CHAPTER IV.
A TRIP UP THE SAN SEBASTIAN.
Strange as it may seem, the Shepards, though they had resided two winters in Jacksonville, had never been to St. Augustine, or even up the St. Johns River. The state of Mrs. Shepard's health had not permitted her to travel for several years, until the preceding summer. They had simply left the ancient city and the up-river glories of "The Land of Flowers" to a more propitious season in the future.
"How do you like the looks of St. Augustine, Miss Edith?" I asked, after we had passed the civilities of the moment, though I did not venture to present Mr. Kirby Cornwood to the party.
"I like it well enough," replied the pretty young lady, with something like a yawn. "But I am getting tired of it so soon; for we have seen so many old Spanish cities in Spain and in the West Indies, that St. Augustine reads like an old story."
The face of the native Floridian wore an expression of horror as he listened to the remark of Miss Edith. Possibly he might have abated his astonishment at this partially unfavorable opinion of his native city if he had known that she and Owen spent most of their time in thinking of other matters than an old city.
"I am delighted with the place," added Mrs. Shepard. "But we pass various objects of interest without knowing what they are. We have not even a guide-book to help us out."
Mr. Cornwood smiled, but he said nothing. I wondered that he did not offer his services to the lady; but he manifested what seemed to be a very strange modesty for him, standing a little apart from the rest of us, and not even looking at the pretty face of Miss Edith. I took the liberty to introduce the Floridian. He removed his Panama, and bowed low when I mentioned his name; but he did not even speak, much less indulge in any of his pretentious speeches. The walk was resumed, and in the course of the forenoon we had explored the city, from Fort San Marco, on the north, to the point at the south of the city.
Mr. Cornwood proved that he knew all about St. Augustine. I had studied the history of the place and the state very carefully during the leisure hours of the voyage from the Bermudas, and I was able to confirm the truth of all he said, so far as my knowledge extended, though he went far beyond me. In a little while he was the very centre of the party. It is true that Owen several times requested him to "cut it short," at which the Floridian did not seem to be at all offended; but he soon found that the rest of the company did not wish to have even the historical portions of the guide's discourse abbreviated.
I do not intend to give the history or describe the objects of interest we saw in Florida, except incidentally, for it would take all my space to do these, and I do not pretend to do much more than tell my story. I must say that I was very much interested in the history and descriptions of Mr. Cornwood; and I have no doubt my readers would be equally interested, if I had pages enough at my disposal to include them.
The Floridian did his duty modestly, though he had become the most important person of the party for the time being. There was not a particle of the "brag" and pretension which had caused me to distrust everything he said. As we walked from place to place he kept at a respectful distance from the passengers, and never intruded himself upon them, though he was always ready to answer any questions. After a three-hours' run we returned to the pier.
I had expected that the party would prefer to go on shore, after their sea-voyage, and take up their residence for our stay at the principal hotel; but they manifested no such intention. As they had taken nothing on shore with them, I had told the steward to have dinner ready for them at the usual hour. The port quarter-boat, which was mine, had come to the landing-place, and the party embarked. I invited Mr. Cornwood to go on board with me, and he accepted the invitation. He took his place in the fore-sheets of the boat, apparently for the purpose of maintaining his respectful distance from the passengers.
In a few minutes we were on the deck of the Sylvania. The passengers retired to the cabin, and Cornwood followed me to my state-room. As soon as we entered the apartment his manner underwent a sudden change. He was as free and familiar as he had been at our interview on board in the morning. As I interpreted his conduct, he considered himself on an entire equality with me, while he intended to treat my passengers with the utmost deference and respect. I did not object to his view of the relations to be maintained to my passengers and myself; on the contrary, his view was precisely my own.
"What is your price for the service you propose to render, Mr. Cornwood?" I asked, when we were seated.
"Five dollars a day, including Sundays," he replied, without any hesitation. "Of course this salary is besides my board and all expenses."
"That is only three times my own wages," I added with a smile.
"If you will engage me for a year, I will call it fifty dollars a month, and be glad to make this slight reduction of two-thirds," he answered promptly, and with the most easy assurance. "I can make hay only when the sun shines, captain; and I could make more at your wages twice over than I can at my own. The year is not often more than four months long for my business. I attend upon first-class parties only, and I charge eight dollars a day when I am engaged for only a single week. Your party want to go up the St. Johns for at least a month. However, if you object to the price, there is a party at the St. Augustine Hotel who want me for a week to go to Indian River with them. They are willing to give me ten dollars a day; but I prefer to go with your party at the price I named."
