A Tale of Dangerous Adventure.
BY GEORGE H. COOMER,
AUTHOR OF “ARTHUR SUMMERS,” ETC.
CHAPTER XIII.
RALPH MAKES A FRIEND.
Ralph had need of all his courage, as he realized what was before him. In a low, swampy spot, close under a pile of rock and earth, that rose out of it like a wall, was an animal such as he had never met with until this moment, although he instinctively guessed what it must be.
The creature appeared to be in a complete frenzy of rage. It was covered with mud and water, and with furious motions was trampling down the long, rank grass which grew about the place.
“A wild boar!” uttered our young friend to himself, with his heart leaping to his throat, as his glance took in the sharp back, the high shoulders, and the immense tusks that curved from the jaws like cimetars.
He had seen pictures of such animals, but had never dreamed how startling the reality would be.
The boar seemed to direct his fury against the ledge which formed the boundary of the muddy and grassy place where he was raging about; and looking a little above the savage brute, Ralph perceived a something which appeared like a human form in some manner confined among the rocks. He thought the body looked as if partially under a big stone that held it down.
Instantly the thought came to him:
“It must be that a man has got caught there under a rock, which he has pulled down upon himself in trying to clamber up.”
Just as this thought entered his mind, he saw the boar give a fearful spring and fall back with what seemed a strip of clothing between his jaws.
The position of the imprisoned man must be awful, and there was not a moment to lose. The next spring might be more successful.
The fierce jaws clashed together with a startling sound, and the huge head was shaken, as if the frenzy of the monster was increased by the possession of that bit of rag.
The prisoner gave another wild cry, and Ralph responded, with all the strength of his lungs:
“I’ll help you! I’ll help you!”
He was too far off for a successful shot, but he hoped by firing to attract the animal’s attention from the man to himself, and then, in case of need, he might retreat into some one of the trees among which he was then standing.
So, taking the best aim he could, he fired both barrels in quick succession. But the boar, except by a furious toss of the head and a single terrible “Whoosh!” paid not the slightest attention to him.
Indeed, the efforts of the animal to reach the intended victim became, if possible, more frantic than ever; and Ralph guessed that once, at least, the tusks came in contact with some part of the poor captive’s body.
“I can do nothing in this way,” he said to himself. “The man will be torn in pieces before my eyes. I must make a bold move and take my chance.”
Between himself and the scene of danger there was neither rock nor tree, but only the shallow mud and water, and the rank grass. The venture would be a desperate one, but nothing less would save the man from a terrible death.
“RALPH’S LEGS WERE KNOCKED FROM UNDER HIM BY THE WEIGHT OF THE HUGE BODY, SO THAT HE FELL AT FULL LENGTH IN THE MUD.”
Ralph had about him shells containing charges of all descriptions, from fine shot to bullets. Quickly throwing open his breech-loader, he slipped a ball cartridge into one barrel and a heavy charge of buckshot into the other.
Then springing forward, he went splashing across the morass, with the mud and water almost up to his knees.
“I am no marksman,” he thought, as he strode rapidly on, “and shall have to get close to him to hit him; but if he should come at me, I shall have my second barrel, besides a plenty of shells.”
There was some reassurance in this thought, especially as he had two of the spare shells in his hand, ready for use in case of need.
At a distance of only six rods from the enraged animal, he stopped and brought up his gun.
The boar was not still for an instant, but rushing about in its efforts to get up the rock. He had certainly struck the man, for there was blood on the rock and on the savage tusks. This probably rendered him all the more eager.
“I’ll try the buckshot first,” thought Ralph, “for they’ll scatter a little, and some of them must hit him.”
He ranged between the two barrels, and pulled. “Bang!” sounded the report. “Whoosh!” uttered the boar, stopping short in his efforts against the rock, and turning his whole attention upon the intruder. Doubtless he was hit, but perhaps not mortally.
Ralph’s gun was again at his face. “Bang!” This time the single ball was sent, but through the smoke of the discharge he saw that the boar was rushing upon him.
