Fora week the weather held fair and each day found our little party, out on the reef, fishing with might and main to make as much money as possible before Hunter returned to his old haunts and tricks. They were thoroughly agreed that they would leave the island when he came back. They were not so much afraid for themselves but they had suffered heavy losses already from his rascality and they did not care to run the risk of being put still deeper in debt.
Meanwhile, they were contented and happy in their new pursuit. They were long, happy days that they spent on the reef with the sparkling blue water all around them. The bracing salt breezes giving zest to their appetites, and the ever-new, thrilling expectancy with which they pulled in their prizes, speculating always before it came to the surface its kind, and size.
On Saturday night they figured up the credit slips they had been given at the fish house and foundthat they had made one hundred and twelve dollars during the week. On Saturday night, also, they received a bit of ill news which was good news for them. Bill Roberts heard it from the fishermen at Clearwater, and he hastened over to tell them. It was to the effect that Hunter, discharged from the hospital, was well enough to be about, had proceeded to fill up on bad liquor in celebration of his release, and, as a result, was back in the hospital for a couple of weeks' more treatment.
"It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good," quoted Charley, when he heard the news. "That gives us a couple of weeks more to fish in peace. Now if the weather only holds fair we will be able to pay what we owe and have a little left over to take us to some other place."
But the weather did not hold fair. Sunday morning found the wind blowing half a gale from the north-west and the seas rolling high outside. Monday morning it was still blowing with unabated vigor and the sky looked as though there was more to come.
"It's going to last for several days," Captain Westfield declared, "then, likely, we will get another spell of fair weather."
"Why couldn't it hold off for a couple of weeks longer," Walter grumbled. "Every day lost means a lot to us now."
After breakfast, Chris made ready to start outto secure a change for their bill of fare. Having nothing else to do the others went with him.
His first move was to secure a supply of the great stone crabs, whose claws, when roasted, they had found so delicious.
These were to be found in great numbers on the long mud flats, out in the bay, when low tide left the flats exposed. The boys could see thousands of them as they waded out to the flats. They were feeding or basking in the sun, but at the hunters approach one and all scurried for their hiding places, deep, slanting holes in the soft mud. But Chris was prepared for such tactics. He had fixed for himself a long iron rod with a hook in the end which he would thrust far down into a hole and drag out its squirming, clawing occupant. Then, he would kill it with a stroke of the rod, break off the great claws, and drop them into the sack he carried. In a few minutes the little darkey had secured as many as they could use before they spoiled.
The crabs were not the only inhabitants of the flats. Clams were there in plenty and in a short time they dug up all they desired. Then a trip was made to some partly submerged rocks and a goodly supply of big flat oysters secured.
"Strange we never see any Clearwater boys over here getting these things when they are so plentiful," Walter commented, as they started back to the cabin.
"Golly! I'se been studyin' on dat," Chris said. "'Pears to dis nigger dat we could make right smart ob money getting dese things an' selling dem to de folks ober in de town."
"They would hardly buy anything that is so plentiful right close to their homes," Walter objected.
"Oh, I don't know about that," said Charley, thoughtfully. "It's too hard work getting them for some people, I suppose. Others are too busy to take the time from their work, maybe. Likely, a lot more have no boats, and probably there are many who don't know how to get them. There may be something worth considering in Chris' proposal."
"Let's try it," said Captain Westfield. "We don't stand to lose anything but our work."
All went to work with a will and in a couple of hours they had secured ten dozen crab claws, a couple of bushels of clams, and had opened up a couple of gallons of oysters. Chris and Charley took the lot over to Clearwater right after dinner.
In an hour the two were back.
"They sold like hot cakes," Charley declared. "We didn't get over a quarter of the town before we sold out. We got forty cents a dozen for crab claws, fifty cents a quart for the oysters, and ten cents a dozen for clams."
"You robbers!" Walter gasped, in surprise, "they are not worth that."
"A thing is worth what you can get for it," Charley grinned. "Besides, we had to throw in an extra charge for the service, like they do in an expensive restaurant when they charge you two dollars for a fifty cent steak."
"Well, I reckon we can supply them with all they want at those prices," the captain remarked, dryly. "Let's get to work."
And work they did for the next three days, by which time the weather had cleared up, their market supplied for a time, and they, themselves, richer by about fifty dollars. Then they went back to their fishing again until the next spell of bad weather should come.
Often, as their little launch lay bobbing at her anchor, on the reef, great stately ships swept by in plain sight, traveling north or south to various ports. The captain watched them with the eager interest of a boy. Almost his whole life had been spent on the sea, and he loved its ships like a mother loves her children.
They were watching one of these ships one day wondering idly as to what might be her name, port, and cargo, when Charley's gaze became centered on a smaller craft some two miles astern of the first. Something about the cut and set of her sails caught and held his attention.
"That boat is some traveler, Captain," he observed."See how she is drawing up on the one ahead."
The old sailor studied the distant craft with the eye of an expert.
"She is going some," he admitted. "Fore and aft topsail schooner, about eighty tons' burden. Funny, there seems something familiar in the cut of those sails and the set of those spars."
"That's what I was thinking," Charley agreed. "I'm almost certain I've seen that rig before."
"See, she's changed her course and is standing in for shore," suddenly cried the observant old sailor.
It soon became evident that he was right. The stranger came sweeping rapidly on carrying a wave of white froth before her bow.
Her changed course would bring her within half a mile of where they lay, and, as she drew nearer, our little party ceased fishing and stood gazing in admiration at the beautiful picture she made.
She was a low-hulled, black-painted schooner, keeling over under a press of snowy canvas, until her lee rail was buried in a smother of foam.
"I believe she is headed right for our island," Charley observed.
"If her captain does not know these waters pretty well he'll be liable to pile that beauty up on a rock," Captain Westfield said, anxiously.
It soon become evident that her pilot knew his ground for the schooner's course was shifted againand again as her commander jockeyed her around hidden rocks and through winding channels.
Soon her crew began to take in sail. One after another the snow-white sheets came in until stripped to mainsail and storm staysail she rounded up a mile from shore and hung motionless in the wind.
