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CHAPTER VIII

The departure of the bridal party from Woodburn was soon followed by that of the guests, till all were gone but those from Sunnyside. They were entreated to linger, and assured there was nothing to hurry them away from their father's house.

"I can't bear to have you go yet," said Violet entreatingly. "You are the only ones of my husband's children left to us, and the house will seem desolate enough to him and me till we, too, can start for Viamede. Besides, you are none of you going there with us, so we want to see all we can of you now and here."

"We do, indeed," said the captain; "and especially of you, Max, as there is no knowing how long it may be before Uncle Sam will let us have you with us again."

"True, father, and I don't want to lose a minute of the time I may have with you," returned Max feelingly, "or with the other dear ones – wife, child, sister and brother," he added, glancing from one to another.

"No; and we all want to be together while we can; it is so sad to have to part even for a time," sighed Lucilla, turning a regretfully affectionate look upon one and another, especially her father, her eyes filling as they met the tenderly loving expression in his.

"Yes, parting is hard," he said with forced cheerfulness; "but we will console ourselves with the thought that it is not likely to be for very long. We seem to be in that respect an unusually happy family."

"True, and I think our wedding party has been an entire success," said Violet in her usual sprightly tones; "nothing went wrong, and our darling Grace made the loveliest of brides."

There was a word of cordial assent to that from all present except Baby Mary, who had fallen asleep in her mother's arms.

"How long may you stay with us this time, Max?" asked Chester.

"I must leave next Tuesday morning," was the reply. "May I trust you to take good care of my wife and daughter while they are left alone with you and Sister Lu?"

"Certainly; I intend to do the very best I can for them," returned Chester with the air of one making a very solemn promise. "I hope you are willing to trust me, Sister Eva?" turning to her.

"Perfectly," she said with a pleasant little laugh. "And Lu and I will try to take good care of Baby Mary's Uncle Chester."

"Ah, it seems it is worth my while to claim to be that," he laughed.

"My dear," said Violet, addressing the captain, "don't you think we can make our arrangements to leave for Viamede by next Tuesday morning?"

"Yes; I think we can if you wish to go then," he replied; "and by so doing we should probably reach Key West only a day or two later than our party on the Dolphin."

"Which would be very pleasant for our dear ones, especially Elsie and Ned."

"And how glad they will be to see papa and mamma," remarked Lucilla, unable to repress a sigh as she spoke.

"Daughter dear, I am sorry, indeed, that you, Chester, Eva and Max are not all to be of our party," her father said, regarding her with a loving, regretful look; "but cheer up with the thought that the separation is not likely to be a very long one. We may hope to be all together again in a few months; and I hope with Ned quite restored to wonted health and strength."

"Oh, I hope so," she said. "Dear little fellow! His Sister Lu is very fond of him. And, father, you will write frequently to me?"

"Every day if you will do the same by me," he answered with a smile. "And in addition to that we can have telegrams and 'phone messages. So that the separation, will not be so bad as it was in the days when I was in Uncle Sam's naval service. Now I think I'll go to the 'phone and ask if cousins Ronald and Annis can be ready to start on Tuesday morning."

He did so, and the answer was in the affirmative. Everybody was glad, for those cousins were esteemed good company by one and all, and Ned was known to be always greatly entertained by Cousin Ronald's use of his ventriloquial powers.

"The fun he will make for our Neddie boy will do the little chap a world of good, no doubt," said Max with satisfaction.

"Surely it will," said Lucilla; "and I am so glad that Dr. Harold still has him in his charge, for certainly Harold is a skilful physician, even though related to us," she added with a little laugh.

"Yes," said her father; "I am glad he is to be with us, and that our dear ones here will still have the services of his brother Herbert and Dr. Arthur Conly, both equally skilful in the practice of their profession. Don't let them neglect you, daughter," he added earnestly. "Don't fail to summon them promptly, Chester, should any one of you be at all ill."

"Rest assured I will not, sir," returned Chester with prompt decision. "Trust me to do my very best for the health and happiness of the two dear ladies left in my charge; the little newcomer also."

