CHAPTER XXIII.
THE RELAPSE.
CAPTAIN WESTFIELD ate heartily of the delicious fish. Much to hisdelight, he found that, except for the extreme weakness following hisheat prostration, he felt unusually well. He wisely decided not toinvite a relapse by getting up at once, and, as soon as he had finishedeating, he lay back upon his couch and quietly fell asleep again. Itwas midday when he awoke feeling much better and stronger. The firstthing that met his gaze as he gained a sitting position was Chris lyingin the same position in which he had first flung himself. He calledto him several times but the little negro lay still and motionless.Thoroughly alarmed, he crawled over and surveyed the unconscious lad.The sight of the enormously swollen leg and a few minutes' fingeringof the dark little wrist told him what was the matter. The slow pulsebeats showed that the subtile poison, released from its confinement bythe removal of the bandage, had found its way to the plucky, loyal,little heart.
The captain sat down by the little fellow's side and dashed thestinging tears from his eyes.
"He's killed himself for me," he moaned. "If he had laid still just ashe was he would have been all right. But, God bless him, he risked hislife for a poor, old, worthless hulk like me. An' thar ain't nothing Ican do to save him now."
Although he had but small faith that it would do any good in such adesperate case, he hastily crushed out a cupful of juice from thepalmetto berries and forced it down Chris' throat, then, resuming hisseat by his side, he watched to see if the powerful stimulant wouldhave any effect.
As the hours dragged slowly away he rejoiced to see that the lad'scondition apparently grew no worse. Encouraged, he crushed out more ofthe juice and administered it at regular intervals. "I believe he's gota good fighting chance to pull through. If the boys would only get backwith some whiskey an' drugs, now, I reckon, we could save him. I wonderwhat can be keepin' them so long. They've had plenty of time to makeJudson and back."
But the afternoon wore away without sign of the rescuers, and a newfear crept into the old sailor's worries. Something must have happenedto the two boys. Late in the afternoon, he left Chris long enoughto hurry down to the shore in quest of fish or clams for supper. Hefound the rock from which he had fished completely submerged and aheavy surf thundering far up into the marsh. Under such conditionsit was impossible to secure fish or clams, and he returned to camphungry, disappointed, and with further cause for worry. The heavy surfindicated another storm in the Gulf which might reach where they were.If it did, it would render their position still more uncomfortable anddangerous. A heavy blow would continue to cut off their supply of fishand clams and would likely flood the low-lying marsh shutting them inon their little island. If Chris had been well enough to walk, thecaptain would have at once moved camp to the mainland, but that wasimpossible now. By sunset his fears were in a fair way to be realized.The wind was steadily increasing in force, and, blowing out of a clearsky, gave promise of still greater violence. Supperless and worried,the old sailor watched the night fall with but one thing to cheer hisdrooping spirits--Chris was evidently slowly improving. Likely much ofthe poison had been drawn out from his wound by the hot mud and thebalance remaining had been overcome in its paralyzing effects by thepowerful stimulant. The lad's pulse was slowly growing stronger and itwas clear that the crisis had been safely passed.
The old sailor was too worried about the absent lads to compose himselfto sleep. Already, the surf was sending up small wavelets far into themarsh. If the boys were returning the way they went, their journeywould be fraught with perils.
The sky was covered with fleecy clouds but they disappeared with therising of the moon and by its bright light he could see far out on thewater where the huge waves broke foaming white on the outer bar.
Suddenly he gave a shout that made Chris stir in his stupor; "The boys!The boys!" he cried in delight.
In the broad path of moonlight, a small schooner appeared feeling herway through a passage in the reef under close-reefed sails.
"They must have someone aboard that knows the reef," he mused as hewatched the little ship cautiously weaving her way in between thedangerous rocks.
She held steadily for the shore until she was scarce two cable lengthsfrom it, then, she shot up into the wind, her anchor was dropped, andher sails lowered.
