Goulding Francis Robert
The Young Marooners on the Florida Coast
CHAPTER XVIII
NIGHT LANDING-CARRYING A WOUNDED PERSON-SETTING ONE'S OWN LIMBS WHEN BROKEN-SPLINTING A LIMB-REST TO THE WEARY
It was a picturesque scene as the raft drew near shore. The soft moonlight upon the bluff-the faint sparkle of the briny water broken by the oars-the lurid light from the resinous fire-the dark shadows and excited movements of Mary and Frank-formed altogether a group worthy of a painter's skill.
Frank could scarcely be restrained from rushing through the water to welcome the new comer; but when he heard how weak he was, and in what bad condition, he waited in quietness. Harold took him in his arms, and Robert made a stepping place for Mary with the oars, and they both shook hands with the poor fellow, and told him how sorry they were to see him so badly hurt.
Leaving Harold and Frank at the raft, Robert and Mary hastened to the tent to prepare a place for the invalid, that he need not be disturbed after being once removed. They lit a candle, piled the trunks in a corner of the room, and taking most of the moss that constituted their beds, laid it in another corner, remarking, "We can easily obtain more; or we can even sleep on the ground tonight, if necessary, for his sake."
"I wish we had an old door, or even a plank long enough for him to lie upon, as we bring him from the raft," said Robert, "it would be so much easier to his broken bones, if they could be kept straight. But the blanket is next best, and with that we must be content."
By the time the transfer was completed, the boys were exceedingly weary, having been disturbed all the preceding night, and engaged in vigorous and incessant effort ever since they arose from their short sleep. They sat for half an hour revelling in the luxury of rest. Sam appeared to suffer so much and to be so weak, that they discouraged him from talking, and took their own seats outside the tent, that he might be able to sleep.
"What have you done with the fawn, sister?" inquired Robert, willing to divert their minds from the painful thoughts that were beginning to follow the excitement of hearing from home.
"O, we fed it with sassafras leaves and grass," said she, "and gave it water. After that we sewed the torn skin to its place upon the neck, and it appears to be doing very well."
"You are quite a surgeon, cousin Mary," Harold remarked. "I think we shall have to call you our 'Sister of Mercy.' If, however, our handkerchiefs are still tied to it, I will suggest that it may be best for it, as well as for us, that you make a soft pad for its neck, and put on the dog's collar."
"We have done that already," she replied. "I thought of it as soon as we returned to the tent and saw the dog's chain. But as for my being a surgeon, it requires very little skill to know that the sooner a fresh wound is attended to, and the parts brought to the right place for healing the better."
"That is a fact," said Robert, starting, as a deep groan from the tent reached his ears; "and that reminds me that perhaps Sam is suffering at this moment for the want of having his bones set. We must attend to them at once."
"Set a broken arm and leg!" exclaimed Harold in surprise. "Why, Robert, do you know how to do it?"
"Certainly," he replied. "There is no mystery about it; and father, you know, teaches us children everything of the kind, as soon as we are able to learn it. I have never set the bones of a person, but I did once of a dog, and succeeded very well."
Harold asked him to describe the process. Robert replied, "If the bones appear to have moved from their proper place, all that you have to do is to pull them apart lengthways by main strength so that they will naturally slide together, or else can be made to do so by the pressure of your hand. Then you must bandage the limb with strips of cloth, beginning at its extremity, so as to keep the parts in place; and over this you must bind a splint, to keep the bone from being bent or jostled out of place. That is all."
They went into the tent, and made inquiry of Sam whether his bones did not need attention. He replied that maybe his leg was in need of setting, but that as for his arm he had sot that himself, and that it was in need only of splintering.
"You set it yourself! Why, how did you manage that?" inquired Robert.
"You remember, Mas Robbut, I bin hab my arm broke once befo'e; so I knowed jes what to do," replied Sam, and then he went on to describe his process. He said that finding the bones out of place, he had tied the hand of his broken arm to a root of the cedar, and strained himself back until the bones were able to pass, when he pressed them into place by means of his well hand.