An interval of six rods, and a wild hog, six feet long, bounding over it with clashing jaws! How the breech-loader sprang open, and how the two spare charges went into it! What if Ralph had not held them all ready in his hand?
“Bang! bang!” The boar’s head was not three feet from the muzzle as the second barrel was fired. The monster’s impetus carried him on with a plunge; and the young hero’s legs were knocked from under him by the weight of the huge body, so that he fell at full length in the mud.
For an instant he believed himself lost, and while scrambling to his feet he expected to feel the sweep of those sword-like tusks.
But there was no longer any danger; the last discharge had done its work to perfection, and with his knees bent under him, the boar lay just as he had plowed into the mire, having not even rolled over.
Picking up his gun, Ralph hurried to assist the person on the rock, whom he had already seen to be a negro, and whom he now found to be held down by a large stone, which lay upon his legs, he having doubtless pulled it from a position above in his frantic efforts to escape from his pursuer.
The confined black could not help himself; but Ralph succeeded, without much difficulty, in relieving him from the heavy weight.
The stone could not have slipped more than two or three feet, for the negro was not much injured by it, although it had held him so firmly. He had the marks of the animal’s tusks on one of his legs; but the wound was not a dangerous one. Ralph bound his handkerchief around it, and felt very glad to find that the poor fellow was almost as good as new.
Finding himself able to walk, and seeming to realize how much he owed to his young rescuer, the stout negro grasped the boy’s right hand in both his own, and with tears glistening in his eyes, uttered a number of rapid sentences, only a few words of which Ralph could understand, but which were evidently the outpourings of gratitude.
Still, there was in his manner an appearance of apprehension, as if he feared that the lad might not be alone. He would glance furtively about, like one who is expecting an enemy; and it was plain that he was meditating a retreat.
Back of the rocks there was dry, firm land; and in this direction he looked, as if desirous of moving off.
Ralph recalled the conversation which he had heard the day before about the runaway slave.
“This man may be Jumbo himself,” he thought. “I’ll try to make him understand me.”
Then, looking kindly in the negro’s face, he said, in Spanish:
“I think you are Jumbo. I am only a boy, and I am all alone. You are free; you can go where you will.”
And he pointed to the deep, free woods.
Ralph had great difficulty in getting out this amount of Castilian; but the negro, whose own command of that language seemed to be of the most meagre description, comprehended his meaning. He took the spirit, if not the words.
A grateful expression came over his dark face, and again he clasped the boy’s hand, with the same flow of mingled African and Spanish upon his tongue.
Ralph bade him a kind good-by, and he walked away into the forest, waving his sable hand with a gesture full of feeling as he disappeared.
Our young sailor now proceeded to examine the animal he had killed.
It is said that the timid man is afraid before the danger, the coward during it, and the brave man after it. Ralph was afraid after it.
He felt a kind of weakness about the knees, and wondered that he had not noticed it before. He remembered how the bristles had stood up on the boar’s back, how the savage jaws had clashed together, and how he had seen the tusks standing out like long knives as the creature came straight for him.
Now how grim the monster looked as he lay in the mud and water, just where he had dropped dead—not on his side, but with the legs doubled under him, and the stout, hoggish ears sticking up like ears of corn.
“The next thing is to find my pony,” thought Ralph. “Let’s see—which way did I come? Here are my tracks. I must have come out of that thicket yonder.”
Then, looking about him, he saw another line of tracks, and, going to examine it, perceived that it was where the boar had chased the black man across the morass. Most of the negro’s footprints were lost in those of the hog.
Almost at the moment in which Ralph reached his pony, he heard the report of a gun at some distance, and guessed that Mr. Arthur was coming in search of him. He answered the signal, and the planter, who had become anxious for his safety, soon made his appearance.
“I had begun to be really alarmed about you,” said Mr. Arthur, “and feared I should have to go back and summon assistance in the search. If you had not heard my gun, I should have missed you, for I was just about to turn in the opposite direction.”
“Oh, I am sorry I have given you all this trouble!” said Ralph. “It is too bad. But you can’t think what I have killed! I am glad you have come, so that I can show you.”
