by Carol Norton
CHAPTER XXII.
ANOTHER DANGER.
"DAR'S one thing I want you to do 'fore you go projectin' off," saidthe little negro. "I wants you to cut me some ob dem palmetto buds.I'se goin' to braid you a hat. Hit's a plum wonder dat you ain't gotsun struck goin' bareheaded like you is."
"I ain't had time to remember that I lost my hat when we were wrecked.I'se been so worried an' busy," said the captain. "Now you speak of it,my head does feel sort of dull an' heavy. I hope the boys will think tocover their heads with something--this sun does beat down right hot."
"Mass Charley will sho' rig up some kind ob hat," Chris declared,confidently. "'Sides dey's both young an' can stand a heap more sun denwhat you kin. You jes' be mighty careful dis mornin' an' by noon disnigger will hab a fine hat fixed for you. I'se done made lots ob dem onCat Island."
There was a few young cabbage palms scattered over the island andthe captain cut out several of the buds with his sheath knife andplaced them beside the little negro, then, knotting up the ends of hisbandanna handkerchief to form a turban, he took his spear and startedfor the shore.
Chris watched his slow, faltering, painful steps until he was out ofsight then began on his proposed task. The buds were really young freshleaves yet unfolded, soft and pliable, yet very strong. He shreddedthem into strips about half an inch in width until he had accumulatedquite a pile; then, taking four of the pieces at a time, with deft,skillful fingers, he wove them into a braid about an inch in width.
In a couple of hours, he had a string of braid several yards long.
The fashioning of the braid into a hat, without needle and thread andwhile lying flat on his back was a more difficult task, but he attackedit with cheerful energy, using the point of his knife for a needle andsmall strips of palmetto for thread. At last, his task was completed,and, although the hat was grotesque in shape and appearance, it wassoft, strong, and light, and would prove an effective protection fromthe fierce rays of the tropic sun. The little worker was not yetsatisfied but at once set about the manufacture of a basket from thesame material realizing how useful it would be for the carrying ofclams, fish, and other things.
He was still engaged upon it when the captain came stumbling intocamp bearing a large fish and several dozen more of the clams. Theold sailor's face was red, his movement weak and uncertain, and hisbreathing heavy and labored, while he was trembling violently from headto foot. He sank down in the cedar's shade and wiped his flaming face.
"I reckon, I've got a touch of the sun," he said, feebly. "I feel weakand dizzy. I'll lie down in the shade for a bit an' it will pass off.Don't be worried, lad, it will pass off in a jiffy."
But pass off it did not. By the end of half an hour the sturdy oldseaman was lying unconscious, his breath coming in short, wheezy gasps.
Chris watched him for a while in anxiety and fear. He knew that itmight be dangerous for him to move his wounded leg but all thoughtof his own danger was lost in the fear that the stricken old sailorwas dying before his eyes. He attempted to pull his leg out from themound but could not move it. The heat of the stones had baked the mudhard. With great effort he raised himself into a sitting position,and, with his sheath knife cut and dug away frantically at the bakedmud until he had the leg uncovered, then, severing the bandage abovehis knee, he attempted to rise but could not move the injured limb. Hefell back and viewed it with frightened dismay. It was not a prettysight for it was a mass of blisters where the hot mud had clung, and alarge bluish swelling marked the place where the stingaree's horn hadentered. The tight bandage, shutting off the blood supply for so long,had rendered it paralyzed and useless. Although the breaking blisterscaused him exquisite pain, he fell to rubbing the numbed limb brisklywith both hands until the blood crept slowly back into the veins. Atlast, he was able to gain his feet and by resting most of his weighton his uninjured leg managed to limp over to the unconscious sailor.Luckily, he had been raised in a torrid country where sunstrokes wereof frequent occurrence. He knew just what to do and he did it quicklyand surely. His first act was to raise the unconscious man's head andplace a high pillow of twigs beneath it. Then, stirring the smoulderingfire, he placed several large stones in the glowing coals. While theywere heating he removed the captain's shoes and bathed his hot headand flushed face with cool water, and tearing his shirt to pieces, wetit and bound it around the sufferer's head. By the time this was done,the stones were hot, and, rolling a couple up in his jacket, he placedthem at the captain's