Motor Boat Boys Down the Coast; or, Through Storm and Stress to Florida

CHAPTER XXIII.

THANKS TO THE PILOT – CONCLUSION

When the adventurous six left Savannah in their wake, and struck in for the stream below the city which would take them to Wassaw Sound, they knew that they had really started on what was destined to be the last leg of the trip to Florida.

By noon they had managed to make Ossaban Sound, and still kept on, hoping to cross the wide reach that formed St. Catherine's Sound that same day. But it was not to be. The sky clouded up, the wind whipped into the northwest, and in a short time the boys realized that it was getting very chilly for this far south, in the middle of October.

When they saw the wild aspect that wide stretch of tumbling water presented, it was quickly settled that the crossing must be put off until another day. Accordingly camp was made in a hamak, where the force of the wind was broken. And here they proceeded to take things as comfortably as possible.

George took his gun and went out to see if he could scare up any sort of game; for there had been murmurings of late to the effect that they did not seem to be getting their full share of such things on this trip.

The fact of the matter was, that so much of their precious time was spent in trying to overcome the numerous difficulties by which they found themselves confronted, that there were scant opportunities for fishing and hunting.

Nick persisted in getting a line out, as he had been seized with a great desire to partake of fresh fish for supper, and no one else showed any signs of intending to make a try.

Twenty minutes later those in camp were aroused by hearing a tremendous splash, accompanied by half muffled shouts.

"Help! come quickly, or he'll get away! Hurry! hurry, boys!"

Everybody ran like the wind to the spot where Nick had been seen calmly seated on a log that projected over the water, offering him a fine seat, from which to carry on his fishing operations.

What they discovered was the stout boy floundering in the water of the sound, being drawn this way and that by some unseen agency that was fastened to the other end of his line.

Nick's obstinate disposition was made manifest by the frantic way he clung to that same fishing line. No danger seemed sufficient to cause him to let it go. Perhaps, though, he had been unwise enough to wrap the cord around his chubby wrist, and could not have let loose, even had he so desired.

Josh doubled up, and fairly howled, the sight was so very comical to him; which made the fisherman all the more angry.

"What ails that silly goose?" he spluttered, as well as he was able, considering that half the time his mouth was filled with salty water. "He only thinks of the funny part of it. Don't care a cent whether a human life is sacrificed on the altar of friendship; or a jolly big fish breaks the line and gets away. Jack, somebody come on in, and help me land him, won't you?"

Jack was already throwing his coat off, and in another minute he had leaped from the bank into the water. Just as Nick had said, there was some danger that he might be dragged out beyond his depth; and at least the great struggling fish was liable to break away, and become lost to them.

Once Jack got hold of the line, and it was all over. By degrees they drew the captive to the shore, upon which he was finally cast, proving to be an enormous red drum, or as they are called in the South, a channel bass, weighing pretty nearly forty pounds, Jack figured.

"Is it good to eat?" was the first natural question fired at him by Nick, whose eyes were fairly glistening with pride as they watched the dying flops of the bronze-backed quarry.

"First rate, if a bit dry," Jack replied. "The meat is snow white, and something like halibut, only not quite so fine. But it's a great day for you, Nick. I can see one time when you're sure to get your fill."

Indeed, it proved to be a good day all around, for just then they heard George letting fly with both barrels, and following it with a glad whoop.

"He's gone and got something," declared Josh. "Ain't it queer how things run? With us it's feast or a famine all the while. D'ye reckon it was a deer he knocked over, Jack?"

"More'n likely another shoat," said Nick, grinning; "but even if it is, razorback pork ain't half bad when a feller's real hungry."

Presently George came in. It was getting near dusk, and they could just see that he was carrying a load of some sort on his back, which he tried to hide until he could reach camp.

Josh began to grunt at a lively rate, by which he hinted that they anticipated another diet of pork.

"What did you run up against, George?" asked Jack.

"That!" exclaimed the proud Nimrod, as he swung his burden around.

"Great governor! it's a turkey, as sure as you live!" shouted Josh.

