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CODE
of the
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t ▼ ▼
by
HAROLD TITUS
Copyright by Harold Titus
WNU Service
0gB&na» i»***
CHAPTER XIII—Continued
— 21 —
“Franz!" gome one said in a thick,
nnnaturnl voice, and he realized that
he himself had spoken the name.
•'Franz, I’ll . . . I’ll let you go If
you'll give her back 1”
"Yes," a voice answered. Not
Franz's voice; that other voice. “Yes,
I'm hack. It’s all right. I’m here.
What is It?”
He found himself staring into that
face, a face now bathed in the soft
warm light of a snapping fire.
"Oh," he said and closed his eyes
and smiled. So she was all right, then.
“All . ■ ■ right,’’ he whispered.
Then something was pressed to his
lips.
"It Is hot,” a voice said. That must
be Mary's vdice. Where did she come
from? ... A hand raised his head
gently and he felt strong coffee scorch
his Ups. He sipped obediently and
dropped back. This was strange. . . .
He was alone with two girls, and had
a job before him. ... A man with
things he must do who can't remem¬
ber what they are can't be alone with
women. . . .
He stirred, trying to sit up, and
Jjste's voice begged him to lie quiet.
"All right," he murmured. If she
wanted that, then that was what she
would have. . . . Lord, but she was
lovely to look upon I . . .
*So it came to be dawn before he
looked about him with clear conscious¬
ness. At his feet sat Mary, her eyes
fast on him.
"flniio,” he said.
Mary gestured for caution, finger at
her lips, and tilted her head toward
the sleeper.
"Your sister,” she said, leaning close.
“She tired.”
"Sister? What’s that—”
Kate roused, her movement cutting
off his words.
‘‘Oh 1” she gasped as she saw the
clarity In his countenance. “Oh, how
do you feel? Are you stronger, now?”
"Strong? Not very,” He smiled
slightly. “But what’s all the fuss?
What went on? How’d we all—
/ “Oh, God 1” he moaned as memory
of what had happened and what might
yet happen flooded back. “What day’s
this?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kate said sooth¬
ingly, coming close to him. “So long
as you're feeling better, it doesn’t
matter—”
"Matter? Of course, it matters.
Think! What has happened. ... I
got In Tuesday and all day yester¬
day—
“That’s it 1 I remember, now ....
All right, if you say so I won’t sit up.
But listen. I’m giddy as the devil.
Things are going round outside but
I’m thinking straight. Today at four
o’clock that money’s got to be in Mac¬
Donald’s hands or Polaris is sunk. I
remember, now. . . . Franz nicked
me with a knife. D’ I stay out all this
time? Whew 1 Say, we’ve got to snap
Into it?”
“But you mustn’t think of things
like that,” Kate protested as one
would talk to a petulant child. “It
makes no difference what happens to
Polar’s until you’re all right.”
"Me!" he scoffed feebly. “I’m all
r *ght except for being helpless. I
' must've
lost a lot of blood. I’m weak
as ■.. as something. But I guess
‘ g°t weak trying to arrange things
for you Flynns. I can’t fall down on
the job with the finish in sight. Where
the boys?”
1 haven't seen a soul except Mary,
here, since you overtook Franz and
me yesterday morning,” said Kate.
Steve groaned.
sent word. Something slipped.
• • • I wonder . He shut his
.
eves tightly and, opening them, stared
st the Indian girl a long interval.
Mary, you ever been through the
country between here and MacDon-
oid's?”
“°h, yes,”—Idly.
How long would It take vou to get
there?"
‘ Dong ways. May-be all day.”
"It’d take you more than all day to
go by canoe, that’s certain. Listen,
Mary, once you wanted to do some¬
thing for me and were honest about It.
^ell, now’s your chance. There’s
■’omething I’ve got to have done today
Pve Jist's more important than anything
ever tried to do In my life. . . .
scept one thing, of course,”—with a
gcave smile at Kate. “Understand
th »t? Good.
I’ve got something to send to Mac-
” nald. Will you take a package to
^ 11
across country and get there be-
■° , rp four
o’clock today?”
■ '>e | girl squinted at the sun and
•bmieged slightly.
May-be. I go fast all time.”
f - fried to move and turned his
helplessly to Kate.
■n stifT as a board. In my hip
Pocket Is a note-book and pencil. No;
• Other one. . . . Yes, that’s
1 ■ Now, ^ write receipt for the
out a
Laird to sign. That option’s binding.
