CRUISE OF THE AURORA
CHAPTER XXXII.
FROM PASCAGOULA TO POINT OF PINES.
ON the 18th of January we left the camp of fiery
incident and paddled to the little settlement of East
Pascagoula, where we remained only long enough to give
directions about our mail, and then laid a course for
Point of Pines. One of two ways was open to us, either
a passage well out in the Gulf, or a narrow, tortuous
bayou into Grand Bay, across which lay our point of
destination. Owing to the heavy seas outside, we
concluded to take the smoother but more mystifying
inside passage. We were not a little influenced in
this decision by the fact that we had been told we
could find abundance of oysters at the mouth of the
bayou.
"Well, Barnacle," said I, after we had
gone some distance, "this must be the passage;
there is the heap of oyster shells that were to be
left on the port hand, and over there are the dead
pine trees that were to be on the same hand. We
were to turn to the right when within about a
quarter of a mile of them. Now we had better take
this narrow thoroughfare, hadn't we?"
"Blest if I know; there are so many ditches that
I am completely mystified."
"Well, suppose we try this one, at any rate;"
and in we go. "I say, Barnacle, have you got enough
water over there? On this side I have less than six
inches."
"Water? No, I am paddling in the soft, oozy mud.
Guess we had better back out of here the same way
we came in, or we may have to remain where we are
all night."
And back we go, not, however, without much
difficulty and hard work, as we were compelled to
paddle backward, there not being enough water to allow
of our turning the canoes.
We start in on a new ditch.
"Now we have the right one, Doctor," says
Barnacle; "there is plenty of water here."
But as I have my doubts as to its being the "right
one," I wait to see how Barnacle gets along, and am
soon reviling him as he again gets stuck in the mud.
There is a third thoroughfare in sight, and into this
I push the Aurora's bow through some tall, overhanging
grass that lines the edges. Pushing my paddle down, I
fail to reach the bottom, and therefore believe I am
on the proper course to Grand Bay, and calling to
Barnacle that I have found the road, he comes in after
me, and together we paddle on for perhaps a mile, when
we enter a broad lakelet, from which there is no
outlet save that by which we entered. There is nothing
left for us but to return to the main bayou and again
try one of the thoroughfares that we had
abandoned.
Stuck in the Mud.
After a brief consultation we concluded that
we took the right course in the first place, and into
it we again push until we are fast stuck in the mud. I
had noticed, while on the Allegheny, that whenever we
got stuck, Barnacle invariably lighted his pipe and
sucked consolation out of it. One thing is certain; we
are stuck in the mud so fast that we can neither
advance nor retreat, so we must remain where we are
until the tide rises. Why not follow Barnacle's
example, and have a smoke? As the half-burned match
rests on the water that is not more than three inches
deep, I see with joy that it drifts toward the bow of
the canoe.
"Barnacle, I believe the tide is rising,
and before we have smoked out one pipe we will have
water enough to float us."
My assertion is soon verified, and away we go
through the half water, half mud bayou until we come
out on to the broad surface of Grand Bay, across
which, outlined against the evening sky, are the tall
trees on Point of Pines, the only spot for miles where
one may set foot on solid ground. It is now clear
sailing, and the short distance of two miles is soon
crossed. and the tired voyagers are at their evening
meal, which has been well earned.
So close do the trees grow to the water's edge that
a number of them, which have been toppled over by the
washing of the soil from about their roots, are lying
with their branches in the water, and from them we
gather a quantity of fine oysters, thus setting at
rest, to my mind at least, the question, "Do oysters
grow on trees?"
The coast was here an almost unbroken wilderness,
with no habitation for many miles. Fifteen miles to
the southeast, on the broad Gulf, lay Dauphin Island,
and this we must reach before we can cross the broad
entrance to Mobile Bay.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
IN WHICH BARNACLE FINDS DEEP WATER.
THE morning succeeding our arrival at Point of
Pines was one of almost tropical heat, and as we waded
out of the mouth of the bay and hauled the canoes
across the bar, Barnacle spied a school of porpoises
fishing in the shoal waters, and a moment after was
giving them chase, with revolver and shotgun lying
cocked by his side. Not having a fondness for such
sport, I lay, idly drifting with the current,
convulsed with laughter at his ineffectual attempts to
get a shot. There comes one of the black hogs now, his
back exposed above the surface for a moment, and then
disappears. Now Barnacle is going for him. See him
paddle! every stroke causes his canoe to jump as
though some submarine animal had it in tow. But he is
too late. Just as he arrives at the spot where he
thought he had him, the porpoise rises to the surface
and blows, three hundred yards distant. For half an
hour Barnacle vainly endeavors to get a snap shot, and
then gives up the chase in disgust, and says "he
wouldn't shoot one of them if he could."