"Thank you, Brother Chester," said Max. "It is a great comfort to me that I can leave my dear ones in your care."

"It seems hard to give our dear ones into the care of others," sighed Violet. "It was hard for us to part with our darling Neddie for even a few days, but mamma and Harold can and will take better care of him than we could, and we hope to join them very soon."

"Yes," said the captain; "and when we start we may hope to overtake them in somewhat less than two days."

"Yes, father," responded Max; "and what a blessing it is that travelling is so much speedier work than it used to be even not so very many years ago."

"And that messages can be sent and received so promptly by telegraph and 'phone," responded the captain. "It seems to bring distant parts of the world much nearer than they used to be, so that temporary separations by land or sea are not now the sore trials they were in former days."

"Eva and I feel it a great comfort," said Max, turning to his wife and child with a tender smile, "as in case I were needed here I might be so easily summoned and come promptly, even at the risk of having to resign from the navy," he added in a half jesting tone.

"Ah, Max, the possibility of tempting you to so rash an act as that would certainly make me hesitate to summon you, except in a case of the direst necessity," said Eva in tones tremulous with emotion.

"But we will hope that no such necessity may ever arise," remarked Captain Raymond in a cheery tone. "By the way, let us take another look at Grace's bridal gifts. Many of them are well worth close scrutiny."

"Yes, indeed," said Violet; "and I must see them carefully packed away to-day or to-morrow."

"Oh, let us help you with it to-day, Mamma Vi," said Lucilla.

"Thank you, I will," replied Violet.

Examining, chatting over and the packing away of the numerous bridal gifts occupied the greater part of the afternoon; an early tea followed, and soon after that the Sunnyside folk returned to their homes, thinking it not well to have the baby out any later than that in cold weather.

For the next few days Violet and the captain felt it lonely enough without the dear ones aboard the Dolphin, but busied themselves with preparations for following them, and in the meantime greatly enjoyed their daily intercourse with their near and loved neighbors, his older children and the baby granddaughter.

So the time passed, and to most of them it seemed but a little while before Tuesday morning dawned. Good-bys were then said; Max went his way northward and the others of the captain's party took a southward-bound train of cars, which carried them to Cedar Keys, on the western Florida coast. From there they went down by steamer to Key West. As we have seen, the captain had sent a telegram ahead, and their arrival was a glad event, but not a surprise to the Dolphin's passengers. Ned's joy was very great. He had been happy with grandma, uncle and sisters, but papa and mamma were even more to him than were they, so that their coming seemed to quicken his recovery. Several days were spent at that port, that all might have abundant opportunity to see all on both land and water that they cared to see. Ned had no desire to visit the sponge yards or auctions, but some sponges were brought on board the Dolphin, and he was rather startled for a moment when, on picking one up, a scream as of pain and anger seemed to come from it. "Don't, you naughty boy; just let me alone!"

"Oh," cried Ned, dropping it hastily, "I didn't know you were alive. But don't be scared; I'll not hurt you."

Then noticing a quizzical look in his father's eye, and catching the sound of a half-smothered laugh from his sister and some of the others, he suddenly comprehended how it happened that the sponge seemed so alive and able to speak in good, plain English.

"Oh, I know; it was Cousin Ronald making the thing talk; for it can't be that it's alive after being pulled up out of the water and scraped and cleaned and all that."

"Silly boy! Dead folks can't talk, but I can," the sponge seemed to reply, speaking in a sneering tone.

"No," laughed Ned; "but Cousin Ronald isn't dead, if you are. Besides, I don't believe you could talk when you were alive."

"Huh! Much you know about it. Some silly little folks think they know a great deal more than they do."

Ned seemed highly amused. "Oh, it's good fun, Cousin Ronald, so please keep on," he begged, looking up into the kindly face of the old gentleman.

"Well, now," Mr. Lilburn exclaimed, as if much surprised, "I don't live in that bit of sponge."

