CHAPTER XXXVIII
VOYAGE BOUND THE ISLAND--THE LOST BOAT--STRANGE SIGNALSAGAIN--HURRICANE--NIGHT MARCH--HELPLESS VESSEL--MELANCHOLY FATE--THERESCUE--MAROONERS' HOSPITALITY--CONCLUSION
Tuesday morning dawned without a cloud. Before the stars had ceasedshining all hands were called to work, and by the time the sun peepedover the eastern marsh, they pushed off from their landing, Harold andSam, with Mum, being in one boat, and Robert, Mary, and Frank, withFidelle, in the other. Rowing slowly down the river, against a lightwind from the south-east, the perfume of yellow jessamines (gelseminumsempervirens), then in rich bloom, so loaded the air, that the youngpeople snuffed up the delicious odours, and looked lovingly at the greenisland they were preparing to forsake.
The voyage was made almost without incident. When they had passed outto sea, the voyagers were rejoiced to find their boats behaving as wellupon the rough water as they had already done upon the smooth--theydanced joyously upon the gentle swell, as if congratulating their youngbuilders in the happy prospect of a successful voyage. The boys triedthe effect of lashing them together, and thus verified the expectationof their safety; they rubbed and creaked a good deal, and moved lessrapidly than when separate, but they sat upon the water with asteadiness which no ordinary commotion could disturb.
Running the sea length of the island, and now bending their course forthe north river, Sam sang out, "A sail!" Far up the coast a faint whitespeck appeared, glancing in the sunbeams, but it soon faded from sight,and they concluded that either it was a distant sea gull, or else avessel passing to the north. They watched it with interest so long asit was visible, and then turned into the river. Had they suspected whatthat white thing was, and that instead of disappearing in the increasingdistance, it was only obscured by a little mist, as it approached,beating against a head wind, they would have forsaken river, island,tent, everything, and sailed joyfully to meet it.
They reached the old encampment at one o'clock, having made the run oftwenty-six miles in six and a half hours. The boats behaved so well,and the winds, sea, and sky were so inviting, that their only regretwas, that they had not put everything aboard and made a day's voyagehomewards. But doubtless, as Harold remarked, a kind Providence watchedover their path, and would prove its kindness even in this delay.
Having taken a hasty survey of their old place of rest and of refuge,and refreshed themselves at the spring, they resolved to divide theircompany--Robert's boat to go direct to the orange landing, where it wasto be left, while the passengers went by land to the tent, and preparedthe provisions for next day; and Harold and Sam, in the meantime, tocontinue up the river, and ascertain whether there was not an inlandpassage round the island, shorter and easier than the route by sea. Withthis understanding they sailed together to Duck Point, where Robertturned into the Creek, and putting Mary at the helm, rowed until theycame to the orange landing, and there moored the boat beside the oldraft. They reached the tent long before sunset, and having completed thenecessary preparations about dark, began to wish for the return of theothers. Several times Robert went to the landing to look for thembefore the daylight had entirely ceased; and after dark he went again bythe light of the moon, which, being half full, shed her light at thistime of the evening perpendicularly upon his path. He was becominguneasy, when afar off he heard the mellow sounds of a boat song; thenotes grew more and more distinct; the thump of the oars began to beheard keeping time to the music; finally, the song ceased; a clatter washeard as the oars were laid in the boat; and soon the whole company weretogether once more, enjoying the last supper of which they expected topartake on the island.
"What kept you so long?" inquired Robert. "Was the distance great?"
"No," replied Harold, with a look of pleasure; "we found the distanceonly about six miles, but we were detained by missing our way, and moreespecially by trying to be sure of a piece of very good news. I thinkwe have found the old boat."
"Indeed!" said Robert, starting to his feet, with the keenness of hisdelight. "Where? How?"
"In the marsh, at the far bend of the river. I always thought it hadlodged somewhere in that direction, and therefore kept my eyes open atevery little creek and opening in the marsh. At last I saw, what Icannot say positively is _our_ boat, but it is a boat of the samecolour, and having a stripe of white and black, like ours. We trieduntil sunset to approach it, but did not succeed in getting any nearerthan at first; it is surrounded with soft mud, and a wilderness ofmangroves."
