Chapter XXIX: An Idle Day

MUCH to their disappointment, our little party were forced to remain where they were the next day. The long, continuous soaking in the brackish water had made their feet so tender that walking on the sand was very painful. They prepared as usual for the start but they had not gone more than a hundred yards when they gave up the attempt and returned to where they had camped.

"It is just as well for us to lay by, a day, anyway," Charley observed in an attempt to force cheerfulness from their enforced detention. "Tampa is only a day away and we couldn't go into the city like we are. We would be arrested as tramps as soon as the police caught sight of us. Gee! but we are a tough-looking gang. Captain, you look like a typical 'Weary Willie.' All you need is a stick, a tomato can, and a handkerchief full of hand-outs to be a complete 'knight of the road.'"

"You haven't got any room to make fun of my appearance," grinned the old sailor. "You look like a cross between a coal heaver and a chimney sweep and Walter looks just as bad. It don't show up quite as bad on Chris."

"Dat's de advantage ob bein' a nigger," agreed Chris, composedly. "A nigger can't show de dirt much. If I was one ob you white chillens I'd be plum ashamed ob myself--I sho' would."

And indeed, the little party was a sight to behold. Their clothes were stiff from mud, slime, and brine, and their skins were grimed from the smoke of their camp-fires. They had washed thoroughly, and often, but the mud and slime of the swamp had made useless all efforts to keep clean.

"First, we had better take a good wash ourselves and scrub good and clean with this white sand. Then wash out our clothes as good as we can. This warm sun will soon dry them out and keep us from catching cold. While they are drying, we can be getting something to eat for the day and fix up our feet. When that's all done we want to lay quiet the balance of the day and give our feet a chance to get into shape," said Charlie.

Without soap, the washing of their clothes was a slow, laborious job. Luckily their clothing was comparatively new and strong or it would never have stood the rubbing and pounding it received. At last, however, the operation was completed and their pants and shirts were spread on the bushes to dry. This done, they turned their attention to the laying in of a supply of food for the day. While Chris, with the fish-line, sought a likely looking pool near the creek's mouth, Walter and Charley hunted for oysters and clams, and the captain busied himself in picking a generous supply of huckleberries. In a short time, the two boys had collected enough shell-fish for a couple of days, and joined the old sailor in picking the black, glossy berries. By the time they had gathered all that were wanted, Chris had succeeded in landing three big sea bass and a small shark about four feet in length.

"Hold on, don't do that," Charley exclaimed, as the little darkey was casting the shark back into the water. "That shark is the very thing we want. I would not take a dollar for it."

"Hit ain't no good to eat," protested Chris. "Hit tastes so strong you'd have hard work to swallow one bit of hit."

"I'll show you what I want it for," Charley said. "Just start up a little fire while the rest of us open up some clams and oysters for dinner."

When the fire was going briskly, the lad attacked the shark with his sheath-knife. Splitting it open, he cut out the fat and the liver from inside. These he placed in a big shell obtained from the beach and set the shell on the coals.

"Now get some nice, clean, Spanish moss," he directed, "and unravel a yard or so of that rope we brought with us. There's nothing better than shark oil for a liniment. It is going to do our feet a world of good."

As soon as the oil was tried out in the shell, they rubbed it on to their swollen feet. The result was immediate and gratifying. The burning ceased at once and the aching visibly decreased. When they had rubbed the oil well in, they wrapped their feet up in Spanish moss which they bound in place with bits of the raveled rope.

"Now if we lay quiet and don't use them, they will be all right by to-morrow," declared Charley, with satisfaction. "I guess our clothes are dry by now. We had better put them on or this sun will have our backs blistered as sore as our feet."

The boys hobbled over to where they had spread out their clothes and to their satisfaction found them perfectly dry.

They were just slipping on their shirts when the captain descended upon them, wrath on his usually good-natured face.

"What have you done with my clothes?" he demanded, angrily. "This is no time for joking. Stop it right now."

"We haven't touched your clothes," Charley protested, indignantly. "They are just where you left them."

"They ain't," gasped the old sailor, paling, for he knew the lad always told the truth. "They're gone. Someone has stolen them."

"Whew," whistled Charley. "Some one of those murderers must have taken a fancy to them."