feet, then, seated by his side, he awaited theresult with fear and trembling. A terrible dread gripped his heart thatthe remedies had been applied too late, for the old sailor had all theappearance of a dying man. Thirty minutes dragged slowly away withoutapparent change, then, slowly, the old sailor's breathing grew lesslabored and his face began to lose some of its fiery hue. Chris hailedthese favorable signs with joy as indicated that the crisis had beensafely passed, but his joy was somewhat dampened when the hours passedby without the stricken man showing signs of consciousness. He seemedto pass from his stupor to a deep sleep from which the little negrodreaded awakening him. It was evident that the old seaman was in for along spell of weakness from the heat stroke he had suffered. There wasnothing more his little companion could do to relieve his sufferingsand he remained seated by his side watching him anxiously until thewaning of the afternoon warned him that it was time to partake of foodand make preparations for the night. He had eaten nothing since thenight before and he was conscious of a sense of growing weakness. Thefish the captain had caught was already tainted from the heat and thelittle negro felt too weak as yet to venture forth to secure more, sohe dug up a few of the cassava roots which he roasted in the coals.These, together with a handful of palmetto berries, constituted hissupper. As soon as it was finished he began his preparations for thenight. Slowly and painfully, he gathered together broken limbs to keepthe circles of fire going until daylight came again. By the time thiswas accomplished and the fires lit he was weak and trembling from painand exhaustion and was glad to crawl onto his couch by the captain'sside. The old sailor roused into momentary wakefulness at the noise ofthe snapping twigs.
"How you is, Massa Capt.?" demanded the little negro, eagerly.
"Weak, mighty weak. Feel as though I couldn't lift my hand to my head,but I will be all right by morning, I reckon. I guess, we have got nocause to worry now. The boys will be back to-night or early in themorning at the latest. How do you feel, lad?"
"Fine," lied the little negro, cheerfully. "Jes' you go back to sleepagain. I'll keep de fires up all right."
With a sigh of satisfaction, the captain closed his eyes and wassoon sound asleep again, but there was no such rest for his littlecompanion. Twice Chris hobbled out and renewed the fires. The thirdtime he had to crawl forth on hands and knees. His wound was againswelling rapidly and he could no longer bear his weight on the injuredlimb. He tried vainly to sleep. The wounded leg throbbed with intensepain which gradually crept over his whole body, making him feel sickand faint all over. He understood the reason for his sufferings. Someof the poison still left in his wound had, with the removal of thetight bandages from his leg, found its way back into the blood and wascoursing through his little body poisoning as it went.
"Golly!" he remarked, grimly, to himself, "if dem white chillens doanget back wid help an' medicine by mornin', I reckon dis nigger ain'tagoin' to see Cat Island and his old mammy no moah. An' if Chris gitsplum helpless what's goin' to become ob Massa Captain wid no one totend to him. He tinks he'll be all right in de mornin' but hits goin'to take a powerful long time for him to get real peart again."
The long night dragged slowly away. Occasionally the little negro creptforth and replenished the fires, the balance of the time he lay quietlistening for cry or sound that would tell of the boys' return, butnothing fell upon his strained hearing but the croak of frogs, thebellowing of alligators and the strange night noises of the marsh.
At daylight the captain awoke and attempted to rise, but, although hewas
greatly improved, he was yet too weak to stand erect.
"You jes' lie still," Chris counseled him, "dar ain't no call for youto go projectin' around none. I'se goin' out an' git somethin' for usto eat."
Although it cost him intense pain, the little negro managed to walkerect until he was out of the old sailor's sight, then he dropped downon hands and knees and crawled painfully down to the shore.
The touch of the cool salt water helped the throbbing pain in his legand he succeeded in wading out to the rocks where he was not long inspearing a large, fat mackerel. With this, he returned to the camp,for he did not dare in his growing weakness to search for clams orother food. He found the old sailor asleep again, and, cleaning thefish he broiled it over the coals. As soon as it was done he awakenedthe sleeper.
"Hyah is youah breakfas' all nice an' hot," he announced. "You want toeat a plenty ob hit. I'se agoin' to lay down a spell. I didn't sleepberry good last night."