A tiny blot of color appeared on her deck and crept slowly up her foremast. At the top it opened up, a fluttering red flag.
"She's signalling," the captain exclaimed.
"I have it," Charley cried. "She's that smuggling craft. Her captain is trying to get in touch with the Hunter gang. No wonder I thought I had seen her before."
"I wasn't as lucky as you in getting a glimpse of her that night," remarked the captain, "but I have seen that craft somewhere before. I wonder where it was."
"That likeness to some boat I know struck me hard the night I saw her by the light of the flare, but I guess it's only a chance resemblance," Charley said. "Well, if they are waiting to hear from Hunter, they have a long wait ahead of them."
"I wonder how Hunter communicated with her before he was hurt," Walter pondered.
"There's no mystery about that," his chum replied. "That's the simplest part of the affair. It only takes a couple of days to get a letter to Cuba. I expect she has more aguardiente aboard now.Likely he wrote to her captain for a fresh supply as soon as he discovered that the other was gone. He doubtless planned to have us off the island before it arrived but his trip to the hospital has upset all his plans."
"They are bold to try to bring it in in broad daylight," observed the Captain.
"Oh, I daresay, they wouldn't attempt to land it until after dark, and there's nothing in her appearance to excite suspicion. If any boat came near her they could quickly slip out a couple of miles further and defy capture. Uncle Sam's jurisdiction does not extend out more than four miles from shore."
The beautiful schooner remained hove to all the afternoon and apparently waiting an answer to her signal, but, at last, her skipper, probably deciding that something was wrong, crowded on all sail and glided swiftly out to sea.
When our little party started home the schooner was a mere, distant speck on the horizon.
"This is the second trip she has made and landed nothing," Walter observed. "After such luck, I should not think they would try again."
"Oh, Hunter will likely write them the reason for his not being on hand and arrange for another meeting," Charley said. "They probably make enough money out of the business to be able to stand a few disappointments."
Thechums saw but little of their good friends, the Roberts, during these busy days. They were up and off to the reefs every morning at break of dawn and only returned in the evening in time to get their catch of fish over to Clearwater before dark. Once, Charley met Bill on the dock and learned that his nets had come and that he and his brothers were fishing every night with but poor success. The big, young fellows looked weary, worn and worried.
"I don't know what's become of all the fish," he said, "we have been hunting over hundreds of miles of water and haven't found a decent school in a week. We need to make a few good catches, badly, too. All our money was in the bank which failed in Tampa the other day. We are almost broke, now, and the closed season, when we are not allowed to fish, is only a few weeks off. It looks like we are in for a long streak of hard luck."
Charley expressed his sincere sympathy.
"Oh, we'll not starve," Bill replied. "But itdoes hurt to have all the money you've worked hard for go like that without getting any good out of it. Well, I don't know why I am complaining to you, you have had worse troubles than ours."
It was a different looking Bill who routed them out of bed before dawn a few mornings later. His eyes were shining with excitement and his simple, frank face was beaming.
"Get on your clothes quick as you can and come with me," he cried. "We've got a chance to make a good pot of money."
As they hurried into their clothing he explained.
"There's a big schooner laden with lumber out about two miles in the gulf. She sprung a bad leak three days ago and her crew have worn themselves out at the pumps but the water is gaining on them all the time. If they can't get her into a dry dock within twenty-four hours, boat and cargo will be a total loss. We were passing her when her captain hailed us and asked for a tow. There is a dry dock at Tarpon Springs and he offers one thousand dollars to be towed up to it."
"Whew," Charley whistled, "that's a nice bunch of money. Do you think we can manage it?"
"Not alone, but I've been over to Clearwater and got three of the best fishermen there to help us with their launches. That makes five of us to divide the thousand dollars; two hundred dollars apiece. With luck, we ought to make the tow up in eight hours."
His story had hastened the little party's movements and by the time he had finished they were all ready and eager for the start.
They found the other three launches waiting impatiently for them at the dock and in a few minutes all five were under way standing out for the schooner which was in plain view from the inlet.
"One thousand dollars seems an awful price to pay for a tow of eighteen miles," Charley observed, as the "Dixie" tore through the water leading the little fleet. "Do you suppose we will have any difficulty in getting the money, Captain? The owners might not back up their captain's agreement."
"They will have to do it if we do our part," declared the old sailor, wise in the laws of the sea. "A captain is king of his ship. He can bind the owners for anything he considers necessary for the best interest of his ship or cargo. The only question is whether the owners are responsible persons. Likely, I can tell who the owners are when we get close enough to see her name. I know most of the ship-owners of these waters."
He uttered an exclamation of satisfaction as they drew near enough to decipher the name "North Wind" on the bow of the unlucky ship. "She is owned by Curry Bros. of Key West," he announced. "They are a rich firm, made most of their money out of wrecking. They own dozens of ships. Ourmoney is all right if we keep our side of the agreement."
The unfortunate schooner lay low in the water, the waves almost breaking over her lumber-laden decks. She was barely moving in the light breeze. From every scupper hole gushed forth a stream of bright, clear, sea water as her crew labored at the clanking pumps.
"Why, they are all negroes, even the captain," Charley exclaimed, as the "Dixie" swept closer.
"Most of these Key West boats are manned by negroes," Captain Westfield said. "They are expert sailors and wreckers, and could give a regular lawyer points on ocean law, but they are mighty lazy. They get a share of what the ship earns instead of wages and one would think they would carry as small a crew as possible so as to get big shares, but instead of that, they carry double the men they need so as to make the work as light as possible. Don't seem to care whether they make anything or not so long as they have plenty to eat and little to do."
The numerous, grinning, ebony faces and kinky, woolly heads on the leaking ship testified to the truth of the old sailor's assertion.
The schooner's captain, a tall, lanky, solemn-visaged, old negro, wearing bone-rimmed spectacles, met them as they came alongside.
He glanced at the five launches with evident satisfaction.
