The wind had freshened by this, and we found it comfortable to put
on the jackets which had been thrown aside in the heat of the day.
We strolled along the beach and gathered large quantities of the
fairy-woven Iceland moss, which at certain seasons is washed to
these shores; then we played at ducks and drakes, and then, the sun
being sufficiently low, we went in bathing.

Before our bath was ended a slight change had come over the sky and
sea; fleecy-white clouds scudded here and there, and a muffled moan
from the breakers caught our ears from time to time. While we were
dressing, a few hurried drops of rain came lisping down, and we
adjourned to the tent to wait the passing of the squall.

"We're all right, anyhow," said Phil Adams. "It won't be much of a
blow, and we'll be as snug as a bug in a rug, here in the tent,
particularly if we have that lemonade which some of you fellows
were going to make.

By an oversight, the lemons had been left in the boat. Binny
Wallace volunteered to go for them.

"Put an extra stone on the painter, Binny," said Adams, calling
after him; "it would be awkward to have the Dolphin give us the
slip and return to port minus her passengers." 

"That it would," answered Binny, scrambling down the rocks.

Sandpeep Island is diamond-shaped--one point running out into the
sea, and the other looking towards the town. Our tent was on the
river-side. Though the Dolphin was also on the same side, she lay
out of sight by the beach at the farther extremity of the island.

Binny Wallace had been absent five or six minutes when we heard him
calling our several names in tones that indicated distress or
surprise, we could not tell which. Our first thought was, "The boat
has broken adrift!"

We sprung to our feet and hastened down to the beach. On turning
the bluff which hid the mooring-place from our view, we found the
conjecture correct. Not only was the Dolphin afloat, but poor
little Binny Wallace was standing in the bows with his arms
stretched helplessly towards us--drifting out to sea!

"Head the boat inshore!" shouted Phil Adams.

Wallace ran to the tiller; but the slight cockle-shell merely swung
round and drifted broadside on. Oh, if we had but left a single
scull in the Dolphin!

"Can you swim it?" cried Adams desperately, using his hand as a
speaking-trumpet, for the distance between the boat and the island
widened momently.

Binny Wallace looked down at the sea, which was covered with white
caps, and made a despairing gesture. He knew, and we knew, that the
stoutest swimmer could not live forty seconds in those angry
waters.

A wild, insane light came into Phil Adam's eyes, as he stood knee-
deep in the boiling surf, and for an instant I think he meditated
plunging into the ocean after the receding boat.

The sky darkened, and an ugly look stole rapidly over the broken
surface of the sea.

Binny Wallace half rose from his seat in the stern, and waved his
hand to us in token of farewell. In spite of the distance,
increasing every moment, we could see his face plainly. The anxious
expression it wore at first had passed. It was pale and meek now,
and I love to think there was a kind of halo about it, like that
which painters place around the forehead of a saint. So he drifted
away.

The sky grew darker and darker. It was only by straining our eyes
through the unnatural twilight that we could keep the Dolphin in
sight. The figure of Binny Wallace was no longer visible, for the
boat itself had dwindled to a mere white dot on the black water.
Now we lost it, and our hearts stopped throbbing; and now the speck
appeared again, for an instant, on the crest of a high wave.

Finally it went out like a spark, and we saw it no more. Then we
gazed at one another, and dared not speak.

Absorbed in following the course of the boat, we had scarcely
noticed the huddled inky clouds that sagged heavily all around us.
From these threatening masses, seamed at intervals with pale
lightning, there now burst a heavy peal of thunder that shook the
ground under our feet. A sudden squall struck the sea, ploughing
deep white furrows into it, and at the same instant a single
piercing shriek rose above the tempest--the frightened cry of a
gull swooping over the island. How it startled us!

It was impossible any longer to keep our footing on the beach. The
wind and the breakers would have swept us into the ocean if we had
not clung to one another with the desperation of drowning men.
Taking advantage of a momentary lull, we crawled up the sands on
our hands and knees, and, pausing in the lee of the granite ledge
to gain breath, returned to the camp, where we found that the gale
had snapped all the fastenings of the tent but one. Held by this,
the puffed-out canvas swayed in the wind like a balloon. It was a
task of some difficulty to secure it, which we did by beating down
the canvas with the oars.

After several trials, we succeeded in setting up the tent on the
leeward side of the ledge. Blinded by the vivid flashes of
lightning, and drenched by the rain, which fell in torrents, we
crept, half dead with fear and anguish, under our flimsy shelter.
Neither the anguish nor the fear was on our own account, for we
were comparatively safe, but for poor little Binny Wallace, driven
out to sea in the merciless gale. We shuddered to think of him in
that frail shell, drifting on and on to his grave, the sky rent
with lightning over his head, and the green abysses yawning beneath
him. We suddenly fell to crying, and cried I know not 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