CASTAWAYS.
THE sun was high in the sky when Charley awoke and aroused his
companions who were still sleeping.
"Too much to do to-day to sleep longer," he declared. "We have got to
find something to eat, and then try to get out of this place. Let's try
the water for food first, and see what we can find.
"We don't want to stray away from each other or get out of hearing of
the surf," he said, as they picked their way over the knee-like roots.
"Out of sound of the sea, a man would lose himself in five minutes in
this uncanny forest. It is too dense to tell directions by the sun and
one would stand a good chance of wandering around until death overtook
him. Only the Seminole Indians can find their way through this horrible
jungle and they have known it for ages."
This little talk had brought them down to the water and they were
surprised at the change a few hours had made. The sea was beautifully
calm. Only a few smooth, gentle rollers remained to tell of the past
storm.
Of the launch nothing remained but a few, broken, splintered planks
drifted up against the trees.
Our little party were too hungry, however, to waste time in idle
regrets. They waded at once out into the water looking for crabs,
oysters, clams, or anything to fill their aching stomachs.
But their search was fruitless. Except for a few bits of water-logged
limbs, the bottom was bare.
"I was afraid we would find nothing," Charley said, when they at last
gave up the search. "The water is too fresh here from the overflow from
the Glades for shell-fish to grow. We will have to depend on the land
for our food until we can get out of this place."
They were turning to retrace their steps to the platform, when Charley
spied a small box wedged in between two cypress knees. He pulled
it out and with hands that trembled with excitement lifted up the
close-fitting cover and gave an exclamation of delight. It was the
little box which had contained the batteries used to run the launch.
Its contents were perfectly dry. Constructed purposely to protect the
cells from spray, it had floated safely in undamaged. Besides the four
dry cells, it contained a few little odds and ends they had placed
there at different times to keep safe and dry. There was a package
of tobacco belonging to the captain, several fish-hooks, some salt
and pepper mixed together in a little paper package, and a few other
trifles of no particular value.
Hugging the box to him like a precious treasure, the lad followed his
companions back to the platform. There, he carefully wedged it in
between a couple of roots so that it could not be overturned. He had
just done this when a startled cry from Walter sent him hurrying to his
side.
He found his chum in the act of killing a huge snake upon which he had
nearly stepped. It was a repulsive-looking creature, stumpy and bloated
in appearance and nearly as big around as a man's leg.
"It's a moccasin," Charley said. "We will have to watch out for them.
I expect there are lots of them around here. There's enough poison in
that fellow's sac to kill a full-grown elephant."
"I don't know as it would be much worse to die of snake-bite than to
die of hunger," Walter remarked, gloomily, "and there seems to be
nothing fit to eat in this awful place."
"There are few places in this world where man cannot find food to
eat, if he uses his wits," his chum replied. "God has provided food,
everywhere, but has left it to man's intelligence to discover and make
use of it."
"We have a hook and line, perhaps we could catch a fish," Captain
Westfield suggested, hopefully.
"No bait," Charley said, briefly.
He sat plunged in thought while his companions looked around for
something with which to bait the hook.
"Here's plenty of bait," Walter called. "Here's a whole colony of
frogs--big ones, too."
Charley hurried to his side. His chum was peering under a great root
where were sprawled several, big, long-legged frogs.
"What idiots we are," Charley grinned, as he dispatched one with a
stick. "These are more than bait. They are the finest kind of food.
Why, their legs are worth a dollar a pound in the New York market. Here
was plenty of food right to our hand and we did not have sense enough
to know it. Why, they were advertizing themselves all night long by
their croaking."
The captain and Chris joined in the slaughter and in a short time forty
frogs had fallen victims to the sticks.
"We are not likely to starve right away," Charley remarked, as they cut
off and removed the skin from the legs. "There are certainly plenty
more where these came from."
"But how is we goin' to cook 'em widout no fire? Massa Chas?" demanded
Chris.
Walter and the captain gazed at him in dismay. In their pleasure at
the prospect of food they had never thought of the lack of fire. Their
matches were spoiled and useless. They had no steel and flint. They
did not even have a bit of glass with which to focus the rays of the
sun.
Charley viewed their dismayed faces with a twinkle in his eyes.