"No," laughed Ned; "it's much too little for anybody to live in; but I think your voice can get in it, and it's real fun to hear it talk, so please make it say something more."

"I used to live on the rocks away down under the water," the sponge seemed to say; "that was my home, and I wanted to stay there, but a cruel man came down, pulled me off, and brought me up, and I've had an awful time ever since; they shook me and scraped me and squeezed me so hard and long that now I'm more dead than alive."

"Oh, it's too bad!" exclaimed Ned. "I think they might have let you live on in your own home. Maybe we might send you back to it, if you were alive; but it's no use now if you are dead."

"Well, Neddie boy, don't you think Mr. Sponge has talked enough now?" asked Cousin Ronald in his own natural voice. "I am really afraid our good friends here must be tired of the very sound of his voice."

"Perhaps they are," replied Ned; "and I'm afraid you are tired making him talk. But it has been good fun, and I am very much obliged to you for it, Cousin Ronald."

"You are very welcome," replied Mr. Lilburn; "and I am very glad to be able to give a bit of amusement to a young cousin who has been so ill."

"Thank you, sir; you are ever so kind," returned Ned in grateful tones.

All this happened on deck, late in the afternoon, and Dr. Harold now said he thought it time for his little patient to be taken down into the saloon, as the air was growing quite cool.

"Oh uncle, I don't want to go down yet, leaving all this good company," exclaimed Ned imploringly.

"But you don't want to get worse, do you?" asked Harold in kindly tones.

"And mother will go with you," said Violet, rising and taking his hand in hers.

"Father, too; and he'll carry you down," added the captain, taking the little fellow in his arms and hastening toward the stairway leading to the cabin of the vessel. Violet followed close behind them, and Dr. Harold and Grace brought up the rear; Grandma Elsie, the younger Elsies and Alie Leland following them also, Annis and Cousin Ronald, too, so that in a few minutes the Dolphin's passengers had all deserted the deck for the saloon.

Then presently came the call to supper, and all gathered about a table well furnished with wholesome, satisfying food and drink.

Grace sat at her father's right hand, between him and her husband, and as he carved the fowl and filled the plates, he every now and then gave her a pleased, scrutinizing, smiling glance.

"You are looking bright and well, daughter," he said at length. "Your honeymoon seems to agree with you, though it is perhaps rather early to judge of that."

"It has been very delightful so far, papa," she returned with a smiling glance first at him and then up into Harold's face; "it could hardly be otherwise in such a vessel and in such company – with a dear mother, a good doctor, a kind husband – indeed, everything heart could wish, except the dear ones left behind – my dear father, mamma and sisters Lu and Eva; not to mention darling Baby Mary. And now," she concluded, "since two of the dearest ones, and Cousin Ronald and Annis have joined us, I am full of content, of joy, and very, very happy."

"Yes, Gracie, it's ever so nice to have them all here – particularly papa and mamma," remarked Ned, with a sigh of content; "and I hope Cousin Ronald is going to make lots of fun for us."

"But maybe Dr. Harold won't approve of so much fun for his young patient," suggested a voice that seemed to come from somewhere in Ned's rear.

"Oh, who are you now?" queried the little fellow, turning half round in his chair to look behind him.

"Somebody that knows a thing or two," replied the same voice, now apparently coming from a distant part of the room.

"Oh, you do, do you?" laughed Ned. "Well, I think I begin to know who you are," he added, turning a half-convinced, half-inquiring look upon Cousin Ronald.

"Ha! ha! Some little boys think themselves very wise, even when they don't understand a matter at all," returned the voice of the invisible speaker.

"But I do, though," returned Ned; "I know Cousin Ronald and a thing or two about what he can do. But it's fun, anyhow; it seems so real, even if I do know he's doing it."

"And you think I'm your Cousin Ronald, do you? Do I look like that old gent?" asked the voice, seeming to come from within an adjoining stateroom.

"Old gent isn't a nice name to give a real gentleman like our Cousin Ronald," retorted Ned in a tone of disgust, which caused a laugh of amusement from most of those about the table.