“Why, how wet and muddy you are!” said the planter, “and how your clothes are torn! For heaven’s sake! where have you been?”
Ralph related his adventure, and told how the black man had gone into the forest.
“I would not have had you take such a risk for all I am worth!” said Mr. Arthur. “What would your father say if he knew of it?”
“But the man couldn’t get away, and the boar might have got at him before I could have had a chance to bring any one else here,” replied Ralph.
“Yes, I know; but it was a fearful risk. No doubt the man was the runaway that I was speaking of to Mr. Osborne. At least, I should judge so from your description. Osborne would have detained him, of course; but I am not sorry that you made no such attempt. I should have been tempted to let him go myself.”
It was a great relief to Ralph to find that Mr. Arthur took this view of the matter—a very singular one, he thought, for the owner of five or six hundred slaves; yet, from what he had seen of his kind friend, he was not surprised at it.
The planter was curious to visit the scene of the adventure, and, with some difficulty, they made their way to the place.
“Why, Ralph,” he exclaimed, looking at the dead animal, and then at the surroundings of the spot, “it is fearful! Had I known what you were about, I should have given you up for lost. Not a tree within twenty rods of you! Suppose you had failed to kill him? It frightens me to think of it!”
Going to the ledge beyond, they saw where the negro had scrambled up with muddy feet, and where the sharp hoofs of the boar had scratched long lines on the rock.
It was easy to see how the large, loose stone, which had prevented the fugitive’s
escape, had slipped from its place as he tried to climb over it.
“Well, well,” said Mr. Arthur, “you ought to have one good friend in the forest, and I guess you have! I don’t think that poor fellow will ever forget you.”
Ralph felt that this was pay enough, even though the friend was only a poor negro, whom he might never see again.
And now, leaving the huge game where it had fallen, he accompanied the good planter back to the little village of huts, where Mrs. Arthur and Camilla were awaiting them in some anxiety.
CHAPTER XIV.
OUR SAILOR BOY DISLIKES MR. OSBORNE.
“Oh, how dreadful!” exclaimed Camilla, as she listened to the recital of what had taken place.
“I am thinking of his mother,” said Mrs. Arthur, “and I am so thankful—so thankful—that he is safe!”
Mr. Osborne took a very practical view of the matter.
“You could have kept the negro, I suppose,” he said, “as you had your gun; but then it might not have been very easy to get him anywhere, you being a boy.”
“I didn’t wish to get him anywhere,” replied Ralph. “I wished him to go where he liked.”
“Of course; it wasn’t your business to catch runaway negroes,” said the overseer, “and you did perfectly right. Only I wish I could have been there. Did he seem to be afraid of you?”
“No, sir; I laid down my gun.”
“Suppose he had taken it up?”
“I never thought of such a thing, sir; I was trying to help him, and he knew it.”
“I wouldn’t have trusted him,” remarked the overseer.
“I did trust him, sir; or, rather, I didn’t think anything about it. I wanted to stop his leg from bleeding.”
“Was he in a hurry to be off after you had fixed him up?”
“He looked uneasy, as if afraid that somebody else might come before he could get away.”
“Perhaps he expected you to take up your gun and order him to march for his old quarters?”
“I don’t know how that was,” said Ralph; “but the gun lay all the while where he could have taken it up if he would.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him he was free. And it almost made me cry to see how grateful he appeared for what I had done. I hope he has some good place to stay in.”
“No danger,” said the overseer; “he has a good enough place for this climate, and lives on the fat of the land, besides. I think some of my negroes could go straight to him within the next two hours, but they won’t tell.”
“And do they never run away, too?” asked Ralph.
“Yes; but I have generally got them back. Sometimes they are arrested by the Spanish soldiers, if they venture out of the woods; and sometimes, when they keep in their hiding-places, I track them out myself.”
“And do you whip them when you get them back?”
“Of course I do; that teaches them better than to risk it again.”
Somehow, Ralph did not like Mr. Osborne; for, besides that it was hard to help associating him with the cruel office he occupied, there was a something in him as an individual which repelled the boy’s quick, intuitive sympathies. Practically he might be better than most overseers, but how could he be otherwise under a superior like Mr. Arthur?
