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Wakulla

K >> Kirk Munroe >> Wakulla



Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




WAKULLA

A STORY OF ADVENTURE IN FLORIDA

BY KIRK MUNROE





CONTENTS


I. PREPARING TO LEAVE THE OLD HOME
II. THE SCHOONER "NANCY BELL"
III. "CAPTAIN LI'S" STORY
IV. A WRECK ON THE FLORIDA REEF
V. MARK AND RUTH ATTEND AN AUCTION
VI. A QUEER CHRISTMAS DAY
VII. ARRIVAL AT THE NEW HOME
VIII. THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AND MORE MYSTERIES
IX. MARK DISCOVERS THE GHOST AND FINDS HIM IN A TRYING POSITION
X. A RUNAWAY'S STORY, AND ITS HAPPY ENDING
XI. "THE ELMER MILL AND FERRY COMPANY"
XII. THE GREAT MILL PICNIC
XIII. FIGHTING A FOREST FIRE
XIV. HOW THE BOYS CAUGHT AN ALLIGATOR
XV. A FIRE HUNT, AND MARK'S DISAPPEARANCE
XVI. BURIED IN AN UNDERGROUND RIVER
XVII. TWO LETTERS AND A JOURNEY
XVIII. THE BURNING OF THE "WILDFIRE"
XIX. UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S "GREAT SCHEME"
XX. EDNA MAY MARCH





WAKULLA





CHAPTER I.

PREPARING TO LEAVE THE OLD HOME.


Over and over again had Mark and Ruth Elmer read this paragraph,
which appeared among the "Norton Items" of the weekly paper
published in a neighboring town:

"We are sorry to learn that our esteemed fellow-townsman, Mark
Elmer, Esq., owing to delicate health, feels compelled to remove
to a warmer climate. Having disposed of his property in this
place, Mr. Elmer has purchased a plantation in Florida, upon which
he will settle immediately. As his family accompany him to this
new home in the Land of Flowers, the many school-friends and young
playmates of his interesting children will miss them sadly."

"I tell you what, Ruth," said Mark, after they had read this item
for a dozen times or more, "we are somebodies after all, and don't
you forget it. We own a plantation, we do, and have disposed of
our PROPERTY in this place."

As Mark looked from the horse-block on which he was sitting at the
little weather-beaten house, nestling in the shadow of its
glorious trees, which, with its tiny grass-plot in front, was all
the property Mr. Elmer had ever owned, he flung up his hat in
ecstasy at the idea of their being property owners, and tumbled
over backward in trying to catch it as it fell.

"What I like," said Ruth, who stood quietly beside him, "is the
part about us being interesting children, and to think that the
girls and boys at school will miss us."

"Yes, and won't they open their eyes when we write them letters
about the alligators, and the orange groves, and palm-trees, and
bread-fruit, and monkeys, and Indians, and pirates? Whoop-e-e-e!
what fun we are going to have!"

"Bread-fruit, and monkeys, and pirates, and Indians in Florida!
what are you thinking of, Mark Elmer?"

"Well, I guess 'Osceola the Seminole' lived in Florida, and it's
tropical, and pirates and monkeys are tropical too, ain't they?"

Just then the tea-bell rang, and the children ran in to take the
paper which they had been reading to their father, and to eat
their last supper in the little old house that had always been
their home.

Mr. Elmer had, for fifteen years, been cashier of the Norton Bank;
and though his salary was not large, he had, by practising the
little economies of a New England village, supported his family
comfortably until this time, and laid by a sum of money for a
rainy day. And now the "rainy day" had come. For two years past
the steady confinement to his desk had told sadly upon the
faithful bank cashier, and the stooping form, hollow cheeks, and
hacking cough could no longer be disregarded. For a long time good
old Dr. Wing had said,

"You must move South, Elmer; you can't stand it up here much
longer."

Both Mr. Elmer and his wife knew that this was true; but how could
they move South? where was the money to come from? and how were
they to live if they did? Long and anxious had been the
consultations after the children were tucked into their beds, and
many were the prayers for guidance they had offered up.