The whole surface of the Gulf so far as we can see,
is as smooth as a millpond on a quiet summer's day.
Barnacle is in a particularly happy frame of mind on
this brilliantly beautiful morning, and gives vent to
his feelings by singing several sailor "shanties" as
we paddle still to the eastward. No sail is in sight
on the bosom of the sea, but far in the distance we
can just make out a dark object, which I believe to be
a steamer, but which Barnacle thinks is simply a blind
erected by duck shooters. A nearer approach reveals a
small steamer lying at anchor. As we come within
hailing distance we receive an invitation to come on
board, and five minutes later we are on the deck of
the propeller Twilight, of Mobile, Captain Barnes,
master. The captain informs us that in a few minutes
he will start for Dauphin Island, and learning that
the distant island is our destination, kindly invites
us to remain on board, at the same time directing one
of his men to secure the canoes with extra lines, by
which they were dropped far astern, beyond the swell
occasioned by the steamer's propeller. The trip was a
very pleasant one, the rapid motion of the steamer
creating a breeze that was delightful, while we sat on
the deck beneath the shade of an awning. The steamer
was bound for a raft of logs that had drifted on the
sandy shores of the island and been collected by the
wreckers who live there. As we neared the shore a bank
of fog came driving in from seaward, and in less time
than it takes to write it we were so completely
enveloped by it that I would not have known the
whereabouts of the island had it not been for the roar
of the surf as it beat on the opposite shore.
Dauphin Island.
At the earnest solicitation of Captain Barnes
we remained on board all night, he insisting on my
occupying his berth while he lay on the cabin floor.
With the arrival of daylight there was no change in
the fog, but by the time we had finished breakfast it
had thinned a trifle and we could make out the shore
line. Taking the course from the chart, we once more
committed ourselves to the guidance of the boat
compass.
As we paddled along the northern shore of the
island flocks of ducks got up in front of us, and
Barnacle drops a brace of fine fat ones, which we lay
on deck, with the promise that they shall be made into
a stew for our dinner. Some stirring scenes have been
enacted on this low, sandy island.*
=====
*"Here Iberville and his
comrades first planted the lilies of the flag of
Louis le Grand, more than one hundred and eighty
years ago. Some of these adventurers here found a
mound, and on digging into it disclosed a huge heap
of human hones, which called forth the exclamation,
'Oh, quel massacre, and the name 'Isle de Massacre'
was given to this sand heap. A few years later a
permanent settlement was made, and the name of one
of the Bourbon Princes was given to it, and to this
day it is known as Isle Dauphin. It was here that
Cadillac established his court of chivalry and
published edicts prescribing dress and who should
and who should not wear swords. Dauphin Island has
been the scene of attack by Spaniards when it was
in French possession, and by the English when it
belonged to Spain, and by the British since it has
been held by the United states. Many bloody deeds
have been enacted by the islanders, noteworthy that
of one Beasely, who murdered and plundered the
islanders. He was a desperado of the most hardened
stamp. Having murdered a man in the presence of his
wife and children, he was captured by the officers
of a revenue cutter, taken to Mobile, tried and
hanged."
=====
The tall spars of a schooner riding at her anchor
rise out of the fog, and as we approach her we give a
hail, but all is still as death. Now we hear the
crowing of a cock, off to the starboard, and this, if
nothing else, proves that we are near the shore.
According to the chart, we should now be near the
eastern shore of a shallow bay, and not far from the
house of one Doctor Jack Collins, physician, fisherman
and wrecker. I begin to have renewed doubts as to the
trustworthiness of Barnacle's compass, when the fog
lifts and clears away almost as suddenly as it shut
down on us, revealing the tree-covered shore close on
our starboard hand, while directly ahead, not more
than one hundred yards distant, is the beach of Little
Dauphin Island, on which is perched the dilapidated
whitewashed house of the Doctor, who receives us
kindly, having been apprised of our coming through an
article in one of the Mobile papers. After a hearty
dinner with the Doctor, we leave our ducks in the
hands of Mrs. Collins and push on toward Fort Gaines,
which we can see in the distance. In order to reach
the fort we must pass through a very narrow and
shallow channel, known as Pass Drury. Barnacle keeps
to the starboard in approaching it, believing there is
a greater depth of water on that side; but I, with my
usual perverseness, take the port route, and in a few
moments have dashed through the little tumbling surf
at the mouth of the pass and am on the swelling bosom
of Mobile Bay. But Barnacle doesn't come in sight.
What can be the matter? I paddle back a short distance
until I can get a sight through the narrow pass.
