By the way, how deep would it be? Up to my knees?
I looked around to discover some means of judging how high the water was wont to rise. I knew that the rocks would be all covered, for I had often seen them so; but I had been all my life under the impression, and so were people who lived on the shore, that the water rose only a few inches above the reef.
At first, I could observe nothing that would guide me as to the height, but at length my eye fell upon the signal-staff, and ran up and down its shaft. There was a water-line sure enough, and there was even a circle of white paint round the post, no doubt intended to mark it; but judge my surprise, my absolute terror, when I perceived that this line was at least six feet above the base of the staff!
Half distracted, I ran up to the pole. I placed myself by its side and looked up. Alas! my eye had measured but too correctly. The line was far above my head. I could hardly touch it with the tips of my fingers!
A thrill of horror ran through my veins, as I contemplated the result of this discovery. The danger was too clearly defined. Before rescue could reach me, the tide would be in. I should be overwhelmed—swept from the reef—drowned in the waste of waters!
Chapter Ten.
Climbing a smooth Pole.
My belief now was, that my life was in peril—nay, rather, that death was almost certain. My hopes of being rescued on that day were but slight from the first, but now they were slighter than ever. The tide would be back long before night. In a few hours it would be at its flood, and that would be the end. Should people go in search of me before night—which, for reasons already given, was not at all likely—they would be too late. The tide would not wait either for them or for me.