After that he tore some strips from his clothing, and tied the hand over his breast, at the same time stuffing his bosom full of moss, to keep the bone straight, and over all passing a bandage, to keep the arm against his side. He had made a similar attempt to set the bone of his leg, but it pained him so much that he had given up the attempt.
On examination, Robert learned that the arm was broken between the elbow and shoulder, and that the leg was fractured between the knee and ankle. "The leg," said he, "is safe enough. Below the knee are two bones, and only one of these is broken. Would you like to have the bandage and splints put on your arm tonight?"
Sam replied that he was sure he should sleep better if Mas Robert was not too tired to attend to it, for he would be "mighty onrestless" while his bones were in that "fix."
The wearied boy pondered a moment, and asked his sister to tear one of the sheets or table-cloths into strips about as wide as her three fingers, and to sew the ends together, to make a bandage five or six yards long, while he and Harold prepared the splints. They then went to the palmetto tree, half a mile distant, and selecting one of the broadest and straightest of its flat, polished limbs, returned to the tent, and produced from it a lath about the length of the arm. Having bandaged the limb from the finger-ends to the shoulder, they bound it to this splint, which extended from the armpit to the extremity, and Robert pronounced the operation complete.
Sam was profuse in his praise of Robert's surgery, bestowing upon it every conceivable term of laudation, and seeming withal to be truly grateful. "Tankee, Mas Robert! Tankee, Mas Harold! Tankee, my dear little misses! Tankee, Mas Frank too! Tankee, ebbery body! I sure I bin die on dat sand-bank, 'sept you all bin so kind to de poor nigger."
"No more of that, Sam," said Robert, "you were hurt in trying to help us; it is but right we should help you."
At the close of this scene, the young people prepared for bed. It was past ten o'clock, and they were sadly in need of rest; but so strongly had their sympathies been excited for their black friend, that even little Frank kept wide awake, waiting his turn to be useful. When, however, their work was done, and they had lain down to rest, they needed no lullaby to hush them into slumber. Within twenty minutes after the light was extinguished, and during the livelong night, nothing was to be heard in that tent but the hard breathing of the wearied sleepers. Thanks to God for sleep! None but the weary know its blessedness.
CHAPTER XIX
THE SURPRISE AND DISAPPOINTMENT-NAMING THE FAWN-SAM'S STORY-DEPRESSION AFTER EXCITEMENT-GREAT MISFORTUNE
Had there been nothing to excite them the company might have overslept themselves on the following morning. But shortly after daylight they were awaked by an incident that hurried them all out of bed. It was nothing less than hearing Frank exclaim, in a laughing, joyous tone, "O father, howdy! howdy! I am so glad you have come!"
The dull ears of the sleepers were caught by these welcome words, and all sprang to their feet.
"Father! Father! Is he here?" they asked. "Where, Frank? where!"
"Yonder," said he, sitting bolt-upright in bed, rubbing his half-opened eyes with one hand, and with the other pointing to a corner of the tent. "Isn't that father? I saw him there just now."
It was only a dream. Frank had been thinking more than usual of home during the day and night past, and it was natural that his visions of the night should be of the same character with his dreams of the day. He fancied that his father had found the lost boat, and having tied it at the landing, was coming to the tent. Poor fellow! he was sadly disappointed to learn that it was all a dream. The picture was so vivid, and his father looked so real, that for a moment he was perfectly confused. Mary tried to comfort him by saying, "Never mind, buddy; we will see him coming some of these days. But though father is not here, you remember that Sam is, and that he is going to tell us about home, as soon as he is able to talk. Come, let us get up, and see how he is." The history of the preceding day dawned slowly upon the mind of the bewildered child, and the sense of disappointment was gradually lost in the hope of hearing Sam's story.
The wounded man had spent a night of suffering. His leg pained him so intensely, that several times he had been on the point of calling for assistance; but hearing from every one that peculiar breathing which betokens deep sleep, and remembering that they had undergone immense fatigue, he stifled his groans, and bore his sufferings in silence.
