THE STORM.
AS they gazed around them, our little party could not help but realize
the peril of their situation. To the west, about a mile from the
drifting launch, was the reef over which the mountainous waves were
breaking in heaps of swirling foam. To the east of them some three
miles distant was the shore. All they could see of it was its swaying
palms for its beach was hidden by the foaming breakers. All around them
rose mighty seas upon which the drifting launch reared and plunged.
So far, they were drifting straight down the lane between the reef and
shore, but a slight shift of wind, either way, would send them ashore
to be beaten to death in the pounding surf or out on the reef to be
smothered in the mighty seas.
Even without a shift of wind, they were in a perilous position. The
launch was doing nobly, but she had never been built for such work.
A craft so small could not reasonably be expected to live in such a
seaway. She rose gallantly to the sweeping combers, but even a novice
could see her sea-riding limit had almost been reached. Should the
waves continue to increase much in size, the little craft was doomed.
"Oh, well," said Charley, with an attempt at cheerfulness, "we are not
as bad off as we might be. While there's life there's hope. The wind
may begin to go down any minute, and if it does we will soon be picked
up. There are boats traveling this passage all the time. There's a
sail, now."
He pointed to where a tiny fleck of white showed in the distance as
they rose on the summit of a wave.
All gazed eagerly at the distant fleck of white. They knew that no boat
could rescue them in such a sea, but it gave them a spark of comfort to
know that they were not alone on the watery deep.
The white speck grew with amazing rapidity. In a few minutes, they were
able to see that it was a small schooner scudding before the gale under
a close reefed foresail.
It swept by them not two hundred yards away, so close that they could
see the pipe in the mouth of the man at the wheel.
They gazed longingly after it until lost to view. When it had
disappeared in the distance they felt an intensified loneliness and
helplessness steal over them.
The only consolation in their wretched plight was the sun. It shone
brightly down with a warmth grateful to their wet, chilled bodies.
"How fast do you think we are drifting, Captain?" inquired Charley,
breaking the silence that had fallen upon them.
"Impossible to tell, exactly," returned the old sailor. "As a guess, I
would say about five miles an hour."
"And we have been drifting about six hours, that would make thirty
miles," the lad calculated. "If I remember the charts right that brings
us about off of Tampa. Do you recall how the coast lies below there,
Captain?"
"Not exactly," admitted the old sailor, "but I think it holds about the
same direction. Of course, there are a good many capes running out into
the gulf, but I don't think there is any of them long enough for us to
pile up on, short of Cape Sable, and that's a couple of hundred miles
away."
"So far so good, then," Charley commented. "We are in no immediate
danger of piling up on shore at any rate. Whew, but the salt spray
has made me thirsty as a fish. Here goes to get a drink of water." He
crawled cautiously forward to the locker where the jugs were stowed.
"Both broken," he announced, after a glance inside. "I might have known
it would happen with all the rolling and pitching about. Well, I guess
we can manage to do without until the wind goes down."
But before noon, they realized that the loss of their water was a
serious blow. The salt spray and hot sun gave them a painful thirst.
Their throats grew parched and dry, and they could barely swallow the
remnants of food left from their supper. All attempt at conversation
was given up and they sat huddled and silent in the little cockpit.
And so the long, dreary day dragged away. Time and again boats drove
past them, scudding before the gale, and once a large steamer passed
them almost within hailing distance. But no attempt at rescue could be
made in such a sea.
Night found them still drifting almost too weak and weary to care what
happened next.
"I believe the wind is going down a little," Charley said, shortly
after the sun had set.
"It is," the old sailor agreed, "but I'm afraid it isn't going down
fast enough to help us much. I noticed before dark that our sea anchor
is going to pieces. If it once goes and we swing into the trough of the
seas, we are goners."
But the old sailor had done his work well and the sea anchor did not
give way as he feared, instead, it held stoutly together while they
drifted on into the night.
As the hours crept slowly away it became evident, beyond a doubt, that
the wind was steadily going down, and with it the sea, although the
waves still ran dangerously high.