"I'd murder him, if I could get my hands on him," cried the captain, wrathfully. "How am I going to go into town in this fix."

Charley grinned as he caught the humor of the situation. "You could go into town all right," he said, "there wouldn't be any trouble about that. It's what they would do to you after you got into town. I don't really believe the police would stand for your present costume, Captain."

The old sailor glared at him in helpless wrath. "What am I to do?" he mourned. "My back is burning already."

"Sit down in the shade of that tree," Walter suggested, "the sun won't hit you there. We'll have to think up something for you. We would hardly care to enter the city with you in your present condition."

Charley had quickly seized upon a plan to clothe the old sailor but he could not resist the temptation to tease him a little.

"If we only had a barrel we could fix you out all right," he said, reflectively. "We could knock out the head and hang it from your neck by ropes."

"But we haven't got the barrel," said Walter, regretfully, catching his chum's wink.

The captain eyed them suspiciously but the two lads' faces were serious.

Walter appealed to his chum, gravely. "He might pretend he is a work of art," he suggested, "he's got a ship tattooed on his back, a mermaid on his chest, and a flying fish on each leg. Maybe Tampa is an art-loving city and will receive him with open arms."

"I am afraid not," Charley replied, gravely. "I expect it's just a big, rough, unartistic city. I think it would be better for him to enter as a nature-lover who had adopted the simple life."

"Good," exclaimed his chum, enthusiastically. "Just the thing. What a sensation it will make. I can just see the papers with his picture on the front page and the black head lines.

"Noted sea captain adopts the simple life and discards clothing. Says, 'go naked and you'll live to be a hundred.'"

"What's the name of that widow lady who was so interested in the captain, Mrs. Wick? I believe I'll send her one of the papers," said Charley, reflectively.

This was more than the old sailor could stand. "If you young idiots can't suggest anything sensible, for the Lord Harry's sake shut up," he spluttered.

"I don't see much we can suggest," Charley said seriously. "Our clothes are all too small for you or we would each give something to help dress you. There's no hope of getting your clothes back. The only thing I can think of, is to do you up in Spanish moss like they do roses and tender plants they send North."

"I guess Spanish moss is the only thing," admitted the captain. "It ain't much, but it's better than nothing."

So, with difficulty, restraining their laughter, the two lads proceeded to cover the old sailor with great bunches of the strong, long, Spanish moss, tying it securely to him with pieces of the raveled-out rope.

When they had finished, he was a queer and wonderful creature.

The sight was too much for Chris. The little darkey lay on the grass and rolled with laughter.

"Massa Cap, Massa Cap," he gasped, "you look jes' like a great big Teddy Bear."

The old sailor grinned feebly at the three, mirth-convulsed boys.

"I reckon I do look some funny," he admitted, "but I don't care. It's comfortable, and a heap sight decenter than nothing."

A look of anxiety came to his face and he winced visibly.

"What's the matter?" asked Charley. "No pins sticking in you?"

The captain scratched vigorously. "Thar's ants in that pesky moss," he declared, at which announcement the three boys let out a roar of laughter that made the woods ring.

It was verily a day of rest for the four wanderers. The balance of it was spent lying on their soft moss couches in the warm sunshine talking over past events and planning for the future.

With the night came Watson again to sit in the shadows by their camp and listen greedily to what they could tell him of the world outside. In spite of the man's bloody record of crime, they could not help a touch of pity for his loneliness. And the truth was more indelibly stamped on their minds that evil brings its own punishment.

They told him about the theft of the captain's clothes, and he listened attentively.

"I guess it was Black Sam took them," he commented. "He was in rags the last glimpse I got of him. He certainly needs clothes but I guess you need them worse. I'll get them back for you."

"Strangers," he said, as he rose to go, "I want you to do me a big favor. When you get outside send me a copy of the Atlanta Constitution. I ain't heard a thing of Georgia in years. Send it to Marco, care of Indian Charley, and I'll get it all right."

Charley promised him they would do so.

In the morning when they awoke, the captain's clothes were lying beside the fire.

They never knew exactly how Watson made Black Sam relinquish his prize but there was a large blood-stain on the shoulder of the cleanly-washed shirt and they formed their own opinion.