"I reckon you-all white gentlemens can get me into Tarpon afore the ole gal sinks," he observed. "I figure we can keep her afloat ten hours longer if I can keep dem lazy niggers working de pumps."
"She hadn't ought to sink even when she fills," Captain Westfield observed. "The lumber ought to keep her up."
"Dar's a lot ob hardware in her, too," the negro captain declared. "Hit's stowed deep in de hold wid such a raffle ob lumber on top ob hit dat we can't get to hit widout throwing all de lumber overboard. She'll go down like a rock when she fills."
"Then we don't want to waste any time talking," Captain Westfield declared. "Pass us your lines and we will fasten on. First, though, you had better repeat the proposal you made to this gentleman here," indicating Bill Roberts. "If we tow you in, we don't want any misunderstanding about our pay after the job is done."
The old negro spoke slowly, evidently considering his words carefully.
"If you white gentlemens tow me in to de dry dock at Tarpon you is to get one thousand dollars for de job. You-alls can draw on Curry Bros. through de Tarpon bank jes' as soon as we gets to de dry dock."
"All right," Captain Westfield agreed. "Pass us your lines and we'll get busy."
In a few moments, the five launches were fast to the schooner and with engines throbbing were slowly dragging the helpless hulk towards her destination.
The fishing launches were all good boats of their kind, but they had not been intended for such heavy work and the strain on their light engines was terrific.
The two boys watched the "Dixie's" straining engine with the anxious care of a mother for her child as they dragged their big tow slowly ahead.
"I guess it will last out the trip," Charley said, "but I wouldn't like to do much of this kind of work with it. It's like overloading a willing horse."
At the end of the fifth mile, the launch ahead of them dropped out of the struggle with a broken piston ring.
"Go on, don't stop for me!" its owner yelled with more unselfishness than they had expected. "I'll manage to limp her back to Clearwater. So long, and good luck to you. You will have to hit it up for all you are worth now or you won't make it. There's a squall making up in the north-west. If it strikes you before you get in behind Anchote Key, you will have to cut loose from the schooner."
Captain Westfield had, for some time, beenwatching the small black cloud making up in the north-west.
"It's going to be a close shave to make Tarpon before that thing hits us," he remarked to Charley. "We pulled slow enough when there were five of us and now with only four we are not making over two miles an hour. It's a wonder the engines stand the additional strain. I keep expecting them to break down."
"It's not only that we are one less in number, which counts, but also the fact that the schooner keeps getting harder and harder to pull," Charley observed. "I'll bet she is six inches deeper in the water than when we fastened on. Her captain is doing his best to keep her up—just listen to him," he grinned.
The lanky, solemn, old negro was dancing around the schooner's deck heaping abuse, threats, prayers, and supplications on the kinky-headed toilers at the pumps. He also had noted the gathering squall and was driving his exhausted crew to the limit of their endurance.
The minutes dragged slowly away while the launches with their heavy burden labored gallantly on. They were slowly nearing the island, Anchote Key, which lay in front of the port of Tarpon Springs. But, although they were close to their destination, the squall was close to them. The tinyblack cloud had spread rapidly until it blanketed the entire northern horizon with an inky mass.
"Do you think we will make it, Captain?" Charley inquired, anxiously, as they watched the gathering storm.
"I doubt if we will reach Tarpon before it hits us," answered the old sailor, "but I guess we will be able to get in behind Anchote Key and escape the worst of the seas."
As the squall neared them the wind dropped away and the sea took on an oily smoothness. The air hung heavy, still and oppressive. The sun had long since disappeared behind the wall of black but so motionless was the air that they breathed with difficulty and the perspiration stood out on their hands and faces.
"There she comes," cried Captain Westfield, suddenly.
Away to the north under the low-hanging cloud appeared a wall of foaming white.
Charley steered with one eye on the moving comb of water and the other on the rock-shored island close aboard.
He gave a sigh of relief as the launches and schooner slipped slowly in behind the protecting island just as the squall broke in a roar of wind and driving sheets of rain.
His relief was short-lived, however. They had escaped the fury of the billows outside but it wasrough enough behind the key and high seas tumbled and rolled around the boats.
He glanced back to see how it fared with the schooner. What he saw made him leap for the straining tow line, whipping out his sheath-knife as he sprang. One stroke severed the taut rope, and, relieved of the drag, the "Dixie" leaped ahead like a frightened deer.
Onboard the schooner all was excitement and confusion. Nearly awash as she already was the first big wave had swept her from stem to stern. Her frightened negro crew had quickly sprung into the rigging yelling at the top of their voices. Only the solemn, lanky, old captain remained impassive. He still stood at his post, by the wheel, peering over his big, horn-rimmed spectacles, sizing up the situation with shrewd, calculating eyes.
A second wave struck and swept over, and then a third.
"She's sinking," Walter shouted.
Slowly the doomed craft settled down, down until her bulwarks lay even with the water, then stopped.
"She is not going to sink," Charley exclaimed, as he saw her stop in her downward course.
Captain Westfield quickly grasped the strange situation. "She's gone as far as she can," he declared. "She is resting on a shoal. Steer down on the leeward side of her, Charley, and we will take off the crew."
The other launch captains had been on the watch and had cut loose at the same time as Charley. Following the "Dixie's" example, they flocked around to the lee side of the wreck and assisted to take off the crew. The rescued negroes came aboard, wet to the skin, and fright had given their ebony faces a peculiar, ashen hue.
The solemn lanky captain was the last to leave the schooner. Before getting aboard the "Dixie," he made his way up to the vessel's bow and knocking out the shackle pin let the anchor drop to the bottom; a move which Captain Westfield watched with a twinkle in his eyes.
"That darkey sure knows his business," he remarked in an undertone to Charley.
The other launches crowded around the "Dixie," their captains wanting a consultation.
"The schooner's not in bad shape here," Bill Roberts observed. "There isn't sea enough to break her up. The owners can get a sea tug and a steam pump from Tampa, and get her up and keep her afloat long enough to tow her into the dry dock."
"We might as well all run on into Tarpon now and draw on Curry Bros. for that thousand dollars," one of the other captains proposed.