This was certainly pleasant, though unprofitable, intelligence. Therewas no prospect of their being able to extricate the boat, except by thehelp of some uncommon tide; and its value, though considerable, wasnothing in comparison with the necessity for returning home. Theyresolved not to wait for it; on the contrary, that they would transportto the portage, by means of Harold's boat, the lading intended forRobert's; then returning to the prairie, they would take in the secondload, and passing around by the new way, unite at Duck Point, and sailthence for home. By rising early they were sure that they could leavethe island by eleven or twelve o'clock.
While engaged in these plans for the morrow, Sam came in to say that hewas afraid the next day also would see them on the island, for never inhis life had he seen clouds gather so rapidly, or fly so fast. Thelittle company went out, and saw a multitude of low scudding cloudspassing with intense rapidity over the face of the moon. Suddenly eachone started, and looked inquisitively into the others' faces, for atthat moment the sound of a cannon, within five miles, came booming fromthe coast. Robert and Mary turned red and pale by turns. Frank clappedhis hands, exclaiming, "It is father! O, I know it is father!" Haroldfolded his arms--he had evidently acquired something of the composure ofthe Indian.
"Quick! quick! let us answer it!" cried Robert, and with the word dartedaway to the tree where the cannon powder was kept. While he was gonethere came another report. They loaded expeditiously, and in a momentafterwards the dark woods were illuminated with the flash, and the earthshaken with the thundering discharge.
"Now for a march to double quick time!" said Robert, his strongexcitement making him the leader of all that was done. "But, sister,what shall we do with you and Frank? You cannot keep pace with us. Youhad better stay here with Sam, while Harold and I push on to the coast,and see who is there."
"Had we not better fire our cannon once more!" suggested Harold.
"Sam can do it," Robert answered. "Here, Sam, put in so much," showinghim the quantity, "and fire it until you are sure they hear you. Butwhat is that?" he continued, listening to a loud roar that came from thecoast, and increased like the accumulating rush of waters.
"It is a hurricane," replied Harold. "There is no use in trying to gonow. Down with the tent pins! deep! deep! or we shall have our houseblown from above us."
They hastened all to do what could be done for their immediateprotection; but there was little to be done. Gaining wisdom from theirformer experience, they had driven down the pins as far as they could gowhen the tent was pitched, and moreover had raised the floor andtrenched the premises. They could only make the upper canvas a littlemore secure, and having done this, they entered the tent a few secondsbefore the storm burst upon them. It was a terrible repetition of whatthey had experienced four months before, when Sam was so nearlydestroyed.
Mary and Frank were in deep distress. The earnest impetuosity ofRobert, combined with their own thoughts, had left in their minds nodoubt that the guns fired were from their father; and now, O what astorm to meet him on his coming a second time to their truly enchantedisland! Frank cried as if his heart would break. Mary buried her facein her hands, and prayed to Him who is mighty to deliver, even when thewinds and the waves overwhelm.
Harold also was strongly convinced that the guns were from his uncle,but he knew that this was only conjectural, and therefore he kindlyremarked in the hearing of the others.
"You have no _certain_ reason, Robert, to believe that
those guns arefrom your father. But suppose that they are, then another thing istrue, he is in a vessel, for boats do not usually carry guns. They werefired too before the storm came on; therefore they are not signals ofdistress, and also they appear to have come from the river. Now, if theperson who fired them is in a vessel, and in the river, what is there tofear? He cannot get away tonight, and he cannot probably be hurt by thestorm. Let us be quiet until morning, and then go out to see who itis."
These thoughts were very comforting. Mary and Frank ceased theirweeping, and united in the conversation. They all huddled together inthe middle of the tent. For hours the wind roared and howled with greatfury, but their tent was protected by the grand wall of forest treesaround, and also by the picket enclosure; and though the wind made thecanvas flutter, it could neither crush it down nor lift it from abovethem. Nor did the rain which poured in torrents, and was driven withgreat violence across the prairie, give them any particularinconvenience; it was readily shed by the several thicknesses of canvasoverhead, and carried off by the drainage round the tent.
In the course of an hour, Mary and Frank fell asleep upon the sofa, andthe others took such naps as they could obtain, while sitting in theirchairs, and listening to a roar of winds so loud, that if twenty cannonshad been fired at the river they could scarcely have been heard.
About midnight the rain ceased, and the wind began sensibly to abate.Puff after puff, and roar after roar, still succeeded each other throughthe forest; but the fury of the storm was over. An hour before day,Harold shook Robert by the shoulder, and said, "I think we can startnow. Come and see."
