Goulding Francis Robert
The Young Marooners on the Florida Coast
CHAPTER XIV
FRANK'S EXCUSES-CURING VENISON-MAROONING COOKERY-ROBERT'S VEGETABLE GARDEN-PLANS FOR RETURN-PREPARATION FOR THE SABBATH
When Mary and Frank arose next morning, they saw the small boughs of the oak hung with divided portions of venison. The boys had so placed them, after finishing, late at night, for the double purpose of allowing them to cool and of keeping them out of reach of the dogs. "Come, Frank," said Mary, "let us make up the fire, and get things ready for breakfast." The wood was close at hand, ready cut, and nothing more was needed for a fire than putting the pieces together, with several sticks of light wood underneath; a bright cracking blaze soon rose cheerfully before them.
"Buddy," she said, "can you not go down to the spring, and bring me some water, while I am preparing these other things?"
But Frank was lazy that morning, and out of humour, and the fire was so comfortable (for the air was cool) that he stood before it, warming his hands, and puffing at the smoke that blew in his face. He replied, "No, sister, I am afraid" – then he paused, trying hard to think of some excuse. "I am afraid that if I go the crabs will bite me."
"Crabs!" Mary exclaimed. "Why how can they bite you, when they are all cooked?"
"I do not mean the crabs in the dish," said he, "but the crabs in the river."
"Well, if they are in the river," argued Mary, "how can they hurt you, if you keep on the land?"
Frank found that his excuse was about to fail. But he was not disposed to surrender so easily. He therefore devised another. "I am afraid to go, for if the crabs do not bite me maybe the snakes will. Don't you remember what cousin Harold told us the other day about snakes."
Frank said this very seriously, and had not Mary been somewhat provoked at his unbrotherly refusal, she would have laughed at the ridiculous contrast between his looks and his language. She said, reproachfully, "I thought, Frank, you loved me better than to treat me so. I want the water to make coffee for you, and the rest of us, and yet you will not help me."
"I do not wish any of the coffee," he answered. "All that I want for breakfast is some of that nice fat deer, and some of these fish and crabs."
"Very well," she added, in a hurt but independent tone, "I can help myself."
She took the bucket, and went to the spring. Frank looked ashamed, but continued silent. He drew up a billet of wood and sat upon it, pushing his feet towards the fire, and spreading out his hands, for the want of something else to do. By the time Mary returned from the spring, Robert and Harold came from the tent. They had retired late and weary the night before, and as a natural consequence had overslept their usual time for rising. "What is that we heard you and Frank talking about?" Robert asked of Mary.
"Inquire of Frank," she replied; "I prefer that he should tell you."
"Well, Frank, what was it?"
"Nothing," he answered, doggedly, "except that sister wanted me to go to the spring, and I told her I was afraid that the crabs and snakes would bite me."
"What did sister Mary want with the water?"
"To make coffee, I suppose."
"And do you not love coffee?"
"Sometimes; but I do not wish any this morning, for sister never puts in sugar enough for me."
"Well, well, we shall see who wants coffee at breakfast. Sister Mary, is there anything I can do to help you?"
"Cousin," said Harold, uniting quickly in the effort to shame Frank out of his strange caprice, "I wish you would let me too help you in some way. You are always so ready to do everything you can for us, that we are glad whenever we can do anything for you."
Mary needed nothing, except to have the kettle lifted to its place upon the fire. Frank was all this time warming his hands and feet, as if he was desperately cold. In reading the Scriptures, and repeating the Lord's Prayer, his voice could scarcely be heard; he knew that he had done wrong, and was beginning to repent. At breakfast, Mary asked him in a kind, forgiving tone, if he would not have some coffee; but true to his resolution he declined.
The first business of the day was to take care of their venison. Yet what should they do with it? They had no cool place in which to keep it fresh, nor salting tub nor barrel in which to corn or pickle what they could not consume in its green state. Harold's proposal was that they should cut the hams into thin slices, and jerk them in the smoke, as he had seen Torgah do; or else to dry them in the sun, which in the middle of the day was quite hot. Robert said he had heard or read of meat being saved fresh for several days by burying it under cool running water, and offered to try it at their spring. Mary said she liked both plans, but having had such good experience of Harold's baked turkey, she hoped he would now give them a specimen of baked venison.