"If you will take a couple of those frogs legs and see if you can catch
some fish, Chris, I will see to the fire," he said.
Selecting a great root that was slightly hollowed on top, he built up
a little heap of dry twigs, moss, and bits of bark, of which the trees
around them offered an unlimited supply. Then he brought out from its
resting place the box of batteries. Holding the ends of the wires down
in the little heap of tinder, he rubbed them together. Sparks flew out
on the bark and moss as the wires contacted and in a few seconds the
heap was aflame. It only remained to put a few dry sticks on the blaze
and the fire was ready for the cooking. Small branches sharpened at the
end served for spits and in a few minutes a score of frogs legs were
roasting over the coals.
The odor wafted on the air brought Chris hurrying from his fishing. His
hunger had overcome his patience. He did not come quite empty-handed,
however, but dragged along with him two slender-bodied, long-snouted
fish fully four feet in length, covered with armor-like scales.
"Dem things is all I could catch, Massa Chas," he said, ruefully. "I
don't reckon dey's any good?"
"Those are gars," Charley announced. "There are better-flavored fish,
still, they are not to be despised. They will go well with the frogs
legs for dinner."
His method of cooking them was simple. He removed the entrails, washed
them out carefully, and buried them amongst the coals. While the legs
and gars were cooking, he dispatched Chris down to the shore again to
find some bits of the yacht's planking to serve as plates. By the time
the little darkey returned laden with bits of boards, the repast was
ready. The gars were raked out on a plank, and their scale-armored skin
stripped off, leaving the flesh white as snow, juicy and tender.
The four attacked the savory fish and delicious frogs legs with the
appetites of wolves for they had eaten nothing for a day and night.
When they had finished, the world did not seem so dark and gloomy.
Things had taken on a rosier tinge.
"It is past noon already, I believe," Charley said, as they rested a
bit on the little platform after their hearty meal. "I don't believe
it will pay us to start out to-day. I think we had better wait until
to-morrow and get back our strength a bit, for we have got a tough
journey ahead of us."
His companions quickly agreed, for they still felt weak from exposure,
thirst, worry, and lack of food. This being settled, all busied
themselves in making things more comfortable for the night, and in
making what simple preparations they could for to-morrow's journey.
More branches were gathered and their little platform enlarged. There
was plenty of long, soft, Spanish moss growing on the branches above
their heads. It was far out of their reach and they could only look at
it longingly until Walter hit upon the expedient of throwing their rope
up over a limb and shinning up it like a monkey. He flung down great
bunches of the soft, hair-like stuff which the captain spread out on
their platform, transposing it into a soft springy couch.
While Walter and the captain were thus occupied, the other two busied
themselves in securing and preparing a store of food for the journey.
Fully fifty more frogs and three more gars were caught and roasted.
Each of the little party wore a large bandanna handkerchief around
their necks and these Charley collected, washed thoroughly, and spread
out on a root to dry. They were the only things he could think of in
which to carry the food they had prepared.
It was dark when these preparations were completed, and they heaped
fresh wood upon the fire and stretched out on their platform for a
good night's rest once more.
"I expect they think at Clearwater that we are all dead," said Charley,
as they lay gazing into the glowing embers of their fire.
"And Hunter is doubtless hugging himself with joy over the success of
his trick," Walter added, grimly. "He didn't cause our death but he
came very near it. I seldom wish any one ill, but he is one man I would
like to see punished for the evil he has done."
"He will be," the captain said, with certainty. "The Lord will attend
to that. If not in this world, then in the world to come."
"Well, he has succeeded in putting us back where we started," Charley
remarked, "and he is left free to carry on his smuggling and liquor
selling as he pleases."
"Unless Chris' ghost scares him off," Walter said. "Have you ever
formed any theory about it and about the doctor's mysterious visit,
Charley?"
"Not a theory," his chum replied. "They are just mysteries I cannot
account for in any way. Of course the explanation is simple--if we only
knew it--it always is in these mysteries."
The soft couch and the cozy warmth of the fire soon caused conversation
to lag and yawns take the place of speech.
Before they composed themselves for slumber, however, the captain
offered up a heartfelt prayer, thanking the Lord for their deliverance
from danger, and asking for His watchful care to attend them ever.
This simple act of devotion over, all sought the slumber their tired
bodies craved.