The sky and woods were pitchy dark, little pools of water covered theground, and the prairie was rough with huge branches torn from thetrees, and conveyed to a distance. These were obstacles andinconveniences, but not impediments; and as the wind had so far lulledthat it was possible for a torch to live, Robert decided to make atrial. He waked Mary and Sam, and announcing his intention, said tothem:
"We wish to reach the old encampment by the time there is light enoughto see over the river. If possible, we will return by eight o'clock,and let you know all. If we are absent longer than that, you mayconclude that we have found something to do; and in that case, you hadbetter follow us. We shall, of course, be somewhere on the river; butas we ourselves do not know where, you had better go direct to DuckPoint, from which you can see almost all the way to our old spring. Letme have a piece of white cloth, sister; I will, if necessary, set up asignal for you on the beach, to tell you where we are."
Mary was exceedingly unwilling to have them depart. The darkness lookedhorrible; their blind path must now be still more obscured by prostratetrees and fallen branches; and if they succeeded in reaching theintended place, they might be called to engage in she knew not whatdangerous enterprise upon water as boisterous as the sea. Quelling heranxieties, however, in view of the necessities of the case, she said:
"Go, but do take care of yourselves. Remember that you two are the onlyprotectors, except Sam, for Frank and me."
The boys promised to run no unnecessary risks, and to return if possibleby the appointed hour. Taking their guns, the spy-glass, and a bundleof rich splints of lightwood, they set out. Mary watched their figuresgradually diminishing under the illuminated arches of the forest. Shenoticed the dark shadows of the trees turning upon their bases aspivots, when the torch passed, until they all pointed towards the tent.Then the light began to be intercepted; it was seen by fitful glares; itceased to be seen at all; its course was marked only by a faintreflection from the tree-tops, or from the misty air; finally everytrace of the torch and of its reflection was lost to sight, and Maryreturned, with a sigh and a prayer, to her seat upon the sofa.
The boys were compelled to watch very carefully the blazing upon thetrees, and what few signs of their path remained. There were no starsto guide their course, and the marks upon the earth were so perfectlyobliterated by the storm, that several times they missed their way for afew steps, and recovered it with the utmost difficulty. It is scarcelypossible for the best woodsman in the world, of a dark night, and aftera storm, to keep a course, or to regain it after it is lost. The boyswere extremely fortunate in being able to reach the river by the breakof day.
Nothing yet was visible. The river and marsh looked like a dark abyss,from which rolled hoarse and angry murmurs. They gathered some wetfragments of pine left by them near the oak, and made a fire, besidewhich they sat and talked. Was there any person in the river! Surelyit was time to hear some voice or gun, or to see some answering light.They would have hallooed, but there was something oppressive and ominousin the gloom of that storm-beaten solitude; and, for aught they knew,their call might come only to the wet ears of the drowned and the dead.They waited in painful and reverential silence.
Gradually the dark rolling water became visible; then afar off appearedblack, solitary things, that proved to be the tops of mangroves, higherthan the rest, around which had gathered moss and dead twigs of themarsh. When the light of day more fully developed the scene, theydescried, at the distance of two miles, an object which the glassrevealed to be a small vessel, of the pilot boat class, dismantled, andon her beam ends. This sight filled them with apprehension.
There was no person visible on the side or yards; was there any oneliving within? The companion-way was closed. Possibly a gun mightcause the persons on board to give some sign of life.
The boys made ready to shoot, but neither gun could be discharged. Thepowder was wet. The only leak in the tent the night before had beendirectly over the guns, and the rain had dripped into the barrels. Itwas vain to attempt cleansing them for use; and if they succeeded inproducing a discharge, how could that help the persons on board?
"No, no," said Robert, "what they want is our boat. Let us get that, andgo immediately to their rescue."
Before leaving the bluff they planted conspicuously a small pole, in thecleft top of which Robert slipped a piece of paper, on which waswritten, "We have gone for our boat; you will see us as we pass.Robert."
When they arrived at the orange landing the boat was floating so farfrom shore, that without swimming it could scarcely be reached. Theraft, however, to which it was moored, was nearer the bank, and Haroldmanaged, by climbing a slender sapling near the water's edge, andthrowing his weight upon the proper side, to bend it so that he coulddrop upon the raft, and from that to enter the boat. It was ankle deepwith water, and there was no gourd nor even a paddle with which to baleit. Robert's ingenuity devised a plan; he threw into the boat an armfulof moss, which soaked up the water like a sponge, and lifting this overthe gunwale, he squeezed it into the river.