Mobile Point.
Oh, there he is, tracking his canoe over the
bar that I fortunately avoided.
"Hi, Barnacle! go a little further to the
left, and you will find more water," I shouted.
He found my words to be true; and as he emerged,
spluttering, from the deep water, I truthfully tell
him that I did not know of that deep hole being
there.
Between Dauphin Island and the main shore opposite
there is an open ocean inlet of three and one-half
miles in width, through which the tide ebbs and flows
with great velocity, and when the wind blows against
these tides a very nasty and dangerous sea is the
consequence. A gentleman at Biloxi had advised me to
cross from Fort Gaines to Mobile Point whenever the
water was smooth enough, be it day or night. Having
made a hurried inspection of the fort and the rotten,
tumble-down building of the U.S.A. Engineer Corps, I
decided, as the waters of the inlet were tranquil, to
start at once for the opposite shore, notwithstanding
the fact that Barnacle seemed reluctant to leave the
hospitality of Mr. Robert Cruse, who is the guardian
of the Engineer Corps barracks. As we pushed from the
shore, directly ahead of us was the "mariner's guide"
shining out from the lofty tower on Mobile Point, and
for it we steadily paddled, now borne on high and anon
carried into the depths of troughs of the smooth seas
which roll in from the broad Atlantic. Landing on the
barren sandy beach, beneath the light tower, I asked
permission at the keeper's quarters to sleep on the
floor of a small woodhouse adjoining, that we might
not be forced to unload the canoes and that we might
make an early start in the morning; but this was
refused, and wearily we betook ourselves back to the
bleak beach, and gathering a mass of wreckage that had
been thrown up by the sea, we had a fire such as I'll
guarantee had not been seen here for many a day.
"Build it big," said Barnacle, "and see if
we cannot warm the hearts of those people in the
lighthouse."
CHAPTER XXXIV.
IN WHICH A MULLET DROPS FROM THE SKY.
AFTER a most comfortable night passed beneath the
shadow of the walls of Fort Morgan, and while we were
busy preparing our breakfast, we received a call from
Doctor George Fowler, Quarantine Officer, and the
telegraph operator. The Doctor very kindly invited us
to his quarters, but as the day promised to be fine,
we declined the invitation with regrets, and at nine
o'clock launched and paddled south for a distance of
two miles, in order to round a sand bar on which the
surf broke in white foam; and as we rise and fall on
the seas, which now have full sweep from the broad
ocean, a school of porpoises put in an appearance, and
apparently take full charge of our craft. Ahead of the
Aurora, about three hundred feet, two of them rise and
blow alternately, while on either side of me, not more
than fifty feet distant, are other pairs. These black
monsters, with their huge dorsal fins cutting the
waters, act as our convoys until we are well to the
eastward of the point, and then they leave us as
quietly as they came. For a distance of thirty miles,
from Mobile Point to the mouth of Perdido River, the
coast is one unbroken wilderness, without a harbor on
the entire stretch of desolate sand. So long as the
wind does not get up strong from off the sea, it would
not be a difficult operation to run the canoes ashore
through the surf; but in the event of a strong wind
and heavy sea from east to southwest, it would be an
extremely dangerous and hazardous undertaking, and
this was brought forcibly to our minds after we have
paddled a distance (as measured on the Coast Survey
chart) of thirteen miles, when the wind came out from
the southeast, and in a few moments so increased as to
become alarming, while the surf beat on the sands with
the noise of thunder. As we were borne aloft on the
huge seas we could see the long line of breaking surf
as it ran along the beach, distributing spume as it
went. Barnacle now hails me:
"Doctor, if we expect to get ashore with
whole boats, we'd better be about it, for if this
wind continues to blow in this way for half an hour
longer, it will send in such a surf that it will be
impossible for us to beach, and we cannot hold out
much longer against it with the paddle."
As we cannot possibly reach the distant harbor
through the heavy sea, I call out,
"All right; if we have to choose between
drowning and having the canoes smashed, I say smash
the canoes."
We must use all our skill that the canoes may not
broach to and roll over. If they do, all is lost, and
we may then serve as sweet morsels for the man-eating
sharks. Barnacle is ready before I am, and starts on
his journey shoreward. As he is borne on the bleak
mountain of water which he has chosen to go in on, I
get a full view of him, but an instant later he is
lost to my sight, as I am dropped into the trough
between two immense seas.
Beaching in a Gale.