At that Nick could hold in no longer, but began to dance around in great glee, rubbing himself as though in anticipation of the feast to come, and making all sorts of suggestive motions, after the manner of a man feeding.

"How under the sun did you get close enough to knock the big bird down with a charge of quail shot?" asked Jack, pleased because George had held up his reputation as a sportsman.

"I don't just know," replied the other. "I was standing in the shade of a tree, and thinking that it was no use going further, when something lighted close by me, and I saw it was a wild turkey. Well, I just up and gave him both barrels, as fast as I could pull the triggers. Then he flopped over, I ran forward and nailed my prize. And he's pretty heavy to tote any distance, too, I tell you."

"That means another of those earth ovens tonight, don't it, Jack?" asked Nick.

"Nothing else would do the business," came the reply; "and so everybody get busy, piling up the wood while I dig a hole," replied the one addressed.

The turkey was baked to a turn when they uncovered the oven in the morning, and, having their appetites along, even so early in the day, those six lads made that noble bird look like a rack of bones before they admitted that they were satisfied. Indeed, they had to fairly drag Nick away from the wreck, for he declared it to be the finest treat of his whole life.

But then, he often said that. What was present always seemed the best to Nick. Fading events held little interest for him, since the mill could never grind again with the water that was past.

In the morning the big sound looked smooth enough to tempt them upon its treacherous bosom. The crossing was made with ease; and later on came Sapelo with its particular troubles, the wind having risen meanwhile.

But the boats proved seaworthy, and the young Corinthians who manned them had learned many a valuable lesson from past experiences; so that by noon they had navigated this dangerous sheet of water and were well along their way.

"There's a lighthouse away over there, Jack," announced Josh, pointing ahead.

"Yes; that must be Doboy Light, and the sound of the same name will be the next to take our attention, boys," Jack replied, composedly, as though he had the entire map of the coast region impressed on his mind by now.

"Is there any end to 'em?" asked Nick, dolefully.

"Two more before we reach Fernandina, St. Simon's and big Cumberland. And after we've rested at Fernandina we'll go through a few more passages, and then take a little outside run of a few miles, when we can enter the St. Johns."

"Oh! happy day!" chanted Josh, pretending to strum a banjo as he sang.

"Then, if all goes well, we ought to bring up at Jacksonville inside of say two days at the most; is that so, Jack?" Herb inquired.

"Correct. And nothing is going to happen, make up your mind to that, fellows," Jack declared, resolutely. "We've allowed nothing to frighten us up to now, and yet used a due amount of caution, just as we promised those at home, when they gave us permission to take this jolly trip. And that's our slogan all the time, 'Speed, with care!' It's a winning combination, I tell you, boys."

They spent the night near Darien, in a creek that they happened to be passing through as a sort of short-cut.

Jack's confidence proved to be well placed, for on the following day they safely passed both St. Simon's and the big Cumberland Sound, bringing up close to Fernandina by nightfall.

Jack advised against trying to reach the city in the dusk. There was danger of running upon a snag, or happening to attract the attention of dissolute characters, who, taking advantage of the darkness of the night and the fact of the cruisers being strangers to the place, might attempt to rob them.

His plan was to stay where they were, a safe distance away, until morning, and then make their way across to the city.

"Just to think that we've really and truly done it," said Nick, puffing out with either pride or the amount of food he had consumed for supper; "and right at this minute the Motor Boat Club is resting on Florida soil! Why, I can hardly believe it. A year ago I'd have laughed if any fellow told me I'd engage to do one quarter of the stunts we've carried out since we left Philadelphia."

"Oh! you're improving every way," chuckled Josh. "I can even see signs of it in your eating. You've got three of us combined beat to a frazzle right now; and honest Injun, we think that by another month you can stand off the whole bunch. Long practice makes for success, and we all give you credit for trying your level best, Nick, every time."

It was a lovely night, this their first in Florida. The trees, festooned with the long, swinging, gray Spanish moss, looked like the real tropical thing to all of the boys. And they felt a pride that was surely justifiable, in the success that had attended their cruise down the coast.