The Young Marooners on the Florida Coast Part 13

"Then let it be fis.h.i.+ng," said Harold; "but what shall we use for bait?"

"The old bait that our grandfathers used--shrimp," replied Robert. "I observed on yesterday a mult.i.tude of them in a nook of the creek near the river. We can first catch some of these with our scoop net, and then try for whatever may bite. At any rate we can take the offals of the turkey, and fish for crabs."

However, on ascending the river in their boat, and making the trial, they found that the shrimp had disappeared, and they were left with only six or seven caught at a venture.

"This is a dull prospect," said Harold, whose active nature made him impatient of fis.h.i.+ng as an amus.e.m.e.nt, unless the success was unusually good. "If you will allow me to go ash.o.r.e I will try my luck with the gun."

"Certainly, certainly," was the reply; though Robert added, "You must remember that this is a wild country, Harold, and that we had better keep within hearing at least of each other's guns."

Harold promised not to wander beyond the appointed limit; and each agreed that if help were needed, two guns should be fired in quick succession.

"Will you not take my double barrel?" said Robert. "It is loaded with duck and squirrel shot, but you can easily draw and load for deer."

"I thank you, no," replied Harold. "It is so long since I have handled anything but a rifle, that a smooth bore now would be awkward."

They put him ash.o.r.e, then dropped anchor, and began to fish. Mary and Frank had been long initiated into the mysteries of the art. On the present occasion, Robert reserved to himself the shrimp, and set them to the easier task of fis.h.i.+ng for crabs. For security he tied the lines to the thowl pins. Crabs, as all upon the seaboard well know, are not caught with hooks, but with bait either hooked or tied to a lie, and with a spoon-shaped net. The crab takes hold of the bait with its claws, and is drawn to the surface, when the net is carefully introduced below. Robert inserted his own hook through the back of a live silver fish, and threw it in the water as a bait for drum. Soon Mary was seen drawing up her line, which she said was very heavy. "There is a crab on it, brother!" she cried, as it approached the surface; "two crabs! two!

two!" Robert was near her. He inserted the net below, and the two captives were soon in the boat. "Well done for you, Miss Mary; you have beat us all!"

Here Frank called out suddenly, "I have got one too! O, how heavy he is!

Brother, come; he is pulling my line away!"

It was not a crab. Robert and he pulled together, and after considerable play, they found that it was an enormous cat-fish or bull-head.

"This fellow will make a capital stew for tomorrow's dinner," said Robert. "But hold to your line, Frank, while I put the net under him also. I am afraid of these terrible side fins."

The fish had scarcely been raised over the gunwale of the boat, with the remark, "that is a bouncer!" when Robert noticed his own line fizzing through the water at a rapid rate. He quickly loosed it from the place where it was tied, and payed out yard after yard as the vigorous fish darted and struggled away; then humouring its motion by giving or taking the line as seemed to be necessary, he at last drew it towards him, and took it aboard. It was a drum, the largest he had ever caught, or indeed ever seen. It was as long as his arm, and strong enough to require all his art for its capture.

He loosed the hooks from the floundering fishes, and tried for more.

But they now seemed slow to bite. He took only two others, and they were small. Mary, however, caught nine crabs, and Frank two. Becoming weary of the sport, they heard afar off the sharp crack of a rifle.

"There goes Harold's rifle!" said Robert; "and I warrant something has seen its last of the sun. Let us put up our lines, and meet him at the tent."

The anchor was weighed, the sail spread, and in the course of half an hour they saw Harold at the landing.

"What have you brought?" they all asked.

"O, nothing--nothing at all," he replied, looking at the same time much pleased.

"Nothing!" responded Robert. "Why we paid you the compliment of saying, 'There goes Harold's rifle! and you may be sure he has killed something."

"If _you_ have not anything, _we have_," boasted Frank. "See what a big fish I caught! Isn't it a bouncer for a little fellow like me to catch?

Why, sir, he nearly pulled me into the water; but I pulled and pulled, and brother Robert came to help me, and we both pulled, and got him in.

See, too, what brother Robert caught--a big trout; and sister Mary, she caught a parcel of crabs; I caught two crabs myself. And you haven't anything! Why, cousin Harold, are you not ashamed of yourself?"

"But you have killed something; I see it in your looks," said Mary, scrutinizing his countenance; "what is it?"

"That is another question," replied Harold. "You all asked me at first what I had brought. Now, I _have brought_ nothing; but I have _to bring_ a deer."