As I am borne aloft again I catch a glimpse
-- no more -- of the stern of his canoe pointing
heavenward as she goes down the steep incline of the
sea. An instant more, and I am again surrounded by
walls of water. Again I am borne toward the gathering
clouds, when I am greeted with a sight of Barnacle
standing on the beach, victorious over the perils that
are before me. The moment for me to start in has
arrived, and I am caught by the rolling mountain of
water, while I ply my paddle with all the vigor of my
strong arms. Ahead of me the seas are breaking over
one another and lashing themselves into a white,
foaming fury. On, on I go, now with the velocity of
the wind; and as the bow of my bonny craft pitches
down, I brace myself for the final plunge, much as one
would do on a plunging horse. An instant later I feel
her keel grate on the sand, when overboard I go and
seize her by the bow, while I dig my toes into the
hard sand in order to resist the strength of the
receding surf, and before Barnacle can reach me have
the idol of my heart drawn well up on the beach,
beyond the reach of Neptune's dark horses, now shaking
their snowy manes with greater rage as the wind
increases in fury.
With the canoes safely placed at the base of the
range of high sand hills which for centuries have been
builded and rebuilded by the action of storm and wave,
I ascended to the summit of one of the sand dunes and
discovered at its opposite base a most picturesque
miniature forest of pin oak trees little more than
bushes in height, beneath which is a thick mat of gray
moss. What better site could one want for a camp?
While I am off along the beach in search of such
wreckage as can be used for firewood, Barnacle pitches
the tent, and together we hustle the dunnage beneath
the shelter, and are prepared for the storm which is
still rolling up, with savage crashes of thunder,
while the great seas are pounding on the beach with a
roar that is so deafening as to cause us to shout our
conversation into one another's ears. Notwithstanding
the storm comes up in its awful majesty, we have time
to prepare a simple meal, which we enjoy as the
skirmishing raindrops come pattering down through the
thick canopy of green leaves and drop noiselessly on
the elastic moss beneath. With a crash as though a
hundred cannon had burst simultaneously the storm is
upon us, with a deluge of rain, driven by a fierce
wind which howls through the semi tropical forest and
then bounds to the sea, to mingle its fury with the
wild, lashing waters which are illuminated by the
almost incessant flashes of forked lightning. For
hours its fury is unabated, and while at its height I
protect myself with oilskins and go to the top of the
sand dune, and from there witness a scene that is
grand beyond description. Night has come on, and we
can see nothing a few yards distant, save when the
flashes of quivering lightning give momentary
illumination to boiling, foam-crested mountains of
water.
Storm Bound.
During the seconds of light I catch a glimpse
of a vessel far off on the heaving waters, from whose
white sails the flashes of electricity are reflected
as she bounds majestically through the phosphorescent
sea.
As the weary, smoke-begrimed soldier falls asleep
on the field of battle, amid the roar of artillery and
crashes of musketry, we yield to nature's demands, and
fall asleep while yet the storm rages and the ever
restless sea beats on the shore. The wild night was
followed by a morning of perfect brilliancy, but old
ocean still rolled in and beat with unrelenting force,
precluding the possibility of our launching. The day
proved to be one of uncomfortable closeness until
three o'clock, when another electric storm arose, and
the rain descended as only in warm climates. We had
run short of water, so this rain was a blessing. We
had erected an awning over our fire to protect it from
being drowned out, and beneath this, where the water
ran off, we placed out tins and water-jugs, which in a
few moments were filled with a supply of the finest
water, sufficient to last us two or three days. The
following morning, although a fog came rolling across
the land from Bonsecours Bay, we launched through the
surf, which had now become little more than a ripple,
and keeping close in shore, found we could proceed to
the eastward without risk of being drawn to sea by the
offshore current. When we had made eight miles the
wind hauled out of the north into the southwest, and
soon the sea was tossing our craft about as if they
had been corks. Now for a rest from the weariness of
paddling, and I prepare to make sail, when I am hailed
by Barnacle -- always astern -- who says he has left
his mast at Pascagoula. Cruel fate! I cannot go on and
leave the Comfort, therefore I must submit to the
inevitable and again resume the paddle. The day proves
to be a wearisome one. Although the seas roll and
carry us on high and then into the depths, there is no
heavy break, and our decks are scarcely wet save by a
little flying spray. All about us there is a flock of
pelicans, now skimming the surface of the blue waters,
now taking their awkward flight skyward, and as their
keen eye detects the whereabouts of a fish, they make
their ungainly descent, striking the water "all of a
heap." One, after rising from the water with pouch
distended, flew directly over us, when a well-directed
shot brought him, wounded, to the water. Paddling
quickly up to him, I dealt him a blow on the head with
my mast, and put him out of pain. The body being too
large for me to care for, I cut the head off below the
junction of the pouch with the neck. As I did so, I
discovered that the pouch contained a living fish, and
pulled out a mullet of twelve inches in length, which
Barnacle took possession of and served for supper.
