The Young Marooners on the Florida Coast

CHAPTER IV

It is scarcely possible, for one who has not tried it, to conceive the utter confusion which ensues on removing, in a hurry, one's goods and chattels to a place too small for their accommodation. Oh! the wilderness of boxes, baskets, bundles, heaped in disorder everywhere! and the perfect bewilderment into which one is thrown, when attempting the simplest act of household duty.

"Judy," said Mary to the cook, the evening that they landed, and while the servants were hurrying to bring under shelter the packages which Dr. Gordon was unwilling to leave exposed to the night air, "Judy, the sun is only about an hour high. Make haste and get some tea ready for supper. Father says you need not cookanything, we can get along on cheese and crackers."

Well, surely, it sounded like a trifle to order only a little tea. Mary thought so, and so did Judy, – it could be got ready in a minute. But just at that moment of unreadiness, there were some difficulties in the way which neither cook nor housekeeper anticipated. To have tea for supper ordinarily requires that one should have fire and water, and a tea kettle and a tea pot, and the tea itself, and cups and saucers and spoons, and sugar and milk, and a sugar pot and milk pot, besides a number of other things. But how these things are to be brought together, in their proper relation, and in a hurry, when they are all thrown promiscuously in a heap, is a question more easily asked than answered.

The simple order to prepare a little tea threw poor Judy into a fluster. "Yes, misses," she mechanically replied, "but wey I gwine fin' de tea?"

Mary was about to say, "In the sideboard of course," knowing that at home it was always kept there, when suddenly she recollected that the present sideboard was a new one, packed with table and bed clothes, and moreover that it was nailed up fast in a long box. Then, where was the tea? O, now she recalled the fact that the tea for immediate use was corked up in a tin can and stowed away together with the teapot and cups, saucers, spoons and other concomitants, in a certain green box. But where was the green box? She and Judy peered among the confused piles, and at last spied it under another box, on which was a large basket that was covered with a pile of bedding.

Judy obtained the tea and tea-pot and kettle, but until that moment had neglected to order a fire; so she went to the front door to look for her husband.

"Peter!" she called. Peter was nowhere about the house. She saw him below the bluff on his way to the landing. So, running a little nearer, and raising her voice to a high musical pitch, she sung out, "Petah-h! OH-H! Petah! Oh! PEE-tah!"

Peter came, and learning what was wanted, went to the landing for his ax, and having brought her a stick of green oak wood on his shoulder, sallied out once more to find some kindling.

While he was on this business, Judy prepared to get some water. "Wey my bucket?" she inquired, looking around. "Who tek my bucket? I sho' somebody moob um; fuh I put um right down yuh, under my new calabash."1

But nobody had disturbed it. Judy had set it, half full of water, on the ground outside the door, in the snuggest place she could find; but a thirsty goat had found it, and another thirsty goat had fought for it, and between the two, it had been upset, and rolled into a corner where it lay concealed by a bundle. By the time Judy got another supply of water ready it was growing dark. Peter had not made the fire because he was not certain where she preferred to have it built; so he waited, like a good, obedient husband, until she should direct him.

In the meantime, Mary was in trouble too. Where was the loaf sugar to be placed in cracking it, and what should she use for a hammer? Then the candle box must be opened, and candles and candle-sticks brought together, and some place contrived for placing them after they were lighted.

But perseverance conquers all things. Tea was made, sugar was cracked, and candles were both lighted and put in position. Bed-time came soon after, and weary enough with their labour, they all laid down to enjoy their first sleep at Bellevue. Mary and Frank occupied a pallet spread behind a pile of boxes in one room, while their father and the older boys lay upon cloaks, and whatever else they could convert into a temporary mattress, in the other; and the servants tumbled themselves upon a pile of their own clothing, which they had thrown under a shelter erected beside the house.

Early the next morning, two convenient shelters were hastily constructed, and the two rooms of the house were so far relieved of their confused contents, as to allow space for sitting, and almost for walking about. But ere this was half accomplished, Mary, whose sense of order and propriety was very keen, was destined to be thrown into quite an embarrassing situation.

