II
THE STORY OF QUASI
MAJOR RUTLEDGE entertained the boys at supper with accounts of his ownexperiences along the coast during the war, and incidentally gave thema good deal of detailed information likely to be useful to them intheir journeyings. But he gave them no instructions and no cautions. Hefirmly believed that youths of their age and intelligence ought to knowhow to take care of themselves, and that if they did not it was hightime for them to learn in the school of experience. He knew these to becourageous boys, manly, self-reliant, intelligent, and tactful. He was,therefore, disposed to leave them to their own devices, trusting totheir wits to meet any emergencies that might arise.
One bit of assistance of great value he did give them, namely, acomplete set of coast charts, prepared by the government officials atWashington.
“You see,” he explained to the two visitors, “this is a very low-lyingcoast, interlaced by a tangled network of rivers, creeks, inlets,bayous, and the like, so that in many places it is difficult even forpersons intimately familiar with its intricacies to find their way. Myboys know the geography of it fairly well, but you’ll find they willhave frequent need to consult the charts. I’ve had them encased inwater-tight tin receptacles.”
“May I ask a question?” interjected Tom Garnett, as he minutely scannedone of the charts.
“Certainly, as many as you like.”
“What do those little figures mean that are dotted thickly all over thesheets?”
“They show the depth of water at every spot, at mean high tide. You’llfind them useful—particularly in making short cuts. You see, Tom, manyof the narrowest of our creeks are very deep, and many broad bays veryshallow in places. Besides, there are mud banks scattered all about,some of them under water all the time, others under it only at hightide. You boys don’t want to get stuck on them, and you won’t, if youstudy the figures on your charts closely. By the way, Larry, how muchwater does your boat draw?”
“Three feet, six inches, when loaded, with the centre board down—sixinches, perhaps, when light, with the board up.”
“There, Tom, you see how easily the chart soundings may save you alot of trouble. There may be times when you can save miles of sailingby laying your course over sunken sandbars if sailing before the wind,though you couldn’t pass over them at all if sailing on the wind.”
“But what difference does the way of sailing make? You see, I am veryignorant, Major Rutledge.”
“You’ll learn fast enough, because you aren’t afraid to ask questions.Now to answer your last one; when you sail before the wind you’ll haveno need of your centre board and can draw it up, making your draughtonly six or eight inches, while on the wind you must have the centreboard down—my boys will explain that when you’re all afloat—so ifyou are sailing with the wind dead astern, or nearly so, it will besafe enough to lay a course that offers you only two or three feetof water in its shoalest parts, while if the wind is abeam, or in abeating direction, you must keep your centre board down and stick todeeper channels. However, the boys will soon teach you all that on thejourney. They’re better sailors than I am.”
Then, turning to his own sons, he said:
“I have arranged with my bank to honor any checks either of you maydraw. So if you have need of more money than you take with you, you’llknow how to get it. Any planter or merchant down the coast will cashyour checks for you. Now I must say good-bye to all of you, as I havemany things to do before leaving. I wish all of you a very jolly time.”
With that he quitted the room, but a few minutes later he opened thedoor to say:
“If you get that far down the coast, boys, I wish you would take a lookover Quasi and see that there are no squatters there.”
When he had gone, Cal said:
“Wonder if father hopes to win yet in that Quasi matter, after allthese years?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered Larry. “Anyhow, we’ll go that fardown, if only to gratify his wish.”
“Is Quasi a town?” asked Dick, whose curiosity was awakened by theoddity of the name.
“No. It’s a plantation, and one with a story.”
Dick asked no more questions, but presently Cal said to his brother:
“Why don’t you go on, Larry, and tell him all about it? I have alwaysbeen taught by my pastors and masters, and most other people I haveever known, that it is exceedingly bad manners to talk in enigmasbefore guests. Besides, there’s no secret about this. Everybody inSouth Carolina who ever heard the name Rutledge knows all about Quasi.Go on and tell the fellows, lest they think our family has a skeletonin some one or other of its closets, and is cherishing some dark,mysterious secret.”
“Why don’t you tell it yourself, Cal? You know the story as well as Ido.”
“Because, oh my brother, it was your remark that aroused the curiositywhich it is our hospitable duty to satisfy. I do not wish to trespassupon your privileges or take your obligations upon myself. Go on! Thereis harkening all about you. You have your audience and your theme. Wehang upon your lips.”
“Oh, it isn’t much of a story, but I may as well tell it,” said Larry,smiling at his brother’s ponderous speech.
“Quasi is a very large plantation occupying the end of a peninsula.Except on the mainland side a dozen miles of salt water, mud banksand marsh islands, separate it from the nearest land. On the mainlandside there is a marsh two or three miles wide and a thousand milesdeep, I think. At any rate, it is utterly impassable—a mere mass ofsemi-liquid mud, though it looks solid enough with its growth of tallsalt marsh grass covering its ugliness and hiding its treachery. Thepoint might as well be an island, so far as possibilities of approachto it are concerned, and in effect it is an island, or quasi an island.I suppose some humorous old owner of it had that in mind when he namedit Quasi.