"Then, indeed, you have beat us," said Robert; "but that is only what I expected."

"A deer!" exclaimed the two younger. "O, take us to see it!"

Mooring the boat safely, they hastened with Harold to the scene of slaughter. It was about half a mile distant. There lay a large fat buck, with branching horns, and sleek brown sides. Frank threw himself upon it in an ecstasy of delight; patted, hugged, and almost kissed it.

Mary hung back, shrinking from the sight of blood.

"O, cousin Harold," she cried, "what a terrible gash your bullet has made in the poor thing's throat! Just look there!"

Harold laughed. "That was not made by my ball, but by my knife.

Hunters always bleed their game, cousin, or it will not look so white, taste so sweet, nor keep so well."

The boys prepared to carry it home. Harold, taking from his bosom the hatchet, cut a long stout pole, and Robert brought some leaves of the silk gra.s.s (the yucca filamentosa, whose long narrow leaves are strong as cords), with which the legs of the deer were tied together. Swinging it on the pole between them, they marched homewards.

By this afternoon's excursion they were provided with a delightful supply of fish, crabs, and venison. But, alas! they were compelled to be their own butchers and cooks; and there are certain processes through which these delicacies must pa.s.s before being ready for the mouth that are not so agreeable. Mary and Frank brought up the fish, and set about preparing them for supper. They laid each upon a flat root of the tree, and with a knife sc.r.a.ped off the scales. This was dirty work for a nice young lady, but it was necessary to the desired end. She pshawed and pshawed at it as the slimy scales adhered to her fingers, or flew into her face, but she persevered until all was done.

In the meantime the fire had been mended, and water poured into their largest pot. When it began to boil, Mary and Frank dropped in the crabs. Poor creatures! it was a warm reception they met with from their native element. Each one gave a kick at the unwelcome sensation, and then sunk into quiet repose, at the bottom of its iron sepulchre. They remained boiling until their sh.e.l.ls were perfectly red, when they were taken out, and piled in a dish for supper.

CHAPTER XIV

FRANK'S EXCUSES--CURING VENISON--MAROONING COOKERY--ROBERT'S VEGETABLE GARDEN--PLANS FOR RETURN---PREPARATION FOR THE SABBATH

When Mary and Frank arose next morning, they saw the small boughs of the oak hung with divided portions of venison. The boys had so placed them, after finis.h.i.+ng, late at night, for the double purpose of allowing them to cool and of keeping them out of reach of the dogs. "Come, Frank,"

said Mary, "let us make up the fire, and get things ready for breakfast." The wood was close at hand, ready cut, and nothing more was needed for a fire than putting the pieces together, with several sticks of light wood underneath; a bright cracking blaze soon rose cheerfully before them.

"Buddy," she said, "can you not go down to the spring, and bring me some water, while I am preparing these other things?"

But Frank was lazy that morning, and out of humour, and the fire was so comfortable (for the air was cool) that he stood before it, warming his hands, and puffing at the smoke that blew in his face. He replied, "No, sister, I am afraid"--then he paused, trying hard to think of some excuse. "I am afraid that if I go the crabs will bite me."

"Crabs!" Mary exclaimed. "Why how can they bite you, when they are all cooked?"

"I do not mean the crabs in the dish," said he, "but the crabs in the river."

"Well, if they are in the river," argued Mary, "how can they hurt you, if you keep on the land?"

Frank found that his excuse was about to fail. But he was not disposed to surrender so easily. He therefore devised another. "I am afraid to go, for if the crabs do not bite me maybe the snakes will. Don't you remember what cousin Harold told us the other day about snakes."

Frank said this very seriously, and had not Mary been somewhat provoked at his unbrotherly refusal, she would have laughed at the ridiculous contrast between his looks and his language. She said, reproachfully, "I thought, Frank, you loved me better than to treat me so. I want the water to make coffee for you, and the rest of us, and yet you will not help me."

"I do not wish any of the coffee," he answered. "All that I want for breakfast is some of that nice fat deer, and some of these fish and crabs."

"Very well," she added, in a hurt but independent tone, "I can help myself."

She took the bucket, and went to the spring. Frank looked ashamed, but continued silent. He drew up a billet of wood and sat upon it, pus.h.i.+ng his feet towards the fire, and spreading out his hands, for the want of something else to do. By the time Mary returned from the spring, Robert and Harold came from the tent. They had retired late and weary the night before, and as a natural consequence had overslept their usual time for rising. "What is that we heard you and Frank talking about?"

Robert asked of Mary.