Held in the everglades

Front matter

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Chapter I

N ovember came, and with November came the pelicans. In early March they had left their island homes, and in their untiring wanderings had drifted far apart; they had sailed over the measureless waters of the Caribbean Sea, they had dipped and fished along the weeded shoals of the Great Bahama Banks, and they had sought the deep recesses of wooded shores far up the Amazon River. All at once they were seized by a sudden instinct which impelled them to turn to their breeding place among the Ten Thousand Islands on the southwestern shore of Florida. 9

They came singly and in groups. The first arrivals took possession of the abandoned nests of last year among the low mangrove trees; then every available space along the shores of the island was occupied. True, there were other islands, thousands of islands, near by, some of them with larger and taller mangroves; but to these not a pelican went. This single island was their nesting place, and to it the entire tribe flocked.

What sedate and mannerly creatures they were. There was no noise of greeting, as with the coots and red-winged blackbirds. They paraded along the shore and over the island, calmly surveying the place; and then as if satisfied that all was right they nestled down upon the limbs of the mangrove or upon the weeds and grass. They were graceful flyers as they came sailing in from over the Gulf of Mexico or the channels among the many islands. Measuring seven feet from tip to tip, they rivaled the bald-headed eagle in their mastery of the air; but now that they were on the firm land they were awkward birds, and their gravity and sedateness made them somewhat ridiculous. With their short tails and long bills it would seem that they were overbalanced and tended to a somersault. They lost no time in preparing their primitive nests of sticks and weeds. Often the nests were so close that the occupants touched their great bills and wings as they settled down.

In past years, the coming of the pelicans had been of interest to the Reed family; but the novelty had worn off. Mr. Reed simply looked towards the island and remarked to his wife that the pelicans were back. He promised to take the children over to the island when the day’s work was over.

Just then every member of the family was needed. The early winter garden had been a great success, and Mr. Reed must hurry his produce to the markets. The new crop of potatoes would bring a fancy price in New York and Chicago; and there would be ready sale for the tomatoes, cucumbers and beans in every city of the North.

As labor was scarce the Reeds did their own work. Even the children could help to pull the vegetables and carry them to the crates. When a canoe load was ready the farmer rowed over to the dock, from which a small steamer took the produce to Fort Key, and express trains rushed the output to the markets.

Everybody seemed to work with a heart except Phil. Mary and Elizabeth and Isabel and Marcella carried little baskets to the crates; Benjamin, aged four, imagined that he was helping, and even the baby Josephine cooed with quiet delight under the shade of a live oak tree. While father and mother labored all day in the sun, which was hot at noon, Phil had to be reminded several times that this was one of the busy seasons of the year and that delay in getting the produce to market meant serious loss. But Phil much to the distress of his foster parents, did not take the admonitions to heart.

Early in the afternoon the boy managed to slip away towards one corner of the garden; and before the family were aware of his departure he was rowing towards Pelican Island.

No one, in fact, could find serious fault with the curiosity of the boy. On that low and swampy island, where in the morning there was not a bird to be seen, now literally thousands of monster pelicans were marching around in solemn silence. Some one had remarked that it was time for them to settle on the island. This Phil had heard, but he never for a moment imagined that so many pelicans could be found in all the world of birddom.

“Where has that boy gone?” asked Mr. Reed who was the first to notice his absence.

“Upon my word, if he isn’t rowing over to the island,” remarked the wife as she pointed towards the fugitive.

“He hasn’t done as much work to-day as one of the girls,” said the husband.

“He may do better later,” put in the wife.

“He’s a lazy, lazy, boy; and I just ain’t goin to work either,” said Elizabeth, the second oldest girl, putting down her basket.

Mary, the eldest, and little Isabel and Marcella, who had done heroic work all day long, now joined in the general strike; Benjamin dropped the one potato which he was carrying, and even the baby under the tree began to cry.

“That boy will work to-morrow and all day to-morrow, or he’ll never again sleep in our house,” were the emphatic words of Mr. Thomas Reed.

“Let us give him a chance; he is young,” pleaded the wife.

“He has had his chance, and the last he’ll get!”

“Will you send him back to the orphan asylum?”

“Yes, and I’ll put him on the first car.”

“I had hoped that we would make a man of him.”

“It isn’t in him! I saw that the first week he was with us.”

“We have no charge to make against him.”

“Suppose our own child disobeyed us, would we'overlook it?” asked the wife.

Then there was silence. “We’ll do the work without him,” said the husband, v/ho was the first to speak. “I thought that we would have some one who could help us, and at the same time be a member of the family. But I have lost hope in this boy.”

