Polly's Southern Cruise

“Hoh, but he is absolutely no good!” declared Jack. “He’s only entered because they need filling the list on that race. No one will bet on him. The odds are ridiculous.”

“I don’t care what they say, I’m going to bet five dollars on him,” asserted Polly.

“But, dear girl, have you seen the scrawny beast! Look out there and see him shambling along after all the others,” argued Jack.

Polly looked. Yes, she admitted that he was a sorry-looking steed for a race, but still she insisted upon her choice. A man was found who laughed scornfully as he took her bet – Polly would lose her five without a doubt. But she shook her head and said knowingly:

“No, you will be the one to lose thirty-five dollars, I’m sure!” With a sympathetic laugh the man went his way.

Eleanor’s wager was almost as bad, because she chose her favorite on account of appearances. The horse was beautiful, to be sure, but he had no record and consequently no bidding in his favor.

False starts were repeatedly made, and the impatient jockeys had to come back and begin again. Finally the judge really dropped the flag and they were off!

Then were heard excited calls, shrill cries from anxious watchers, and, as the horses circled the course, the tense urgings of men who had staked all on a favorite, became more thrilling until the home lap came in view. Then Jack’s party were treated to a real Havana picture of a race.

The jockeys in purple and gold, green and red, pink and violet, and other combinations of colors, sat humped over their mounts and urged them to the utmost. Every jockey, as he neared the Grand Stand, shouted excitedly and switched his horse into greater effort. But all eyes seemed glued to a miracle!

Will o’ the Wisp, pitied and ridiculed at the start of the races, carrying a faded-looking jockey who clung with his knees to the sides of his horse but used no whip, had crept up to his leaders before half the course had been covered. Gradually but surely he went on creeping up until he came beside the last horse in the string. But he did not stop there. He crept on until he had passed that horse and then left him at the very tail of the line. One by one he came nose to nose with and then passed all contestants in the race until he reached the leader of them all. Just as easily as he had crept up and passed the others, so he came on and passed the leader, and finally let himself out on the home run.

The mobs were breathless. Not a hurrah or cry of encouragement sounded while Will O’ the Wisp nosed ahead of the favorite in the lead, but when he loped out ahead of them all and stretched his neck to widen the distance between the favorite and himself, the excited crowds gave vent to one long shrill yell of delight! That was a race worth seeing, no matter how many dollars were lost on the books!

Polly seemed to be one of a very few who had wagered anything on Will o’ the Wisp, but her friends declared she must understand horseflesh better than they to have so quickly picked the winner.

The bookmaker who had felt sorry for the misguided girl, now came over to pay his loss, but he wore a far different expression than one he had expected to wear. Polly accepted her winnings with a serious manner, but once the bookmaker was out of hearing, she said, “I really cannot keep this money because I think it is wrong to gamble on horses that way, so I will donate it to the Havana Hospital when we get back to town.”

As Jack had feared, when they came out of the Grand Stand and emerged from the race-course, the jehu whom Mr. Dalken had paid off had found an alluring fare to take home, and the three who had come out in that vehicle found it necessary to accept the hospitality of their friends and crowded into the already crowded surreys. However it made the ride to the yacht all the merrier, and once the pier was reached the drivers found it feasible to collect heavy toll for extra passengers they had had to carry.

The tax was paid, but Jack said angrily: “I never did see such grafters as they have in Havana. One can’t lift an eye-lash without being made to pay for it!”

That evening the Captain continued his course along the coast of Cuba. The wonderful air, laden with sweet perfumes of the tropical plants that caused the indented coastline to look like a fringed garment upon the smooth silvery waters, made the tourists feel languid and only too willing to loll upon deck and watch the swiftly passing panorama of the island.

The Captain planned to pass between Cuba and Hayti, to reach the harbor at Kingston, Jamaica, the next stopping place for the travelers. But the younger members in the party clamored for a sight of Port au Prince and its motley citizens.

“You’ll find that Island anything but a desirable place to visit,” objected Mr. Fabian, when he heard the plans.

“So Tom Latimer said, but we want to see the worshippers of the sacred serpents,” said Eleanor.

“You won’t see anything of the sort,” remonstrated Mr. Dalken. “They keep all such performances secret from civilized people. About the only thing you will find, however, is a city rich in vice and unhealthy with filth. You’ll see blacks and half-breeds mince along the streets dressed in the very latest Parisian fashions, with the manners of western outlaws, and the morals of a dive dweller.”

“In other words, my girls, a place we cannot allow you to visit,” was Mrs. Courtney’s conclusive remark. So that settled all hope of visiting Hayti.

Long before the yacht reached Hayti, however, the younger members of the party were anxious to reach Kingston, where Jack described such alluring attractions. Little coaxing was necessary to persuade Mr. Dalken to anchor at Kingston for a few days in order to give the tourists ample time to visit all the places worth seeing.

Then, at last, the White Crest passed within a stone’s throw of Port-au-Prince, and leaving the Island of Hayti behind, made a straight course for Jamaica.

Skirting along the low-lying, palm-treed shores of this beautiful isle, the watching group on the yacht found it rather warm pastime on deck with the tropical sun burning blisters on the hand-rails of the boat, and reflecting in all its power the burning rays as they struck the smooth, mirror-like sea.

Suddenly, without warning of any kind, a darkness fell and the sun disappeared. Down came the rain in a regular deluge that sent everyone pell mell into the saloon for shelter. The waterfall continued for about ten minutes, then abated and suddenly, once more, the sun shone forth as hot as ever.

Exercise was intolerable in this climate, and the guests on board the White Crest found the only agreeable pastime to be a comfortable chair on deck where one could watch the flying fish, the pretty little nautilus gliding past, and the dolphin play and jump in the transparent depths of the sea. At times a hungry shark would follow the boat, looking for the garbage thrown out by the cook.