"There, my son, that will do now; let us see you finish your supper quietly," said Captain Raymond, and Ned obeyed.

CHAPTER IX

The next morning the weather was such as made the Dolphin's saloon a more attractive place to her passengers than was her deck; so there they all gathered and sat chatting cosily together till at length the children began asking Grandma Elsie for another of her interesting historical stories.

"I think it is Captain Raymond's turn to be narrator now," she said with a smiling glance at him, "and I feel inclined to be one of the audience."

"And I am inclined to be a listener to a story from you, mother," he returned pleasantly; "or if you are unwilling to entertain us in that way this morning, perhaps Cousin Ronald may feel inclined to do so."

"Thanks for the invitation, captain, but I would vastly prefer the rôle of listener," was Mr. Lilburn's response to that, and after a moment's silent consideration the captain said: "As we are now passing through the Gulf of Mexico, some distance south of the States of Alabama and Mississippi, I suppose a few passages from their history may prove interesting and instructive to at least the younger members of my audience. Shall I give them?"

The query seemed addressed to the children, and was promptly replied to by a chorus of expressions of pleasure in the prospect; for all there knew the captain to be an interesting narrator of historical events.

"I shall begin with Alabama, just now the nearer of the two States," he said. "The word Alabama signifies 'Here we rest.' It is an Indian expression. Fernando de Soto was the first white man who ever entered the State. That was in 1540. His coming displeased the Indians who lived there and considered the country their own, therefore they opposed his progress in several battles. He found them more civilized than in other sections of America which he visited. Just above the confluence of the Tombigbee and Alabama rivers they had a place called Maubila, consisting of eighty handsome houses, each large enough to contain a thousand men. Round about them was a high wall, made of immense trunks of trees set deep in the ground and close together, strengthened with cross-timbers and interwoven with large vines.

"De Soto and his men entered the town, and were presently treacherously attacked by ten thousand of the Indians. The Spaniards resisted the attack, and a battle ensued which lasted nine hours, and resulted in the destruction of the town and the killing of six thousand Indians. The Spaniards, too, suffered terribly, lost eighty men, forty-five horses and all their baggage and camp equipage."

"So it was very bad for both armies, wasn't it, papa?" said Ned.

"Yes, it was, indeed," replied his father, "but the Spaniards were the ones most to blame. This country belonged to the Indians; what right had the Spaniards to come here and try to take it from them? Surely, none at all. What presumption it was in the sovereigns of Europe to give to whomsoever they pleased great tracts of land in America to which they themselves had no real right.

"But to go back to my story. The Indians were desperate, and fought the invaders, contesting every rood of the ground from the hour of their landing. And naturally, whenever a Spaniard fell into their hands, they returned cruelty for cruelty; and the Spaniards were very, very cruel to men, women and children; but De Soto grew tired of having the cruelty of his men returned upon them, therefore he invited a powerful Creek chief to meet him for a friendly talk. But the chief scorned the invitation, called the white men by the names they deserved, and gave them warning that he would never cease making war upon them as long as one of their hated race remained in the country. And both he and his followers carried out their threat, resorting to ambush and stealthy surprises, killing scores, whose heads they chopped off and carried on the ends of poles.

"But some of this you have been told before in our talks over the history of Florida.

"De Soto crossed Northern Georgia and Northeastern Alabama to Maubila, where they had that terrific fight of which I have just told you. The following winter was a severe one, passed by the Spaniards in the country of the Chickasaws, around the tributaries of the Yazoo. In the spring a furious engagement took place with the Chickasaws, in which the Spaniards came near being annihilated. In April the forlorn remnant began again tramping through the wilderness, blindly groping for the land where De Soto had been told he would find great quantities of gold.

"In the month of May, 1541, De Soto and his men reached the bank of the Mississippi River, above the mouth of the St. Francis. The men stood a long time, gazing upon it with awe and admiration, for it is one of the mightiest rivers of the world, and they were the first Europeans to see it at any distance above its mouth."

"And did they stop there, papa?" asked Ned.