“I heard him tell the children that he was going to run away; if we are too hard on him he may carry out his threat,” urged the wife.

“Yes, he said he was going on the lumber boat,” put in Elizabeth.

“So much the better,” affirmed Mr. Reed. “So much the better. We will save the price of his ticket back to Brooklyn.”

Soon the parents were at work, and the children imitating their good example, resumed their small tasks.

Unaware of the comments passed upon him Phil rowed slowly towards the island. He was surprised to find that the big, sedate birds were in no way frightened at his approach. But while they seemed to ignore his coming, scores of them were on guard ready to give the alarm. What monster birds they were! The boy had never dreamed that birds grew so large. And the yellow sack that hung beneath each one’s bill! Why the pelicans could almost swallow a little boy! Phil Reed was frightened. He crouched in the canoe as one of the largest of the pelicans darted into the water quite close to him. The boy thought at first that he was the object of attack; but into the water went the bird with a splash, to come out again with a fish six inches long.

Then a curious thing happened. A little sea-gull came sailing in, lit on the pelican’s head, and reaching over took the tail of the fish in its bill. The gull had evidently played tricks upon pelicans before; for it watched its chance and, when the pelican opened its mouth to swallow the fish, sailed away, with the prize. Funniest of all, the pelican did not even look around to see what had become of its expected meal; it made no noise and no protest, but simply flew away to the island to join its companions.

Phil became courageous. If the pelican would not fight for its fish and would allow a little sea-gull to rob it, surely a big boy would be safe among such birds. He decided to land. The canoe came slowly towards the shore, and still not a pelican stirred. He could almost hit the nearest one with his oar. At close view they seemed ungainly birds with tails ridiculously small and bills ridiculously large; but those overhead were masters of flying, and sailed in graceful curves, sometimes alone and sometimes beating time with a leader.

The boy stepped out on the sand, and still the pelicans did not stir. Then the oar fell from his hand and struck the canoe with a sharp note; all at once the entire flock took to flight and as their great wings beat the air it was like the blast of the tropical storms. The boy leaped to his canoe in fright and bewilderment. The whole island seemed to rise up with the vast army of winged monsters.

When the noise subsided, Phil Reed was standing in the prow of his boat on a desert island.

CHAPTER II “T}ig birds,” came a voice from behind

-13 Phil Reed turned and saw a Seminole Indian.

“Gee!” cried the lad catching his breath, “I thought that the whole island was flying away.”

“Would y-o-u like to fly away?” asked the Indian, with a prolonged emphasis on y-o-u.

“I would like to get out of this place,” acknowledged Phil, “for they make me work too hard.”

“Then come with me.”

“Where?”

“To the Everglades.”

The eyes of the boy opened with an expression of surprise and delight.

“How long will we stay?” he asked.

“We’ll live there.”

“All the time.”

“Yes, or as long as you wish.”

The appearance of the Indian was no surprise to the boy, for the Seminoles came and went at times among the islands. They were peaceful neighbors, saluting with a grunt as they passed silently along. But for the first time Phil saw one in a white man’s canoe, for they invariably used their own which were cut out of the log of a cypress-tree. However, he thought little of this, for the Indians were fast introducing the dress and customs of their former enemies.

“And I won’t have to work?” asked the boy as he looked across the water and saw the Reed family laboring in the truck garden.

“No work!” came the reply.

“But what will we live on?”

“Plenty fish, plenty birds, custard apples, palmetto cabbage.”

Phil did not pause to consider that custard apples would not be ripe until the following August, and that palmetto cabbage could not be obtained until late in spring; nor did he think of the rather uninviting dish of fish and birds every day and every meal of the day, even if the fish could be caught and the birds killed.

He had heard of the Everglades as a wondrous, secret place where only Indians lived. He knew that Indians worked little and yet managed to survive. It was just such a life as appealed to him; besides he feared that a reprimand, if not a punishment, awaited him on his return.

“When can I go with you?” he asked of the Indian.

“Go now, right now.”

Again the boy looked across the water where the Reeds were working.

“What ’ll I do with this canoe?"' he asked.

“Mr. Reed has another one, he can come and get it.”

“Suppose they catch me.”

“No catch an Indian.”

“But my clothes?”

“I’ll make Indian clothes.”

Again the boy looked across the bay and saw the Reeds at work. They had been kind to him. If his labor was hard, Mr. Reed always set him the example; his own parents could not have been kinder. Then the little girls had become so kind and lovable that they were like sisters to him. At the Brooklyn Orphan Asylum one thing had been repeated to the boys over and over again. They should not run away from the family that adopted them!