During the evening I prepared the head of the pelican,
and as I write it adorns the bookcase in my den.
Again, as the sun sinks into the west, we prepare
for a trip through the surf. It is mere child's play
now compared with the last beaching process, and we go
in together and land on the smooth sands without so
much as getting a drop of water aboard.
Asleep in the Sea
Sand.
The day has been an exhausting one, and we
seek our beds in the soft sand at an early hour, and
pass the night in alternate snoring and growling.
CHAPTER XXXV.
IN WHICH THE AURORA AND THE COMFORT DIP BELOW THE
HORIZON.
DAYLIGHT discovered old ocean as smooth as a
millpond, and as it is but ten miles to the mouth of
the Perdido River, where we can gain the shelter of
Bayou de John and be safe from the dangers of the
outside passage, we hurriedly stow the canoes, and
with a push are launched on the briny deep for the
last time on this cruise. Up from the southeast, at
the rising of the sun, came a gentle breeze which, as
the morning advanced, increased in force until quite a
respectable sea was kicked up, rolling in white foam
over the bar at the entrance to our haven of safety,
which we can now distinctly see ahead of us. There are
two ways to reach the broad entrance to Pensacola Bay,
either to continue on our course fifteen miles,
keeping a couple of miles off shore to avoid the break
of the sea, or to cross the bar at the mouth of the
Perdido and gain the smooth waters of the bayou, and
by crossing the latter reach a portage of
three-quarters of a mile into Big Lagoon, whence is an
uninterrupted route to the ancient city of
Pensacola.
Between Alabama and
Florida.
The fear of becoming exhausted after the long
paddle we have already had, should a stronger wind and
a heavier sea come on, decides us to attempt the
passage over the bar. Again we watch for the big sea,
and with its approach start toward the land, each man
acting as his own pilot; and after a brief time,
during which the angry waters hiss and foam about the
devoted craft, threatening to submerge her and drown
her skipper, we float tranquilly on the dark waters of
the stream that divides the States of Alabama and
Florida. Ere the bright sun has reached the meridian
we have left astern of us the roar of the surf and the
dark waters which flow from the cypress swamps of the
interior, and pass into the Bayou de John, on the
eastern shores of which is the commencement of the
portage. We walk across the neck of low, sandy,
dwarf-pine covered land and pick out our trail.
Transporting the heaviest articles of our dunnage to a
point half way across, we build our camp and prepare
supper, to which we do hearty justice, as we have
eaten nothing since very early morning.
The meal over, we go back to the canoes, and I haul
out from the stern compartment of the Aurora the
little watch tackle that has lain unused while we have
floated over so many hundreds of miles. It is now of
inestimable value to us; with it we can haul the
canoes over the portage without unloading them.
Cheerily we go at our work. First one canoe is drawn a
few hundred feet, and then we go back and perform a
like service for the other. So smoothly does our
rigging work that we are congratulating ourselves on
the possibility of completing our task before we turn
in for the night; but all of a sudden our hopes are
wrecked by the breaking of a sheave in one of the
blocks, and as we have nothing at hand with which to
repair it, we are forced to cast about for other means
of completing the portage. Each man taking from his
canoe all that he can carry on his shoulders,
transports it to the camp, and we turn in for a
night's rest. By two o'clock of the following day we
have dragged the canoes to the shore of Big Lagoon,
transported and stowed all the dunnage, and are en
route to the broad bay, seven miles distant, which we
reach as the sunset gun booms out from the parapet of
the old Spanish Fort Barancas, and we make our camp on
the glistening sands beneath the tall tower, which
every minute, from sunset to sunrise, flashes out its
warning to the mariner.
Barnacle succeeds in finding a piece of broken spar
on the beach, from which he whittles a mast for the
Comfort, and on the morning of the 3d day of February,
with a stiff breeze from the east, we lay our course
for the harbor of Pensacola, Fla., seven miles
distant. Gaily we scud along under full sail, each
skipper hanging well out to windward, taking a ducking
now and then as a huge sea comes rolling along. In
mid-bay we meet a large vessel with the flag of Russia
flying in the breeze, and we are evidently in her
course, as she bears away a point in order that she
may not run down the wee craft and drown the
skippers.
We Sail Grandly Into
Port.
On we go, past the naval station, where more
than one glass is brought to bear on us by the crowd
of officers and men, and then through the fleet of
vessels at the anchorage, whose crews cheer us as we
glide by and run up to the wharf, where kind friends
receive us.
..
© 2000 Craig O'Donnell
May not be reproduced without my
permission.
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