Raftmates: A Story of the Great River

Sumner Rankin was ready, and with a light heart he stepped into his beloved craft. Then, with vigorous strokes of his double-bladed paddle, he shot away towards the river, where he was to remain until he could persuade a boat of some kind to come to the relief of his fellow-sufferers.

In spite of the sunlight and their hopes of rescue, the long hours passed slowly aboard the Venture. There was little to do, and nothing to eat, though Solon did succeed in making a pot of coffee, which they drank without sugar or milk. In one respect, however, it was the most successful day of the Venture's entire cruise; for during those tedious hours Billy Brackett and Winn accomplished the object for which it had been undertaken. They sold the raft. In gazing over his flooded plantation and planning for its future, Mr. Manton realized that with the subsidence of the waters he would have immediate use for a large quantity of lumber.

"Why not buy ours?" suggested Winn.

"Why not?" answered Mr. Manton.

Five minutes later the bargain was completed that transferred the ownership of the Venture, and crowned Major Caspar's undertaking with success. It was such a satisfactory arrangement that they only wondered they had not thought of it before.

"Here the lumber is, just where I want it, and not a cent of freight to pay," said Mr. Manton.

"Now you and I can get back to Caspar's Mill, and help your father out with that contract; and it is high time we were there too," said Billy Brackett to Winn. "Hello! What's this? The Psyche coming back again? If it is, young Rankin must be having a fit, for he's black in the face."

"It's Quorum!" shouted Worth. "In the Cupid, too! Of all things, that is the very last I should ever have expected to see!"

Sure enough, it was the faithful negro progressing slowly and with such awkwardness that the anxious spectators expected to see him upset at each moment. Nevertheless, he finally succeeded in reaching the raft; and as they hauled him aboard he gasped, with thankfulness,

"Dat de seckon time dish yer nigger ebber bin in one ob dem ar cooners, an' him hope he be good an' daid befo' him ebber sperimentin' wif um agen!"

Quorum had come from the great house, where the Cupid was the sole craft to be had. It was only after hours of persuasion and semi-starvation that he had been induced by the other refugees to make the trip to the raft, which they had discovered soon after daylight. He described a pitiful state of affairs as existing among the hungry throng he had just left, and declared that another day without food would witness great suffering in the crowded house.

Even as he related his story, those gathered about him were startled by the shrill note of a steam-whistle coming from the direction of the river. Sumner had found relief, and was bringing it to them.

During the hours that passed so slowly on the raft, the brave little Psyche had cruised here and there over the broad Mississippi sea, now hailing some boat that refused to stop, and then chasing another that it failed to overtake. Finally, late in the afternoon, Sumner discovered a trail of black smoke coming up-stream and towards him. As he anxiously watched it, trying to decide which way he should go to head it off, he discovered a white banner with a scarlet cross flying out cheerily just beneath the trail of smoke. Then he knew that help was at hand, and no matter what other boats might do, that one would stop at his signal.

As it drew near, he was amazed to see that instead of a river steamer, such as he had expected, the red-cross boat was a fine sea-going yacht; and as she came dashing towards him, her sharp stem cleaving the brown waters like a knife, her shining black hull, varnished houses, polished metal, and plate-glass flashing in the light of the setting sun, this sailor son of a sailor father thought her the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She slowed down at his signal, and in another minute he was alongside.

A line was flung to him, and making it fast to the Psyche's painter, he clambered up a ladder that had been dropped from the gangway. As he reached the deck, a fine-looking young fellow, apparently but little older than himself, and wearing a natty yachting uniform, stepped forward to meet him.

Sumner briefly explained his errand, and pointing to the red-cross flag at the foremast-head, added that he believed aid might be expected from those who sailed under it.

"Indeed it may," responded the other, heartily; "and our present business is to discover just such cases as you describe. Although the Merab is, as you see, a private yacht, in which we happened to put into New Orleans during a winter cruise to the southward, she is at present in the service of the Red Cross Society, of which I am a member, and devoted to the relief of sufferers by this awful flood. May I ask your name? Mine is Coffin—Tristram Coffin; though I am better known as Breeze McCloud, and that of my friend (here he turned to another young man, also in navy blue) is Mr. Wolfe Brady."

Half an hour later the beautiful Merab lay at anchor as near the stranded raft as it was safe to venture, and its occupants were being transferred to her hospitable deck by one of her boats. Another boat, laden with provisions, was on its way to the starving refugees in the great house.

The young owner of the Merab insisted that all those who came from the raft should be his guests, at least for that night.

The invitation was accepted as promptly and heartily as it had been given, and soon afterwards two very hungry but very merry parties sat down to bountiful dinners in two entirely distinct parts of the yacht.

Along the mess-table of the galley—or the "camboose," as the yacht's cook insisted upon calling it—were ranged three gentlemen of color, each of whom treated his companions with the greatest deference, though at the same time believing himself to be just a little better posted in culinary matters than either of the others.

"Dish yer wha' I calls a mighty scrumptious repas'," exclaimed Solon, after a long silence devoted to appeasing the pangs of his hunger. "But fo' de true ole-time cookin' gib me de Moss Back kitchin befo' de wah."

"I specs dat ar' berry good in hits way," remarked Quorum; "same time I hain't nebber eat nuffin kin compare wif de cookin' er dem Seminyole Injuns what libs in de Ebberglades. Dat's whar I takin my lesson."

"Sho, gen'l'muns! 'pears to me lak you don't nebber go on er deep-sea v'yge whar you gets de genuwine joe-flogger, an' de plum-duff, an' sich like," said Nimbus, the yacht's cook. "Ef you had, you wouldn' talk."

In the luminous after-saloon the other party was seated at a table white with snowy damask, and gleaming with silver, which was at once the pride and care of old Mateo, the Portuguese steward.

It was a party so overflowing with merriment and laughter, jokes and stories, that from one end of the table the young owner of the yacht was moved to call to his friend at the other,

"I say, Wolfe, this reminds me of the mess aboard the old Fish Hawk, when we were 'Dorymates' together off Iceland."

"It reminds me," said Glen Elting, "of the jolly mess of the Second Division, when Billy Brackett and Binney and I were 'Campmates' together in New Mexico."

Said Sumner Rankin, "It reminds me of the cabin mess of the Transit, when we went 'Canoemates' together, through the Everglades. Eh, Worth?"

"While I," chimed in Winn Caspar, "am reminded of the happy mess-table of the good ship Venture, on which we 'Raftmates' have just floated for more than a thousand miles down the great river."

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Manton, rising, and holding high a glass filled with amber-colored river-water, "as I seem to have become a shipmate of Dorymates, Campmates, Canoemates, and Raftmates, I am moved to propose a toast. It is, 'Long life and prosperity, health and happiness, now and forever, to all true mates.'"

1

See Campmates, by the same Author.