“Come for a short ride,” said the Indian who noticed that there was a struggle in the boy’s mind.

“Will you bring me back again?”

“I will, just as soon as you wish.”

“Honest Injun?”

“Honest Injun! ejaculated the Seminole. “Honest Injun,” he laughed, for he recognized this expression common to small boys. “Yes,” he continued, “I am an honest Indian. Seminoles always keep their word. Jump in and see how you like my canoe!”

As Phil Reed stepped from his clumsy, flat-bottom boat into the canoe, he noticed that it was heavily laden and was propelled by a motor. Not once did he distrust or fear the Indian.

“We are off,” said the Seminole as he started his motor.

The small and large islands through which the canoe glided lay on the southwestern coast of Florida, and were a part of that group known as the Ten Thousand Islands! Some of them were large and wooded, but the greater number were simply sand banks or coral reef covered daily by the rising tides. They formed an enchanting scene as the graceful canoe glided among them.

After an hour’s ride the Indian brought his canoe ashore beneath a great palmetto tree that reached far out over the water. “We’ll have a lunch,” said he. From the boat he took an oil lamp, filled a little pot with water from a rubber bag and set it to boil. “We’ll have some tea, and while the water is boiling I’ll tell you who I am.”

Seated upon the ground with his hands grasping his knees, with scarcely a movement of his body, and with his eyes fixed upon the outer branches of the palmetto trees, the Seminole told his story.

“Don’t be surprised,” he began, “that I speak English so well, for I’m a graduate of the Carlyle Indian College. But first I finished high school in Oklahoma. I played football with the best team that Carlile ever had, played quarter-back; but perhaps you do not know what that means. I was called Little Deer, for I was such a good runner. But I was a good speaker too and won the first place for English. Many of the Indians speak English with a perfect accent. Well, I am a son of a Seminole Chief. You may have heard that only a few of the Seminoles remained in the Everglades; the others were moved west by the government because they refused to submit to certain regulations. My great grandfather was among those who went. From my people I inherited a rather large fortune. I have always been anxious to see the place where my people lived for centuries, and from which they were driven. I have talked with my people; I have read books on the subject, and have two books with me. At last I made up my mind to spend some months in the Everglades. Another Indian was coming with me, I gave him money to buy a gun, but he spent it for whiskey and got drunk. I was disgusted and went without him. Bi.j I want a companion.”

The slow deliberate words of the Indian were disturbed by the sizzling teapot. Using a small strainer the Seminole put some tea into the boiling water. “It will be ready in a moment,” he explained, “and now,” he asked, turning to the boy, “will you be my companion?”

Again there was a struggle in the boy’s mind. For the first time he seemed to realize how good the Reeds had been to him. Thus far he had taken everything as his due; now it dawned upon him that he had in no way repaid them for their kindness. He was a member of the family, he would be treated as the son of Mr. Thomas Reed; he would inherit the name and the fortune. On the other hand he had been charmed by the Indian’s manner and speech. He trusted the Seminole. There was the canoe ready, with ample provisions, and the lure of the wild life in the Everglades.

“Let us go back,” said he, “and watch Mr. Reed take the flat-bottom boat.”

“Certainly,” said the obliging Indian, “and while I want you to be my companion I do not wish to force you. I will take you back to the pelican island; and when you are there you may make your choice.”

Over the winding water course the motor boat cut its way. Neither the Seminole nor Phil Reed spoke. “See,” suddenly whispered the Indian turning the canoe ashore, “there he is.”

“Where?” asked the boy who had lost all idea of place and distance in this tortuous course.

“See, right through those two clusters of mangrove.”

“I see. He has two boats. He is rowing one and pulling the other after him. He knows that I am gone.”

“Yes,” acknowledged the Indian, “it is too late to go after him. He will be very angry.”

“He may think that I am drowned,” the boy said.

“No danger. He saw my canoe; he couldn’t

26 Meeting Little Leer

help seeing it. He knows that you went away with some one; but he won’t know it was an Indian, for he couldn’t distinguish an Indian from a white man at that distance.”

“I am afraid to go back now,” acknowledged the boy, “besides,” he asked, “we won’t be gone long, will we?”

“Only a few weeks.”

“Then, where will I go”?

“I will take you back to the Reeds, and if they won’t help you, I will get a place for you to work. You are a strong boy and can get along without any help.”

This remark pleased the boy. For the first time in his life he felt that strength and independence which come with freedom. Yes, he could make his way. “I will go with you,” he said, although his voice grew faint as he uttered the words; the words which turned him adrift upon the water, adrift in the world, adrift from the moorings of his childhood, adrift from the protection of his adopted home.