"I am very much obliged to you for this mark of consideration on your part," I replied. "Though you are a perfect stranger to me, I suppose it would not be regarded as an insult for me to ask for any testimonials."
"Not at all. Though I could procure a bushel or two of them, I do not happen to have any with me; but I will refer you to the landlords, and to any resident of St. Augustine."
He seemed to be ready to answer anything I could ask him, and he named a dozen persons of whom I might inquire in regard to him. While the passengers were on shore in the forenoon, I had directed the hands to spread the awnings on the quarter-deck and forecastle. When dinner was over the party seemed to be very well satisfied to remain on board after their walk, for after the sea-voyage the exertion tired them. Owen told me they should not go on shore again, and I decided to inquire into the character and antecedents of Mr. Cornwood.
When we came up from dinner I found Owen smoking his cigar on the forecastle. My passenger asked Cornwood a question, and they were soon engaged in conversation in regard to Florida. Taking the port boat, with Ben Bowman and Hop Tossford, I left the steamer. I did not even take the trouble to tell the Floridian where I was going. If my inquiries were satisfactorily answered, I intended to engage him for the time we remained in Florida. He had mentioned the name of a family that boarded on the west side of the city, near the San Sebastian River, and I decided to make the first inquiries there.
I steered the boat around the point into the river, and soon passed the more thickly settled portion of the town. Orange groves lined the shore, and the fragrant jasmine scented the air. If I had not been all winter in the tropics, I should have gone into ecstasies over the scene that was spread out before me. But orange groves were nothing new to me now, and I was familiar with banana and palm trees.
I could not be insensible to the beauties of the region, and in that mild atmosphere I could not help enjoying it. On the shore were the dwellings of wealthy men who spent their winters in this delightful locality. Soon we came to a house, on the very bank of the river, with a kind of pier built out into the river, at which several sail and row boats were moored. This was the large boarding-house to which I had been directed by the Floridian.
I identified it from his description some time before we reached it. As the boat approached the house, and I ran in towards the pier, I noticed there was a great commotion in the vicinity. The inmates were rushing out of the house, negroes were running here and there, apparently without any settled purpose, and not a few women were screaming.
"I wonder what the matter is at that house," I said to the oarsmen, who were back to the scene, and could see nothing of it.
"Matter enough, I should say," replied Ben Bowman, who pulled the bow-oar, as he looked behind him. "The house is on fire!"
The immense live-oaks that half concealed the house from my view had prevented me from seeing the volume of smoke and flame that was rising from one corner of the mansion. The fire had already made considerable progress.
"Give way, lively, my men!" I called to the rowers. "We shall be needed there."
Ben and Hop pulled a strong stroke, and they exerted themselves until the oars bent before their vigorous muscles. I headed the boat for some steps I saw on the pier, and in a few moments more we were within hailing distance of the wharf.
"Way enough!" I called to the oarsmen. They ceased rowing, and brought their oars to a perpendicular, man-of-war fashion, as required by our boat-drill.
Ben Bowman went to the bow, fended off, and then jumped ashore with the painter in his hand. Hop Tossford and I followed him in good order, as all were instructed to move when in the boats; and in a moment we were on the pier. My men broke into a run for the scene of the fire; but I moved more slowly, and studied the situation as I walked up the wharf.
The inmates of the house and the neighbors who had gathered appeared to be in utter confusion, and incapable of doing anything, if there was anything that could be done. It seemed to me that the fire had progressed too far to be checked, and that the entire destruction of the house was inevitable. But certainly some portion of the property in the building could be saved, and the people seemed to have no power even to attend to this duty. Our boat's crew could set a good example in this way, if in no other; and I hurried my steps as soon as I could decide what to do.
As soon as I reached the garden in the rear of the house, I found there was something more important to be done than saving furniture. A gentleman whom I judged to be about forty years of age was on the point of rushing into the burning house when he was held back by others. They said the stairs were already in flames, and the second story could be reached only from the outside.
"My daughter is asleep in the corner-room!" gasped the gentleman, pointing to the window of the chamber.
The next instant Hop Tossford was running up the posts of the veranda.
