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Wakulla

K >> Kirk Munroe >> Wakulla




Mark, who had listened quietly to the whole discussion, now spoke
up and said, "I should like to go, father. As long as I stay here
I shall keep thinking of that terrible underground river over
there. I think of it and dream of it all the time, and sometimes
it seems as if it were only waiting and watching for a chance to
swallow me again. I should love dearly to have Ruth go with me
too, though I am quite sure I am strong enough to take care of
myself"; and he turned towards his mother with a smile.

Ruth said, "Oh, mother, I should love to go, but I can't bear to
leave you! so, whichever way you decide, I shall be perfectly
satisfied and contented."

It was finally decided that they should both go. Mark was to
accompany Ruth as far as Savannah, and see her safely on board the
ship; then, unless he received a pressing invitation from Captain
May to go with him to New York, he was to go by steamer to Boston,
and there take another steamer for Bangor.

This was the both of May, and as the Wildfire was to sail on or
about the 15th, they must be in Savannah on that day; therefore no
time was to be lost in making preparations for the journey.

Such busy days as the next three were! such making of new clothes
and mending of old, to be worn on the journey! so many things to
be thought of and done! Even Aunt Chloe became excited, and
prepared so many nice things for "Misto Mark an' Missy Rufe to eat
when dey's a-trabblin'" that Mark actually laughed when he saw
them.

"Why, Aunt Clo," he explained, "you have got enough there to last
us all the time we're gone. Do you think they don't have anything
to eat up North?"

"Dunno, honey," answered the old woman, gazing with an air of
great satisfaction at the array of goodies. "Allus hearn tell as
it's a powerful pore, cole kentry up dar whar you's a-gwine.
'Specs dey hab somfin to eat, ob co'se, but reckon dar ain't none
too much, sich as hit is."

The good soul was much distressed at the small quantity of what
she had provided, for which room was found in the lunch-basket,
and said she "'lowed dem ar chillun's gwine hungry heap o' times
befo' dey sets eyes on ole Clo agin."

It had been arranged that Mr. and Mrs. Elmer and Frank March
should go with the travellers as far as Tallahassee, and see them
fairly off from there. Bright and early on the morning of the 13th
the mule wagon, in which comfortable seats were fixed, was driven
up to the front door, the trunks, bags, and lunch-basket were put
in, and everything was in readiness for the start.

Mr. March, Jan, Aunt Chloe, and several of the neighbors from
across the river had assembled to see them off, and many and
hearty were the good wishes offered for a pleasant journey and a
safe return in the fall.

"Good-bye, Misto Mark an' Missy Rufe," said Aunt Chloe; "trus' in
de Lo'd while you's young, an' he ain't gwine fo'git yo' in yo'
ole age."

"Good-bye, Aunt Clo! good-bye, everybody!" shouted Mark, as the
wagon rattled away. "Don't forget us!" And in another minute "dear
old Go Bang," as the children already called it, was hidden from
view behind the trees around the sulphur spring.

They stopped for a minute at the mill to get a sack of corn for
the mules, and as they drove from it its busy machinery seemed to
say,

"Good-bye, Mr. President, good-bye, Mr. President, good-bye, Mr.
President of the Elmer Mills."

They reached Tallahassee early in the afternoon, and went to a
hotel for the night. From the many cows on the street Mark tried
to point out to Ruth and Frank the one he had seen climb into a
cart on his previous visit, but none of those they saw looked able
to distinguish herself in that way. They concluded that she had
become disgusted at being called "a ole good-fo'-nuffin," and had
carried her talents elsewhere.

The train left so early the next morning that the sadness of
parting was almost forgotten in the hurry of eating breakfast and
getting down to the station. In the train Mark charged Frank to
take good care of his canoe and rifle, Ruth begged him to be very
kind to poor Bruce, who would be so lonely, and they both promised
to write from Savannah. Then the conductor shouted, "All aboard!"
hurried kisses and last good-byes were exchanged, and the train
moved off.

Ruth cried a little at first, and Mark looked pretty sober, but
they soon cheered up, and became interested in the scenery through
which they were passing. For an hour or two they rode through a
beautiful hill country, in which was here and there a lake covered
with great pond-lilies. Then the hills and lakes disappeared, and
they hurried through mile after mile of pine forests, where they
saw men gathering turpentine from which to make resin. It was
scooped into buckets from cuts made in the bark of the trees, and
the whole operation "looked for all the world," as Mark said,
"like a sugar-bush in Maine."