Major Burke, the commandant of Fort Brooke, was a cousin of Mrs. Gordon, and an old college friend of the Doctor, and hearing by the captain of the brig of the arrival of the new comers, he rode over in the forenoon of the next day to see them. Mary's mind associated so indissolubly the idea of company, with the stately etiquette of Charleston and Savannah, that the sight of a well-dressed stranger approaching their door, threw her almost into a fever.

"Oh! father," she cried, as soon as she could beckon him out of the back door, "what shall we do?"

"Do?" he answered, laughing. "Why, nothing at all. What can we do?"

"But is he not going to dine with us?" enquired she.

"I presume so," he replied. "I am sure I shall ask him; but what of that?"

"What, father, dine with us?" she remonstrated, "when our only table unboxed is no bigger than a light stand, and we have scarcely room for that!"

"Yes," he said, "we will do the best we can for him now, and hope to do better some other time. Perhaps you will feel less disturbed when you realize that he is your cousin and a soldier. Come, let me make you acquainted with him."

Mary was naturally a neat girl, and although her hands were soiled with labour, she was soon ready to obey her father's invitation. Slipping into the back room, by a low window, she washed her hands and face, and brushed into order the ringlets that clustered around her usually sunny face, and then came modestly into the apartment where the two gentlemen were sitting.

"John, this is my eldest daughter, Mary," said the Doctor, as she approached; "and Mary this is your cousin, Major Burke, of whom you have heard your mother and me so often speak."

The two cousins shook hands very cordially, and appeared to be mutually pleased.

"She is my housekeeper for the present," her father continued, "and has been in some trouble" (here Mary looked reproachfully at him), "that she could not give you a more fitting reception."

"Ah, indeed," said the Major, with a merry twinkle of his eye, "I suspect that when my little cousin learns how often we soldiers are glad to sit on the bare ground, and to feed, Indian fashion, on Indian fare, she will feel little trouble about giving us entertainment."

Mary's embarrassment was now wholly dispelled. Her cousin was fully apprised of their crowded and confused condition, and was ready to partake with good humour of whatever they could hastily prepare.

The dinner passed off far more agreeably than she supposed possible. By her father's direction, a dining table was unboxed and spread under the boughs of a magnificent live oak, and Judy, having ascertained where the stores were to be found, gave them not only a dinner, but a dessert to boot, which they all enjoyed with evident relish. Ah! – black and ugly as she was, that Judy was a jewel.

The Major had come thus hastily upon them for the purpose of insisting that the whole family should occupy quarters at the Fort as his guests, until the new house, intended for their future reception, should be completed. To this Dr. Gordon objected that his presence was necessary for the progression of the work, but promised that at the earliest period when he could be spared for a few days, he would accept the invitation and bring the young people with him.

The visitor did not take his leave until the shades of evening warned him of the lapse of time. Mary had become much more interested, in consequence of her first distress and the pleasant termination, than she possibly could have been without these experiences; and as the whole family stood at the front door, watching his rapidly diminishing figure, she perpetrated a blunder which gave rise to much merriment.

Her father had remarked, "It will be long after dark before he can reach the Fort."

Mary rejoined, "Yes, sir, but," looking with an abstracted air, first at the table where they had enjoyed their pleasant repast, then at the darkening form of the soldier, and finally at the full moon which began to pour its silver radiance over the bay, "it will make no difference tonight, for it will be blue-eyed Mary."

All turned their eyes upon her in perplexity, to gather from her countenance the interpretation of her language; but Mary was still looking quietly at the moon. Harold thought the girl had become suddenly deranged.

Robert, who had observed her abstraction of mind, and who suspected the truth, began to laugh. Her father turned to her and asked, with a tone so divided between the ludicrous and the grave, that it was hard to tell which predominated, "What do you mean by 'blue-eyed Mary'?"

"Did I say blue-eyed Mary?" she exclaimed, reddening from her temples to her finger ends, and then giving way to a fit of laughter so hearty and so prolonged, that she could scarcely reply, "I meant moonlight."2

There was no resisting the impulse, all laughed with her, and long afterwards did it furnish a theme for merriment. Robert, however, was disposed to be so wicked on the occasion, that his father deemed it necessary to stop his teasing, by turning the laugh against him.