While Robert and Harold were occupied with kind offices around the couch, Mary and Frank went to see after the fawn. Its neck was somewhat sore to the touch, but otherwise it appeared to be doing well. They gave it more water, hay and sassafras leaves. Frank offered it also a piece of bread; but wild deer are not used to cookery, and the fawn rejected it; though, after becoming thoroughly tamed, it became so fond of bread of every kind, that it would follow Frank all over the woods for a piece no bigger than his finger. "What shall we call her?" asked Frank.
"We will have a consultation about that," replied Mary, as she saw the others approaching. "Cousin Harold, what name would you give?"
"Snow or Lily, I think, would suit her colour very well," he answered.
"Brother Robert, what is yours?"
"As she came from among the flowers," he said, "I think Flora would do very well."
"Yes," added Mary, "and very pretty names all Frank, what is yours?"
"Anna," said he, "I would like to talk to her sometimes, and to make believe that she was Sister Anna."
"That would sound almost too much like Nannie," Mary objected, and then asked, "Did you say, brother, that you gave her to me?" He replied, "Yes." "Then," she added, "I will call her Dora, for I heard father say that that name means a gift."
"Dora let it be," said Robert, patting its delicate head. "Miss Dora, I wish you a speedy cure, and a pleasant captivity."
About nine o'clock Sam awakened from a refreshing sleep, and the anxious company assembled at his side to hear what he had to tell about home. "I a'nt got much to tell," said Sam, "I lef so soon a'ter you all, dat you know most all sept what happen to me and Riley on de way."
"Let us hear it all," said Robert.
"But before you begin," interrupted Mary, "do tell us about William. Was he drowned or not?"
(For the sake of the reader who may not be familiar with the lingo of southern and sea-coast negroes, the narrative will be given in somewhat better English, retaining, however, the peculiarities of thought and drapery.)
"O, no, Misses," he replied to Mary's question. "He only fell backward into the water, and was a little strangled. He rose directly, and gave the alarm. I suppose the reason that you did not hear him was that he was under the wharf, holding tight to a post, for fear some of the fish might come and take hold of him too. He came with me to Riley's Island."
"Now do you begin at the beginning," said Robert, "and tell us one thing after another, just as it happened. If there is anything of which we wish to hear more particularly, we will stop you to inquire."
"Well," said Sam, "you know that when you left I was working in the back room. I was putting in the window sash, when I heard your father talking to some one at the door, and saying, 'Stay here, I will be out in a moment!' He went into his room, came out with something in his hand, and spoke a word to the man at the door, when we heard William's voice, crying out, 'Help! help!' as if he was half smothered. Your father said, 'What can be the matter?' I heard him and the stranger running towards the bluff, and I ran too. When I reached a place where I could see you (for the little cedars were between the house and the water), your father had just fallen upon his knees. He had his two hands joined together, and was praying very hard; he was pale as a sheet, and groaned as if his heart was breaking. For a while I could hardly take my eyes off from him; but I could see you in the boat, going over the water like a dove through the air, leaving a white streak of foam behind. Presently your father rose from his knees, and said, 'It is a devil fish! He cannot hold that gait long. Sam, do you and William (for William had by this time come up from the water), get the canoe ready in a minute, and let us pursue them;' then he wrung his hands again, and said, 'O, my God, have mercy, and spare my children!'
"William and I ran a few steps toward the canoe, but I came back to tell master that the canoe could not float-a piece of timber had fallen from the wharf, and punched a great hole in it. Then the soldier spoke, and said, 'The Major has a fine sail boat, Doctor. If you can do no better, I will ride very fast, and ask him to send it.' 'Do, if you please,' master said. 'Tell the Major he is my only help on earth. Lay your horse to the ground, good soldier, I will pay all damages.' The soldier turned short off, clapped his spurs to his horse, and made him lay himself almost straight to the ground.
