“It would be less unfeeling,” replied Max, “as well as more strictly according to the facts of the case, to say a hasty conclusion, which might be understood literally, and would then be literally correct.”
The water, which we found to be good, though slightly brackish, was contained in a narrow pit situated in the centre of a circular hollow, or basin. It was not more than half full, but its sides showed a fresh and distinct water-mark, more than a foot above the present level. At the edge of the basin, a solitary palm shot upward its straight shaft, to the height of nearly a hundred feet; the long, fringed leaves drooping from the top, like a bunch of gigantic ostrich plumes, and overshadowing the well. It seemed difficult to account for this supply of fresh water in so unpromising a spot, and so near the sea-shore. I was at first inclined to think it nothing more than a reservoir of standing water, left by the last rains, which had filled not only the pit, but also the surrounding basin. The former being deep and narrow, evaporation would be very gradual, which might, I supposed, account for the small quantity still remaining.
“That can hardly be,” said Arthur, when I suggested this explanation, “the spot is wholly unsheltered from the sun, except at noon, by this screen of palm-leaves, and if the entire hollow were filled with water this morning, there would not be a drop of moisture left in three days, unless the supply were renewed. Besides, the water is too fresh and sweet to have stood since the last rains.”
“I should judge,” said Morton, “that this spot is but little above the level of the lagoon, and if the bottom of the well here, is below that level at ebb tide, this supply of fresh water can be easily accounted for.”
“The rise and fall of the tide here, does not seem to be more than eighteen inches, or two feet,” said Max, “and as to the depth of the pit or well, as you call it, you ought to be able to speak with confidence, having so recently been to the bottom of it.”
“There are wells on the low islands of the West Indies,” said Morton, “which communicate with the sea, and rise and fall with the tide, the sea-water penetrating through the sand, and being distilled in its passage: and I think this is one of the same kind. Here is a recent water-mark, more than a foot above the present level. If I am right, we shall find that the tide is now low.”
Arthur thrust a stick into the side of the well to mark the height of the water, while Johnny rushed furiously down to the beach, and in a moment came posting back with the announcement that the tide was low.
“Very well, so far,” said Arthur, “it only remains to be seen, whether, when the tide has risen, there will be any corresponding rise here.”
“And, meantime,” suggested Browne, “let us refresh ourselves with a bath, before the sun gets higher; and we can also take the opportunity to give our under garments the benefit of an ablution, as Max has proposed.”
No one can fully appreciate the luxury of sea-bathing who has not enjoyed it within the tropics.