It was finally resolved to give each plan a fair trial. One ham should be sliced and jerked; another should be baked for the next day's dinner, as the turkey had been; one shoulder should be cooked for that day's consumption, and the other put under the drip of the spring to prove whether it would keep until Monday.
"There is one advantage at least that we shall gain from these experiments," said Harold; "a knowledge how to economize our meat."
For a minute or two Mary had been evidently pondering upon some difficult problem; and Robert, observing her abstraction, asked in a jesting tone if she was studying anatomy.
"Not exactly," she replied; "I was thinking of two things; how to cook this shoulder, when we have nothing in which to bake or roast it-"
"O, as for that," Harold interjected, "I will provide you in ten minutes' time with a roaster wide enough for an ox, or small enough for a sparrow. Do you just hang it by a string from the pole I will set for you above the fire; it will roast fast enough, only you will lose all your gravy."
"The gipsies' roasting-pole!" said she; "I wonder I did not think of it. The other thing is, that after you have sliced the steak-pieces from the bone, the remainder would make an excellent soup, if we had any vegetables to put with it."
"And what do you want?" Robert inquired.
"In beef soup," she replied, "cooks usually put in turnips, onions, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, and the like."
"Carrots and potatoes I fear we must do without at this time," said he, "but the rest I think I can furnish, or something very like them."
"What! have you a vegetable garden already growing on the island?" asked Harold.
"Yes," he answered, "a very large and fine one; an endless supply of the most beautiful white cabbage, and most delicate asparagus, besides quantities of spinach, okra, and other vegetables. The palmetto gives the first, the tender shoots of the bamboo-brier the second; the leaves of the poke, when young, furnish the third, and those of the wild violet the last, or rather a substitute in its mucilaginous leaf, for the okra. Beside these plants (all of which, except the last, need to be boiled in several waters to free them from their bitter taste), there are multitudes more growing around us that are perfectly wholesome as articles of food-the purslain, the thistle, the dandelion, the lambsquarter, the cresses and pepper-grasses, to say nothing of the pink-gilled mushrooms, and the fungus that grows from logs of hickory."
"I will ask no more questions about your garden," said Harold. "I will confess at once that it is one of the largest and finest in the world; but will say too that it requires a person of your knowledge to use it aright."
"And no great knowledge after all," responded Robert. "I could teach you in half an hour every one."
"I will await them here," said Harold, "wishing you all success in visiting the garden, and cousin Mary all success in preparing the vegetables for use."
That afternoon they engaged in another discussion about attempting a speedy return home. Robert and Mary had become impatient of their stay, and were despairing of any one's coming soon to their relief. The three and a half days of separation from their father seemed to them a month.
"Why not make the effort to return at once?" they contended. "This place is very good indeed; on some accounts we could not desire a better; yet it is not home."
Harold shook his head, and replied, "I am not sure, notwithstanding all your arguments, that any of us know where home is. One thing I do know, that this island seems to be a very safe and comfortable place for people in our condition. Moreover, I am confident that your father will use every means for finding us; and we can scarcely be in a better place than this for being found. My opinion still is that we had better continue here for a fortnight or three weeks in safety, than to risk what we should, by starting in an open boat, to go upon the broad sea, we know not where."
Harold, however, was overruled. Mary and Frank united with Robert in resolving to attempt their return homewards by coasting; and Harold yielded with a sigh, remarking that his heart was with them, but his judgment against them. The moment the question was decided, Frank began to show the greatest glee. To his hopeful spirit, to try was to succeed; and he was even then in fancy revelling once more in the scenes of happy Bellevue.
But when should they begin their voyage? Not that day, for they were not ready. Not the next, for that was the Sabbath, which they had been taught to reverence. Not Monday morning, because there were preparations to be made, which they could not complete without working on the Sabbath, They resolved to "remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy," by rest from labour, and by appropriate exercises, and then to start as soon after as possible; which, probably, could not be before Monday evening or Tuesday morning.