All we’ve got to do is fulfill its terms.
Get the dates straight in your head,
and make the receipt an acknowled-
ment of the initial payment on the op¬
tion recorded in this county as of
such-and-such a date. Good, now 1"—
as the girl began to write.
After a moment she read it to him;
he suggested a change and then gave
the document his approval.
“That’ll hold him,” he said ex¬
citedly, color beginning to stain his
cheeks. “Now, where’s the brief case?
Used it for a pillow, eh? Good!” he
grinned. “But you can trust Mary.”
He shifted his gaze to the waiting
Indian girl.
“You get to MacDonald's before four
o’clock this afternoon. Y’ou give the
bag to him and tell him to write his
name on this paper. Then you take
the paper to headquarters and give It
to ... to Mrs. LaFane. She’ll be
there, surely. You wait for me there
and you'll have your reward or the
stars’ll fall!”
“Sure, Yo’ng Jim. . . . Good-by,”
she said, and tucking the receipt into
her blouse, took the brief case and
turned to her canoe.
Steve was in a sweat by that time.
Every pore seemed to be open, letting
his meager store of strength gush
from his weary body. He breathed
quickly and shielded his eyes from the
brilliant sunlight.
“No good 1” he whispered after a
moment. “I’m all in. . . . Rut she’ll
get there. I’d bet on that girl . . ."
“Don’t talk, please,” urged Kate,
drawing the blankets about his shoul¬
ders. “It’s nothing to worry about.
Compared to other things that have
happened it's a detail.”
She rose and went to the fire.
“Here's a broth made of smoked
meat and meal,” she said. “Take it
now, and then more coffee. Mary said
It was the thing to do. She knows. I
felt so helpless. ...”
Obediently he sipped from the cups
she held for him, his head held against
her side, and after that he slept for a
time. It was a deep sleep. He was
conscious of the girl’s presence all the
time and when he finally roused she
was standing under the fly looking
down at him. He smiled weakly.
“More to eat?”
“If it’s from your hand,” he an¬
swered.
He was definitely better by then, but
still events and people were tangled
in his mind.
“Things are all Jimmied up,” he con¬
fessed. “Of course, I remember get¬
ting shot at Was that right here?
Was, eh? . . . And I recall about
Franz trying to get away and knifing
me and then drowning. But after that
it’s . . . it’s kind of like a photo¬
graph out of focus. Fuzzy. How’d
Mary get here, for Instance?”
The girl sat cross-legged beside him
and told all that had transpired during
his period of unconsciousness.
“And you all alone!” he murmured.
“Holding my life inside my body with
your hands." He looked at her hands
“They’re so small,” he said. “I . . .
I’ve wondered about your hands. I
. . . I’ve wondered a lot about you.
Why, a girl like you all alone and
thinking you had a dying stranger
along!”
“Not a stranger,” she said gently.
“It was hard, but chiefly because I
felt I owed so much to you.”
He experienced an odd embarrass¬
ment at such pointedly personal talk.
He was not strong enough for that
yet, he found.
“Nobody showed up. I’ll bet they
went down river. I was so ... so
up in the air that I never left any
warning at the landing.”
She told him of her futile attempts
to send up smokes.
“Rain, eh? That explains it!
Chances are some of ’em went right
by us yesterday and never guessed we
were so near. -It’s clear as a bell now
and there’s no wind. Hadn’t we bet¬
ter try the smoke signal again?”
“Certainly! I’ll get the fires going,
now.”
“Wish 1 could help. You’re no girl
to be lugging fire wool, for a big hulk
like me.”
“If you never help another person
In all your life, and it you live to be
older than the hills, you’ve done your
share,” she said soberly and turned
away to gather wood and hide the
emotion in her eyes.
When the fires were going she re¬
turned to his side. For an interval
“Those,” He Said, “Are the Sweet¬
est Words I’ve Ever Heard.”
she spoke no word and then, when he
smiled inquiringly, she asked:
“Who are you?”
“I’m Steve Drake. I knew your dad
when I was a kid. . . . Kind of a
rotten deal, pulling wool over your
DADE COUNTY TIMES: AUGUST 16. 1934
eyes the way I did. But . . . I’ll tell
you how It was.”
He went back to that day when Old
Jim Flynn saved him and his father
from perishing in a blizzard. He told
It all, Just as It had happened, from
that time on. Kate did not Interrupt.
