The Boy Chums in the Gulf of Mexico

by Carol Norton

  CHAPTER XIX.

  WRECKED.

  THE boys had obeyed the old sailor's order, and, though greatly shakenby the shock, they retained their hold on the boat.

  "Quick, get on the rocks," shouted the Captain. "She'll pound to piecesin a jiffy."

  Fortunately, the boat's bow had been driven up on the ledge nearlyout of the water. The boys dropped over the side followed by theold sailor, and, though beaten and bruised against the sharp rockssucceeded in struggling out upon the one which reared itself abovethe water. They glanced back to where the boat had struck, but, shortas had been their struggle out, it had witnessed the destructionof the staunch craft. Only that portion of her bow lodged upon thereef remained intact, the balance of her hull was a mass of twisted,splintered, broken planks.

  Great as was the danger from which they had escaped, their presentposition was still far from safe. The slippery rock afforded butinsecure footing and it was frequently swept by the larger seas. Atsuch times, they had all they could do to keep from being swept off itsslimy surface.

  "I reckon, we've struck on a reef," the Captain said, anxiously. "Itall depends upon the tide whether we are safe or not. If it's low tide,now, high tide will cover this rock so deep that we'll not be able tohang on to it."

  It soon became evident that the tide was still rising, though slowly.The waves began sweeping over the flat rock with such violence thatthe tired, wretched, anxious, little party could hardly maintain theirfooting. To the right and left of them, rose other higher masses ofrock, but they did not dare to attempt to reach them through thedarkness and the boiling surf. Wet, cold, hungry, and wretched; theyclung to their insecure refuge until day began to break in the East.With the coming of light they strained their brine-smarting eyes todiscover what manner of place it was upon which they had been thrown.The outlook was not reassuring. They were, as the Captain had surmised,on a point of low-lying reef, most of which was constantly wave-sweptby the monstrous surges. To the East of them, lay a low, marshy shoredotted here and there with small islands covered with cedar hammocks,but between them and the islands was at least two miles of foamingwater. The boys gazed wistfully at the longed-for land.

  "We can't make it," Charley said, sadly. "Chris might, perhaps, beable to swim it, but it would be a long swim for the rest of us at anytime, and, tired and weak as we are now, it would be impossible. Wewill have to stick it out here until the storm goes down a bit, then,try to fashion some kind of a raft out of the planks of the divingboat."

  "We can't be far from Judson," said the Captain, with an attempt atcheerfulness. "A boat may come by an' pick us up any minute."

  But the boys were not cheered by any such prospect. They knew that thechance of any boat being out in such weather was very small indeed.One fact, however, gave them a little hope; the tide was undoubtedlyfalling. It had evidently been almost at its height when they hadlanded on the rock.

  "I wish we had something to eat," Walter sighed, "we have had nothingbut a little bread in two days. I begin to feel weak all over."

  Chris gazed thoughtfully at the water on the shore-side of the rock. "Ireckon, I might find somethin' down dar," he observed. "I'se goin' totry it anyway. You white chilluns has sho' got to hab somethin' to eat."

  Although the water was somewhat smoother to the lee of the rocks,it boiled and foamed there threateningly and the boys endeavored todissuade the plucky little negro from the attempt, but their objectionsonly made him the more determined.

  "Golly! you chilluns doan know what a diver dis nigger is," he said,proudly. "You jes' stay still an' watch him now." He removed hisclothes, handing them to Charley to hold, slipped over the side of therock, and sank down beneath the surface. He was gone so long that thewatchers had begun to grow anxious when he reappeared, blowing like aporpoise. In one hand, he held tightly clenched, a big stone crab and alarge conch.

  "Take 'em," he exclaimed, "I'se goin' down again. Dar's heaps more ofdem on de bottom."

  He continued diving until he had brought up six more conchs and twomore crabs, then he crawled out on the rock completely exhausted, andheld up one foot for their inspection. There was a tiny puncture in thesole of it from which the blood was slowly trickling.

  "I reckon, I'se goin' to hab some trubble wid dat foot," he observed,gravely. "Ole Mister Stingaree gib me a dig dar. He warn't much biggerdan a plate, but der horns are powerful poison."

  His announcement sent a chill of fear to the hearts of his companions,for they all well-knew the dangerous character of the flat, horn-tailedfish which lurks on the bottom in Florida waters. The Captain did notlose a second in whipping out his sheath knife and cutting open thepuncture which he washed out thoroughly with sea water. He then madeChris sit on the edge of the rock and hang his foot over in the water.