CHAPTER V.
SAVED FROM THE BURNING HOUSE.
By this time the flames, which had been confined to half a dozen windows, were breaking out through the roof of the house. Ben Bowman and I followed Hop Tossford to the roof of the veranda, which surrounded the building, though, as we had waited to hear more of the situation, we were considerably behind him. We all attempted the ascent by different posts. That which Ben took slipped out, and tumbled over; and the fire was so hot where I was that I had some difficulty in getting a foothold on the roof.
Saved from the Burning HouseSaved from the Burning House.Page 53.
I had hardly accomplished my purpose when I heard a scream. The next instant I saw Hop leap from the window near the corner with a lady in his arms. She was still screaming; but it appeared that she had been alarmed only at finding herself in the arms of a stranger. She had not been aroused from her sleep till Hop lifted her from the bed.
The deck-hand set her on her feet as soon as he reached the roof of the veranda. She looked about her, and she could not help seeing and hearing the devouring flames. She comprehended the situation, and ceased to scream. By this time a ladder was raised to the roof of the veranda, and as soon as Hop saw the top of it, he assisted the lady to descend, which she accomplished in safety. I saw her in the arms of her father, and both of them were weeping.
As soon as I saw that the young lady was safe, I led the way into the rooms on the side of the house which was not yet on fire, though the flames were now breaking into them, and proceeded to throw out the baggage and other articles we found. Hop took the chamber from which he had just saved the occupant, and removed a trunk and all the drawers of a bureau. These articles were carried down the ladder by the guests and others. We worked until we were driven from the veranda by the flames.
When I reached the ground, I found the lady who had been saved out on the pier with her father, with their trunks which had been removed there by the latter. She had transferred from the drawers of the bureau brought out by Hop, all her clothing. She had quite recovered from her fright. She was not more than sixteen, and with the exception of Edith Shepard, I never saw a prettier girl.
"We are under very great obligations to you, gentlemen," said the father of the fair young lady. "I am sure my daughter would have perished without the assistance of one of your number."
"This is the young man that brought your daughter out of the house," I replied, pointing to Hop.
"I thank you with all my heart and soul for what you have done," said the stranger, taking Hop's hand. "It seems that my daughter was asleep when you entered her chamber, and she would surely have been burned to death without your bold effort."
"And I thank you with all my heart and soul!" exclaimed the young lady, blushing as she took the hand of her gallant deliverer. "I was fast asleep when you lifted me from the bed, and I only screamed because I thought some man was carrying me off. At first, I thought it was a dream."
"I was very clumsy about it; and I beg your pardon for frightening you so. I might have spoken before I took you from the bed. But I have had no experience in such business," pleaded Hop. "I shall know better how to do it next time."
"You did it exceedingly well," said the lady, with emphasis.
"It matters little how it was done, so it was done," said the father.
"That is just what I think, papa. I can't express anything at all that I feel towards this gentleman for the great service he has done me. I wish I could say just what is in my heart!" exclaimed the fair young lady.
"I am very glad you can not," added Hop, who seemed to be embarrassed by the gratitude of the young lady and her father.
"We shall never forget the service of this young gentleman. Everybody else was paralyzed, and unable to do anything," continued the stranger. "I had been to walk; and on my return I saw the smoke long before I reached the house. I did not think of my daughter being in her room at first, but it occurred to me that she has been in the habit of taking a nap after dinner lately. As I did not see her among the other people of the house, I was paralyzed by the thought that she might be asleep."
"I owe my life to your coming; and I never shall forget this service, any more than my father," added the young lady, as she bestowed a grateful look upon Hop.
"We shall see more of you, gentlemen; and I hope I shall be able to prove to you that I properly value the service you have rendered. But, Margie, we are turned out of house and home by the fire."
"But we have saved all our luggage, thanks to these gentlemen! We are not so badly off as some of the people in the house, who must have lost everything."
"There are some others here who will have occasion to be thankful for your arrival; for I don't think anything would have been saved if you had not taken the lead. But, Margie, we haven't even a carriage to convey us to a hotel."
"I think I can manage that for you, sir," I interposed. "We can take you and your trunks into our boat, and convey you to the other side of the town."
