The Boy Slaves

by Mayne Reid

And they held on, with the waves washing against their cheeks, and at intervals quite over their heads, with the briny fluid rushing into their ears and up their nostrils, until one after another began to believe that there would be no alternative between surrendering to the cruel sea, or to the not less cruel sons of the Saara.

As they were close together, they could hold council, conversing all the time in something louder than a whisper. There was no risk of their being overheard. Though scarce a cable’s length from the shore, the hoarse soughing of the surf would have drowned the sound of their voices, even if uttered in a much louder tone; but being skilled in the acoustics of the ocean, they exchanged their thoughts with due caution: and while encouraging one another to remain firm, they speculated freely upon the chances of escaping from their perilous predicament.

While thus occupied, a predicament of an equally perilous and still more singular kind, was in store for them. They had been hitherto advancing towards the water’s edge, in regular progression with the influx of the tide, all the while upon their knees. This, as already stated, had enabled them to sustain themselves steadily, without showing anything more than three-quarters of the head above the surface.

All at once, however, the water appeared to deepen; and by going upon their knees they could no longer surmount the waves, even with their eyes. By moving on towards the beach, they might again get into shallower water; but just at this point the commotion caused by the breakers came to a termination, and the flakes of froth, with the surrounding spray of bubbles here bursting, one after another, left the surface of the sea to its restored tranquillity. Anything beyond a cork, or the tiniest waif of seaweed, could scarce fail to be seen from the strand, though the latter was itself, constantly receding as the tide flowed inward.

The submerged middies were now in a dilemma they had not dreamed of. By holding their ground, they could not fail to “go under”. By advancing farther, they would run the risk of being discovered to the enemy.

Their first movement was to get up from their knees, and raise their heads above water by standing in a crouched attitude on their feet. This they had done before, more than once, returning to the posture of supplication only when too tired to sustain themselves.

This they attempted again, and determined to continue it to the last moment, in view of the danger of approaching nearer to the enemy.

To their consternation they now found that it would no longer avail them. Scarce they had risen erect before discovering that, even in his position, they were immersed to the chin, and after plunging a pace or two forward, they were still sinking deeper. They could feel that their feet were not resting on firm bottom; but constantly going down.

“A quicksand!” was the apprehension that rushed simultaneously into the minds of all three.

Fortunately for them, the Arabs, at that moment, yielding to their fatalist fears, had faced away from the shore; else the plunging and splashing made by them in their violent endeavours to escape from the quicksand could not have failed to dissipate these superstitions, and cause their pursuers to complete the capture they had so childishly relinquished.