"You-alls can't collect dat money now," observed the darkey skipper, calmly. "You-alls wasn't to get it 'less you got de schooner into de dry dock."
"Didn't we do our best?" demanded Bill Roberts."Haven't we got you nearly there? Haven't we got your vessel into a place where she will not be lost? Where would your old ship be outside in the gulf in this gale? She wouldn't have lasted out there as long as a snowball in the warm place."
"Dat's all true," agreed the darkey captain, "but you ain't carried out youah part ob de contract. If you white gentlemens had got de schooner into de dry dock all right hit would hab been worth dat thousand dollars to mah owners, but now, dey will have to go to de expense ob a tug an' steam pump, an' dat's going to be a heap ob money. I'se got to watch out for my owners' interests."
"But we have done our best," Captain Westfield protested. "We have spent our time and strained our engines, and we ought to be paid for what we've done."
"Dat's all right," agreed the sable skipper. "I reckon Curry Bros. pay you for dat all right, but not dat thousand dollars. Dat's too much, under de circumstances."
For a few minutes it looked as though the wily, ebony skipper would receive rough treatment from the infuriated launch captains, but the cooler arguments of the Roberts and Captain Westfield prevailed.
"He has got the law on his side," Captain Westfield said. "We can't force the payment of that thousand dollars, although what we have done forthe owners is worth many times the amount. I guess the best thing we can do is to trust to Curry Bros. to do the right thing by us."
"Not for me," declared the captain of one launch. "If we can't collect that bill, I'll collect a bigger one. That schooner is abandoned. Her captain and crew have deserted her. I am going to put a man on her and put in a claim for salvage. The rest of you can join me, or not, just as you please."
"I am with you," the other fish captains agreed. Bill Roberts wavered and glanced at Captain Westfield for advice.
"I don't believe such a course would get us anything," the old sailor said. "These Key West captains are wise to all the salvage laws and Curry Bros. made their money in wrecking. They would fight any claim for salvage and they have got too much money for us to fight against."
"Dis white gentleman is telling you-alls the truth," affirmed the darkey skipper. "Dat ship ain't abandoned. I'se jes' going ashore to communicate wid de owners. I'se dun dropped de anchor over. An' she ain't floating helpless at sea."
"All right, you fellows can listen to that nigger if you want to," said the salvage hunter. "I'm going to take possession of the schooner. If you are going back, you can take these darkeys I've got in my launch."
His fellow fishermen elected to stay with himbut the Roberts boys decided to return with our party. The negroes in the other two boats were transferred to the "Dixie," and Bill Roberts' boat, and the two launches remaining made fast to the sunken schooner.
As soon as the transfer was made the two returning boats headed back for Clearwater with their cargoes of ebony passengers.
It was nearly dark when hungry, weary, and disappointed, our party and the Roberts arrived at the Clearwater dock. The rescued negroes at once scattered to seek food and shelter in the colored quarter of the town. Their captain, lanky and solemn as ever, departed to the telegraph office to communicate with his owners.
"You white gentlemen ain't going to lose nothing for de way you-alls have done," he assured Captain Westfield, earnestly, before he left. "I'se only a captain an' I'se done got to do what I thinks is foah mah owners' interests. I allows, though, dat Curry Bros. going to treat you all right. I'se sorry dose other two white gentlemens is going to try to make trouble. I'se dun been wrecking foah Mr. Curry foah foaty years an' I knows all about de salvage laws. Dey ain't a ghost ob a show to get salvage out ob dat schooner."
It was not until several days after that, however, that our friends verified the truth of the ebony skipper's statements.
The first proof came with the return of the two launches which had fastened to the schooner. Their captains were weary and wrathful. They had hung by the schooner for two days. Then a tug and steam pump arrived from Tampa and on board the tug was a United States marshal who curtly ordered them away from the schooner. The schooner had then been raised and towed into the dry dock. The two captains had at once entered suit for salvage claims but what the outcome would be even their lawyers could, or would not, say.
The second proof came in the form of a letter from Curry Bros., thanking them for what they had done and inclosing a check for two hundred dollars. Much to their pleasure they found that the Roberts boys had received a similar letter and check.
The night the check came Charley got out his note book and pencil and figured up their accounts and the result brought satisfaction to them all.
The reef fishing had proved more profitable than they had dared hope, and for it they had credit slips on the fish house for two hundred and seventy-five dollars.
The sale of crabs, claws, and oysters—the work of stormy days—had brought them in another hundred dollars in cash.
Adding to this the two-hundred dollar check they had just received brought the total up to five hundred and seventy-five dollars.
Deducting the two hundred dollars they owed for groceries and nets, left them the comfortable balance of three hundred and seventy-five dollars.
"That's not half bad," Charley observed, "but I think now is the time for us to quit. It will not be long now before Hunter returns and I want to be away from here before he gets back. If he succeeded in working a few more of his sly tricks on us he might put us in the hole again."
His companions were loath to leave such profitable work but they could clearly see the wisdom of his plan. So, after some discussion, they decided that the next day should see their last trip to the reef. Then they would take their departure for the East Coast and seek whatever work they could find.
This settled, they retired to dream happily of new scenes and new adventures.
Their sleep would have been less sound, perhaps, had they known that Hunter had already returned. Their dreams would have been less pleasant, if they had seen the silently propelled row boat creep into their little dock, a slinking figure groping around in the "Dixie," and, after a few minutes, the ghostly row boat departed as silently as it had come.
But they were happily unconscious of these things and slept soundly on to waken only at their accustomed hour at break of day.
Sunrise found them on the reef fishing busily. But for some reason or other they did not meet withtheir accustomed success. Bites came only at long and irregular intervals. They shifted frequently to fresh places but with no better result.
"I shouldn't wonder if there was a storm brewing," Captain Westfield said. "Creatures in the sea, as well as on the land, seem to have a weather instinct which tells them when a serious change of weather is coming. It looks bright all around, but it seems to me I can feel a kind of heaviness in the air that only comes before a storm."