"Thanks; you are very kind. But we are not willing to take up any more of your time," protested the stranger. "Besides, I don't know where to go, unless we take the next train for Jacksonville; for yesterday, and when we arrived a week ago, the hotels and boarding-houses were all full to overflowing. I only got in where I was by the landlord and his daughter giving us their rooms, while they went to a cottage of a friend. Perhaps we had better leave the place at once, for I am sure we can't find lodgings. I looked the place all over for accommodations."
"But we are too late to leave the place to-night, papa," replied Miss Margie, and both she and her father seemed to be very anxious about the situation.
"We shall find some kind of accommodations at the hotels, though it be nothing better than the servants' rooms. They won't let us sleep in the streets," added the father, more cheerfully.
"I think I can take care of you for a few days," I interposed; "at any rate, until you find better quarters."
"Pardon me, sir; but you look like sailors; and you all went up the posts under the veranda as though you were sailors," added the gentleman.
"We are sailors, and we belong to a steam-yacht lying at anchor on the other side of the city," I replied. "We will take you and your daughter around to her, with your baggage; and then you can make such arrangements for the future as you desire."
"We thank you; you are very kind, and we accept your offer," said the gentleman. "The place is so crowded with visitors that it is very difficult to get anything done for you; and we might have to stay here a long time before we could get a carriage to convey us and our luggage to another place. Besides, this fire will turn forty or fifty people out of their house, and there will be an increased demand for rooms."
"I can take care of you for a few days, at any rate," I replied. "Put those trunks into the fore sheets of the boat, Ben."
The trunks and the other baggage were stowed in the forward part of the boat, and I assisted the fair stranger and her father to the cushioned seats in the stern sheets. When we were all in, the boat was pretty well loaded down. Ben shoved her well off into the stream, and I took the tiller-lines, seated between my two passengers.
"Up oars! Let fall! Give way!" I continued, giving the usual orders. Ben and Hop bent to their oars, while all of us took a parting view of the scene of the fire. The house was burned to the ground; and it seemed to me that nearly the whole population of the city was gathered in the vicinity. A fire was not a common thing, and people went to see it as a curiosity.
The month of March is one of the most trying in the whole year in the North, and vast numbers of people had come down to Florida to escape its rigors. All the watering-places in the State were crowded with visitors, and in St. Augustine, the most popular resort, there was not a vacant room to be had. While my new passengers were gazing at the remains of the fire and the crowd that surrounded them, I began to think how I should dispose of my guests on board of the Sylvania. I was not quite willing to intrude upon Owen's party by putting them in the after cabin; but I could easily make two rooms of the captain's large apartment, while Washburn and I found quarters in the forward cabin.
The vigorous strokes of Ben and Hop soon brought us to the steamer. The passengers were still seated under the awning of the quarter-deck; and Owen had finished his cigar and joined Miss Edith, whose shadow he was when his cigar did not need attention. They all rose from their seats when they saw that I had company, for of course their curiosity was excited. We pulled around the stern, and came up to the port gangway, where the steps were rigged out.
Hop Tossford handed Miss Margie up the steps to the deck, while I assisted the gentleman, whose name I did not yet know, though I had read "P. T." on the ends of the trunks. I conducted the new passengers to the captain's room. I wanted Washburn, in order to have him remove his clothes and other articles into the forward cabin. When I looked for him, he was with the party on the quarter-deck. I went to him. In a few words I explained the situation to him. He was very willing to change his quarters, and declared that he would sleep on the fore-yard, if necessary.
"I beg your pardon, Captain Alick, but what had you in the boat?" asked Owen, as Washburn went forward.
"I had a gentleman and his daughter, with their luggage, as we say in England," I replied.
"I beg your pardon again; but who are the gentleman and his daughter?"
"I haven't the least idea. They were in a house over the other side of the city, and some way up, which has just been burned to the ground. Very likely that young lady would have been burned to death if Hop had not brought her out of her room, where she was asleep. Every hotel and boarding-house in the place is full, and they had no place to go: so I brought them on board till they can find a hotel."
"Very good of you; but what were you just saying to Robsy?" demanded Owen.
"I told him to move his traps out of our room; and I shall do the same with mine," I replied.
"You will do nothing of the sort," protested my cousin.
"What's the reason I won't?"
"Because the lady shall have my state room; and her father and I will just take berths in the cabin."
Before I could say anything more, Owen rushed down into the cabin, and I followed him.
CHAPTER VI.
MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC ON BOARD.