After a short delay they pushed from shore. To their delight, the tidewas so high that they could row over the marsh in a straight line forthe river, which was hardly a mile distant. On their way the sun burstthrough a cloud, and appeared so high as to prove that the hour of eightwas already passed, and that Mary's company was probably on their way tothe point before them. The water in the river was dark and rough, fromthe action of the neighbouring sea, but undisturbed by wind. Onreaching it they paused, and hallooed to know whether the party by landhad reached the point; hearing no answer, they resumed their oars, andcrossed to the other side of the river, where the water was more smooth.
We will now leave them for awhile, and return to the company at thetent. Mary reclined on the sofa, but could not sleep. The idea of herfather in danger, perhaps lost in his effort to rescue them, andthoughts of the perilous night-march of the boys through a dense forest,and then the nameless adventures into which her daring cousin andexcited brother might be tempted, haunted her mind until the grey lightof morning stole through the white canvas, and admonished her to rise.Frank was fast asleep upon the sofa, covered with a cloak; and Sam'ssnores sounded long and loud from his shed-room. On looking at thewatch, which Harold had left for her convenience, she found that it wasnearly seven o'clock; she did not know that when the sky is
denselycovered by clouds, the dawn does not appear until the sun has nearlyreached the horizon.
It was not long after this before a fire was made, and breakfast readyfor the explorers. Mary employed herself in every useful way she coulddevise, until the slow minute hand measured the hour of eight; thentaking a hasty meal, they set out upon their march. Sam led the vanwith a gun upon his shoulder, and a gourd of water in his hand. Maryfollowed, carrying a basket of provision for the hungry boys, and Frankwent from one to the other, at will, or lagged behind to watch themotions of the dogs, that looked thoughtful, as if aware that somethingunusual was on hand.
The ground was still quite wet, and they were compelled to pick theirway around little pools and puddles that lay in their path; but withcare they succeeded so well that they would have reached Duck Point inadvance of the boys, had it not been for a circumstance that interestedthem much, while it filled them with gloom.
Nearing the point, the dogs, that had hitherto followed very demurelybehind, pricked up their ears, and trotted briskly towards the water'sside. Sam noticed this, and remarked, "Dey after tukkey I 'speck, butwe a'n't got no time fo' tukkey now." Soon after, their attention wasarrested by hearing a cry from the dogs, which was neither a bark nor awhine, but a note of distress made up of both.
"Eh! eh!" said Sam. "Wat dem dog after now? Dah no cry for deer, norfor tukkey, nor for squirrel. Missus, you and Mas Frank stay here oneminute, till I go see w'at dem dog about. I sho' dey got some'nstrange. Only harkee how dey talk!"
Sam was in fact fearful that some sad accident had befallen Robert andHarold, and that the dogs, having scented them by the light wind comingdown the river, had given utterance to this moan of distress. Hetherefore walked with hurried steps in the direction from which thesound proceeded, while Mary and Frank, unwilling to be left alone,followed slowly behind him. He had not gained more than twenty paces theadvance, when they saw him stop--run a few steps forward--then stopagain, and lift up his hands with an exclamation of surprise. Theyhurried to his side, and found him gazing, with looks of horror, into alittle strip of bushes that skirted the margin of the tide water.
"What is the matter, Sam?" inquired Mary.
"Look, Missus," he replied, pointing with his finger. "Enty[#] dat somepeople drown dey in de ma'sh?"
[#] Is not that.
Mary and Frank looked, and saw what appeared to be in truth, the bodiesof two persons fast locked in each other's arms, and lodged upon the topof a submerged mallow, which allowed them to sway back and forth withthe undulations of the water. Sam was hesitating what to do--fornegroes are almost universally superstitious about dead people. Maryurged him on.
"You will not leave them there, will you?" she inquired; "you willsurely draw them out, and see who they are. May be, too, they are notdead. O, get them out, Sam, get them at once."
Shamed out of his superstitious fear, Sam reluctantly obeyed theinjunction of his mistress. He waded carefully and timidly along, untilhe could lay hold of the bodies, and drag them to shore.