At Ellaville, sixty-five miles from Tallahassee, they saw great
saw-mills, and directly they crossed one of the most famous rivers
in the country, the Suwannee, and Ruth hummed softly,

"'Way down upon de Swanee Ribber,
Far, far away."

Soon afterwards they reached Live Oak, where they were to change
cars for Savannah. They made the change easily, for their trunks
had been checked through, and they had little baggage to trouble
them. A few miles farther took them across the State line and into
Georgia, which Ruth said, with a somewhat disappointed air, looked
to her very much the same as Florida.

Now that they were in Georgia they felt that they must be quite
near Savannah, and began to talk of Captain May, and wonder if he
would be at the depot to meet them. Letters had been sent to Uncle
Christopher Bangs, to Edna, and to Captain May, as soon as it was
decided that they should take this journey, and Mr. Elmer had
telegraphed to the captain from Tallahassee that morning, so they
felt pretty sure he would know of their coming.

At a junction with the funny name of "Waycross" their car was
attached to an express train from Jacksonville, on which were
numbers of Northern tourists who had been spending the winter in
Florida and were now on their way home. These people interested
the children so much that they forgot to be tired, though it was
now late in the afternoon. At last, as it was beginning to grow
dark, the train rolled into the depot at Savannah. Taking their
bags and holding each other's hands tight, for fear of being
separated in the crowd, the children stepped out on the platform,
where they were at once completely bewildered by the throng of
hurrying people, the confusion, and the noise.

As they stood irresolute, not knowing which way to turn nor what
to do, a cheery voice called out,

"Halloo! here we are. Why, Mark, my hearty, this is indeed a
pleasure--and little Ruth, too! Won't my Edna be delighted!" And
Captain May stooped down and kissed her, right there before all
the people, as though he were her own father.

"Oh, Captain Bill!" said Mark, greatly relieved at seeing the
familiar face, "we are so glad to see you. We were just beginning
to feel lost."

"Lost, eh?" laughed the captain; "well, that's a good one. The
idea of a boy who's been through what you have feeling lost--right
here among folks too. But then, to one used to the water, this
here dry land is a mighty bewildering place, that's a fact. Well,
come, let's get under way. I've got a carriage moored alongside
the station here, and we'll clap sail on to it and lay a course
for the Wildfire. Steward's got supper ready by this time, and
Sister Emily's impatient to see you. Checks? Oh yes. Here, driver,
take these brasses, and roust out that dunnage; lively, now!"

When they were in the carriage, and rolling quietly along through
the sandy streets, Captain May said they were just in time, for he
was ready to drop down the river that night.

"Then I'd better go to a hotel," said Mark.

"What for?" asked Captain May.

"Because I'm to go to Boston by steamer from here, and Ruth is to
go with you."

"Steamer nothing;" shouted Captain Bill. "You're coming along with
us on the Wildfire. Steamer, indeed!"

This seemed to settle it, and Mark wrote home that evening that,
having received a "pressing invitation," he was going to sail to
New York with Captain Bill May in the Wildfire.





CHAPTER XVIII.

THE BURNING OF THE "WILDFIRE."


"Aunt Emily," as the children called her at once, because she was
Edna May's aunt, welcomed them as warmly as Captain May had done,
and everything in the cabin of the Wildfire was so comfortable
that they felt at home at once. Supper was ready as soon as they
were, and as they sat down to it Mark said he wished "Aunt Clo"
could see it, for he thought it would give her some new ideas of
what Yankees had to eat.

After supper each of the children wrote a letter home, and Mark
and Captain May walked up to the post-office to mail them.

About nine o'clock a tug came for the ship, and very soon they had
bid good-bye to Savannah, and were dropping down the muddy river
towards the sea. As it was a fine moonlit night, the children
stayed on deck with Mrs. Coburn to see what they could of the
river, which here forms the boundary line between the States of
Georgia and South Carolina. On both sides, as far as they could
see, the marshes were covered with fields of growing rice, and
every now and then they heard the sound of music coming from the
funny little negro cabins which were scattered here and there
along the banks.

They passed the old forts Jackson and Pulaski, both on the south
side of the river, and both deserted and falling to ruin, and very
soon had left behind Tybee Island, with its flashing light, at the
mouth of the river. The tug left them when they reached the siren
buoy that keeps up a constant moaning on the outer bar; one after
another of the ship's sails were loosed and "sheeted home," and
then Captain May said it was "high time for the watch below to
turn in."

