The Boy Slaves - Майн Рид

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was scarce discernible at the distance of six paces from where they stood. They could only tell that water was around them, by hearing it hoarsely swishing on every side, and seeing through the dim obscurity the strings of white froth that floated on its broken surface.

      It was not altogether the darkness of the night that obscured their view; though this was of itself profound. It was a thick mist, or fog, that had arisen over the surface of the ocean, and which enveloped their bodies; so that, though standing almost close together, each appeared to the others like some huge spectral form at a distance!

      To remain where they were, was to be swallowed up by the sea. There could be no uncertainty about that; and therefore no one thought of staying a moment longer on the point of the sand-spit, now utterly submerged.

      But in what direction were they to go? That was the question that required to be solved before starting; and in the solution of which, perhaps, depended the safety of their lives.

      We need scarce say perhaps. Rather might we say, for certain. By taking a wrong direction they would be walking into the sea—where they would soon get beyond their depth, and be in danger of drowning. This was all the more likely, that the wind had been increasing ever since they had laid down to rest, and was now blowing with considerable violence. Partly from this, and partly by the tidal influence, big waves had commenced rolling around them; so that, even in the shoal water where they stood, each successive swell was rising higher and higher against their bodies.

      There was no time to be lost. They must find the true direction for the shore, and follow it—quickly too; or perish amid the breakers!

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      Which way to the shore?

      That was the question that arose to the lips of all.

      You may fancy it could have been easily answered. The direction of the wind and waves was landward. It was the sea-breeze, which at night, as every navigator is aware, blows habitually towards the land—at least, in the region of the tropics, and more especially towards the hot Saära.

      The tide itself might have told them the direction to take. It was the in-coming tide, and therefore swelling towards the beach.

      You may fancy that they had nothing to do but follow the waves, keeping the breeze upon their back.

      So they fancied, at first starting for the shore; but they were not long in discovering that this guide, apparently so trustworthy was not to be relied upon; and it was only then they became apprised of the real danger of their situation. Both wind and waves were certainly proceeding landward, and in a direct line; but it was just this direct line the castaways dared not—in fact could not—follow; for they had not gone a hundred fathoms from the point of the submerged peninsula when they found the water rapidly deepening before them; and a few fathoms further on they stood up to their armpits!

      It was evident that, in the direction in which they were proceeding, it continued to grow deeper; and they turned to try another.

      After floundering about for a while, they found shoal water again—reaching up only to their knees; but wherever they attempted to follow the course of the waves, they perceived that the shoal trended gradually downward.

      This at first caused them surprise, as well as alarm. The former affected them only for an instant. The explanation was sought for, and suggested to the satisfaction of all. The sand-spit did not project perpendicularly from the line of the coast, but in a diagonal direction. It was in fact, a sort of natural breakwater—forming one side of a large cone, or embayment, lying between it and the true beach. This feature had been observed, on their first setting foot upon it; though at the time they were so much engrossed with the joyous thought of having escaped from the sea, that it had made no impression upon their memory.

      They now remembered the circumstance; though not to their satisfaction; for they saw at once that the guide in which they had been trusting could no longer avail them.

      The waves were rolling on over that bay—whose depth they had tried, only to find it unfordable.

      This was a new dilemma. To escape from it there appeared but one way. They must keep their course along the combing of the peninsula—if they could. But their ability to do so had now become a question—each instant growing more difficult to answer.

      They were no longer certain that they were on the spit; but, whether or not, they could find no shallower water by trying on either side. Each way they went it seemed to deepen; and even if they stood still but for a few moments, as they were compelled to do while hesitating as to their course—the water rose perceptibly upon their limbs.

      They were now well aware that they had two enemies to contend with—time and direction. The loss of either one or the other might end in their destruction. A wrong direction would lead them into deep water; a waste of time would bring deep water around them. The old adage about time and tide—which none of them could help having heard—might have been ringing in their ears at that moment. It was appropriate to the occasion.

      They thought of it; and the thought filled them with apprehension. From the observations they had made before sunset, they knew that the shore could not be near—not nearer than three miles—perhaps four.

      Even with free footing, the true direction, and a clear view of the path, it might have been a question about time. They all knew enough of the sea to be aware how rapidly the tide sets in—especially on some foreign shores—and there was nothing to assure them that the seaboard of the Saära was not beset by the most treacherous of tides. On the contrary, it was just this—a tidal current—that had forced their vessel among the breakers, causing them to become what they now were—castaways!

      They had reason to dread the tides of the Saära's shore; and dread them they did—their fears at each moment becoming stronger as they felt the dark waters rising higher and higher around them.

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      For a time they floundered on—the old sailor in the lead, the three boys strung out in a line after him. Sometimes they departed from this formation—one or another trying towards the flank for shallower water.

      Already it clasped them by the thighs; and just in proportion as it rose upon their bodies, did their spirits become depressed. They knew that they were following the crest of the sand-spit. They knew it by the deepening of the sea on each side of them; but they had by this time discovered another index to their direction. Old Bill had kept his "weather-eye" upon the waves; until he had discovered the angle at which they broke over the "bar," and could follow the "combing" of the spit, as he called it, without much danger of departure from the true path.

      It was not the direction that troubled their thoughts any longer; but the time and the tide.

      Up to their waists in water, their progress could not be otherwise than slow. The time would not have signified could they have been sure of the tide—that is, sure of its not rising higher.

      Alas! they could not be in doubt about this. On the contrary, they were too well assured that it was rising higher; and with a rapidity that threatened soon to submerge them under its merciless swells. These came slowly

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