At length they noticed that the volleys of thunder seemed less near and the lightning less frequent and the onslaught of the rain darts not so sharp. The squall began to die down as quickly as it rose; astern, a faint light showed, while ahead the gloom was as deep as before. The rain grew less and less, and then passed entirely, the sun cleared his brow and shone down amiably through a blue sky, the wind calmed to a steady breeze, rain-washed and cool. Only the troubled sea remained as a reminder of the tempest.
Frank got up and shook himself. “I wish we had a wringer aboard,” he said. “I’d like to put myself through it. Ugh! I’m wet.”
As the sun dropped into the sea the “Gazelle” ran over the bar and anchored just inside of Pensacola Harbor. The ebb tide prevented them from going up to the town.
The shelter was slight, and the sharp squall of the afternoon raised the sea to an uncomfortable degree of motion. The “Gazelle” tossed and rolled, not having the steadying advantage of spread canvas. The boys were glad enough when the sun rose and the tide allowed them to sail up to a sheltered anchorage off the city itself.
The thing about the city of Pensacola that seemed principally to attract the boys’ interest was a large ice-manufacturing plant, the manager of which presented them with a sizable cake. This to boys who had been drinking luke-warm, rather brackish water, was a real boon.
After leaving Pensacola Harbor they turned to port, and found anchored just round the bar a fleet of vessels flying the yellow quarantine flag; but the “Gazelle,” having a clean bill of health, gave them a wide berth and sped on.
The rather intricate passage into Santa Rosa Sound was run without mishap, and then began one of the most delightful day’s sail of the cruise.
They passed a strip of sand hills twenty miles long, for the most part covered with tall, waving grass, live oaks and palms, but showing glimpses here and there of the white gleaming sand. The main land along the Sound is a government reservation, and is thickly planted with live oaks, forming a solid wall of green almost twenty miles long—a hedge, as it were, with irregular top, showing where some ambitious tree has grown above its fellows. Between is a strip of water five miles wide, smooth and clear, light green in its shallows, shading into the deep blue that marked the channel.
Along this path of beauty flew the “Gazelle,” her white sides and sails gleaming against the tinted water.
A fleet of fishing boats were sailing ahead when the “Gazelle” entered the Sound, their graceful shapes skimming over the water.