Owen called the steward and the waiter, and directed them to move all his luggage from the state-room. He assisted himself in the work, and seemed to be very much in earnest.
"I don't ask you to do this, Owen; and I didn't expect you to do it," I protested.
"Did you expect me to be a swine?" demanded he indignantly.
"No, certainly not; but I have no right to do anything to deprive you of the comfort you pay for," I replied.
"But who are these people, Alick?"
"They haven't even given me their names; I know nothing whatever in regard to them. Rather than have them stay out in the street, I was ready to give up my room."
"It's all right, Alick. Give the lady my state-room, and I will take a berth. The curtains draw out in such a way as to make a little room in front of each bunk, and I shall be just as well off as in my room."
"I don't like to have you do this. Won't you take my room? I will have it fitted up for you in as good style as this cabin; and it is twice as large as this room."
"No, I thank you, Alick. I shall be very comfortable in one of these berths. Let me hear no more objections. Now bring the gentleman and his daughter down into the cabin, and assure them they are as welcome as they would be in their own house."
It was useless to say anything more to Owen; for when he insisted on having his own way, he had it. I went forward and invited the strangers below. Ben brought their trunks and other baggage after them, and they were soon installed in their new quarters.
"What a lovely little room!" exclaimed Miss Margie, as I showed the state-room. "It is ever so much nicer than the one I had in the steamer I came across the ocean in!"
"I am sorry I have not another state-room for you, sir," I said to her father, as I came out of the daughter's room. "But we will do the best we can for you."
I pulled out the slide to which the curtains were attached, in front of one of the berths.
"Nothing could be better than that," replied the gentleman, with enthusiasm. "We are better lodged than we were in that boarding-house. The only fear is that we are intruding."
"Not at all, sir. The gentleman that charters the yacht wished me to say to you that you are as welcome as you could be in your own house."
"I will soon pay my respects to him. I dare say he is the owner of this delightful little craft."
"No, sir; he only charters her."
"And who is the owner of her?"
"I am the owner, sir."
"Bless me! You are quite a young man to be the owner of such a fine little vessel," said the new passenger. "Will you favor me with your name?"
"Alexander Garningham," I replied, not supposing my name could be of any particular consequence to him.
"Garningham! I half suspected it!" ejaculated the gentleman. "I have a letter for you."
"A letter for me, sir!" I exclaimed, wondering who could have given him such a missive.
"It is very strange that I should stumble on you in this manner, when I have been looking for you all over the country," continued the gentleman, fumbling his pockets for the letter.
I almost came to the conclusion that he was a "fraud," trying to play some trick upon me, in the interest of Captain Boomsby, or some other designing person, when he produced the letter. He handed it to me. I instantly recognized the peculiar handwriting of my father. It thrilled me to my very soul. I glanced at the superscription. It was my name in the familiar writing. Under it was, "By the hand of the Hon. Pardon Tiffany."
"Mr. Tiffany, I am very happy to meet you," I said, when I had read what was on the outside of the letter.
"Captain Alick Garningham, I am more than happy to see you," he replied, grasping my hand. "I know all about you from your father."
I excused myself, and opened the letter; but it was only an introduction, written just before my father started for India. He spoke of Mr. Tiffany as his best and truest friend in England, who was to travel a year or more in America.
"How long have you been in this country, Mr. Tiffany?" I asked, thinking it very strange, from the date of the letter, that I had not seen him before.
"Less than four months. I was ill after your father started for India, and was unable to leave home till six months later than I had intended," he replied. "I suppose you hear from your father occasionally?"
"I have not heard from him since he left for India," I replied.
I saw that he knew nothing of the events which had occurred since I left Lake St. Clair. It took me an hour to tell the story in full. He seemed to be greatly astonished when I told him that the person who chartered the steam-yacht was my cousin, Owen Garningham. He knew most of the family, though he had never met Owen, who had been away at school, or on his travels on the Continent, when he visited my father.
Miss Margie had come out of her state-room some time before I finished my story; but she busied herself with a book till we had concluded our conference. I asked them both to go on deck with me, and I introduced them to my passengers. Owen did not appear to know Mr. Tiffany, or to know of him when his name was mentioned. I thought it was best not to say anything at present. Both of the guests were treated with the utmost consideration and kindness by Owen and the Shepards. The story of the fire was rehearsed, and Miss Margie was the heroine of the hour.