When he spoke of Franz, she lost
color; when he told of his maneuver¬
ing with the Laird her lips parted in
eagerness; when he narrated how La-
Fane had handled Young Jim teurs
came into her eyes.
Breaks marked the story, of course;
twice she made him stop and sip food
and stimulant.
“l T ou’re still weak,” she said. “May¬
be you’re weaker than I think. Oh,
some one must come before long 1”
“Well, that’s it,” he finally ended.
“I’ve been an Imposter, but It seemed
to be the only way. If you'd have
known about the kid before he got
straightened out, you'd have been fran¬
tic; if the men realized I was a stran¬
ger, they never would have stuck to
the Job. Now, if Mary gets to the
Laird’s on time, we’re set If not . . .”
“If not, then it never can be said
that a brave fight wasn’t made! I . . .
What can I say to you, Steve Drake?
Words are so empty. All I can say,
l guess, is to echo the words of Mary
Wolf; You are my friend.”
“Those,” he said, “are the sweetest
words I’ve ever heard.”
She surrendered her hand when he
reached for it and he gripped it close.
CHAPTER XIV
It was Young Jim himself who
sighted the three smokes, ne and Mc¬
Nally hastened toward the Island and
within minutes of their arrival the
older man was on his way down the
lake with plenty of orders for the de¬
tachment of men he would mirely find
there.
“Doctor 1” Steve snorted when Kate
gave her first instruction. “I should
say not 1 Why, I’ll be good as new to¬
morrow. I’ll take it easy and go out
with the boys.”
He would do no such thing, Kate
Insisted firmly. He would stay in this
very spot until a doctor gave him per¬
mission to move.
And so a Targer tent was brought
in before night and more blankets and
an abundance of food. Young Jim and
Kate stayed with him and between
Steve’s rest periods the talk flowed al¬
most constantly.
Late the next day the doctor ap¬
peared. He looked Steve over care¬
fully, re-dressed the wound and ques¬
tioned and prodded.
“In a day or two,” he said. “You
keep quiet here for a day or two and
then you can go out safely.”
“Good Lord 1 You mean I’ve got to
be babied and waited on when I feel
fit as a fiddle?”
“Safer that way,” the doctor as¬
serted.
LaFane stepped close to the bed,
then. He had brought the doctor and
carried news of Mary as well. She
had made the trip through the timber
successfully and with half an hour to
spare had reached MacDonald’s. The
old Scot, having no other course, had
signed the receipt and accepted the
money.
“But he didn’t want to do it,” La¬
Fane added. “He’s pretty mad. He
says you’re a good fisherman and a
good liar. If Mary hadn’t gotten there
on time he’d never have gone through
with the deal.”
“I’ll have to make my peace with
him when I’m permitted to do as I
please again! He's a nice old codger
and I’d hate to leave the country with
him feeling this way.”
LaFane and the doctor moved down
to the beach, leaving Young Jim and
Kate in Steve’s tent.
“Leave the country?” the girl asked.
"What do you mean by that?”
Her brother looked sharply at her,
catching a repressed quality in the
tone.
“Why, what’d I stay here for?”
Steve countered. “The actual, real,
certified Young Jim's all set to go. I
don’t aim to stick around here and ask
the Flynns to make room for me.”
"Ask them?” she cried. “Why . . .
when . . . Don’t you see . .
Her voice choked up and her eyes
misted.
Steve looked at Young Jim and at
the girl, and then turned his head
away.
“Gosh,” the boy said, "we’ll be need¬
ing you, now that it’s going to be such
a whale of an operation. That is, If
we could get you to stay.”
“Well, that’s fine of you. ... I
haven’t anything in particular to do.
There are things . . . reasons . . .
that Is—” He cleared his throat as
he felt color mounting Into his cheeks.
“What I’m trying to say is this; If
you've a Job of work that I can do I
sure’ll welcome a chance at It.”
“Oh, yes; there’ll be work, all right,”
said Kate as if her mind were on
other matters. “Besides . . . yon
see . .
She, in her turn, was stammering
and Young Jim, uncoiling his long
legs, grinned as he rose.
“Where you going?” Steve asked.
“Mostly out of the way until you
two can say some of the things that
seem to be on your minds,” he chuckled.