They were beginning to gain fresh hope and courage even in their
suffering condition when the unexpected happened.
It was Walter that saw it first,--a dark wall rising high up in the
darkness directly in their path. They could do nothing to avert the
danger, only sit and stare dully at the looming mass. As they drove
down upon it they saw that it was a forest of great trees rising,
apparently, right out of the water.
Swiftly the doomed launch drifted down on the submerged forest.
When a hundred feet away the captain roused to action. "Here's a rope,"
he cried. "Each of you grab hold of it and cling on for life."
The words were barely out of his mouth, when the launch, rising on a
big wave, came down with a crash and the next wave sweeping over her
carried them off into the sea.
Like drowning men catching at a straw, the four clung to the rope
as the rushing comber swept them on with it. Bruised, battered, and
breathless, it hurled them upon something hard.
"Quick!" Charley cried, as he realized that they had been safely cast
up into shoal water. "Quick! Up for the beach before the next comber!"
His companions had not waited for the command, but were already
scrambling ahead. A few strides carried them out of danger--but there
was no beach. Everywhere great trees rose up out of water nearly to
their knees. Even in the darkness, they could see that the towering
giants were almost bare of limb, and from high up above the water great
crooked roots grasped down for a hold on the bottom.
Charley grasped one of the elbow-like roots and pulled himself up out
of water. "Come on," he cried, "it's high and dry up here. These roots
grow so close together one can almost lie down upon them."
His companions climbed weakly up beside him, where they rested, panting
to gain their breath.
"Come on, we can make ourselves more comfortable than this," Charley
said, when he had regained some of the wind that had been battered out
of him.
They followed him as he crept cautiously from root to root. When they
got about fifty feet from shore, he stopped.
"We had not better try to go any further," he said. "We're shut off
from the wind all right. Now, for a good, long drink."
He slipped off into the water and, stooping, lapped greedily.
"Come on," he said, as he straightened up for breath, "drink all you
want, it's sweet and fresh."
Much to their delight, his companions found it true and they drank long
and greedily of the sweet, cool fluid.
"Now, for beds," Charley announced, cheerfully, when their thirst was
at last satisfied. "Just reach up and break off branches and lay them
across the roots, that will have to do for to-night."
By standing on their tip-toes, they were able to reach some of the
small boughs and by pulling down--broke them off without difficulty. In
a short time they had gathered and placed enough to make a platform big
enough to accommodate them all. Upon this they were glad to lie down
and stretch their tired, aching limbs and bodies.
"This beats the launch, anyway," Charley observed, cheerfully. "The
trees shield us from the wind, our thirst is satisfied, and there is no
spray to wet us. The air is so warm we ought to be able to get a little
sleep without catching cold. I guess, we could all eat a pretty hearty
meal right now but we will have to wait until morning to get that."
"What is this strange floating forest," his chum inquired. "I never saw
trees like these before."
"They are quite common," Charley answered. "They are cypresses, and
grow only on low, over-flooded ground."
"Have you any idea where we are, lad?" asked the captain.
"I fancy we are on the north-western edge of the great Everglade
swamp," Charley replied. "It meets the gulf somewhere below Marco,
about one hundred and twenty miles from Clearwater. But we can talk
over these things in the morning. Now we had better get a little sleep
if we can. We will need all the rest we can get, for to-morrow is
going to be a hard day."
Hard and uncomfortable as was the uneven platform, his companions were
so exhausted that they were instantly asleep and their snores soon
mingled with the hooting of multitudes of owls and the croaking of
thousands of frogs.
Charley lay awake a few minutes longer, his mind too full of worry and
discouragement for instant sleep.
Their plight was enough to daunt the stoutest heart. Their launch was
gone, pounded to pieces on the hard sand, and all the money they had
worked so hard to earn and save would have to go to make good the loss.
They would, after all their labor, be left just as they had landed in
Clearwater with nothing but the clothing on their backs. That is, if
they lived to reach Clearwater again.
His mind filled with these gloomy reflections, the lad at last dropped
off to sleep.