Chapter III

N o man on the police force of Brooklyn was more popular than Thomas Reed. Big Tom, they called him, and big he was. He stood six feet two in his stockings. With great shoulders and massive head, he was a perfect model of strength and energy as all day long he directed the traffic at the foot of River Street near the wharf. No driver ever disobeyed his orders. Whether it was truck or automobile it seemed as if the traffic policeman could, if it moved forward before the signal was given, pick up the machine and put it back in its place in the line.

Big Tom Reed had something of the poet in his nature. He could quote whole pages of Tom Moore, and was fond of Longfellow and of Father Ryan. It was Father Ryan’s 27 poems that first turned his thoughts towards the South. Then he read Poe and Sidney Lanier.

One day when coming home in a street car, Tom Reed picked up an advertisement of a Land Company in Florida. It was printed on tinted paper. The man that got out that advertisement was a master at his business. Most of the pages were filled with beautiful descriptions and poetic selections; and only in an occasional paragraph did the writer condescend to touch upon the grosser things of life — the four crops each year, and the wonderous citrus groves, rich with golden fruit. There were selections, too, from each of Tom Reed’s favorite poets.

The traffic policeman yearned for the peaceful and fruitful lands of Florida. Night and day at home and on the street he talked of Florida. It was the most promising state in the country; it was the land of enchantment; the land of wonderful opportunities.

Mrs. Reed was a worthy companion of the big Brooklyn policeman. In any other household she would have been the master. At the end of a see-saw she could exactly balance the plank with the policeman on the other side. Her large, oval features bore a remarkable resemblance to those of her husband. People often called them the twins. While she made no pretence at being the master of the house she did glory in the fact that to her was committed the purse. Regularly for twelve years the traffic policeman had handed her the check from the city hall. So much had the wife saved that she kept a double bank account with the intention of some day surprising her husband. She claimed that she was saving for a rainy day, but so far no rainy day had come into the lives of the Reeds.

And now the sunshine of life, which ever had been bright, began to glow with tropical splendor; for the worthy spouse had caught the enthusiasm of her husband. How glorious it would be to get away from the flat life of Brooklyn, and to own a real home and a real farm of their own!

“If I only had another thousand !” said the husband one evening. “I have been talking it all over with Father Devlin.”

“How much do you think we have?” said the wife, for now was coming the triumph of her life, the hour for which she had toiled and saved and waited.

“You told me that you had about two thousand.”

“Yes, in one bank.”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“I mean what I said — in one bank.”

“And why did you use two banks?”

“I was afraid to keep it all in one bank.”

“How much is it?”

“Guess, dear.”

“If it is a thousand I’ll jump over this table with joy.”

“And if it is only a few hundred?”

“Anything that will take us near the extra thousand will be welcome.”

“And you cannot guess the amount?”

“Of course not, dear, you have had the bank books so long that I really had not given any thought to the amount which we have saved.”

The children looked at each other and at their parents with surprise, for mamma and papa were acting just like little children. What did it mean?

“But you must guess/’ insisted the wife.

“Two hundred; if it’s two hundred I’ll turn a somersault.”

“Guess again.”

“Five hundred.”

“More than that.”

Mr. Reed leaped to his feet, kissed his wife and all the children. “Say, you’re the greatest wife in the world. But what bank is it and let me see the bank account.”

Proudly Mrs. Reed arose and brought from a dresser a small bank book, and without a word handed it to her husband. Then the wife and the husband fell to kissing and hugging, until the children wondered and wondered what had happened to mother and father.

In the second bank book the Reeds had fifteen hundred dollars.

It must be explained that Father Devlin, to whom Mr. Reed had been speaking, was Secretary of the Catholic Settlement Society. The object of this association was to get the

Catholic people to leave the large cities and settle in communities in the country. One of the aims of the society was to influence a sufficient number to buy land in the same locality so that they might build a church and erect a school.

Father Devlin was anxious for Mr. Thomas Reed to be the pioneer in the Florida adventure. The big policeman was flattered by the offer; accordingly he now bought fifty acres on the southwest coast of Florida just north of the Ten Thousand Islands. A large part of the land was covered with pine trees, the turpentine from which was guaranteed to bring the price of the real-estate.

Mr. Reed resigned his position on the police force and went south where under his direction a neat cottage was constructed. True it was not a substantial building, but was well-suited to the climate; for in its planning he had followed the advice of those who had long been residents of the state. When the home was about completed the rest of the family arrived. Then followed busy days for the parents and glorious days for children.