"W'ite man and nigger, Missus," he said, solemnly, as the movementthrough the water revealed the pale features of the one, and the woollyhead of the other. "De w'ite man, I dun-know[#] who he is, he look likesailor; and de nigger--" He had now drawn them ashore, and examinedtheir features. It would have made any one's heart sad to hear thegroan that came from the poor fellow, when he had looked steadily intothe face of the dead man. He staggered, fell on his knees in the water,embraced the wet body, and kissed it.
[#] Dun-know, don't know.
"O my Missus," he cried, "it is Peter! my own brudder Peter! De onlybrudder I got in dis wide wull. O Peter--Peter!" and he wept like achild.
"Draw them out, Sam," said Mary, energetically; "draw them on highground, and let us rub them as we rubbed you. There may be life in themyet."
"No, Missus," he replied, pulling the bodies higher ashore. "No lifehere. He cold--he stiff--he dead. O Peter, my brudder, I glad to meetyou once mo'. Huddee[#] Peter! Huddee boy!" The poor fellow actuallyshook hands with the corpse, and poured out afresh his unaffectedsorrows.
[#] Howdye.
As soon as the bodies were drawn sufficiently from the water, Maryproceeded to examine them. The face of the white man was unknown toher, he appeared to have been a respectable sailor. He and Peter wereevidently stiff dead. She was so certain they were beyond all hope ofrecovery, that she did not even require their clothes to be unloosed, orany means to be used for their restoration. She waited on the mourningbrother until the first burst of his grief was over, then she and Frankaided him to make a sort of brush wood fence around the bodies, toprotect them until something could be done for their interment.
It was while they were engaged in this last duty that Robert and Haroldpassed the point. Their halloo might, under ordinary circumstances,have been heard; but with their own occupation of mind, the rustle ofbushes dragged along, and the roar of the distant surf, the voices ofthe boatmen sounded in vain.
From the point the boys proceeded, it was said, to the other side of theriver, to escape the waves that dashed heavily against the island. Thewhole marsh, from bluff to bluff, was one flood of water, with theexception of patches of the more luxuriant herbage that peered above therolling surface. The mangroves, though generally immersed, broke socompletely the violence of the waves, that the water above and aroundthem, was comparatively smooth, while in the channel of the river it wastoo rough for safety.
Picking their way over the tops of the low bushes, and around thebranching summits of the taller, the boys rowed steadily towards theunfortunate vessel. They had gone not quite half a mile from shore,when they heard a gun, and looking back, they saw Mary's companybeckoning to them. It was too late to return, without great sacrificeof time; and Robert pointed with one hand to the distant vessel, andwith the other to the place of the old encampment. These signs wereunderstood; the company on shore, after looking steadily at the distantobject on the water, disappeared in the woods, and afterwardsre-appeared above the old spring.
The labour of rowing increased as the boat proceeded. The passagethrough the marsh became more intricate, and the swell from sea began tobe more sensibly felt through the irregular openings. But with theincrease of difficulties came also an increase of energy, as theyapproached the vessel. They were now about a quarter of a mile distant.Their hands were sore, and their limbs weary with rowing. They triednot to exert themselves any more vigorously than before, lest theyshould utterly exhaust their strength, but they nevertheless observed,that as they neared the vessel, their boat did somehow move more rapidlythrough the water, and crowd with greater skill through the narrowopening.
As the young boatmen came within hail they would have called, had theynot been restrained by the same ominous feeling which they experiencedon the beach. With beating hearts they rowed silently around the bow ofthe vessel. The waves dashed heavily against it, and came up theinclined deck, oftentimes higher than the companion-way. They mooredthe boat to the broken mast, and then clambering along the pile ofsea-weed and mangroves, which the vessel had collected in drifting, cameat last to the cabin door. Robert could not say one word; his heart hadrisen into his mouth, and he felt almost ready to faint.
"Hallo!" cried Harold, his own voice husky with emotion. "Is anybodywithin?"
"Thank God!" responded a voice near the cabin door. It was a femalevoice, and its familiar tones thrilled to Harold's very soul. "Yes,yes, there are three of us here. Who is that calling?"
"Harold," he answered, "Harold Mc----." The name was not finished. Hereeled as he spoke, and leaned pale as a sheet against thecompanion-way. That voice was not to be mistaken, little as he expectedto hear it on that dark river. It was the voice first known to him, andfirst loved of all earthly voices. He tried again to answer; it was invain. He groaned in very anguish of joy, and the big tears rolled downhis face. Robert answered for him.