At last a way was opened, "and just in time, too," said the
doctor, with a grave shake of his head. Mrs. Elmer's uncle,
Christopher Bangs, whom the children called "Uncle Christmas,"
heard of their trouble, and left his saw-mills and lumber camps to
come and see "where the jam was," as he expressed it. When it was
all explained to him, his good-natured face, which had been in a
wrinkle of perplexity, lit up, and with a resounding slap of his
great, hard hand on his knee, he exclaimed,

"Sakes alive! why didn't you send for me, Niece Ellen? why didn't
you tell me all this long ago, eh? I've got a place down in
Florida, that I bought as a speculation just after the war. I
hain't never seen it, and might have forgot it long ago but for
the tax bills coming in reg'lar every year. It's down on the St.
Mark's River, pretty nigh the Gulf coast, and ef you want to go
there and farm it, I'll give you a ten years' lease for the taxes,
with a chance to buy at your own rigger when the ten years is up."

"But won't it cost a great deal to get there, uncle?" asked Mrs.
Elmer, whose face had lighted up as this new hope entered her
heart.

"Sakes alive! no; cost nothin'! Why, it's actually what you might
call providential the way things turns out. You can go down, slick
as a log through a chute, in the Nancy Bell, of Bangor, which is
fitting out in that port this blessed minit. She's bound to
Pensacola in ballast, or with just a few notions of hardware sent
out as a venture, for a load of pine lumber to fill out a contract
I've taken in New York. She can run into the St. Mark's and drop
you jest as well as not. But you'll have to pick up and raft your
fixin's down to Bangor in a terrible hurry, for she's going to
sail next week, Wednesday, and it's Tuesday now."

So it was settled that they should go, and the following week was
one of tremendous excitement to the children, who had never been
from home in their lives, and were now to become such famous
travellers.

Mark Elmer, Jr., as he wrote his name, was as merry, harum-scarum,
mischief-loving a boy as ever lived. He was fifteen years old, the
leader of the Norton boys in all their games, and the originator
of most of their schemes for mischief. But Mark's mischief was
never of a kind to injure anybody, and he was as honest as the day
is long, as well as loving and loyal to his parents and sister
Ruth.

Although a year younger than Mark, Ruth studied the same books
that he did, and was a better scholar. In spite of this she looked
up to him in everything, and regarded him with the greatest
admiration. Although quiet and studious, she had crinkly brown
hair, and a merry twinkle in her eyes that indicated a ready humor
and a thorough appreciation of fun.

It was Monday when Mark and Ruth walked home from the post-office
together, reading the paper, for which they had gone every Monday
evening since they could remember, and they were to leave home and
begin their journey on the following morning.

During the past week Mr. Elmer had resigned his position in the
bank, sold the dear little house which had been a home to him and
his wife ever since they were married, and in which their children
had been born, and with a heavy heart made the preparations for
departure.

With the willing aid of kind neighbors Mrs. Elmer had packed what
furniture they were to take with them, and it had been sent to
Bangor. Mark and Ruth had not left school until Friday, and had
been made young lions of all the week by the other children. To
all of her girl friends Ruth had promised to write every single
thing that happened, and Mark had promised so many alligator
teeth, and other trophies of the chase, that, if he kept all his
promises, there would be a decided advance in the value of Florida
curiosities that winter.

As the little house was stripped of all its furniture, except some
few things that had been sold with it, they were all to go to Dr.
Wing's to sleep that night, and Mrs. Wing had almost felt hurt
that they would not take tea with her; but both Mr. and Mrs. Elmer
wanted to take this last meal in their own home, and persuaded her
to let them have their way. The good woman must have sent over
most of the supper she had intended them to eat with her, and
this, together with the good things sent in by other neighbors, so
loaded the table that Mark declared it looked like a regular
surprise-party supper.

A surprise-party it proved to be, sure enough, for early in the
evening neighbors and friends began to drop in to say good-bye,
until the lower rooms of the little house were filled. As the
chairs were all gone, they sat on trunks, boxes, and on the
kitchen table, or stood up.

Mark and Ruth had their own party, too, right in among the grown
people; for most of the boys and girls of the village had come
with their parents to say good-bye, and many of them had brought
little gifts that they urged the young Elmers to take with them as
keepsakes. Of all these none pleased Ruth so much as the album,
filled with the pictures of her school-girl friends, that Edna May
brought her.

Edna was the adopted daughter of Captain Bill May, who had brought
her home from one of his voyages when she was a little baby, and
placed her in his wife's arms, saying that she was a bit of
flotsam and jetsam that belonged to him by right of salvage. His
ship had been in a Southern port when a woman, with this child in
her arms, had fallen from a pier into the river. Springing into
the water after them, Captain May had succeeded in saving the
child, but the mother was drowned. As nothing could be learned of
its history, and as nobody claimed it, Captain May brought the
baby home, and she was baptized Edna May. She was now fourteen
years old, and Ruth Elmer's most intimate friend, and the first
picture in the album was a good photograph of herself, taken in
Bangor. The others were only tin-types taken in the neighboring
town of Skowhegan; but Ruth thought them all beautiful.

