HOMEWARD BOUND.
WALTER awoke just as dawn was lighting up the floating forest, and he
immediately awakened his companions.
Breakfast was made off the frog legs and gar fish and as soon as it was
finished, they took up their journey for Clearwater.
Charley took the lead, bearing the box with its precious batteries, and
the others followed carrying the handkerchiefs of food.
They soon found that it was going to be hard, slow traveling.
They could only make slow progress picking their way between the
dense-growing trees and over the slippery roots. Every few paces they
would have to stop and listen to make sure from the sound of the sea,
that they were traveling in the right direction. At noon when they
stopped to eat lunch, they estimated that they had covered but three
miles. But the slowness was not the worst feature of their march,
every step had to be made with watchful care. Never in all their
Florida experiences had they seen so many snakes. Many were harmless,
brightly-colored, water snakes, which wriggled at their approach, but
besides these, there were dozens of moccasins sunning themselves on the
roots,--great, sullen, sluggish reptiles they were, many being as big
around as a man's leg. They would not move from the places where they
lay and our little party had to pick their way carefully around each,
for to be bitten by one would mean a horrible, agonizing death. To add
to their troubles, they were constantly slipping and falling on the
slippery roots, bruising and hurting themselves.
"I hope it isn't much further till we come to the end of these
cypresses," Charley said, as they nibbled at their lunch. "This kind of
going is dangerous. We are liable to break an arm or leg before we get
out of here."
"Massa Chas," Chris observed, "why don't we-alls take to de water? Hit
would sho' be a heap easier an' we wouldn't be runnin' on dem pesky
snakes all de time."
"Somebody kick me," Charley cried, sheepishly. "Of all the big fools in
this state, we are the biggest. Here we have been wearing ourselves out
over these pesky roots when we might have been wading comfortably along
in the edge of the surf."
Until Chris had spoken, they had none of them thought of so simple a
solution of their difficulty. Being on shore, it had been the natural
thing for them to try to make their way on shore.
No time was lost in following the little negro's suggestion. As already
stated, there was no beach, the gulf meeting the forest, but the water
along the edge of trees was not much over a foot in depth and the
bottom was of hard sand. Their progress was now more rapid and free
from the danger of snakes, but, much to their surprise, they found it
much more tiring than the route over the roots. Only those who have
tried walking in water for a distance, can realize the strain on the
leg muscles.
By the middle of the afternoon, they were thoroughly tired out and
Charley called a halt.
"We had better make camp," he said. "We don't want to wear ourselves
out the first day, and besides, it will take us some time to build a
platform and get ready for the night."
Accordingly, they made their way back among the cypress and fell to
work. A platform was built and well bedded with moss and a good fire
started for the night.
For their supper, they only swallowed a few mouthfuls of their
provisions. Truth to tell, the fish and frogs legs were beginning to
pall on their appetites.
"I wish there was some game in this uncanny forest," Walter observed.
"This stuff does not taste as good as it did. I believe, there is truth
in that old statement that a man cannot eat a quail a day for thirty
days."
"This forest is alive with game," Charley declared. "It's here even
if we don't see it. Of course, there are no deer or bear for they
avoid these watery places, but there are plenty of coons, wild cats,
panthers, possums, and such things. I'll bet, there are at least a
dozen animals watching our camp-fire right now and puzzling over it.
Oh, there's plenty of game. The difficulty is to get it without guns or
traps. I have been studying how to get some of it, and I think I have
got an idea that may work."
It still lacked some time before dark, and Charley immediately began
to carry out his idea. It was absurdly simple. Returning to the gulf's
edge, a short search discovered several short, heavy pieces of timber
drifted up among the trees. These they lugged back a ways from shore.
Each timber was laid upon as flat a surface of roots as they could
find. One end was then raised up a couple of feet and supported on a
stick. To the stick they tied a couple of frogs legs and some of the
bones from the gars.
"It's rather a primitive method of trapping but it may work," Charley
observed. "The idea is that the animal pulling away at the bait will
dislodge the stick and be crushed by the falling timber. Many animals,
though, are too cunning to be tempted under such a dangerous-looking
log, and others are quick enough to dodge its fall."