"It is certainly," said he, "the most ridiculous thing I have witnessed since Robert's queer prank at the prayer-meeting."

As soon as the word "prayer-meeting" was uttered, Robert's countenance fell.

"What is it, uncle?" inquired Harold.

"O, do tell it, father," begged Mary, clapping her hands with delight.

"About a year since," said Dr. Gordon, "I attended a prayer-meeting in the city of Charleston, where thirty or forty intelligent people were assembled at the house of their pastor. It was night. Robert occupied a chair near the table, beside which the minister officiated, and where he could be seen by every person in the room: Not long after the minister's address began, Robert's head was seen to nod; and every once in a while his nods were so expressive, apparently, of assent to the remarks made, as to bring a smile upon the face of more than one of the company. But he was not content with nodding. Soon his head fell back upon the chair, and he snored most musically, with his mouth wide open. It was then nearly time for another prayer, and I was very much in hopes that when we moved to kneel, he would be awakened by the noise. But no such good fortune was in store for me. He slept through the whole prayer; and then, to make the scene as ridiculous as possible, he awoke as the people were in the act of rising, and, supposing they were about to kneel, he deliberately knelt down beside his chair, and kept that position until he was seen by every person present. There was a slight pause in the services, I think the clergyman himself was somewhat disconcerted, and afraid to trust his voice. Poor Robert soon suspected his mistake. He peeped cautiously around, then arose and took his seat with a very silly look. I am glad it happened. He has never gone to sleep in meeting since."

And from that time forth Mary never heard Robert allude to her moonlight; indeed he was so much cut down by this story, that for a day or two he was more than usually quiet. At last, however, an incident occurred which restored to him the ascendancy he had hitherto held over his cousin, by illustrating the importance of possessing a proper store of sound, practical knowledge.

The two had gone to examine an old well, near the house, and were speculating upon the possibility of cleansing it from its trash and other impurities, so as to be fit for use, when Harold's knife slipped from his hand and fell down the well. It did not fall into the water, but was caught by a half decayed board that floated on its surface.

"I cannot afford to lose that knife," said Harold, looking around for something to aid his descent, "I must go down after it."

"You had better be careful how you do that," interposed Robert, "it may not be safe."

"What," asked Harold, "are you afraid of the well's caving?"

"Not so much of its caving," replied Robert, "as of the bad air that may have collected at the bottom."

Harold snuffed at the well's mouth to detect such ill odours as might be there, and said, "I perceive no smell."

"You mistake my meaning," remarked Robert. "In all old wells, vaults and places under ground, there is apt to collect a kind of air or gas, like that which comes from burning charcoal, that will quickly suffocate any one who breathes it. Many a person has lost his life by going into such a place without testing it beforehand."

"Can you tell whether there is any of it here?" asked Harold.

"Very easily, with a little fire," answered Robert. "AIR THAT WILL NOT SUPPORT FLAME, WILL NOT SUPPORT LIFE."

They stuck a splinter of rich pine in the cleft end of a pole, and, lighting it by a match, let it softly down the well. To Harold's astonishment the flame was extinguished as suddenly as if it had been dipped in water, before it had gone half way to the bottom.

"Stop, let us try that experiment again," said he.

They tried it repeatedly, and with the same result, except that the heavy poisonous air below being stirred by the pole, had become somewhat mingled with the pure air above, and the flame was not extinguished quite so suddenly as at first; it burnt more and more dimly as it descended, and then went out.

"I do believe there is something there," said he at last, "and I certainly shall not go down, as I intended. But how am I to get my knife?"

"By using father's magnet, which is a strong one," replied Robert. "Let us go and ask him for it."

On relating the circumstances to Dr. Gordon, he said, "You have made a most fortunate escape, Harold. Had you descended that well, filled as it is with carbonic acid gas, you would have become suddenly sick and faint, and would probably have fallen senseless before you could have called for help. Make it a rule never to descend such a place without first trying the purity of its air, as you did just now."

"But can we not get that bad air out?" asked Harold.

"Yes, by various means, and some of them very easy," replied his uncle. "One is by exploding gunpowder as far down as possible; another is by lowering down and drawing up many times a thickly leaved bush, so as to pump out the foul air, or at least to mix it largely with the pure. But your knife can be obtained without all that trouble. Robert, can you not put him upon a plan?"