[THE END]
Holiday* Observed
Holidays which are observed in ev¬
ery state in the Union are: New
Year’s day, Washington’s birthday,
July Fourth, Labor day, Thanksgiving
day and Christmas day. These are le¬
gal or public holidays, made so by
acts of legislatures in the states, by
acts of congress for the District of Co¬
lumbia, or by proclamation of the Pres¬
ident The United States congress
has not the power to decide for the
states the observance of any day as a
national holiday.
Howe ASout,:
Our Indignation
Simple Writing
Nostalgia
©, Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
By ED HOWE
A JUDGE in Philadelphia lately de-
dared from the bench that ban¬
dits are bums and parasites who
should he exterminated like rats, as
they are not worth the expense of
keeping them In penitentiaries, lie
even went so fur ns to say that if
“members of the American Legion
should engage in revolver practice,
they would not find the judges in our
courts loath to assist them.”
Everywhere the indignation against
racketeers and politicians is ferocious,
but the pitiful fact is, nothing is be¬
ing done. Even this fierce judge did
ttie same old tiling: sent the bandits
to the penitentiary, to probably be
pardoned after a few years more of
expense to decent taxpayers.
Irvin Edman recently wrote of “the
instincts that masquerade as faiths,
and the lusts that parade as ideals.”
... To me this is not only very
good writing, but indicates sense. Ed¬
man also wrote: “In these matters
(the doctrines of the relativists, the
patter of the new physics) 1 think it
is important to in* simple; in all the
complexity of modern scientific for¬
mula, it is the same old sky with the
same things beneath it. i believe in
the common world of things as they
are about us, the things I touch, see,
taste, smell, hear; in the world that
worldings feast and want in.”
• • «
I plead for the use of simpler words
by writers, and simple forms of ex¬
pression. There is a writer named
Immanuel Kant, admittedly a man of
unusual intelligence, yet his sentences
are so involved that ids name lias be¬
come an epithet: people say a long
and involved statement is leant, mean¬
ing it is poor argument and poor
S ;«|nse. their
people of ids own time named
Immanuel Kant. Had the man
been content to write more simply,
his good ideas would have accom¬
plished more good.
* * *
I arraign the ugly and unnecessary
word nostalgia. It means home-sick¬
ness, a more expressive and better-
looking word. Our dictionary contains
many other instances of annoyance
nnd waste of time. I believe I can
name from memory a hundred words
often used and which I do not quickly
know the meaning of in reading, al¬
though I have looked them up many
times. 1 know the meaning of nos¬
talgia now. having just referred to the
dictionary, but the next time 1 en¬
counter it. I shall he annoyed again In
iny reading.
• • •
I know a young soldier who served,
during the late war, only two months
in a military camp near his home,
lie told me at the time he never had
more to eat, less to do, or enjoyed
himself more. And while he was off
soldiering, his wages at home went on.
Now, this soldier is as fanatical and
unreasonable about the soldiers’ bonus
as some preachers were about pro¬
hibition.
(Let me add in parenthesis Intended
only for dunces that In denouncing
this fellow, I intend no lack of respect
for those former service men who ac¬
tually engaged in battles, and were
incapacitated.)
* * •
"I went to India," says a traveler,
“with the Idea that ttie British bedev¬
iled the country, but when l got there
realized that the real parasites are
not the British, but fourteen million
sacred cows, which not only destroy
meager crops, but eat food needed by
the women and children.The people
are unbelievably ignorant, dirty and
poor. It would be a crime against hu¬
manity and against India’s; own future
for England to withdraw, and let In¬
dia’s three hundred and sixty million
people develop into a political and
moral breeding ground for world ret¬
rogression. Its land Is naturally very
poor; in addition, wornout, and this
handicap has been added to by the
people widely accepting a religion
worse than constant war during a pe¬
riod of constant famine and slavery.”
» • •
The women have various organiza¬
tions intended to improve the condi¬
tion of their sex; a very commendable
work, if well attended to. ... I
often wonder they do not Induce the
managers of telephone companies to
conduct schools to teach women man¬
ners and efficiency. I have never known
g telephone girl not above tiie average
In these respects; and they are un¬
trained girls taught in schools conduct¬
ed by tbe heads of telephone compa¬
nies.
» • •
It seems to me (speaking again of
the panic) that every man’s other trou
tiles have increased, and that tires go
flat more frequently on every road in
1934 than in 1929, or any other of the
Good Old Days.
