The Young Marooners on the Florida Coast

by F. R. Goulding

When they left the beach, the light of day was fading into the hues of night; and several faint stars peeped timidly from the yet illuminated sky. Mary and Frank retired to their room soon after dark. The larger boys sat for some time, conversing upon their situation and prospects, when observing the sky to cloud rapidly with the indications of a sudden change of weather, they went to the landing, made their boat secure as possible, and then laid down to rest.

The wind soon began to sigh in the branches of the huge oak above them. Each puff became stronger than the one before it. They could hear the roar of the distant surf, bursting angrily over the sandy barrier, and thundering on the shore. It was the beginning of a hurricane. The boys sprang from their pallets, and dressing themselves hastily, seized the ax and hatchet, and drove the tent-pins deeply into the ground. While thus engaged, Nanny and her kids came up, and showed a strong disposition to take refuge in the tent. The dogs also gave signs of uneasiness, following them around with drooping tails, whining and shivering, as they looked with half shut, winking eyes, in the direction of the wind. These signs of terror in their dumb companions only made the boys work faster, and do their work more securely. They did not content themselves with driving down the tent-pins; they took the logs cut for firewood, and laid them on the windward edges of the tent, to prevent the wind from entering below and blowing the canvas from above their heads. Had they the time they would have laid the sails of their boat, which they had hastily unrigged, above the canvas of the tent; but ere they could accomplish this, the wind burst upon them with the fury of a tornado. The grand old tree quivered to its roots, and groaned in every limb. The tent fluttered and tugged at the ropes with such force that the deeply driven pins could scarcely hold it down. It was fortunate that it had been pitched under the oak, for the long lower branches, which at ordinary times almost swept the ground, were strained downwards so far, that with their loads of moss, they formed a valuable barrier against the wind.

There was little sleeping for the boys that night. Scarcely had they entered the tent before the rain commenced. It came in heavy drifts, and was carried with such force that, notwithstanding the protection afforded by the oak, it insinuated itself through the close threads of the canvas, and under the edges of the tent. Mary had been awaked by the hammering, and Frank was now roused by the dropping of water in his face. When Robert entered their room to see how they fared, he discovered them seated on a trunk, wrapped in their father's cloak, and sheltered by that very umbrella which Frank had been provident enough to bring. They rolled up their bedding and clothes, and protected as best they could whatever seemed most in danger from the wet. They sat on boxes and trunks, and wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets; but it was in vain; they could not guard themselves at the same time from the rain above and the driven water from below. They sat cold and shivering until three o'clock in the morning, when the rain ceased and the wind abated. Then they made a fire; and just before day were enabled, by lying on trunks and boxes, to indulge themselves in a short uneasy sleep.

The clear sun shone over the main land before the wearied company awoke. Harold was the first on his feet, and calling to Robert, they hastened out to see what damage had been done. Mary also joined them, followed by Frank; for having dressed themselves during the night, they had no further toilet to make.

In every direction were to be seen traces of the storm; prostrate trees, broken branches, the ground strewed with twigs, and the thickets and vines loaded with packages of moss, torn from the taller trees. The sea roared terribly, and thick dirty billows came rolling up the river.

Harold was about to mend the fire for Mary, who said she wanted to drink something hot, as the best means of warming her chilled limbs, when Robert, glancing at the tremendous tide in the river, called to her quickly--"Do not waste one drop of this water in the bucket; there is only a quart left, and no one can tell when the tide will be down enough for us to obtain more." He ran to the bluff, and the others observed him make a gesture of surprise, look hastily around, and finally leap down the bank. He was absent only two or three minutes, and then returned with a pale face and hurrying step.

"Harold!" said he, scarcely able to articulate, "OUR BOAT IS GONE! Burst from her moorings!"

At this terrible announcement, every face whitened, and there was a general rush for the landing. It was even so. The boat was nowhere to be seen. The stake which had confined it had also disappeared. Far as the eye could reach nothing was visible but water--water, with here and there a patch of mangrove, higher than the rest, and bowing reluctantly to the rush of the waves. They looked anxiously over the watery waste, and then into each other's agitated faces. It was clear that their prospect of speedily returning home was hopeless.

"But perhaps," said Mary, who was the first to recover speech, "it is not lost. It may have only drifted up the river; or it may have sunk at the landing."

Robert mournfully looked, where he had already looked more than once, and said, "Well, we can try. But what is the use? something has been against us ever since we left home. Harold, shall we search the river?"