"No, my son; they were not yet ready to give up their search for gold and for the Pacific Ocean, which they believed was now not far away."

"Didn't know much about geography, did they?" laughed Ned.

"No; scarcely anything of that of this continent," replied his father; "but perhaps my little son is not much wiser now in regard to what was then the condition of what is now this great country of ours. Can you tell him, Grace, what it was at that time?"

"In 1540, papa? A wilderness peopled only by savages and wild beasts. It was not until 1620 that the pilgrims came to Massachusetts. The first settlement in Maryland was not made until 1631. Virginia's first settlers came in 1607. But the French Huguenots planted a colony in South Carolina as early as May, 1562, twenty years later than De Soto's visit to Alabama. Georgia was the last settled of the thirteen original colonies."

"And those thirteen colonies were all there was of our country at the time of the Revolutionary War, weren't they?" asked Elsie Dinsmore.

"Yes," replied the captain; "thirteen colonies at the beginning of that war, thirteen States before it ended.

"But to go back to the story of Alabama. It seems to have been left to the Indians until the spring of 1682, when Robert Cavalier de la Salle descended the Mississippi to its mouth, named the country Louisiana, and took possession of it in the name of the King of France. All the Mississippi valley was then claimed by France, but in 1763 she ceded it to England. West Florida, from 1764 to 1781, included quite a good deal of the present territory of Alabama and Mississippi. In May of 1779 Spain declared war against Great Britain, and the next March the Spanish governor of Louisiana captured Mobile. In 1783 Great Britain ceded to the United States all territory east of the Mississippi, except Florida, which she ceded back to Spain.

"Alabama was at that time almost entirely in the occupation of the Indians. There was a garrison of Spanish troops at Mobile, one at St. Stephen's, on the Tombigbee, and there were trading posts at different points in the South and West. And now the United States bought the whole country west of what is now Georgia to the Mississippi, and in 1817 made it the Mississippi Territory. Fort Stoddard was built near the confluence of the Alabama and Tombigbee. During the War of 1812 with Great Britain there was a great deal of fighting with the Indians of Alabama. The Creeks were the principal tribe, and in 1812 they were stirred up to war by Tecumseh, the celebrated Shawnee warrior. In August they attacked Fort Mimms; the garrison made a desperate resistance, but were overcome, and out of three hundred men, women and children, only seventeen survived the massacre.

"This aroused the adjoining States to action. Generals Jackson, Claiborn, Floyd and Coffee entered the Indian country and defeated the Indians at Talladega, where two hundred and ninety of their warriors were slain. In the same month (November) General Floyd attacked the Creeks on their sacred ground, at Autossee. Four hundred of their houses were burned and two hundred of their warriors killed, among whom were the kings of Autossee and Tallahassee. The last stand of the Creeks was at Horseshoe Bend, where the Indians fought desperately, but were defeated with the loss of nearly six hundred men. The remaining warriors submitted, and in 1814 a treaty of peace was made, and the remainder of the Creeks have removed beyond the Mississippi.

"After that people poured in from Georgia, the two Carolinas, Kentucky, Tennessee and Virginia. The State grew rapidly in wealth and population, so that in 1860 it was the fourth of the South in importance and the second in the amount of cotton produced."

"It was a slave State, wasn't it, papa, and one that seceded in the time of the Civil War?" asked Elsie Raymond.

"Yes; on the 11th of January, 1861, the State seceded from the Union and joined the Southern Confederacy. A sad thing for her, for a great deal of the desperate fighting took place within her borders. The losses in the upper counties were immense, and raiding parties frequently desolated the central ones. Forts Gaines and Morgan, defending the entrance to Mobile Bay, were besieged and taken by the United States forces in 1865, and in the same year the victory of Mobile Bay, the severest naval battle of the war, was won by the national forces under Admiral Farragut."

"But the folks there are not rebs any more, I suppose," remarked Ned in a tone of inquiry.

"No, my son," replied the captain. "I believe the most, if not all, of them are good Union people, now proud and fond of this great country, the United States of America."