“It is sea island cotton land of the very finest and richest kind, andwhen it was cultivated it was better worth working than a gold mine.There are large tracts of original timber on it, and as it has beenabandoned and running wild for more than twenty years, even the youngtree growths are large and fine now.
“That is where the story begins. Quasi belonged to our grandfatherRutledge. He didn’t live there, but he had the place under thoroughcultivation. When the war broke out my grandfather was one of the fewmen in the South who doubted our side’s ability to win, and as no mancould foresee what financial disturbances might occur, he decided tosecure his two daughters—our father’s sisters, who were then younggirls—against all possibility of poverty, by giving Quasi to them intheir own right. ‘Then,’ he thought, ‘they will be comfortably welloff, no matter what happens.’ So he deeded Quasi to them.
“When the Federals succeeded, early in the war, in seizing upon the seaisland defences, establishing themselves at Beaufort, Hilton Head, andother places, it was necessary for my grandfather to remove all thenegroes from Quasi, lest they be carried off by the enemy. The placewas therefore abandoned, but my grandfather said that, at any rate,nobody could carry off the land, and that that would make my auntseasy in their finances, whenever peace should come again. As he was ahard-fighting officer, noted for his dare-devil recklessness of danger,he did not think it likely that he would live to see the end. But hebelieved he had made his daughters secure against poverty, and as formy father, he thought him man enough to take care of himself.”
“The which he abundantly proved himself to be when the time came,”interrupted Cal, with a note of pride in his tone.
“Oh, that was a matter of course,” answered Larry. “It’s a way theRutledges have always had. But that is no part of the story I’mtelling. During the last year of the war, when everything was goingagainst the South, grandfather saw clearly what the result must be,and he understood the effect it would have upon his fortunes. He was awell-to-do man—I may even say a wealthy one—but he foresaw that withthe negroes set free and the industries of the South paralyzed for thetime, his estate would be hopelessly insolvent. But like the
brave manthat he was, he did not let these things trouble him. Believing thathis daughters were amply provided for, and that my father—who at theage of twenty-five had fought his way from private to major—could lookout for himself, the grim old warrior went on with his soldierly workand bothered not at all as to results.
“In the last months of the war, when the Southern armies were beingbroken to pieces, the clerk’s office, in which his deeds of Quasi to myaunts were recorded, was burned with all its contents. As evidence ofthe gift to his daughters nothing remained except his original deeds,and these might easily be destroyed in the clearly impending collapseof everything. To put those deeds in some place of safety was now hismost earnest purpose. He took two or three days’ leave of absence,hurried to Charleston, secured the precious papers and put them in aplace of safety—so safe a place, indeed, that to this day nobody hasever found them. That was not his fault. For the moment he returned tohis post of command he sat down to write a letter to my aunts, tellingthem what he had done and how to find the documents. He had not writtenmore than twenty lines when the enemy fell upon his command, and duringthe fight that ensued, he was shot through the head and instantlykilled. His unfinished letter was sent to my aunts, but it threw nolight upon the hiding place he had selected.
“When the war ended, a few weeks later, the estate was insolvent, as mygrandfather had foreseen. In the eagerness to get hold of even a littlemoney to live upon, which was general at that time, my grandfather’screditors were ready to sell their claims upon the estate for any pricethey could get, and two of the carrion crows called money-lendersbought up all the outstanding obligations.
“When they brought suit for the possession of my grandfather’sproperty, they included Quasi in their claim. When my fatherprotested that Quasi belonged to his sisters by deeds of giftexecuted years before, he could offer no satisfactory proof of hiscontention—nothing, indeed, except the testimony of certain personswho could swear that the transfer had been a matter of generalunderstanding, often mentioned in their presence, and other evidence ofa similarly vague character.
“Of course this was not enough, but my father is a born fighter andwould not give up. He secured delay and set about searching everywherefor the missing papers. In the meanwhile he was energetically workingto rebuild his own fortunes, and he succeeded. As soon as he had moneyof his own to fight with, he employed the shrewdest and ablest lawyershe could find to keep up the contest in behalf of his sisters. He haskept that fight up until now, and will keep it up until he wins it ordies. Of course he has himself amply provided for my aunts, so that itisn’t the property but a principle he is fighting for.
“By the way, the shooting ought to be good at Quasi—the place has runwild for so long and is so inaccessible to casual sportsmen. If therest of you agree, we’ll make our way down there with no long stops aswe go. Then we can take our time coming back.”
The others agreed, and after a little Dick Wentworth, who had remainedsilent for a time, turned to Larry, saying:
“Why did you say it wasn’t much of a story, Larry?”