Polly's Southern Cruise

Finally they halted again and the guide silently pointed to a smaller heap of scum quite close to what looked like a great tree-trunk fallen over into the water. Both boys aimed and shot at what they believed to be a small alligator, and then to their great amazement the huge log scuttled away, while the small child of the immense mother followed in her wake leaving a streak of crimson in the stream to tell the hunters they had missed killing him.

“We go in here, sit down and watch. Mebbe big ’gator come by.” Thus saying the guide started for a screened spot in the marsh and posted his followers upon a log which gave them a good view of the surrounding area. He sat upon the lower end of the tree.

Jack looked carefully around, and Ray watched a spot that made him think a submerged alligator might rise up and offer him a good target. Jack spied a vast depression in the mud bank near his right hand, and the guide nodded.

At the moment of Jack’s distraction and the guide’s nod, Ray pulled the trigger of his gun and the shot found a true result of that aim. A tiny alligator came to the surface, half-turned over in the coating of green, and gasped. At the same time a maddened splashing came through the green marsh-grass near the dying infant ’gator, and soon an enormous head with snapping jaws thrust itself from the water.

The half-crazed mother used her snout to tenderly go over the quivering body of her child, and when she found it had breathed its last she lifted the mud-crusted head and gazed balefully around.

“Queeck! Queeck – shoot!” commanded the guide, taking swift aim and firing a load at the reptile. But his shot missed because the alligator was thrashing too wildly across the water and making for the hunters.

Not ten yards separated the three men who were doomed if they did not climb out of the reach of those sinister jaws with their double rows of long white teeth. Her eyes showed what the alligator meant to do to the murderers of her child, and the very twisting and lightning-like advance of the huge thing sent a shiver of dread along the spines of the two young hunters.

Again the rifle of the guide cracked, and in another moment the guns of the two Americans sent forth their spurts of red and the yellow streaks of death right into the opened jaws of the monster. Still she came on and lifted her vast opened jaw within a foot of Jack’s leg. The lashing tail of the alligator was the only thing which told she had been shot and was suffering.

It would have been good-night for the hunter’s leg had not the guide filled the forehead of the reptile with shot – shot that entered between the eyes and sank into the brain to paralyze further designs on her enemies.

With a mighty effort the huge creature lifted herself half out of the water and flung herself far from the log. The midstream silently covered her with its green covering and the monster sank from view.

“Did we kill her?” nervously cried Jack.

“Her gone! She die, but not here. Where she go we no go!”

“All right, then, I’m through hunting alligators. After seeing the frantic grief and mother-love in that awful thing’s eyes I could not aim at another creature in this swamp. You go on with the guide, Ray, but I’m through!” declared Jack.

“I say the same, Jack. When you remember the old reptile’s snout as she lovingly went over the carcass of her young, it makes us seem like brutes, even less soulful than the poor alligator. Come on.”

The guide smiled. He could not understand such sentiments over a vile alligator, and he felt that he had selected a pair of weak-kneed youths to take into the swamp.

“You not fraid of legs! I not let alligator bite you, I swear!” exclaimed the guide, thinking they were nervous at the close acquaintance with the mother-’gator.

But Jack took no trouble to explain. They motioned the man to lead out, and shortly after the incident had closed the three reached the sandy shore where the boat had been anchored.

In the heat of a tropical sun they ate a few rice-cakes and drank warm water from the canteen, but they had to wait for more than an hour before the other hunters came back. Meanwhile the guide had followed his own bent and had gone back into the swamp to secure a trophy. Jack was glad to find later that he had not seen a single snout.

The return trip was soon accomplished, but when the boat came to the place where the yacht had been last seen there was not a sign of the White Crest.

“Well, this is what they planned – to give us the slip!” laughed Mr. Dalken, as he motioned the men to keep on and land them on the wharf of Spanish Town.

The hunters returned earlier than had been planned for, hence they had a tiresome wait at Spanish Town for the appearance of the White Crest once more. All they could learn by questioning the loafers at the quay was the fact that the yacht had sailed away. That was self-evident, or else she had gone down. The latter was too impossible for belief so she must have sailed away.

Dinnertime came and passed, still no White Crest. The darkness came over the water and the squatty houses of Spanish Town, and still no yacht. It was close to midnight when the impatient watchers, seated on a crude plank on the wharf, saw a beautiful silvery craft glide up to the mouth of the river and silently drop her anchor.

“Well, there she is, but how are we to reach her?” asked the owner, chewing the end of a cigar.

“We’ll halloo for the Captain to send us the boat,” replied Jack, and immediately Ray and he chorused a loud call for transportation over the bay.