"When your father came to the canoe, he said quickly, 'We can mend that hole, and set off long before the boat comes from Tampa. Peter, make a fire here at once-quick! quick! Judy, run to the house, and bring down a pot, and the cake of wax, and a double handful of oakum. William, do you go to the house too, and bring the side of harness leather, two hammers, and a paper of the largest tacks. And Sam,' said he to me, 'let us take hold of the boat, and turn it over ready for mending.' The hole was big as my head, and there were two long cracks besides; but we worked very fast, and the boat was ready for the water in less than an hour. Your father worked as hard as any of us, but every once in a while he turned to watch you, and looked very sorrowful. At last you went so far away that we could barely see you, like a little speck, getting smaller and smaller. When you were entirely out of our sight, your father took his other spy glass, went on top of the shed, and watched you till we were ready to go. Then he came to us, and said to me and William, 'I have concluded to send you off alone; you can row faster without me. I will wait for the Major's boat. The children are now passing Riley's Island, and turning down the coast. Make haste to Riley, and say from me, that if he brings me back my children I will give him whatever he asks. If he needs either of you, do you, Sam, go with him, and do you, William, return to me; otherwise do you both keep on so far as you can with safety, and if you succeed, I will give you also whatever you ask. If you can hear anything of them from Riley, make a smoke on the beach; if you learn anything good make two smokes, about a hundred yards apart; I will watch for them. And now, my good fellows, good-bye! and may the Lord give you a safe passage and good success!' Neither I nor William could say one word. We took hold of master's hands, knelt down, and kissed them. And, somehow, I saw his hand was very wet; we could not help it, for we love him the same as if he was our father, and the tears would come.
"We reached the island about twelve o'clock. Riley was gone. His wife said he saw the boat pass, knew who was in it, and went after it, without stopping for more than a calabash of water. When we heard that, we jumped into our own boat again, and pushed on. Riley's wife brought down a bag of parched corn, a dried venison ham, and his gun and ammunition, saying that if he went he would need these things. We begged her to make two fires on the beach; for we thought that although it was not the best news in the world to hear that you had been carried so far away, it was good news to hear that you had not been drowned, and that Riley had gone after you.
"In about an hour we met Riley coming back. He had gone to a high bluff, on an island south of his, and watched you until you had passed out of sight. He was now returning home, uncertain whether to go after you in the morning, or to give you up altogether. When we gave him your father's message, he said he would go, for that the Doctor was a good man, but that he must return home for a larger boat; that the coast below was dangerous, and that the boat in which he was was not safe. So we came to his island, where I staid with him that night, and William returned to Bellevue.
"As we left the island at daybreak we saw a vessel sailing towards Tampa, but too far for us to hail. That day we did not search the coast at all, more than to keep a sharp look out, for we knew that you had gone far beyond. But the next three days we went into every cove and inlet, though not very far into any of them. Riley said that since the change of Indian Agents, many of his people were hostile to the whites, and to all Indians who were friendly with them, and that perhaps he should not be safe.
"We saw some Indians on the first few days, but the last day we saw none at all. Riley said that this coast was barren and bad; nobody visited it. The Caloosa Indians, he said, used to live here, but they had been starved out. There was only a narrow strip of ten miles wide, between the sea and the swamps within, and a great fire had swept over it a few summers before, and burnt up almost all the trees. The Indians supposed that this part of the coast was cursed by the Great Spirit.
"All that day we found the coast so full of reefs and shoals, and covered with breakers, that we could scarcely get along; and we talked several times of turning back. These breakers that you see from the bluff, stretch from a great ways above. Riley did not like to pass them. He said he was afraid we could not stop anywhere, except on an island, which no Indian dared to visit; for that it was always enchanted with white deer,6 and the curse of the Great Spirit was so strong upon it that no Indian could go there and live.
"We kept on, however, as well as we could, and hoped to find some place where we could pass the surf upon the shoals, and reach the shore, before we came to that terrible island. But the wind was against us, and also blowing on shore; and we made so little headway, that towards evening we had to force our way through the smoothest place we could find, and even then were nearly swamped more than once. When we landed it was dark. We saw a fire afar off, and thinking it might be yours, I tried to persuade Riley to go to it; but perhaps he thought it was on that island, though he did not say so; he replied only that we were going to have a storm soon, and that we must be preparing for it. We drew the boat as high on the beach as possible, and made it fast by his painter, made of twisted deerskins.