Old Cornelius Vanderbilt, first of the
family to amount to anything, used to
say he was as big a rogue as anybody,
but practiced honesty because of the
profit In it. “I’ve associated with
thieves all my life,” he said, In old
nga, “but never knew one to get along
half as well as an honest man.” . . .
The strongest argument for hocestj
is that it pays; don’t let any of the
professional sentimentalists make a
fool of you with the story that morality
is a noble thing you should sullu
•nartyrdom for.
w;V
Mm
jf'al W;4
Native Transportation on the Sea Islands.
Prepared by National Geographic Society,
Washington. D. C.—WNU Service.
r ~i s i 1 Id Atlantic’s rolling waves do
I not break against the mainland
of Georgia. A startling state-
statement, that. Yet tt is true,
for the surf shatters on the smooth
sandy beaches of the Islands that
stretch like a protecting,Mind off the
const. ^
These are the famed Sea Islands of
Georgia, the “Golden Isles of Guale”
as they were known to Sixteenth cen¬
tury Spanish map-makers.
The low-lying lumps of land,
spawned by the tides and winds off
the 100-mile arc of the Georgia coast,
were once friendly hunting grounds,
where Indians stalked deer, wild tur¬
keys, raccoons, opossums, and water¬
fowl. Todivtv as subtropic playgrounds
and winter retreats of happy Isola¬
tion, they have again become hunting
preserves and game sanctuaries.
What history has marched across
the savannas and hammocks and be¬
neath the moss-scarfed arms of the
mighty live oaks of these Islands in
the nearly four-century span since
white men entered this New world
theater.’
Here, in the late sixties of the Six¬
teenth century, came Spanish grandees
and black-frocked friars, from their
Florida headquarters at St. Augustine,
to plant sword nnd cross among the
Indians to the “glory of the king.”
Here, too, came adventurous French
voyagers to trade and to make unsus¬
tained colonial claims.
Bold pirates and buccaneers, such
as Argamont (the notorious "Abra¬
ham”) and Blackbeard, after plunder¬
ing along the Spanish Main, brought
into ttie hidden an chor ages of these
secluded waterwqj treasure sure
galleons and. unc of the'
land oaks, found rom t
high adventures.
Here, in the 1730’s, came Gen.
James Edward Oglethorpe and his fol¬
lowers, who, within a few years,
struck blows that helped preserve for
the Anglo-Saxon race a large portion
of the continent.
Refugee Santo Domingo planters,
escaped French royalists, human car¬
goes from African "slavers," wealthy
antebellum aristocrats of the old
South, masters of extensive island
plantations; then ruin, and, finally,
delayed rehabilitation, mark the suc¬
ceeding chapters of the Sea Islands’
history.
Five flags have waved over this off¬
shore cluster of lands where some of
the earliest seeds of American trade
were sown.
Lesson in Coastal Geography.
However, the unfolding panorama
gained from the vantage point of an
airplane cockpit is essentially a les¬
son in coastal geography, not history,
even though isolated hits of old Span¬
ish ruins, Oglethorpe’s Fort Frederica,
and remnants from prosperous colo¬
nial days can still be distinguished
through the foliage.
Between the leeward side of the is¬
lands and the mainland lie expansive
reaches roughly from of salt two pushes, ft? eight miles ranging in
width. Generally wide at the north¬
ern end, toward Savannah, they nar¬
row at the lower portion of Cumber¬
land, the southernmost member of the
Golden Isles.
As you fly along the chain of is¬
lands you can trace a continuous ser¬
pentine passage in the network of
sounds, delta-divided river mouths,
and meandering creeks. It is the In¬
side, or Florida, Passage, a portion of
that Inside water route which extends
all the way from New York to the
Florida Keys.
As you swing to a course over the
ocean side of the islands, an interest¬
ing feature of their formation Is re¬
vealed to advantage. Heavily wooded
areas appear in long bands, stretch¬
ing in a north-and-south direction, and
are separated by slender marshes and
ponds, in some cases even expanding
into narrow lakes.
Through the passing centuries the
tides and winds have piled the sand
and river-debouched sediment into a
series of parallel dunes interspersed
with the swamps—hammocks and
sloughs, they are termed In Georgian
parlance. Enormous live oaks, pines,
cedars, and other trees luxuriate here.
Oa Sapelo island alone remain the
w r ide, open fields where colonial plan¬
tations flourished.
Here and there are tiny islands, with
little more than a fringe of sandy
beach to inclose a small area of
marshland.