Noon came but the sky remained clear and uncloudy.
"I guess you missed the weather, for once, Captain," Charley observed, "but I think we might as well start for home, anyway. It's our last day and we are not catching enough to pay us to stay out any longer."
His companions were willing so the anchor was hauled aboard and the engine started up.
BothCharley and Walter had by this time become quite familiar with their little engine and when trouble with it occurred, as it sometimes did, it generally took them but a short time to locate what was wrong and fix it.
They had covered perhaps half the distance back to the inlet when the steady throb, throb of the engine changed suddenly to a whirling roar. Charley hastily threw the switch, shutting off the spark, and the big fly wheel instantly ceased its wild revolutions.
"Something has come loose," he announced. "Hand me that wrench, Walt. The shaft must have come loose to make the engine turn up at that speed."
His chum handed him the desired tool and the lad raised up the false flooring in the launch's bottom which hid the shaft from view.
What he expected to find was that one of the screws which fastened the propeller shaft had comeloose and needed tightening, but what he saw filled his face with dismay. Rising, he stepped back to the stern and peered over under the launch's counter.
"Our propeller's gone," he announced, straightening up. "That leaves us in a pretty fix—five miles from shore. We'll have to take some of these bottom boards and paddle in, and it's going to be slow, hard work."
"I wonder how it happened," said Walter, as he fell to work with a heavy board for a paddle.
"It didn't happen. It was just done," his chum said, grimly. "Evidently our friend Hunter got home before we expected him. He must have done it last night when we were all asleep."
"Are you sure?" inquired Captain Westfield.
"As sure as a person can be who did not actually see it done. The shaft was sawn three-fourths in two. The cut part is bright, showing that it was done recently. It was a clever trick all right. You see, it would not give way immediately but would wear in two, gradually, where it was cut. I guess he was in hopes it would break with us out in a seaway where we couldn't do anything. Luckily, it's happened when it is calm and we are not such a great ways from shore."
But although the distance to shore was not so very great, it did not take them long to realize that it was going to take them a long time to cover it.The launch was deep and heavy in the water and with their rude, heavy, ungainly paddles they could only force her forward very slowly.
"It's going to be after dark when we reach the inlet," the captain said, anxiously. "I do not believe we are making over half a mile an hour."
Indeed, they were not making as good progress as that, for when dark settled down upon the water, they were a full three miles from shore and their arms and backs were beginning aching with the steady strain of wielding the heavy boards. Soon after the sun set, the wind commenced to freshen and the launch began to bob and drift about in a way to discourage further effort.
"It's no use trying any longer," Charley declared, at last. "We are not getting ahead any and are just wearing ourselves out for nothing."
"We might as well put over the anchor and make up our minds to stay here all night," the captain agreed.
Walter dropped over the anchor and let out all the cable. "There isn't any too much rope," he announced, doubtfully. "The water's deep here. I guess, though, it will hold all right if it does not blow any harder."
So far there was nothing very alarming in the situation. The launch rode easily and high, shipping no water, and they knew that if it were not at their dock in the morning the Roberts boys wouldnotice their absence and be out looking for them. They had a couple of jugs of fresh water aboard, and there was enough of their dinner remaining to make a substantial lunch. This Chris now brought out and all ate heartily, their appetites whetted by the hard work they had done.
As soon as they had finished, Charley brought out a lot of old sacks they had in a locker and spread them out in the little cabin. "Early to bed, early to rise," he quoted cheerfully. "I guess we might as well turn in. There is nothing to sit up for."
They were all tired enough to agree to this and they all laid down, side by side. The launch's high sides and little cabin protected them from the wind and they were quite comfortable. Walter and Chris were almost instantly asleep, and Charley was just on the verge of dropping off when a movement of the captain roused him. He raised up and looked around.
The old sailor had arisen and was standing out in the cockpit gazing at the sky.
The lad crept out softly and joined him.
"What's the matter, Captain?" he inquired, anxiously.
"I don't just like the feel of this weather," said the old sailor, uneasily. "The wind is freshening all the time although it's doing it so slowly one hardly notices it. I am afraid we are in for more than a cap full of wind."
"I don't think so," Charley disagreed. "Why, the sky is as clear as a bell all around. There's not a sign of a cloud."
"I hope you are right. It don't always take clouds to make a wind, though, lad. Some of the worst gales I ever saw came out of a clear sky."
"If it comes on to blow hard we will not be able to hang at anchor," Charley said, thoughtfully, impressed by the old sailor's uneasiness.
"No, the anchor won't hold in this deep water," agreed the sailor. "Even if it did catch on a ledge of rock and keep from dragging, we would have to cut loose if the sea ran high. With one short cable it would help to pull our bows under."
"What direction do you think will the gale come from, if it comes at all?" the lad inquired.
"From the same quarter the wind's blowing now," the captain replied, promptly. "That's the only good feature about a clear gale, the wind never shifts or varies but blows steady from one point."
"Let's see," said Charley, considering. "It's blowing from the north-west now. That would neither drive us ashore nor out to sea, but straight down the coast."
"We might hit some of the capes or cays way down the coast if the launch lasted to drift that far," said the old sailor.
"Well," said Charley, philosophically, "if it comes, it comes. If it doesn't, it doesn't. We can'tdo any good by sitting up worrying and watching for it, so I am going to turn in."
He crept softly in and laid down by Walter and was soon fast asleep.
He was suddenly wakened out of a sound slumber by being thrown against the launch's side with a force which knocked the breath from his body. He tried to rise to his feet but was flung violently to the other side. Then on hands and knees, like an infant, he crawled out of the little cabin.
Once in the open, it took him but a second to grasp what had happened.
The launch had parted her cable and was now rolling helplessly in the trough of the seas which were now running high. In the darkness, he could just distinguish the captain in the bow. With difficulty, owing to the violent lurching and plunging, he crept forward to his side.
The old sailor was working frantically to rig up a sea anchor with which to bring the launch's bow up in the wind.
