but they felt a
sense of danger in the very air. Their host's eyes, more accustomed to
the surroundings than their own, evidently detected something ominous
in one of the shadows thrown out from the belt of pines. He thrust
the barrel of his rifle out through the loophole and the next instant
its sharp crack rent the stillness of the night. The lurking shadow
vanished amongst the pines with a whoop of defiance.
Their host pulled in his rifle, "A plum' miss," he said, disgustedly,
"Wall, the war is on for fair now. Better outen that light an' draw
your cheers up by the fire an' I'll tell you'alls about hit."
FOOTNOTE:
[A] This account of Judson is the description of a little West Florida
town as it actually has been, and is to-day. Nineteen of its scanty
population have died by a fierce war. The author has only changed the
first letter of the town's real name.