It was now nearly dark and our little party hurried back to their
platform and fire for they had no desire to move about amongst the
roots and snakes after night.
They were sleeping soundly when a succession of ear-splitting shrieks
roused them into frightened wakefulness. It sounded like a woman crying
out in mortal agony, but they had heard the sound before in their
travels and knew it for a panther's screams. The animal was evidently
close to them and they hastened to throw fresh fuel upon the dwindling
fire. As the flames shot up the screaming ceased and the crashing of
boughs told them of the hurried departure of the midnight prowler. As
soon as the sounds died away, they stretched out to sleep once more
knowing that they were in no danger so close to the fire.
Their first act on awakening in the morning was to look at the traps.
They had set five altogether and every one had been sprung. The first
two had caught nothing in their fall. Pinioned under the third, they
found a large, fat possum, the fourth held a snarling coon by one leg,
while the fifth and last, was empty but splattered with blood and hair.
"Here's where Mr. Panther got himself a feed," Charley observed. "There
was a coon, or possum under this log until he came along and made his
supper. I'll bet, he's chuckling to himself right now over the easy
meat."
The coon and possum were skinned at once and roasted on sticks over the
coals. None of them ate much of the coon--its meat tasted somewhat like
young pork but was rather too fat and strong, in flavor. The possum,
however, they found delicious, the meat being white, tender and sweet.
As soon as they had eaten and tied up what remained in their
handkerchiefs, they once more took up their journey.
They traveled steadily all the morning but with no signs apparent of
reaching the edge of the belt of cypress. As far as they could see
ahead of them along the shore the forest continued in an unbroken line.
Noon brought them to a serious obstacle, a broad, slow-flowing river of
black, muddy water. They were all good swimmers and could have easily
swam the half mile which separated them from the other shore, but the
sight of several large, floating, log-like objects made them hesitate
to attempt it.
"Those are either alligators or crocodiles," Charley said. "We had
better make sure which they are before we venture in. Alligators are
cowardly creatures, and will seldom attack a man, but crocodiles are
not to be trifled with."
It was some time before one of the floating monsters came near enough
to reveal its character but when it did they were glad they had
waited. It was a vicious, scaly-looking crocodile, fully fifteen feet
in length.
"Hard luck," commented Charley in disgust. "That means we will have to
follow this bank up until we can find a place we can cross and then
follow the other bank back to the gulf again. It may be only a few
miles or it may be a hundred. It may take us a day or it may take us a
week."
"I wonder what river this is?" Walter said. "If we only knew, we could
tell where we are."
"It's impossible to say for certain," his chum replied. "There are
a lot of big rivers emptying into the gulf. I am inclined to think,
however, that this is the Snake River. It fits the description I've
heard of the Snake. Well, let's have dinner and then we'll start to
follow it up."
A fire was lit and while it was getting under way, Walter succeeded in
catching a leather-back turtle of which there were numbers basking on
logs. This they cooked by the simple expedient of burying it in the
coals and letting it roast in its own shell.
Ordinarily they would have relished its delicate flavor, but they were
beginning to tire of an all-meat diet. They were beginning to crave
vegetables, bread, coffee, and the other varieties of food that make up
civilized meals.
They were munching the last of their frugal repast when they sprang to
their feet in amazed surprise.
"Good morning," said a voice right behind them.
Standing but a few feet away was a splendid-looking Indian lad, leaning
gracefully upon a long-barreled rifle. "Good morning," said the young
Seminole again, smiling at their surprise.
"Good morning," stammered Charley, in reply. "Who are you? Where did
you come from? Where are we?"
The Seminole's smile widened at the volley of questions.
"My name is Willie John," he said in perfect English. "I come from the
Big Cypress Swamp. Some of my people are camped there, hunting. You now
are at the Snake River. It is about fifty miles from Tampa. Are you
lost?"
"Yes," replied Walter, recovering from his surprise. "We are, or rather
were, both shipwrecked and lost. We had begun to think that we were the
only people in the world. That's why your voice surprised us so."
"I see," said the Indian lad, with his pleasant smile. "Perhaps it will
be very pleasant to help you a little."