The afternoon was wearing away, and I had yet made no inquiries in regard to Cornwood. I knew not where to find the person to whom he had referred me at the house which had been burned. I ordered the boat again, and went on shore. I found a party at one of the hotels who had employed the Floridian, and they spoke in the highest terms of him. The natives of St. Augustine usually smiled when I asked about Cornwood; but no one said anything against him that I did not know--that he was "airy" and given to "brag." It was about dark when I returned, but the Floridian was still on board.
"I am sorry to hear that Colonel Estwell's house has been burned," said Cornwood, as I came on deck. "It was doing a good business, and the fire will be a heavy blow to the Colonel. I suppose you heard nothing bad about me."
"Nothing very bad. I engage you at the terms you named for the time the steam-yacht remains in Florida," I added. "You will have a berth in the forward cabin, and mess with the officers."
"You will have no occasion to regret what you have done," said the Floridian, confidently.
"I hope not. Now, can you find a waiter for me?" I continued, explaining the need of additional help in the steward's department.
"A waiter! Fifty more than there are in the city could find places in one hour," said he, laughing at the apparent absurdity of the question. "However, as you have applied to me, I have no doubt I can find one for you."
"Do you think you can?" I asked, rather anxiously. "I have added two more persons to the company to be cared for at the cabin-table, and we shall get nothing to eat in the forward cabin if we don't have more help."
"You shall have a waiter if I have to take him out of the dining-room of the St. Augustine Hotel," replied Mr. Cornwood, with as much assurance as though all the waiters in the city were under his charge.
I sent him ashore in the starboard boat; and Buck and Landy, the crew, were glad to spend an hour in the city. In less than that time the Floridian returned, and with him was the waiter. When the new man came into my room to see me, I was not a little surprised to find he was the same "yellow man" I had seen in the boat that brought off the guide the first time he boarded the Sylvania.
He was a remarkably good-looking fellow, and I soon ascertained that he was as intelligent as he was handsome. His name was Griffin Leeds. He was neither a Spaniard nor an Italian, but an octoroon.
Both the guide and the waiter brought off their baggage in the boat. Among the effects of Griffin Leeds I noticed a violin-case. Tom Sands, the cabin-waiter, whom I had obtained at Jacksonville, played the banjo in the most artistic manner. Neither of the waiters were any common sort of colored men; and I soon found that race distinctions were vastly more insisted on by these men than by any white man on board, unless it was the Floridian.
We had a full table in the forward cabin at supper that night, and Griffin Leeds showed that he thoroughly understood his business, and that he was active and zealous besides. I was very well pleased with him, and so were all the other officers of the steamer.
It was a bright moonlight evening, and the air was soft and balmy. I sat with the passengers under the awning on the quarter-deck. By this time Edith and Margie had got along far enough to sit with their arms around each other's waists. One would think they had known each other for years, they were so affectionate. We were talking about the voyage down from the Great Lakes, when the attention of the whole party was attracted by the music of a violin on the hurricane-deck. The instrument was well played. Presently the volume of the music was increased by the addition of a banjo.
"That's good," said Owen. "I think music, even if it isn't first-class, is delightful on the water."
"It is perfectly charming!" exclaimed Edith.
"It seems almost like fairy-land!" added Margie.
I saw that all hands were in the gangway; then a violoncello, of whose existence on board I was not aware, was passed up to the hurricane-deck. Landy Perkins played on this instrument, which had been purchased at St. George. I knew that Ben Bowman had formerly played in the Montomercy Brass Band, and I saw him mount the ladder with his cornet. In a few minutes our band was playing "There's music in the air," though the first attempts were evidently not entirely satisfactory to the musicians. After an hour's practice together the music improved.
We sat on deck till a late hour. The next day, under the guidance of Mr. Cornwood, the party visited the coquina quarries on Anastasia Island, and wandered over the city again. In the evening the band played again, reinforced by the Floridian, who played the cornet. He told me confidentially that he was not in the habit of playing with "niggers," but he was willing to do anything to contribute to the pleasure of the party. I thought it was very condescending in him.
After three days at St. Augustine we sailed for Jacksonville.
CHAPTER VII.
THE ENEMY IN A NEW BUSINESS.
