“I should think they’d send to the city for relief,” said Chap.
“I suppose they will eventually,” the lady replied, “but they’ll have to wait for a steamboat to come along to do that. I don’t suppose they could row there.”
At this moment she made an exclamation. They were now below the end of the island, and could see far down the river, which was here very wide. Two or three miles away was a large steamboat coming from the city.
“Oh!” cried the countess; “do you see that? If I could only stop her, and get on board, I would go as far as she is going, and then come back in her to the city. Anything would be better than staying on that cramped-up little Winkyminky, with nothing to eat. I believe that would be the quickest way of getting to Jacksonville, and we would stop somewhere where I could telegraph to my husband. Oh! can’t we signal her?”
“I’ll row out to her!” cried Chap. “I’ll stop her!”
And turning, he ran as fast as he could to the place where the boat was hauled up.
The men had just come down with a couple of pails of water, but when Chap promised them a dollar apiece to row him out to the approaching steamboat, they lifted out the barrel, half-filled with water, and attempted to push off the boat, but they found it stuck in the mud so tightly that it was almost impossible, and Chap raved and stamped at the fruitless result of their ill-managed efforts.
The countess was now walking rapidly toward them, but Chap, hoping in his heart that nothing in the rules of aristocratic circles would prevent a fellow from wading in the mud in a good cause, pulled off his shoes and stockings, rolled up his trousers, and plunged in.
By the united strength of the three the boat was soon afloat, and all jumped in. The negroes seized the oars, and Chap shouted to the lady that they would be back in no time.
“Don’t fail to stop her!” cried the countess. “Tell them I’ll pay them for all the time they lose. It is the Humphrey Giles. The captain knows me.”