Cruise of the Dolphin | Page 7

how long.
Meanwhile the storm raged with augmented fury. We were obliged to
hold on to the ropes of the tent to prevent it blowing away. The spray
from the river leaped several yards up the rocks and clutched at us
malignantly. The very island trembled with the concussions of the sea
beating upon it, and at times I fancied that it had broken loose from its
foundation and was floating off with us. The breakers, streaked with

angry phosphorus, were fearful to look at.
The wind rose higher and higher, cutting long slits in the tent, through
which the rain poured incessantly. To complete the sum of our miseries,
the night was at hand. It came down abruptly, at last, like a curtain,
shutting in Sandpeep Island from all the world.
It was a dirty night, as the sailors say. The darkness was something that
could be felt as well as seen--it pressed down upon one with a cold,
clammy touch. Gazing into the hollow blackness, all sorts of
imaginable shapes seemed to start forth from vacancy-- brilliant colors,
stars, prisms, and dancing lights. What boy, lying awake at night, has
not amused or terrified himself by peopling the spaces around his bed
with these phenomena of his own eyes?
"I say," whispered Fred Langdon, at last, clutching my hand, "don't you
see things--out there--in the dark?"
"Yes, yes--Binny Wallace's face!"
I added to my own nervousness by making this avowal; though for the
last ten minutes I had seen little besides that star-pale face with its
angelic hair and brows. First a slim yellow circle, like the nimbus round
the dark moon, took shape and grew sharp against the darkness; then
this faded gradually, and there was the Face, wearing the same sad,
sweet look it wore when he waved his hand to us across the awful
water. This optical illusion kept repeating itself.
"And I too," said Adams." I see it every now and then, outside there.
What wouldn't I give if it really was poor little Wallace looking in at us!
O boys, how shall we dare to go back to the town without him? I've
wished a hundred times, since we've been sitting here, that I was in his
place, alive or dead!"
We dreaded the approach of morning as much as we longed for it. The
morning would tell us all. Was it possible for the Dolphin to outride
such a storm? There was a lighthouse on Mackerel Reef, which lay
directly in the course the boat had taken when it disappeared. If the
Dolphin had caught on this reef, perhaps Binny Wallace was safe.
Perhaps his cries had been heard by the keeper of the light. The man
owned a life-boat, and had rescued several persons. Who could tell?
Such were the questions we asked ourselves again and again, as we lay
huddled together waiting for daybreak. What an endless night it was! I
have known months that did not seem so long.

Our position was irksome rather than perilous; for the day was certain
to bring us relief from the town, where our prolonged absence, together
with the storm, had no doubt excited the liveliest alarm for our safety.
But the cold, the darkness, and the suspense were hard to bear.
Our soaked jackets had chilled us to the bone. In order to keep warm
we lay so closely that we could hear our hearts beat above the tumult of
sea and sky.
After a while we grew very hungry, not having broken our fast since
early in the day. The rain had turned the hard-tack into a sort of dough;
but it was better than nothing.
We used to laugh at Fred Langdon for always carrying in his pocket a
small vial of essence of peppermint or sassafras, a few drops of which,
sprinkled on a lump of loaf-sugar, he seemed to consider a great luxury.
I do not know what would have become of us at this crisis if it had not
been for that omnipresent bottle of hot stuff. We poured the stinging
liquid over our sugar, which had kept dry in a sardine-box, and warmed
ourselves with frequent doses.
After four or five hours the rain ceased, the wind died away to a moan,
and the sea--no longer raging like a maniac--sobbed and sobbed with a
piteous human voice all along the coast. And well it might, after that
night's work. Twelve sail of the Gloucester fishing fleet had gone down
with every soul on board, just outside of Whale's-Back Light. Think of
the wide grief that follows in the wake of one wreck; then think of the
despairing women who wrung their hands and wept, the next morning,
in the streets of Gloucester, Marblehead, and Newcastle!
Though our strength