STRANDED
TIME flew as the girls scampered over rocks, slid down sandy slopes, and
otherwise "explored" the picturesque retreat.
No accident marred the afternoon, beyond the unexpected slide of Cleo,
who, venturing too near the edge, came down to the water's brink by way
of a sliding, sandy trail.
Everybody had been in wading, choosing a shallow pool that trickled in
from the bay and hid behind a wall of sand, now plainly marked, as the
tide was receding.
"Come, girls, we must be moving," warned Mae, "a sail boat depends on
wind and tide for safe navigation."
Reluctantly they left the sand, for this strip of rocky woods was
attractive to the point of positive fascination.
With a friendly breeze they were soon under full sail again, and the
voyage home promised too prompt an ending to their day's sport. They
would have prolonged it.
"Couldn't we sail in and out that group of islands?" asked Grace,
reluctant to reach port too early.
"We might," agreed Mae, "if we were sure to be safe from sand bars."
"Water's splendidly deep," her sister at the tiller assured her. "We may
as well let the girls see all the sights."
Accordingly, the Blowell was directed toward the islands, that seemed
like mere splashes of green, spilled on the blue water.
In and out they went in apparent safety, every one enjoying the close
land sailing, and the glimpses of varied woodlands these little islands
exhibited.
"Tide's going out fast," called Mae, as the sail swung north.
Eugenia did not reply. She thought she felt something scrape.
A grinding sound assured her, she _had_ heard scraping--and she knew the
feel of sand.
They stopped like a canoe running out of the waves!
"Sand bar!" shouted Mae, but none of the girls knew just what that
meant.
Opening the sail, clear of every reef, Mae tried to get off the bar, and
Eugenia urged the tiller to try one spot, then another; but the Blowell
stood still, and defied the breeze or water to move her.
"Can't we go?" asked Cleo, just beginning to realize their predicament.
"Not unless we are lifted," replied Mae gloomily.
"Do you mean to tell us we are stuck?" asked Louise.
"That's the simplest way of putting it," replied Eugenia.
"Then," said Grace, still imbued with the spirit of fun. "Where do we go
from here?"
"That's a delicate question," replied Helen, for both Mae and Eugenia
were too busy to pay heed to nonsense.
For some time they tried all tactics known to navigators caught in a
similar predicament, then finally settled down to make the best of a bad
bargain.
"Why can't we go in to shore on the little boat?" asked Grace, still
anxious to try the dory.
"What good would that do us?" asked Mae.
"Some one may be camped there," Grace added further.
"Even so, a camper couldn't move the Blowell more than we can," said
Eugenia.
"Our only hope is a tow," reflected Mae, "and I don't see a launch, and
no launch could ever see us in this pocket."
"I'm so sorry I suggested the islands," said Grace contritely. "Of
course, I'm a very green sailor."
"Not your fault in the least," Eugenia assured. "We should have known
better."
"And when may the tide come in?" asked Julia innocently.
"Some time A. M.," said Mae, hiding her concern with a brave show of
indifference.
"Do you mean to say we must stay out here all night?" gasped Helen.
"I hate to say it, but it may be true," said Mae slowly. "Still, a
launch may loom up. Any provisions left?"
At this the remains of their lunch were dragged out from the cabin, and
as they viewed the most glorious sunset they had ever witnessed, they
munched crumbs, and tried to keep up their spirits, which were plainly
going down with the ball of red gold.
It was a gloomy prospect. No way of sending a message home, no one to
give them a tow, and as Cleo put it just "nobody nor nawthin'."
It was fast coming nightfall! Brave as they were the scouts worried more
about the home folks than they did at their own predicament.
"If I could only let mama know!" sighed Julia with a melancholy look at
the only things moving, and they were merely sunset clouds.
"Never give up," counselled Mae. "We are in no danger, at least that is
something."
"What's that song about the 'dove on the mast'?" asked Cleo moodily.
"Something about he did mourn, and mourn and mourn."
"Don't you dare perpetrate that," said Mae. "You are thinking of the
famous old sob song, 'Oh, Fair Dove, oh, Fond Dove'. But please forget
it. It does not fit in the picture."
"Just the same," insisted Grace, "I think we ought to go in to that
island. See how dark it is getting, and there might be some help there."
With an amount of coaxing Grace and Cleo, with Eugenia and Helen, were
finally allowed to row into shore, and as the water was perceptibly
shallow, it was decided by Mae, as captain, that the little trip could
be made in perfect safety.
"I must stay with the Blowell," she said, "as I might feel an under
current strong enough to move us. Don't delay too long."
