Wakulla | Page 7

the other, or
port side, had been fitted up, by the thoughtful kindness of Uncle
Christopher, for the Elmers--one for Mrs. Elmer and Ruth, and the

other for Mark and his father.
"Ain't they perfectly lovely?" exclaimed Ruth. "Did you ever see such
cunning little beds? They wouldn't be much too big for Edna May's
largest doll."
"You mustn't call them 'beds,' Ruth; the right name is berths," said
Mark, with the air of a boy to whom sea terms were familiar.
"I don't care," answered his sister; "they are beds for all that, and have
got pillows and sheets and counterpanes, just like the beds at home."
Mr. Elmer found that his furniture, and the various packages of tools
intended for their Southern home, were all safe on board the schooner
and stowed down in the hold, and he soon had the trunks from the
station and the bags from the hotel brought down in a wagon.
The captain said they had better spend the night on board, as he wanted
to be off by daylight, and they might as well get to feeling at home
before they started. They thought so too; and so, after a walk through
the city, where, among other curious sights, they saw a post-office built
on a bridge, they returned to the Nancy Bell for supper.
Poor Mr. Elmer, exhausted by the unusual exertions of the day, lay
awake and coughed most of the night, but the children slept like tops.
When Mark did wake he forgot where he was, and in trying to sit up
and look around, bumped his head against the low ceiling of his berth.
Daylight was streaming in at the round glass dead-eye that served as a
window, and to Mark's great surprise he felt that the schooner was
moving. Slipping down from his berth, and quietly dressing himself, so
as not to disturb his father, he hurried on deck, where he was greeted by
"Captain Li," who told him he had come just in time to see something
interesting.
The Nancy Bell was in tow of a little puffing steam-tug, and was
already some miles from Bangor down the Penobscot River. The
clouds of steam rising into the cold air from the surface of the warmer

water were tinged with gold by the newly-risen sun. A heavy frost
rested on the spruces and balsams that fringed the banks of the river,
and as the sunlight struck one twig after another, it covered them with
millions of points like diamonds. Many cakes of ice were floating in
the river, showing that its navigation would soon be closed for the
winter.
To one of these cakes of ice, towards which a boat from the schooner
was making its way, the captain directed Mark's attention. On this cake,
which was about as large as a dinner- table, stood a man anxiously
watching the approach of the boat.
"What I can't understand," said the captain, "is where he ever found a
cake of ice at this time of year strong enough to bear him up."
"Who is he? How did he get there, and what is he doing?" asked Mark,
greatly excited.
"Who he is, and how he got there, are more than I know," answered
"Captain Li." "What he is doing, is waiting to be taken off. The men on
the tug sighted him just before you came on deck, and sung out to me
to send a boat for him. It's a mercy we didn't come along an hour
sooner, or we never would have seen him through the mist."
"You mean we would have missed him," said Mark, who, even upon so
serious an occasion, could not resist the temptation to make a pun.
By this time the boat had rescued the man from his unpleasant position,
and was returning with him on board. Before it reached the schooner
Mark rushed down into the cabin and called to his parents and Ruth to
hurry on deck. As they were already up and nearly dressed, they did so,
and reached it in time to see the stranger helped from the boat and up
the side of the vessel.
He was so exhausted that he was taken into the cabin, rolled in warm
blankets, and given restoratives and hot drinks before he was
questioned in regard to his adventure.

Meantime the schooner was again slipping rapidly down the broad river,
and Mark, who remained on deck with his father, questioned him about
the "river's breath," as he called the clouds of steam that arose from it.
"That's exactly what it is, the 'river's breath,'" said Mr. Elmer. "Warm
air is lighter than cold, and consequently always rises; and the warm,
damp air rising from the surface of the river into the cold air