“But I say, Blake–” began Winthrope.
“Don’t say–do!” rejoined Blake; and he started down the muddy shore.
Though the tide was at flood, there was now no cyclone to drive the sea above the beach, and Blake walked a quarter of a mile before he reached the water’s edge. There was little surf, and he paused only a few moments to peer out across the low swells before he commenced to strip.
Winthrope and Miss Leslie had been watching his movements; now the girl rose in a little flurry of haste, and set to gathering reeds. Winthrope would have spoken, but, seeing her embarrassment, smiled to himself, and began strolling about in search of fish.
It was no difficult search. The marshy ground was strewn with dead sea-creatures, many of which were already shrivelling and drying in the sun. Some of the fish had a familiar look, and Winthrope turned them over with the tip of his shoe. He even went so far as to stoop to pick up a large mullet; but shrank back, repulsed by its stiffness and the unnatural shape into which the sun was warping it.
He found himself near the beach, and stood for half an hour or more watching the black dot far out in the water,–all that was to be seen of Blake. The American, after wading off-shore another quarter of a mile, had reached swimming depth, and was heading out among the reefs with steady, vigorous strokes. Half a mile or so beyond him Winthrope could now make out the goal for which he was aiming,–the one remaining topmast of the steamer.
“By Jove, these waters are full of sharks!” murmured Winthrope, staring at the steadily receding dot until it disappeared behind the wall of surf which spumed up over one of the outer reefs.
A call from Miss Leslie interrupted his watch, and he hastened to rejoin her. After several failures, she had contrived to knot Blake’s handkerchief to three or four reeds in the form of a little sunshade. Her shoulders were protected by Blake’s coat. It made a heavy wrap, but it shut out the blistering sun-rays, which, as Blake had foreseen, had quickly begun to burn the girl’s delicate skin through her open-work bodice.
Thus protected, she was fairly safe from the sun. But the sun was by no means the worst feature of the situation. While Winthrope was yet several yards distant, the girl began to complain to him. “I’m so thirsty, Mr. Winthrope! Where is there any water? Please get me a drink at once, Mr. Winthrope!”
“But, my dear Miss Leslie, there is no water. These pools are all sea-water. I must say, I’m deuced dry myself. I can’t see why that cad should go off and leave us like this, when we need him most.”