They prepared another oven, heated and protected as before, into which the ham of venison was introduced. They collected and cut a supply of wood to be used in case of cool weather the following day, and brought from the bank another basket full of oysters. After spending a pleasant evening in conversation, they retired to rest, happy in the thought that they had been trying to live as they should, and that they had resolved, of their own free will, to reverence the Sabbath, at the sacrifice of another day from home.
CHAPTER XV
THEIR FIRST SABBATH ON THE ISLAND, AND THE NIGHT AND MORNING THAT SUCCEEDED
The morning sun rose with uncommon beauty, and the young people having retired early to bed, were prepared for early rising. Frank now volunteered to aid his sister in preparing for breakfast; his repentance was shown not by words but by deeds; and though it was only an act of duty performed towards his sister and the company, it was in part a very proper beginning in the observance of a day belonging to Him who encourages us to think that he regards whatever we do from a principle of duty to our fellow men, as being done to himself.
At the time of worship they gathered with more than usual solemnity around the accustomed place, and read the portion of Scripture for the morning. It was a chapter of unusual interest to them all, and particularly so to Harold. He had become increasingly thoughtful since their accident. This morning he appeared to be more serious than ever, and once or twice, when his turn came to read, his voice was so low and unsteady, that he could scarcely be heard. There was evidently some cause of distress to that youth of strong mind and pure life which the others knew not.
The Sabbath passed, as may be readily conceived, without being enlivened by any incidents of a particularly interesting character. It can scarcely be said that they did actually sanctify the Sabbath, for there was nothing spiritual, nor even hearty in their exercises; and they themselves felt that there was a great deficiency somewhere.
Their unmethodical though conscientious effort was useful in teaching them to look beyond mere externals for any real good to be derived. They learned they were imperfect even in their best performances, and without merit when they had done what they could.
Late in the evening they went to the seashore, and sitting upon a bank of clean sand near their flag-staff, looked upon the sea from which they had made so providential an escape, and to which they expected once more to commit themselves. A light breeze had been blowing from the west all day, yet light as it was it had been sufficient to raise the waves, and make them roar and break with ominous violence upon the shore. This action of the breeze revealed to them another fact, that two or three miles to the seaward there was a long and apparently endless chain of breakers extending north and south, as far as the eye could reach. They could see the large waves gather, and the white tops sparkle with foam. Here was another cause for thankfulness. Had the present wind been blowing on the day of their accident, they could not possibly have crossed that foaming bar; they would have been kept at sea, and been to a certainty lost in the sudden squall that arose that night.
But the sight of these breakers was also a source of disquiet, in view of their intended voyage. It was evident, as they supposed, that they could not sail with safety, when the wind was blowing with any freshness, either on or off the shore, on account of the rough swell, caused by the first, and of the danger of being carried out to sea by the last. They conversed long and anxiously upon this new feature in their case; and then, by general consent, kneeled together upon the sands, in conscious helplessness, and implored Him who is the Lord of the seas, to care for them and direct their steps.
When they left the beach, the light of day was fading into the hues of night; and several faint stars peeped timidly from the yet illuminated sky. Mary and Frank retired to their room soon after dark. The larger boys sat for some time, conversing upon their situation and prospects, when observing the sky to cloud rapidly with the indications of a sudden change of weather, they went to the landing, made their boat secure as possible, and then laid down to rest.
The wind soon began to sigh in the branches of the huge oak above them. Each puff became stronger than the one before it. They could hear the roar of the distant surf, bursting angrily over the sandy barrier, and thundering on the shore. It was the beginning of a hurricane. The boys sprang from their pallets, and dressing themselves hastily, seized the ax and hatchet, and drove the tent-pins deeply into the ground. While thus engaged, Nanny and her kids came up, and showed a strong disposition to take refuge in the tent. The dogs also gave signs of uneasiness, following them around with drooping tails, whining and shivering, as they looked with half shut, winking eyes, in the direction of the wind. These signs of terror in their dumb companions only made the boys work faster, and do their work more securely. They did not content themselves with driving down the tent-pins; they took the logs cut for firewood, and laid them on the windward edges of the tent, to prevent the wind from entering below and blowing the canvas from above their heads. Had they the time they would have laid the sails of their boat, which they had hastily unrigged, above the canvas of the tent; but ere they could accomplish this, the wind burst upon them with the fury of a tornado. The grand old tree quivered to its roots, and groaned in every limb. The tent fluttered and tugged at the ropes with such force that the deeply driven pins could scarcely hold it down. It was fortunate that it had been pitched under the oak, for the long lower branches, which at ordinary times almost swept the ground, were strained downwards so far, that with their loads of moss, they formed a valuable barrier against the wind.
