The Young Marooners on the Florida Coast Part 33

"That, certainly, is simple."

"Father always said," continued Robert, "that he did not see why boys should not all be taught how to help one another on such occasions.

'Send for a doctor,' he said to me, 'but don't wait for him. Go to work at once before life is gone. If you can do nothing else strip off the wet clothes, and rub, rub, RUB, and blow into the lungs. Start the breath, and you will start the blood, or start the blood, and that will start the breath, for each comes with the other. Apply heat inwardly--outwardly by friction, by clothing, by fire, by hot bottles, by sand-bags, by any means, and keep trying for hours.' That is the rule."

"A good one it is," said Harold. "But it is a pity your father did not give you some rule also about keeping out of the way of drowning people so that you might put your knowledge to some use, instead of getting drowned yourself."

"He did," replied Robert, laughing, "but I forgot it. It was exceedingly thoughtless in me to do as I did. However, I tried to make up for it in another way; for after Sam had pinioned my arms, I made no effort whatever, except to take a long breath, and retain my presence of mind. When we were going down, I learned exactly what kind of a grip he had taken, and by the time we reached bottom, I had drawn up my knees, and put my feet against the pit of his stomach. When that was done I felt safe, for I knew that my legs were stronger than his arms, and that I could break his hold. But what did you intend to do when you called me to help you?"

"I had no exact plan," Harold answered, "except to keep you from putting yourself in danger, and then to throw or reach Sam something by which to help himself. I had seen drowning people before, and knew very well that unless you had something to prevent your own sinking, as I had when you seized me, or unless you were strong enough (as in this case you were not) to hold him at arm's length, he would be almost sure to drown you."

This untoward accident delayed the work of transportation until near dark, and then it was only the lighter and more necessary articles that they carried. Sam gradually recovered, and about dusk, supported by the boys, he staggered slowly to the tent.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

HOUSEHOLD ARRANGEMENTS--THIRD VISIT TO THE WRECK--RAINY WEATHER--AGREEMENT ABOUT WORK--MARY IN GREAT DANGER--EXTINGUISHING FIRE ON ONE'S DRESS--RELIEF TO A BURN--CONVERSATION

They did not return to the vessel the next day. The work of transporting the many heavy articles brought, and of giving them accommodation, occupied the whole day. Indeed, the work of arranging was by no means easy, for their possessions were now too large for their dwelling. They were therefore compelled to make a new room for Sam and his tools, by means of some spare sails brought from the wreck; and this led them to think of erecting still another wing to the tent, as a place of deposit for their stores of provision.

By Thursday the return tide came at so late an hour in the afternoon, that the boys were loth to go upon the third trip; but there were several other articles of importance that they needed, and intending to make a short visit, they did not start until near mid-day. On entering the vessel their first work was to remove the stove; which being quite new and recently put up, they had no difficulty in taking to pieces, and lowering, with its appurtenances, into the raft. The work-bench they detached, with great labour, from the wall, and tumbled it over the vessel's side. From the carpenter's room they carried several sails, two coils of small rope, and a hank of twine. The magazine they did not care to enter. Most of the powder in the gunner's room was wet, but there were two large kegs of cannon powder, the outside of which was caked and ruined, while the central part was perfectly good, and also a five pound canister of superfine rifle powder, which was so tightly sealed that not a particle of damp had entered. These they took. And dragging out one of the small cannon they managed, after hard work, to lower it, with its appropriate carriage, into the raft, and deposited along with it several dozen b.a.l.l.s, and as many canisters to fit the bore. These, together with the trunks and clothing of the officers, the iron vice, a small kit of mackerel, and the box of cocoanuts, const.i.tuted their load. The voyage back was made without accident.

On landing, their first business was to shelter their powder, for the sky was clouding fast, with long blue belts, that promised rain before morning, and the night was rapidly coming on. Unwilling to keep so dangerous a quant.i.ty of powder in the tent, they divided it into several parcels, and concealed them in hollow trees, which they closed and marked.

The cannon carriage proved a great convenience in transporting the trunks, the disjointed parts of the stove, and other heavy articles to the tent. But even with this a.s.sistance they did not complete their work before the night set in.

The next day was wet--wet--wet. The young people continued within doors, made a particular examination of the trunks, and divided among themselves the articles that were serviceable. With these employments, and the fitting up of their stove, they spent all that day, and part of the next.

It was during that evening, as they sat listening to the incessant patter of the rain upon the canvas roof, that the boys conceived and resolved upon a species of compet.i.tion, that gave a steady progression to their work from that time forward.

"Tomorrow is New Year's Day," observed Harold. "We have been two months and a half upon the island. Our first boat is not a quarter finished.

Why, Robert, it will be six months before we get away by our own exertions; and then your father will have left Bellevue."

"But you forget how many interruptions we have had," replied Robert.

"First, there was Sam's misfortune, then yours; after that, our removal to the prairie, and securing the tent; then this discovery of the wreck, which has furnished us with food and tools for continuing our work without interruption. If I am not mistaken, the end of January will see us at Bellevue, or on our way there. What do you think, Sam--can we finish our two boats in a month?"

"May be so, ma.s.sa, if we work mighty hard; but it will take a heap o'

work."

"I doubt if we finish them in two months, work as we may," remarked Harold.

Robert was not pleased with this discouraging a.s.sertion, though he was startled to find that the usual prudent Harold entertained such an opinion.

"Now, cousin," said he, "I will put this matter to the test. As we boys used to say, I'll make a bargain with you. We shall all work on the second boat, until it is as far advanced as the present one. Then we shall each take a boat and work. Sam shall divide his time between us.

And if at the end of a month we are not ready to return home, I'll give up that I am mistaken."