"Get me some of those bottom boards, and tear up some of the lockers, too, if you can break them loose," he commanded. "We will need every stick we can get to hold her bows to the seas."
The lad crept aft and soon returned with an armful of boards he had torn loose. Returning again for more, he met Walter and Chris, who, also rudely awakened from their slumber, had made their wayout of the cabin. With their assistance, all the loose boards they could get were soon carried up to the captain who, as fast as they were brought, bound them firmly with rope into one solid bundle.
"There ought to be more, but perhaps these will do," said the old sailor, as he fastened the last plank to its fellows.
He pulled in the trailing end of the severed cable, and, making it fast to the bundle of planks, shoved them over the bow. Then all three crept back aft and anxiously awaited results.
For some minutes, they feared that their labors had been in vain, then, slowly, the launch's bow swung around to meet the seas and she rose and fell easily without the sickening lurching from side to side.
"All's well, so far," the captain announced, "but this is only the beginning. It has hardly commenced to blow yet. She can ride out these seas all right, but if this wind keeps on increasing, by morning there will be seas that are seas."
The boys glanced around at the watery mountains tumbling about them and decided that they cared not to see any bigger.
The wild plunging of the launch made sleep impossible and the four huddled together in the little cockpit wondering if day would find them alive or swallowed up by the hungry waters.
As the hours crept slowly by, they could not doubtthat the wind was steadily rising. The seas grew steadily in size and the launch's pitching became wilder and wilder. Accustomed as they all were to the sea, the violent plunging gave them a feeling of nausea closely akin to seasickness. To add to their discomfort, the madly plunging launch sent up showers of spray which the wind drove in upon them soaking them to the skin and stinging their faces like hail.
"She would not float a minute if we were out in the open gulf," the captain observed. "As it is, we are drifting down the coast in between the reef and the shore and the reef breaks some of the force of the seas. A little shift of the wind and we would either be driven out over the reef or upon a rock shore."
"Cheery prospect either way we look at it," Charley said, grimly. "Heads we win, tails we lose."
No one was in any mood for further conversation. Wet, miserable, wretched and anxious, they huddled close together in the little cockpit and waited longingly for the coming of day.
At last, a gray light spread over the rolling waters and grew brighter and brighter till finally the sun peeped slowly into view.
It came up grandly in a blue sky unflecked by clouds, revealing a scene wilder than they had imagined in the blackness of the night.
Asthey gazed around them, our little party could not help but realize the peril of their situation. To the west, about a mile from the drifting launch, was the reef over which the mountainous waves were breaking in heaps of swirling foam. To the east of them some three miles distant was the shore. All they could see of it was its swaying palms for its beach was hidden by the foaming breakers. All around them rose mighty seas upon which the drifting launch reared and plunged.
So far, they were drifting straight down the lane between the reef and shore, but a slight shift of wind, either way, would send them ashore to be beaten to death in the pounding surf or out on the reef to be smothered in the mighty seas.
Even without a shift of wind, they were in a perilous position. The launch was doing nobly, but she had never been built for such work. A craft so small could not reasonably be expected to live in such a seaway. She rose gallantly to the sweeping combers, but even a novice could see her sea-riding limit had almost been reached. Should the wavescontinue to increase much in size, the little craft was doomed.
"Oh, well," said Charley, with an attempt at cheerfulness, "we are not as bad off as we might be. While there's life there's hope. The wind may begin to go down any minute, and if it does we will soon be picked up. There are boats traveling this passage all the time. There's a sail, now."
He pointed to where a tiny fleck of white showed in the distance as they rose on the summit of a wave.
All gazed eagerly at the distant fleck of white. They knew that no boat could rescue them in such a sea, but it gave them a spark of comfort to know that they were not alone on the watery deep.
The white speck grew with amazing rapidity. In a few minutes, they were able to see that it was a small schooner scudding before the gale under a close reefed foresail.
It swept by them not two hundred yards away, so close that they could see the pipe in the mouth of the man at the wheel.
They gazed longingly after it until lost to view. When it had disappeared in the distance they felt an intensified loneliness and helplessness steal over them.
The only consolation in their wretched plight was the sun. It shone brightly down with a warmth grateful to their wet, chilled bodies.
"How fast do you think we are drifting, Captain?" inquired Charley, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them.
"Impossible to tell, exactly," returned the old sailor. "As a guess, I would say about five miles an hour."
"And we have been drifting about six hours, that would make thirty miles," the lad calculated. "If I remember the charts right that brings us about off of Tampa. Do you recall how the coast lies below there, Captain?"
"Not exactly," admitted the old sailor, "but I think it holds about the same direction. Of course, there are a good many capes running out into the gulf, but I don't think there is any of them long enough for us to pile up on, short of Cape Sable, and that's a couple of hundred miles away."
"So far so good, then," Charley commented. "We are in no immediate danger of piling up on shore at any rate. Whew, but the salt spray has made me thirsty as a fish. Here goes to get a drink of water." He crawled cautiously forward to the locker where the jugs were stowed.
"Both broken," he announced, after a glance inside. "I might have known it would happen with all the rolling and pitching about. Well, I guess we can manage to do without until the wind goes down."
But before noon, they realized that the loss oftheir water was a serious blow. The salt spray and hot sun gave them a painful thirst. Their throats grew parched and dry, and they could barely swallow the remnants of food left from their supper. All attempt at conversation was given up and they sat huddled and silent in the little cockpit.
And so the long, dreary day dragged away. Time and again boats drove past them, scudding before the gale, and once a large steamer passed them almost within hailing distance. But no attempt at rescue could be made in such a sea.
Night found them still drifting almost too weak and weary to care what happened next.
"I believe the wind is going down a little," Charley said, shortly after the sun had set.
"It is," the old sailor agreed, "but I'm afraid it isn't going down fast enough to help us much. I noticed before dark that our sea anchor is going to pieces. If it once goes and we swing into the trough of the seas, we are goners."
But the old sailor had done his work well and the sea anchor did not give way as he feared, instead, it held stoutly together while they drifted on into the night.