The sea was so calm and beautiful the next day that even Mark did
not feel ill, nor was he during the voyage. As for Ruth, she knew,
from her experience on the last voyage they had taken, that she
should not be sea-sick, and so everybody was as happy and jolly as
possible.

During the afternoon, after they had all been sitting on deck for
some time, talking of the dear ones left at home, and of the many
friends whom they hoped soon to meet, Ruth said she was going down
to open her trunk and get out the album containing the pictures of
her girl friends in Norton, and see if they looked as she
remembered them. It was so long since she had opened this album
that she had almost forgotten whose pictures were in it. She soon
returned with it in her hand, and with a very puzzled expression
on her face.

"Mark," she said, "did you ever think that Frank March looked like
anybody else whom we know?"

"I don't know," answered Mark. "Yes, come to think of it, I have
thought two or three times that his face had a familiar look, but
I never could think who it was he resembled. Why?"

Placing the album in his hand, and opening it to the first page,
on which was the photograph of Edna May, Ruth said, "Do you think
he looks anything like that?"

"Why, yes! of course he does," exclaimed Mark, startled at the
resemblance he saw. "He looks enough like the picture to be Edna's
brother."

"Aunt Emily," said Ruth, turning to Mrs. Coburn, who sat near
them, "do you know in what Southern city Captain May found Edna?"

"Yes, it was in the one we have just left--Savannah."

"And Frank came from Savannah, and he lost his mother and little
sister there, and Edna's own mother was drowned there. Oh, Mark,
if it should be!" cried Ruth, much excited.

"Wouldn't it be just too jolly?" said Mark.

Mrs. Coburn became almost as interested as the children when the
matter was explained to her; but Captain May was quite provoked
when he heard of it. He said it was only a chance resemblance, and
there couldn't be anything in it. He had made inquiries in
Savannah at the time, and never heard anything of any father or
brother either, and at any rate he was not going to lose his Edna
now for all the brothers and fathers in the world. He finally said
that unless they gave him a solemn promise not to mention a word
of all this to Edna, he should not let her visit them next winter.
So the children promised, and the captain was satisfied; but they
talked the matter over between themselves, and became more and
more convinced that Frank March and Edna May were brother and
sister.

After this the voyage proceeded without incident until the evening
of the third day, when they were sitting at supper in the cabin.
The skylights and port-holes were all wide open, for in spite of
the fresh breeze that was blowing, the cabin was uncomfortably
close and hot. Mark said the further north they went the hotter it
seemed to get, and the others agreed with him. Captain May said
that if the breeze held, and they were lucky in meeting a pilot,
they would be at anchor in New York Harbor before another supper-
time, and he hoped the hot spell would be over before they were
obliged to go ashore. While he was speaking the mate put his head
down the companion-way and said,

"Captain May, will you be good enough to step on deck a moment,
sir?"

As the captain went on deck he noticed that all the crew were
gathered about the forecastle, and were talking earnestly.

"What's in the wind now, Mr. Gibbs?" he asked of the mate, who at
that moment stepped up to him.

"Why, sir, only this, that I believe the ship's on fire. A few
minutes ago the whole watch below came on deck vowing there was no
sleeping in the fo'k'sle; that it was a reg'lar furnace. I went to
see what they was growling at, and 'twas so hot down there it made
my head swim. There wasn't any flame nor any smoke, but there was
a powerful smell of burning, and I'm afraid there's fire in the
cargo."

Without a word Captain May went forward and down into the
forecastle, the men respectfully making way for him to pass. In
less than a minute he came up, bathed in perspiration, and turning
to the crew, said, "My men, there's no doubt but that this ship is
on fire. It's in among the cotton; but if we can keep it smothered
a while longer, I think, with this breeze, we can make our port
before it breaks out. I want you to keep cool and steady, and
remember there's no danger, for we can make land any time in the
boats if worse comes to worse. Mr. Gibbs, have the men get their
dunnage up out of the forecastle, and then close the hatch and
batten it."

Going aft, the captain found his passengers on deck waiting
anxiously to learn the cause of the commotion they had already
noticed. He told them the worst at once, and advised them to go
below and pack up their things ready for instant removal in case
it became necessary.

"Oh, William," exclaimed his sister, "can't we take to the boats
now while there is time? It seems like tempting Providence to stay
on the ship and wait for the fire to break out. What if she should
blow up?"

