“There are no conveyances! How are we to get to the hotel?” we exclaimed, looking round in helpless bewilderment and addressing nobody in particular.
“Take care, madam, take care—you’ll be in two feet of water that way,” cried a friendly voice arresting my progress; then taking possession of my parcels and of me, added, “It is awkward there being no conveyances on such a night as this; in fine weather it does not signify. The hotel is close by; pray take my arm. I live here, and know every step of the way.”
The train conductor volunteered his assistance to my companion, and swinging his lamp low to guide our faltering feet walked on before us.
“I am the clergyman here,” said my escort in a kind gentle voice, as he pioneered me through a morass and across a pool of mud. My thanks be to him, although I never beheld his face, for, having deposited us at our hotel, he vanished into the night and was seen no more.
We passed first through a kind of rough sitting-room, where some few of our fellow-passengers were already seated in placid contentment, waiting the hotel clerk’s leisure. We were wet through, and not disposed to wait his leisure, so claimed his attention at once, and got it too, as a “lone female” in the South does generally manage to get her will and way.
We were put in charge of a small boy with a big voice, who led us across a sort of courtyard towards a large building—the hotel proper. It seemed to be only a rough temporary erection, doomed to be speedily swept away to make room for some more commodious and imposing structure. A flight of rough wooden steps from the outside led to the interior, whither we slowly ascended, the wind and the rain beating on us as we went. We were shown to our room by a slovenly young woman with a strong Hibernian accent, evidently a late importation from the Emerald isle. It was much more comfortably furnished than we had expected from general appearances. Having relieved ourselves of our wet clothes, we went in search of supper, and, after groping our way through the empty ill-lighted passages, found a long low room illuminated by rows of tiny oil-lamps—the dingiest of dingy apartments, with tables spread, and surrounded by hungry troops of travellers.
There was not much to eat, indeed nothing but leathery slabs of ham, fried eggs, and flabby omelettes; the thunder had turned the milk sour, so the coffee and tea was served plain, while soda and seltzer water popped and sputtered on all sides of us.
The beds were fairly comfortable, and we arose the next morning to find a smiling sky promising a fair day for the trip down the Ocklawaha river.
A little train (not a “narrow-gauge,” we were thankful to find) bore us from Ocala to Silver Springs.