TORTOISE-SHELLS.
BY A. V. S. ANTHONY.
It was a bright winter morning, and the air outside was frosty and still. A young maid sat in her cozy chamber dressing her golden-brown curls, and as she drew her comb through them she heard a sharp crackling sound that caused her to put on her "thinking-cap," as was her habit when anything out of the common occurred, for she liked to reason out matters in her own quiet way. In her studies she had not as yet reached any allusion to that subtile power known as electricity, so she concluded that the sound must have come from the comb, which she thought was possibly made from the shell of a snapping-turtle. Having settled the affair comfortably in her mind, she finished her toilet hastily, that she might lose no time in announcing her discovery to the family at the breakfast table.
It was the fortunate lot of the head of the family to have been wrecked on a coral reef. I say fortunate, because "All's well that ends well," and inside the reef was a small island, on which he, the head of the family, had the rare experience of witnessing the catching of turtles and the removal of their shells by some native fishermen.
Stories of shipwrecked mariners have been so often told that the incidents of mine need not be repeated here. If, as the Irishman said, the tale of the lost could be told, it would be quite new and interesting; but mine was the very ordinary and commonplace.
After the morning meal was over I told the little maid about it, as I briefly tell you here.
I was on my way to Central America, and had almost reached my journey's end when our ship was wrecked. We struck the reef about nine o'clock at night. It was a very dark and thick night, and the waves dashed over us as we huddled together on the quarter-deck while waiting for daylight to determine in which direction lay possible safety. When the sun rose the next morning we saw approaching us a canoe containing four Indians, with whose assistance we got over the dangerous rocks, and were soon on the island, which was about ten miles distant from the mainland.
It was a beautiful morning, and after the Indians had made us some hot coffee and tortillas (an unleavened corn-cake, baked on hot stones), they went off with the Captain and crew to the wreck, to see if anything could be saved from it, while I lay under the cocoanut-trees enjoying the soft tropical air and congratulating myself on my escape.
When the Captain returned, he determined that he had been driven about twenty-five miles out of his course by a strong current that sets up northward along the eastern coast of Yucatan, for which he had not made proper allowance.
Day was the period of rest for the Indians, and as we all needed sleep, we closed our eyes on the lovely yellow light of the Caribbean Sea, and stretched ourselves under the shelter of the thatched hut.