"Now, don't be foolish, Emily," answered the captain. "There's
nothing on board that can blow up, and it would be worse than
cowardly to leave the ship while there's a chance of saving her.
The boats are all ready to be lowered instantly, and at present
there is no more danger here than there would be in them."

Not a soul on board the Wildfire went to bed or undressed that
night, and Mark and Ruth were the only ones who closed their eyes.
They stayed on deck until midnight, but then, in spite of the
excitement, they became too sleepy to hold their eyes open any
longer, and Mrs. Coburn persuaded them to take a nap on the cabin
sofas.

All night the ship flew like a frightened bird towards her port,
under such a press of canvas as Captain May would not have dared
carry had not the necessity for speed been so great. As the night
wore on the decks grew hotter and hotter, until the pitch fairly
bubbled from the seams, and a strong smell of burning pervaded the
ship. At daylight the American flag was run half-way up to the
mizzen peak, union down, as a signal of distress. By sunrise the
Highlands of Navesink were in sight, and they also saw a pilot-
boat bearing rapidly down upon them from the northward.

As soon as he saw this boat Captain May told his passengers that
he was going to send them on board of it, as he feared the fire
might now break out at any minute, and he was going to ask its
captain to run in to Sandy Hook, and send despatches to the
revenue-cutter and to the New York fire-boat Havemeyer, begging
them to come to his assistance.

Mrs. Coburn and Ruth readily agreed to this plan, but Mark begged
so hard to be allowed to stay, and said he should feel so much
like a coward to leave the ship before any of the other men, that
the captain finally consented to allow him to remain.

The ship's headway was checked as the pilot-boat drew near, in
order that her yawl, bringing the pilot, might run alongside.

"Halloo, Cap'n Bill," sang out the pilot, who happened to be an
old acquaintance of Captain May's. "What's the meaning of all
that?" and he pointed to the signal of distress. "Got Yellow Jack
aboard, or a mutiny?"

"Neither," answered Captain May, "but I've got a volcano stowed
under the hatches, and I'm expecting an eruption every minute."

"You don't tell me?" said the pilot, as he clambered up over the
side. "Ship's afire, is she?"

The state of affairs was quickly explained to him, and he readily
consented that his swift little schooner should run in to the Hook
and send despatches for help. He also said they should be only too
proud to have the ladies come aboard.

Without further delay Mrs. Coburn and Ruth, with their baggage,
were placed in the ship's long-boat, lowered over the side, and in
a few minutes were safe on the deck of the pilot-boat, which
seemed to Ruth almost as small as Mark's canoe in comparison with
the big ship they had just left.

As soon as they were on board, the schooner spread her white wings
and stood in for Sandy Hook, while the ship was headed towards the
"Swash Channel."

As she passed the Romer Beacon Captain May saw the pilot-boat
coming out from behind the Hook, and knew the despatches had been
sent. When his ship was off the Hospital Islands he saw the
revenue-cutter steaming down through the Narrows towards them,
trailing a black cloud behind her, and evidently making all
possible speed.

By this time little eddies of smoke were curling up from around
the closely battened hatches, and Captain May saw that the ship
could not live to reach the upper bay, and feared she would be a
mass of flames before the fire-boat could come to her relief. In
this emergency he told the pilot that he thought they had better
leave the channel and run over on the flats towards the Long
Island shore, so as to be prepared to scuttle her.

"Ay, ay, Cap; I can put her just wherever you want her. Only give
the word," answered the pilot.

"I do give it," said Captain May, as a cloud of smoke puffed out
from the edge of one of the hatches. "Put her there, for she'll be
ablaze now before many minutes."

As the ship's head was turned towards the flats the revenue-cutter
ran alongside. Her captain, followed by a dozen bluejackets,
boarded the ship, and the former, taking in her desperate
situation at a glance, said to Captain May, "You must scuttle her
at once, captain; it's your only chance to save her."

"Very well, sir," answered Captain May. "I think so myself, but am
glad to have your authority for doing so."

As the ship's anchors were let go, her carpenter and a squad of
men from the cutter, armed with axes and augurs, tumbled down into
her cabin, and began what seemed like a most furious work of
destruction. The axes crashed through the carved woodwork,
furniture was hurled to one side, great holes were cut in the
cabin floor, and the ship's planking was laid bare in a dozen
places below the water-line. Then the augurs were set to work, and
in a few minutes a dozen streams of water, spurting up like
fountains, were rushing and gurgling into the ship.