We had three ladies on board; but Tom Sands was the bedroom steward as well as waiter, and I thought this was not just the thing. I came to the conclusion, before we left St. Augustine, that we ought to have a stewardess to wait upon the ladies. I spoke to Mr. Cornwood, and in a few hours more we had Chloe, the wife of Griffin Leeds, duly installed in that position.
She had no children, and did not appear to be more than twenty years old. She was very neat and lively, and the ladies were much pleased with her. She had had experience on a Charleston and a St. Johns steamer. The forecastle of the Sylvania had not been used on the cruise except as a store-room, and I had this prepared for the use of Leeds and his wife. Peeks and Sands slept in the cabin; and if the stewardess was wanted in the night, she could be called.
It was only a six or seven hours' run to Jacksonville, especially as we had a strong south-westerly breeze, and carried all sail in addition to our steam. We started at an early hour in the morning, so as to have the tide right to cross the bar at the mouth of the river.
"You needn't put that flag in the fore-rigging," said Mr. Cornwood, when he discovered the signal for a pilot flying, as we approached the bar.
"Why not?" I asked, forgetting some of the wonderful things he had told me he could do.
"I am a pilot for any waters of Florida, and I can take the steamer across the bar as well as any man you will pay for this service," he added, apparently hurt by the appearance of the ensign on the foremast.
"But you have neither branch nor warrant; and if anything should happen to the Sylvania while she has not a regular pilot on board, my passengers would never forgive me."
"But I know that bar as well as I knew the rooms in my father's house," protested the Floridian.
"But you are not an authorized pilot," I insisted.
I could not see why he was so strenuous about the matter, unless it was because he thought I distrusted his ability. The steamer was not insured, so that nothing depended upon that matter; but I could not trust a pilot whose ability had not been proved. Cornwood was quite sulky about the matter for some time, and declared that, if he was to be of no use on board he did not care to remain. He had some self-respect, and he could not take his salary if he did not earn it.
When the pilot came on board it proved to be the same one who had taken us over in December. He had a great deal to say about the exciting events of that day; and as he stood at the wheel he asked many questions about the steamer and the man who had attempted to wreck her.
"I took an ice schooner up to Jacksonville about three weeks ago, and I stopped a day in the city," said the pilot. "You see, I live on Fort George Island, and when I go up to the city I always come down again as soon as I can; but this time I stopped over for a day, for I had a chance to bring a vessel down. I went into a saloon on Bay Street, and who should I see behind the bar but the man that ran the other steam-yacht into this one, or tried to do so, and got the boot on t'other leg."
"What, Captain Boomsby?" I asked, astonished at the information.
"Yes, that's the name. I had forgotten what it was; and he hadn't got his sign out then."
"Do you mean to say that he is in business in Jacksonville?" I asked.
"He keeps a saloon there."
"What sort of a saloon?"
"Why, a bar-room," replied the pilot, laughing. "He told me he had been up north since I saw him, and had brought his family down. He lives overhead the saloon; and he seemed to be doing a lively business."
"I am afraid he will be his own best customer," I added.
"I reckon he is, for he was getting rather full when I saw him."
"He talked about coming to Florida when I saw him in Michigan; but he said he was going into the business of raising early vegetables and oranges."
"He has got a place up the river, and means to raise truck for the market besides. He must have some money."
"I think he has considerable property. He did not find farming in Michigan as profitable as he expected. He is one of those men who want to coin money all at once."
Shortly after noon we came to anchor off the city. The pilot leaped into his canoe, and boarded a steamer going down the river. Colonel Shepard was in a hurry to go on shore, and I landed him at once. The steward went off to the market for ice and fresh provisions in the other boat. I did not expect all my passengers to remain on board while we were at Jacksonville. The Colonel had a house which had been badly damaged by fire while we were here in December, and I had no doubt he would occupy it, with his family, while we remained here.
He was not absent more than an hour, for his house was on St. James Park, a short distance from the shore. Everything about it had been put in complete repair, and it was ready for occupancy. In the afternoon we landed the family, and the Hon. Mr. Tiffany and his daughter were invited to go with them. The Sylvania seemed to be deserted when they were gone; but in a few days we were to begin the trip up the river, and in the meantime take the party on such excursions as they desired to make. Of course Owen went with the Shepards.