"Harold McIntosh and Robert Gordon. Who is in
here?"
The voice from within did not reply. It seemed as if the person to whomit belonged was also overcome by emotion; for soon after they heard herspeak tremulously,
"Brother! Sister! Thank God--our boys--are here!"
Robert did not recognize the voice of his aunt, nor did he understandthe speechless look which his cousin turned upon him, until after two orthree violent sobs, Harold replied to his inquiring look, "My mother!Robert, mother!"
Hearing the exclamation from within, Robert had now recovered from hisown torture of suspense, and leaned down to the cabin-door in time tohear the manly voice of Dr. Gordon, asking in tones that showed he toowas struggling to command himself,
"My children, are you all well?"
"Yes, father, all well," Robert replied. He wished to ask also, "Ismother here?" but his voice again failed; he fell upon the leaning door,and gave vent to a passionate flood of tears. While leaning there heheard his aunt call out, "Come, help me, brother. She has fainted."But that answer was enough; his mother was there.
The boys tried in vain to open the door; it was secured on the inside,and it was not until after some delay that Dr. Gordon removed not onlythe bolt, but various appliances that he had used to keep the water fromdripping into his sister's berth, and gave each a hearty shake of thehand as they leaned sideways to enter the door, and clambered in thedark cabin. Dark, however, as that cabin was, and insecure as was thefooting of the boys, it was not long before each was locked in hismother's arms.
Mrs. Gordon was very feeble, and her face much emaciated with suffering.She said little more at first than to ask after Mary and Frank. Thissilence alarmed Robert; he knew that joy is usually loquacious, and heheard his aunt talking very earnestly with Harold; but he forgot thathis mother was just recovering from a swoon, and that extreme joyexpresses itself differently in different persons. His father, seeinghim look anxiously into her pale, thin face, remarked, "She will recoverfast enough, now. The only medicine she needed was to meet you all."
"O, yes," she too observed. "Give me now my dear Mary and Frank, and Ithink I shall soon get well."
"We can give them to you in an hour, if you are able to bear removal,"said Robert. "Is she able, father?"
"Yes, yes, able enough," his father answered. "And, I presume, we hadbetter go, before the tide recedes, or we may be caught in the marsh.Come, let us load without delay."
They removed the trunks, and other things needful, to the boat; the boysrelating all the while to their delighted parents what a beautifulprairie home they had, and how well it was stocked with every comfort."Everything," said Robert, "except father and mother; and now we aretaking them there."
The boat was brought close to the vessel's side, and held there firmlyby Dr. Gordon, while the ladies were assisted by the boys. And withwhat pride those mothers leaned upon those brave and manly sons--grownfar more manly since their exile--may be imagined, but can not bedescribed. Mrs. Gordon recovered her vivacity, and a great portion ofher strength, before she left the cabin. Joy had inspired her heart, andenergized her muscles. Mrs. McIntosh also seemed to grow happier everymoment, as she discovered the mental and moral developments of her son.Dr. Gordon, having carefully closed the companion-way, took the helm,and the boys the oars, while the mothers, with their faces towards thebow, looked with eyes of love and admiration upon the young labourers,who were requiting life for life, and love for love, what had beenbestowed on them in their infancy.
As they were passing through the marsh, Mrs. Gordon spied several humanfigures on a distant bluff. They were exceedingly small, but distinctlymarked against the sky.
"Can they be my dear little Mary and Frank?" she asked.
The boys replied that they were, and she waved her white handkerchief tothem, in the hope of attracting their attention.
The water was still so rough in the channel, that, anxious as theparents were to embrace their long-lost children, Dr. Gordon decidedthat instead of attempting the passage directly across, in their heavilyloaded skiff, they must continue up the river, through the irregularopenings of the marsh.
They came at last near enough to be discovered by Mary and Frank, who,seeing the boat load of passengers going up the river, needed noinvitation to meet them at Duck Point. The two companies reached thebeach about the same time. Frank rushed right through the water, andsprang into his mother's lap; Mary was lifted into the boat by Robert,who waded back and forth to bring her; and Sam, though he was saddenedby the melancholy fate of his brother, came with open lips and shiningteeth, to shake hands with Mossa and Missus, as soon as the childrengave him an opportunity.