No longer did they have to play in the dirty streets, but out in God’s own sunshine along the water’s edge and in the clean white sand.

More than a year passed, and the former policeman had succeeded with his marketing far beyond his greatest hopes. There seemed to be but one difficulty, that of securing labor. Mrs. Reed had done almost a man’s work for the first twelve months, but her husband was determined that other arrangements should be made.

“I have the solution,” he said to her one night as they walked in from the potato field, “we’ll get an orphan boy from Brooklyn.”

“What made you think of such a thing just now?”

“You have been tired to-day, my dear, and it has worried me.”

“I have felt tired,” acknowledged the wife, “but I did not think that you would notice it.”

“Anyone would feel it; this summer heat has taught the natives to sleep during the heat of the day, and work early in the morning and late in the evening. We have been living and working as if we were in Brooklyn,” were the words of the husband.

“Then let us try the other order, and perhaps we can get along without any help,” said the wife.

“No, we’ll need the help. We have only one little son of our own, and would it not be a good thing to adopt another? You remember that our pastor spoke on that subject the last day we attended church in Brooklyn.”

“But orphan boys are a great responsibility.”

“Not as difficult to handle here as in the city,” replied the man.

For some days the matter was discussed, until finally a letter went to the Catholic Orphan Asylum, in Brooklyn, with the offer from the Reeds to adopt a boy about fourteen years of age. A short and satisfactory correspondence followed, papers were signed and a nameless lad left the asylum for his new southern home. Yes, nameless, for it had been agreed that the Reeds were not to inquire into the history of the child, although they were given proofs that he was of good parentage; and they were to adopt him legaily into the family, and no parent or relative was to have any right over him or to know where he had been sent.

In the meanwhile a letter came to Mr. Reed from the Superior of the asylum. It contained a transcript of some notes of the directress, whose duty it was to study the characteristics of each of the children in the institution :

“Phil . No. 137. Good Qualities:

a good heart, love of action, restless activity, remarkable piety, talent for drawing and especially for practical work, should follow a trade. Bad Qualities : that very restless activity, not a strong sense of duty, considerable selfishness — a selfishness which, if unrestrained by obedience, can lead to much misery to self and others.”

“Direct to Mr. Thomas Reed, Lee Wharf, Fla.” These were the words marked with heavy black ink and sewed on the lapel of the boy’s coat — the nameless boy whom Mr. Reed met one morning at the boat landing. He said his name was Phil; and Phil Reed he was in future to be called.

Young Phil Reed was red-headed, very red-headed, almost fiery red-headed. His face, too, was slightly flushed and freckled; his nose and chin full and round. He had just reached his fifteenth birthday, but was rather small for his age; in fact, at first glance, one would have taken him for a boy of twelve. In his new suit, furnished by the asylum, he presented no mean appearance; and his bashful little sisters were rather proud of their new brother.

“He’s got straw-berry hair,” whispered Isabel aged eight.

“He’ll set the house on fire with his head,” affirmed Mary, the eldest of the girls.

“I jes ’lub ’im,” said little Marcella.

Benjamin held tight to his hand, conscious of the fact that he now had a big brother and would not have to play alone.

Mrs. Reed folded him to her breast, and kissed and caressed him, calling him her own dear boy.

Although disappointed when he learned that he was the only big boy in the family, and in fact in the neighborhood, he made friends with all at once; and then, uninvited, he went out to investigate the strawberry patch which he had spied when coming to the house. Who could find fault with him for wishing to eat big, red strawberries in late December? His new sisters and mother came with him, and handed him so many and such fine large berries that for once in his life he ate all he wished. Then there were birds and trees, and a whole world of things that were new to the little stranger.

Weeks went by and the novelty of southern life wore off. Only once a month when the family went twenty miles to church did Phil Reed see and talk with other boys.

Summer came, and it was warm in the fields. In fact, the hot climate and monotonous life began to be very disagreeable to Phil Reed. His foster parents did all in their power to make him interested in their home and its work; but they could not help but see that their adopted son was getting more and more dissatisfied with his surroundings.

Phil Reed, too, was being seized by a certain restless spirit of travel and adventure.

The one long trip from Brooklyn gave him some idea of the size of the world. In front of him was the boundless stretch of water of the Gulf of Mexico. It was joined to the ocean, so he was told, and the ocean went all the way around the world; so he thought, so he dreamed. Perhaps the boyish fancy would have been forgotten; perhaps the lad would have grown accustomed to the home where he wanted for nothing. However, the temptation to follow the Seminole Indian came, and was too strong. In some vague way the Everglades would be the door to see the vast world. Into the Everglades he went.