Spirit of Jefferson. [volume] (Charles Town, Va. [W. Va.]) 1844-1948, 1919-12-16


ior; Tor presently we came upon
pretty little church, with schoolhouse
near Dy, while from the roof Of an adj
1acent building we were hailed BY
pieasant-faced white man, busy with
some shingling.
II was the good priest Of the little
place, Father Serapion. disguised in
overalls and the honest CRIME of his
iaDor; like true Benedictine. pray
Ing with his strong and skillful hands.
rather Serapion and Charlie were
old friends, and Charlie took. occasion
70 confide In him with regard to To
pas, and, to his huge delight, discov-
ered That a man answering very close
~ to his description had dropped In
there with large sponger two days
before. He had only stopped long
enough to buy rum at the little store
near the landing and had been off
again through the blight, sailing west.
Father Seraplon, who knew Charlie
WeDster's shooting ground, promised
TO send a swift messenger should any
thing further Of interest to us come
TO his knowledge within the next week
or so.
linen we sailed away from Behring's
point, due west through the North
blight. Morning found us sailing
through q maze of low-lying desert is
lands of bewildering sameness of
shape and size, with practically MOTH
Ing to distinguish one from another.
We had hoped to reach our camp,
out on the other side of the island,
that evening, but that lodging the.
shoals and sticking in the mud had
considerably delayed US. Besides,
though Charlie and the captain both
hated to admit it, we had lost our
way. So night began to fall and, as
there Is no sailing in such waters at
night, we once more cast anchor I'M
der gloomy, black shape of land. ex-
ceedingly lonesome and forgotten
looking, which we agreed to call Lit
tie Wood cay"-till morning.
Soon all were asleep except Sailor
and me. lay awake for long time
watching the square yard of stars that
shone down through the hatch In our
cabin ceiling like little window look
ing into eternity, while the waters lap
ped and Tapped outside. and the night
talked strangely to itself. Next morn
ing Charlie and the captain were
forced to own up that the island, dis
covered to the day, was not Little
Wood cay. No humiliation goes deep
er with a sailing man than having to
ask his way. Besides, who was there
to ask in that solitude? Doubtless a
cormorant flying overhead knew it,
but no one thought to ask him.
However, we were in luck, for, after
sailing about a bit, we came upon two
lonely negroes standing up in their
boats and thrusting long poles into the
water. They were sponging-most
melancholy of occupations-and they
looked forlorn enough in the still
dawn. But they had smile for our
plight. 1t was evidently a good joke
to have mistaken Sapodilla cay for
Little Wood cay. OF course we should
have gone-"so." And 80" we pres
emily went, not without rewarding
them for their information with two
generous drinks Of old Jamaica rum.
One of our reasons for seeking Lit
tie Wood cay, which 1t proved had
been close all the time, was that 1t is
one of the few Gays where one can get
fresh water. "Good water here" says
the chart. We wanted to refill some
of our Jars. and so we landed there,
glad to stretch our legs, while old Tom
cooked our breakfast On the beach, I'm.
der a sapodilla tree.
Now that we knew where we were
It was clear, but by no means careless
, sailing to our camp. We were making
, for what is known as the Wide Open
ing, q sort of estuary into which 9
listless stream or two crawl through
mangrove bushes from the interior
swamps.
, Here, a short distance from the
bank, on some slightly ascending
rocky ground, under the spreading
shade of something like stretch o.
woodland, Charlie, several years ago
had built rough log shanty for hi
camp-one of two or three camps III
had thus scattered for himself up ant
!, dewn the "out islands," where nearl!
all the land is no mans, and so ever.
, mans land. The particular camp a
which we now arrived he had not Wis
tied for a long time.
Here Tom brought us our Dime
and the dark began to settle dow
upon us, thrillingly lonely, and full o
!. strange, desolate cries of night crea
: turaS from the mangrOve SwampS tina