Ralph had brought in the parrots and paroquets that he had shot, for he had not forgotten them on remounting his pony, and he now took off their skins in a very artistic manner, leaving the beautiful plumage almost unruffled, much to the delight of Camilla, who thanked him for his thoughtfulness of her.
Upon the journey homeward, the two spotted ponies, keeping close together, galloped, trotted or walked, according to the fancies of their riders or the variations of the road, while the horses of the older people jogged more steadily.
“I wonder,” said Camilla, “if Jumbo will not often think of you? I know he will, though—he cannot help it.”
“I hope he will,” said Ralph; “and I hope, too, that he will not suffer. Your father does not seem at all anxious to get him back.”
“Oh, no! papa does not care for his running away. He says that if the revolution
should succeed, the new government would free all the slaves, and he is willing that this should be done. Somehow, he is a slaveholder against his will.”
“Do you like Mr. Osborne?” asked Ralph.
“Not very well. Papa has a high opinion of him as an overseer, but I do think that even papa himself is not quite satisfied with all that was done while we were away in the United States.”
“The revolutionists appear to ruin a great many sugar plantations,” said Ralph. “Do you ever feel afraid of being molested?”
“Yes, mamma and I do, because they sometimes come very near us; but papa says he does not think there is any danger. They know what his sentiments are; besides, he is an Americano, and they have a great respect for los Americanos.”
“And isn’t he afraid, then, of the Spanish government?”
“No; he takes no active part on either side; only his feelings are with the liberal party. I think papa is not much of a politician.”
“I know how he feels,” said Ralph; “he is good and kind, and wants everybody to be free. He is one of the best men I ever saw.”
“He really is!” exclaimed Camilla, enthusiastically. “He is just as good as any one can be. And,” she added, with childlike earnestness, “he likes you ever so much, too.”
Ralph was perfectly happy upon this ride; and when the party reached home, it was to be greeted by the unaffected welcome of the negroes, old and young, who were evidently much attached to their master and his household. The parrots chattered, and the song-birds sang, while the odor of the orange blossoms was well in keeping with the rest.
CHAPTER XV.
A NEW PROPOSITION.
Next day the planter and his young guest visited the city, and returned with Captain Weston. He was thrilled by the story of Ralph’s encounter with the wild boar. It shocked him to think how narrowly a dreadful calamity had been escaped, and he all the while attending to his ordinary duties, in ignorance of the danger.
“Captain,” said Mr. Arthur, as they sat conversing together after reaching the plantation, “I have a proposition to make. Why not let Ralph remain with me till your return from Philadelphia? I may take a journey or two about the island within the next few weeks, upon business, and probably he would enjoy going with me. It would give him an opportunity to see more of Cuba than he is likely to see in any other way.”
“I don’t know what his mother would say,” replied the captain. “She expects me to bring him home, and I am afraid she would be troubled about it. Besides, I like to have him with me, though I know you would take every care of him.”
“I understand your feelings,” said the planter; “but my wife is about writing to Mrs. Weston concerning the debt of gratitude we owe him; and should you consent to his remaining, I think her letter will place the matter in such a light as to remove any objection on his mother’s part.”
Mrs. Arthur seconded her husband very earnestly.
“You cannot think how much we would enjoy having him here,” she said. “He has such a kind, lovable nature, and is so bright and active. I do hope it may be arranged that he may stay.”
Captain Weston revolved the matter seriously, and concluded at length that it should be left to Ralph’s decision. What that decision would be he could have had very little doubt, as he glanced toward the boy and girl who were at that moment enjoying a swing under an orange tree of unusual size, the vibrations of the rope occasionally bringing down some of the golden fruit.
Ralph was in ecstasies at the proposition, and Camilla’s bright face lighted up with a pleasure that she did not try to conceal.
“Oh, how nice it will be!” she said. “I am so glad you are to remain.”
A soft flush leaped to her cheeks as she spoke, and her beautiful eyes expressed an artlessness that was very bewitching.