That night there was the last of the full moon, but what a different moon from that as seen in New York! A few hours after sighting the lighthouse on Morant Point, the watchers saw the first peaks of the Blue Mountains. The yacht sped past sugar plantations, low-roofed, silvery-white houses, glistening roads – glistening in the moonbeams – and wonderful groves of cocoanut or banana palms whose tall fronds waved a welcome to the girls.

Passing along six miles of the coral ridge one does not realize how near is Kingston, hidden by the strip of reef, until, quite suddenly, you discover the town. It is entirely hemmed in by its mountains, and on only one side approached by the beautiful lagoon through the waters of which the White Crest now danced to reach the mystical-looking place situated about six miles away, at the end of the harbor.

That night the yacht made fast to a wooden quay where black-faced, white-teethed men awaited the coming of the rich quarry. Not often did they have such a fine craft come to Kingston, and each and every son of the soil planned how to fleece the members of the party. But all were doomed to disappointment for that night, as the time being almost midnight, Mr. Dalken said no one would go ashore, until the morning.

CHAPTER VIII – LOST IN KINGSTON

Directly after breakfast the next morning, Mr. Dalken and his guests, having first agreed to meet on the yacht that evening at seven for dinner, made ready to start on a tour of inspection.

The girls in light summer dresses, had donned their wide-brimmed hats, and taken sun-shades for protection from the sun; and the men had dressed in white flannels and Panama hats, in order to keep as cool as possible.

“One last word,” advised Mr. Dalken, as Jack stood ready to lead his party to the wharf. “Don’t let those rascally hackmen get your money. Better walk about, while the air is cool and fresh. Later we shall have to remain on the verandah of the Spring Hotel to sip lemonade and fan ourselves.”

The friends laughed gayly and started off. The younger contingent of the touring party went first, the elders following in a leisurely manner while conversing with their host. Jack and Ray led the way across the dock to the entrance which, to their chagrin, was blocked completely by the hacks which they had been so recently warned against.

Jack looked in every direction for an opening. There were none. “Well, girls, it’s a case of taking the bull by the horns. I’ll grab one of these old nags by the head and lead him out; then you can follow through the gap and land on the other side of this mob which is after our money – that’s what it is!”

No sooner said than done; hence Ray, not caring to be considered a laggard in such a good work, followed suit and caught hold of the head of a horse next the one taken by Jack. But the men who owned these animals felt that they had a right in the matter. At the very moment that Jack caught hold of the bit of the horse, the black driver lashed the flank of his beast unmercifully, causing the horse to start and tear across the open square in front of the quay. Naturally this unexpected move dragged Jack from his feet, and in constant danger of being trampled or kicked, he found it unwise to let go his hold.

The girls stood and screamed, but Ray let go his hold on the other horse and dashed madly after his friend. He thought the horse was running away, with Jack hanging to his head. By the time Polly collected her wits enough to act, Jack was out of sight around the corner, and Ray was sprinting after the equipage which had been lost in a cloud of yellow dust.

“Here! Jump in and let’s go after them!” ordered Eleanor, as she spied a hack with a good looking horse in its shafts.

Polly sprang in and Eleanor followed, but before Ruth or Nancy could get in, the driver slammed the door and off he went, in a whirl of dust. Ruth and Nancy stood dumb and watched them go.

By this time Mr. Dalken and his friends came up. He looked around in surprise. “Why! Where is Jack and the others?”

“Oh, Dalky!” cried Ruth, “Jack’s been run away with and the two girls have been kidnapped!”

“Impossible! In broad daylight?” exclaimed many voices.

Nancy tried to explain all that had happened in so short a time, then Mr. Dalken laughed. “Exactly what I advised you against. If we had landed last night every one would have been whipped into a separate vehicle and carried off to a different hotel. These drivers are paid to drag visitors to the various houses willy-nilly, and once the tourists arrive, they are so frightened at their experience, they usually remain where they have been left. But where did the man take Polly and Eleanor?”

While he spoke, such a clamor and wrangling of drivers at the elbows of each one in the group, drove Mr. Dalken distracted. Finally he turned and held up a hand for silence. Little cared these black men for New York authority or prestige. They all wanted a fare, and that was all.

“There’s but one thing to do – each one of us get in a separate hack and tell the man to drive you to the Spring Hotel. When you arrive there tell him to wait for me – that I carry the purse. That will cool their blood and have them ready for me when I arrive.”

Mr. Fabian laughed, but it was the only solution to rid themselves of being pulled to tatters by the myriad of besieging men. Quickly then Mr. and Mrs. Fabian got in one cab, Mr. and Mrs. Ashby in another, Nancy and Ruth with Mr. Dalken got in a third, and all started off.

As far as weather went, the day was beautiful and calm. But the old rackety hacks went seesawing over the yellow road whence one could see the blue edge of the sea far out beyond the coral reefs. White bits of sail on distant little vessels made bright spots on the blue glassy horizon. Finally, after a drive of not more than ten blocks, but a trip which the wily drivers had stretched out into twenty blocks by going round about the town, the first load of shaken-up passengers reached the hotel verandah. The driver brought his horse to a sudden stop with a wild hurrah and a flourish of the limp whip. Then he sprang to the ground and demanded his money.

“You’ll have to wait for the last man to arrive. He has the money,” explained Mr. Fabian, as instructed.

Such a volley of expletives then poured from the man’s mouth that Mrs. Fabian covered her ears and ran for the hotel porch. But a diversion occurred in having the second hack arrive and crash into the first one. The Ashbys stepped out with shaking nerves and white faces.

“Oh, such a drive!” gasped Mrs. Ashby, but the driver interrupted her by demanding his money.