There was little sleeping for the boys that night. Scarcely had they entered the tent before the rain commenced. It came in heavy drifts, and was carried with such force that, notwithstanding the protection afforded by the oak, it insinuated itself through the close threads of the canvas, and under the edges of the tent. Mary had been awaked by the hammering, and Frank was now roused by the dropping of water in his face. When Robert entered their room to see how they fared, he discovered them seated on a trunk, wrapped in their father's cloak, and sheltered by that very umbrella which Frank had been provident enough to bring. They rolled up their bedding and clothes, and protected as best they could whatever seemed most in danger from the wet. They sat on boxes and trunks, and wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets; but it was in vain; they could not guard themselves at the same time from the rain above and the driven water from below. They sat cold and shivering until three o'clock in the morning, when the rain ceased and the wind abated. Then they made a fire; and just before day were enabled, by lying on trunks and boxes, to indulge themselves in a short uneasy sleep.
The clear sun shone over the main land before the wearied company awoke. Harold was the first on his feet, and calling to Robert, they hastened out to see what damage had been done. Mary also joined them, followed by Frank; for having dressed themselves during the night, they had no further toilet to make.
In every direction were to be seen traces of the storm; prostrate trees, broken branches, the ground strewed with twigs, and the thickets and vines loaded with packages of moss, torn from the taller trees. The sea roared terribly, and thick dirty billows came rolling up the river.
Harold was about to mend the fire for Mary, who said she wanted to drink something hot, as the best means of warming her chilled limbs, when Robert, glancing at the tremendous tide in the river, called to her quickly-"Do not waste one drop of this water in the bucket; there is only a quart left, and no one can tell when the tide will be down enough for us to obtain more." He ran to the bluff, and the others observed him make a gesture of surprise, look hastily around, and finally leap down the bank. He was absent only two or three minutes, and then returned with a pale face and hurrying step.
"Harold!" said he, scarcely able to articulate, "OUR BOAT IS GONE! Burst from her moorings!"
At this terrible announcement, every face whitened, and there was a general rush for the landing. It was even so. The boat was nowhere to be seen. The stake which had confined it had also disappeared. Far as the eye could reach nothing was visible but water-water, with here and there a patch of mangrove, higher than the rest, and bowing reluctantly to the rush of the waves. They looked anxiously over the watery waste, and then into each other's agitated faces. It was clear that their prospect of speedily returning home was hopeless.
"But perhaps," said Mary, who was the first to recover speech, "it is not lost. It may have only drifted up the river; or it may have sunk at the landing."
Robert mournfully looked, where he had already looked more than once, and said, "Well, we can try. But what is the use? something has been against us ever since we left home. Harold, shall we search the river?"
Harold seemed lost in thought. His keen eye had glanced in every direction, where it was possible the boat could have been driven; then lessening in its fire, it gave evidence of deep abstraction. Robert's question recalled him, and he slowly answered, "Yes; but it is my opinion we shall not find it. You know I have all along had the idea that we ought not to leave this island. It has seemed to me, ever since the fish let go our anchor, that the hand of God was in this accident, and that we are not yet at the end of it. I am troubled, like the rest of you; but I have also been questioning whether it is meant for our harm or for our good. I do not think it is for harm, or we might have been left to perish at sea; and if it is for good, I think we ought to submit with cheerfulness."
They conversed awhile upon the bluff, in view of the dismal waters, then slowly turned towards the tent, which was now the only place on earth they could call their home.