As the hours crept slowly away it became evident, beyond a doubt, that the wind was steadily going down, and with it the sea, although the waves still ran dangerously high.
They were beginning to gain fresh hope andcourage even in their suffering condition when the unexpected happened.
It was Walter that saw it first,—a dark wall rising high up in the darkness directly in their path. They could do nothing to avert the danger, only sit and stare dully at the looming mass. As they drove down upon it they saw that it was a forest of great trees rising, apparently, right out of the water.
Swiftly the doomed launch drifted down on the submerged forest.
When a hundred feet away the captain roused to action. "Here's a rope," he cried. "Each of you grab hold of it and cling on for life."
The words were barely out of his mouth, when the launch, rising on a big wave, came down with a crash and the next wave sweeping over her carried them off into the sea.
Like drowning men catching at a straw, the four clung to the rope as the rushing comber swept them on with it. Bruised, battered, and breathless, it hurled them upon something hard.
"Quick!" Charley cried, as he realized that they had been safely cast up into shoal water. "Quick! Up for the beach before the next comber!"
His companions had not waited for the command, but were already scrambling ahead. A few strides carried them out of danger—but there was no beach. Everywhere great trees rose up out of water nearly to their knees. Even in the darkness,they could see that the towering giants were almost bare of limb, and from high up above the water great crooked roots grasped down for a hold on the bottom.
Charley grasped one of the elbow-like roots and pulled himself up out of water. "Come on," he cried, "it's high and dry up here. These roots grow so close together one can almost lie down upon them."
His companions climbed weakly up beside him, where they rested, panting to gain their breath.
"Come on, we can make ourselves more comfortable than this," Charley said, when he had regained some of the wind that had been battered out of him.
They followed him as he crept cautiously from root to root. When they got about fifty feet from shore, he stopped.
"We had not better try to go any further," he said. "We're shut off from the wind all right. Now, for a good, long drink."
He slipped off into the water and, stooping, lapped greedily.
"Come on," he said, as he straightened up for breath, "drink all you want, it's sweet and fresh."
Much to their delight, his companions found it true and they drank long and greedily of the sweet, cool fluid.
"Now, for beds," Charley announced, cheerfully, when their thirst was at last satisfied. "Just reachup and break off branches and lay them across the roots, that will have to do for to-night."
By standing on their tip-toes, they were able to reach some of the small boughs and by pulling down—broke them off without difficulty. In a short time they had gathered and placed enough to make a platform big enough to accommodate them all. Upon this they were glad to lie down and stretch their tired, aching limbs and bodies.
"This beats the launch, anyway," Charley observed, cheerfully. "The trees shield us from the wind, our thirst is satisfied, and there is no spray to wet us. The air is so warm we ought to be able to get a little sleep without catching cold. I guess, we could all eat a pretty hearty meal right now but we will have to wait until morning to get that."
"What is this strange floating forest," his chum inquired. "I never saw trees like these before."
"They are quite common," Charley answered. "They are cypresses, and grow only on low, over-flooded ground."
"Have you any idea where we are, lad?" asked the captain.
"I fancy we are on the north-western edge of the great Everglade swamp," Charley replied. "It meets the gulf somewhere below Marco, about one hundred and twenty miles from Clearwater. But we can talk over these things in the morning. Now we had better get a little sleep if we can. We willneed all the rest we can get, for to-morrow is going to be a hard day."
Hard and uncomfortable as was the uneven platform, his companions were so exhausted that they were instantly asleep and their snores soon mingled with the hooting of multitudes of owls and the croaking of thousands of frogs.
Charley lay awake a few minutes longer, his mind too full of worry and discouragement for instant sleep.
Their plight was enough to daunt the stoutest heart. Their launch was gone, pounded to pieces on the hard sand, and all the money they had worked so hard to earn and save would have to go to make good the loss. They would, after all their labor, be left just as they had landed in Clearwater with nothing but the clothing on their backs. That is, if they lived to reach Clearwater again.
His mind filled with these gloomy reflections, the lad at last dropped off to sleep.
Thesun was high in the sky when Charley awoke and aroused his companions who were still sleeping.
"Too much to do to-day to sleep longer," he declared. "We have got to find something to eat, and then try to get out of this place. Let's try the water for food first, and see what we can find.
"We don't want to stray away from each other or get out of hearing of the surf," he said, as they picked their way over the knee-like roots. "Out of sound of the sea, a man would lose himself in five minutes in this uncanny forest. It is too dense to tell directions by the sun and one would stand a good chance of wandering around until death overtook him. Only the Seminole Indians can find their way through this horrible jungle and they have known it for ages."
This little talk had brought them down to the water and they were surprised at the change a few hours had made. The sea was beautifully calm. Only a few smooth, gentle rollers remained to tell of the past storm.
Of the launch nothing remained but a few, broken, splintered planks drifted up against the trees.
Our little party were too hungry, however, to waste time in idle regrets. They waded at once out into the water looking for crabs, oysters, clams, or anything to fill their aching stomachs.
But their search was fruitless. Except for a few bits of water-logged limbs, the bottom was bare.
"I was afraid we would find nothing," Charley said, when they at last gave up the search. "The water is too fresh here from the overflow from the Glades for shell-fish to grow. We will have to depend on the land for our food until we can get out of this place."
They were turning to retrace their steps to the platform, when Charley spied a small box wedged in between two cypress knees. He pulled it out and with hands that trembled with excitement lifted up the close-fitting cover and gave an exclamation of delight. It was the little box which had contained the batteries used to run the launch. Its contents were perfectly dry. Constructed purposely to protect the cells from spray, it had floated safely in undamaged. Besides the four dry cells, it contained a few little odds and ends they had placed there at different times to keep safe and dry. There was a package of tobacco belonging to the captain, several fish-hooks, some salt and pepper mixed together ina little paper package, and a few other trifles of no particular value.
Hugging the box to him like a precious treasure, the lad followed his companions back to the platform. There, he carefully wedged it in between a couple of roots so that it could not be overturned. He had just done this when a startled cry from Walter sent him hurrying to his side.