So it was settled that Ralph should remain in Cuba during the two months which would probably elapse before the return of the Cristoval Colon to Santiago.
His mother (for he could not have endured to think of Mrs. Weston in any other light) would be comforted by the knowledge that he was in such good hands. And then how much he would have to tell her when he should go home!
Captain Weston was greatly pleased with the plantation and its management. He had seen much of Cuba, but never anything of this kind which appeared so satisfactory. He walked and rode with the planter, smoked his cigar with him, and admired his kind treatment of his slaves.
After a tarry of two days, he returned to the city, accompanied by the planter and Ralph.
As the latter mounted the side of the Cristoval Colon, he met a merry welcome from the tars, some of whom threw out sly innuendoes in their sailor style about pearls and pearl-divers, but he did not permit their harmless jokes to annoy him.
After a pleasant visit, Mr. Arthur returned to the plantation; but Ralph did not accompany him, as he desired to remain some days with his father during the vessel’s brief stay in port.
He was not a boy who was afraid of work, and now, putting on his everyday rig, he applied himself with a light heart to the duties of the ship, lying stoutly back upon the slack of the tackle, while the sailors hoisted the heavy articles of the cargo, or running aloft to loose the sails for drying after the drenching night dews, and assisting to furl them at evening.
“That boy is smart,” old Jack Evans would say to his shipmates. “He is the best fellow for a captain’s son I ever fell in with; he is always looking for something to do.”
CHAPTER XVI.
OLD JACK SEES A REMEMBERED FACE.
One evening, when Ralph went into the forecastle, he found Jack alone there. The old sailor had just been overhauling his sea-chest, and had in his hand the baby’s shoe which he had so long carried for good luck.
“I was just looking at it,” he said, “because to-day I came across the father of that identical baby. I hadn’t seen him for about sixteen years, but I knew him in a minute. He was puffing his cigar, just as he used to do about the decks of the Moro Castle.”
“What!” exclaimed Ralph, “the very man? Oh, how I wish I had been with you! Who is he, and where does he live?”
“That I don’t know,” replied Jack. “Of course, he didn’t know me, and I hadn’t a very good chance to introduce myself. He was jabbering with a lot of other Spaniards on a corner, with his caramba and his como esta usted, so that I didn’t feel like going up to him with a yarn about a baby’s shoe. Which way he went I don’t know, for I had to get back to the ship.”
“When was it?” asked Ralph, with great earnestness.
“It was while I was ashore this noon.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” said the boy. “I would have gone right ashore. But, no—I couldn’t have found him without you. Dear me! I wish I could have been with you.”
“Why, my lad, it’s of no consequence,” said Jack. “You seem to think more of it than I do.”
“But I want to see him,” replied Ralph. “I wonder if he is about here every day?”
“Likely enough,” said Jack. “But I didn’t think you cared anything about the matter.”
“Well, I’m thinking of that baby’s shoe,” answered Ralph. “It seems so queer—the way you got it, and the way you have kept it.”
“I know that’s odd,” said Jack. “I suppose my keeping it is all nonsense.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Ralph. “I don’t think it is, I’m sure.”
“You believe a little in old shoes, then?”
“I believe in that shoe, Jack. I mean to go ashore with you, and have a good look for that man.”
“But we shouldn’t stand much chance of finding him,” replied Jack. “I’ve been here in Santiago a number of times, but this is the first time I have run across him here.”
Ralph looked anxious and excited; but he saw that Jack felt somewhat surprised at the interest he took in the matter, and so restrained himself.
“After all,” he thought, “it may have nothing to do with me. Just a baby on its
passage to the United States. But, then, it was going to Philadelphia, and it was a boy baby; and I must have been a baby at the same time. I wonder what Jack would say if he knew what I am thinking of?”
It would be strange, he thought, if he were really to get track of himself in such a way—the first of the tracks being made by that tiny shoe in Jack’s chest. And then he reflected how improbable it seemed, when there were so many babies in the world, that he should have been that baby.
“I almost hope the thing will never come to light,” he said to himself. “Perhaps it is better not to know.”
[TO BE CONTINUED.]