  The plucky little negro bore the operation with unflinchingcheerfulness. "I sho' wish you'd open up one ob dem conch for me, MassaCharley," he observed. "If dis ting's goin' to make me sick, I wants tobe dat much ahead."

  Charley quickly broke open one of the conchs and gave him the meat,--abig lump of tough flesh, almost sufficient for an entire meal. He alsoopened several others for the Captain, Walter, and himself, upon whichthey made a hearty and strengthening, if somewhat tasteless, meal.Chris ate but little of the tough meat, he soon pushed it away from himwith a weary little sigh.

  "I doan want no moah," he said, quietly. "I'ze gettin' berry sick.Reckon ole Mister Stingaree dun got dis nigger for sho'."

  His little ebony face soon took on a dull-ashen hue and he began tovomit violently; passing from these spells into a heavy stupor, themysterious subtle poison from the stingaree was getting in its work.His grieving companions watched him in helpless suspense, there wasnothing they could do to relieve his sufferings.

  "We can't let him die like this," Charley cried, as the little sufferertwitched in spasms of pain. "I am going to try to reach shore and findhelp. He has taken bigger risks for us many a time."

  Neither Walter or the Captain tried to stop him. They would have gladlyoffered to make the attempt in his place but he was the strongest andbest swimmer of the three.

  He removed his jacket and shoes and with a last good-bye, plunged offof the rock and headed for the distant shore. He had not gone more thantwenty yards when he stopped with a cry of joy.

  "Come on," he called back, "the water isn't more than three feet deephere. There's only a deep place near the rocks and you can get acrossthat easily."

  But he had to return to help them get Chris across the deep narrowchannel, for the little negro's struggles in his spasms threatenedto drown his helpers. At last, the dangerous stretch of water wassafely crossed, and, leaving Walter and the Captain to half float andhalf carry Chris between them, the lad waded ahead, picking out theshoalest and smoothest path to the shore. They arrived there spent andpanting and sank down for a moment to recover their breath. It was notan inviting-looking place where they had landed. A low rock-strewnmarsh, covered with tall, rank grass stretched away before them fortwo or three miles before it met the higher, heavily-wooded mainland.Here and there the marsh was dotted with small, island-like clumps ofdark green cedar trees, and, picking up the light, little negro in hisstrong, young arms, Charley headed for the nearest of these, followedby his exhausted companions. The passage was made with difficulty; lowneedle-pointed rocks strewed the way, and here and there lay poolsof soft, boggy mud, tenanted by repulsive, swollen looking moccasins.It needed care to avoid the one without stepping on the other, but,at last, the patch of high ground was reached and, laying his burdenbeneath a wide-spreading cedar, Charley turned to his companions.

  "We have got to work quick if we are to stand a chance even of savinghim," he said, crisply. "Walter, get in to the mainland as quick asyou can and bring me all the palmetto berries you can find,--hurry.Captain, let me take your flint and steel and then get me a lot of softmud from the marsh."

  Tired though they were, the two hastened away to execute his orders,while Charley w
orked swiftly to carry out the plan he had formed whilecoming ashore. It was a heroic one, but rough measures were the onlyones it was in his power to apply. Hastily gathering together a pileof dead cedar limbs, he lit a fire with the flint and steel. While itwas blazing up, he stripped off his belt and, tying it above Chris'knee, with a stick twisted it tight until it was embedded in the flesh,shutting off the flow of blood from below to the heart. He next heateda small stone in the now blazing fire and applied it while hot to theswollen wound. The smell of the crisping flesh sickened him, but hedoggedly stuck to his task until he judged the wound was sufficientlycauterized. Chris lay mercifully lost to the pain in a deep stupor. Thelad had just finished burning the wound when the Captain returned withhis jacket full of soft mud, and, emptying it out, hastened back foranother load. Charley heaped a lot of rocks upon the fire, and, as soonas they were hot, ranged them close on each side of the wounded limb,heaping the soft mud on top of them until he had formed an air-tightmound over the leg. He now had a great poultice of hot mud of greatdrawing power, the danger was that Chris might be attacked by otherspasms and succeed in working his leg out from the hot covering. Toprevent this, the lad tore his shirt up into strips and, binding thelittle negro tightly, piled stones around the encased leg so that itcould not be easily moved.