The captain was down on the shore, heedless of the flying spray, whenthe anchor hit the bottom.
"Walt! Charley!" he roared at the top of his voice.
There was no answer and he hailed again.
"Ahoy! Shore!" came an answering hail from the schooner. "Who air yo'and what do yo' want?"
The captain was silent for a moment with disappointment. It was not theboys after all, but any help was welcome at such a time and he madehaste to reply.
"We're two shipwrecks in bad shape an' need help. Who are you?"
"The Hattie Roberts, sponger, from Key West. Stan' by, an' we'll send aboat."
While the strangers were launching a boat, the captain had time toobserve that the schooner's decks were piled full of small boats andthat, small as she was, she carried a crew of at least thirty men.
"An old style, pole an' hook sponger," he decided. "I didn't reckonthere was any of them left. I 'lowed the Greeks had run 'em all out ofbusiness."
Manned by half a dozen men, the little boat came tearing through thewaves towards the shore. Flung up by a huge roller, she grounded almostat the captain's feet. The instant she touched bottom, her crew sprangover the side and drew her up safely beyond the reach of the nextroller. Even by the dimmed light of the moon, the old sailor could seethat the new-comers were dark-skinned men with heavy coarse features.He recognized them without the aid of the peculiar accent as Conchs,--akind of mixed race belonging to the Florida Keys.
"Whar's yo's companion?" demanded one, who from his air of authoritywas evidently the captain.
"He's on a little island just a little ways from here. I'll have to getone of your men to help me down with him."
"All right, Sam here will go with yo'. Step lively, we have got to pullout from hyar quick. There ain't as good anchorage as I 'lowed to findbehind the reef. We'll have to make foah a better harbor."
The captain, with the sailor detailed to help him, was hurrying off ontheir mission when the Conch's skippers curiosity caused him to stophim in spite of the preciousness of time.
"How did yo's git hyah in such a fix," he demanded.
"Been sponging with a Greek crew. Crew mutinied. We escaped in a divingboat. Got wrecked in the night on the reef out thar," replied CaptainWestfield, briefly.
"Sponging with the Greeks!" snarled the Conch with an oath. "Then theGreeks can help yo' out of yo'r fix, by all that's Holy, I won't. Hyah,Sam, jump aboard with yo'."
"You are not agoin' to desert us?" cried the captain in bewilderedconsternation. "For the love of humanity, man, what do you mean?"
"I mean that I won't raise a finger to help any mons who deals withthe Greeks--blast 'em," cried the Conch, fiercely. "They've ruinedus an' our people. We used to be a happy an' prosperous race a'forethey came with their diving suits an' tramped all over the bottom ofthe Gulf. Killing the little baby sponges with their iron shoes, an'stripping the bottom clean as a Conch's floor. We've been run out ofthe business, an' they did it. We've lost our homes, an' they causedit. Our families don't have enough to eat an' wear any more, an' theyare the reason--curse 'em, curse 'em, curse 'em."
"But you are leaving us to certain death, man!" pleaded CaptainWestfield, "The water is rising over the marsh, already."
"An' it will be flooded inside of ten hours," declared the Conch withcruel satisfaction. "All aboard mons an' shove off."
Captain Westfield grasped the gunwale of the boat and tried to holdit while he reasoned and argued with the fanatical Conch, but theinfuriated man rapped his knuckles with an oar and gave him a shovewith the blade that sent him struggling backwards. By the time the oldsailor recovered his balance, the boat had been shoved off and was outof his
reach. He shook his clenched fist at the Conch's receding figure.
"You'll pay for this," he shouted. "No good will come to you after sucha trick." But it is doubtful if the Conch even heard his voice abovethe roar of the wind.
The captain stood watching grimly until the boat reached theschooner's side, and her close-reefed sails were hoisted, her anchorbroke and she headed to the South inside the line of reef. When shehad faded away into the night, he turned back for the camp filled withdisappointment and dismay.