"Give me your hand to that bargain," said Harold. "You shall not beat me working, if I can help it; but if, with all our efforts, we leave this island before the last day of February, I will give up that _I_ am mistaken."

Faithful to this agreement, the boys went next morning to the landing, and brought the various parts of the work-bench, which they aided Sam in fitting up. The grindstone also they set upon its necessary fixtures; and collecting the various tools that were in need of grinding, they persisted in relieving each other at the crank, until they had sharpened two very dull axes, two adzes, three chisels, a broad ax, and a drawing knife, and stowed them safely under Sam's shelter.

The history of the day, however, was not concluded without an incident of a very serious character, in which Mary was the princ.i.p.al, though unwilling actress; and in which, but for her presence of mind, she would have met with a painful and terrible death.

About ten o'clock that night she retired to her room, undressed, and was laying aside the articles of dress necessary for the next morning, when, turning around, her night clothes touched the flame of the candle, which, for the want of a table, she had set upon the floor. The next instant she extinguished the candle, and was about stepping into bed, when her attention was excited by a dim light shining behind her, and a slight roar, that increased as the flame ran up her back. Giving a scream of terror, she was on the point of rushing into the next room for help, when recollecting the repeated and earnest injunctions of her father, she threw herself flat upon the blanket of the bed, and wrapping it tightly round her, rolled over and over upon the floor, calling for help. The flame was almost instantly quenched, as it probably would have been, even without a blanket, had she only sat down instantly on the floor, and folded the other part of her dress tightly over the flame.[#]

[#] _Flame ascends_. All have observed how much more rapidly it consumes a sheet of paper held with the burning end down, than the same sheet laid on the table. So with a female's dress; an erect posture allows the flame to run almost instantly over the whole person.

But though the _flame_ was extinguished, the charred ends of the dress were not; they kept on burning, and coming into contact with the naked skin, made her scream with pain. The agony was so great, that again she was almost tempted to throw off the blanket and rush into the open air, but knowing that this would certainly increase the fire, and perhaps renew the blaze, she drew the blanket more tightly around her, and rolled over, calling to Robert, who had by this time come to her a.s.sistance. "Pour on water--_water_--WATER!" Robert did his best--he fumbled about for the pitcher, then finding it, asked where the water was to be poured; but now that the water was ready to be thrown upon her, Mary felt secure; she cast off the blanket, and the remaining fire was put out by the application of Robert's wet hand.

The time occupied by this terrifying scene was scarcely a minute and a half, yet Mary's night dress was consumed nearly to her shoulders, and her lower limbs were badly scorched. So rapid an agent is fire.

Whoever would escape destruction from a burning dress, must work fast, with good judgment and a strong resolution.

Mary's burns were slight in comparison with what they might have been.

The skin was reddened for a foot or more along each limb; but it was broken only in two places, about as wide and long as her two fingers.

Still the pain was excessive, and she wept and groaned a great deal.

Robert applied cold water for a number of minutes, and would have continued it longer, but Mary at last said:

"Bring me a cup full of flour. I have tried it on a burnt finger, and you can scarcely imagine how cooling it is."

The flour was brought, and applied by means of handkerchiefs tied over the raw and blistered parts. Its effect was to form a sort of artificial cuticle over those spots where the skin had been removed; and the soft and cool sensation it produced in the other parts was delightful. Still Mary appeared to suffer so much, that Robert administered an opiate, as he did in the case of Sam, and after that he heard no more from her until next morning.

"What a quick, brave girl she is!" said Harold, after Robert had described the scene. "Most girls would have rushed into the open air, and been burned to death."

"She showed great presence of mind," Robert a.s.sented.

"More than that," said Harold, "she showed great _resolution_. I knew a beautiful girl at school, who had presence of mind enough to wrap herself in the hearth rug, but who could not stand the pain of the fire; she threw off the rug, rushed into the open air, screaming for help, and was burnt to death in less than two minutes."

When Mary came from her room next morning her eyes were dull and gla.s.sy, from the effects of the medicine, and she had no appet.i.te for more than a cup of coffee. The others met her with more than their usual affection. Her accident had revealed to them how much they loved her; and her coolness in danger, and fort.i.tude in suffering, had given them a greater respect for her character.

"We do sincerely thank G.o.d, on your account, cousin," said Harold, as soon as they were left alone that Sabbath morning. "It is so seldom a person meets with such an accident, without being seriously injured."

"I hope I feel thankful, too," returned Mary. "I could not help thinking last night, before going to sleep, how uncertain life is. O, I do wish I were a Christian, as I believe you to be, cousin."

"Indeed, if I am a Christian at all, I wish you were a far better one,"

he replied. "I have neither felt nor acted as I desired, or supposed I should."

"But still you feel and act very differently from us."

"My feelings are certainly very different from what they used to be, and I thank G.o.d that they are. Yet the only particular thing which I recollect of myself, at the time that I began to feel differently, is that I was troubled on account of my past life, and wished heartily to serve G.o.d. To judge from myself, then, I should say that to _desire to serve G.o.d_, is to be a Christian."

"O, I do desire," said Mary, weeping. "I do, with all my heart. But I know I am not what I ought to be. I do not love G.o.d; I do not trust him; I do not feel troubled for sin, as I ought to be; and I have no reason to think that my sins are forgiven."

"I am a poor preacher, Mary," Harold said, with strong emotion; "for I never knew anything of these feelings myself, until lately. But this I can say, that if you will heartily give yourself to G.o.d, to be his servant for ever, and put your trust in his promises, you will be accepted. Did not Jesus Christ come into this world to save sinners, even the chief? Does he not say, 'Him that cometh to me, I will in nowise cast out'? Now what does the Bible mean, but to encourage all who feel as you do?"

Mary did not reply; the tears burst through her fingers, and dropped into her lap. Harold continued,