We roasted peanuts in the coals and toasted bacon and corn pones. These were our only food during the entire journey. The river water, muddy though it was, satisfied our thirst. Supplies of all kinds had long been very scarce, and we had learned to be very thankful for little, and that of the simplest.
About four in the morning we resumed our way down the now placidly flowing stream. The banks were sometimes high bluffs, then low stretches of sand or clay, but more often tangled masses of trees and thick undergrowth coming right down to the water. No one could possibly penetrate it, and we were as alone as though we were the only inhabitants of the earth.
The exciting event of the morning was passing the little military post where the passport must be examined. I can well remember the rather overdone indifference of my mother and the stoical look on the faces of the men. The passport was only for mother and me. It said nothing about the men, and at first it seemed as though there would be some trouble, but it was so obvious that we must have some one to do the rowing that we were given permission to go on. But it was not till we had left the post several miles behind that we were really at ease. The rest of the trip was uneventful. The men rowed and rested. We always made progress, as the flow of the river was several miles an hour.
We hoped to reach home before dark of the second day in the little boat, but the men were nearly exhausted and could not row steadily. Finally we came out into the big bay in front of the city, and, oh, how little and frail our boat seemed, especially as it had begun to leak and mother and I had to take turns bailing.
But all things come to an end at last, and about midnight we climbed up on the deserted wharf of unfortunate Apalachicola. Little did it look like the busy, thriving place of two years before. Instead of high piles of cotton bales, grass was growing in the streets. Where innumerable negroes used to work busily there was silence and loneliness. The life of the city was gone. Poor Apalachicola! Her glories had departed.
The scene made a vivid impression on my youthful imagination, and I realized in a degree how sad and forlorn it was.
We were glad to be on our feet after the confinement of the boat. No one knew when we would arrive; all were asleep; and the walk to our home seemed like going through a dead city. It reminded me of the old story of “The Sleeping Beauty.”
However, the faithful nurse slept with one eye open, and we were soon surrounded by the little family. The meeting was almost too pathetic for joy, and tears and laughter were about evenly distributed.
It was certainly an unusual scene. Aunt Ann, the old nurse, as well as the children, had rushed out in their nightclothes, and we embraced each other in the garden among the orange trees, regardless of the neighbors. The excitement stimulated us for the moment, but we were so exhausted that we were soon put to bed.
It was fortunate that we arrived as we did, for the food question had grown to be a very serious one for the old negro, as the simple supply was nearly exhausted.