The Rudder Grangers Abroad | Page 2

see the work going on. The business in which the
Paying Teller was now engaged was the writing of his journal, and his
wife held a pencil in her kidded fingers and a little blank-book on her
knees.
This was our first day upon the river.
"Where are we?" asked Euphemia. "I know we are on the Indian River,
but where is the Indian River?"
"It is here," I said.

"But where is here?" reiterated Euphemia.
"There are only three places in the world," said the teacher, looking up
from her book,--"here, there, and we don't know where. Every spot on
earth is in one or the other of those three places."
"As far as I am concerned," said Euphemia, "the Indian River is in the
last place."
"Then we must hasten to take it out," said the teacher, and she dived
into the cabin, soon reappearing with a folding map of Florida. "Here,"
she said, "do you see that wide river running along part of the Atlantic
coast of the State, and extending down as far as Jupiter Inlet? That is
Indian River, and we are on it. Its chief characteristics are that it is not a
river, but an arm of the sea, and that it is full of fish."
"It seems to me to be so full," said I, "that there is not room for them
all--that is, if we are to judge by the way the mullet jump out."
"I think," said the teacher, making a spot with her pencil on the map,
"that just now we are about here."
"It is the first time," said Euphemia, "that I ever looked upon an
unknown region on the map, and felt I was there."
Our plans for travel and living were very simple. We had provided
ourselves on starting with provisions for several weeks, and while on
the river we cooked and ate on board our little vessel. When we
reached Jupiter Inlet we intended to go into camp. Every night we
anchored near the shore. Euphemia and I occupied the cabin of the boat;
a tent was pitched on shore for the Teller and his wife; there was
another tent for the captain and his boy, and this was shared by the
contemplative young man.
Our second night on the river was tinged with incident. We had come
to anchor near a small settlement, and our craft had been moored to a
rude wharf. About the middle of the night a wind-storm arose, and
Euphemia and I were awakened by the bumping of the boat against the

wharf-posts. Through the open end of the cabin I could see that the
night was very dark, and I began to consider the question whether or
not it would be necessary for me to get up, much preferring, however,
that the wind should go down. Before I had made up my mind we heard
a step on the cabin above us, and then a quick and hurried tramping. I
put my head out of the little window by me, and cried--
"Who's there?"
The voice of the boatman replied out of the darkness:--
"She'll bump herself to pieces against this pier! I'm going to tow you
out into the stream." And so he cast us loose, and getting into the little
boat which was fastened to our stern, and always followed us as a colt
its mother, he towed us far out into the stream. There he anchored us,
and rowed away. The bumps now ceased, but the wind still blew
violently, the waves ran high, and the yacht continually wobbled up
and down, tugging and jerking at her anchor. Neither of us was
frightened, but we could not sleep.
"I know nothing can happen," said Euphemia, "for he would not have
left us here if everything had not been all right, but one might as well
try to sleep in a corn-popper as in this bed."
After a while the violent motion ceased, and there was nothing but a
gentle surging up and down.
"I am so glad the wind has lulled," said Euphemia, from the other side
of the centre-board partition which partially divided the cabin.
Although I could still hear the wind blowing strongly outside, I too was
glad that its force had diminished so far that we felt no more the violent
jerking that had disturbed us, and I soon fell asleep.
In the morning, when I awoke, I saw that the sun was shining brightly,
and that a large sea-grape bush was hanging over our stern. I sprang out
of bed, and found that we had run, stern foremost, upon a sandy beach.
About forty feet away, upon the shore, stood two 'possums, gazing with

white, triangular faces upon our stranded craft. Except these, and some
ducks