Here they stopped long enough to allow the hungry boys to refreshthemselves from Mary's basket of provisions, and Sam's gourd of water.They were almost ravenous. Dr. Gordon then went with Robert overland,to bring the other boat from the prairie to the portage, while Haroldand Sam conducted the company by water to the orange landing. From thislatter place Mrs. McIntosh preferred to walk alone with her son to thetent, leaving the others to descend the river.
During this part of the voyage, Dr. Gordon first learnt with certaintythe fate of Peter and the sailor. As soon therefore as Mrs. Gordon hadlanded, he left Robert to support her to the tent, and re-entering theboat with Sam, went to rescue the bodies from their exposure, and toprepare them for a decent burial. It was late in the afternoon whenthey returned; and, as the best they could do with the dead bodies, theyleft them all night in the boat, covered with a sail, and pushed alittle distance from the land.
The young housekeepers laid themselves out to entertain their welcomeguests. Mary provided them with an early and delightful supper, whichwas highly seasoned with love and good will. Mrs. Gordon and Mrs.McIntosh reclined on Mary's sofa, the others gathered round to completethe circle, and the young people gave snatches of their eventfulhistory. It was late before any one thought of retiring. Then Dr.Gordon called for a copy of the Scriptures. He talked of theirseparation, their sorrows, dangers, escapes, and now of their joyfulreunion. After that, he read the ninety-first Psalm, which speaks ofthe protection that God promises to His people, and kneeling down, heoffered their united thanksgiving for all the past, and their unitedprayer that the Lord would be their God, and make them His loving,grateful people. When they arose from their knees, every eye was wetwith the tears of gratitude and joy.
The sleeping arrangements for the night were hasty and scant. Mary laybetween her mother and aunt, for whom two of the narrow mattresses ofthe vessel had been placed side by side, and covered with the bear-skin.Frank nestled into the bosom of his father, and close beside him onanother mattress lay Robert. Harold had chosen the sofa. After thelabours and disturbances of the past twenty-four hours, sleep camewithout invitation. The moon and stars shone brilliantly overhead, theair was uncommonly pure, as if washed clean by the preceding rain, andthe leafy forest, which had so often enclosed in its bosom the young buthopeful exiles, now murmured all night its soft blessings upon areunited family.
* * * * *
Having extended this history far beyond the limits originally intended,it is time to close with a few hurried words.
Poor Peter was buried the next night by torchlight, according to theromantic custom prevalent among the negroes. Locked indissolubly ineach other's arms, he and the sailor were laid in the same grave, and adouble head and foot-board was sunk to mark the spot.
After much labour, and many dangers and delays (to recount which wouldrequire almost another volume), they raised and launched their littlevessel, recovered the sail boat, provided suitably for their brute pets,sailed from the Island of Refuge and arrived safely at Bellevue, wherethey had been long expected, and almost given up for lost.
Before they left, the health of Mrs. Gordon was rapidly and almostperfectly restored. Fed from her children's stores, drinking from theirtupelo spring, and regaled in every sense by the varied productions ofthat land of enchantment, but more especi
ally charmed by her children'slove there was nothing more for her to desire, except the presence ofthe dear ones left behind.
The joy of beginning their return to Bellevue was, however, strangelydashed with sorrow, at parting from scenes tenderly endeared by athousand associations. As they passed down the river, a gentle galecame from the woods, loaded with the perfume of flowers. Harold pointedto his mother the tall magnolia on the river bank, which had been to hima Bethel (Gen. xviii. 16-19); it was now in bloom, and two magnificentflowers, almost a foot in diameter, set like a pair of brilliant eyesnear the top, looked kindly upon him, and seemed to watch him until hehad passed out of sight. The live oak, under whose immense shade theirtent had been first pitched, was the last tree they passed; a nonpareil,hidden in the branches, sat whistling plaintively to its mate; a mockingbird was on the topmost bough, singing with all its might a song ofendless variety; and underneath a herd of shy, peeping deer hadcollected, and looked inquisitively at the objects moving upon thewater. It seemed to the young people as if the whole island had centreditself upon that bluff, to reproach them with ingratitude, and protestagainst their departure. But their resolution could not now be changed;the prow of their vessel held on its way. _The Marooning Party wasOver_.
THE END
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