"I have already mentioned it, and we have come to ask if you will not let us have your magnet," replied Robert. "But," continued he smilingly, "I do not think that we shall have any need this time for the looking-glass."

Harold looked from one to the other for an explanation, and his uncle said:

"Last year Robert dropped his knife down a well, as you did, and proposed to recover it by means of a strong magnet tied to a string. But the well was deep and very dark, and after fishing a long time in vain, he came to me for help. I made him bring a large looking-glass from the house, and by means of it reflected such a body of sun-light down the well that we could plainly see his knife at the bottom, stowed away in a corner. The magnet was strong enough to bring it safely to the top. You also may try the experiment."

With thanks, Harold took the offered magnet, tied it to a string, and soon recovered his knife.

CHAPTER V

A few days after this incident another visitor was seen coming from Fort Brooke. This person was not a horseman, but some one in a boat, who seemed even from a distance to possess singular dexterity in the use of the paddle. His boat glided over the smooth surface of the bay as if propelled less by his exertions than by his will. Dr. Gordon viewed him through the spy glass, and soon decided him to be an Indian, who was probably bringing something to sell.

It so turned out. He was a half-breed, by the name of Riley, who frequently visited the fort with venison and turkeys to sell, and who on the present occasion brought with him in addition a fine green turtle. Major Burke, conceiving that his friends at Bellevue would prize these delicacies more than they at the fort, to whom they were no longer rarities, had directed the Indian to bring them, with his compliments, to Dr. Gordon.

Riley was a fine looking fellow, of about thirty years of age-tall, keen-eyed, straight as an arrow, and with a pleasing open countenance. He brought a note from the fort, recommending him for honesty and faithfulness.

Dr. Gordon was so much pleased with his general appearance, that he engaged him to return the following week with another supply of game, and prepared to remain several days, in case he should be needed in raising the timbers of the new house.

Toward the close of the week, the weather gave indications of a change. A heavy looking cloud rose slowly from the west, and came towards them, muttering and growling in great anger. It was a tropical thunderstorm. The distant growls were soon converted into peals. The flashes increased rapidly in number and intensity, and became terrific. Mary and Frank nestled close to their father; and even stout-hearted Harold looked grave, as though he did not feel quite so comfortable as usual.

"That flash was uncommonly keen," Robert remarked, with an unsteady voice. "Do you not think, father, it was very near?"

Instead of replying, his father appeared to be busy counting; and when the crash of thunder was heard, jarring their ears, and making the earth quiver, he replied,

"Not very. Certainly not within a mile."

"But, uncle, can you calculate the distance of the lightning?" Harold asked.

"Unquestionably, or I should not have spoken with so much confidence. Robert imagined, as most people do, that a flash is near in proportion to its brightness; but that is no criterion. You must calculate its distance by the time which elapses between the flash and the report. Sound travels at the rate of about a mile in five seconds. Should any of you like to calculate the distance of the next flash, put your finger on your pulse, and count the number of beats before you hear the thunder."

An opportunity soon occurred. A vivid flash was followed after a few seconds by a roll, and then by a peal of thunder. All were busy counting their pulses. Mary ceased when she heard the first roll, exclaiming "Five!" The others held on until they heard the loud report, and said "Seven." Dr. Gordon reported only six beats of his own pulse, remarking,

"That flash discharged itself just one mile distant. Our pulses are quicker than seconds; and yours quicker than mine. Sound will travel a mile during six beats of a person of my age, and during seven of persons of yours."

"But, father," argued Mary, "I surely heard the thunder rolling when I said five."

"So did I," he answered; "and that proves that although the lightning discharged itself upon the earth at the distance of a mile, it commenced to flow from a point nearer overhead."

The young people were so deeply interested in these calculations, that they felt less keenly than they could have imagined possible the discomfort of the storm. This was Dr. Gordon's intention. But at last Mary and Frank winced so uneasily, when flashes of unusual brightness appeared, that their father remarked, "It is a weakness, my children, to be afraid of lightning that is seen and of thunder that is heard-they are spent and gone. Persons never see the flash that kills them-it does its work before they can see, hear, or feel."