The Wreck of the Red Bird: A Story of the Carolina Coast

"Pull away, as hard as you can!" cried Ned, seeing that the speed was rapidly growing less. "Here, you're exhausted, Jack; let me take your oar. Now, Charley, give it to her!"

The oarsmen bent to their work with the strength of desperation, but the keel was now completely buried in the mud, and the whole bottom of the boat rested in the slimy ooze. Do what they would, the boys could drive her no further.

"Stuck!" cried Jack.

"Yes, stuck, fairly stuck, and in for a night of it, fog or no fog," said Ned.

"What's to be done?" asked Charley.

"Nothing now, except go to sleep if we can. It's so cold and raw that we'll find that pretty hard work. I wish we had brought a lot of moss for blankets."

"But what if the fog lifts in the night?" asked Charley.

"Well, what if it does? We can do nothing now till the tide comes in to-morrow morning. We're high and dry now, and the tide will continue to run out until one or two o'clock to-night. Then it will turn, but we shan't be afloat again till very nearly high tide, – say about seven or eight o'clock to-morrow morning."

"Yes," said Jack, "and as we have eaten nearly nothing since morning, and have nothing to eat till we get to Bluffton, we shall need all the strength we can get from sleep. So let's sleep if we can."

Bestowing themselves as comfortably as they could, the three worn-out, half-famished lads did their best to sleep; but there was very little chance of that. No sooner had they ceased to exert themselves, than the penetrating cold of the fog, which had already saturated their scanty clothing, made them shiver and shake as with an ague fit.

They were obliged occasionally to go to the oars for exercise, in order to keep their blood in circulation, and so there was no chance of any thing like sleep beyond an occasional cat nap. Not long before dawn it began to rain, and Ned, who had been dozing, suddenly sprang up, crying out:

"What's that? Rain? Good!"

"Why, 'good'?" asked Charley, shivering; "I'm damp enough already."

"Good, because if it rains hard the fog will disappear."

"Why?"

"Because it will be converted into rain, and fall. A fog disappears always either by rising and floating away, or by falling in the shape of rain; and this one means to fall, I should say, if I may judge by the way it is coming down now."

It had, indeed, begun to pour. The condition of the boys was thus rendered still more uncomfortable than before, but at least their prospects were brightened by way of compensation, and as the steady downpour cleared the air of the dense fog, their spirits bounded up again in spite of all the discomforts of their situation.

"I say, Jack," said Charley, "are you a prophet or a weather witch?"

"Neither, so far as I am informed," replied Jack; "why do you ask?"

"Only because I suspect that you either foresaw this fog or created it."

"I don't see the force of your suspicion," said Jack.

"Don't you remember how you croaked about slips between the cup and the lip when Ned and I were so sure of getting to Bluffton?"

"Yes, of course; but I didn't really expect any thing of this nature. I only spoke generally."

"Out of the abundance of your wisdom. But I won't make fun, for you were right."

"And, besides," said Ned, "the situation just now isn't a bit funny. There's a young river running down my back, and I'm in for a good scolding from Maum Sally when I see her. She'll scold me for overstaying my time, for wrecking the boat, for losing my boots, for spoiling my clothes, and for every thing else she can think of. And yet, though you'll hardly believe it, I heartily wish I could be sure of getting that scolding very early this morning."

CHAPTER XXIV

MAUM SALLY

Daylight came about five o'clock, and Ned made use of the earliest light for looking about him and determining his position. So buried was the boat in the tall marsh grass, that he had to stand upon the highest part of the bow in order to see at all. At first he could make out very little, but as it grew lighter – for, the rain having ceased, the light gained rapidly toward six o'clock – he was able to make out the bearings pretty well.

"I say, fellows," he said, turning to his companions, "we made a centre shot. If we had tried, in the broadest light of the clearest day, we couldn't have put the Aphrodite more exactly in the middle of this marsh bank."

Further inspection showed that this judgment was accurate. The boat lay precisely in the middle of the little island, which stretched away two or three hundred yards on each side.

The tide had risen enough by half-past six for the water to lick the sides of the boat, but it would be a full hour or more before the Aphrodite would float up out of the mud, and even then it would be necessary to wait awhile longer for deeper water, before trying to push her great bulk through the rank marsh grass.

"Why not hurry matters by getting out and pushing the empty boat?" asked impatient Charley, who had already declared himself to be in a state of actual starvation.

"Just take one of the oars, Charley," said Ned, "and feel of the bottom we should have to walk on."

Charley took the oar, pushed it through the roots of the grass, and then, with scarcely an effort, plunged its whole length straight downward through the soft mud.

"Ya – as, I see," he drawled, as he drew the oar out again; "it isn't precisely the sort of lawn that one would choose for walking about on in slippers."

Just then oars were heard, and looking in the direction from which the sound came, Ned suddenly cried out:

"Hi! Maum Sally! Hi there! Here we are, out here in the marsh!" Then turning to his companions, he said:

"It's Maum Sally in the little boat. I wonder where she's going this early on Sunday morning."

Maum Sally did not leave him long in doubt on this head. Rowing her boat as far into the grass and as near to them as she could, she came to a stop at about a hundred and fifty yards from the Aphrodite. Then standing up in her boat, placing her bare arms akimbo, and tossing her red-turbaned head back, she began:

"Now, look heah, young Ned! What you mean by dis heah sort o' doins? Didn't you promise me faithful to be back agin in a month? An' ain't de month done gone, an' heah you is a idlin' about on a ma'sh, an' it Sunday mawnin' too? Jes' you come straight 'long home now."

After she had spent her first breath in a tirade which was half scolding and half coddling, – for that was always her way with Ned, whom she had spoiled all his life, from the cradle upward, – she paused long enough for Ned to explain that he and his companions could not go to her until the tide should rise at least a foot more.

"Now listen, boys," he said; "she'll keep it up till the rising tide brings her to us, and we're in for an hour of it."

"Why not persuade her to go back and get breakfast ready by the time we get there?" asked Jack.

"Go back? Not she. My month was up yesterday, and as I didn't put in an appearance, she set out to find me and bring me home this morning, and you just bet she won't go home without me. She'll row this way as fast as the rising water will let her, and she'll keep on scolding and coddling me all the time. Then she'll jump in here and hug me as if I were her long-lost baby boy. Hear her!"

Maum Sally fulfilled Ned's prediction to the letter. As she drew nearer, and made out the forlorn condition of the young Crusoes, discovering, little by little, how ragged they were, she scolded more and more savagely, while Ned laughed and heartily enjoyed it all, taking pains to direct her attention to the various losses he had sustained, and hinting now and then at the difficulties he had encountered and the dangers he had passed. Each word of his gave Maum Sally a new theme for her scolding, and as the little boat pushed itself up to the big one she leaped from the one into the other, changing her tone, manner, and expression in the very middle of a sentence, somewhat thus:

"I tell you, young Ned, ef I gits my han's on you, you ugly, provokin', no 'count young scape – darlin', blessed boy, aint ole Sally happy to git her arms roun' you agin, and hug you jis like you was a baby agin; an' now I's got you safe in these arms agin, I tell you I's happy."

The sudden change in the sentence occurred just as Maum Sally stepped from one boat into the other, and fell upon Ned with that savage fury of affection which only a dear old black nurse can feel.

To row out of the marsh when the water grew a little deeper, and then to row home to a late but toothsome breakfast, was easy enough now. Then a long day of complete rest followed, and the whole story of the wreck of the Red Bird was a memory merely.

THE END