"After we landed I cut some wood, and tried to make a fire; but before we could set it a-blazing the wind came and the tide rose. We went to the boat, and drew it up higher on shore, and then higher still; but after a while the wind blew so hard, and the waves rolled so high, that it was not safe to be near the boat at all. Yet we could not afford to lose it; so we went down for the last time to draw it up, when all at once a big wave came and pitched it upon us as I told you.
"I had a terrible night. The water from the beach dashed over me while lying under the cedar tree to which I had crawled, and the rain poured down. The wind kept such a roaring that I suppose if a cannon had been fired a mile off you could not have heard it.
"The next morning I tried to set my broken bones. Then I dragged myself to the edge of the bluff to see if Riley's body, or the boat, or anything was in sight. But nothing was to be seen except the black water rolling in from sea. As the light became stronger, I saw afar off your tent and smoke, and I was then sure that the fire we saw the night before was yours. I tried every way to make you see me. I took Riley's rifle, and snapped it, but the powder inside was wet. Then I went to a bush, and with my one hand cut a long switch, to which I tied my handkerchief, and waved and waved it; but nobody saw me. I could see you very well (for my sight is good) sitting down, or walking about, as if you were in trouble about something. Then I tried to raise a smoke. Everything was wet; but the tree near me had a hollow, and in the hollow was some dry rotten wood. I spread some powder on the driest pieces, and by snapping the rifle over it several times, set it on fire; but it was a long time before I could find anything to burn well. While I was trying at the fire, you, Mas Robbut and Mas Harrol, went off; but I kept on throwing into the fire whatever trash and small wood I could collect by crawling after them, until I was sure Miss Mary and Mas Frank would see it. At last I heard their guns, and knew by their motions that they saw me; and for a time I felt safe. But you were so long time away, and I was in such pain, that it seemed to me I must die before you could help me, though I saw you come to the tent, and heard your guns. And when, late in the evening, I saw that you had got a boat, or something of that sort, and were coming over the river to me, I was so glad that I-I-"
Sam did not finish the sentence. The tears were streaming down his black face, and the young people were weeping with him. There were but few questions to be asked. Sam's narrative had been so full and particular, that it anticipated almost every inquiry.
The severe labours of the day before, together with excitement and loss of rest, had so far relaxed the energies of the larger boys, that they did little more that day than hang about the tent, and converse with Sam and each other about home and their own adventures. Several times Harold proposed to Robert to join him in visiting the beach, to ascertain whether their signal had stood the storm, and if not, to replant it; but Robert ever had some reason ready for not going just then. At last, late in the afternoon, they took the spade and hoe, and went to the beach. The flag was prostrate, and lay half buried in the sand; and what was their dismay, on approaching the bluff, to see a vessel that had evidently passed the mouth of the river just beyond the shoals, and was now about four miles distant, sailing to the southward.
"O, cousin!" exclaimed Robert, "there is our vessel-gone! It is the cutter! Father is aboard of her! They came as near as they could, looking for our signal-and there it lies! Oh-h!" said he, wringing his hands, "why did we not come sooner?"
"I believe you are correct," replied Harold, looking sadly after the departing vessel; "we have missed our chance."
There remained one solitary hope. It was possible, barely possible, that some one on board might be looking that way with a spy-glass, and that the signal might yet be seen. The boys eagerly seized the flag-staff; they set the lower end upon the ground; they waved it to and fro in the air; they shook their handkerchiefs; they tossed up their hats and coats, and shouted with all their might (vain shout!), "Brig ahoy!" They gathered grass, leaves, twigs, everything inflammable, and raised a smoke, as large as possible, and kept it rising, higher, higher. They were too late; the vessel kept steadily on her way. She faded gradually from sight, and disappeared for ever.
The two boys sat down, and looked sorrowfully over the distant waters. They were pale with excitement, and for a long time neither said a word.
"They may return," said Harold; "let us plant our flag-staff."
They dug a deep hole, set the pole in the middle, threw in the dirt, packed it tightly with the handle of the hoe, and then returned slowly to the tent, to inform the others of their sad misfortune.