While this was going on in the cabin, the ship's crew, assisted by
others of the revenue men, were removing everything of value on
which they could lay their hands to the deck of the cutter.

Suddenly those in the cabin heard a great cry and a roaring noise
on deck and as they rushed up the companion-way they saw a column
of flame shooting up from the fore-hatch, half-mast high.

Half the people had sprung on board the revenue-cutter as she
sheered off, which she did at the first burst of flame, and now
the others filled the boats, which were quickly lowered and shoved
off. As the boats were being lowered a second burst of flame came
from the main-hatch, and already tongues of fire were lapping the
sails and lofty spars.

Mark had worked with the rest in saving whatever he could lift,
and did not think of leaving the ship until Captain May said,

"Come, Mark, it's time to go. Jump into this boat."

Mark did as he was told, and as Captain May sprang in after him,
and shouted "Lower away!" not a living soul was left on board the
unfortunate vessel.

As the men in the boats rested on their oars, and lay at a safe
distance from the ship, watching the grand spectacle of her
destruction, they saw that she was settling rapidly by the stern.
Lower and lower she sank, and higher and higher mounted the fierce
flames, until, all at once, her bows lifted high out of the water,
her stern seemed to shoot under it, then the great hull plunged
out of sight, and a mighty cloud of smoke and steam rose to the
sky. Through this cloud the flames along the upper masts and yards
shone with a lurid red. At this point the fire-boat arrived; a
couple of well-directed streams of water from her powerful engines
soon extinguished these flames, and the three blackened masts,
pointing vaguely upward, were all that remained to show where, so
short a time before, the great ship had floated.

The pilot-boat had already transferred Mrs. Coburn and Ruth and
their baggage to the cutter, and she now steamed up the bay,
carrying the passengers, crew, and all that had been saved from
the good ship Wildfire.

This disaster to his ship, which would have been so terrible had
it happened out at sea instead of almost in port, as it did,
obliged Captain May to remain in New York several days. Of this
Mark and Ruth were very glad, for it gave them an opportunity to
see some of the wonders of the great city of which they had read
so much, and which they had longed so often to visit.

Mrs. Coburn, who had at one time lived in New York, and so knew
just what was best worth seeing, took them to some new place every
day. They saw the great East River Bridge that connects New York
and Brooklyn, they took the elevated railroad, and went the whole
length of Manhattan Island to High Bridge, on which the Croton
Aqueduct crosses the Harlem River, and on the way back stopped and
walked through Central Park to the Menagerie, where they were more
interested in the alligators than anything else, because they
reminded them so of old friends, or rather enemies.

They visited museums and noted buildings and stores, until Ruth
declared that she wanted to get away where it was quiet, and she
didn't see how people who lived in New York found time to do
anything but go round and see the sights.

They were all glad when Captain May was ready to leave, and after
the noise and bustle of the great city they thoroughly enjoyed the
quiet night's sail up Long Island Sound on the steamer Pilgrim.

At Fall River they took cars for Boston, where they stayed one
day. From there they took the steamer Cambridge for Bangor, where
they arrived in the morning, and where "Uncle Christmas," as jolly
and hearty as ever, met them at the wharf.

"Sakes alive, children, how you have growed!" he said, holding
them off at arm's-length in front of him, and looking at them
admiringly. "Why, Mark, you're pretty nigh as tall as a Floridy
pine."

He insisted on taking the whole party to dine with him at the
hotel, and at dinner told Mark that that little business of theirs
had got to wait a while, and meantime he wanted him to run over to
Norton, and stay at Dr. Wing's until he came for him.

This was just what Mark had been wishing, above all things, that
he could do, and he almost hugged "Uncle Christmas" for his
thoughtful kindness.

After dinner the happy party bade the old gentleman good-bye, and
took the train for Skowhegan, where they found the same old
rattlety-bang stage waiting to carry them to Norton.

As with a flourish of the driver's horn and a cracking of his whip
they rolled into the well-known Norton street, a crowd of boys and
girls, who seemed to have been watching for them, gave three
rousing cheers for Mark Elmer, and three more for Ruth Elmer, and
then three times three for both of them.

The stage stopped, and in another instant Ruth was hugging and
kissing, and being hugged and kissed, by her "very dearest,
darlingest friend" Edna May, and Mark was being slapped on the
back and hauled this way and that, and was shaking hands with all
the boys in Norton.

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