The next morning was gray and chill, for it was late in November.
The first snow of the season was falling in a hesitating sort of a
way, as though it hardly knew whether to come or not, and it was
still quite dark when Mrs. Wing woke Mark and Ruth, and told them
to hurry, for the stage would be along directly. They were soon
dressed and down-stairs, where they found breakfast smoking on the
table. A moment later they were joined by their parents, neither
of whom could eat, so full were they of the sorrow of departure.
The children were also very quiet, even Mark's high spirits being
dampened by thoughts of leaving old friends, and several tears
found their way down Ruth's cheeks during the meal.

After breakfast they said good-bye to the Wings, and went over to
their own house to pack a few remaining things into hand-bags, and
wait for the Skowhegan stage.

At six o'clock sharp, with a "toot, toot, toot," of the driver's
horn, it rattled up to the gate, followed by a wagon for the
baggage. A few minutes later, with full hearts and tearful eyes,
the Elmers had bidden farewell to the little old house and grand
trees they might never see again, and were on their way down the
village street, their long journey fairly begun.





CHAPTER II.

THE SCHOONER "NANCY BELL."


It lacked a few minutes of nine o'clock when the stage in which
the Elmers had left Norton drew up beside the platform of the
railway station in Skowhegan. There was only time to purchase
tickets and check the baggage, and then Mark and Ruth stepped, for
the first time in their lives, on board a train of cars, and were
soon enjoying the novel sensation of being whirled along at what
seemed to them a tremendous rate of speed. To them the train-boy,
who came through the car with books, papers, apples, and oranges,
and wore a cap with a gilt band around it, seemed so much superior
to ordinary boys, that, had they not been going on such a
wonderful journey, they themselves would have envied him his life
of constant travel and excitement.

At Waterville they admired the great mills, which they fancied
must be among the largest in the world; and when, shortly after
noon, they reached Bangor, and saw real ships, looking very like
the pictures in their geographies, only many times more
interesting, their cup of happiness was full.

Mark and Ruth called all the vessels they saw "ships;" but their
father, who had made several sea-voyages as a young man, said that
most of them were schooners, and that he would explain the
difference to them when they got to sea and he had plenty of time.

The children were bewildered by the noise of the railroad station
and the cries of the drivers and hotel runners--all of whom made
violent efforts to attract the attention of the Elmer party. At
length they got themselves and their bags safely into one of the
big yellow omnibuses, and were driven to a hotel, where they had
dinner. Mark and Ruth did not enjoy this dinner much, on account
of its many courses and the constant attentions of the waiters.

It had stopped snowing, and after dinner the party set forth in
search of the Nancy Bell. By making a few inquiries they soon
found her, and were welcomed on board by her young, pleasant-
faced captain, whose name was Eli Drew, but whom all his friends
called "Captain Li."

The Nancy Bell was a large three-masted schooner, almost new, and
as she was the first vessel "Captain Li" had ever commanded, he
was very proud of her. He took them at once into his own cabin,
which was roomy and comfortable, and from which opened four state-
rooms--two on each side. Of these the captain and his mate, John
Somers, occupied those on the starboard, or right-hand side, and
those on the other, or port side, had been fitted up, by the
thoughtful kindness of Uncle Christopher, for the Elmers--one for
Mrs. Elmer and Ruth, and the other for Mark and his father.

"Ain't they perfectly lovely?" exclaimed Ruth. "Did you ever see
such cunning little beds? They wouldn't be much too big for Edna
May's largest doll."

"You mustn't call them 'beds,' Ruth; the right name is berths,"
said Mark, with the air of a boy to whom sea terms were familiar.

"I don't care," answered his sister; "they are beds for all that,
and have got pillows and sheets and counterpanes, just like the
beds at home."

Mr. Elmer found that his furniture, and the various packages of
tools intended for their Southern home, were all safe on board the
schooner and stowed down in the hold, and he soon had the trunks
from the station and the bags from the hotel brought down in a
wagon.

The captain said they had better spend the night on board, as he
wanted to be off by daylight, and they might as well get to
feeling at home before they started. They thought so too; and so,
after a walk through the city, where, among other curious sights,
they saw a post-office built on a bridge, they returned to the
Nancy Bell for supper.