Chloe had made herself so agreeable to the ladies that they desired her to accompany them on shore. The steamer was in first-rate condition, and there was nothing for anybody to do but eat and sleep. Mr. Kirby Cornwood was still sulky because he had not been permitted to pilot the vessel up from the ocean; but I was not disposed to comfort him. About four o'clock, it was so quiet on board, I thought I would go on shore for a while. Washburn was asleep in our room, and I did not disturb him, for we had all been up till after midnight the night before, listening to the music, and enjoying the moonlight.
I landed at the boat wharf opposite the Grand National Hotel, on Bay Street. This is the principal street of the city, and both sides of it are lined with stores, warehouses, and the principal public buildings. It extends parallel with the river. At one end of it is the railroad station and the Grand National; near the other end are the Carlton Hotel and the Yacht Club house. Nearly all the business of the city is done on this street.
When the stranger leaves Bay Street he seems to enter another country in passing the distance of a single square. About all the other streets are bordered with live-oaks or water-oaks, and every house has a flower-garden and an orange grove, on a small scale. The balconies and verandas are loaded with vines, which are in full flower in March. The air is scented with the fragrance of the jasmine. The sidewalks are of wood, and the roads are the original soil, which looks like the blue house-sand of the North.
St. James Park is two squares from Bay Street. All of one side of it is occupied by the St. James Hotel. In the centre of the park is a small kiosk, from which one may take in the surroundings. Like all the rest of Florida, even the fertile orange groves, the soil looks like blue sand. There are plenty of semi-tropical plants, and the scene is as unlike anything in the North as possible. In every lot there are orange-trees, with oranges on them; but they are not the eatable fruit. They are bitter or sour oranges, which remain on the trees all winter.
The orange-trees blossom in March; and then the air is densely loaded with their perfume. The leaves remain green all winter; but in the early spring they begin to put forth new shoots and leaves. The old leaves are dark green, and the new ones light. On the same tree may be seen the old and the new leaves, the ripe fruit, and the richly-scented blossoms. Coming from the frozen North in March, the traveller seems to be hurled into "eternal summer," more like fairy-land than anything else, as the wheels whirl him into Jacksonville.
I had seen the place in December, coming from the summer of a more northern latitude. I had spent the winter in more tropical regions, and the flowers and the oranges were nothing new to me. When I landed I was thinking of the post-office, which was my first objective point. We had been moving about so much that I had not received a single letter since I left Jacksonville in December. The post-office is on Bay Street, nearer the northern than the southern end of the street. I walked in that direction; but I had not gone ten rods before I saw Captain Boomsby standing at the door of one of the numerous saloons on that street.
I halted to look at him. His face was very red, and he had grown quite stout since he sailed the Great West, in which I had had the roughest experience of my lifetime with him. He wore no coat, for his fat and the fires of the whiskey he drank kept him in a fever-heat all the time. I kept back behind a pile of goods on the sidewalk while I surveyed him, and I hoped he would not see me. He seemed to be waiting for customers; and though I desired him to have none, I wished him to retire within his shop, and allow me to pass without being seen.
I was dressed in the full uniform of the steam-yacht, with a white canvas cap. He had seen me in this rig enough to know it, and my chances of passing him without being seen were very small. But I was not afraid of him, and I was rather ashamed of the idea of dodging him. Taking the outside of the sidewalk, and looking intently at the other side of the street, where the retail dry-goods and curiosity shops were located, I attempted to get by the saloon without being seen by its proprietor.
"Why, Sandy, how are you?" demanded Captain Boomsby, rushing out to me and seizing me by the hand.
In spite of my hanging back, he dragged me to the door of the saloon.
"How do you do, Captain Boomsby?" I replied coldly.
"Come in and take sunthin', Sandy," he persisted, dragging me into the saloon in spite of my resistance. "You are about man-grown now, and I cal'late you can take a drop of whiskey, on a pinch."
"No, I thank you; I never take any," I replied, disgusted with his manner and his invitation.
"You hain't been to sea all this time without learnin' to take your grog?" he continued, with a coarse laugh.
"I never drank a drop in my life, and I don't mean to do so," I answered.
"You'll learn in good time. Set down, Sandy, and tell me where you've been."
I told him in as few words as possible where I had been, and answered all his questions about my passengers. Then he told me he lived over the saloon, and insisted that I should go up and see the "old woman." I was a little curious to see Mrs. Boomsby, and I followed him up-stairs.