He found his chum in the act of killing a huge snake upon which he had nearly stepped. It was a repulsive-looking creature, stumpy and bloated in appearance and nearly as big around as a man's leg.
"It's a moccasin," Charley said. "We will have to watch out for them. I expect there are lots of them around here. There's enough poison in that fellow's sac to kill a full-grown elephant."
"I don't know as it would be much worse to die of snake-bite than to die of hunger," Walter remarked, gloomily, "and there seems to be nothing fit to eat in this awful place."
"There are few places in this world where man cannot find food to eat, if he uses his wits," his chum replied. "God has provided food, everywhere, but has left it to man's intelligence to discover and make use of it."
"We have a hook and line, perhaps we could catch a fish," Captain Westfield suggested, hopefully.
"No bait," Charley said, briefly.
He sat plunged in thought while his companions looked around for something with which to bait the hook.
"Here's plenty of bait," Walter called. "Here's a whole colony of frogs—big ones, too."
Charley hurried to his side. His chum was peering under a great root where were sprawled several, big, long-legged frogs.
"What idiots we are," Charley grinned, as he dispatched one with a stick. "These are more than bait. They are the finest kind of food. Why, their legs are worth a dollar a pound in the New York market. Here was plenty of food right to our hand and we did not have sense enough to know it. Why, they were advertizing themselves all night long by their croaking."
The captain and Chris joined in the slaughter and in a short time forty frogs had fallen victims to the sticks.
"We are not likely to starve right away," Charley remarked, as they cut off and removed the skin from the legs. "There are certainly plenty more where these came from."
"But how is we goin' to cook 'em widout no fire? Massa Chas?" demanded Chris.
Walter and the captain gazed at him in dismay. In their pleasure at the prospect of food they had never thought of the lack of fire. Their matches were spoiled and useless. They had no steel andflint. They did not even have a bit of glass with which to focus the rays of the sun.
Charley viewed their dismayed faces with a twinkle in his eyes.
"If you will take a couple of those frogs legs and see if you can catch some fish, Chris, I will see to the fire," he said.
Selecting a great root that was slightly hollowed on top, he built up a little heap of dry twigs, moss, and bits of bark, of which the trees around them offered an unlimited supply. Then he brought out from its resting place the box of batteries. Holding the ends of the wires down in the little heap of tinder, he rubbed them together. Sparks flew out on the bark and moss as the wires contacted and in a few seconds the heap was aflame. It only remained to put a few dry sticks on the blaze and the fire was ready for the cooking. Small branches sharpened at the end served for spits and in a few minutes a score of frogs legs were roasting over the coals.
The odor wafted on the air brought Chris hurrying from his fishing. His hunger had overcome his patience. He did not come quite empty-handed, however, but dragged along with him two slender-bodied, long-snouted fish fully four feet in length, covered with armor-like scales.
"Dem things is all I could catch, Massa Chas,"he said, ruefully. "I don't reckon dey's any good?"
"Those are gars," Charley announced. "There are better-flavored fish, still, they are not to be despised. They will go well with the frogs legs for dinner."
His method of cooking them was simple. He removed the entrails, washed them out carefully, and buried them amongst the coals. While the legs and gars were cooking, he dispatched Chris down to the shore again to find some bits of the yacht's planking to serve as plates. By the time the little darkey returned laden with bits of boards, the repast was ready. The gars were raked out on a plank, and their scale-armored skin stripped off, leaving the flesh white as snow, juicy and tender.
The four attacked the savory fish and delicious frogs legs with the appetites of wolves for they had eaten nothing for a day and night.
When they had finished, the world did not seem so dark and gloomy. Things had taken on a rosier tinge.
"It is past noon already, I believe," Charley said, as they rested a bit on the little platform after their hearty meal. "I don't believe it will pay us to start out to-day. I think we had better wait until to-morrow and get back our strength a bit, for we have got a tough journey ahead of us."
His companions quickly agreed, for they still feltweak from exposure, thirst, worry, and lack of food. This being settled, all busied themselves in making things more comfortable for the night, and in making what simple preparations they could for to-morrow's journey.
More branches were gathered and their little platform enlarged. There was plenty of long, soft, Spanish moss growing on the branches above their heads. It was far out of their reach and they could only look at it longingly until Walter hit upon the expedient of throwing their rope up over a limb and shinning up it like a monkey. He flung down great bunches of the soft, hair-like stuff which the captain spread out on their platform, transposing it into a soft springy couch.
While Walter and the captain were thus occupied, the other two busied themselves in securing and preparing a store of food for the journey. Fully fifty more frogs and three more gars were caught and roasted.
Each of the little party wore a large bandanna handkerchief around their necks and these Charley collected, washed thoroughly, and spread out on a root to dry. They were the only things he could think of in which to carry the food they had prepared.
It was dark when these preparations were completed, and they heaped fresh wood upon the fireand stretched out on their platform for a good night's rest once more.
"I expect they think at Clearwater that we are all dead," said Charley, as they lay gazing into the glowing embers of their fire.
"And Hunter is doubtless hugging himself with joy over the success of his trick," Walter added, grimly. "He didn't cause our death but he came very near it. I seldom wish any one ill, but he is one man I would like to see punished for the evil he has done."
"He will be," the captain said, with certainty. "The Lord will attend to that. If not in this world, then in the world to come."
"Well, he has succeeded in putting us back where we started," Charley remarked, "and he is left free to carry on his smuggling and liquor selling as he pleases."
"Unless Chris' ghost scares him off," Walter said. "Have you ever formed any theory about it and about the doctor's mysterious visit, Charley?"
"Not a theory," his chum replied. "They are just mysteries I cannot account for in any way. Of course the explanation is simple—if we only knew it—it always is in these mysteries."
The soft couch and the cozy warmth of the fire soon caused conversation to lag and yawns take the place of speech.
Before they composed themselves for slumber,however, the captain offered up a heartfelt prayer, thanking the Lord for their deliverance from danger, and asking for His watchful care to attend them ever.
This simple act of devotion over, all sought the slumber their tired bodies craved.