They were glad to leave the sail boat, if only temporarily. It had
become monotonous, if not actually gloomy to sit there, longing to move.
A short pull brought the dory on to land, and briskly the girls sprang
ashore. Along the edge just a stretch of sand, untraveled, greeted them.
"No footprints here," Grace remarked. "But it's nice and smooth; a
lovely little island."
"Yes, if we were merely looking for nature's beauties," replied Eugenia.
"But just now we would rather run across a stuttering telephone."
"There is a wireless station somewhere around here," said Cleo. "I
remember reading about it being outside of Sandy Hook."
"Do you suppose we are outside of anything?" asked Helen. "I feel we
are tied with a drawstring in nature's hip pocket."
"Here's a footprint," called Cleo. "Just look; here's a sign!"
All ran toward her and found tacked on a tree a crudely marked
cardboard. On this they managed to decipher the words, "Peter Pan" and
"Take me to Mama."
"Perhaps some picnic children left that here," decided Eugenia. "No
other sign of mortal habitation about."
"Yes, here is a child's shovel and pail, and a lot of child's play
tools," said Helen.
"Relics of the same outing party," commented Louise. "Just see if you
can't dig up something more humanly tangible, Helen."
Dusk made the woods almost dark, and lest they should stray too far
inland Mae was to give signals on her police whistle. Three short and
two long would mean "hurry back." Occasionally they stopped to listen
for the call.
"Some child has been digging here very recently," insisted Cleo. "This
sand and clay are damp yet."
"The picnic might have been to-day," Louise replied.
"You're not very encouraging Weasie. Just see how deep this hole is, and
how it is being dug--like--a tunnel."
Every one followed Cleo's plea for an investigation, and at each turn
they seemed to come upon more toys and tools, such as little boys play
with.
"And here's another sign," called Helen. "On yellow paper, too."
This brought the scouts to close attention. The sign was evidently an
attempt at a message, and carried the same words "Peter Pan" and "Bring
me to Mamma," but with it was a pathetically written word "Please,"
through the letters of which were crudely drawn, by surely a childish
hand, the quaintest little flowers.
"Just see!" said Cleo. "No child on a picnic would take time to draw
flowers in a sign." She turned over the card and found on the reverse
side the words that might mean "I--dig--out----"
Eugenia who was familiar with kindergarten work, readily recognized this
as an attempt made by some child who had been taught to make floral
words to indicate loving messages. She was turning the paper over
carefully when the signal for "Hurry Back" was sounded shrilly on the
police whistle.
"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" called Eugenia, and scampering through the woods,
they jumped into their little boat and started off, Cleo still carrying
the two Peter Pan messages.
Reaching the clearance they could see a launch pulled up beside the
Blowell.
"Oh, joy!" fairly screamed Helen. "A launch!"
It did not take long to row back to the sand bar, where Mae had already
been towed off, out into the welcome deep water.
"Oh, how splendid! Just in time!" they shouted, and Eugenia had
difficulty in requiring that they sit still and not spill overboard.
Reaching the sailboat, never was found a happier face than Mae's.
"Oh, girls, I told you not to give up," she greeted them. "Just see our
rescuer, Mr. Neal Nelson from the Colonade."
"Oh, my little choker's brother!" exclaimed Julia, too delighted to
think of the usual formalities.
"And as I live, if it isn't--Bobby's life saver!" declared the young
man. "Well, turn about is surely fair play, and I'm glad I got my
innings in."
"However did you find us?" asked Julia when they were making sure the
Blowell could "sail under her own steam" as Neal put it.
"I didn't--I just happened by. Out trying my new motor boat----"
"She's a beauty," commented Mae, feeling foolish as she uttered the
words, for any old tug boat would have been a beauty under the
circumstances.
How differently everything looked now! It was almost worth while being
in peril to experience the joy of rescue.
"How did you like it over there?" called Neal, who was now keeping close
enough alongside the Blowell to permit of conversation.
"Nice little island," answered Cleo. "I guess picnickers like it there."
"I fancy not," replied the young man. "Folks are not invited over there,
I understand."
"Why?" questioned Eugenia, who was interested in the kindergarten effort
discovered on the island.
"Nobody knows and nobody cares," he replied, using the words of the
latest popular song.
"We're going back there some day," declared Grace. "Found signs and
things never left there by the Indians."
"Indians live there yet, I should think," replied Neal, turning on some
more gas to keep up with the pace the Blowell was making.
"What's the name of that island, do you know?" called Grace.
"Surely," he replied, with a laugh in his boyish voice. "That's the
famous Luna Land!"