The transfer was made and then, man-like, the hunters all clamored for an explanation. “To think of leaving us stranded all day and half the night!” exclaimed Mr. Ashby.

“We thought you planned to be hunting until sundown,” said Mrs. Ashby.

“And of course you would be worn out when you got back and would appreciate a little quiet on the quay,” added Mrs. Fabian, smilingly.

“Where have you been?” demanded Jack.

“We’ve been cooling our heels ever since four o’clock.”

“Perhaps we had the best time then,” said Mrs. Courtney. “I certainly enjoyed myself immensely to-day and this evening.”

“We all did,” echoed her companions. “We sailed all round Jamaica and saw sights which you men would not bother to stop and appreciate. We have seen the tiny palm-covered coral dots which lift their heads above the rippling sea and warn us to keep a keen watch for the reefs hidden under the water. We have had pointed out to us the great mountainsides where the three hundred thousand black slaves climbed in order to face the rising sun on the dawn of the day that witnessed their emancipation. We got birdseye views of the other towns on the Island of Jamaica – Port Antonio, Montego Bay, and the smaller settlements which dot the island like so many studs of color. Oh, yes! we had a glorious sail – thanks to our good Captain.”

“And thanks to the good yacht,” laughed Mr. Dalken.

“We may as well add: thanks to Dalky and his generous invitation to us,” concluded Polly.

And to the latter motion every one called a unanimous hurrah!

The following day was given to visiting the cathedral which is the oldest building on the island. It can show an antiquity of four centuries and withstood all battles for supremacy of different factions and nations since 1523. Polly and Eleanor went with Mr. Fabian and Mr. Ashby to examine and study the old monuments, the style of decoration, and the many other notable points of interest to architects and decorators.

Having ended this visit, the tourists returned to the White Crest and sailed away, but to stop at Hope Gardens – the Botanical Gardens and a show-place of Jamaica. There were many other places to be visited, a list of them showing that some would have to be eliminated. So after “doing” Belle View, Castleton, and Mandeville, the entire party voted to say goodby to Jamaica, the Queen of the Antilles, and continue on their vagabondage.

CHAPTER XI – MEETING OLD FRIENDS IN PANAMA

After leaving Jamaica the Captain asked for instructions as to the chosen direction and the next stopping place.

“Well, after once seeing Jamaica, I suppose we have virtually seen every other island in the Caribbean Group. The flowers, the climate, the natives, even the employments are all similar if not exactly alike. There is but one point of interest that is not common to them all, and that is the volcano of Mont Pelée on Martinique.

“But volcanoes are no curiosity to Polly because she lives in the crater of one of the largest extinct volcanoes in the Rockies, so there is no call for the White Crest to stop at Martinique to show her Mont Pelée,” explained Mr. Dalken.

“Why not sail along past the different islands of the archipelago and have a good look at them from our comfortable deck chairs,” suggested Mrs. Courtney.

This proposition was received with approval and the Captain was advised to steer a course as close as practical to the coral formations, and, those islands of volcanic structure, and permit the tourists to see the Windward Islands without troubling to go ashore.

Hence the yacht, in its cruise, sailed past Porto Rico, and the long string of tiny isles connecting that important island with Barbados and Trinidad. St. Lucia, Dominica, and Martinique were left behind, and then the Captain changed his course to a westward direction.

Leaving Venezuela to the southward he sped on for the Canal Zone. The plan originally made in New York would then be followed as closely as possible. At Colon the White Crest would anchor until her passengers had visited all that was to be in that town seen, and then they would go through the great locks of the Canal and eventually reach the Pacific Ocean.

Mr. Dalken and the Captain figured that a week would be ample time in which to visit everything and come out of the Canal to the Colombia shore. But they reckoned without the young folks, as usual.

Soon after the yacht had anchored at Colon, the tourists started to visit the town. They had not gone far before Jack discovered there would be a great baseball match at the public park between the United States army side and the Colon players. His eye caught the names of two members of the regiment stationed at Panama, and he turned to show them to Ray.

“Could it possibly be Bill Ainslee and Bob Madden of the A. E. F. in France?”

“I did hear something about Bill remaining with the regulars to try South America. We can’t lose out by introducing ourselves, anyway, and ten to one the boys will turn out to be our old Buddies,” said Ray.

The proposition was made and accepted to go and see the ball game late that afternoon; the girls felt as much interest in knowing whether or not the two soldiers at Panama were the ones Jack believed them to be.

No sooner was the Dalken party seated in the Grand Stand, than Jack and Ray hurried away. They were gone a long time, and the eager spectators on the bleachers as well as those in the Grand Stand, had to call and show impatience at the delay of the opening of the game before the teams came out.