Poor Mr. Elmer, exhausted by the unusual exertions of the day, lay
awake and coughed most of the night, but the children slept like
tops. When Mark did wake he forgot where he was, and in trying to
sit up and look around, bumped his head against the low ceiling of
his berth.

Daylight was streaming in at the round glass dead-eye that served
as a window, and to Mark's great surprise he felt that the
schooner was moving. Slipping down from his berth, and quietly
dressing himself, so as not to disturb his father, he hurried on
deck, where he was greeted by "Captain Li," who told him he had
come just in time to see something interesting.

The Nancy Bell was in tow of a little puffing steam-tug, and was
already some miles from Bangor down the Penobscot River. The
clouds of steam rising into the cold air from the surface of the
warmer water were tinged with gold by the newly-risen sun. A heavy
frost rested on the spruces and balsams that fringed the banks of
the river, and as the sunlight struck one twig after another, it
covered them with millions of points like diamonds. Many cakes of
ice were floating in the river, showing that its navigation would
soon be closed for the winter.

To one of these cakes of ice, towards which a boat from the
schooner was making its way, the captain directed Mark's
attention. On this cake, which was about as large as a dinner-
table, stood a man anxiously watching the approach of the boat.

"What I can't understand," said the captain, "is where he ever
found a cake of ice at this time of year strong enough to bear him
up."

"Who is he? How did he get there, and what is he doing?" asked
Mark, greatly excited.

"Who he is, and how he got there, are more than I know," answered
"Captain Li." "What he is doing, is waiting to be taken off. The
men on the tug sighted him just before you came on deck, and sung
out to me to send a boat for him. It's a mercy we didn't come
along an hour sooner, or we never would have seen him through the
mist."

"You mean we would have missed him," said Mark, who, even upon so
serious an occasion, could not resist the temptation to make a
pun.

By this time the boat had rescued the man from his unpleasant
position, and was returning with him on board. Before it reached
the schooner Mark rushed down into the cabin and called to his
parents and Ruth to hurry on deck. As they were already up and
nearly dressed, they did so, and reached it in time to see the
stranger helped from the boat and up the side of the vessel.

He was so exhausted that he was taken into the cabin, rolled in
warm blankets, and given restoratives and hot drinks before he was
questioned in regard to his adventure.

Meantime the schooner was again slipping rapidly down the broad
river, and Mark, who remained on deck with his father, questioned
him about the "river's breath," as he called the clouds of steam
that arose from it.

"That's exactly what it is, the 'river's breath,'" said Mr. Elmer.
"Warm air is lighter than cold, and consequently always rises; and
the warm, damp air rising from the surface of the river into the
cold air above is condensed into vapor, just as your warm, damp
breath is at this very moment."

"But I should think the water would be cold with all that ice
floating in it," said Mark.

"It would seem cold if we were surrounded by the air of a hot
summer day," answered his father; "but being of a much higher
temperature than the air above it, it would seem quite warm to you
now if you should put your bare hand into it. We can only say that
a thing is warm by comparing it with something that is colder, or
cold by comparison with that which is warmer."

When Mark and his father went down to breakfast they found the
rescued man still wrapped in blankets, but talking in a faint
voice to the captain; and at the table the latter told the Elmers
what he had learned from him.

His name was Jan Jansen, and he was a Swede, but had served for
several years in the United States navy. On being discharged from
it he had made his way to New Sweden, in the northern part of
Maine; but, a week before, he had come to Bangor, hoping to obtain
employment for the winter in one of the saw-mills. In this he has
been unsuccessful; and the previous night, while returning from
the city to the house on its outskirts in which he was staying, he
undertook to cross a small creek, in the mouth of which were a
number of logs; these were so cemented together by recently formed
ice that he fancied they would form a safe bridge, and tried to
cross on it. When near the middle of the creek, to his horror the
ice gave way with a crash, and in another moment he was floating
away in the darkness on the cake from which he had been so
recently rescued. That it had supported him was owing to the fact
that it still held together two of the logs. He had not dared
attempt to swim ashore in the dark, and so had drifted on during
the night, keeping his feet from freezing by holding them most of
the time in the water.

After breakfast Mr. Elmer and the captain held a consultation, the
result of which was that the former offered Jan Jansen work in
Florida, if he chose to go to the St. Mark's with them; and
Captain Drew offered to let him work his passage to that place as
one of the crew of the Nancy Bell. Without much hesitation the
poor Swede accepted both these offers, and as soon as he had
recovered from the effects of his experience on the ice raft was
provided with a bunk in the forecastle.