Where De Aviles Landed.
| One cannot visit St. Catherines with¬ 1500
out recalling that April day In
when Menendez de Aviles, one of
j Spain’s ablest pioneers, and bis party
of 50 men dropped anchor and cam*
ashore on this island. He had estab¬
lished St. Augustine, In Florida, only
the year before, nnd was already out
to destroy the remaining traces of any
settlements the French may have
founded.
One writer pointed out that nowhere
else had he seen such a delightful set¬
ting for a great house as that on
Sapelo island, in the midst of a
cathedral-like bower of live oaks, with
hoary beards of Spanish moss depend¬
ing from their outstretched limbs,
stands a majestic colonial home, l’ro-
jeeting from the portlcoed entrance la
a cruciform formal pool which catches
and tosses hack the reflection of mossy
oaks nnd vast white walls.
Since its reconstruction, two Pres¬
idential parties have been guests at
the mansion. One day, while one of
First Ladies was admiring the nearby
rock garden, her cicerone was heard
to remark, “They even used Imported
stone for this rock garden."
The big house of the South End
plantation was first built hy Thomas
Spalding in 1800-1802, after he had re¬
turned from England to take up plan¬
tation farming on Sapelo.
As noted a farmer as he was a build¬
er, Spalding cleared more than a thou¬
sand acres on his island kingdom, and
raised Indigo, sea-island cotton, sugar
cane, and staple foodstuffs.
He it was, in fact, who introduced
cane cultivation and sugar manufac¬
turing into Georgia. The live oaks
which he cut while clearing the for¬
ests to make bigger fields serve to fill
large timber contracts for the budding
United States navy. He also supplied
tbe navy and merchant marine with
beef and hogs.
As a slave owner, however, Spald-
g came ultimately to suffer, even
though he treated his “helpers” with
such kindness that the planters in the
‘South dubbed Sapelo “Nigger Heaven.”
Then came the Confederacy, against
every protest of this aged man. Sher¬
man’s march to the sea laid waste the
big house nnd the plantation develop¬
ments. Fortunately, Spalding did not
live to see that day of ruin.
Vines nnd bramble claimed the fire-
smoked tabby walls of the mansion un¬
til the present owner cleared them and
rebuilt again In 1925.
Modern Improvements.
Today, too, the old canals have been
redredged and new ones have been cut
in many places to supplement the
drainage of the island. An adequate
supply of fresh water is provided by
30 gushing artesian wells. More than
a thousand beef cattle now graze on
the luxuriant carpet grass, Japanese
clover, and Bermuda grass that have
been sown in the one-time cotton and
Indigo fields.
Delightful trails and motor roads
lace the island retreat. In many places
they wind beneath bewhiskered old
oaks; elsewhere they skirt the broad
savannas and cross between marshy
ponds that teem with ducks, teal, and
other waterfowl.
On the west shore, commanding the
approach to the Florida Passage, stand
the tabby ruins of the octagonal fort
built by tbe Spaniards In 1080. With¬
in its concentric walls troops were sta¬
tioned to protect the friars of the
Mission of San Jose de Zapala. Thom¬
as Spalding built a sugar mill on the
mission foundations, and within recent
years the “long tabby" has been con¬
verted Into a guesthouse, a portion of
which Is now used as a schoolroom for
the nine white children on the island.
A short ride farther north brings
one to the ruins of I,e Chatelet.
This old site recalls the colonial efforts
of five Frenchmen who bought the is¬
land and settled at several places in
their little haven. The agreement
which they made In St. Malo, France,
before the beginning of their venture,
is one of the treasures of tbe Sapelo
library.
Soon to disagree, four of them
moved to Jekyl island. Later i.e
Chatelet passed Into the hands of Mar¬
quis de Montalet, a French nobleman
who had tied from Santo Domingo,
where his whole family had been
massacred in a slave uprising.
Many of the descendants of Spald¬
ing’s slaves still live on tiny farms on
the island. Of the three settlements—
Raccoon Bluff, Hog Hammock, and
Shell Hammock—the former is the
largest.
At Hampton Point and Retreat on
St. Simon island the first sea-island
cotton was grown from seeds intro¬
duced from the island of Anguilla, in
the West Indies. This remarkable long-
fiber cotton created much comment
among cotton buyers when the first
crop, shipped from Hampton Point,
reached Liverpool.