CHAPTER III.

"CAPTAIN LI'S" STORY.


All day the Nancy Bell was towed down the broad river, the
glorious scenery along its banks arousing the constant enthusiasm
of our travellers. Late in the afternoon they passed the gray
walls of Fort Knox on the right, and the pretty little town of
Bucksport on the left. They could just see the great hotel at Fort
Point through the gathering dusk, and soon afterwards were tossing
on the wild, windswept waters of Penobscot Bay.

As they cleared the land, so as to sight Castine Light over the
port quarter, the tug cast loose from them and sail was made on
the schooner. The last thing Mark Elmer saw as he left the deck,
driven below by the bitter cold, was the gleam of the light on
Owl's Head, outside which Captain Drew said they should find the
sea pretty rough.

The rest of the family had gone below some time before, and Mark
found that his mother was already very sea-sick. He felt rather
uncomfortable himself, and did not care much for the supper, of
which his father and Ruth eat so heartily. He said he thought he
would go to bed, before supper was half over, and did so, although
it was only six o'clock. Poor Mark! it was a week before he again
sat at table or went on deck.

During this week the Nancy Bell sailed along the coasts of Maine,
New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New York, New Jersey, Delaware,
Maryland, Virginia, and North Carolina. She went inside of
Martha's Vineyard, through Vineyard Sound, in company with a great
fleet of coasters; but when they passed Gay Head, and turned to
the westward into Long Island Sound, the Nancy was headed towards
the lonely light-house on Montauk Point, the extreme end of Long
Island. From here her course was for the Cape May lightship on the
New Jersey coast, and for some time she was out of sight of land.

So they sailed, day after day, ever southward, and towards the
warmth which was to make Mr. Elmer well again.

Although Mark was very ill all this time, Ruth was as bright and
well as though she were on land. This was very mortifying to her
brother; but "Captain Li," who went in to see him every day,
comforted him by telling him of old sailors he had known who were
always sea-sick for the first few days of every voyage they
undertook.

The schooner was off Cape Hatteras before Mark felt able to leave
his berth. At last, one evening when the sea was very quiet,
"Captain Li" said, "Come, Mark, I want you to turn out and go on
deck to see the last of Hatteras Light. You know Cape Hatteras is
one of the worst capes along our entire Atlantic coast, and is
probably the one most dreaded by sailors. When coming home from
the West Indies, they sing an old song which begins:

"'Now if the Bermudas let you pass,
Then look for Cape Hatteras.'"

Slowly dressing, with the captain's aid, Mark, feeling very weak,
but free from the horrible sickness from which he had suffered so
long, managed to get out on deck. He was astonished at the change
that one week's sailing southward had made in the general
appearance of things. When he was last on deck, it and the rigging
were covered with snow and ice. Now not a particle of either was
to be seen, and the air was mild and pleasant. A new moon hung low
in the western sky, and over the smooth sea the schooner was
rippling along merrily, under every stitch of canvas that she
could spread.

Mark received a warm welcome from his father, mother, and Ruth,
who were all on deck, but had not expected to see him there that
evening.

"Quick, Mark! Look! Hatteras is 'most gone," said Ruth, pointing,
as she spoke, to a little twinkle of light so far astern that it
seemed to rest on the very waters. Half an hour later the captain
said, "Now let's go below, where it is warmer; and if you care to
hear it, I will spin you a yarn of Hatteras Light."

"Yes, indeed," said Ruth and Mark together.

"By all means; a story is just the thing," said Mr. and Mrs.
Elmer, also together, at which they all laughed, hooked little
fingers, and wished.

When they had made themselves comfortable in the cabin, Mark being
allowed to occupy the lounge on account of his recent illness, the
captain began as follows:

"Ten years ago this winter I made my first voyage of any length,
though before that I had made some short runs on a little coaster
between New York and down-East ports. Getting tired of this, and
wanting to see something more of the world, I shipped in New York,
early in December, on board the very prettiest craft I ever set
eyes on, for a voyage to the West Indies. She was the hundred-ton
schooner-yacht Mirage, and her owner had determined to try and
make her pay him something during the winter by running her as a
fruiter. She carried a crew of five men, besides the captain,
mate, and steward--all young and able seamen. I was the youngest
and least experienced, but was large for my age, and passed muster
with the rest.

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